Makin’ Babies
by SpikesKat
Angel cast a furtive glance around before letting himself in to the hole-in-the-wall bar where he was supposed to meet his client. He’d told no one of this particular meeting, going so far as to have Harmony pencil in a vague “out of the office” on his calendar.
Wesley and the others he trusted would take it at face value. What he was really worried about was Spike. Spike, who had taken to heart Angel’s plea to keep their renewed relationship a secret from the others by going out of his way to be the worst thorn in his side. Either out of spite or a true desire to please him, Angel didn’t quite know.
But this latest case specifically entrusted into his care had the makings of weeks, if not months, of titillating office gossip. He’d be hard pressed to show his face around Wolfram & Hart if word got out of what he was about to do.
Sighing, and grumbling under his breath about the lengths he had to go to as CEO, Angel let himself into the bar and made his way to a darkened corner furthest from the door. A flash of fangs and a low growl had the demon currently occupying the table scurrying out of his seat with a hasty, “I’m leaving. Help yourself,” after tossing a few bills on the table to cover his tab.
Angel grunted and slid into the far seat so his back was to the wall. The place had come to a standstill at the other demon’s abrupt departure, but a snarl and a pointed glare as his eyes scanned the few remaining occupants had them turning back to their business of drowning whatever sorrows they might have.
A waitress came by moments later, and Angel ordered a shot of whiskey, then changed his mind to having the whole bottle brought over – he was going to need it.
He’d just downed his first glass when the door opened, admitting a demon of indeterminate species given that it was covered from head to toe in a concealing wool cloak. Angel knew what it was, however, given the small basket it clutched nervously to its chest. He waited until the demon glanced in his direction, then motioned with a quick wave of his hand for it to come over.
“I have brought the basket,” the demon informed him and formally placed it on the table between them before taking his seat across from Angel. What came out of the demon’s mouth was a series of clicks and whistles, and it was only the language upgrade he’d endured that enabled him to understand the Tris’lik demon.
Angel launched into his own reply of grunts and clicks, informing the demon to return in six hour’s time to retrieve the basket and the dozen eggs he knew to be hidden within. The demon departed with a click and a nod, leaving Angel alone and staring pensively at the basket before him.
‘The things I do…’ he thought grumpily as he reached into the basket for the first egg and tucked it into his waistband next to his lukewarm skin. When he was finished, twelve eggs were nestled against various parts of his body to begin the last stage of their incubation period. He was just grateful the things wouldn’t hatch until the Tris’lik had come to collect them. Trying to explain to twelve baby Tris’lik that he wasn’t their mother probably wouldn’t go over too well. Not for him, or for anyone else in the bar.
With nothing to do but to wait, Angel scooted to the inside corner, deeper into the shadows and quietly sipped at his drink. The first hour passed relatively quietly, as did the second. During the third, the waitress reappeared with one hand on her hip, scornfully eyeing the lone bottle barely halfway drunk; a few hundred dollar bills tossed in her direction had her leaving him alone soon enough, if somewhat peevishly. By the fifth hour, he’d wished he’d brought a book to pass the time; he was bored out of his mind, and his limbs ached from having to keep still.
Angel glanced at his watch and breathed a sigh of relief that he only had one more hour to go. His lips quirked upward in a hint of a smile because it appeared he’d managed to thwart Spike’s probable attempts at finding him.
Or so he thought, until thirty minutes later, the front door of the bar opened revealing a smirking Spike, whose eyes seemed to find him unerringly in the darkened room.
“Hello, Peaches,” Spike said as he sprawled in the seat across from him. His eyes twinkled with suppressed mirth.
Almost like he knew…
‘Not possible,’ Angel thought frantically, though he tried to act normal – or normal for him – as he grunted out a response. “What do you want, Spike?”
“Just thought I’d share a pint or two with my sire.”
There was laughter in Spike’s voice, and Angel’s eyes narrowed.
“Uh huh.”
“I see you’ve spared no expense.” Spike eyes the bottle then turned away briefly to catch the waitress’ eye and signal for a glass.
Angel watched it all and couldn’t prevent the flare of jealousy as the girl smiled and rushed to do his unspoken bidding, then practically prostrated herself on the table, exposing her more than ample bosom as she set the shot glass in front of Spike. Spike, the bastard, smiled and flirted right back. At least he did until Angel let out an unintentional, possessive growl.
That had Spike smiling wider and sighing dramatically.
“Sorry, luv,” Spike murmured to the waitress apologetically. “Bloke’s a mite possessive over what he considers his.”
Angel was treated to a venomous look before the girl flounced off. His own eyes narrowed on her departing back, the demon in him coming up with hundreds of ways to flay the skin from her body for daring to be so bold, and it wasn’t until he heard Spike’s jealousy remark that he turned and fixed a pointed stare at him. He was please to see Spike’s brief flinch, though it was quickly gone and Spike was once more gifting him with a bemused smile.
“What?” Angel snapped.
Spike said nothing and poured himself a drink.
Angel sighed and gestured for Spike to refill his own glass. He settled in to wait, knowing that he could outlast Spike in the quiet department.
Surprisingly, Spike went ten minutes without saying a thing – a record for him – and Angel was sure he only broke his silence because Angel kept glancing at his watch and eyeing the front door… the perfect opening.
“Who’re you waiting for, Angel?”
Shit!
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