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“You sure you've got 'er?” Spike asked, his voice heavy with worry.

Clem rolled his eyes. “Spike, it's fine. Will you go?”

“M'just goin' down the road. I swear if I hear a peep from 'er--”

The loose-skinned demon raised his eyebrows. “Pretty sure you'll hear more than a peep. She's a baby. She cries.”

“Clem!” Spike growled.

The child in Clem's flabby arms wailed. “Really? That was all on you, Pop.”

“Shit,” Spike whispered, taking the girl up in his arms and tugging the bottle of formula from the other demon's hand. “M'sorry, baby. You'll be with Uncle Clement for now. Jus' gotta do a quick patrol and get some more of your nummies.”

Clem reached out his arms. “Hand over that sack of sugar!” he cooed.

Spike kissed her head and put her in Clem's waiting arms. “Be back soon,” he said with a wiggle of his fingers.

“Bye, Dad,” Clem called out jovially. “You really like those num nums, huh?” he asked the baby suckling from her bottle. He laughed heartily at her “mmmmm!” noises.

He put her on the floor for tummy time, lying on his stomach as well. He grabbed a couple of books and laid them in front of her.

“What do you wanna read this time, huh?” Clem asked. He plucked the first book she touched. “'Fuzzy Baby Animals' again? We gotta take you to a round of kitten poker sometime, Em.”

The baby in front of him whined and reached for the book. He shifted so he was lying down parallel to her so she could look at the pictures. “Look at that ducky! You gotta try it roasted, Margaret.” The girl beside him patted the book with her tiny fingertips. “Man, this book is so misleading. Who thought to give this duck fur? And let me tell ya, you don't wanna go anywhere near a duck. They stink pretty bad for things who are in water for a good amount of time!”

Margaret wasn't really paying attention, fingering the patch of yellow fuzz on the page in front of her. She gave it a experimental lick, her features crumpling when she found she didn't like the feel of strands of yellow fur on her tongue.

“You do that all the time,” Clem remarked. “And every time I hate to say I told ya so.” He giggled when Margaret stuck out her tongue in distaste, and he helped her remove a piece of fuzz from her mouth. “Aw, heck, you know I'm lyin'! I love to say I told ya so!”

Margaret proceeded to drool on the page.

The demon babysitter made a face. “We gotta teach you some manners.”

A knock on the door sounded a half hour later. Clem called for the visitor to come in, grinning when the younger Summers breezed in and immediately plopped on the floor.

“Margarine!” Dawn cooed, picking her up and kissing her. The baby giggled and cooed at her, fisting some of her hair.

“I imagine dear ol' Dad isn't far behind you?” Clem asked, wiping the drool-covered book with the sleeve of his shirt and closing it.

“He'll be here in a—” Dawn turned her head when the door creaked open, “--sec.”

“Tol' you not to run ahead of me,” Spike growled sternly, immediately going to the kitchen sink to wash his hands. “Anything coulda run at ya! And did you wash your hands?”

Dawn rolled her eyes and handed her niece to Clem, bounding up beside Spike and nudging him over with her hip to squirt some dish soap in her palm. “This soap makes my hands dry!”

“An' clean,” Spike rebutted with a raise of his eyebrows.

“Aw, sorry, Dawn,” Clem called out. “I keep forgettin'ta get you some hand lotion.”

The bleach blond vampire wiped his hands dry on a paper towel, tossing it in a nearby bin before swooping his daughter in his arms. “How's my li'l Emmie?”

“Disillusioned by the duck again,” the loose-skinned demon commented.

“Tell ya what,” Spike said, kissing the girl on the forehead, “sprout some teeth an' I'll get ya a bit a' peking.”

Dawn perked up. “Chinese?”

Spike glanced at her. “Again? Don' you want to eat some vegetables or something?”

The teenager wrinkled her nose. “What kind of question is that?”

The vampire rolled his eyes and tossed her the phone. “Won' the witches be expectin' you soon?”

“Nah, I told them I was babysitting again,” Dawn said, dialing a number she already knew by heart. She shrugged. “It's pretty much true.” She glanced at him. “You really should tell them all, though.”

Spike huffed. “Again: no, thanks. Would rather not have Watcher look at this little sweet pea like a petri dish and who knows what the witches'll try to do?” He shuddered and shook his head. “Might turn her into a frog or worse, find out how to magickally lactate and start breastfeedin' 'er.”

Dawn made a face. “I really doubt--”

Spike shook his head so fast the teenager was surprised his neck didn't snap. “No.”

“I think it'd really make them happy,” the brunette said, her voice small.

The vampire sighed. “Lemme think about it some more, okay?” His nose twitched when he smelled Margaret going in her diaper. “I really do think you save all the dirty nappies for me,” he mumbled.

“I'll change her!” Dawn cried, reaching out her arms.

Spike handed over the baby. “Don' think she's done goin' but have at it,” he said, picking up the plastic bag he'd left by the door. He retrieved from it three canisters of formula and sat them on a kitchen shelf, then took a package of diapers and tossed it over by Dawn.

By the time Margaret was cleaned up and put to sleep, Spike was sitting at the dining room table, staring unseeingly at Dawn as she slurped her chicken lo mein.

“Spike?” Dawn asked, swallowing her mouthful of noodles. “What's up? You're creeping me out.”

He crossed his arms. “Anythin' goin' on Saturday?”

“I was gonna be at Janice's for the weekend...” Dawn trailed off, starting to sound put out.

Spike's nostrils flared as he huffed. “So you wouldn' 'ave time to arrange a small Scooby meetin' sometime in the evenin'?”

Dawn's eyes lit up. “We're gonna--?”

He couldn't help but smile at her excitement. “Yeah,” he said softly.

Dawn nearly knocked over her seat as she got out of it. “I'll tell them to keep that evening open right now!”

Spike shot her a stern glance. “'Bit. Don' you go runnin' out on me. I'll take you back, okay?”

The younger Summers girl was too worked up to be annoyed at his persistent overprotectiveness. She beamed at him. “Okay.”





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