“Psst!”
At first Spike ignored the mysterious voice in his ear. The ceremony was about to start any minute; the one and only fruit of his loins was getting hitched and he didn’t want to miss any of it listening to the rantings of some drunken guest.
However, the owner of the voice was not to be so easily put off by a cold shoulder. “Psst.”
Frowning at the figure’s persistence, Spike tried to get a glance at the owner of the voice without being too obvious about it or clueing Buffy next to him into thinking there was something going on. A slayer at a demon wedding was awkward enough, she was already closely watching every one of the guests as if she suspected them all of plotting the end of existence, he didn’t want to give her any excuse to whip a stake out of her corsage.
He caught a glimpse of a rough cowl and the tip of a blistered and crooked nose. The yellow tinge of the broken, sagging skin gave the creature away as some kind of demon, probably one of those strange ones that liked to form secret esoteric sects out in the desert or somewhere else remote and well out of the way of human nosy parkers.
“What? ” Spike snapped in what was barely a whisper, hoping the demon would get the message and piss off.
“I will give you three camels,” a heavy, broken voice as dry as the Sahara rasped from under the hood. It sounded like its owner gargled with sand every morning.
Spike thought the offer over for a moment. Nope, he didn’t have a buggering clue about that non sequitur. “You what?”
The demon waved three spindly fingers at him. “I give you three camels for the beautiful lady.”
The demon had to be joking. “Not likely,” Spike growled. The slayer had been hard won and if it thought he was just going to give her up now, it had another thing coming. “The slayer’s all mine.”
Unfortunately, Buffy heard that. She nudged Spike in the ribs. “What’s going on?”
Gesturing with his hand to stall the demon’s reply, he turned to Buffy, hoping to curtail any slayings that might be about to happen. He kissed her temple to placate her. “Nothing luv, Arabian Nights here just wants a little chat.”
Buffy pursed her lips, not seeming particularly satisfied with that explanation. He couldn’t really blame her; she was still annoyed about the daughter thing even existing, even though it had all happened years ago. The stiff way she’d held his arm all evening, keeping up appearances to the other guests but making no secret of how unhappy she was in the process, let him know all he needed to about how she felt. He’d already explained it was not what she thought, but she still saw it as some kind of betrayal.
He gave her a cajoling squeeze, hoping she’d relax and forgive him. After all none of this is his fault.
Well, not entirely.
She jerked away from him. Okay, perhaps she wouldn’t forgive and forget that easily. Maybe the fact that he couldn’t give her any children was less okay than she had been telling him.
“I told you I didn’t know!” he protested, carrying on the argument that had raged on and off between them ever since the wedding invitation had arrived the week before.
Buffy said nothing. She folded her arms and looked away into the motley crowd gathered on the groom’s side of the cave.
Fair enough. He was a bad liar, but it wasn’t entirely a lie. A fib perhaps. He hadn’t known he was a dad, that was true enough, but he’d had a decent notion. If that made him a bad, absent father and a rotten lying boyfriend then stuff ‘em all, he was a vampire, not a saint.
The demon didn’t care about Spike’s domestic woes though and pushed its luck. “Not the slayer,” it said, taking Spike’s attention away from his sulking partner. “I desire radiant bride! Three camels. Very juicy.”
Well, that made things a little different.
Well, after all ol’Spike hardly knew the bride, did he? It was hard to feel paternal about a demon he had never actually met and whose unpronounceable name he couldn’t quite be bothered to remember. That aside from the fact they weren’t even the same species.
She was his daughter, so he’d been told, but it was only in the very loosest meaning of the term. It wasn’t as if he’d wanted to shag a Gaxin demon. They were all scaly and only humanoid in a vague way; hardly his type and uncomfortably scratchy on the nethers if he was honest – he’d been raw for days – so it was hardly his fault he’d stumbled into their pheromone cloud on the way to the pub.
So, okay, he hadn’t put up much resistance. He was an open-minded bloke and he was up for anything once or twice, especially after several pints, but he hadn’t been to know that Gaxins were all female and needed sperm from another species to complete their reproductive cycles. If he’d known he might have thought about protection, which would have been a troubling thought for one of his kind; his wrigglies hadn’t done any wriggling for a long time and the thought of his undead boys out there making babies at his stage of unlife was a little disturbing. He’d been dead for a century and change; vampires weren’t meant to be fathers.
But, as he’d later found out to his horror, Gaxins were designed to be mothers and that was the problem. The deadness of his jizz was no obstacle to a Gaxin. All they needed was the DNA or something and this unlikely child appeared to be the result.
If her mother had been a prime example of the breed though, he wasn’t expecting any great beauty to walk down the aisle in her finest. Still, there was someone for everyone it seemed; not only was his supposed pride and joy actually getting hitched, the groom had competition for the girl’s affections as well.
“Good camels. Best breed. Very fine,” the demon urged, purring out his next word and suffusing it with a world of tasty temptation, “Succulent.”
“She’s worth more than that,” Spike scoffed. Despite all his reservations, a small swell of fatherly pride persisted in Spike nonetheless, and it was a little indignant that his little miracle was only thought to be worth three bloody camels. If the demon thought he was giving her away for that pittance, it had another thing coming.
“You drive hard bargain,” the demon croaked. “Okay, I give six camels!”
“Nah.” Spike smiled. Despite it all, he was enjoying this.
“Ten?”
Ten? Blimey this chap was keen. Keener than the groom by the look of it, whom Spike had been watching as he waited by the dark altar for his bride to arrive. He looked more like the world was about to end than someone about to embark on the love boat of martial bliss. Perhaps that was the point, demonic ceremonies always seemed to lead to the end of the world one way or another, there was no reason a wedding should be any different.
Spike shook his head. He had nothing to lose, and he might even avert an apocalypse while he was at it. Plus ten camels would mean savings at the butcher’s for a bit and Buffy liked savings. Savings led to more cash and more cash led to more shopping trips. Buffy liked shopping trips and what Buffy liked was fine with him. A happy Buffy was a Buffy more disposed to giving him blow jobs and partaking in other naked naughtiness. And as long as he didn’t actually have to go to the mall with her, the plan was perfect.
“Okay fifteen. Final offer,” the demon proposed before Spike could agree to the ten.
Then Spike had a thought. He didn’t have room for one sodding camel, let alone ten or fifteen, but on the other hand…
“Twenty,” he countered. “Make it boxes of ciggies and you’re on!”
“Done!” The demon agreed. It held out a thin hand for Spike to shake.
“All yours mate,” he told the demon as they shook on the deal, a bargain price maybe, but he was the Father of the Bride, he was supposed to give her away.
The handshake he received was weak and oddly rubbery; those thin, twiggy fingers wrapping themselves unpleasantly around his hand. Spike pitied the offspring this demon was going to produce.
“I will send you cigarettes soon,” it said as it tucked the hand back under its cloak. “I know where you live.”
Spike couldn’t say he was happy with random demons knowing where he and the Slayer called home, but he knew the demon would be good for its word. These mysterious types usually were. They didn’t go for the random everyday evils; they liked rules and doctrine and offering babies to dark gods at midnight rituals, they couldn’t renege on a properly made deal if they wanted to.
“Brilliant,” Spike cursed as he rose out of his chair, it was time to make a swift exit. He gave Buffy a gentle nudge. “C’mon it’s time to go.”
But Buffy didn’t move. “Huh? The wedding hasn’t even started yet.”
“Yeah. And nor has the fight.” Spike grinned as he hauled his reluctant partner out of her seat.
“There’s going to be a fight?” She looked around them at the tense decorum that seemed to be holding amongst the assembled guests, but she didn’t look convinced. Something with tentacles for a mouth was dabbling them into a huge Pina Colada, but that was about as suspicious as the crowd got. Like weddings of all species, the trouble rarely got going until after the service.
“Wouldn’t be a wedding without a punch up.” He gave her his very best ‘trust me’ grin and tried to steer her back through the throng to the entrance of the cave.
But now on red alert, Buffy wasn’t budging. “I thought you wanted to see your daughter’s big night?”
“Nah, changed my mind.” He drew her in and nuzzled her neck, hoping she would forgive him all of it if he hit that sweet spot behind her ear. She mmm’d promisingly. Yeah, he’d get away with it as long as he made sure to pamper her for a bit. “Besides,” he whispered, into her soft skin, “you’re the only girl for daddy.”
Author's Chapter Notes:
Post-Chosen. Ignores Season 8 which I have not read and have never accepted as canon.Some sexual references.