Chapter Two: Just a Bite to Eat
Spike realized as soon as he drove into the parking lot that the restaurant wasn’t really a restaurant but was more of a bar that served food. Clem was right about one thing though: no one was here. There were two cars parked in the cracked and pitted lot. Spike chose the spot closest to the entrance in case he needed a quick getaway. He glanced in the rearview mirror as he put the car in park and saw in the seat mirror that Asher was wide awake.
Getting out, Spike first opened the car door directly behind him, stuffing the carrier into the top of the already overflowing backpack. Then, he circled around to Asher’s side of the car. Swinging open the door, he beamed at the baby, who babbled with happiness and waved his arms at him. “Hey there, lil Nugget.” He started unstrapping the baby: first the buckle over his chest and then the latches at the bottom. “Gonna meet one of your dad’s old chums.”
Baby safely against his hip, he locked the car and headed into the bar, the Cajun music and smell of fried fish beckoning him inside. He made a face at the hint of stale cigarette smoke, something he tried not to expose Asher to. When Spike scanned the small dark space, no one was actively smoking. It was probably okay for an hour or so.
Clem stood up from a wooden table in the far corner of the darkly-decorated bar and waved his flappy arm with enthusiasm as if Spike couldn’t see him. “Spike! Over here!”
The couple Clem referenced must have gone, and Spike felt a wave of nostalgia at seeing his friend. Asher was quiet as he usually was in a new situation. Spike had noticed that he was an observant boy and had decided that he’d gotten it from both sides of his family.
Clem’s mouth formed a little “o” as he saw the baby in Spike’s arms, and his eyes softened. “Ohhh, Spike. Who do you have here? You’re not babysitting, are you? I mean, who had a kid? Buffy?” He squinted his red eyes. “He’s got her green eyes. Let me guess. She got pregnant when you two were on a break, and you took her back anyway and love her little guy as your own? OR. You’re babysitting as part of your new gig to make money since you got the soul and stealing and cheating aren’t part of your repertoire anymore? I can totally see that because you were so good with the Dawnster. OR. You got back together with Harmony, and you somehow magically created a baby together?” Clem’s tone shifted just a little on his last theory.
Spike lifted both eyebrows and smiled. “Guess again, mate. You’re way off. Surprised the little action figure collector didn’t tell you.”
Clem slumped his shoulders in defeat. “He didn’t tell me anything like this.”
“That’d be a first.”
Clem’s eyes rolled up to the ceiling as if he was trying to remember what the remaining member of the nerd trio had told him. “He did tell me that all the Sunnydale crew is semi-retired from the main stage of the fight against badness and that he’s working closely with Giles to come up with new and exciting ways to use technology in the fight against evil on a global scale.”
This time Spike snorted. “Hardly. The Watcher puts up with him, mostly to keep an eye on him, but Rupert is still reasonably and unreasonably wary of incorporating technology willy-nilly.”
The bartender meandered up, a dark-skinned man with golden cat eyes and a long tail that flicked back and forth, which for some reason made Spike think of Charlie. “How can I help you?”
Clem perked up and reached back, snagging an empty beer glass and waving it just a bit. “I’d love another Abita. Spike?”
“That sounds good.”
The bartender nodded, not bothering to write anything down. “Want a food menu?” he asked Spike.
“No, thanks.”
The cat-man tucked the nubby pencil behind his ear. “All right. Two Abitas.”
Spike suddenly remembered that he’d forgotten the green beans. Buffy was going to dust him if he didn’t stay on schedule. “Say. You don’t happen to have any green beans, do you?”
“They come on the plate with the catfish.”
Clem gestured at the table. “Get the plate. They have a buffet of spicy sauce.”
Spike grinned when he saw the eight little bottles. “All right then.”
“Two orders of the catfish plate?” The bartender sounded less than enthusiastic.
“Yep! And oh, some more cracklins,” Clem added. “The spicy variety.”
“Got it. It’ll be right out.” He blinked his cat eyes at Spike. “Sorry, we don’t have a highchair.”
Spike shrugged. “No worries, mate. He sits on my lap just fine.” He thought of something else that he’d forgotten. “Do you mind pureeing the green beans?”
The bartender raised his eyebrows at Spike and then glanced at the baby, who was sucking on a finger. “Sure. Why not? I’ve had weirder requests.”
Spike was sure he had. “Thanks.” He slid out one of the heavily chipped and scarred chairs and sat down, balancing little Asher on one leg with the baby’s back against his belly.
Clem followed suit and gestured at the baby as he leaned forward. “He sure is cute. And you haven’t answered my question.”
“Question?” Spike pretended to not know what Clem was referring to.
“You know. Whose baby is he?”
“Your third theory is definitely incorrect. I wouldn’t touch that bint with a ten-foot pole.”
“Not anymore, right?” Clem sounded sort of oddly relieved and watched Spike with intense curiosity. “So, which of my other two theories is close?”
Asher grabbed at the napkin on the table, and Spike handed it to him to play with after inspecting it for traces of beer. Asher held the bit of paper up in the air as if it was something amazing.
Spike decided it wasn’t worth torturing his friend anymore. Plus, he was proud of his hard-won son. “He’s mine. Mine and Buffy’s.” He patted the boy’s warm chubby thigh and then gently pulled on his arm to take the napkin out of his mouth. “His name is Asher.”
Clem slouched back in his chair with his jaw dropping open and arms hanging down. “H-how? Magic? Blood from a Mohra demon? And hey, Asher. Nice name.”
“Thanks, mate.” Spike leaned over to the chair next to him where he’d plunked the backpack. He tossed the carrier on the table and rummaged around in the bag’s bottomless pit. His fingers closed around the waffle teether, and he handed it to his drooling son, who eagerly popped it in his mouth. “He’s teething,” Spike explained. “And it’s a long story, but we did IVF at this place in Denver.”
“IVF? Is that some kind of spell?”
Spike lifted his scarred eyebrow. “Might as well be.” A long, drawn out, intricate spell that took months. “But no. No magic. Science. Stands for in vitro fertilization.”
“But last I heard, vampires don’t have living sperm. Unless. . .” Clem perked up. “Unless there’s something metaphysical about a vampire and a Slayer together that allows you to procreate! OR. You went back in time and got a sample from yourself when you were human!”
“No. There’s nothing to the Slayer-vampire procreation thing. I’d know. And no, we didn’t time travel. That’d be bloody crazy.” Spike inhaled and decided at that moment to tell his friend the truth. He didn’t really trust anyone else in the demon crowd to know. But since he and Buffy were seen at the clinic by that Grappler demon, he was fairly certain it was widely known that he and the Slayer had done IVF. “We used a relative’s sperm.” He didn’t want to say more than that. The cat demon might be listening.
“Ah. That makes a lot of sense. So, he’s related to you. That’s pretty cool.” Clem hunched forward and searched Asher’s face. “He does have your features more than Buffy’s, I think. I mean, he has her eyes, but yep, I see you in there.”
Spike wasn’t sure, but he liked to think so and more than appreciated Clem saying so. Spike didn’t have any photos of himself as a tyke, so he had nothing to compare Asher to, and he’d only seen one photo of Shane as a baby, which Charlotte had texted him. Spike kissed the top of the baby’s head; no matter who he looked like, he loved his son.
At that moment, the bartender wandered over with a tray balanced on his palm. Ceramic clattered against the wood as he tossed the plates of fish, green beans, and French fries on the table. The beans on both plates were pureed. The bowl of cracklins was calling Spike’s name. Two mugs of beer and two napkin-wrapped sets of utensils followed the food. “Y’all need anything else?”
“Nope,” Clem said happily. “This is perfect. Thanks!”
As the cat demon walked away, Spike unwrapped the knife and fork. Great. No spoon. He’d have to use the butter knife. That was safe enough, right? He took a long gulp of his beer. “Sorry ‘bout your beans there.”
“No worries.” Clem shoveled a forkful into his mouth. “Interesting texture,” he said with his mouth full.
After popping a piece of spicy cracklins in his mouth, Spike swiveled all the bottles of hot sauce around to read the labels and chose the one his tongue was preferring of late. Thumbing open the cap, he slung several drops over the crispy fish and fries. Asher watched him with wide eyes and tried to grab at a fry hanging over the edge of the plate near him. “Hold on there, Nip. Fries aren’t on the menu yet.” He had no idea what fried potato would do to his son’s digestive system, but he was sure it wouldn’t lead to very pretty nappies. Not that poopy nappies were at all attractive. But changing diapers for his wife had led to some very nice romps in bed with her while the baby slept. He considered Buffy’s promise to him earlier in the evening, and he couldn’t wait until she came home all hyped up from slaying. In the meantime, Asher was hungry. Spike picked up the knife and scooped a dollop of the green beans onto the dull blade. “Here you go.”
Asher opened his mouth for the green beans and happily rolled the food around in his mouth. Thank god, he wasn’t spitting it out. Spike had also forgotten the bib.
As Spike continued to feed the baby and ignored his own cooling food, Clem chattered on about his own life and what he’d been up to. He’d only spent a short amount of time in L.A. before he evacuated that city before the apocalypse, and he’d been traveling the world.
“Got a confession though,” Clem said as he finished his fish and chips and settled back with his beer perched on his thigh. He tapped his other leg with his right hand; Spike knew his friend well enough to know that had always been one of his tells during poker. Clem was anxious.
“What’s that?” Spike asked, taking a swig of his own Abita and giving Asher a small hug.
“When I was in Paris, I ran into more than just Andrew in the café. Well, I didn’t run into said other person in the café itself.”
“Oh?” Now Spike was intrigued. What had Clem so nervous that now his leg was shaking up and down, too?
“I sort of. . . well, kind of. . .” His eyes shifted toward the bar and the open seating.
“Spit it out. Who’d you run into? Harmony?” Spike joked over the rim of his mug.
“Wellllllll. . .”
“Harmony?!” Spike choked on his beer and then laughed. Asher peeked up at the sound and giggled, too.
“I sorta,” Clem wrinkled his nose and squinted at Spike as if he was afraid the vampire might punch him, “I sorta slept with her.”
It was Spike’s turn to look shocked. When he recovered enough to speak, he simply said, “Good on you, mate.”
Clem relaxed his features a fraction. “Y-you’re not mad?”
Spike offered Asher more green beans, which he ate with enthusiasm. “Nah. Been done with her for many years. You’re more than welcome to sleep with any of my exes. Well, except Dru. That’d probably bother me still. Truth be told. Don’t care who she sleeps with as long as it’s not one of my mates.” He thought back to the badness that was sleeping with the vengeance demon. He still remembered the look in Buffy’s eyes even though he’d been indignant and hurting. Poor choice on his part.
“That leaves Harmony. That’s your only ex besides Dru.”
Spike thought for a moment. “Right. You’re right.”
“And I only slept with her once,” Clem added.
Spike’s head shot up. “Once? Dru?”
Clem raised both hands to placate Spike. “No, no. Harmony. To be honest, I think I’m done with her, too.”
“Don’t blame you.” Spike felt relieved, and he wondered if Buffy would be pissed at him for being bothered that he didn’t want his friends sleeping with Dru. Probably best not to ask her that one.
“She’s beautiful, but she talks too much, and I enjoy conversation but not that much conversation. And it’s conversation about nothing. Did you ever notice that when you were with her?”
A foul smell rose to Spike’s nose. Uh oh. Asher was in the process of soiling his nappy. He’d never changed the baby in a public place before. It couldn’t be that different than home. Reaching over, he dug out a diaper and the packet of unscented wipes. “S’cuse me.”
With a little too much eagerness, Clem rattled on, “Diaper change? Need help? I mean, not that I could help really but. . .”
Spike held up his full hand as he stood, the chair scraping against the floor. “Nah. Got the nappy changing down now, especially since we’re past the stage of squirting poop.”
“I thought you had to worry about the squirting. . . other stuff,” Clem said, surprisingly unwilling to say urine.
“It’s the squirting poop that’s the worst. This one time, before we started changing him in the bathroom, he squirted all over his bedroom wall. Bloody changing tables are useless. Don’t know why people buy into the hype over the soft cushion and the colorful covers. We never use ours.” Spike rolled his eyes.
Clem looked impressed. “You sure do know a lot about this father stuff.”
“That’s ‘cause I am one. Trial by fire and all that.”
“Sounds. . . fun.” Clem’s tone was skeptical.
Spike held up his son a little higher and studied his sweet face. Asher smiled at him, and he couldn’t help but smile in return. “It’s all worth it when they smile back at you.”
Clem studied them both. “I think I can kind of see that. I’d love to hold him when you get back.”
“Sure, mate. Just let me get him changed.”
Luckily Asher’s poops were small in volume because there was nowhere to change a baby in the bar’s tiny bathroom. Spike even popped into the ladies’ washroom to see if there was one of those changing tables built into the wall. No such luck. He ended up balancing the baby on the tiny sink while juggling the wipes and spare nappy. Spike took so long that Asher started crying and struggling, which made everything more difficult. Spike dropped the package of wipes on the dirty tile floor. Luckily, the package was face up, and he managed to pluck out the wipes while holding Asher in place. Fifteen minutes later, the nappy was in place, Spike had cleaned up the poop that managed to find its way down his son’s leg, and Asher was placated by a cuddle from his father. Spike kissed his son’s forehead and chunked the soiled nappy and wad of poop-covered wipes in the garbage can before exiting the bathroom.
The sound of multiple voices. . . gruff voices met his ears.
“Sounds like the bar has more patrons,” Spike muttered to his son as he re-entered the bar. He stomach sank. What the bloody hell had he gotten himself into now?
Clem motioned him over with a broad grin on his face. “Spike! Surprise! I invited some of the guys I met at the airport over for a round of kitten poker. I wrangled five kittens for you.” He held up an orange tabby that struggled to be put down and let out a meow of despair.
The four other demons at the table were not easy going like Clem. Spike felt the anger and competitiveness heating the air. It was familiar and exciting. God, how he’d missed it! At the same time, he sensed his son’s reticence, felt him drawing back and clinging, his little heart beating faster. Spike was torn. . . so incredibly torn. He should really make up a plausible excuse to leave and now before –
“Get over here, vampire,” growled a scarlet demon with dark grey spines sticking out of almost every pore of his body. He patted the empty chair next to him. The pat wasn’t a welcoming invitation; it was a command. Normally, Spike didn’t give in to such demands, but he was worried about his son’s safety.
With his hand cupping the Asher’s vulnerable head, Spike held the baby close. It looked like he didn’t have a choice. Buffy was definitely going to dust him, and if something happened to Asher, Spike would dust himself.