She was twice as worthless as me, and by that I mean she combined Liam's care-not attitude about life with Angelus' animal cunning. But she wasn't a demon. No, she was merely that one we all know. Her or him, she was just that one you were with and then really wished you hadn't been. We've all been there, but it shouldn't surprise me that in my world, it had to be more than that.

When she loudly announced that she was pregnant, it was possibly the one time Liam was given the benefit of the doubt. Father berated my stupidity in being with her, but in the same breath conceded that with this one--I've done my best to forget her name--there was no way of ever being sure that the baby was mine. Since I was no great catch, her father didn't come around with a blunderbuss, cutlet, or whatever fathers came around with close to three hundred years ago. The crisis had passed, and to celebrate--surprise!--Liam got really piss drunk. It was this particular binge which led to my first being sighted by Darla. But before the other mother of my child moved in, the claimant came and pointed at me. She swore that all would know my shame, for not only would her boy be named Liam, but so would all boys of her line. I think I burped in response. Her threats didn't rate a belch.

I think its worth noting that, upon discovering she was leaving Ireland, a slaughter-minded Angelus let her. I can't be sure, but I think even he dreaded hearing her whiny voice again. Understand. A vicious killer who likes to laugh at his prey so hated this one woman's voice, he let her and an innocent baby--possibly mine-- go free. He perhaps thought about sending someone to do it--but they might have brought her back with them. The song in his heart as he killed our family and friends would have been muted by her whining, or the memory of it.

It was only much later, well after Drusilla brought a potential new convert, that I started to make the connection. A family that converted to Protestant upon hitting London. A genrtified clan that may have risen entirely upon an ancestress' clever lies. A demand that all boys of the family be named Liam. Of course, in England, Liam isn't Liam. Dumb. Dumb. DUMB! Looking back, the timing was right for the baby to have been mine. By that point, no one who wasn't as drunk as me would have had her. All of which might explain why I've never been able to fully ditch him. Its the blood. Its always the blood. Between him and Connor, I really hope Buffy never calls me with a 'by the way' about our one and only time together. Because I've had so far above enough, I'm considering having my undead tubes tied, just to be sure.

Then in he walks.

"So. How's the body hunt going?"

"The same way it was when you asked an hour ago."

"You could try a little harder, ya know. You are my grandsire, after all."

I grab my head.

"Spike, please don't call me that."

God, roast me in the deepest dankest pit you have available. But never let him find out. I haven't been that bad--I hope.