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Part 8
Previously: Cordelia’s rescue went surprisingly well, however, she’s now in a medically induced coma fighting for her life. Angel and Drusilla just discovered that she’s been rescued. Xander witnessed a moment between Spike and Dawn. Another Aurelian has answered Angel’s call. . . .
Book Two, Chapter 32. The promise of daylight.
Our lives are like the course of the sun.
At the darkest moment there is the promise of daylight.
London Times, Christmas editorial 24 December 84
The gloom of the world is but a shadow. Behind it, yet within our reach, is joy. There is radiance and glory in the darkness, could we but see; and to see, we have only to look.
And so, at this Christmas time, I greet you; not quite as the world sends greetings, but with profound esteem, and with the prayer that for you, now and forever, the day breaks and the shadows flee away.
Fra Giovanni, A Letter to Contessina Allagia Dela Aldobrandeschi,
Written Christmas Eve 1513
Maureen Osborne slipped into the dark private ICU room, checking on the comatose patient within. Wesley stirred when she adjusted the sheet around Cordelia, lifting his head to watch her movements. The short, slightly round woman whispered her apology for waking hm, which Wesley just waved off.
“That other girl you brought in? The one that wasn’t as badly injured – she refuses to give her name. She’s terrified.” Waiting a moment to see Wesley’s reaction, she continued, “Dr. Thomas has her in isolation in the psych ward. She might,” she paused, shaking her head, “she’s in very bad shape.”
“Thank” Wesley cleared his throat, then finished speaking, “thank you for telling me. I’ll try and go see her later, if it can be arranged.”
Maureen Osborne’s “I think that would be possible” was whispered as softly as she slipped out of the door.
Wesley glanced over at the Buffybot, who smiled brightly, then resumed her sentinel’s stance by the doorway. Once more saying a silent prayer for Cordelia, Wesley closed his eyes.
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“Need anything?”
“No Chief, I’m good. Brought along some of my own supplies.” The tall, thin, good-looking, dark-haired man eyed Drusilla, but said nothing more.
“You can take any of the rooms on the second floor. Take any of the girls, except Dru.” Angel motioned him into the main living room, snapping orders for the minions to start a fire. “Surprised you responded. Where were you?”
“Been in the Sea-Tac area. It was just a place to call home. Didn’t take long to get here either.” He walked around the room, taking note of the furnishings and the assorted weaponry. “Have to admit Chief, the summons surprised me. Thought about ignoring it. But,” he grinned, facing Angel, “had the ring of an order. So here I am.”
“Good. We’ve got things to do. But for now, Lawson, I just need a drink.” Sinking his fangs into Ray’s captive, Angel fixed his gaze on the last childe he’d turned, while Drusilla hummed and laughed in the background.
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Spike tried kicking off his boots while keeping the bottle in Connor’s mouth, quickly realizing that he needed more than two hands to do that. Propping the bottle on a pillow, Spike laid Connor down next to Buffy and bent to his boots.
Loud rumblings sounded from the baby’s belly as he drank and Spike had to laugh. The boy sounded more and more like him every day. He wouldn’t be surprised if the boy made those noises because both his parents were vampires, but he secretly hoped it was because the baby had a soft spot for his Uncle Spike.
Buffy muttered something in her almost sleep that sounded suspiciously like, “come to bed.”
Spike shucked off his jeans, then pulled his tee-shirt over his head. Moving Connor closer to Buffy, Spike slid into the bed, the now wide awake infant between them. Blue eyes very much like his mother’s twinkled at Spike, smiling at him despite the nipple in his mouth. Little legs kicking in the air, Connor was playing, no longer in the mood for the bottle. When Spike exhibited no desire to play right along with him, Connor screwed up his features like there was lemon juice in his bottle rather than milk.
“Oh no you don’t little man. Buffy’s jus’ gone to sleep. No wakin’ her’p coz you wanna play. Maybe later, spawn, but not now.” In an effort to settle him down, Spike hummed a little, then used his thumb to brush over where the infant’s ridge line would be if he was all vampire. Connor seemed to like that, because his eyes started drifting closed. All right then . . . good to know that old trick still works.
His eyes flickered between the other two in the bed with him, a soft smile spreading over his features. Too tired to form words, Spike heard the words echoing in his head, felt Buffy respond and then allowed his own eyes to drift closed.
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Gurgling little noises and the soft rumble of Spike’s purrs broke through the sleepy haze her mind and body had been basking in. Buffy curled closer to the source of those noises, slowly coming to wakefulness, prompted by the sounds. Little hands brushed over her face, tangling in loose strands of her hair, innocently pulling on the long strands. Languidly Buffy moved her hand up to disentangle the tiny fingers and slowly cracked open one eye when those tiny hands grabbed her fingers and pulled one of them towards the gaping mouth. Gnawing on the digit, Connor continued gurgling happily, his little legs pumping and squirming between the two adults. Spike made some noise, then wrapped a big hand around one of the baby’s legs, unconsciously trying to still his movements. Letting the baby use her as a chew toy, Buffy closed her eyes again and tried to go back to sleep.
Craving the heat generated by the two bodies in bed with him, Spike shifted closer, his hand leaving the wriggling legs of the baby to grasp the curve of a hip that he knew lay just beyond. A deep rumbling sigh drifted up from his chest and one leg snaked between hers, anchoring them together. Content now that he was warmer, Spike settled down to a deeper sleep, having not once opened his eyes.
Dawn hesitated at the door, torn between doing what Spike had asked in the early hours of the morning and not wanting to disturb any of them. But it was almost noon, and it was more than likely that demon baby would start howling for his bottle. She couldn’t believe that he hadn’t done so already. Maybe the double bottle trick was working. Dawn could hear the sounds of Tara rustling about in the kitchen, searching out the makings of a huge dinner and another part of her was tempted to go downstairs and forget all about Connor. She sighed, thinking, yeah, sure and Spike won’t look at me all disappointed like I’m Bara’qua demon slime. Sighing again, Dawn turned the door’s handle and slipped inside.
The three of them were tucked up underneath the blankets, the baby in the middle while Buffy and Spike flanked him. They looked so sweet. Just like a real family. Dawn felt a pang of something very close to jealousy stab into her. Really not fair he gets this. I’m way too big to sleep in between them and, eeewww anyway, coz they like do stuff in that bed. And telling herself all that didn’t really help, because a big part of her wanted to climb into that bed with them and be their little girl. Silently cursing the monks for getting most of her life wrong, Dawn sighed a little bit, watching Spike’s hand flex over Buffy’s hip. There was some answering movement and Buffy’s hand came to rest on Spike’s forearm, holding on tightly. They really do look like a family. From nowhere special came little tears, forming silently at the corners of her eyes and Dawn blinked rapidly to dispel them. She didn’t want to cry over this, it was silly and stupid and so very babyish. The monks had made her a teenager, not a baby and she had some good memories. . . and so what if they weren’t really real? They were still good. Her memories of Buffy, growing up in Los Angeles were good memories. She only wished sometimes that the monks had finished the job, given her real memories of Spike, and what it might have been like to really be theirs.
Okay, so back then Spike probably wouldn’t have been all that happy, since Buffy would have been five, but . . . and Dawn stifled a giggle at that thought. He probably still would’ve fallen in love with her, which is beyond ookie, but Dawn figured Spike would understand what she meant, if she ever got the courage to talk to him about some of the things she was thinking. She wondered sometimes, too, if Spike would have fallen in love with Buffy anyway, even without the interference of the monks. And then she remembered Willow’s back-fired will-be-done spell and wondered how much of a mistake that had really been. Maybe the monks had shifted something then, playing with all of them, making it so that Buffy and Spike fell in love. . . . Dawn eyed the sleeping couple on the bed, mental calculations forming. Spike got chipped in the early fall, just after UC Sunnydale classes had started, and Willow’s spell happened just after Thanksgiving. . . . Giles had nearly pinpointed the moment their memories had been altered, and it was about nine months later, give or take a couple of days. No way. Could it have taken the monks all that time? Like a real baby?
A tentative smiled bloomed on her face, and had either of the two sleeping adults seen it, they would have been very happy. Each of them had been worried about their girl, ever since the truth behind her parentage had been revealed, but neither one was sure how to get her to open up. Dawn admitted to herself that she’d been a little difficult lately, and winced as she remembered the shouting match she’d had with Buffy not long after Connor had arrived. Stepping closer to the bed, Dawn reached out to smooth the blanket over Spike’s foot. Buffy stirred again, a soft groan of discomfort emerging from her and her movements picked up. Reaching over to lift Connor from the bed, Dawn was surprised when a warm hand stopped her.
“What are you doing?” Buffy’s voice was barely more than a whisper.
“Spike asked me to take him so you guys could get enough sleep.” Dawn’s answer was equally soft.
Letting her hand go, Buffy groaned again, her hand dropping down to cover her belly. “I’m sort of awake anyway. Might as . . . “ Hazel eyes snapped open and Buffy got a funny look on her face, as the words died in her throat. “Ugh. Hang on.”
Dawn watched, her mouth hanging open as Buffy scrambled from the bed and headed straight for the bathroom, a tight look on her face. Furrowing her brows, Dawn lifted Connor up and followed her into the bathroom.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” She asked, when she found Buffy with her head hanging over the toilet, puking up her guts.
“Some bug I got.” Buffy grumped back at her, determined this time not to cry. It was one thing in front of Spike, but she wasn’t going to do that with Dawn hovering over her.
“Bug?” Dawn stared down at the top of Buffy’s head and nearly laughed. “A bug? What kind of a bug?” She couldn’t keep the sarcasm from her voice.
“Dunno. Stop asking me.” Buffy leaned up and flushed the toilet, then got to her feet and using her finger, scrubbed away the icky taste from her mouth. God, I wanna puke again. She lifted her head, meeting her sister’s. . . no, her daughter’s eyes in the mirror. There was amused disbelief in Dawn’s clear blue gaze, so very much like her father’s that Buffy wanted to scream in that moment, but she didn’t. Instead she stared Dawn down, a set look on her features.
“Buffy. . . “ Dawn started to speak, but Buffy held up her hand, silently asking her to wait.
“Look. Don’t say it, okay? Just don’t. I . . . “ glancing at the closed bathroom door, Buffy turned once more to face the younger Summers female. “Just don’t say anything, to anyone. Do you understand? To no one.”
“Buffy?” But she was shaking her head in denial.
“Promise me Dawnie. You won’t say anything. Not until after Christmas, okay?” Buffy turned around to face her, leaning on the vanity, her back to the mirror now.
They shared a long look, neither one of them backing down and obvious questions all over Dawn’s features, but Buffy wasn’t going to let her go without a promise. “Dawn. I want that promise.”
“Not until Christmas, right?” Dawn thrust out her hip, letting the baby rest there, all the while searching Buffy’s features for a hint of relenting.
“Yeah, not until then.”
A deep sigh exploded from Dawn’s chest and she nodded her head. “I promise. Not until Christmas. But its cool, coz that’s only two days. I can keep a secret for two days.” She waited a couple of moments, then prodded Buffy in the shoulder. “But that’s all you get. Two days. After that I’m so spilling these beans.”
“I know. But that’s okay. You can spill all you like after Christmas.” Buffy’s lips quirked in a small smile and Dawn fought the squeal that was building in her throat.
“Um. Speaking of Christmas, we need a tree and all that other good stuff you know. All the decorations and stuff.” Dawn pushed open the bathroom door, leading to the hallway, aware that Buffy wasn’t following her. “You want me to get Giles and Xander to go get a tree?”
“Yeah. You do that. I’m going back to bed.”
Buffy watched as Dawn almost skipped down the hallway, mindlessly chirping about Christmas and decorations and presents and all sorts of good things, her mind on the vampire sleeping quietly behind her. I hope he didn’t hear any of that. I’ll beat her senseless if he did.
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No one was at Giles’ when she got to the door, which was why she’d planned this little visit at this time. Giles was probably at the Magic Box and she had no idea what Wesley was doing or why he was still hanging around, but he was. Fishing the spare key out of her pocket, Willow calmly opened the front door. Heading right for the bookshelf, Willow quickly scanned the backs. She was looking for a specific book and she was pretty sure it wasn’t at the Magic Box. While a lot of his books were there, she had a feeling that this one wasn’t. Quickly searching through all the books on his shelves, Willow found the one she wanted.
All righty. Gotcha. This is perfect. Should work really well, after all, I’m much stronger than Jonathan. My magics won’t be unstable. Replacing all the books, Willow grabbed the one she’d come for and with a last glimpse around, she left the apartment.
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Dawn carried Connor into the kitchen, her good mood extending to the infant who was watching her closely. Tara watched from her position by the sink a smile on her features.
“So, you’re in a good mood.”
“Yup. Christmas is nearly here, everyone’s safe and, you know, things are good.” Dawn shrugged a bit, not wanting to focus on anything bad.
“You don’t miss your mom?”
“My mom?” Dawn looked at her quizzically, then realized Tara meant Joyce. “Oh yeah. Sort of. I do miss Joyce. I wish I’d had more real time with her, you know? But honestly, having Buffy back and Spike here is. . . . its like having real parents.” Dawn realized she was treading a fine line, almost telling Tara the truth, but if anyone could keep a secret it was Tara.
“So you think of them, sort of, as parents?” Tara reached for the baby, settling him in the bouncy chair.
Making a decision, Dawn took a deep breath, then spoke. “Well, that’s coz they really are. The journals Wesley brought, it was all in there, how long the monks had been trying to make the key human. They were following the slayers for a long time and because of that they stumbled on a dark warrior, a vampire who kept defeating chosen ones.”
Tara looked up sharply at that, comprehension dawning on her face. “Spike?”
“Yup. He’s fought something like seven Slayers. And one of them died of injuries. . . Anyway, so they were tracking Spike and the Slayers. I wasn’t sure it was Spike until I read the entries from the seventies and that was when he started bleaching his hair.” A soft giggle escaped from Dawn and Tara smiled in response.
“We still aren’t sure if the monks manipulated things so that Spike got caught by the Initiative, but we do know that they were the ones that put the Gem of Amarra in Sunnydale.” Dawn paused, waiting for Tara’s reaction.
“The Initiative took DNA samples from both of them, didn’t they?” At Dawn’s nod, Tara dropped the spoon she was using into the sink and took a look at Connor. “So they used Spiike’s and Buffy’s DNA to create you.”
“Yeah.” Dawn reached into the refrigerator for a drink.
“How do you feel about that?” Tara motioned for the formula, and busied herself with mixing something up in a bowl for Connor.
“What’re you doing? What’s that?” Then quickly back on the subject, said, “it beats having to think about Buffy and someone else – or Spike and someone else.”
Tara looked at her curiously and Dawn elaborated. “Like Buffy and Giles or Spike and Joyce or Buffy and Angel. . . “
The look on Tara’s face when she’d said “Buffy and Giles” was enough for Dawn to collapse into giggles. “See, that’s what I mean.”
“Oh Dawnie, that’s just horrible!”
“What’s horrible?” Giles’ voice sounded from the kitchen doorway and was perplexed when his question was met with nothing more than more giggles.
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Xander had dropped Anya at the Magic Box before heading to Sunnydale General to relieve Wesley. There hadn’t been an opportunity to ask Giles about what he’d seen in the hallway early this morning, and now that he had more time to think about it, he didn’t want to know the truth behind it. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good, because Dawn had been treating Spike like she cared about the bloodsucker. And that was something Xander didn’t want to know about.
Parking his car as close to the entrance as he could, Xander slid through the emergency room doors when no one was looking and headed toward Cordelia’s room. He met no resistance at the door, despite the police presence, which bothered him somewhat, until he opened the door and was knocked back on his ass, landing across the hallway.
“Ooops. Sorry Xander.” The bot leaned over him, guiltless concern flashing in her eyes.
He got to his feet, shaking his head. Pushing open the door, he realized why the bot was in hit-first mode. Wesley was sound asleep, his head resting on the gurney, next to Cordelia’s hand.
Xander approached quietly, debating about waking the sleeping Englishman. Wesley’s uncomfortable position decided him. “Wesley.” He shook his shoulder and wasn’t surprised when Wesley sat up quickly.
“Xander. What time is it?” Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Wesley looked around for his glasses.
“About quarter after twelve.” Looking toward Cordelia, Xander asked, “how is she?”
“They put her in a coma, hoping that would help her heal. Otherwise, they still aren’t sure she’s going to make it.” No need to lie or pretend that Cordelia’s situation wasn’t dire.
“Oh man. How’s the other girl?” Xander pushed Cordelia’s hair away from her face, wincing when nothing happened.
“She’s better, physically, but mentally she’s . . . . they put her in the psychiatric ward.”
Which really, when he thought about it, made perfect sense. Wesley was certain that Cordelia would be in pretty much the same condition if her injuries weren’t so bad.
“Right. I’ll be back later.”
Leaving the Buffybot behind, Wesley took the keys Xander offered him and headed for the door.
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Spike had vaguely heard his girl’s voices, but ignored them. He felt when Buffy climbed back into the bed, and his arms circled around her, pulling her close against him. One hand forced itself under her head, the other grasping her hip, then slid down to press against her belly. He murmured something completely unintelligible, kissing the back of her neck.
Buffy closed her eyes, snuggling tighter in his arms. Gonna have to tell him soon. Christmas morning. That’s when I’ll do it. Images of how she was going to tell him weaving in and around her thoughts, Buffy fell asleep.
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Dawn was trying to convince Giles to take her and get a Christmas tree, which he was trying to resist by telling her his car wasn’t the right one to be using when Wesley walked in the door.
He greeted them all, asking Tara, “how is Oz feeling?”
“Much better, he was looking for something to eat.” She indicated the melting ice cream on the counter.
“Wesley, please tell Giles we need a Christmas tree.” Dawn looking up at him, her big eyes pleading.
“Right.” She hadn’t turned that look on him in weeks, but Wesley was still powerless against it. “Well, I’m back with Xander’s car. But the Jeep is free. That would be best to transport the tree.”
Giles gave Wesley an unhappy look that clearly indicated he didn’t want to go and he was more than a little aggravated with Wesley for pointing out that the Jeep was available.
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Lawson looked around the mansion, taking his time picking out a room. Most of the minions were already asleep, resting warily in light of Angel’s extreme displeasure. His progress through the rooms was hindered by Drusilla’s humming presence trailing behind him, but Lawson didn’t dare wave her off.
It was obvious she wasn’t going to leave him alone until he’d chosen a place to sleep and he was equally certain that she wasn’t to do so on Angel’s orders. He was just about to exit the room he was thinking of taking when her voice stopped his forward movement.
“Who are you sailor boy? Daddy made you, to be certain sure. . . but Miss Edith doesn’t know when . . . and she’s ever so curious.”
“It was the fall of 1943, in a submarine in the North Atlantic.” He paused, looking at the female vampire. “Does that help Miss Edith?”
“Mmmmmmm” she swayed a bit, listening to the voices in her head. “It does, but Miss Edith needs to see you, come along now.”
Grabbing his arm with surprising strength, Drusilla pulled him into her room.
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They both woke up at the same time to the sounds of doors opening and closing, then feet pounding on the stairs. Buffy rolled over to face her mate, her eyes barely opened and she nestled closer into his arms. Her voice was sleep husky and Spike smiled slightly at her words. “I thought we got rid of all these people who shouldn’t be living here.”
He chuckled, his hand gently slapping her rump. “Bad pennies, love, they keep comin’ back.”
“Maybe if you were grumpier they’d all leave?” Buffy sounded hopeful.
“Any grumpier an’ I’d be just like the Watcher.” Spike rolled over onto his back pulling her along with him. She thumped him gently on the chest, then started to teasingly give him a hard time, when the noises from the hallway got louder.
Dawn’s voice came closer to their room and then her knock sounded on the door. “C’mon you two get your lazy butts outta bed. We got a tree.”
Spike looked at Buffy. “A tree?”
“Christmas tree. Dawnie wanted a real one and since our old fake one is nasty, I said it was okay.”
“Guys? You are like the biggest slugs.” Dawn stuck her head in the door. “Geez. Get outta bed already.”
Spike rolled over again, grousing good naturedly. “All right bit, we’re working on it.”
“Good, coz everyone’s here and Oz is up.” Dawn’s enthusiasm was infectious and Buffy found herself responding.
“I’m up. We’ll be down in a minute.”
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Angel growled in his sleep, reaching for Drusilla. It had taken him hours and two bottles of whiskey to calm down his anger and his sleep was restless as a consequence of his temper.
Drusilla was sleeping beside him and in response to his unrest she rolled over and wrapped her bare arms around him.
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The tree was decorated. All the lights and decorations were hanging from the boughs. Buffy watched Dawn and Tara moving around the tree, trying to make it perfect. She didn’t have the heart to tell them that it couldn’t be perfect, but looking at their faces she got the feeling they already knew that.
Connor was rolling around the floor, crawling between various feet and generally being a complete distraction. And strangely no one seemed to mind. Every few moments someone would pick him up, show him the Christmas lights and then, when he squirmed too much, put him back down on the floor. Right now, Spike had him, and he was tickling the baby’s sides as he dangled him in the air.
She glanced at Dawn who had stopped whatever she was doing to watch them, a knowing smirk on her face. Buffy sighed.
Two days. I’ve got two days to figure out how to tell him. How am I gonna do this?
[A/N: I’m working on these chapters like a madwoman, trying to finish one of these stories, but honestly, it looks like Baby Love is gonna get finished first. . . . but hey, if its any consolation, I have another story just waiting to be told. . . Title is from one of the quotes and the quotes are as attributed; and the poem Spike quotes is from Samuel Taylor Coleridge (Love). Disclaimers are in full force and effect.]
Previously: Cordelia is in hospital; Angel’s had another Aurelian vampire show up in response to his call; Willow’s planning something and Buffy’s trying to figure out how to tell Spike something. This starts Christmas Eve.Book Two. Chapter 33. Unending lightning.
the moment of a miracle is unending lightning ...
Dylan Thomas, On the Marriage of a Virgin.
I think miracles exist in part as gifts and in part as clues
that there is something beyond the flat world we see.
Peggy Noonan
Just hours after dark, the same day Lawson had shown up, Angel heard from Jenner, another one of Darla’s; and strangely enough, Rebecca and Toussaint. The last two he’d long since forgotten about, but apparently they, like Lawson, felt the call to be something of an order. Jenner was closest, already in New York and he’d be arriving in Los Angeles sometime during the night. Toussaint and Rebecca were coming in from Miami, but wouldn’t be arriving until later.
But they were coming. Feeling a bit better now that numbers were on his side, Angel relaxed and allowed the remaining minions free rein to hunt. The holidays were always a good time to find careless humans to feed on.
Wesley was becoming a permanent fixture in Cordelia’s ICU ward, so much so that her doctors jokingly referred to him as “the husband”. He was sitting with her again on Christmas Eve, so that Xander and Anya could have some time to themselves. And so that none of the others had to spend time away, especially Spike.
Buffy’s mysterious illness hadn’t eased at all, in fact, looked to be getting worse. She was having trouble eating anything and the constant vomiting wasn’t helping. Poor girl looked terrible and he thought perhaps she was starting to loose weight. Weight she could ill afford to loose.
Wesley shook his thoughts free of Buffy when Cordelia shifted restlessly. Although the doctors were slowly weaning her off the drugs that were keeping her comatose, Cordelia’s responses were still non-existent to outside stimuli. Wesley was beginning to fear that Cordelia might not ever recover. And when he’d expressed those fears to Giles, the elder man had just peered over his glasses and simply said, “perhaps she might be. . . . well, she would be at peace then.”
From that moment on, Wesley wasn’t sure what outcome would be preferable. An alive yet broken Cordelia or a dead and at peace one. Good god what a thing to contemplate.
When his concerns had leached into his conversation with Gunn, there had been no hesitation in the other’s voice. He simply asked “are you with his ex?”
And when Wesley had answered in the affirmative, Gunn’s response had been “we’ll be there day after Christmas.”
And that had been the end of that. Conversation over. Wesley couldn’t dissuade them from coming, so sometime tomorrow, Gunn and Fred would be arriving in Sunnydale.
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For nearly two days she’d wracked her brains, trying to come up with some way of telling Spike why she’d been throwing up. His worry over her had grown the longer she kept vomiting and she’d started hiding from him, avoiding him as much as she could which was next to impossible because they shared a bed. Buffy knew it was silly, but she had to keep biting her tongue. Buffy wanted him to know, she needed very much to tell him, but she was also determined to wait until Christmas.
Coming up with various ways to spring her Christmas present on him and discarding every single one, Buffy was now at a complete loss. They were out patrolling and really there was no reason except that Angelus and Drusilla were out there. It was after midnight, she could just blurt it out. And how lame is that? Buffy looked over at Spike, who was just as lost in thought as she was. The duster swirled around his feet as they walked through the silent cemetery. Slipping her arm through his, Buffy smiled up at him.
He cocked his head to the side, gazing down at her. “You all right pet?”
“Yup.” She smiled as an idea came to her suddenly. “Its after midnight. Wanna head home and celebrate Christmas?”
Spike pretended to consider this. “Dunno, sunshine. Shouldn’t we be out here protecting everyone from the sinister creatures of the night?”
Buffy pouted just a little. “I think we can call it a night.”
He swung her around in his arms, so that they were facing each other. His arms circled round her waist and he stared down at her in the cool night air. The moon illuminated her features making her look ethereal in his eyes. His gaze roved over her features, drinking in her countenance. One of his thumbs brushed across her soft cheek. The look in his eyes changed the longer he looked at her.
Buffy started to speak, but his thumb brushing over her lips held her silent. His voice, when he spoke was soft and low, his words warming her through. “And in life's noisiest hour, there whispers still the ceaseless love of thee, the heart's self-solace and soliloquy. You mould my hopes, you fashion me within, and to the leading love-throb in the heart thro' all my being, thro' my pulse's beat,” he paused, whispering softly, “though it beats not.“ and he paused once more, searching for the rest of the words, “you lie in all my many thoughts, like light, like the fair light of dawn, or summer eve on rippling stream, or cloud-reflecting lake, and looking to the Heaven, that bends above you, how oft I bless the lot that made me love you.”
When he was finished, Buffy had tears in her eyes, but still he wouldn’t let her speak. Tugging her close, Spike whispered into her ear, “let’s go home love.”
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I should have decided on this sooner. This is perfect. And it won’t take long. And I can so do this without even blinking. If Jonathan could do this – Hah! Willow paced around the confines of her bedroom, the grimoire that she’d taken from Giles’ in her hands.
Okie dokie. So now I need to concentrate and alter this just a bit. Change that wording. . . . leaning over her desk, Willow crossed out a few lines of the incantation, replacing them with others that better fit her intentions. Not wanting to be the center of everything – not like Jonathan. Just want everything the way it should be. She didn’t care about being in the limelight, if anything, she didn’t want that at all, so that called for the changes.
Her excitement bubbled over, causing her to almost bounce with every step. Okay, Willow, this isn’t good and you can’t afford to make mistakes. So calm down. Folding her legs beneath her, Willow sunk down on the floor, forcing her mind to blankness. Focusing on a soothing calming mantra, Willow prepared herself for the ritual.
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Anya watched Xander get ready for bed, a yawn stretching her features wide. “I really don’t understand why you are still insisting on going to the hospital tomorrow. Its not like Cordelia knows you’re there.”
“That’s not the point Ahn. Someone needs to sit with her, talk to her and protect her in case Angel and his fangy bunch decide to visit.” Xander looked at her over his shoulder, frustration on his features. Do we have to argue now?
She made a snorting noise somewhere in the back of her throat that totally skeeved him. “Please Xander. You can’t possibly believe that. You wouldn’t stand a chance against Angel and you know it. If you got hurt then we’d have to worry about you and then there would be no snuggling or orgasms for a very long time.” Anya paused, then said, “besides, that’s why the bot is there.”
“Way to make me feel useless.” Shaking his head Xander got up to leave the room. “I’m gonna watch some tv.”
Shocked almost speechless, Anya made some protesting noises, but Xander just waved her off and headed for the living room. Slumping back down on the bed, Anya muttered to herself, “can’t speak the truth anymore. He never wants to hear it any way.”
Grumbling some more, Anya rolled over onto her side facing the wall. “Stupid man.” Thinking to herself, she fought the tears that were threatening. Instead, Anya concentrated on all the things she and the other girls had to do in the morning.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tara and Oz were both still up when they got home putting the final touches on the Christmas tree and piling presents underneath.
Buffy stopped short, her mouth agape as she looked at everything. “Wow.”
The lights were all out, except for the tree and Tara was sitting on the floor, giving Connor a bottle while Oz rested on the couch.
“Look at you, all earth mothery.”
Tara blushed, ducking her head, when Spike added, “pretty as a picture.”
“He just woke up crying, figured might as well feed him.” Connor tugged on the strands of her hair, begging for attention. “Hey little man, don’t pull so hard.”
“Oh yeah, that’s such a bad habit.” Buffy commiserated with her as she came further into the living room. “Where’s Dawnie?”
“She went upstairs a little while ago. Said she was tired.” Tara hid a yawn, but Buffy saw it.
“So not the only one there.” Glancing at the clock, which read one fifteen, Buffy said, “maybe its time all of us started dreaming of sugar plums.”
Spike locked the front door, motioning to all of them, “go on, I’ll wait up for St. Nick.”
Oz signaled his agreement, slowly getting to his feet, nursing his injuries. Waving his goodnights, he headed for the basement and Tara’s room.
“You sure?” Tara’s voice broke the hushed silence and Spike shook his head. “G’on Glinda, ‘ve got some things I need to see to.”
Handing Connor to Buffy, Tara got to her feet, wished them both a Merry Christmas and followed Oz.
Spike watched Buffy for long moments, not saying a word. She yawned and he knelt down in front of her, one hand resting on her shoulder. “Go on up kitten. Take the sprog with you. I’ll be up shortly.”
Leaning into his touch, Buffy murmured a question against his neck and Spike just kissed her forehead in answer. “I’m sure kitten. Go, be up in a few ticks.”
Getting gracefully to his feet, Spike took the baby and helped her up. Pulling her toward the stairs, Spike whispered, “be up before you know it, love.”
“Okay.” Without much more prodding Buffy lifted the almost sleeping infant to her shoulder and ascended the stairs.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Spike waited a few minutes, his ears pricked to listen for anyone sneaking around, then, when he heard nothing out of the ordinary, he headed for the back door. He’d bought presents for his girls, even Glinda and even broken down and purchased something for his two fellow Brits. The trick had been hiding it all from Buffy’s over-inquisitive nature.
His girl was a snoop. And Dawn was just as bad.
At first he’d hidden everything in the DeSoto’s trunk, but when he caught her sneaking out with his keys, he knew that wasn’t safe enough. He’d stashed most of it at Rupert’s putting the bigger items in the shed. Giles would bring over the rest in the morning, but he needed to get the stuff out of the shed.
It didn’t take him long to move the gifts. Most of what he’d gotten was small and still at the Watcher’s. Tossing the gifts on top of the fairly decent-sized pile and placing one out of sight behind the couch, Spike made one more circuit of the house, securing all the doors and windows, finally making his way up the stairs.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Buffy hadn’t wasted any time once she was in the bedroom. Laying Connor down in his crib, Buffy brushed a kiss on the back of his head and quickly stripped off her clothes. She thought about putting on one of her old nightgowns and discarded that idea. Slipping into the barely-there all lace nightie that she knew Spike loved, Buffy sat down on the bed, pen and paper in hand.
Quickly she wrote down some things, then stopped. Is this the best way to do it? Thinking hard, she crossed out what she had just written, then realized she needed a new piece of paper. Taking a new one, Buffy thought for a moment, then wrote down something furiously, not crossing out anything. She hesitated when she got to the end, took a deep breath and finished what she was writing. Buffy hoped this would be enough. Not because she didn’t want him to know, she did. Oh god, I wanna tell him. She just didn’t know how else to tell him. Looking down at the paper, she wrote one more thing down and figured that would be enough. It had to be. She couldn’t think of any other clever way to tell him.
Sighing once, Buffy realized she was being cowardly about this. She just really didn’t know how else to tell him. Praying that it would be enough, Buffy switched off the main light and climbed back into the bed. The bedside light was still on and she put the piece of paper on his pillow. Laying down with her back to the door, she whispered a tiny wish that he wouldn’t be upset with her when he read it.
Thankfully she didn’t have all that long to wait, because she hadn’t been laying down long enough to fall asleep when he came into the room humming softly. She tried not to tense up, knowing he would pick up on it, instead she let her hand drift down to cover her belly, waiting.
By the rustling movements behind her and the dip on the bed, she could guess what he was doing. Boots first. The sound of metallic snaps was followed by the thumps signaling their removal. Then the almost silent sound of his shirt being removed and the dull thump of it hitting the wall by the bathroom. His weight disappeared from the bed and she could hear the snap and snick of leather and steel as he undid his belt. His jeans were off and the bed dipped once more under his weight.
Spike laid down on the bed, his head disturbing the paper she’d left for him. He grumbled something low that she strained to catch but couldn’t because she was very intent on breathing steadily. “What the bleedin’ hell. . . “
His voice trailed off into silence and he didn’t even breathe. He was silent for so long, it seemed endless but really wasn’t nearly that long because she only inhaled twice. Spike moved closer to her, his hand on her hip, his fingers curling around the smooth muscles of her hip. He spoke her name into her ear and she felt him move again. His left hand flexed on her hip, then moved to cover hers, which was still covering her belly.
Linking his fingers with hers, Spike gently forced her onto her back. “Look at me sweetheart.”
Slowly, Buffy rolled back, opening her eyes as she did. He was propped up on his elbow, leaning over her, staring down into her eyes.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
She was in bed when he got up the stairs, the bedside lamp throwing shadows over her still form. Without realizing it, he knew she was still awake, but he decided against ragging her about it. Buffy still wasn’t feeling well, and he’d been cutting her slack for the last couple of days because of it, but if she didn’t get over it soon, he was going to push the issue and make her go to the doctor.
Sitting down on the bed, he unsnapped and unlaced his boots, then drew his shirt off and tossed it at the bathroom door. The boots were under the table and Spike stood to shuck off his jeans, stepping out of them and leaving them on the floor. He laid down on the bed, and instead of soft cottony pillow beneath his cheek there was crackly paper.
“What the bleedin’ hell. . . . “
He stopped speaking when he saw what it was in his hand. It was a list, in Buffy’s handwriting, of all those potentials that Rupert mentioned when he’d gotten back from his last trip to London. Names of the girls and dates. Approximate date of death and then the dates of their first born. Spike’s eyes slid to the bottom of the page.
There were new names on the list.
Darla Witherspoon. The date of her first turning, then dusting, her return from wherever she’d been, and then the date of Connor’s birth.
And then, at the very bottom was a new set of names.
Buffy Anne Summers, died May 2001, resurrected August 2001.
Then next to that two more words: son/daughter followed by a question mark.
And finally, a few more words. Fathered by William the Bloody, also known as Spike.
He stared down at the paper in his hands, unable to think, unable to breathe. He watched as the paper drifted to the floor, his mind whirling with thousands of different thoughts. He rolled over, propping his head on his right hand, placing his left hand on the curve of her hip. His fingers flexed gently, tightening his grip on her at the same instant her name breathed from his lips into her ear.
Her hand was cupped around her still flat belly and he slid his bigger hand over hers, meshing their fingers together. Spike tugged her closer, pushing her gently onto her back, as he whispered “look at me sweetheart.”
A soft, tentative smile broke out on her face, but it didn’t reach her eyes. They were filled with tearful uncertainty, questions teeming in the depths of her night-darkened eyes. Spike squeezed the fingers that were still laying on her belly and he gazed steadily down at her. He opened his mouth to speak, then stopped. His eyes roamed over her face, and he watched, fascinated, when a single tear pooled in the grassy-green depths.
“Buffy. . . .” His voice rolled through her, the deep husky tones sending shivers down her spine and settling in her belly. Her eyes started to drift closed, just drinking in the intoxicating rhythm of her name.
“Buffy?”
A thousand questions in that one word, a hundred million or more, and yet they all centered on the same thing. He needed an answer, needed to know and so, too, did she.
The smile that lit her face drew fire from his touch, from the look in his eyes. It was fierce and primal and went beyond anything they had ever touched upon before. She was mesmerized by that fire and she willingly surrendered to it.
“Yeah?” Her arm hooked under the one his head was leaning on and she slid closer to him, their faces bare inches apart. The world shrunk to just them, to the space between and she eyed him coyly.
“When?” He leaned further over her, his body shielding them both from the outside, craving the heat and shelter he found only within her. His warmth was stoked higher by her response and Spike itched to kiss her, but he needed to know. . . . everything.
“August.” She averted her eyes, shying from the profound emotions swirling in his cerulean eyes. His eyes had always had an intoxicating power over her, from the very first. His eyes told secrets, held promises that she hadn’t always been willing to understand. . . and now, his eyes held her world.
Another softly worded question caught her attention. “You sure?”
This time her eyes held the hint of a smile. “Very sure.” She paused, the fingers on both hands brushing over his skin. “I got a test and went to the. . . Dr. Thomas confirmed it.”
He hesitated, absorbing the enormous news she’d just imparted to him. Spike was in shock, he supposed, he couldn’t complete a thought, couldn’t actually formulate words. “Buffy. . . . “
“Are you okay?” The question was absurd, coming from her and he chuckled slightly.
“Yeah. ‘M bloody fine. Question is, how’re you?” He dropped further down on the bed and she automatically fitted her body to his.
“I’m okay.” Her arm was trapped between his arm and his head and Buffy brought it up to play with the curls just behind his ear. His fingers disengaged from the hand on her belly to rub little circles over her lace covered skin. His touch was electrifying, sending sparks through her muscles.
“Spike. . . .are you okay with this?” Buffy’s eyes searched his, trying to find . . . . trying to gauge his emotions. His thumb brushed over her lower lip, halting her words.
“Kitten. . . . “ His hand brushed down the length of her torso, once more resting over her belly. His fingers nudged her hand away, then splayed over her, covering her from hip to hip. “Here yeah?”
“Yeah.” She had no idea what he was doing or thinking. He stared at the spot, his eyes hidden from hers. Tentatively she laid her hand over his. She opened her mouth to speak, to ask him once more if he was all right, when his voice broke the still night.
“Buffy . . . This. . . “ His voice broke and she realized he was fighting tears. “Never thought, not in a hundred years, there’d be more ‘en jus’ the life Dru gave me. Never. . . . stopped hopin’ after a bit, jus’ gave up. And then ,” he paused again trying to gain more control, “then there was you. Threw me for a loop you did. Turned me upside down. Made me want things again. Gave me m’dreams back. I love you Buffy. With all that I am. Man. Monster. Every last part of me.”
He moved then, lifting his eyes to hers. Tears filled those ocean blue depths, but before she could speak, his voice raw with emotions she’d never heard, he started speaking. “Now. . . . now you’ve given me the world. You. . . This is my baby in your belly. . . . mine.”
His voice broke and a tear dropped down upon her breast. “‘ve got the family William always wanted. My woman. . . My children.”
He shook his head. “I love you.” Another tear fell and Spike leaned closer to her, his lips brushing hers. Buffy smiled, arching into his touch.
“Spike. I love you too.” She kissed him back. “So you are happy about this.”
A chuckle broke through his lips. “Yeah, sunshine, ’m happy. Question is, are you?”
This time a blinding smile crossed her features, reaching her eyes. “Ahuh. Color me happy Buffy.”
His arms lifted her up as he rolled onto his back. Settling her over his body, Spike grinned. “Happy Christmas, love.”
Buffy fitted her legs on either side of his hips. “Same to you.”
Spike pulled her head down, kissing her hungrily. “Kitten. . . . this is okay, right?”
“Yeah. Oh yeah. . . . “ Her hands tightened around his biceps, holding on tightly as he nudged his erection against her. Buffy settled on him, inching back so that his cock was nestled up against her butt. “Spike. . . I need you.”
“Need you too, sunshine. So bloody much.” His hands gripped her hips, lifting her slightly. Buffy let go of his left arm, her hand circling his erection, positioning him at her entrance. Leaving her hand there, Buffy felt it as her pussy engulfed him, liquid fire spreading through her body. She writhed a bit, adjusting to his size and he groaned, bucking his hips up. “Fuckin’ hell. . . so tight. . . “
He thrust hard again as she ground down on his cock, sinking down so their groins were touching. “Spike. . . need more. . “
He twitched his hips and she was rolling, her back landing on the mattress and he thrust hard in the same motion, driving her up against the headboard. Spike’s arms landed on either side of her head, his weight resting on his palms. His eyes held a hint of mischief and he quipped, “hello cutie.”
Buffy slid her legs up, her knees just under his arms, changing the angle of his entry, so that he was scraping against that soft spot within her on every thrust. Her breath came in short gasps, his name slipping from her. Spike drove into her, grunting against her neck. Buffy had to put her arms over her head, bracing herself against the headboard, matching his rhythms.
“Oh god. . . . oh. . . . Spike!” Buffy shrieked out his name as her first orgasm ripped through her. Spike shifted, bringing one of Buffy’s legs up over his arm without breaking his rhythm. His mouth sucked on the pulse points of her jugular, cool against the heat of her but instead of soothing her, it just set off more tremors.
Spike felt her nails dig into his back and sides, raising blood to the surface of his skin, and he vamped, letting his fangs score the mating marks, while she gripped him tighter. He was gasping for air that he didn’t need, his chest heaving with the effort. “Love you. . . oh god woman, I do. . . . f’rever.”
He rolled his hips, pistoning into her hard, his pubic bone hitting her clit and he could feel his balls tightening, drawing up. He was impossibly hard, and the cords in his neck stood out as he refrained from biting into her. Spike lifted his head away from her neck and growled out his frustration. Her name was a prayer on his lips as he fought his own nature.
A warm hand cupped his cheek, then pulled him back down to her, guiding him to her veins. “Its okay, please. . . . I need you too.” She whispered against his mouth before she rubbed her tongue over his fangs.
“Buffy. . . . “ he almost whined her name into her mouth, struggling not to slice open her tongue. “Shouldn’t. . . not now.”
“Yes now. Especially now.” Buffy cupped her hands around his face, holding him still between her legs. “Spike. . . . we need this connection. I need it. I want you to feel what I’m feeling. Right now.”
He dropped his head, letting her lips brush across his brow ridges, his breath gusting heavily across the tops of her breasts. He was quiet, his hips moving slowly, languidly thrusting into her as she tightened all her muscles around him. He growled low in his chest, the words harsh and guttural, swimming with emotion. “Are you sure, sunshine?”
“Oh god, Spike, I’ve never been more sure. . . Please .” Buffy stared into his amber eyes, willing him to make that final move. “Please. . . Spike. . . “
He slid out of game face, his blue eyes staring hard into hers. “I love you kitten, don’t wanna hurt you.”
“You won’t. Not now, not ever.” Buffy leaned up, her tongue dancing across his lips.
Searching her eyes one last time, Spike deepened the kiss, his tongue mating with hers. Buffy arched up into him, her arms and legs holding onto him. She broke away from his kiss watching as he morphed back into game face. His teeth nipped at her lip, far too gently to break the skin and then he nestled his face into her neck. Once more scraping his fangs against her skin, Spike growled softly, then as he surged into her, he broke the skin over her veins.
Her life’s blood flowed over his tongue, pooling in his mouth, her essence filling him. She tasted better, sweeter, stronger, heavier. . . . headier . His head was spinning, swirling with the emotional tempest inside her, his ears ringing and he swore his heart thumped once with joy. She tasted of heaven, of starshine and dewdrops, of soft lilting lullabies and ocean deep awe. He groaned into her skin, tasting the salty sweet sweat mingling with her coppery blood. Another pull of her blood into his mouth and there it was, just a shadow of a taste, but it was there . . . . the mingling of them both, the promise of a future he’d never dreamed he would have. . .
Their child.
Book Two, Chapter 32. The promise of daylight.
Our lives are like the course of the sun.
At the darkest moment there is the promise of daylight.
London Times, Christmas editorial 24 December 84
The gloom of the world is but a shadow. Behind it, yet within our reach, is joy. There is radiance and glory in the darkness, could we but see; and to see, we have only to look.
And so, at this Christmas time, I greet you; not quite as the world sends greetings, but with profound esteem, and with the prayer that for you, now and forever, the day breaks and the shadows flee away.
Fra Giovanni, A Letter to Contessina Allagia Dela Aldobrandeschi,
Written Christmas Eve 1513
Maureen Osborne slipped into the dark private ICU room, checking on the comatose patient within. Wesley stirred when she adjusted the sheet around Cordelia, lifting his head to watch her movements. The short, slightly round woman whispered her apology for waking hm, which Wesley just waved off.
“That other girl you brought in? The one that wasn’t as badly injured – she refuses to give her name. She’s terrified.” Waiting a moment to see Wesley’s reaction, she continued, “Dr. Thomas has her in isolation in the psych ward. She might,” she paused, shaking her head, “she’s in very bad shape.”
“Thank” Wesley cleared his throat, then finished speaking, “thank you for telling me. I’ll try and go see her later, if it can be arranged.”
Maureen Osborne’s “I think that would be possible” was whispered as softly as she slipped out of the door.
Wesley glanced over at the Buffybot, who smiled brightly, then resumed her sentinel’s stance by the doorway. Once more saying a silent prayer for Cordelia, Wesley closed his eyes.
“Need anything?”
“No Chief, I’m good. Brought along some of my own supplies.” The tall, thin, good-looking, dark-haired man eyed Drusilla, but said nothing more.
“You can take any of the rooms on the second floor. Take any of the girls, except Dru.” Angel motioned him into the main living room, snapping orders for the minions to start a fire. “Surprised you responded. Where were you?”
“Been in the Sea-Tac area. It was just a place to call home. Didn’t take long to get here either.” He walked around the room, taking note of the furnishings and the assorted weaponry. “Have to admit Chief, the summons surprised me. Thought about ignoring it. But,” he grinned, facing Angel, “had the ring of an order. So here I am.”
“Good. We’ve got things to do. But for now, Lawson, I just need a drink.” Sinking his fangs into Ray’s captive, Angel fixed his gaze on the last childe he’d turned, while Drusilla hummed and laughed in the background.
Spike tried kicking off his boots while keeping the bottle in Connor’s mouth, quickly realizing that he needed more than two hands to do that. Propping the bottle on a pillow, Spike laid Connor down next to Buffy and bent to his boots.
Loud rumblings sounded from the baby’s belly as he drank and Spike had to laugh. The boy sounded more and more like him every day. He wouldn’t be surprised if the boy made those noises because both his parents were vampires, but he secretly hoped it was because the baby had a soft spot for his Uncle Spike.
Buffy muttered something in her almost sleep that sounded suspiciously like, “come to bed.”
Spike shucked off his jeans, then pulled his tee-shirt over his head. Moving Connor closer to Buffy, Spike slid into the bed, the now wide awake infant between them. Blue eyes very much like his mother’s twinkled at Spike, smiling at him despite the nipple in his mouth. Little legs kicking in the air, Connor was playing, no longer in the mood for the bottle. When Spike exhibited no desire to play right along with him, Connor screwed up his features like there was lemon juice in his bottle rather than milk.
“Oh no you don’t little man. Buffy’s jus’ gone to sleep. No wakin’ her’p coz you wanna play. Maybe later, spawn, but not now.” In an effort to settle him down, Spike hummed a little, then used his thumb to brush over where the infant’s ridge line would be if he was all vampire. Connor seemed to like that, because his eyes started drifting closed. All right then . . . good to know that old trick still works.
His eyes flickered between the other two in the bed with him, a soft smile spreading over his features. Too tired to form words, Spike heard the words echoing in his head, felt Buffy respond and then allowed his own eyes to drift closed.
Gurgling little noises and the soft rumble of Spike’s purrs broke through the sleepy haze her mind and body had been basking in. Buffy curled closer to the source of those noises, slowly coming to wakefulness, prompted by the sounds. Little hands brushed over her face, tangling in loose strands of her hair, innocently pulling on the long strands. Languidly Buffy moved her hand up to disentangle the tiny fingers and slowly cracked open one eye when those tiny hands grabbed her fingers and pulled one of them towards the gaping mouth. Gnawing on the digit, Connor continued gurgling happily, his little legs pumping and squirming between the two adults. Spike made some noise, then wrapped a big hand around one of the baby’s legs, unconsciously trying to still his movements. Letting the baby use her as a chew toy, Buffy closed her eyes again and tried to go back to sleep.
Craving the heat generated by the two bodies in bed with him, Spike shifted closer, his hand leaving the wriggling legs of the baby to grasp the curve of a hip that he knew lay just beyond. A deep rumbling sigh drifted up from his chest and one leg snaked between hers, anchoring them together. Content now that he was warmer, Spike settled down to a deeper sleep, having not once opened his eyes.
Dawn hesitated at the door, torn between doing what Spike had asked in the early hours of the morning and not wanting to disturb any of them. But it was almost noon, and it was more than likely that demon baby would start howling for his bottle. She couldn’t believe that he hadn’t done so already. Maybe the double bottle trick was working. Dawn could hear the sounds of Tara rustling about in the kitchen, searching out the makings of a huge dinner and another part of her was tempted to go downstairs and forget all about Connor. She sighed, thinking, yeah, sure and Spike won’t look at me all disappointed like I’m Bara’qua demon slime. Sighing again, Dawn turned the door’s handle and slipped inside.
The three of them were tucked up underneath the blankets, the baby in the middle while Buffy and Spike flanked him. They looked so sweet. Just like a real family. Dawn felt a pang of something very close to jealousy stab into her. Really not fair he gets this. I’m way too big to sleep in between them and, eeewww anyway, coz they like do stuff in that bed. And telling herself all that didn’t really help, because a big part of her wanted to climb into that bed with them and be their little girl. Silently cursing the monks for getting most of her life wrong, Dawn sighed a little bit, watching Spike’s hand flex over Buffy’s hip. There was some answering movement and Buffy’s hand came to rest on Spike’s forearm, holding on tightly. They really do look like a family. From nowhere special came little tears, forming silently at the corners of her eyes and Dawn blinked rapidly to dispel them. She didn’t want to cry over this, it was silly and stupid and so very babyish. The monks had made her a teenager, not a baby and she had some good memories. . . and so what if they weren’t really real? They were still good. Her memories of Buffy, growing up in Los Angeles were good memories. She only wished sometimes that the monks had finished the job, given her real memories of Spike, and what it might have been like to really be theirs.
Okay, so back then Spike probably wouldn’t have been all that happy, since Buffy would have been five, but . . . and Dawn stifled a giggle at that thought. He probably still would’ve fallen in love with her, which is beyond ookie, but Dawn figured Spike would understand what she meant, if she ever got the courage to talk to him about some of the things she was thinking. She wondered sometimes, too, if Spike would have fallen in love with Buffy anyway, even without the interference of the monks. And then she remembered Willow’s back-fired will-be-done spell and wondered how much of a mistake that had really been. Maybe the monks had shifted something then, playing with all of them, making it so that Buffy and Spike fell in love. . . . Dawn eyed the sleeping couple on the bed, mental calculations forming. Spike got chipped in the early fall, just after UC Sunnydale classes had started, and Willow’s spell happened just after Thanksgiving. . . . Giles had nearly pinpointed the moment their memories had been altered, and it was about nine months later, give or take a couple of days. No way. Could it have taken the monks all that time? Like a real baby?
A tentative smiled bloomed on her face, and had either of the two sleeping adults seen it, they would have been very happy. Each of them had been worried about their girl, ever since the truth behind her parentage had been revealed, but neither one was sure how to get her to open up. Dawn admitted to herself that she’d been a little difficult lately, and winced as she remembered the shouting match she’d had with Buffy not long after Connor had arrived. Stepping closer to the bed, Dawn reached out to smooth the blanket over Spike’s foot. Buffy stirred again, a soft groan of discomfort emerging from her and her movements picked up. Reaching over to lift Connor from the bed, Dawn was surprised when a warm hand stopped her.
“What are you doing?” Buffy’s voice was barely more than a whisper.
“Spike asked me to take him so you guys could get enough sleep.” Dawn’s answer was equally soft.
Letting her hand go, Buffy groaned again, her hand dropping down to cover her belly. “I’m sort of awake anyway. Might as . . . “ Hazel eyes snapped open and Buffy got a funny look on her face, as the words died in her throat. “Ugh. Hang on.”
Dawn watched, her mouth hanging open as Buffy scrambled from the bed and headed straight for the bathroom, a tight look on her face. Furrowing her brows, Dawn lifted Connor up and followed her into the bathroom.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” She asked, when she found Buffy with her head hanging over the toilet, puking up her guts.
“Some bug I got.” Buffy grumped back at her, determined this time not to cry. It was one thing in front of Spike, but she wasn’t going to do that with Dawn hovering over her.
“Bug?” Dawn stared down at the top of Buffy’s head and nearly laughed. “A bug? What kind of a bug?” She couldn’t keep the sarcasm from her voice.
“Dunno. Stop asking me.” Buffy leaned up and flushed the toilet, then got to her feet and using her finger, scrubbed away the icky taste from her mouth. God, I wanna puke again. She lifted her head, meeting her sister’s. . . no, her daughter’s eyes in the mirror. There was amused disbelief in Dawn’s clear blue gaze, so very much like her father’s that Buffy wanted to scream in that moment, but she didn’t. Instead she stared Dawn down, a set look on her features.
“Buffy. . . “ Dawn started to speak, but Buffy held up her hand, silently asking her to wait.
“Look. Don’t say it, okay? Just don’t. I . . . “ glancing at the closed bathroom door, Buffy turned once more to face the younger Summers female. “Just don’t say anything, to anyone. Do you understand? To no one.”
“Buffy?” But she was shaking her head in denial.
“Promise me Dawnie. You won’t say anything. Not until after Christmas, okay?” Buffy turned around to face her, leaning on the vanity, her back to the mirror now.
They shared a long look, neither one of them backing down and obvious questions all over Dawn’s features, but Buffy wasn’t going to let her go without a promise. “Dawn. I want that promise.”
“Not until Christmas, right?” Dawn thrust out her hip, letting the baby rest there, all the while searching Buffy’s features for a hint of relenting.
“Yeah, not until then.”
A deep sigh exploded from Dawn’s chest and she nodded her head. “I promise. Not until Christmas. But its cool, coz that’s only two days. I can keep a secret for two days.” She waited a couple of moments, then prodded Buffy in the shoulder. “But that’s all you get. Two days. After that I’m so spilling these beans.”
“I know. But that’s okay. You can spill all you like after Christmas.” Buffy’s lips quirked in a small smile and Dawn fought the squeal that was building in her throat.
“Um. Speaking of Christmas, we need a tree and all that other good stuff you know. All the decorations and stuff.” Dawn pushed open the bathroom door, leading to the hallway, aware that Buffy wasn’t following her. “You want me to get Giles and Xander to go get a tree?”
“Yeah. You do that. I’m going back to bed.”
Buffy watched as Dawn almost skipped down the hallway, mindlessly chirping about Christmas and decorations and presents and all sorts of good things, her mind on the vampire sleeping quietly behind her. I hope he didn’t hear any of that. I’ll beat her senseless if he did.
No one was at Giles’ when she got to the door, which was why she’d planned this little visit at this time. Giles was probably at the Magic Box and she had no idea what Wesley was doing or why he was still hanging around, but he was. Fishing the spare key out of her pocket, Willow calmly opened the front door. Heading right for the bookshelf, Willow quickly scanned the backs. She was looking for a specific book and she was pretty sure it wasn’t at the Magic Box. While a lot of his books were there, she had a feeling that this one wasn’t. Quickly searching through all the books on his shelves, Willow found the one she wanted.
All righty. Gotcha. This is perfect. Should work really well, after all, I’m much stronger than Jonathan. My magics won’t be unstable. Replacing all the books, Willow grabbed the one she’d come for and with a last glimpse around, she left the apartment.
Dawn carried Connor into the kitchen, her good mood extending to the infant who was watching her closely. Tara watched from her position by the sink a smile on her features.
“So, you’re in a good mood.”
“Yup. Christmas is nearly here, everyone’s safe and, you know, things are good.” Dawn shrugged a bit, not wanting to focus on anything bad.
“You don’t miss your mom?”
“My mom?” Dawn looked at her quizzically, then realized Tara meant Joyce. “Oh yeah. Sort of. I do miss Joyce. I wish I’d had more real time with her, you know? But honestly, having Buffy back and Spike here is. . . . its like having real parents.” Dawn realized she was treading a fine line, almost telling Tara the truth, but if anyone could keep a secret it was Tara.
“So you think of them, sort of, as parents?” Tara reached for the baby, settling him in the bouncy chair.
Making a decision, Dawn took a deep breath, then spoke. “Well, that’s coz they really are. The journals Wesley brought, it was all in there, how long the monks had been trying to make the key human. They were following the slayers for a long time and because of that they stumbled on a dark warrior, a vampire who kept defeating chosen ones.”
Tara looked up sharply at that, comprehension dawning on her face. “Spike?”
“Yup. He’s fought something like seven Slayers. And one of them died of injuries. . . Anyway, so they were tracking Spike and the Slayers. I wasn’t sure it was Spike until I read the entries from the seventies and that was when he started bleaching his hair.” A soft giggle escaped from Dawn and Tara smiled in response.
“We still aren’t sure if the monks manipulated things so that Spike got caught by the Initiative, but we do know that they were the ones that put the Gem of Amarra in Sunnydale.” Dawn paused, waiting for Tara’s reaction.
“The Initiative took DNA samples from both of them, didn’t they?” At Dawn’s nod, Tara dropped the spoon she was using into the sink and took a look at Connor. “So they used Spiike’s and Buffy’s DNA to create you.”
“Yeah.” Dawn reached into the refrigerator for a drink.
“How do you feel about that?” Tara motioned for the formula, and busied herself with mixing something up in a bowl for Connor.
“What’re you doing? What’s that?” Then quickly back on the subject, said, “it beats having to think about Buffy and someone else – or Spike and someone else.”
Tara looked at her curiously and Dawn elaborated. “Like Buffy and Giles or Spike and Joyce or Buffy and Angel. . . “
The look on Tara’s face when she’d said “Buffy and Giles” was enough for Dawn to collapse into giggles. “See, that’s what I mean.”
“Oh Dawnie, that’s just horrible!”
“What’s horrible?” Giles’ voice sounded from the kitchen doorway and was perplexed when his question was met with nothing more than more giggles.
Xander had dropped Anya at the Magic Box before heading to Sunnydale General to relieve Wesley. There hadn’t been an opportunity to ask Giles about what he’d seen in the hallway early this morning, and now that he had more time to think about it, he didn’t want to know the truth behind it. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good, because Dawn had been treating Spike like she cared about the bloodsucker. And that was something Xander didn’t want to know about.
Parking his car as close to the entrance as he could, Xander slid through the emergency room doors when no one was looking and headed toward Cordelia’s room. He met no resistance at the door, despite the police presence, which bothered him somewhat, until he opened the door and was knocked back on his ass, landing across the hallway.
“Ooops. Sorry Xander.” The bot leaned over him, guiltless concern flashing in her eyes.
He got to his feet, shaking his head. Pushing open the door, he realized why the bot was in hit-first mode. Wesley was sound asleep, his head resting on the gurney, next to Cordelia’s hand.
Xander approached quietly, debating about waking the sleeping Englishman. Wesley’s uncomfortable position decided him. “Wesley.” He shook his shoulder and wasn’t surprised when Wesley sat up quickly.
“Xander. What time is it?” Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Wesley looked around for his glasses.
“About quarter after twelve.” Looking toward Cordelia, Xander asked, “how is she?”
“They put her in a coma, hoping that would help her heal. Otherwise, they still aren’t sure she’s going to make it.” No need to lie or pretend that Cordelia’s situation wasn’t dire.
“Oh man. How’s the other girl?” Xander pushed Cordelia’s hair away from her face, wincing when nothing happened.
“She’s better, physically, but mentally she’s . . . . they put her in the psychiatric ward.”
Which really, when he thought about it, made perfect sense. Wesley was certain that Cordelia would be in pretty much the same condition if her injuries weren’t so bad.
“Right. I’ll be back later.”
Leaving the Buffybot behind, Wesley took the keys Xander offered him and headed for the door.
Spike had vaguely heard his girl’s voices, but ignored them. He felt when Buffy climbed back into the bed, and his arms circled around her, pulling her close against him. One hand forced itself under her head, the other grasping her hip, then slid down to press against her belly. He murmured something completely unintelligible, kissing the back of her neck.
Buffy closed her eyes, snuggling tighter in his arms. Gonna have to tell him soon. Christmas morning. That’s when I’ll do it. Images of how she was going to tell him weaving in and around her thoughts, Buffy fell asleep.
Dawn was trying to convince Giles to take her and get a Christmas tree, which he was trying to resist by telling her his car wasn’t the right one to be using when Wesley walked in the door.
He greeted them all, asking Tara, “how is Oz feeling?”
“Much better, he was looking for something to eat.” She indicated the melting ice cream on the counter.
“Wesley, please tell Giles we need a Christmas tree.” Dawn looking up at him, her big eyes pleading.
“Right.” She hadn’t turned that look on him in weeks, but Wesley was still powerless against it. “Well, I’m back with Xander’s car. But the Jeep is free. That would be best to transport the tree.”
Giles gave Wesley an unhappy look that clearly indicated he didn’t want to go and he was more than a little aggravated with Wesley for pointing out that the Jeep was available.
Lawson looked around the mansion, taking his time picking out a room. Most of the minions were already asleep, resting warily in light of Angel’s extreme displeasure. His progress through the rooms was hindered by Drusilla’s humming presence trailing behind him, but Lawson didn’t dare wave her off.
It was obvious she wasn’t going to leave him alone until he’d chosen a place to sleep and he was equally certain that she wasn’t to do so on Angel’s orders. He was just about to exit the room he was thinking of taking when her voice stopped his forward movement.
“Who are you sailor boy? Daddy made you, to be certain sure. . . but Miss Edith doesn’t know when . . . and she’s ever so curious.”
“It was the fall of 1943, in a submarine in the North Atlantic.” He paused, looking at the female vampire. “Does that help Miss Edith?”
“Mmmmmmm” she swayed a bit, listening to the voices in her head. “It does, but Miss Edith needs to see you, come along now.”
Grabbing his arm with surprising strength, Drusilla pulled him into her room.
They both woke up at the same time to the sounds of doors opening and closing, then feet pounding on the stairs. Buffy rolled over to face her mate, her eyes barely opened and she nestled closer into his arms. Her voice was sleep husky and Spike smiled slightly at her words. “I thought we got rid of all these people who shouldn’t be living here.”
He chuckled, his hand gently slapping her rump. “Bad pennies, love, they keep comin’ back.”
“Maybe if you were grumpier they’d all leave?” Buffy sounded hopeful.
“Any grumpier an’ I’d be just like the Watcher.” Spike rolled over onto his back pulling her along with him. She thumped him gently on the chest, then started to teasingly give him a hard time, when the noises from the hallway got louder.
Dawn’s voice came closer to their room and then her knock sounded on the door. “C’mon you two get your lazy butts outta bed. We got a tree.”
Spike looked at Buffy. “A tree?”
“Christmas tree. Dawnie wanted a real one and since our old fake one is nasty, I said it was okay.”
“Guys? You are like the biggest slugs.” Dawn stuck her head in the door. “Geez. Get outta bed already.”
Spike rolled over again, grousing good naturedly. “All right bit, we’re working on it.”
“Good, coz everyone’s here and Oz is up.” Dawn’s enthusiasm was infectious and Buffy found herself responding.
“I’m up. We’ll be down in a minute.”
Angel growled in his sleep, reaching for Drusilla. It had taken him hours and two bottles of whiskey to calm down his anger and his sleep was restless as a consequence of his temper.
Drusilla was sleeping beside him and in response to his unrest she rolled over and wrapped her bare arms around him.
The tree was decorated. All the lights and decorations were hanging from the boughs. Buffy watched Dawn and Tara moving around the tree, trying to make it perfect. She didn’t have the heart to tell them that it couldn’t be perfect, but looking at their faces she got the feeling they already knew that.
Connor was rolling around the floor, crawling between various feet and generally being a complete distraction. And strangely no one seemed to mind. Every few moments someone would pick him up, show him the Christmas lights and then, when he squirmed too much, put him back down on the floor. Right now, Spike had him, and he was tickling the baby’s sides as he dangled him in the air.
She glanced at Dawn who had stopped whatever she was doing to watch them, a knowing smirk on her face. Buffy sighed.
Two days. I’ve got two days to figure out how to tell him. How am I gonna do this?
[A/N: I’m working on these chapters like a madwoman, trying to finish one of these stories, but honestly, it looks like Baby Love is gonna get finished first. . . . but hey, if its any consolation, I have another story just waiting to be told. . . Title is from one of the quotes and the quotes are as attributed; and the poem Spike quotes is from Samuel Taylor Coleridge (Love). Disclaimers are in full force and effect.]
Previously: Cordelia is in hospital; Angel’s had another Aurelian vampire show up in response to his call; Willow’s planning something and Buffy’s trying to figure out how to tell Spike something. This starts Christmas Eve.Book Two. Chapter 33. Unending lightning.
the moment of a miracle is unending lightning ...
Dylan Thomas, On the Marriage of a Virgin.
I think miracles exist in part as gifts and in part as clues
that there is something beyond the flat world we see.
Peggy Noonan
Just hours after dark, the same day Lawson had shown up, Angel heard from Jenner, another one of Darla’s; and strangely enough, Rebecca and Toussaint. The last two he’d long since forgotten about, but apparently they, like Lawson, felt the call to be something of an order. Jenner was closest, already in New York and he’d be arriving in Los Angeles sometime during the night. Toussaint and Rebecca were coming in from Miami, but wouldn’t be arriving until later.
But they were coming. Feeling a bit better now that numbers were on his side, Angel relaxed and allowed the remaining minions free rein to hunt. The holidays were always a good time to find careless humans to feed on.
Wesley was becoming a permanent fixture in Cordelia’s ICU ward, so much so that her doctors jokingly referred to him as “the husband”. He was sitting with her again on Christmas Eve, so that Xander and Anya could have some time to themselves. And so that none of the others had to spend time away, especially Spike.
Buffy’s mysterious illness hadn’t eased at all, in fact, looked to be getting worse. She was having trouble eating anything and the constant vomiting wasn’t helping. Poor girl looked terrible and he thought perhaps she was starting to loose weight. Weight she could ill afford to loose.
Wesley shook his thoughts free of Buffy when Cordelia shifted restlessly. Although the doctors were slowly weaning her off the drugs that were keeping her comatose, Cordelia’s responses were still non-existent to outside stimuli. Wesley was beginning to fear that Cordelia might not ever recover. And when he’d expressed those fears to Giles, the elder man had just peered over his glasses and simply said, “perhaps she might be. . . . well, she would be at peace then.”
From that moment on, Wesley wasn’t sure what outcome would be preferable. An alive yet broken Cordelia or a dead and at peace one. Good god what a thing to contemplate.
When his concerns had leached into his conversation with Gunn, there had been no hesitation in the other’s voice. He simply asked “are you with his ex?”
And when Wesley had answered in the affirmative, Gunn’s response had been “we’ll be there day after Christmas.”
And that had been the end of that. Conversation over. Wesley couldn’t dissuade them from coming, so sometime tomorrow, Gunn and Fred would be arriving in Sunnydale.
For nearly two days she’d wracked her brains, trying to come up with some way of telling Spike why she’d been throwing up. His worry over her had grown the longer she kept vomiting and she’d started hiding from him, avoiding him as much as she could which was next to impossible because they shared a bed. Buffy knew it was silly, but she had to keep biting her tongue. Buffy wanted him to know, she needed very much to tell him, but she was also determined to wait until Christmas.
Coming up with various ways to spring her Christmas present on him and discarding every single one, Buffy was now at a complete loss. They were out patrolling and really there was no reason except that Angelus and Drusilla were out there. It was after midnight, she could just blurt it out. And how lame is that? Buffy looked over at Spike, who was just as lost in thought as she was. The duster swirled around his feet as they walked through the silent cemetery. Slipping her arm through his, Buffy smiled up at him.
He cocked his head to the side, gazing down at her. “You all right pet?”
“Yup.” She smiled as an idea came to her suddenly. “Its after midnight. Wanna head home and celebrate Christmas?”
Spike pretended to consider this. “Dunno, sunshine. Shouldn’t we be out here protecting everyone from the sinister creatures of the night?”
Buffy pouted just a little. “I think we can call it a night.”
He swung her around in his arms, so that they were facing each other. His arms circled round her waist and he stared down at her in the cool night air. The moon illuminated her features making her look ethereal in his eyes. His gaze roved over her features, drinking in her countenance. One of his thumbs brushed across her soft cheek. The look in his eyes changed the longer he looked at her.
Buffy started to speak, but his thumb brushing over her lips held her silent. His voice, when he spoke was soft and low, his words warming her through. “And in life's noisiest hour, there whispers still the ceaseless love of thee, the heart's self-solace and soliloquy. You mould my hopes, you fashion me within, and to the leading love-throb in the heart thro' all my being, thro' my pulse's beat,” he paused, whispering softly, “though it beats not.“ and he paused once more, searching for the rest of the words, “you lie in all my many thoughts, like light, like the fair light of dawn, or summer eve on rippling stream, or cloud-reflecting lake, and looking to the Heaven, that bends above you, how oft I bless the lot that made me love you.”
When he was finished, Buffy had tears in her eyes, but still he wouldn’t let her speak. Tugging her close, Spike whispered into her ear, “let’s go home love.”
I should have decided on this sooner. This is perfect. And it won’t take long. And I can so do this without even blinking. If Jonathan could do this – Hah! Willow paced around the confines of her bedroom, the grimoire that she’d taken from Giles’ in her hands.
Okie dokie. So now I need to concentrate and alter this just a bit. Change that wording. . . . leaning over her desk, Willow crossed out a few lines of the incantation, replacing them with others that better fit her intentions. Not wanting to be the center of everything – not like Jonathan. Just want everything the way it should be. She didn’t care about being in the limelight, if anything, she didn’t want that at all, so that called for the changes.
Her excitement bubbled over, causing her to almost bounce with every step. Okay, Willow, this isn’t good and you can’t afford to make mistakes. So calm down. Folding her legs beneath her, Willow sunk down on the floor, forcing her mind to blankness. Focusing on a soothing calming mantra, Willow prepared herself for the ritual.
Anya watched Xander get ready for bed, a yawn stretching her features wide. “I really don’t understand why you are still insisting on going to the hospital tomorrow. Its not like Cordelia knows you’re there.”
“That’s not the point Ahn. Someone needs to sit with her, talk to her and protect her in case Angel and his fangy bunch decide to visit.” Xander looked at her over his shoulder, frustration on his features. Do we have to argue now?
She made a snorting noise somewhere in the back of her throat that totally skeeved him. “Please Xander. You can’t possibly believe that. You wouldn’t stand a chance against Angel and you know it. If you got hurt then we’d have to worry about you and then there would be no snuggling or orgasms for a very long time.” Anya paused, then said, “besides, that’s why the bot is there.”
“Way to make me feel useless.” Shaking his head Xander got up to leave the room. “I’m gonna watch some tv.”
Shocked almost speechless, Anya made some protesting noises, but Xander just waved her off and headed for the living room. Slumping back down on the bed, Anya muttered to herself, “can’t speak the truth anymore. He never wants to hear it any way.”
Grumbling some more, Anya rolled over onto her side facing the wall. “Stupid man.” Thinking to herself, she fought the tears that were threatening. Instead, Anya concentrated on all the things she and the other girls had to do in the morning.
Tara and Oz were both still up when they got home putting the final touches on the Christmas tree and piling presents underneath.
Buffy stopped short, her mouth agape as she looked at everything. “Wow.”
The lights were all out, except for the tree and Tara was sitting on the floor, giving Connor a bottle while Oz rested on the couch.
“Look at you, all earth mothery.”
Tara blushed, ducking her head, when Spike added, “pretty as a picture.”
“He just woke up crying, figured might as well feed him.” Connor tugged on the strands of her hair, begging for attention. “Hey little man, don’t pull so hard.”
“Oh yeah, that’s such a bad habit.” Buffy commiserated with her as she came further into the living room. “Where’s Dawnie?”
“She went upstairs a little while ago. Said she was tired.” Tara hid a yawn, but Buffy saw it.
“So not the only one there.” Glancing at the clock, which read one fifteen, Buffy said, “maybe its time all of us started dreaming of sugar plums.”
Spike locked the front door, motioning to all of them, “go on, I’ll wait up for St. Nick.”
Oz signaled his agreement, slowly getting to his feet, nursing his injuries. Waving his goodnights, he headed for the basement and Tara’s room.
“You sure?” Tara’s voice broke the hushed silence and Spike shook his head. “G’on Glinda, ‘ve got some things I need to see to.”
Handing Connor to Buffy, Tara got to her feet, wished them both a Merry Christmas and followed Oz.
Spike watched Buffy for long moments, not saying a word. She yawned and he knelt down in front of her, one hand resting on her shoulder. “Go on up kitten. Take the sprog with you. I’ll be up shortly.”
Leaning into his touch, Buffy murmured a question against his neck and Spike just kissed her forehead in answer. “I’m sure kitten. Go, be up in a few ticks.”
Getting gracefully to his feet, Spike took the baby and helped her up. Pulling her toward the stairs, Spike whispered, “be up before you know it, love.”
“Okay.” Without much more prodding Buffy lifted the almost sleeping infant to her shoulder and ascended the stairs.
Spike waited a few minutes, his ears pricked to listen for anyone sneaking around, then, when he heard nothing out of the ordinary, he headed for the back door. He’d bought presents for his girls, even Glinda and even broken down and purchased something for his two fellow Brits. The trick had been hiding it all from Buffy’s over-inquisitive nature.
His girl was a snoop. And Dawn was just as bad.
At first he’d hidden everything in the DeSoto’s trunk, but when he caught her sneaking out with his keys, he knew that wasn’t safe enough. He’d stashed most of it at Rupert’s putting the bigger items in the shed. Giles would bring over the rest in the morning, but he needed to get the stuff out of the shed.
It didn’t take him long to move the gifts. Most of what he’d gotten was small and still at the Watcher’s. Tossing the gifts on top of the fairly decent-sized pile and placing one out of sight behind the couch, Spike made one more circuit of the house, securing all the doors and windows, finally making his way up the stairs.
Buffy hadn’t wasted any time once she was in the bedroom. Laying Connor down in his crib, Buffy brushed a kiss on the back of his head and quickly stripped off her clothes. She thought about putting on one of her old nightgowns and discarded that idea. Slipping into the barely-there all lace nightie that she knew Spike loved, Buffy sat down on the bed, pen and paper in hand.
Quickly she wrote down some things, then stopped. Is this the best way to do it? Thinking hard, she crossed out what she had just written, then realized she needed a new piece of paper. Taking a new one, Buffy thought for a moment, then wrote down something furiously, not crossing out anything. She hesitated when she got to the end, took a deep breath and finished what she was writing. Buffy hoped this would be enough. Not because she didn’t want him to know, she did. Oh god, I wanna tell him. She just didn’t know how else to tell him. Looking down at the paper, she wrote one more thing down and figured that would be enough. It had to be. She couldn’t think of any other clever way to tell him.
Sighing once, Buffy realized she was being cowardly about this. She just really didn’t know how else to tell him. Praying that it would be enough, Buffy switched off the main light and climbed back into the bed. The bedside light was still on and she put the piece of paper on his pillow. Laying down with her back to the door, she whispered a tiny wish that he wouldn’t be upset with her when he read it.
Thankfully she didn’t have all that long to wait, because she hadn’t been laying down long enough to fall asleep when he came into the room humming softly. She tried not to tense up, knowing he would pick up on it, instead she let her hand drift down to cover her belly, waiting.
By the rustling movements behind her and the dip on the bed, she could guess what he was doing. Boots first. The sound of metallic snaps was followed by the thumps signaling their removal. Then the almost silent sound of his shirt being removed and the dull thump of it hitting the wall by the bathroom. His weight disappeared from the bed and she could hear the snap and snick of leather and steel as he undid his belt. His jeans were off and the bed dipped once more under his weight.
Spike laid down on the bed, his head disturbing the paper she’d left for him. He grumbled something low that she strained to catch but couldn’t because she was very intent on breathing steadily. “What the bleedin’ hell. . . “
His voice trailed off into silence and he didn’t even breathe. He was silent for so long, it seemed endless but really wasn’t nearly that long because she only inhaled twice. Spike moved closer to her, his hand on her hip, his fingers curling around the smooth muscles of her hip. He spoke her name into her ear and she felt him move again. His left hand flexed on her hip, then moved to cover hers, which was still covering her belly.
Linking his fingers with hers, Spike gently forced her onto her back. “Look at me sweetheart.”
Slowly, Buffy rolled back, opening her eyes as she did. He was propped up on his elbow, leaning over her, staring down into her eyes.
She was in bed when he got up the stairs, the bedside lamp throwing shadows over her still form. Without realizing it, he knew she was still awake, but he decided against ragging her about it. Buffy still wasn’t feeling well, and he’d been cutting her slack for the last couple of days because of it, but if she didn’t get over it soon, he was going to push the issue and make her go to the doctor.
Sitting down on the bed, he unsnapped and unlaced his boots, then drew his shirt off and tossed it at the bathroom door. The boots were under the table and Spike stood to shuck off his jeans, stepping out of them and leaving them on the floor. He laid down on the bed, and instead of soft cottony pillow beneath his cheek there was crackly paper.
“What the bleedin’ hell. . . . “
He stopped speaking when he saw what it was in his hand. It was a list, in Buffy’s handwriting, of all those potentials that Rupert mentioned when he’d gotten back from his last trip to London. Names of the girls and dates. Approximate date of death and then the dates of their first born. Spike’s eyes slid to the bottom of the page.
There were new names on the list.
Darla Witherspoon. The date of her first turning, then dusting, her return from wherever she’d been, and then the date of Connor’s birth.
And then, at the very bottom was a new set of names.
Buffy Anne Summers, died May 2001, resurrected August 2001.
Then next to that two more words: son/daughter followed by a question mark.
And finally, a few more words. Fathered by William the Bloody, also known as Spike.
He stared down at the paper in his hands, unable to think, unable to breathe. He watched as the paper drifted to the floor, his mind whirling with thousands of different thoughts. He rolled over, propping his head on his right hand, placing his left hand on the curve of her hip. His fingers flexed gently, tightening his grip on her at the same instant her name breathed from his lips into her ear.
Her hand was cupped around her still flat belly and he slid his bigger hand over hers, meshing their fingers together. Spike tugged her closer, pushing her gently onto her back, as he whispered “look at me sweetheart.”
A soft, tentative smile broke out on her face, but it didn’t reach her eyes. They were filled with tearful uncertainty, questions teeming in the depths of her night-darkened eyes. Spike squeezed the fingers that were still laying on her belly and he gazed steadily down at her. He opened his mouth to speak, then stopped. His eyes roamed over her face, and he watched, fascinated, when a single tear pooled in the grassy-green depths.
“Buffy. . . .” His voice rolled through her, the deep husky tones sending shivers down her spine and settling in her belly. Her eyes started to drift closed, just drinking in the intoxicating rhythm of her name.
“Buffy?”
A thousand questions in that one word, a hundred million or more, and yet they all centered on the same thing. He needed an answer, needed to know and so, too, did she.
The smile that lit her face drew fire from his touch, from the look in his eyes. It was fierce and primal and went beyond anything they had ever touched upon before. She was mesmerized by that fire and she willingly surrendered to it.
“Yeah?” Her arm hooked under the one his head was leaning on and she slid closer to him, their faces bare inches apart. The world shrunk to just them, to the space between and she eyed him coyly.
“When?” He leaned further over her, his body shielding them both from the outside, craving the heat and shelter he found only within her. His warmth was stoked higher by her response and Spike itched to kiss her, but he needed to know. . . . everything.
“August.” She averted her eyes, shying from the profound emotions swirling in his cerulean eyes. His eyes had always had an intoxicating power over her, from the very first. His eyes told secrets, held promises that she hadn’t always been willing to understand. . . and now, his eyes held her world.
Another softly worded question caught her attention. “You sure?”
This time her eyes held the hint of a smile. “Very sure.” She paused, the fingers on both hands brushing over his skin. “I got a test and went to the. . . Dr. Thomas confirmed it.”
He hesitated, absorbing the enormous news she’d just imparted to him. Spike was in shock, he supposed, he couldn’t complete a thought, couldn’t actually formulate words. “Buffy. . . . “
“Are you okay?” The question was absurd, coming from her and he chuckled slightly.
“Yeah. ‘M bloody fine. Question is, how’re you?” He dropped further down on the bed and she automatically fitted her body to his.
“I’m okay.” Her arm was trapped between his arm and his head and Buffy brought it up to play with the curls just behind his ear. His fingers disengaged from the hand on her belly to rub little circles over her lace covered skin. His touch was electrifying, sending sparks through her muscles.
“Spike. . . .are you okay with this?” Buffy’s eyes searched his, trying to find . . . . trying to gauge his emotions. His thumb brushed over her lower lip, halting her words.
“Kitten. . . . “ His hand brushed down the length of her torso, once more resting over her belly. His fingers nudged her hand away, then splayed over her, covering her from hip to hip. “Here yeah?”
“Yeah.” She had no idea what he was doing or thinking. He stared at the spot, his eyes hidden from hers. Tentatively she laid her hand over his. She opened her mouth to speak, to ask him once more if he was all right, when his voice broke the still night.
“Buffy . . . This. . . “ His voice broke and she realized he was fighting tears. “Never thought, not in a hundred years, there’d be more ‘en jus’ the life Dru gave me. Never. . . . stopped hopin’ after a bit, jus’ gave up. And then ,” he paused again trying to gain more control, “then there was you. Threw me for a loop you did. Turned me upside down. Made me want things again. Gave me m’dreams back. I love you Buffy. With all that I am. Man. Monster. Every last part of me.”
He moved then, lifting his eyes to hers. Tears filled those ocean blue depths, but before she could speak, his voice raw with emotions she’d never heard, he started speaking. “Now. . . . now you’ve given me the world. You. . . This is my baby in your belly. . . . mine.”
His voice broke and a tear dropped down upon her breast. “‘ve got the family William always wanted. My woman. . . My children.”
He shook his head. “I love you.” Another tear fell and Spike leaned closer to her, his lips brushing hers. Buffy smiled, arching into his touch.
“Spike. I love you too.” She kissed him back. “So you are happy about this.”
A chuckle broke through his lips. “Yeah, sunshine, ’m happy. Question is, are you?”
This time a blinding smile crossed her features, reaching her eyes. “Ahuh. Color me happy Buffy.”
His arms lifted her up as he rolled onto his back. Settling her over his body, Spike grinned. “Happy Christmas, love.”
Buffy fitted her legs on either side of his hips. “Same to you.”
Spike pulled her head down, kissing her hungrily. “Kitten. . . . this is okay, right?”
“Yeah. Oh yeah. . . . “ Her hands tightened around his biceps, holding on tightly as he nudged his erection against her. Buffy settled on him, inching back so that his cock was nestled up against her butt. “Spike. . . I need you.”
“Need you too, sunshine. So bloody much.” His hands gripped her hips, lifting her slightly. Buffy let go of his left arm, her hand circling his erection, positioning him at her entrance. Leaving her hand there, Buffy felt it as her pussy engulfed him, liquid fire spreading through her body. She writhed a bit, adjusting to his size and he groaned, bucking his hips up. “Fuckin’ hell. . . so tight. . . “
He thrust hard again as she ground down on his cock, sinking down so their groins were touching. “Spike. . . need more. . “
He twitched his hips and she was rolling, her back landing on the mattress and he thrust hard in the same motion, driving her up against the headboard. Spike’s arms landed on either side of her head, his weight resting on his palms. His eyes held a hint of mischief and he quipped, “hello cutie.”
Buffy slid her legs up, her knees just under his arms, changing the angle of his entry, so that he was scraping against that soft spot within her on every thrust. Her breath came in short gasps, his name slipping from her. Spike drove into her, grunting against her neck. Buffy had to put her arms over her head, bracing herself against the headboard, matching his rhythms.
“Oh god. . . . oh. . . . Spike!” Buffy shrieked out his name as her first orgasm ripped through her. Spike shifted, bringing one of Buffy’s legs up over his arm without breaking his rhythm. His mouth sucked on the pulse points of her jugular, cool against the heat of her but instead of soothing her, it just set off more tremors.
Spike felt her nails dig into his back and sides, raising blood to the surface of his skin, and he vamped, letting his fangs score the mating marks, while she gripped him tighter. He was gasping for air that he didn’t need, his chest heaving with the effort. “Love you. . . oh god woman, I do. . . . f’rever.”
He rolled his hips, pistoning into her hard, his pubic bone hitting her clit and he could feel his balls tightening, drawing up. He was impossibly hard, and the cords in his neck stood out as he refrained from biting into her. Spike lifted his head away from her neck and growled out his frustration. Her name was a prayer on his lips as he fought his own nature.
A warm hand cupped his cheek, then pulled him back down to her, guiding him to her veins. “Its okay, please. . . . I need you too.” She whispered against his mouth before she rubbed her tongue over his fangs.
“Buffy. . . . “ he almost whined her name into her mouth, struggling not to slice open her tongue. “Shouldn’t. . . not now.”
“Yes now. Especially now.” Buffy cupped her hands around his face, holding him still between her legs. “Spike. . . . we need this connection. I need it. I want you to feel what I’m feeling. Right now.”
He dropped his head, letting her lips brush across his brow ridges, his breath gusting heavily across the tops of her breasts. He was quiet, his hips moving slowly, languidly thrusting into her as she tightened all her muscles around him. He growled low in his chest, the words harsh and guttural, swimming with emotion. “Are you sure, sunshine?”
“Oh god, Spike, I’ve never been more sure. . . Please .” Buffy stared into his amber eyes, willing him to make that final move. “Please. . . Spike. . . “
He slid out of game face, his blue eyes staring hard into hers. “I love you kitten, don’t wanna hurt you.”
“You won’t. Not now, not ever.” Buffy leaned up, her tongue dancing across his lips.
Searching her eyes one last time, Spike deepened the kiss, his tongue mating with hers. Buffy arched up into him, her arms and legs holding onto him. She broke away from his kiss watching as he morphed back into game face. His teeth nipped at her lip, far too gently to break the skin and then he nestled his face into her neck. Once more scraping his fangs against her skin, Spike growled softly, then as he surged into her, he broke the skin over her veins.
Her life’s blood flowed over his tongue, pooling in his mouth, her essence filling him. She tasted better, sweeter, stronger, heavier. . . . headier . His head was spinning, swirling with the emotional tempest inside her, his ears ringing and he swore his heart thumped once with joy. She tasted of heaven, of starshine and dewdrops, of soft lilting lullabies and ocean deep awe. He groaned into her skin, tasting the salty sweet sweat mingling with her coppery blood. Another pull of her blood into his mouth and there it was, just a shadow of a taste, but it was there . . . . the mingling of them both, the promise of a future he’d never dreamed he would have. . .
Their child.
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