Author's Chapter Notes:
Okay! So the other day I was talking to Joss and I was all, "Lover, I have this idea for a story, what do you think?" and he was a like, "Bess, I'm seriously going to call the cops if you don't stop stalking me" and I said "I think it's a good idea, too" and he said "I'm calling the police now if you don't get off my roof" and I mean, how romantic was that? He wanted to call people and tell them about our love. *swoons*.

So if you guys don't like this story just blame Joss, cause he totally encouraged me with promises of "restraining orders" and "going to court".
It had already been three weeks but she hadn’t named him yet.

The nurse placed him in her arms not long after his birth; his small body a wriggling, cooing, warm ball of flesh. He snuggled into her neck, his tiny breaths puffing against her skin. Buffy stared down at him (as well as she could with him situated under her chin) with a mixture of awe and terror flooding her veins. Minutes or hours later a different nurse entered the tiny room and proceeded to show Buffy how to breast feed. The Slayer blushed hotly as she was shown how to lead her nipple to the infant’s mouth.

The nurse stayed with her a while. Later, Buffy wondered if she had been able to sense the desolation that was enveloping her. The nurse asked what she’d named him. Buffy tore her eyes away from her son to stare at the kindly faced nurse. The Slayer’s throat closed to the point she could say nothing at all. The nurse smiled gently; she assured Buffy that it was not uncommon for new mothers to feel emotional after the birth of their child. She assured Buffy it would pass. Buffy looked away when she felt him lose his grip on her breast. After she re-latched him, she caught a glimpse of his eyes. She’d been told that a baby’s eye color usually changed, but Buffy was sure his wouldn’t. They would forever be that hue, taunting her, reminding her.

“What a pretty blue,” the nurse said.

Buffy could only nod.

She returned home to a party and a wide generic banner that exclaimed “Welcome Home Mommy and Baby!” The apartment was small. Operative word: small. It had two minuscule bedrooms, one bathroom, a kitchen and tiny dining area. Most days it was livable with just Buffy and Dawn. For a party it was almost impossible to not be elbow to elbow with everyone. But it was nice. Buffy smiled at all the appropriate moments; hugged everyone and allowed them to hold her son. His name? they asked. No, no name. Not yet.

Giles beamed at her, taking the most time with her son. He was going to be a good granddad, Buffy mused. Xander was smiling, too. He’d been doing that more lately. It had taken a while for him to escape the small shell of booze and anger he’d collapsed into after Anya died, but he’d recently started hanging out around them more, taking a more substantial interest in their lives.

Willow was grinning widely. Her cheeks flushed from happiness and a little bit of wine. Willow’s girlfriend, Ruby, was staring at the baby with wonder. Buffy caught her glancing at an oblivious Willow every once and while. Inwardly, Buffy smiled.

It had only been a month after they’d all arrived in London that Willow met Ruby. Willow had resisted the attraction at first as she had recently broken up with Kennedy, but she soon found herself drawn to the tall black haired girl and unable to deny it. As their relationship progressed, Buffy continued to see Willow blossom in ways she had never seen before.

Dawn was rubbing the baby’s belly and speaking to him in baby talk. Dawn had grown in the last year from a gawky teenager into a beautiful young woman. The move to England had been difficult, but Dawn had quickly assimilated herself into the lifestyle. Buffy remembered the long week that Dawn insisted on speaking with a British accent. Luckily Giles had gotten her out of that phase.

The party was quickly over, mostly on account of the new mother finding it more and more difficult to keep her eyes open. The hugs, kisses and final congratulations were given and said and Buffy soon found the apartment empty of everyone but herself, her sister, and her son. Buffy didn’t take him away from his adoring aunt, but rather mumbled something about checking on the crib. Dawn nodded distractedly as Buffy escaped to her room and shut the door quietly. She sat on the edge of her bed and breathed in
deeply.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Something wet coursed down her cheeks. Buffy lifted a hand in surprise. She hadn’t cried in a long time. She hadn’t even cried when he died. The Slayer didn’t know how long she sat that way: staring at the drying tears on her finger tips, but she soon realized Dawn was sitting by her side.

“Buffy,” her sister said softly. “It’s okay to cry.”

Inhale.

Exhale.

“I’m fine. I’m fine.” Buffy stood, taking her child from her sister’s arms. In two steps she was at the crib. Carefully, she laid him down. An errant tear dropped on his downy head, making him squirm slightly, but not wake up. Buffy quickly composed herself before facing her sister’s knowing
eyes.

“Buffy,” Dawn began soothingly. “It’s okay … to miss him …”

The Slayer stared at the Key with wide eyes. “I … I’m fine, Dawnie. Really. Don’t worry about me.” Her smile was watery and strained. “I’m just tired, is all. And emotional. The nurse even said this was normal.”

Dawn studied her sister for a long moment, clearly disbelieving her, but in the end she decided to let it go. “Okay. I’m sure you’ll feel better once you get some sleep. Call me if you need anything, ‘kay? I’m completely, one hundred percent here for you and my new widdle nephew.”

Then she was gone and Buffy was alone with her son. The Slayer moved to sit in the middle of her bed, facing the crib. She sat like that, unmoving, for hours.

--

Now it had been three weeks and Buffy felt Dawn’s worried eyes on her continuously. It was not that she was a bad mother: she did everything she was supposed. Buffy got up every time he cried at night to feed him, she changed all his diapers, she kept him warm and she was never far from his side. But the Slayer had taken on a listlessness that had Dawn concerned. She saw that Buffy was caring for her son, but she never seemed to take any joy in it.

Maybe she was a bit naïve in that area as she had never been around many babies, but Dawn was sure that a mother shouldn’t look so sad or distanced from her child. Buffy was just going through the motions of motherhood.

She hadn’t even named him yet.

Buffy hadn’t cried since the first night. Dawn often expected her to break down in sobs, but the Slayer never did. Her eyes remained dry and blank. After the first week Dawn went to Giles with her concerns.

“Just give her more time,” he said. “I’m sure she just needs time to adjust.”

So Dawn continued to watch and grew more and more apprehensive each day.

“You have to name him, Buffy,” Dawn said firmly on the twenty-first night.

“No … no … I still have time,” the Slayer said distantly.

Dawn frowned. “C’mon, Buff, it’s already been three weeks. The little guy deserves a name.”

Buffy’s hand, the one not holding her son to her chest, fisted tightly. Dawn almost crowed at the sign of emotion. “I just need more time, Dawnie.”

“You’ve had time,” Dawn said carefully. “Frankly, I’m getting concerned about you.”

The fist unclenched. “No need to worry. It’ll happen when it’s meant to.”

Dawn snorted. “Right. Like when he’s ten? Seriously, Buffy, I talked to Giles and-”

The Slayer’s eyes leapt to her sister’s. “You talked to Giles?”

Dawn felt tears pricking the back of her eyes. “I did because I’m worried, Buffy. You’ve just been so … absent … it’s like after you came back after you died. But you didn’t die, Buffy. I just don’t get it. I just want you to be happy … but you’re not.” Buffy gazed at her in wonder. “He doesn’t deserve this, Buffy. Your son doesn’t deserve to be so … ignored by you.”

“I don’t ignore him!”

“Sure you take care of him … but I don’t see any love in what you do.”

Buffy placed her son in his crib before facing her sister.

“How can you say that? Of course I love him. What kind of mother wouldn’t love her own child?”

“You tell me,” Dawn said harshly, but she knew it needed to be said.

Buffy’s face paled. “I’m not listening to this. You can’t just stand there and tell me I don’t love my own son.”

Dawn felt her heart breaking. “Buffy, please … I just want to help you. Don’t you see that? I’m not the only one that’s concerned. Willow and Xander both see it, too, but they think you’ll get over it. But I don’t think it’s that simple. I think I kind of understand. He reminds you of him? Doesn’t he? I can see - ”

Buffy held up a hand in appeal. “Dawn, please just leave. I can’t deal with this right now. I’m so tired.”

Dawn started to say something, but the haunted look in her sister’s eyes gave her pause. She nodded her head slowly before she turned and left. Buffy listened as her sister exited the apartment. She was probably going to Giles. Probably he would come back with questions she couldn’t answer.

Buffy turned to stare down at her son. His son. Their son. The numb fog she’d been living in lifted for a moment and Buffy began to sob. She hated this feeling. Whenever she looked at her child, she saw him. His blue eyes stared at her with so much trust that she sometimes found it hard to breath. Their child was the outcome of so much heartache and pain; so many ill-used opportunities and sorrows. When Buffy stared at her son she saw him and the grief and longing she felt was overwhelming and absolute.

Buffy knew she had cried herself to sleep when she woke up. Sitting up, she quickly checked on her son. She listened for sounds of other people in the apartment but she only heard the low din of the television in the dining area. Exiting her room, Buffy followed the noise and came across Dawn, who was sitting in front the TV. She glanced around but found Giles was not in the apartment.

Dawn had looked up at her entrance but Buffy avoided her eyes. “I’m angry,” Buffy said softly. She cleared her scratchy throat as Dawn turned off the TV. Dawn continued to stare at her silently. Waiting.

“I’m angry,” Buffy repeated. “It’s irrational and stupid. But I’m angry he’s gone. I’ve been so mad at him for leaving me. For not being here with us. I … sometimes I wake up wanting to tell him about our son, but I realize that he’s dead and I should feel sad but I get so damned angry it makes my chest hurt.” Buffy caught her sister’s eyes for the next part. She needed her to understand what she was saying and what she couldn’t say. “When I look at him … when I look at my son … all I see is him. I see Spike. The grief that brings me is …encompassing. So I try to keep myself from it. I try to hide it away so he can’t see what a terrible mother I am.” Tears trailed her cheeks. Dawn opened her mouth to protest but Buffy shook her head. “But please never think that I … I hate him. I love him more than anything … I can’t express …” Dawn held out her arms and Buffy fell into them thankfully. She sobbed for what felt like hours. All the pain and anger she’d denied herself came to the fore and it was not horrifying like she expected it to be: it was cleansing.

It was a long time before she could speak again. When she did her voice was raw, “I thought about naming him William. You know after … but I felt like that’d be wrong in a way. Like I was asking him to be his father.” Dawn brushed back Buffy’s hair soothingly. “I … I did some research,” Buffy said quietly. “Did you know he had a brother? When he was alive?” Dawn shook her head. “He did. But he died when he was only a kid, about five years old. His name was David.” Buffy turned her tearful eyes to her sister. “What do you think?”

Dawn smiled. She could see her sister emerging from her self-imposed darkness. “I think it’s perfect.”

--

A world away in Los Angeles, Spike woke with a sigh and a name on his lips: “Buffy.”


-Fin-





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