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CHAPTER 10 –

A/N: I found I made a bit of a boo-boo in the first time Spike and Buffy met. So, in Chapter 8, the story is changed a little bit. Nothing monumental, but it’ll be important later on in the story so go check it out.



“Why didn’t you change it?” Spike inquired.

Buffy fiddled in her purse, scrunching her nose until she found her tube of strawberry flavored lip gloss. “Change what?” she inquired as she handed the Lip Smacker off to her daughter, who took it and left her parents on the sidelines of the soccer field to explore the surrounding park area.

“Her last name,” Spike continued, training his eyes on Connor’s soccer team’s warm-ups, “After we divorced you could have changed her last name to yours. Why didn’t you?”

Buffy shrugged, watching her son complete sprints up and down the grass, “I don’t know. I never thought about it, I guess.” She paused, “Or maybe I hoped that she’d meet her father one day. Having her keep your last name was like a clue. Or something like that,” she tacked on.

“Well, it worked,” Spike commented, both having heard how Connor was tipped off.

Buffy pivoted to face her ex’s profile, “Spike, I’m sorry if . . .”

“Buffy, I want my daughter to have my name,” he insisted, giving her a look that made her feel stupid for thinking otherwise. “I’m very glad you kept it.”

A whistle sounded on the field, signaling the momentary start of the game and the end of their discussion.

Ten minutes in, the first penalty was called against the opposing team. A boy, who looked more like an NFL linebacker to Buffy than any of the fifteen and sixteen year olds that comprised the two teams, had practically clotheslined a member of Connor’s team.

“I forgot how hard these things were to watch,” Buffy winced as the player was helped off the field, glad it wasn’t her son who was hurt. It had slipped her mind the emotions that took over her when she used to watch Spike play in high school.

“This is real football, luv. Not that civilized stuff you play in the States,” Spike joked, trying to get her to lighten up.

It didn’t help.

Needless to say all the other boys on Connor’s team felt a need to avenge their fallen team member and the game escalated in roughness ten fold. Every time their son was bashed, Buffy gasped, grabbing on to Spike’s forearm and bicep. And at every inhalation of breath, Spike would look down at her, amused and utterly unconcerned with the violence as her eyes grew in size, riveted on the game.

After a particularly hard hit, his feet kicked out from under him, Connor wiped out onto the ground. Buffy’s jaw dropped as she moved to run out onto the field and help her little boy. But Spike was on her in a split second, grabbing her arm and pulling her tight against him before her foot crossed the white line on the ground in front of them.

“But . . . he . . .” she sputtered, struggled in his arms which were banded around her, only to cease when a team member approached her hurt son, reaching out to haul his friend off the grass. Connor leapt to his feet and trotted down the field, back in the game.

“He’s fine,” Spike assured her. “And unless you want our son to be the laughing stock of his entire team you will stay right here.” He hesitantly let her go, ready to pounce again if he had to.

When her shoulders ceased to relax from the stress overtaking her body, Spike maneuvered her in front on him, placing his hands on the tight muscles, beginning a rhythmic massage. In his mind, Spike reasoned that the contact was an excuse to be close in case she felt the need to become a soccer-mom and charge the field again, but when she let out a sigh and leaned back into him, he really didn’t care anymore on whether his actions were justifiable or not.

Though her knowledge of soccer was limited, Buffy was soon immersed in the game. Together they cheered and hollered with the rest of the crowd of players’ friends and family, who kept shooting Spike and “the new girl” looks. Buffy was happy she was able to meet many of the parents of Connor’s friends, feeling that she was part of his world now.

When she and Dawn were introduced as Connor’s mother and sister, they received surprised but pleased responses. Well, with the exception of some English trollop named Stacey, who told Spike they should get together for a “play date” and made it pretty obvious she didn’t mean Connor and her son. Even though she and Spike were no where near together, Buffy thought is was entirely inappropriate to talk like that in front of the mother of his children. And the amusement Spike found in her, what he called “jealous,” reaction just made her fume more even after he felt the need to insist that while, yes Stacey had slept with half the dads of Connor’s team, no he was not one of them.

With the game ending in a tie, each team chose one player to participate in the shoot out that would determine the winner. Connor, who had scored two goals already, was selected. When the opposing team missed, silence fell over the entire field as all eyes fixated on Connor. Even Dawn, who had earlier declared that she could care less who won, joined them. When the ball flew through the air and made the satisfying swoosh against the net of the goal, the entire sideline erupted in cheers.

Fifteen minutes later, Spike and Buffy sat in the car, waiting for Connor and Dawn, who were talking to the rest of the kids on the field. Buffy was thoughtfully watching Connor from the side mirror.

Spike gently rubbed her leg to get her attention, “Something wrong, luv?”

Buffy smiled faintly at his ability to read her moods, “I never got to dote on him. Oh, I worried about him enough; God’s knows every day I worried about him.”

Spike rolled his eyes, “I wouldn’t kill our son, Buffy.”

Buffy leveled her gaze at him, “I made him an omelet the other day, Spike, he just about passed out from the shock of it.” He ducked his head guiltily. “What have the three of you been feeding him all these years?”

“Don’t change the subject,” he scolded.

Buffy smiled, “I know, but . . . I missed so much.”

Spike shrugged, relating to her, “And where was I when Dawn started school? Where was I to chase off all the boys.”

“Well you’re in luck because there haven’t been any yet.”

“Really?” Spike replied happily.

“Well, she does have a crush on someone,” Buffy hinted with a smile.

“Who?” Spike demanded.

“His name’s R.J.”

Spike scoffed, “That’s a pillock’s name.” Just then the back doors of the car flew open and Dawn and Connor piled in.

Spike glanced in the rearview mirror, noticing his son staring out the window, “What’s wrong? You won the game, you should be happy.”

Connor merely grumbled in response.

Dawn laughed, “He’s mad because a bunch of guys on his team think mom’s hot.”

Buffy sat up a little straighter, flattered and making a face at Spike.

Spike shook his head, “You always were a momma’s boy,” he called back to him.

“What?” his son objected.

“When you were learning to walk,” Spike said, “anytime you fell and scraped your knee you’d scream bloody murder for your mum -- wouldn’t let anyone else comfort you. You wouldn’t even let her talk to anyone else if she wasn’t holding you.”

Never having heard many stories in which she was a baby, “What about me?” Dawn pressed.

“You were fine, Bit,”

“Unless we took you shopping,” Buffy added.

“Oh bloody damn you were a right terror the minute we stepped into a store,” Spike remembered. “Connor was a perfect angel as long as we took a truck or ball with us, but you would cry like we were the worst parents in the world until we bought you the entire store.”

The laughter died down. “Dawn . . . Who’s R.J.?” Spike questioned, changing lanes.

“Mom!”

TBC





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