Disclaimer:  I don’t own or profit from BtVS.  It all belongs to Joss Whedon, ME and various other affiliates.  Some dialogue taken from Something Blue.

Spoilers for Something Blue with the assumption that most of us knows how the episode proceeded, but takes a sharp left onto Alternate Universe Avenue pretty much right away.  This also starts out somewhat comedic, but downshifts into angst fairly quickly.

 

 

Dawn of A New Age

Chapter One:

 

“It’s just so sudden.  I don’t know what to say.”  Buffy perched on the straight back chair, nervousness rioting in her belly.  The urge to jump up and squeal was nearly overwhelming, but this was an adult moment, and she would be damned if she would let her girlish tendencies ruin it for her.

“Just say yes, and make me the happiest man on Earth.”  Buffy never thought she would see something so wonderful as the man she loved kneeling before her.  He was so strong and handsome, peering at her with such earnest adoration.  She couldn’t imagine life without him, dreaded the idea of it.  He’d come into her life a whirlwind of black leather, hazy smoke, andt bad attitude, making her want to scratch the smirk off his face, but somehow he’d managed to worm his way under her skin until even the thought of breathing without him nearby caused an ache to build in her chest.  She loved him so much.  There could only be one answer.

“Oh, Spike.  Of course it’s yes!”

His smile lit him up from the inside, and made the joy vibrating in her belly burst through her whole body.  When he pulled her into his arms for a passionate kiss she felt as though she had finally found where she belonged.  She was a girl trying to fit the pieces of her life together like a jigsaw, a slayer one moment, college student the next, a daughter on the holidays.  The pieces never quite fit.  She had to finagle them, smoothing the edges until they were spread too thin.  But this.  This moment, this man, they fit perfectly.  For once, it seemed the universe was going to give her a reward for all her hard work in saving it time and time again.  A family.

Spotting Giles over Spike’s shoulder she nearly burst with the news.  “Giles!  You’ll never believe what’s happened!”  She wiggled her beringed finger at him.  Spike’s heavy skull ring wasn’t quite her taste, but him popping the question had been spur of the moment.  First they were fighting, letting their passionate natures get the better of them once again then Spike was peering at her with soulful blue eyes, telling her he couldn’t live without her.  She knew spontaneity was Spike’s worst and best trait, but once he made a promise he never went back on his word.  His loyalty was never negotiable.

The look Giles was giving her was pure astonishment, and she was happy to focus her attention on Spike as he turned around, wrapping his arm around her waist to provide a solid, united front to her watcher.  No, her adopted father.  She knew Giles wouldn’t approve of Spike, and it meant more to her than she wanted to admit to her fiancée, but of course he understood.  He knew her so well.  The wry twist to Spike’s lips told her he was trying hard to repress his normally caustic attitude.  It made her love him all the more.

“Look, mate.  I know that you think I’m a right git.  But I love Buffy an’ I want you to know that I’m goin’ to be the kind of man to make her proud.”  He looked down at Buffy with glowing affection.

“You’re not a man,” Giles murmured, polishing his glasses.

Spike continued blithely, knowing his status as vampire wasn’t something he could change.  It was a situation that would need to be worked through one day at a time.  “Family is important to me.  Always has been.  An’ this bun in the oven is jus’ a miracle, it is.”

“Bun?”  Giles marathon eyeglass buffing ceased as Spike’s words sunk in.

Spike absorbed Giles confusion, and turned to his fiancée.  “You haven’t told him yet?”

Buffy shook her head shyly, her eyes darting away.  She hadn’t told anyone.  Not even her mother.  She wanted them to cherish the secret for a while before everyone else knew.  It was such a wonderful miracle, and she knew there would only be questions and castigations once the news was out.  “I’m only a few days late.  I wanted to be absolutely sure, before we told anyone, and--“

“What, luv?”  Spike grasped her suddenly cold hand, and lifted it to his lips.  She turned into him, focusing her gaze at the hollow of his throat instead of his eyes.  It was just too horrible to contemplate.

“It’s just so early yet,” she swallowed.  “Anything could happen.”

Spike gathered her up, laying a soothing cheek against hers.  “Shush, luv.  Banish the thought.  Our little nipper is a fighter, he is.  Jus’ like us.  Nothin’s gonna happen to him.”

She leaned back in his arms so she could meet his eyes.  He always knew what to say to make her feel better.  “What makes you so sure it’s a he.  I’ll have you know we Summers women always have girls.”

He smiled at her teasingly, but she could see the resolve behind it.  “Makes no never mind to me.  Boy, girl.  It’s all ours.  Our miracle.”

She leaned into him for a kiss.  He understood.  The baby growing inside her was a miracle.  Their miracle.  God, she desperately loved this man.

“You can’t seriously believe you are capable of fathering a child.  If by some miracle, Buffy is pregnant, I can assure you it isn’t yours.”  Giles felt like a Mack truck had hit him.  This had to be a spell of some sort.  His fading eyesight and their delusions could only be the manifestations of magic.

Spike turned back to the watcher.  He knew their battle would probably be ongoing for the rest of their lives, but at this moment he felt it important to reassure the man of his intentions.  “It’s our baby, mate.  I honor my responsibilities.  I’m goin’ta make sure Buffy and the niblet are well taken care of.”

“How do you propose to do so?  You can’t even feed yourself.”

“I’ll get a job.  I’ve got skills.  I can make a right proper life for them.”

“Living in a tunnel or a graveyard is hardly the place for a child.  Buffy deserves better.”

Buffy interjected, feeling the strain of the men in her lives arguing dancing on her nerve endings.  “Don’t I get to decide what I deserve?  It’s not like I don’t spend quality time in graveyards already, but I don’t think we will be so bad off as to have to live in one.  Spike and I will make this work.”

Giles rounded on her.  “What about school, Buffy?  What will your mother say?”

Buffy chewed her bottom lip.  Her little hands were balling up with nervousness as she glanced between her fiancée and her watcher.  “I can take a leave of absence or something.  Having Spike around will be a big help when the baby gets here.  I don’t want to be a single mom.  And besides, I really love, Spike.”  She looked at him with shining hazel eyes.  “We love each other.”

Giles threw his hands up in disgust and made his way to the phone and his crystal decanter of brandy.  Clearly, it was a spell and no amount of talking was going to reverse their delusions.  He dialed Willow with one hand, while pouring himself a drink with the other.

 

 

It was the smacking that made his skin want to crawl off his bones.  It sounded distinctly Lovecraftian.  He couldn’t help but to imagine a knot of cephalopodan arms twisting and writhing around each other, waiting to tangle its next juicy meal in its tentacles.  Smack – smack – smack.

“Stop that right now!  I can hear the smacking.”

The chair would have to go to the dump.  It had been a favorite of his for years, extremely comfortable, but now the thought of it being in his home made him want to heave.  Spike, with his tongue down Buffy’s throat.  He needed more scotch.

As startling as it was to have Anya and Xander burst into the room screaming about demons, Giles was more than a little relieved.  Perhaps Buffy and Spike would show some decorum now there were more people in the room, actual seeing people.  But Spike….so that was pipe dream.

“Why are you holding hands?” asked Anya clearly perplexed.  Giles sat back and rubbed his brow.  He really didn’t want to hear this again.

“They have to hear it sooner or later,” prodded Spike, leaving it Buffy’s decision on just how much she wanted to tell her mates.  He hadn’t meant to let the bun out of the oven with the watcher.   They were both ecstatic about the news, and he just assumed she would have told everyone in hearing range.  He wanted to scream it from the rooftops he was so overjoyed.  But he did see her point.  It would be heartbreaking if something dreadful were to happen, and having other people intruding on their mourning with their own feelings and condolences would be overwhelming.  Life was so fragile, so precious.  He should know, having spent years ripping it away.  He almost felt sick about it.  Would have too if he wasn't so bloody hungry.  And sad.  Sad at the thought of their little miracle not making it into the world.  That would never happen, he snarled silently.  He would never let anything happen to his wife to be and their child.

Buffy gripped his hand tightly, and he knew she was having similar misgivings.  It was all so new and special, and completely impossible.  Fairytales like these never lasted.  They were always taken away at the last moment.  It was this knowledge that begged them to seize the day.

“I’m pregnant, and Spike and I are getting married!”  Buffy burst out, her enthusiasm and happiness uncontainable in her small body.  Spike tugged her closer, relishing her vibrancy.

“How?  What?  How?”  Xander babbled.

“Three excellent question,” Giles concurred while trying to find the bottle of scotch.

“What are you looking at?”  Spike caught Buffy gazing up at him with wet eyes, making all the hostility in the room disintegrate like so much fluff.

“The man I love, and the father of my child.”  Everything about him softened.  He was lost.  Completely lost to this woman.  He leaned closer, stroking her jawline with his fingers as their lips met.  A moment of perfect happiness seared into his mind for eternity.

“I just don’t think it’s possible.  Granted vampires are superior lovers with inexhaustible stamina and unusually large penis, but they are sterile.  I mean, could you imagine?  With all the sex they like to have there would be millions of vampire babies running around snacking on all the humans,” Anya mused.  Giles wasn’t sure what was more disturbing.  Vampire penises or small rabid children tearing through a town.  He shuddered.

Spike who was gazing lovelorn into Buffy’s eyes while their brows touched, turned his head to smirk at the ex demon.  Always knew he liked her.  Large penis, indeed!

“Hey!  Don’t talk about my man’s penis.”  Buffy frowned from the circle of Spike’s arms.

Anya had the grace to look chagrined.  “Well, I wasn’t talking about his penis in particular.  I’m sure he has a very nice penis---“

“Please stop,” Giles pleaded.

“I second that.  No more talk about vampire penises,” Xander said with a pained shudder.

“You have a nice penis,” Anya reassured her boyfriend.

“Let’s just strike the word from our vocabularies.  Maybe bleach it from our brains, shall we?  Wait did you say married?”  Xander perked up.

“Yah!”  Buffy wiggled her finger at the couple.  Anya obligingly stepped closer.

“Look honey, it’s a skull.  Not very traditional, but fitting I guess.”

Spike looked affronted.  “I’ll be getting her a proper ring soon enough.”

“I-I like it.”  Buffy pulled her hand to her chest protectively. 

Spike flashed her a knowing look from beneath his dark lashes.  “Liar.”

“I’ll always cherish it.”  Buffy pouted.

“Look at that lip, gonna get it.”

Buffy giggled and tried to get away, but Spike captured her.  He cupped her cheeks in his palms, angling her face upwards so he could look her in the eyes.  “I’ll get you a proper ring, pet.  Something you can wear on your hand proudly,” he whispered over her lips.  She smelled like cherry lip-gloss and shampoo.  She smelled like Buffy.  She smiled, her eyes dreamy as they indulged in more kisses.

“Wait….married….I know something.  What is it?  Everything’s so familiar…work brain – work!  Oh! Oh! Willow!”

Xander explained his conversation with Willow and after Buffy’s ridiculous, ‘I must be immune’ statement; they filed out the door to head for the dorms, leaving non-smacking silence in their wake.  Giles leaned his head back onto the couch with a sigh and full four fingers of scotch in his tumbler.

 

On the way to the crypt to do the spell to summon D’Hoffren and hopefully get Willow back, Buffy and Spike began to bicker.

“You want me to quit my job?”

“At least while your pregnant with our child.  Yes.  One wrong kick and our little miracle will be so much dust.  Surely you agree with that?”

That gave Buffy some pause.  She did get kicked in the stomach—a lot.  And thrown into things.  Mostly, the sharp stone edges of tombs.  It would be enough to make most women miscarry, but was it enough to make her do the same?  She was the slayer.  The Chosen were always women.  She couldn’t be the first one ever to get pregnant.  Maybe she was extra strong during pregnancy in order to protect her offspring or some such.  Then again, maybe she was extra weak, more prone to miscarriages, because the PTB wouldn’t want her laid up for nine months.

Buffy was still mulling it over when an ugly bumpy-headed, two-horned demon with a set of leathers that would have made Pinhead jealous rolled up.  Automatically, Buffy stepped in front of the group in a protective stance.

“Look.  We don’t want trouble.”  She held up her hands to ward him off.  “I just found out I’m pregnant.”

The demon stopped, a large grin splitting his face.

“Congratulations!  Whose the lucky father?”

“Me, mate.”  Spike shoved his fists in his duster as he sidled closer to Buffy.  For the hundredth time he cursed the chip in his head.  There was no way he was going to be able to protect her.  He was a right worthless git.  

The demon’s brows furrowed with suspicion.  “Aren’t you a vamp?”

Spike looked away abashed.  “A miracle, it is.”

“Are you two joshing me?”

Now both Buffy and Spike held their hands outward in identical looks of surprise and dismay.

“No!

“Course not!”

“I really am pregnant.  And Spike’s the father.”

The demon’s reddish eyes darted between them for a moment, trying to ascertain if they were making fun of him.  He didn’t like it when people made fun of him for not being as bright as some other demons.  It wasn’t his fault he was made for fighting and not for thinking.

“Whatever.  I just have an irrational urge to eat that dark haired guy.  Hand him over and I’ll be on my way.”

“Uh, I can’t let you do that,” Buffy stuttered.

“That’s too bad, ‘cause I really want to eat him.  Which is weird since I’m off red meat and all.”  The demon scratched the center of his chest with a big claw.  He glanced around, first looking at Buffy’s belly with uncertainty and then at Xander with a great deal of hunger.

“Um, how about this?  You give us a head start, then you can chase us?”  Buffy offered.

The demon shifted.  He really didn’t want to hurt anyone.  He’d been a good little demon for a while now.  Ever since his mate scared him straight.  All that talk about the Slayer’s, well umm, slaying could make any demon flaccid.  His mate and their little broodlings needed him to come home every night.  But he was suddenly very hungry.

“Yah, okay.  But hurry up.  A demon’s gotta eat, you know.”

“Sure, thanks bunches,” Buffy and her group sidled passed.

“Thanks, mate.”  Spike clapped him on the shoulder.

“Yah, no problem, I’ll just stand here and try to remember what I was doing before I got to the graveyard.”  The demon glanced around as if he wasn’t certain where he was.

“Poor guy.  The spell’s got him all wonky,” Buffy exclaimed as her and Spike barricaded the door to the crypt.

“Poor guy!  That demon wants to eat me!”  Xander exclaimed in horror.

“Well, it’s not his fault,” Buffy replied.

“I think we all know whose fault it is,” Spike snarked.

“Spike!”  Buffy spat.

He shrugged.  “I’m just sayin’, if you’ll stopped trying to make Red feel better, and jus’ let her sob on your shoulders a bit more, maybe she wouldn’t be messin’ around with magic.

Xander squealed as a demon burst through the glass and took a swipe at him.  The group spread out to defend Anya as she quickly sketched out her circle to summon D’Hoffren.  Buffy took a blow that had her sprawled in the dirt, and Spike spitting and snarling in fury.  He threw the demon off her, barely registering that his chip didn’t so much as tweak.  He fought off a second demon, while Buffy tried to secure the door once more.  An ugly red-skinned demon flung Spike to the ground where he lay in a daze.  Buffy appeared over him, running her small hands up and down his body looking for any wounds.  She was just so beautiful, he couldn’t resist.  He pulled her down for a kiss despite the chaos ensuing around them.  If he was going to die, he wanted to do it in her arms.

Then it all just stopped.  In a poof of smoke there were no more screams or calls for help.  No demons or undertones of chanting.  No more love.  The heat in his chest evaporated as Buffy backed her body off his, her eyes wide.  She took everything with her, including his child.

“I’m sorry, guys.”  Willow was babbling in the background, but Spike couldn’t tear his eyes from Buffy’s.  It had been a spell.  The love, the marriage, all the plans for the future.  All of it gone with just a few words from a reckless, heartbroken witch.  Everything except the truth.

“It’s okay,” Buffy murmured reassuringly.  She looked away, and Spike felt absolutely bereft.  He plunged his knotted hands into the pockets of his duster while she told everyone to head back to Giles’.  They filed out, too exhausted and relieved to realize Spike and Buffy weren’t with them.  Wordlessly, she split off from the group, leaving him to trail a few steps behind.  They emerged from the cemetery and headed towards the edge of town.

He held the door for her, as she walked into the Five and Dime on Ester Street.  The bright fluorescent lighting hurt his eyes.  He waited with hunched shoulders while she chose a rectangular box and walked it up to the register.  He could hear the brown paper bag crumple in her fist as she led the way outside and around the edge of the building to the bathrooms.  The door shut with a heavy thud as she disappeared inside.  He could hear the tinkle of urine, and the higher velocity of the sink.  The door opened and he stepped inside.  Together they stood at the edge of the sink, silent as the minutes ticked by.  They watched the pink plus sign form in the tiny box.  Buffy picked up the wand and tossed it into the wastebasket.

“Aren’t you goin’ to keep it?”  His voice was hoarse, as if he just spent the night throwing back whiskey shots.

She paused, her hand on the door, her back to him.  “Why?”

“Jus’ heard some women do.  A memento, I guess.”

“Memento’s are for happy memories, Spike.”

She pushed her way out of the room.  A few seconds later, Spike followed her.  The wand carefully concealed in his pocket.

 

 

Disclaimer:  I don’t own or profit from BtVS.  It is owned by Joss Whedon and affiliates.  No copyright infringement is intended.

 

Dawn of a New Age

 

Chapter Two

“So you are pregnant?”  Giles couldn’t hide his dismay.  They’d all gathered at his home after the spell broke to reassure him everything was well.  Not that they needed to.  He knew the spell was broken as soon as his blurry gaze focused on the nearly empty scotch bottle.  Knowing the children would be arriving shortly, he quickly set about sobering himself up with a pot of very strong coffee.  However, there wasn’t enough coffee in the world to make him feel as if he was sober enough to have heard aright.

“What’s going on?  What’d I miss?”  Willow listened as Buffy explained to the group that her pregnancy wasn’t apart of the spell, unlike her faux engagement with Spike.  The whole scenario sounded ludicrous to her.  She was going to need to bake a whole lot of cookies to make up for this horrendous mess.  She glanced longingly at Giles’ kitchen.

“Buffy’s pregnant.”  Anya filled her in while munching on some buttery popcorn she had the foresight to pop before Buffy and Spike straggled in.  Over eleven hundred years of experience told her the shit was going to hit the fan, and she wanted a front row seat.

“What!?”  Willow gasped.  “I didn’t do it!”  She instantly defended, while trying to remember if she had even thought such a thing, much less said it out loud.

“No.  Haven’t you been listening?”  Anya nudged her before pointing to Spike.  “It’s Spike’s fangy prodigy.”

“That’s just not possible.”  Willow asserted, confident they were pulling her leg.  That was until she caught sight of Xander’s stricken expression and Giles’ ‘Defcon One Apocalypse Now’ look.  “Is it?”

No one answered her.  Buffy was slumped in the garbage dump destined recliner while Giles stood nearby, the wire arm of his eyeglasses nearly snapping between his fingers.  Spike was situated near the door, his darkened gaze never leaving the crown of Buffy’s bowed head.  Willow was starting to feel more than guilt rolling around in her too tight stomach.  Nervousness and outright anxious fear were playing a little rough and tumble in there as well.  Xander shot off the couch to pace with nervous energy behind Willow and Anya, ratcheting up her anxiousness even more.

“When did this happen?”  Again, no one answered her, so she fixed her wide-eyed gaze on Buffy.  “I mean, how far along are you?” 

Buffy shrugged.  “Dunno.  I’m just a little late,” she mumbled into her jacket.  She was becoming smaller by the minute as she curled further into herself.

Willow quickly did the math.  Being roommates she was pretty familiar with her friend’s cycle.  You had to be when bunking with a temperamental slayer.  “So like, four weeks about?”  Buffy nodded halfheartedly.  “So it could be Parkers?”  Willow perked up.  Human baby was of the good.  Vampire baby; not so much.

“Who’s Parker?”  Giles straightened.  His hawkish eyes pinned his slayer to the spot, and she shrunk a bit more.

He’s a poncy git, that’s who,” Spike growled.

Buffy sneered at Spike, her body uncurling from the chair.  “Yah, it could be Parker’s.  We used protection, but it could have broke.  He’s the kinda guy who wouldn’t tell me if it did.”

“Jus’ the kind of bloke you’d want to be the father of your child.”  Spike stepped out of the shadows, his hands knotted into white-knuckled fists.

“Better than you!”  Buffy shot off the chair, forcing Giles to back away as the two squared off.

“You know she’s mine.  Not some wanker’s who can’t use a wellie properly.  You think he’s gonna give two shites about you and the sprog?”

“I don’t need someone to take care of me.  I’m the goddamn slayer.”  The room winced at her language.

“You’re more than the slayer, you goin’ta be a mum.”

“I don’t need you to tell me what I am or am not!”

“Someone has to!  You’re actin’ like a poxy bint.”

“You’re just pissed because there’s no way she’s yours.  She has to be Parkers’.”

“I planted that babe in your belly when I was wearin’ the ring of Amara and you know it, slayer.”

“I don’t know anything.  I sure as hell don’t remember any planting.”

“Wait!”  Xander advanced on Spike with a wide-eyed look of murderous vengeance.  “Did you rape her?”  Xander snarled, poking Spike in the chest.

His question unsettled Spike so greatly, he actually back up a step.  “You’re off your rocker!”

“Well, Buffy sure as hell wouldn’t sleep with you of her own free will.”  Xander let the insinuation hang in the room.  Willow squeaked, her hands covering her mouth in horror.  Even Anya stopped her popcorn munching to shoot a vengeful glare at Spike.  Rape victims had been her all to frequent customers.  Most of their requests she did for free.

“Is this true, Buffy?” Giles asked, caught somewhere between Ripperesque outrage and fatherly concern.

Everyone turned to her, including Spike.  The room temperature dropped, making it as cold as a morgue.   All it would take was one tiny nod from her and he would be so much dust on the ol’ man’s knick knackery.  He watched as the same conclusion ran through her mind.  He drew himself up, determined to meet his maker like a man.

“No.”  She finally spoke, and Spike expelled a pent up breath.  “It’s not true.  Spike didn’t rape me.  The baby isn’t Parker’s either.”

“If he didn’t rape you, and it isn’t Parker’s, then how?”  Willow asked in a small, fearful voice.

Buffy sank back into the chair, her fire extinguished.  “I don’t know.  I just know what Spike says is true.  He found the ring, we fought, then it’s sorta blank after that, but I know that’s when I got pregnant.”  Buffy’s voice was small and sad.  It sounded nothing like her.  It was driving Spike crazy.

“So he did rape you.”  Xander whirled on Spike so fast that the vampire barely had time to deflect his fist.  Spike slid away, pursued by the rabid younger man.  Suddenly, Xander was jerked away and tossed back onto the couch.  Anya had to launch herself onto Willow’s lap to avoid being squished.

“No!”  Buffy shouted, and all three people on the couch stiffened.  She stood protectively in front of Spike, her fists shaking at her sides.  “Spike did not rape me.  I’m certain of it.  I just don’t remember…”  She turned to Spike, her aspect pleading.  “Do you?”

He couldn’t stop himself from tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.  A residual effect of the spell he told himself.  “No, luv.  I don’t.  It’s like you said.”  He took a step closer.  “I would never…I’d never do that to you, Buffy.  Even at my worst.”  He held her gaze for a long moment, before she nodded. 

“I know, Spike.  I’ve always known that about you.”   She moved away from him, and the intimacy he created.

Giles observed them with something akin to indigestion.  “So if not…that.”  He couldn’t say the word.  Couldn’t comprehend it.  Not his slayer.  Not Buffy.  “Then perhaps it’s a side effect of the Ring of Amara we aren’t familiar with.  Some way to create a prodigy without killing the host?  I will need to do some research.  Maybe during the fight…close contact…” He wandered to his bookcase, grasping at straws to explain Buffy’s condition. 

Willow, Xander and Anya ignored him.  Their gazes, riveted on Buffy ranged from sad to disappointment to pity.  She couldn’t stand it a moment longer.  In a flurry of activity Buffy picked up her stakes and concealed them on her person.

“Where’re you goin’?”  Spike’s expression was dark.  He wasn’t a stupid vampire.  He knew exactly what she was up too.

“I need to slay something.  I’m gonna patrol then head home.”

“No.”  Everyone’s head, including Giles’ who was nose deep in a book, swung towards Spike.  The one word was low, guttural and deadly.  Buffy immediately fell back into a defensive stance, her stake raised.

“You aren’t the boss of me, Spike.  I go where I want and do as I please.”

“’m not disputin’ that, Slayer, but you have the nibblet to think of.  It’s like we was sayin’ earlier.  One wrong kick.”

Buffy didn’t need a reminder of how happy they’d been just a few short hours ago.  How concerned they both had been about the welfare of their child.  Angry, scared, tired, she lashed out at the one person who was the root of it all.  “Good.  Cheaper than abortion.”

Willow gasped and even Anya looked stricken.  Xander’s face lit up, while Giles’ expression remained studiously neutral.  Spike reacted with darkened fury.

“Slayer,” he hissed.  Everyone in the room subtly glanced around for wooden weapons.  Giles slowly lowered the book he was holding and eyed his crossbow.  Spike visibly reined in his anger.  He tilted his head back until he could see the ceiling, the tendons in his neck bulging beneath pale skin.  He rolled his head, loosening the muscles in his shoulders and relaxed his fists.  Dipping his chin, he made sure he had Buffy’s complete attention before speaking.  “She’s our miracle,” he reminded her in a quiet voice, reminiscent of the awe they’d both shared earlier, their reverence in contemplating their future together as a family.  Her, him, and their precious miracle.  Buffy felt a sudden and fiercely protective surge wash over her, but she stubbornly fought it down.  The thing inside her wasn’t a miracle.  It was an abomination.

“It’s not like I’m psyched to give birth to some freaky vampire human hybrid, Spike.  It’s a monster.  Just like you.”

Buffy didn’t wait to see the despair etched on Willow’s face, the disappointed disgust on Anya’s or the victorious smirk on Xander’s.  All she saw was the sick hurt on Spike’s as she pushed her way to the door.  As she passed over the threshold, she glanced back, looking over everyone to her watcher, the man who’d been her guide between good and evil for so many years.  His face was blank as he watched her go, and she felt something crack inside her, before she slammed the door shut.

 

Rage filled every crook and crevice in her mind.  It burned her through her chest, and threatened to leak out of her eyes in acidy rivulets.  She stomped through the graveyard, barely noting her surroundings.  The fledgling she steamrolled into was already fanged out and sniffing the air for blood.  She recoiled in disgust.  It was easy to forget with Spike about the monster simmering beneath his human mask.  Fledglings were more honest in their appearance, their ridges grotesque, their fangs glistening with saliva.  There was nothing about them to confuse her.  She knew exactly what she was dealing with.  A demon, a monster, something that needed to be put down like a rabid dog. 

Tears scorched her eyes, and the fledgling became a dark shadow.  It struck her on the side of the head, and her feet became tangled beneath her.  She fell over, her ribs cracking against the sharply angled edge of a granite grave marker.  She hit the ground with a thud, desperately trying to catch her breath.  The fledgling dove for her, landing on her upturned stake.  She was still choking on dust when she rolled onto her side, curling protectively around her belly.  Her muscles stiff, her heart barely beating, she waited for a sign her body was going to expel her baby.  When there was no pain, she pulled herself upright to lean against the grave marker, tears coursing down in her cheeks.

“Buffy?  Are you injured?”  Giles unexpected appearance only made Buffy cry harder.  So hard he was afraid she would make herself sick.  She wrapped her arms tightly around her shins and buried her face into her knees as if she could hold herself together despite the wracking shudders assailing her slight frame.  Seeing she had no physical injury, Giles grimaced and patted her consolingly on the shoulder, but his charge’s misery didn’t abate.  He disliked the aura of impropriety attached to any physical contact he had with his charge, but she was more than his slayer.  She was Buffy.  He settled himself beside her, feeling the chill of the tombstone behind him, and the heat of her body pressed against his side.  He awkwardly settled his arm around her shoulders in a fatherly manner, stifling a grunt of surprise when she huddled closer, burying her wet face in the labels of his tweed jacket.  Her entire body shook as she sobbed, and for once Giles forgot his duty.  He became a father consoling his teenage daughter.

“I’m so scared, Giles.”  Her sobs lessened, but she remained huddled into his side.  Evening mist was forming in low eddies around the tombs, shimmery and pearlescent in the moonlight.  The cold seeped into Giles’ bones, and he had to fight the urge to shift his seat to relieve the ache.  He pulled Buffy closer in a one armed hug, resting his chin on the crown of her head.  She was so small and childlike, it was easy to forget she was a powerful woman.

“This situation would be frightening under normal circumstances.  Your feelings are perfectly understandable.”

“But these aren’t normal circumstances are they?  I’m not just some stupid kid who made a bad choice and got knocked up.  I have a monster inside me.”

“We don’t know that for certain.”

“Don’t we?  It’s a vampire baby.  What if it tries to eat me from the inside out?  Starts making dinner plans for my liver?  It could burst out of my chest like that alien move!”

“Uh, well.”  Giles was horrified.

Buffy wound herself up, her fists clenching and releasing the stiff fabric of his jacket.  “Or what if I have this baby, and it’s totally normal?  You know.  Cute and adorable with blue eyes and gold curls.  And I love her.  Love her with all my heart.  Then one day she starts running around killing people like that Omen kid.  What if I have to stake my own baby?”

Buffy was sobbing again, her voice escalating to be heard over her own ragged breathing.  Clearly, Buffy watched too much late night television after her patrols.  It gave her more nightmares than the reality of her life.  He should speak to Joyce about it.  “Those aren’t even the worst case scenarios!” 

“They’re not?” Giles asked, befuddled.  They sounded pretty worst case to him.

“What if she’s perfectly normal?” Buffy asked in a rough voice.  Her sobs dried up again, leaving her feeling wrung out and exhausted deep in her soul.

Giles didn’t know what to say.  “She?”  It hadn’t gone unnoticed that other than their small spat while under the spell both her and Spike almost exclusively referred to the child as female.  It gave credence to his thoughts that this was a magically induced pregnancy.  He would need to check for prophecies.  Something this momentous would have to be recorded somewhere.

Buffy shrugged, picking at the frayed hem of her jeans.  She was never going to be able to afford new clothes with a baby.  She could barely replace her wardrobe as it was.  She’d have to resign herself to being fashion challenged.

Giles cleared his throat as the silence became deafening.  “Well, I would think that normal would be a good thing.”

“Shyeah.”

Giles angled himself to the side to see her face, but she turned away.  “It’s not a good thing?”

Buffy picked at the thread on her jeans as the silence length.  Finally, she shifted so she could look up at her watcher.  Her pale brow was furrowed, her eyes red and watery.

“What if I can’t protect her from my enemies?  I’m the slayer.  Lot’s of things want me dead, and what if they go through her to get to me?  What if something takes my baby and I can’t save her?”

Giles felt his heart clench.  His arm tightened around her shoulders and she relaxed into him, resting her head over his heart.  Her fear was indescribable.  He felt something very close to it every time Buffy walked out his door to face some new threat.  

“What if---?”  Giles felt his heart come to a stop as he waited for her to finish.  “What if I die?” she asked in a small voice.  “I’ll have this baby.  A little person whom I’d be responsible for, but I’m still the slayer, yeah?  Expiration date and all that.  What if I die, and leave her all alone, and something terrible happens that I can’t protect her from?  She’d hate me.”

Giles placed his big hand over her skull, his blunt fingers resting on her softly tangled curls.  He felt so much bigger and stronger than her, like a parent to a small child, but at the same time he had never felt such overwhelming helplessness.  Her fears, so meticulously lined out, told him what he had always known.  Buffy was a bright, thoughtful girl, who didn’t deserve any of the awful things that happened to her, but she was also a girl who had the instinct to protect written in her DNA.

“She wouldn’t hate you, Buffy.  She would love and miss you.  Besides these ‘what if’s’ may never come to pass.  You mustn’t dwell on them.”

“May never doesn’t mean will never, Giles.  Besides all these problems are solvable, right?”

“They are?”

“I’ll just make an appointment at the clinic.”  Buffy struggled for nonchalance, but her voice was pitched too high.

“You wish to terminate the pregnancy?” Giles asked neutrally.

“Do you think I should?”  Buffy held herself very still against him.  Giles was equally stiff.  He really didn’t know what to think.  On the one hand the child could be prophesized.  Something that was meant to be.  On the other hand, both Spike and Buffy were inexplicably convinced the child was his, and nothing but evil could ever come from Spike.  Prophesy’s themselves hardly ever foresaw the fluffier side of things either.  Chances were the child was going to be evil, even if it was being born by someone as pure as Buffy.  Evil quite often gestated in innocents.

“I think it’s not my decision to make.  I’m your watcher, Buffy, and it’s my duty to keep you safe, but there are some things that I can’t give you direction on.”  He trailed off as if he wanted to say more, but thought better of it.  Buffy heard it in the soft roll of his voice.

“But?”

He hesitated, looking out into the rows of pale tombstones.  An owl hooted it’s intent to hunt in the distance.  Predators were out, and this was their hunting ground.  The one place where his charge was comfortable enough to make life altering decisions.

“Evil comes in many different forms.  Whatever you decide, you must be careful.”

Buffy’s only response was to withdrawal from him subtly.  It wasn’t a conscious move on her part, but he felt it in his heart.  He wanted to be supportive, and he would have if the father had been human.  But Spike wasn’t human.  And no matter his protestations to the contrary, he was nothing but a threat to Buffy and her child.  If Buffy had the child, it would mean being tied to Spike for the rest of her life.  That was something he didn’t want for her.  He unwound his arm from her shoulders as he prepared to stand.

“What about, Spike?”  Her soft question halted him.

“What about him?” Giles asked quizzically.

“It’s his baby.  Shouldn’t I take his feelings into account?”

He put his warm hand over her cold one, before speaking.  “I’m still not entirely convinced Spike is the father.  Besides, he is a vampire.  He isn’t capable of real emotional depth.”

“He’s the father,” she vowed with conviction.  “And he seemed pretty emotional to me.  He really wants this baby.”

“It’s just another trophy for him.  A way to set himself apart from other vampires and increase his reputation.  He doesn’t truly care about you or your baby.”

“He calls her a miracle.  Our miracle.”  Her voice was tiny, nearly insubstantial.

Feeling inadequate, he stiffly struggled to his feet.  These weren’t subjects he was versed in.  Books were his forte.  Emotions were messy and there were no guidelines on how to handle them.  He steadied himself on the grave marker, before reaching out his hand.

“Let me walk you back to your dorm room.”

Buffy lifted her head, her eyes luminous in the moonlight.  Scrunched up on the ground, he could see the child she must have been, and he felt a momentary tinge of sorrow he hadn’t been there for her when she was younger.  She must have been a precocious little spitfire.  Still is, he thought.  She took his proffered hand, dusting off her jeans as she stood.

“No.  Take me home, please.  I need my mom.”

He nodded, tucking her tiny hand in the crease of his elbow as they walked out of the graveyard.

Disclaimer:  I don’t own or profit from BtVS.  It all belongs to Joss Whedon and affiliates.  No copyright infringement intended.

 

 

Dawn of a New Age

 

Chapter Three

 

 

Spike watched as Giles and Buffy left the graveyard.  He lit a cigarette with shaking hands, inhaling the nicotine deeply into his lungs to steady his nerves.  He had heard the entire conversation, having been about to approach the Slayer before Giles appeared.  What was said broke his unbeating heart.  He hadn’t realized Buffy’s fears ran so deep.  Her natural animosity towards vampires had her envisioning a monster growing inside her, while the distrust implanted by Angelus made her fearful of any kind of love, even between a mother and child.  Then there were the fears manifested just by the nature of her being the Slayer.  The fear that the child would be hurt because of what she was or her own death would leave it unprotected.  All of Buffy’s fears came back to one premise-- she was alone.  She was surrounded by friends, a mother who loved her, yet she still felt as if she’d be the only one raising and more importantly, protecting their child.  Buffy was either unwilling or too ignorant to realize that he’d fight just as fiercely to protect their child as she would.

 

He didn’t know why he thought the baby was his.  It was just something he knew.  It was a bone-deep ache in his marrow.  He was meant to protect this child.  He was meant to apart of its life.  It was enough to humble any monster.

 

He left the graveyard and headed to Willy’s.  He needed a drink in the worst possible way.  The joint smelled of spilt beer, cigarettes and demon musk.  Spike liked it because the corners were dark, and blood was cheap.  He settled at the bar, his demeanor daunting enough for Willy to wordlessly leave a bottle of Jack in front of him, only returning to replace it when it became empty.  Spike was well passed happily sloshed and on his way to rat arsed when a demon broke away from a group of nervous looking monsters huddled in a booth in the back.

 

“Hey!  The guys and I just wanted to buy you a drink.”  The demon greeted as he bellied up to the bar.

 

Spike cocked his head to eye the demon.  He was in a human mien; dark hair and gray eyes, studded leathers that were a little too garish even for his tastes.  Spike was certain he hadn’t met him before, but he did seem familiar.  “Wot for?”

 

“To say congratulations on your bundle of joy.”

 

Spike slammed his tumbler on the bar with a loud smack and whirled to face the demon.

“Do I know you, mate?” he snarled and the demon took a step back, his hands raised.

 

“Uh.  We, uh, met earlier.”  The demon’s human disguise melted away revealing gray skin and backswept horns.

 

“You’re the demon from the cemetery.”  Spike’s wariness settled, and he dismissed the demon from his thoughts.  He picked up the bottle of Jack to replace the whiskey that had sloshed out when he slammed his glass down.  The demon approached him tentatively, his human aspect slipping back into place.

 

“Is uhh, everything okay?  Is your girl—err---the Slayer doing okay?”

 

“She’s not acknowledging me right now,” Spike muttered bitterly into his liquor.

 

The demon visibly relaxed.  “Heh, yah.  Been there a time or two.  Women sure know how to make you crawl for it sometimes.  But the baby’s okay and all?”

 

“What’da ya care?”  Spike shot the demon an angry look, wondering why he thought it was okay to cozy up to the bar next to him.  Did he think they had bonded or something?

 

“Well, you know, with the fighting and everything.  You gotta be careful.  Wouldn’t want anything to happen to her.”

 

Spike vamped out as he grabbed the demon by the collar and shook him off the barstool.  “You threatening my family?”  For all the violence of his actions, his tone was silky with deadly intent. 

 

“What?  No!  Of course not.  I’d never do that.  I’ve a family myself,” the demon scrambled to assure him, musky with fear.

 

Spike glared into the demon’s terrified face.  Deciding he wasn’t a threat, he released him with a shove.  The demon caught himself before he fell.  He straightened his studded leathers, shooting Spike a look of irritation.  Spike sighed and motioned to Willy.

“Look.  I’m being a wanker.  Jus’ had a shite night is all.  I’ll buy you a drink.”

 

The demon glanced over to his friends, noting their looks of terrified concern.  They all knew of Spike’s reputation for violence, and being of the nonviolent types they usually tried to avoid him.  The demon glanced back at Spike, noticing his tight-lipped look and relented.  He’d seen that look on many a man.  Himself included.  He gave Willy his order as he resettled himself on the stool.

 

“Woman trouble?”

 

“You said it, mate.”  Spike shot another finger of whiskey and poured himself another.

 

“Name’s Dekker.”

 

They briefly shook hands.  Spike didn’t bother to introduce himself.  Everyone knew who he was and if they didn’t, well, they wouldn’t make the mistake for long.

 

“Aren’t ya a Purgos demon?  What’re you doin’ hanging around those prats?”  Spike nodded to the reflection in the mirror over the bar.  Dekker glanced at his friends.

 

“What’ya mean?”

 

“They’re a bunch of pillocks.  Don’t hunt humans.  If I remember aright, Purgos demons like the taste of human flesh.”

 

Dekker shifted uncomfortably.  “Yah.  Well, my mate has me on a no humans diet.  Afraid the Slayer might---“

 

“Slay you?”  Spike offered.

 

“Yah.”  Dekker shrugged sheepishly.

 

“Nuthin’ wrong with that.  A demon’s gotta take care of his own.  Can’t do that with a stake in your heart.”

 

Dekker nodded and blew the froth off his pint.  “Hard enough taking care of them as it is.  Can’t get work with the evils, and the goods are afraid of me.  I got six broodlings and it seems like every time I turn around they need their fangs twisted or their horns polished.”

 

Spike cast Dekker a glance from under the veil of his lashes.  “That’s tough, mate.”

 

Dekker ducked his head, and they lapsed into a short uncomfortable silence.

 

“So you and the Slayer, huh?”

 

“What of it?” Spike asked tightly.  A hundred and twenty years of building his reputation as the Big Bad shot to hell over a woman he didn’t even like.  Right?

 

“It’s just---neat.”

 

“Neat?”

 

Dekker shifted.  “Well, yah.  Maybe, she’ll be less—“ Dekker made a sharp jabbing motion with his hand.

 

“Stabby?” Spike finished.

 

“No offense, man.  But she is the scourge of the demon world.  And now with those commando guys running around.”  Dekker shuddered.  “Population’s getting a little demon lite.  Ya know what I mean?”

 

“Yah.”  Spike answered noncommittally.  Buffy was Heaven’s Chosen One.  It was her job to keep the balance, but those commandos were tipping the scales, and no good ever came from an imbalance of nature.

 

A group of riotous demons burst through the back door, the biggest of the group striding up to Willy.  Spike threw back another shot, noticing how Dekker stilled in his seat and Willy shrank away.

 

“Time to pay up, human.”

 

“I-I just paid last week,” Willy squeaked.

 

The big demon grabbed Willy by the shirt collar and hauled him over the bar.

 

“You’ll pay up when I say or we’ll break this joint up good.”

 

“That’s not cool,” Willy protested.  “I told ya I’d pay your protection money, it’s only right.  I gotta be under someone’s protection, right?  Don’t want my place busted up by any ol’ demon, but you can’t just steal everything I got.”

 

Spike was listening to the conversation only on the peripheral.  He had no reason to get involved in Willy’s business dealings.  It wasn’t uncommon for the demon business owners to pay protection money to whichever gang of thugs claimed turf in their neighborhood, but they were notoriously unreliable.  Being thugs and all.  The protection usually guaranteed less protection from other random demons, and more protection from the gang itself from retaliating against the business owner.  It was kinda like insurance.  As long as you paid them, they didn’t wreck your joint.  The gangs themselves changed all the time, depending on who had the most power at the time or if during a particularly veracious slaying spree Buffy unintentionally wiped them out.  It made no never mind to Spike if Willy was getting shook down, just as long as the barkeep kept serving liquor.

 

Spike watched in the mirror as one of the demons nudged a crony then pointed at the empty space where he was sitting.  They whispered something he couldn’t hear, but guessed it wasn’t good when they broke into matching malicious grins.

 

“Look, guys.  It’s the Slayer’s leashed vamp toy.  The skank got herself knocked up, and she’s got this dumbass thinking he’s the father.  I mean, how stupid do you have to be?  Everyone knows vamps can’t have kids.”

 

Spike turned to Dekker.  “Who all did you tell?” he spat.

 

Dekker looked repentant.  “Just a few of the guys.  I didn’t think it was a secret.  You two were all about announcing it to the whole graveyard.”

 

Another demon stepped up, rubbing his crotch with a leer on his face.  “If I’d known she was that easy, I would have taken a poke at her a long time ago.  She’s not bad looking for a human.  Perky little tits and I bet her ass is so tight you’d lose your---”

 

Spike crossed the distance between him and the demon in a flash, his long coat billowing behind him.  He slammed his fist into the demon’s heavily reinforced jaw, shattering the thick bone with one blow.  Spike tensed, expecting to feel an excruciating shock from the chip, only to exhale in relief when nothing happened.  He’d been afraid the fight with the demons at the graveyard had been a fluke brought about by the spell, but it seemed the chip only fired when he attacked humans.  As long as he stayed clear of them, he should be fine.  The demon at his feet groaned, and with malicious glee he stomped on it’s head.

 

“That’s my fiancée you’re talking about,” Spike snarled.  Deep down he cursed the residual effects of the spell that kept triggering repressed thoughts of Buffy being his bride, but the result was still the same.  She was the mother of his child, and she would be respected.

 

The largest demon dropped Willy, and with a nod of his head the rest of the gang charged.  Spike lashed out with every weapon at his disposal, hands and feet shattering bone, fangs tearing flesh.  He was vaguely aware of a presence at his side as Dekker waylaid a demon who tried to blindside him.  In mere minutes most of the gang were either dead or damn near.  Spike grinned maniacally, nodding his thanks to Dekker.

 

“Great!”  Willy threw his hands up in the air.  “Now whose gonna run the racket?”  He glanced around, worried demons were going to spontaneously start wrecking his place.  Spike watched him with a narrowed glance, a half formed idea taking root.

 

“I am, mate.  I’m takin’ over.”  He glanced around the bar, satisfied when no other demons would meet his hard look.

 

“Spike?”  Willy stuttered nervously.

 

“I’ll watch your place, and everyone else’s too.  Treat you fair I will, and you’ll give me a good bit of dosh for it too.  Yeah?”

 

Willy assessed him a moment, before nodding with a small smile.  “Yeah,” he agreed.

 

Spike returned his nod.  He emptied the pockets of the dead demons, and for the first time in a long time he paid his bill.  He took the rest of the money and split it with Dekker.

 

“Need a job?”

 

Dekker grinned.

 

“Good,” Spike said curtly.  “I need a right hand man I can trust.”

 

“You got it, man.”

 

“And a crew.”

 

“I can get you one of those,” Dekker assured, a gleam in his eye.

 

“Good.  I want all the demon run business under our control by the end of the week.  Put the word out.  The Big Bad is in town, and he’s lookin’ to run it.”  Spike smacked his hands together, an evil smile curling his lips around his fangs.

 

Dekker swallowed.  “All of it?”

 

Spike’s eyes glittered sulfur yellow under the dim lights.  “All of it.  From docks to the hills.  They can either kneel down or choke on blood.  Either way, I’m getting my due.”  Spike clapped Dekker on the shoulder.  “Gotta take care of our women folk anyway we can, yeah?”

 

“Yeah,” Dekker agreed as they exited the bar.

 

 

 

“Buffy, phone!”

 

Buffy rolled over with a groan.  Her eyes felt swollen from last night’s crying jag, and she had a horrible case of cottonmouth.  Rubbing her face with her hands, she shuffled out to the hall where a polished wood end table was pushed against the wall, a vase full of fake sunflowers in the center.  She plucked the cordless phone off the base, leaning her warm forehead against the cool plaster wall. 

 

“Got it, mom,” she called down the stairs.  “Hello?”

 

“Spike didn’t come back last night.”

 

“Giles?” Buffy felt a little fuzzy as she made her way to the bathroom.

 

“Did you hear me?”  Giles concern was apparent, but Buffy couldn’t drum up any corresponding feeling.  She caught her reflection in the mirror and shuddered.  Oh, yeah.  She needed a long, hot shower.

 

“Yeah.  What of it?”

 

“Who knows what he’s up too?”

 

“He’s a big boy.  I’m sure he can take care of himself.”  Buffy retrieved a clean washcloth from the cabinet and turned on the tap.

 

“That’s what I’m worried about,” Giles muttered.

 

Buffy ran the cloth under the water, and wrung it out as best she could with one hand.  “Look, Spike’s got that chip, right?  So it’s not like he’s on a reign of terror.  And frankly, I have other things I need to worry about right now.  He’ll turn up when he gets hungry.  Till then I’m gonna take a break from Spike sitting.  Okay?”  She knew she was being harsh, but she was wrung out.  And tired.  She hadn’t been this tired in a long time.  She pressed the cold cloth to her eyes, suppressing the urge to moan.

 

“Yes, of course, Buffy.  You get some rest.  I’ll keep a look out for Spike.  Don’t you worry.”

 

“I’m not,” she replied dully.

 

“Very well.  I’ll speak to you later.”

 

“Bye, Giles.”  She hung up the phone, dropping it on the back of the toilet, and stripped off her clothes in preparation for what she hoped to be the best hot shower of her life.

 

An hour later, a dressed and partially living Buffy oozed down the stairs and turned towards the kitchen where she could hear her mother moving around.  She made it to the threshold when the smell of cooked eggs assaulted her.  She spun on her heel, ducking into the downstairs bath, barely making it to the toilet before she started to dry heave.  Fantastic.  Since she hadn’t eaten in more than twelve hours the only thing she could bring up was clear bile, but that didn’t stop her stomach from trying to flip itself inside out.

 

“Buffy, are you okay?”  Her mom knocked loudly on the door, making Buffy’s head pound.

 

“I’m good.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“Yah.  I think something’s off with those eggs you’re cooking.  They smell pretty rank.  I’ll be out in a sec.”

 

Buffy could sense her mother’s lingering presence outside the door for a few moments before she returned to the kitchen.  She rested her heated brow on the rim of the cool porcelain seat, breathing deeply through her mouth in an effort to avoid toilet stench.  When she finally felt like her world wasn’t going to upend itself, she stood and rinsed her mouth out in the sink.

 

When she came out, the smell of eggs had disappeared, and her mother was washing the pan in the sink.  Buffy smiled at her, and listlessly made her way to the refrigerator.

 

“Are you sure you’re okay, Buffy?

 

“I said I was fine,” Buffy snapped.  She was feeling more irritable than usual, but gees, how many times did she have to answer the same question.  She wrenched opened the fridge and a god-awful odor wafted out.  Buffy whirled towards the kitchen sink, knowing instinctively she wouldn’t make it back to the bathroom.  She convulsed over the sink, her stomach empty even of bile.  Her mother ran a soothing hand down her back while murmuring words of encouragement that made Buffy feel better even at her worst.  She wondered if this is what being a mother was about, holding your children close even when they were at their grossest.

 

When she finished, her mother guided her to the couch in the living room.  “Why don’t you just lay down for a bit and I’ll get you some toast?”

 

“K, mom,” Buffy agreed meekly.  She laid down, her arm over her sensitive eyes to block out the light.  Life totally sucked sometimes.

 

Her mom came back with two slices of dried toast and a glass of milk, which was weird.  The only time Buffy had milk was on her cereal or if she was dunking cookies.  Joyce sat in the recliner near the head of the couch, watching Buffy with cool eyes.  Buffy’s stomach gurgled, reminding her how hungry she was.  Probably just wants something to throw up the next go around, she thought wryly as she wolfed down the surprisingly appetizing toast.  After a few moments, she noticed her mom watching her appraisingly.

 

“What?” she asked around a mouthful of toast.

 

Joyce shook her head as she leaned back in her chair.  “You know when I was pregnant with you every little smell would set me off.  A hint of rotten food in the fridge, the produce isle in the grocery store, asphalt in the summer.  Your father couldn’t even wear cologne.  It would just make me wretch.”

 

Joyce caught sight of Buffy’s pale, stricken features, and suddenly it all clicked.

 

“Omigod, Buffy.  Are you pregnant?”

 

Buffy’s only answer was to hide her eyes behind her hands.  Joyce shot up from the chair.  “How could this of happened?”  Buffy hadn’t thought it possible for her to cry anymore, but she was wrong.  She started shuddering with dry sobs that made her eyes burn.

 

“I don’t know, mommy.  Parker was being mean to me.  And then Spike was there and we started fighting.  And there was this ring.”  Her harsh sobs made it hard for her to speak, and her mother instantly flew to her side, gathering her close in a calming embrace.

 

“Just start from the beginning,” she coaxed.  Buffy nodded and told her everything.

After she finished she couldn’t meet her mother’s shell-shocked eyes.  She never felt so small in all her life.  She knew her mother was disappointed in her.  How could she not be?  It seemed all Buffy ever did was make one bad decision after another, starting with Angel and ending with Spike.

 

“So Spike didn’t—“

 

“No!”  Why did everyone assume that Spike raped her?  She was getting tired of it.  The uncertain look in her mother’s eye told her that she didn’t believe it either, but had to ask to be sure.

 

“No.  Of course he wouldn’t.  He’s a good boy.”

 

Buffy rolled her eyes.  “He’s like a hundred and something years old.  He’s hardly a boy.”

 

Joyce nodded, her hand idly tracing the inside of Buffy’s wrist.  She was wearing her mulling face that always made Buffy nervous.

 

“So what are you thinking?”  It was a noncommittal, multilayered mom question that Buffy was rarely treated to.  It was an acknowledgment of Buffy’s adulthood and right to make her own decisions, while expressing unvoiced solidarity and support.  Buffy shied away from other, deeper implications of the question.

 

“Well, it would be hard to continue college.”  Buffy danced around the subject at hand.

 

“True.  But you are hardly the first student to ever get pregnant.  I’m sure we can arrange a leave of absence that won’t effect your student status.”

 

Buffy nodded, already have thought about it.  She didn’t know yet if she wanted to continue college.  The idea of juggling motherhood, classes and slaying seemed overwhelming.

 

“Then there’s the slaying.”

 

“Yes, the slaying.”  Joyce’s voice was quiet, soothing, but Buffy could feel the tension in her mother at the mention of her night job.  It wouldn’t take much for Joyce to advocate giving up slaying.  A baby would be just the leverage she would need.  However, at the moment, her mom didn’t seemed inclined to play that card.  When Buffy didn’t say more, Joyce slid her long fingers between hers, and tugged her back so they could look at each other.

 

“These are all things to consider when you are about to be a mother, but they aren’t the only things.”

 

“They’re not?”  Buffy was confused.  Giles expounded on addressing facts when one had a dilemma to solve.  There were always pros and cons to be considered meticulously.  It was part of a slayer’s training to assess situations with levelheaded calculation.

 

“No.”  Joyce waited a beat before saying more.  “Buffy, how do you feel when you think about having a baby?”

 

That wasn’t hard.  “Fear, anxiety, anger,” she babbled.

 

“Anything else?” Joyce prodded.

 

Buffy paused, searching deep.  “Excitement?” she murmured tentatively.  “Maybe kinda happy.”

 

Joyce nodded.  “And what do you feel when you think about not having the baby?”

 

Buffy tensed at the thought.  There were a lot of emotions swirling inside her, but one stood out the most.  “Loss,” she whispered.  Joyce rubbed a hand down her back, her fingertips dusting over the small knobs of her spine.  Buffy frowned, not completely convinced.  “I think, maybe, Giles wants me to have an abortion.”

 

It was Joyce’s turn to tense.  “It’s a good thing it’s not his decision.”  Joyce’s voice lost its warm, soothing quality and Buffy shivered.

 

“He’s my watcher.”

 

“But he’s not the father.  How does Spike feel about it?”

 

Buffy turned away, picking at some nonexistent dirt under her nails.  “Giles says vampires don’t have feelings.”

 

“That’s just ridiculous twaddle and you know so, Buffy Anne.”  Buffy drew back, suddenly ashamed.  “That’s just years of racial prejudice talking.”

 

“I don’t think it’s the same thing, mom.  Vampires aren’t people, they’re just evil.”

 

“They are too people and maybe some of them are evil.  There’re certainly evil humans out and about.”

 

“There are no none evil vamps.”

 

“What about, Angel?”

 

“He has a soul.”

 

“So you’re saying that Spike’s lack of soul makes him incapable of loving his child.”

 

“Well, yeah.”

 

“I am extremely disappointed in you right now, Buffy.  You are judging an entire race because of preconceived misconceptions.”

 

“They are preconceived on the basis that he’s tried to kill me more than once.  Recently in fact.”

 

“Things change.  And it seems to me you gave that Angel character more than his fair share of chances.  It seems a little narrow-minded of you to dismiss Spike out of hand.  Especially since he’s going to be the father of your child.”

 

“I don’t know if I’m keeping it,” Buffy said mutinously.  She narrowed her eyes at her mother.  Was this her way of getting that fat grandbaby she had always wanted?  Something she could have and love after Buffy is dead and gone?  Buffy winced.  She was just being mean now.  Her mother didn’t think like that.

 

Joyce wound down.  She sat back on the couch to study her daughter’s profile.  The moment lengthened and Buffy fidgeted.

 

“Well.  Are you?” her mother prodded.

 

Buffy expelled a harsh breath, settling back against the cushions with her mother.  She already knew what the answer was, there was no point denying it any longer.

 

“Yes, I’m going to keep it.  I won’t let anything happen to my baby.”

 

Joyce patted Buffy’s knee reassuringly.  Buffy relaxed for the first time since the spell broke yesterday.

 

“Then you need to make amends with Spike.  He is the father, and you two need to come to an understanding of some sort.”

 

“Yah, we got an understanding, alright.  He comes around and I stake him.”

 

Joyce sighed in disappointment and Buffy had to fight the urge to curl up in shame.

“Give it time, honey.  You’ll work it out.”

 

“I guess,” Buffy answered.  She lulled her head to the side and peeked out between the curtain panels.  The sun was blindingly bright, and she wondered what Spike was doing at that moment.

Disclaimer:  I don’t own or profit from BtVS.  It’s all owned by Joss Whedon and affiliates.  No copyright infringement intended.

 

A/N:  There is some Giles/Joyce in this chapter.  I think they’re cute.  And we older folks need lovin’ too.

 

A/N:  Thank you so much for the reviews.  I’m so happy you all are enjoying the story so far.

 

 

Dawn of a New Age

 

 

Chapter Four

 

 

“Mrs. Summers.”  Giles gaped at the immaculately dressed woman who stood outside his front door at an ungodly early hour.  The bright morning sun cast a gold halo around her head, and he had to squint to see her fine features.  He resisted the urge to rub his brow as the drinking binge from previous evening made its presence painfully known.  “Please, do come in,” he offered more to get her out of the light than to be polite.

 

“Call me, Joyce, please.”  She breezed by, stopping a few feet from the door.  Mr. Giles and her had danced around the edges of propriety for years.  It was better to have distance and with it came perspective.  Perspective was something they needed in the last years.  First names made their perspective blurry.  Nicknames like Joycie and Ripper obliterated it completely.

 

“Please, sit.  Would you like tea?”  He tactfully sidestepped her name, keeping perspective intact.

 

“Yes, thank you.”  Joyce tucked her smart, beige business skirt beneath her thighs as she sat primly on the edge of his older couch made presentable by a colorful afghan arranged over the back.  As he returned with a tea tray and some puffy muffins, he had to force his lingering gaze away from her long legs encased in nude hose.  He vividly remembered those legs curling around his hips, her delicate ankles locked behind his back.

 

He set down the tea tray with a sharp rattle.  “Please, have a blueberry muffin.  They’re store bought,” he offered apologetically.

 

Joyce smiled.  “Well, I certainly wouldn’t expect a bachelor such as yourself to have had made them.”  She often found herself wondering why Mr. Giles was still a bachelor.  She supposed his duties to Buffy dictated a certain amount of privacy, but he was a very handsome, virile man.  Very virile.  There was absolutely no reason for him to be single.

 

“Yes, yes.  Of course.”  Giles sniffed as he poured her tea.  “Sugar?  Milk?”

 

“Milk, please.”  The stiff etiquette in the room could crack ice.

 

The tea served, Giles uncomfortably settled himself next to her at an angle.  He was under no illusions as to why she was there, but he would rather postpone the conversation as long as possible.  She must have felt the same, since she allowed the silence to stretch as they sipped their tea.

 

She knew in this instance distance wasn’t going to be possible.  Perspective just didn’t need to be blurred; it needed to be recreated completely, which meant obliteration of the status quo.  This could only be accomplished by closing the distance and the sharing of private things.  Things which were embarrassing to her, but she was willing to make the sacrifice for her child.  After all, that’s what mothers do.

 

“I met Hank while we were still in college,” she commented to her tea.  Her teacup was carefully balanced on her knees.  They stared at it together.  An innocuous blue and white pattern hardly benefiting the attention it received from the two occupants in the room.  “After he completed his MBA we were married, though I finished my MA in Art History the year before.  I didn’t realize at the time, but Hank had traditional---views--on women’s roles.”  Giles shifted uncomfortably, his gaze focused less on the teacup and more on her long slender fingers toying with the rim.  “My expertise on art was all well and good when it came to hob knobbing with his co-workers during company events, but we both agreed I should stay home with our children, and Buffy was born soon after.”

 

Realizing he was ogling her, Giles diverted his attention to a blueberry muffin.  His appetite suddenly gone, he settled for picking it slowly apart, squishing blueberries between his fingers like eyeballs.

 

“When Buffy was three, Hank started staying late at work.  The foolish young woman that I was, I thought we were having financial troubles and I promptly got a low paying job at an art gallery.  I was very proud of that job.”  She smiled softly and finally took a sip of her cooling tea.  “When I finally did find out what Hank was doing, he nearly convinced me to quit.  Clearly, I had overextended myself if I couldn’t see to my husband’s needs.”

 

Giles’ blueberry muffin squeezed out between his fingers.  He hastily set it aside and conspicuously wiped his hands with a paper napkin.  It shredded on his sticky fingers, and he silently berated himself for not setting out his linens.  Paper napkins were all fine and good for the children and their donuts, but Joycie deserved better.

 

“But you didn’t?” he rumbled.

 

“What?”  She seemed startled, almost if she had forgotten he was there.

 

“Quit,” he reminded, silently offering her more tea.

 

She added milk.  The only sound in the room was the clink of her spoon against the rim of her cup.  “No.  I’ve always had a rebellious streak.”  She blushed, remembering chocolate bars tainted with youth.

 

Giles cleared his throat.  “Like mother, like daughter, I say.”

 

Joyce smiled proudly.  “Yes, she did get some of her independence from me, I’ll admit.”  Her smile melted.  “Of course, her bravery must come from someplace else all together.”

 

“I daresay it didn’t,” Giles protested only to be cut off by her sharp, angry glance.

 

“No.  It did.  You see, I stayed.  For eleven long years.  It came to a head when Buffy was about fourteen.  The fights wouldn’t stop.  And I was so angry.  I kept asking myself ‘why can’t he just be loyal?’  ‘What is it about me that is so unloveable?’  Of course mistakes are always correctable in hindsight.”  She exhaled a gust of air.  “I made some whoopers too.  I was so caught up in my misery that I completely overlooked Buffy’s.  When the trouble started I thought she was just acting out.  When she started babbling about vampires, I--“ 

 

Her teacup rattled as she set it on the table.  She curled her fingers around the hem of her skirt, yanking it towards her knees.  The fine white bone of her knuckles showed beneath her translucent skin.  She inhaled a ragged breath, making every vertebrae in Giles’ spine tighten.  He locked his large hands around his teacup to prevent himself from reaching out to her, wishing it were a cut crystal tumbler instead.

 

“I told myself she was just punishing me for making her father leave,” she whispered as if revealing some dark, terrible secret.  He handed her a napkin and she turned away to dab the corners of her eyes.  “It wasn’t until we came here, even before I knew about the slaying, that I understood she believed Hank left because of her.  Because of all the trouble she was mixed up in.  She believed she drove him away.  Still does, I suppose.  I had no idea how to fix it.  I couldn’t tell her why he left.  I couldn’t break him down in her eyes to build myself up.  So I didn’t say anything, and time passed.  Now I realize those wounds healed, but the scars are deep.”

 

Giles inched closer, placing a big hand in the small valley between her shoulder blades.  Her eyes drifted closed as she leaned into his comfort.  “Joyce, none of it is your fault.  You are a beautiful, vibrant woman, and Hank is nothing but a fool.”  Something inside her cracked a tiny bit, and she realized she needed to make a clean get away before things got out of hand.  She would not run this man off like she had Hank.  Buffy needed Giles.  She leaned forward, gathering the tea things onto the try.

 

“Please, don’t bother,” Giles protested.

 

“I insist.”  She picked up the tray and carted it towards the kitchen.  Efficiently, she rinsed the cups and gathered the used napkins.  She lifted the lid to the garbage bin in the corner of the kitchen and paused.  At the bottom of the bin were several empty greenish bottles.  Her normally smooth brow creased, and she threw the wadded napkins on top of them. 

 

Everything tidied she drew a deep breath.  She stood in the threshold between the kitchen and den and watched Giles.  He was frowning wickedly at an intricately carved trunk situated in the corner of the room.  It looked deep and wide, and she wondered what he kept in there.  He must have felt her presence, because he quickly looked up at her.

 

His lush lower lip curved into a smile, but his brow was still worried.  She smothered the urge to run a soothing hand over it.  “I suppose you are wondering why I’m telling you this?”  Giles tactfully remained silent.  She walked to the arm of the couch, looking down at him.  “Buffy was deeply hurt by what she perceived as her father’s disappointment in her.  The only thing that lessened the blow was you.  I admit, I was jealous at first, and resentful of the danger you put her in.”  Joyce’s eyes flickered wintery, but he didn’t look away.  He would not apologize for Buffy’s calling and his part in it.  “But you gave her purpose.  And—“  Joyce dipped her chin in shame.  “You understood her when I didn’t.”  She sat beside him, dropping her hand onto his knee.  Startled he shifted, but didn’t move away.  “She thinks of you like a father now.”  Giles couldn’t help, but to remember how touched he had been when Buffy asked him to walk her down the isle.  Of course, that was before he remembered it was all a spell, but the sentiment was the same.  Her desire for filial connections had nothing to do with Willow’s will.  Joyce’s fingers tightened on his knee, and he found himself unable to look away from her pale blue eyes.  “Don’t let her think she’s disappointed you too.”

 

Giles drew back, deeply wounded.  “Joyce I—“

 

“This baby is going to happen,” she cut him off in a curt clip.  “Buffy is going to keep it.  And you are going to be supportive.  I don’t care about your hang ups with Spike.   That’s for you and him to work out.  But Buffy doesn’t need any end-of-the-world bullshit right now.  And I will not, absolutely will not, have you telling her that she’s giving birth to a monster.  Are we clear, Rupert?”  Her fingernails were digging into his kneecap and her words were being spit out from behind straight white teeth.  Something raw and angry roared in Giles’ chest.  He wrapped his strong fingers around her wrist, almost immediately loosening his grip when he felt the delicacy of her bones beneath his hand.  He pulled her forward, so their noses were nearly touching.  She gasped and he smelled mint. 

 

“Buffy has my everlasting love and support.  I would never abandon her, Joycie.  Never.”  He held her there, his gaze drawn to the pink curve of her mouth.  She was a luscious, striking woman.  How that rotter ever let her go he had no idea.  She nodded slowly and withdrew.  Reluctantly, he watched as she slung the strap of her purse over her shoulder and smoothed out her skirt.  He stood, walking her to the door.

 

“Thank you for coming by.”

 

“Of course, thank you for having me.”  The order of courtesy reigned yet again.  He opened the door and she stepped into the sunlight.  She paused, and he could see indecision in the straight lines of her shoulders.  She turned back and he braced himself.

 

“Rupert…near the end Hank drank.  A lot.  It wasn’t very pretty.  There were things he said—did—nothing unconscionable mind you, but he became less of a man in my eyes.  I would hate for something like that to occur a second time.  For Buffy’s sake.”

 

Giles stood at the door a long time after she walked away.

 

 

Later that afternoon, Joyce had an unexpected visitor at the gallery.  She was in the backroom tracking inventory when she heard the front door bell jangle along with a litany of curses.  She walked out to see Spike stamping out his blanket.  She glanced around, relieved to see no one else in the gallery.  She took a deep breath to stiffen her resolve.  She didn’t know much about Spike’s feelings about the baby other than he expressed a desire to have it.  For what purpose remained to be seen.  Joyce wasn’t fully aware of the motivations of vampires.  She could only judge people by their actions.  He looked up, honing in on her without having to glance around.  His intensity was like a thump in the chest.  He was strikingly handsome, and she could see why her daughter was in chaos over the man.  A beautiful man was never a good thing, but they sure were hard to resist.

 

“Spike,” she greeted coolly.

 

“Joyce.”  He dipped his head politely.

 

“Looking for something in particular?  Something Avant Garde?  Or perhaps more surrealist?”

 

Spike looked at her warily.  “’m more of a expressionist, kinda bloke.”

 

She circled around to the counter, her head held high.  “Expressionism needs to have a solid foundation.”

 

Spike leaned straight-armed on the counter, refusing to back away.  “Foundations can be built.”

 

“You can’t put the cart before the horse.”  Mix your metaphors much, Joyce?  She mentally sighed to herself.  Parenthood was supposed to get easier the older your children got.  Shyeah.

 

“Sometimes you gotta back that stubborn mule up the cart.”

 

“Are you calling my daughter a mule?”

 

“Are you calling her a horse?”

 

Silence lengthened.  Finally, Spike backed down with a sigh.  “Look.  I don’t love your daughter, alright?  Is that what you wanted to hear?  How can I?  I barely know her.  We barely know each other.”

 

“Well that certainly didn’t stop you from fathering a child on her.”

 

“It takes two to tango,” he snapped.  How was it that Buffy came out as the victim in all this?  Sure, he was an evil, rampaging vampire who had done some pretty bad things in his time, but he hadn’t done this.  Had he?  Fuck.  He had no idea what this was.

 

Two bright red spots formed on Joyce’s cheeks, and Spike felt his chest tighten.  He dropped his head between his arms.  This wasn’t going as planned.

 

“Like I said, I don’t know her.  But I want to.”  He looked up, his blue eyes glittering.  “I want to know her and the Li’l Bit.  I want to be apart of their lives.  An’ no matter how stubborn you Summers women are goin’ to be, I won’t be run off.  I’m not some weak-willed wanker that can be chased off with a harsh word and a rolled up newspaper to the nose.  ’m in for the long haul, whether you two like it or not.”

 

“Why?”  Long haul guy?  That seemed vaguely ominous.  Not in an evil sort of way, but in a ‘until death do us part’ kind of way.  Joyce couldn’t help but to think of Angel.  A few well placed words and deep soul-searching looks from her and he was more than happy to trot his way out of Buffy’s life.  Test failed.  This man however seemed to think a crowbar and TNT couldn’t pry him away.

 

“What?”  Spike was taken aback.  Her tone wasn’t harsh, but it was straightforward.  The searching look she was giving him made him uncomfortable.  It made him think that if he had a soul she would be scouring it.  If she was looking for imperfections then she’d better brace herself.  All he was were imperfections.

 

“If you don’t love her, then why stick around?”

 

“You tryin’ to get one over on me?”  Joyce stared at him without blinking.  He realized, she truly didn’t understand.  No one seemed to.  He was a soulless, evil monster, right?  Completely and utterly incapable of the finer emotions such as love and compassion.  Well, maybe it was true.  But he sure has hell knew how to protect and care for something.  They at least had to concede on that point, the hypocritical wankers.  “She’s goin’ to have my baby.  I’d never leave my child or her mother unprotected.  Do ya know how dangerous this world is?  I may not love Buffy now, I may not love her ever, but I do love our Bit.  I’ll do right by them.  Give ‘em every thing I can.  Whatever it takes to see ‘em happy and safe.  My right as a father, innit?  As a parent?”

 

“You say that now.”  Joyce watched him appraisingly.  His words weren’t flowery, but they were honest.  It was a trait she wasn’t used to in a man.  She wasn’t certain what to think.

 

“It’s non-negotiable.”  Spike sliced his hand decisively through the air.  “I know some human gits run out on their sprogs.  And yah, I’ve got my faults.  Vampire, here.  Evil.  But I’m nuthin’ if not loyal.  I’ll never do another evil thing.  Well, not the big evils like killin’ people and what not.  I’ll even bag it till the day I dust if I have to.  Whether, I’ve the chip or not.  I’m willin’ to do what it takes to be in my baby’s life.”

 

Joyce didn’t understand much of what Spike was saying, and she didn’t know anything about chips, but she did believe him.  Spike was willing to go against his very nature just for the privilege of being in his baby’s life.  It was unfair to demand he love Buffy, just as it was unfair to demand Buffy love him.  Love could grow.  Until then the cart would have to come before the horse.  However, that didn’t mean it couldn’t be helped along.

 

“Why don’t you come over for dinner tonight?”

 

Spike shifted, the intensity in his aspect replaced with self-doubt.  “I don’t think—I just wanted—“

 

“What?” Joyce prodded.

 

“I was jus’ hoping you could tell me how Buffy’s doin’?  If she needed anythin’.  I’ve got a fair bit of dosh coming in and—“

 

“I thought you wanted to be apart of their lives?” Joyce cut in coolly.

 

“I do!”

 

“Well, that means more than just money,” Joyce pointed out sternly in her best mothering voice and Spike flinched. 

 

“That’s all well and good, ‘cept Buffy made it pretty clear she doesn’t want me around.”

 

“I guess we’ll just have to muddy the waters, won’t we?  Dinner is at six.  I expect you to be there on time.”  Joyce turned on her heel to return to the back room, not wanting to give him the time to back out. 

 

“Joyce.”  She wouldn’t have turned around if his tone hadn’t been so pained.  He was standing near the counter, looking as if he was crumpling under an invisible weight.  He kept his profile to her, but she could see a flash of blue from one eye.  “She’s goin’ to keep it, then?”   He sounded like he was begging, and it made the soft spot she had for him go gooey. 

 

“Why don’t you ask her tonight?” she told him softly.  He ducked his head, his brow creased.

She went back to work, and when she heard the bell over the front door jingle, she hummed a little tune.

 

 

Buffy heard the doorbell followed by the soft drone of voices.  She slept most of the day and was still feeling fuzzy around the edges.  No one told her pregnancy could be so exhausting, even as early on as this.  She tucked her uncombed hair behind her ears and a quick glance down at her peach colored sweat pants and her worn Razorback sweatshirt showed everything important was covered.  She slowly thumped down the stairs to see who was visiting.  Half way down she glance up and jerked to a stop.  Spike was standing just inside the door dressed in loose dark trousers and a navy button down shirt.  His hair was slicked back and his cheeks looked like cut glass in the low yellow lamplight.  He looked up at her, his blue eyes glittering with predatory intensity.  Damn, he’s dead sexy.  Buffy stiffened as the thought came out of left field.  Worse, she felt her panties dampen.  What the hell?  Buffy was as horny as the next girl, but she wasn’t that horny.  Usually something had to happen to get her that wet that fast.  Spike’s nostrils flared, and his scarred eyebrow lifted.  He absolutely could not smell her.  Could he?

 

“What’s he doing here?” she hissed between tightly clamped teeth.  Her mother turned around, a bouquet of carnations and daisies in her hand.

 

“Spike’s our guest for dinner.”

 

“No, he is not,” Buffy bit out neatly.  “Get out,” she directed at Spike.

 

“Buffy Anne Summers this is my house and I say who will be a guest in it.  Go upstairs and make yourself presentable.”  Buffy drew back as if slapped.  Her mother raised her to be polite, but Joyce almost exclusively deferred to Buffy in slayer matters, ie: vampires.

 

“He’s a vampire, mom.”

 

“I know exactly who and what he is.”  Joyce’s precise clip indicated knowledge of a depth to Spike that went beyond his animal nature.  It made Buffy pale.  A vampire was the father of her child.  Oh, God.  How could’ve it happened?  The world ceased to make sense.  No matter how many times she tried to wrap her mind around the idea as Spike as the father of her child, she couldn’t.  How could she?  Stupid magical rings.  Stupid Hellmouth.  Stupid…whatever did this!  Her mother pointed to the top of the stairs.  “Now.”  Her tone wasn’t to be rebuked, and the little girl in Buffy was hardwired to obey.  Shooting one last glare at Spike, she turned and slowly trudged back up the stairs.

 

Joyce waited until Buffy disappeared before turning to Spike with an apologetic smile.  “Won’t you sit down?”  She indicated the couch.  Spike politely sat, remembering the last time he was here, he’d sprawled inelegantly in the armchair.  “I need to finish up some things in the kitchen.”

 

“Need some help?”  Spike perked up.

 

“No, thank you, dear.  Buffy will be down in a moment to keep you company.”  She walked out and Spike flung his arm over the back of the couch, huffing.  Yah, he knew Buffy better than Joyce did.  There was no way she was going to be back down anytime soon.  He took out his lighter, flicking it open and closed rhythmically as he waited.  And waited.  And waited.

 

“You’re obnoxious.”

 

Spike glanced up.  She was dressed in beige trousers with a razor sharp crease and a soft looking white turtleneck.  Her tight bun enhanced the dark bags under her eyes and hollowed out cheekbones.  She was trying to look as unappealing as possible, without realizing how appealing it made her.  Vampires did love the chase.  She paused on the bottom step, refusing to come any nearer to him.  He lounged deeper into the couch, his eyes heavy lidded.  He flicked the lighter one. more. time.

 

“Knock it off.”

 

“Knock wot off, pet?”  His East End accent deepened.

 

“That clicking is annoying.”

 

His smile spread slow and easy.  She shifted, pressing her thighs together.  “Gotta do sumthin’ with my hands.”

 

Her eyes narrowed.  She wasn’t sure how that could be an innuendo, but he sure made it sound like one.  “Put them in your pockets and leave them there,” she spat.  His smile grew and he slouched down on the couch to slip his hands into his front pockets and the loose material stretched tight over his crotch.  She wrinkled her nose.  He was just trying to goad her, and she was letting him.  She turned away to examine some childhood photos of her on the wall.  The silence between them was deafening.

 

“So Anne, huh?  I like it.”

 

“Shut up.”

 

Spike huffed and scowled at the back of her head.  Stupid bint couldn’t even take a compliment from him.

 

“Dinner’s ready,” Joyce called from the dinning area.

 

“Thank god,” they both sighed.  Spike flashed in front of her, nearly startling her off balance.  He offered his arm, but she just scowled and walked around him.  She took a deep breath to berate him and immediately bolted for the downstairs bathroom, slamming the door in her wake.  Spike was staring after her in bewilderment, when Joyce came to investigate the noise.  They both stood in the hall while Buffy wretched.

 

“What’s that all about?” Spike asked nervously.

 

“Morning sickness.”  Joyce led him to the dinning room, knowing her daughter wouldn’t want them listening in on something she would find humiliating.

 

Spike shot her a confused glance.  “Shouldn’t it be in the morning, then?”

 

Joyce chuckled.  “Hardly.  It’s usually smells that set it off.  Least it was for me.  Seems to be that way for Buffy too.  So far its cooked eggs and refrigerator smells.  Oh, and her skin lotion.  We’re going to have to find a new one she can tolerate.  She’ll need to keep her skin hydrated.”

 

She sat him down at the table set with white linens and plain china and began to spoon heaping forkfuls of spaghetti and salad onto plates.  They were waiting to get started when Buffy came out looking pale and glassy eyed.  She sat down as far as possible from Spike, making him want to snarl at her.  They ate in silence, even Joyce daunted by the tension in the room.  Couldn’t she just be civil for an hour?  How were they supposed to raise a child if they couldn’t even be in the same room together?  His fingers tightened on his fork.  His appetite fled and he didn’t know if he could force another bite down his tight gullet.  Joyce said he should ask her if she was keeping the baby.  This whole ridiculous tableau might be completely unnecessary if they weren’t going to be parents.  His stomach clenched.  Spike dropped his fork with a clatter, startling the two women.

 

“Are you keeping it or what?” he asked baldly. 

 

Joyce rolled her eyes and started to clear the table.  She wasn’t done with her food, but clearly dinner was over.

 

“That’s none of your business,” Buffy spat.  Joyce cringed and disappeared into the kitchen to find the Excedrin.

 

He slammed his hand on the table and the china rattled.  “Of course, it’s my business.  ’m the father.  I need to know how much dosh it’s gonna cost me whether you keep it or flush it,” he snarled with as much venom he could muster.

 

Red spots flared on Buffy’s cheeks, the only color in her otherwise pale face.  She sprang up from her seat and the straight-backed chair fell over with a clatter.  “I don’t need any money from you.  I’ll take care of it myself.”

 

“What does that mean?”

 

“It means, what it means.  I’ll take care of it.”

 

In one smooth motion, Spike leapt over the table without disturbing the china.  He landed besides her, grabbing her narrow shoulders.  God, he wanted to shake her until her brains rattled.

 

“Take care of it how, you bint?  ‘m I gonna be a da or not?”

 

“Get away from me.”  She slammed the backs of her hands into the insides of his wrists, forcing his hands off her shoulders.  “No matter what, you aren’t the father!”

 

“Enough!”  Joyce roared.  She was standing just inside the doorway, her fists on her hips.  Buffy looked rebellious, then nauseous.  She quickly bent over at the waist and threw up in the potted palm in the corner of the room.  Spike went from furious to concerned in a heartbeat.  He bent down beside her, rubbing small circles over her back.  She leaned into him, exhausted and in need of any physical comfort she could get.  When nothing more would came up, she pulled away from Spike and fled to the kitchen. 

 

“Stay.”  Joyce pointed to the table, before chasing after her daughter.  Feeling like a complete pillock, Spike sat.  He cleared a space with a slow sweep of his arm, and banged his forehead on the table.

 

Joyce caught up to Buffy who was rinsing her mouth out with cold water at the sink.

 

“Buffy, I know you are under a lot of stress.”

 

“You have no idea,” Buffy snarled.

 

“You know what?  Grow up!  You’re being a brat.”  Buffy gasped at her mother, too shocked to realize water was running down her chin.  Joyce tore off a paper towel and handed it to her.  “You are going to be a mother soon, and you need to start acting like it.  One of the things a mother does is put the welfare of her child before own.”

 

“I’m doing that.”  Didn’t her mother see?  Vampires, even ones claiming to be daddy, were not good things for children.  ‘Cause, you know.  The blood drinking and swearing and all.

 

“By running off the father of your child?  Don’t you think they should have a relationship?”  Buffy thought about her own nearly nonexistent financial based relationship with her father.  It made Spike’s words sting all the more.

 

“He doesn’t care.” She flung her hand towards the dining room.  “All he wants to know is how much money he’s gonna have to shell out.”  Belatedly, she wondered if this had less to do with Spike being a vampire and more with him being a man.  Not that she was a man-hater.  She wasn’t.  She liked men.  She’d like them even more if they stuck around.

 

“Buffy, if that were true, he would have skipped town as soon as he found out.  He certainly wouldn’t be here with you.”  The way her mother said ‘you’ made Buffy feel like a worm.  Worse, her mother had a point.  Even with the chip, there was no reason for Spike to be here, in her dining room, in her life, if he didn’t want to.  She narrowed her eyes.

 

“He’s dangerous.”  She could never forget who he was.  What he was.  Slayer of Slayers.

 

Joyce nodded, soothing her hands down Buffy’s arms.  “That may be so, but I don’t think he’s dangerous to you or the baby.”

 

Buffy’s instinct to protest was instantaneous.  “Did you see him in there?  He grabbed me!”

 

“Grabbed you?  I think I might have smacked the crap out of you!”  Buffy’s head snapped back at her mother’s language.  It pulled her from her mental rumblings and made her focus entirely on her mother’s words.  “You’re practically torturing him.  Just tell him, already.”  Joyce put her hand on Buffy’s shoulder, leaning in so their foreheads touched.  Buffy relaxed under her mother’s influence.  Was this what being a mother meant?  Curbing your kid’s insanity when they were going off the rails?  “Let him in, Buffy.  Get to know him.  Get to know each other.  Try to at least be civil.  Because no matter how you feel about each other, this child will bind you together for the rest of your lives.  And you have to do what’s best for her.”  Buffy felt something ghost over her, and she shivered.  Her mother sounded so tired.  The kind of tired that comes from the sadness and experiences of being a single mother.

 

Buffy nodded against her mother’s forehead.  She needed to get hormonal Buffy under control before she nuked the west coast.  Slayer plus pregnancy hormones equaled nothing good.  Joyce kissed her cheek and told her to go out to the den.  Spike joined her a few moments later.  His hands were tucked in his pockets, his face turned aside.  She could see a muscle jump in his lean cheek as he clenched his jaw.  She sighed inwardly, and scooted over on the couch in a silent invitation for him to sit with her.  He sat at the far edge, his elbows braced on his knees, his hands loosely clasped.  His shoulders were hunched defensively, and she had the insane urge to run her hand down his back to soothe the tension from his muscles.  She was so entranced with the idea she almost didn’t hear him speak.

 

“’m sorry.”

 

“What?”  Her fingers curled until she could feel her nails cut her palm.  He continued to stare at his hands.

 

“I shouldn’t of put my hands on you like that.  I upset you.  An’ the Nibblet.  Made you sick.  ‘m sorry.”

 

“Oh, no.”  Almost with out thinking she flattened the palm of her hand between the wings of his shoulders.  He tensed under her touch and she pulled away.  “That’s not why I got sick.”

His eyes glittered blue under his dark lashes as he flashed her a questioning look, before studiously turning back to his hands.  “You smell.”

 

“I smell?”  He straightened, his lips parted in affront.

 

Mortified, she hid her nose and mouth behind her hands, peeking at him from over her fingertips.  “No!  I mean.  A little.  It’s the cigarette smoke and maybe your hair gel,” she told him almost apologetically.  Horrified, he tried to scoot further away from her.  “I’m sorry!” she whined.  Buffy felt awful.  If someone told her that she smelled she would be humiliated.

 

He shot her a wry grin.  “Not your fault, pet.”  He fidgeted a moment, shooting her quick, nervous glances.  “Does this mean I should give up smoking?” he asked tentatively.

 

She studied him.  He looked young and uncertain.  He was at the very edge of the couch trying to protect her from his own scent.  He was trying too hard.  For what she wasn’t certain.  She did know that if the baby had been Parker’s this conversation wouldn’t be happening.  He would have denied it was even his.  Spike on the other hand seemed bound and determined to shout it from the rooftops.  Giles told her it was because it would increase his reputation.  How, she wasn’t sure.  Maybe being the only vampire with a living child?  Still.  It didn’t seem likely.  A mortal child would be more of a weakness than a strength to be flaunted.  Which could only mean Spike wanted the child for itself.  Because he…loved it?  That didn’t seem possible.  Vampires couldn’t love.  Maybe she was reading too much into this.  Maybe all Spike wanted was to be apart of something greater than himself.  As a vampire he would have been resigned long ago to never having a real baby.  Not another vampire he sired, but an actual living child.  Maybe this was all an experiment to him?  Something he would get bored of eventually.  Although, if Spike had proven one thing, it was that he was steadfast in his devotions.  He remained loyal to Drusilla for over a hundred years.  Could he remain devoted to their child just as long?

 

The silence stretched and she thought he was going to fray apart at the edges.  White brackets slashed his cheeks as he pressed his lips together to keep from demanding an answer from her.

 

“Yeah.  Second hand smoke is bad for babies.”

 

The smile that wreathed his face was magical.  She couldn’t help but to stare at it in awe.  She had never seen such happiness before.  It was disconcerting to realize she was the cause.  He reached over like he was going to hug her, but quickly pulled away, and she had to tamp down her disappointment.

 

“Thank you, luv.”  His baritone voice was deep and rich, infused with intense pleasure.  It made her feel like she had just gifted him the world.  Maybe in his eyes, she had.

 

“Excellent.”  Joyce clapped, appearing from the next room where she’d been shamelessly eavesdropping.  “Buffy has a doctor’s appointment tomorrow at six.  It was the latest appointment I could get.  You’ll drive her, Spike.”  It wasn’t a request.

 

Buffy rounded her panicked eyes on her mother, waving her hands in dismay.  “Uh, mom.  I don’t think that’s necessary.”

 

“Yes.  I will take her,” Spike agreed unequivocally.  Buffy stilled.  The determined devotion in his deep blue eyes stunned her to silence.  She nodded and he gifted her with a tight smile.  He stood up to take Joyce’s hand, placing a light kiss on the back of her wrist.  “Thank you ever so for dinner, Joyce.  It was delicious.  I should go.  I have a lot of things to do before tomorrow.”

 

“Like what?”  Buffy tilted her head quizzically.  Spike returned her question with a wide smile. 

 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, luv.”

 

He let himself out, leaving Buffy to bemusedly flick the curtains aside so she could watch him practically skip down the walk to his car.  When he was dangerous he was desirable.  When he was boyish and happy he was irresistible.  She sighed and watched the black Desoto pull away from the curb.

 

Disclaimer:  I don’t own or profit from BtVS in any way.  It belongs to Joss Whedon and affiliates.  No copyright infringement intended.

 

 

A/N:  There’s some clinical nonsense in this chapter.  This should be very familiar to any of you who’ve had a prenatal check up.  It’s all very cookie cutter. 

 

 

I hope you are all enjoying the story so far!

 

 

Dawn of a New Age

 

 

Chapter Five

 

 

The Desoto was immaculate.  The entire interior had been detailed, and hinted at a slight chemical smell that made Buffy frown, but her stomach didn’t protest.  She carefully slid inside, surreptitiously checking the soles of her shoes to make sure she didn’t have any mud on them.  Spike shut her door and hurried to the driver’s side to slide in.  He was in his usual dress of black jeans and tee with a red over shirt and his duster.  All of which smelled freshly dry-cleaned.  She slyly leaned in to take a whiff, relieved when no scent of cigarette smoke lingered.

 

“Yah, it was a real bitch to get out.”  He grinned at her, knowing exactly what she was up too.

 

She ducked her head at being caught.  “So you quit smoking?”

 

He pulled his duster and over shirt off his shoulder, so she could see the nude colored patches peeking out from under the sleeve of his tee.  His bicep flexed, and she felt something tingle between her legs.

 

“Three?”  She raised a brow.

 

“Four,” he confirmed.  “Takes a bit more with vamps.  Good news is I’ll be weaned by next week.”

 

“Go vamp healing,” she approved and he chuckled in agreement.  He tossed his head back, and she noticed a soft white curl brush his forehead.  No hair product.  He looked good with loose curls.  White-gold hair, alabaster skin, cut marble body.  He was a fallen angel.  Desire gushed at her center, and she had to press her thighs together, suddenly mortified she was going to stain his seats.

 

His head whipped towards her, his black pupils dilated.  She pressed herself into the door, hoping she could disappear.  Still watching her with predatory intensity, he leaned towards her.  Just when she thought he was going to what?--kiss her? murder her?--he reached passed her and depressed the door lock.

 

“Don’t want you to get away.”  His voice was low and silky, like he was hunting.  Every nerve in her body screamed ‘vampire!’ and her muscles trembled with the strain of staying perfectly still.  He stayed poised over her, his arm barred across her body, close enough to feel her warmth.  He inhaled and his nostrils flared delicately.  His pupils were black with just the thinnest band of blue.  Slowly, he shifted away to start the car.  She exhaled in a rush.  Now she knew what it was like for the plump little rabbit cowering in the shadow of the wolf.

 

Nervous, she glanced around the interior of the car.  As he pulled away from the curb, he noticed her glancing into the back seat.  “It’s an old car,” he said almost apologetically.

 

“Yeah.”  She gave him the ‘and your point’ face.

 

He shrugged sheepishly.  “It doesn’t have those tab things for car seats.”

 

She glanced again, noting the original leather was in excellent condition.  “I don’t think you’d want a kid in here anyways.  They’re little oinkers.”

 

He laughed, a surprised gust of air between parted lips.  She’d never heard him laugh like that before.  It was sexy.

 

“I’m gonna get a new car.  One with all those safeties.”

 

She leaned back in the seat, rapping her fingers along the doorframe where it met the window.  “Can you afford that?”

 

A muscle jumped in his cheek, and she wondered if she insulted him.  He had a gorgeous profile.  A sharp nose, full lips, high cheekbones.  He almost made her jealous.

 

“I’ll have it by the time the li’l nibblet gets here.”

 

Her chest tightened.  He was making a lot of sacrifices.  Things she would have expected a happy husband, eager to start a family to do, not a man caught up with the consequences of a one night stand.  A one night stand neither of them remember and shouldn’t have been fruitful in the first place.  She wondered how Angel would have reacted if it was him.  She imagined he would have been ploddingly thoughtful, soulful even in his understanding of her plight.  That’s how Angel would have viewed her pregnancy.  A plight.   A dilemma that she needed to overcome.  The pregnancy would have been her problem, alone.  Unlike Spike who lobbied so desperately for her to keep the child, Angel wouldn’t have voiced an opinion on whether or not she should keep the baby.  He would have left all the decisions up to her, and left her alone with consequences.  She wasn’t even certain he’d put aside his redemption to stay and raise their child or just send monthly support checks.  He didn’t stay for her, why would he for a kid?  She rubbed the hollow between her breasts and looked out the window.  They were turning off Main Street, heading up Holly Lane towards the clinic.  They’d be there soon.

 

“Don’t get rid of your car,” she told him softly.

 

“Why would I do that?  A man’s gotta have a nice ride when he’s not chauffeuring around the sprogs.”  He tossed her an unrepentant grin that made her laugh in response.  Her bad mood was suddenly lifted.  He smoothly pulled the car into an empty spot and hurried around to get the door for her.  She wasn’t an invalid, but she knew it was important to him.  Besides, she thought woefully, it was good practice for when she was too fat to stand up by herself.

 

 

The room was cramped, most of the space taken up by an adjustable bed with metal stirrups at one end.  Buffy perched at the end, rudimentarily familiar with her surroundings having been burdened with doing a pap smear every year since she was fifteen.  Spike stood uncomfortably at the head of the bed, as close to the door as he could get without obscuring the doorway.  Buffy laughed to herself.  He wanted the full daddy experience and he was going to get it.

 

She glanced down at the clipboard in her lap.  She had answered standard questions about her diet, lead paint and the safety of her household pretty easily, but the last question had her stumped.  ‘Does your partner physically abuse you?’  Huh.  That was a tricky one.  She glanced at Spike under the veil of her lashes.  She was suddenly bombarded with flashbacks.  Spike stalking her in the alleyway outside the Bronze.  Spike sliding his hand down his chest while telling her weapons made him feel manly.  Spike saying the most hateful words possible while standing under the midday sun. 

 

Her speculative gaze turned to a scowl.  Spike seeing the change in her expression flared his scarred brow in question.  She tilted the clipboard, her finger tapping the question.  Unwilling to leave the safety of the doorway, he craned his neck to look.  Buffy was fascinated by the stillness that came over him, broken only by the slight ticking of the muscle in his hollow cheek.  Although his face was partially averted, she couldn’t miss his predatory blue eyes glittering from under the fringe of his dark lashes as he glanced towards her.  Behind him the door opened, and he stepped to aside to let the intruder pass.  Their eyes met for a moment, before she looked away to tick off ‘no’ on the questionnaire.

 

A small East Indian woman bustled in, her thick black hair pulled neatly into a bun and wire rimmed glasses perched on her nose.  Her white coat swished against her tailored wine colored pantsuit when she walked.

 

“Hello.  I’m Dr. Patel.  You must be Ms. Summers.”

 

“Yes.  I’m Buffy.  And this is my---Spike.”

 

Dr. Patel held out her hand to each of them.  When she shook Spike’s hand he mumbled, “’m the father,” in a way that was both proud and shy.  Buffy’s breath caught.  He met her gaze and held it.  They didn’t notice the doctor start and quickly recover by taking Buffy’s clipboard with barely a cursory glance.

 

“It says here you’re about four weeks?”

 

Buffy gave her full attention to the doctor.  “Yes, I think so.  Maybe a little bit more now.”  They talked about menstrual cycles, which had Spike edging for the door again.

 

“Well, we will be able to narrow down conception date along with the estimated due date after we do a pelvic.”

 

Spike flinched.  Hard.  Buffy resisted the urge to snort.

 

“Before we do that, do you two having any questions?”  Dr. Patel pulled up her rolling stool, setting her clipboard in her lap.  She waited expectantly.  Buffy glanced at Spike from the corner of her eye.  She imagined he had questions, but just wasn’t sure what to ask.  He hadn’t had to worry about the idea of children in over a hundred years, and even then as a Victorian man, childbirth would not have fallen within his purview.  More than likely this entire process was making him more than a little queasy.  Speaking of which.

 

“Is morning sickness this early normal?”

 

“Oh, yes.  And it can happen anytime.  Not just in the morning.”

 

“Yah, figured that one out myself.  Is there anything I can take?”

 

“Well if the nausea becomes too bad there is medication, but we would rather you only take that if it’s severe.  Many medications can be harmful to the baby.  You can try natural remedies, though.  Carry peppermint candies around with you wherever you go and keep some dry crackers by your bed to snack on before you get up in the morning.  Mint tea helps too, just make sure it’s decaffeinated.”

 

“I can’t have caffeine?”  Buffy panicked.  Coffee was essential to her survival.

 

“One or two cups of coffee or tea a day is fine, but you shouldn’t drink anymore than that.  You are going to have trouble sleeping as it is.  You don’t want to add to it.”

 

“Oh, right.”

 

“Also you might start getting cravings.  It’s a perfectly normal way for you body to get the nutrients your needing.  Although, we will be providing you with some prenatal pills today.  Just alert us if your cravings are abnormal.”

 

“What’s abnormal?”  Buffy thought about her weird desire for peanut butter cups with sliced avocado on top.  That was pretty abnormal.

 

“Well, like ashes, paint chips, gravel.  Anything inedible.”

 

“Eww.  Gross.”

 

Dr. Patel laughed.  “It happens.  Sometimes people even crave blood or raw meat.”  She riffled through some papers on her clipboard, missing the exchanged glances between Spike and Buffy.  “On your way out, you can pick up some literature from the RN.  It will have lots of information about symptoms and cravings.  Also, Lamaze and parenting classes and how to set up a tour of our prenatal facilities.”

 

“That seems like a lot of information,” Buffy mumbled, suddenly overwhelmed.

“Yes, it seems like it, but remember you’ve got nine months.  Take your time and pace yourself.  The first trimester can be the most exhausting.  Your body is working hard to turn itself into a hospitable environment and that takes a lot of effort.  So don’t be surprised if all you want to do is nap.”  Dr. Patel smiled and Buffy couldn’t help but smile back.

 

“Now, for the pelvic.  Daddy did you want to step outside?”  Dr. Patel looked up to see the door swinging closed.  Buffy giggled.

 

“Skittish isn’t he?”

 

“He just knows better.  The last thing he needs to see is me in stirrups.  Not if he values his un—er--life.”

 

“Mm, yes.”  She motioned for Buffy to scoot down to the edge of the bed, while she readied the sonogram wand.  “Did you have any other questions while he isn’t here?”

 

Buffy slanted her a look.  Dr. Patel gave her a brief, businesslike smile.  “Is it normal—“ Buffy struggled to word her question.  Somehow saying, ‘is it normal to be horny tart of a slut bag didn’t seem appropriate.  “To want to have sex?  I mean.  Like, really want to have sex.  A lot of it.”  Buffy wiggled uncomfortably and frowned at the ‘hang in there’ kitten poster tacked to the ceiling.

 

“Yes, it is very common.  Your hormones are working on overdrive and it’s perfectly normal to feel an increased sexual drive.  You may also notice some differences in your experience.”

 

Buffy did her damnedest to ignore the cold fingers prodding her opening.  “Like what?”

 

“Well, an increase in sexual sensitivity due to increased blood flow.”

 

“What does that mean?”  Buffy grimaced as something cool and plastic entered her.

 

“It means you may achieve orgasm more quickly and intensely.”

 

“Really?”  Her head popped up, eyes wide.  That was food for thought.  How ironic.  She’d only had sex twice (that she could remember) and both those times she hadn’t orgasmed.  She had of course, by her own hand, but not very often.  Being the slayer, she was always on the lookout, always on the prowl, it was hard for her to relax enough to enjoy herself even the tiniest bit.  Maybe this was an opportunity she needed to take advantage of.  It certainly explained the naughty feelings she was getting whenever she was in the same room with Spike.

 

“Well, good news.  You’re pregnant.”

 

Buffy fought the urge to roll her eyes.  Yah, that she knew without a doubt, even before she tested herself.  Everything else was a pea soup toss up, but at least she knew for sure she was preggers.  Dr. Patel angled a monitor towards her.  All she saw was a black and white Doppler looking thing.  Dr. Patel pointed to a gummy bear floating in the center of the screen.   “There’s your baby.”

 

“Oh.”  Buffy caught her breath.  “Wow.”  The whole world became a tiny point of light in the center of her chest.  There she was.  Her baby.  Buffy had to cover her mouth with her hands her grin was so big.  Dr. Patel smiled with her.

 

“Congratulations, mommy.”

 

“I’m going to be a mommy,” Buffy whispered in an awed voice.  Dr. Patel nodded and printed out some pictures for her to take with her.  After Ms. Summers was shuffled off to the RN to make future appointments and gather her literature, Dr. Patel went into her office closing the door firmly.  She dialed the phone, waiting patiently as it rang.  “May I speak to Dr. Walsh please,” she asked while flipping through Buffy Summers’ file.

 

 

“Look!  There she is!”  Buffy pointed at the blur in the center of the sonogram.  They were seated in front of the Spike’s Desoto, a mess of paperwork in her lap, and him leaning over her to squint at the dot she was pointing at.  He barely had time to make it out before she was holding to her chest like was a beloved pet that had just found its way home after being lost.  He smiled at the image she presented.  She was practically glowing.  Effulgent in a sense he never understood before.  All his bad poetry in the world couldn’t capture her beauty.  “The doctor said she’d be here around July 18th,” Buffy bubbled.

 

Spontaneously, Spike curved two fingers around the back of her neck to pull her closer.  He placed a quick kiss on her temple, taking in accents of green apple shampoo as he did.  She grew rigid, and reluctantly he drew away to slide back behind the wheel.  He shot her a sidelong glance, inhaling the scent of her arousal that could damn near choke a horse.  He rolled down his window and started the car.  She wanted him.  She just didn’t want to want him.  Frankly, he wasn’t sure if he wanted her either.  Yah, during the Will Be Done spell he hadn’t been able to keep his hands off her, but this wasn’t a spell.  This was reality.  And the reality was that he barely knew Buffy.  Sure, he was attracted to her.  Who wouldn’t be?  She was fucking gorgeous with pouty kiss me lips and wide expressive eyes that let a man know when he was touching her just right.  Her hair was silk and her skin was satin.  He’d have to have half a nut not to want her.  But it was just lust.  He wanted more.  He had always wanted more, even from Drusilla.  He never got it of course, but it didn’t stop the longing…the desire for something better in his life.  The longing for purpose.  The desire for love.  A vampire fairytale.

 

He shook his head, and backed out of the parking slot.  “Where to, luv?

 

Buffy was shuffling through her papers, organizing them by content and immediate importance.  “The book store.  If being a slayer has taught me anything, it’s that research is a number one priority.”  She flashed him a smile that made him feel warm on the inside.

 

“Right you are.”

 

An hour late, Spike wondered if maybe he should buy himself some books.  Namely ones on how to deal with a pregnant hormonal woman.

 

“But the RN said I should buy this one,” Buffy insisted, pointing at the paper in her hand.  She was near tears, her hysterics increasing with every word.

 

“I’m sorry.  We don’t have it.”  The gangly, pimply-faced teenager behind the counter looked like he was about to piss himself.  Although, he topped the Slayer by a good five inches, something told the boy that pissing off the woman could put him in traction.

 

Spike stepped up.  “But you can order it, right, mate?”  Spike gave the boy a hard look that made his prominent Adam’s apple bob nervously. 

 

“Yah.  Totally.  I mean, yes sir.”

 

“But I want it now,” Buffy whined.

 

“They’ll put a rush on it, yeah?”

 

“Yes!  Three days tops,” the boy promised.  He cringed when the woman narrowed her green eyes on him.  They stood tensely in a loose isosceles triangle, the boy wanting to slink away, but held in place by his employee duties.

 

“Okay,” Buffy said congenially, fishing in her pocket for a red and white stripped candy she had picked out of a dish at the doctors.  She undid the wrapper and popped the candy in her mouth.

 

Spike sighed in relief, his muscles relaxing.  He’d been less stressed fighting for his life.  “Why don’t you wait outside, while I get these wrapped up?”

 

“Sure thing, Spike,” she agreed over her shoulder as she ambled outside.

 

“Wow.  She’s—“  Spike growled and whatever the boy was going to say died a nasty death in his throat.

 

“Ring it up.”

 

“Right.”  The boy did what he was told.

 

 

Buffy waited for Spike outside the store, huddling in her jacket.  The December air was nippy enough to put color in her face, but being Southern California that was about as far as it went.  No white Christmases for her.  Fake greenery was wrapped around lamps and palm trees, topped with scarlet bows.  Silver and gold bells were strung between the posts and some businesses had put up colored lights around their windows.  The outside speakers were playing some tinny seasonal music, and instead of rolling her eyes like usual she found herself humming along.  ‘Tis the season, after all.  She was late on her Christmas shopping this year.  She still needed to pick something up for Willow and Giles.  And she supposed the polite thing would be to get Spike a gift as well.

 

She wondered where Spike was getting his money.  All this talk about getting a new car and buying a hundred dollars worth of books for her.  She wasn’t stupid.  Getting the Desoto detailed so thoroughly would have cost a pretty penny as well.  She narrowed her eyes in thought.  He couldn’t be mugging people.  Well, maybe he could as long as he didn’t hurt them.  Was he sublimating his income with a little B&E?  Maybe gambling?  He joined her on the sidewalk and she let the thought go.  She didn’t want to think about it.  Today was a good day.

 

“Baby want some hot cocoa?” he suggested, nudging her with his shoulder towards the café on the corner.  The thought of warm chocolate sliding down her throat made her tummy rumble.

 

“Yes, baby wants!”  Her laughter tinkled in harmony with the Christmas music.  Spike smiled, the deep slashes along the corners of his mouth telling her it was genuine.  Shoulder to shoulder they crossed the street, dodging around other pedestrians.  Even at a leisurely stroll they walked at a pace most people would find exhausting.  She usually had to check herself with her friends, but not with Spike.  He could keep up with her.  Always could.

 

He sat her down in a comfortable chair on the veranda at an angle that blocked any cold chills that may blow through.  The cafe had a brick fire pit lit up, and screened off for safety.  Buffy rested her feet on the cobblestone shelf around the pit and watched the flames dance as Spike got their drinks.  He set down a large bowl shaped mug that was heaped with cloudy mounds of whipped cream.  She grinned like a kid as she skimmed the thick cream with her spoon.

 

Spike watched her for a while, his eyes dark and heavy as he sipped on his coffee.  She knew he was thinking.  She could practically see the clockwork chugging away behind his eyes.  He preempted her before she could call him on it.

 

“Wanna talk?”

 

“’Bout what?”  She kept her eyes focused on her drink.  She ate her way through a small potion of whipped cream and now she could see pools of rich brown beneath.

 

Spike shifted in his seat.  He didn’t want to give away that he overheard her and Giles in the graveyard, but at the same time he knew it was something they should talk about together.  “It’s gotta be scary.”

 

Buffy’s fingers tightened on the slender handle of her spoon.  “The doctor said everything was normal.”  The silence lengthened between them.  The fire popped and an orange ember died before it could escape into the night.  “For now,” she whispered.

 

Spike tensed, and he found himself unable to look at Buffy.  He watched the fire instead.  So beautiful.  So deadly.  Just like her.  “Do you believe she’s a monster?”  His baritone voice was a rough caress.  So quiet she could barely hear him.  Her stomach clenched at the thought, and she dropped her spoon, suddenly not hungry for chocolate anymore.  It hit her saucer with a loud clatter that made them both jump.  She leaned back to watch the fire with him, her hand resting protectively over her flat abdomen.

 

Did she think that?  Was the creature inside her a monster?  Was it going to eat her from the inside out?  Would it be evil in the guise of something beautiful and precious?  A china doll that murdered in the night?  “No,” she replied forcefully, believing it with every cell in her body.  She didn’t know what was growing inside her, but she knew it wasn’t evil.  It was a miracle.

 

Spike’s straight-lined shoulders slumped, and Buffy realized he had been waiting for her decree.  He believed their child to be something precious, but he wasn’t the one carrying it.  He wasn’t elementally connected it to it as she was.  If it was evil, she would be the one to know, and it touched her that he trusted in her judgment enough to question his own.

 

“Why do you suppose we are so convinced that she’s yours?” she asked, genuinely flummoxed at the knowledge they seemed to innately share.  His dark brows slashed downwards, and a muscle ticked in the hollow of his lean jaw.  “I mean, we don’t remember how it happened.  How can it even be possible?”

 

Spike drew his hand away from his coffee, fisting it on the tabletop.  “I just know.  She’s mine.  I feel it.”  From beneath his lashes, his blue eye glittered and she knew he was looking at her from the corner of his eye, as if giving her his full attention would somehow turn her ephemeral.  “You believe that, don’t ya, Slayer?  That she’s mine?”

 

“Oh, yeah.  It’s one of the few things I know for certain right now.  She’s yours and mine together.”  Spike nodded, exhaling a pent up breath.  She eyed him narrowly.  “You do realize that means she’s magical, right?”

 

“Yah,” Spike’s tone was hushed and reflective.  Magic always had consequences.

 

“Some demon curse laid on us,” Buffy murmured resentfully, wondering if it was true.

 

“Or maybe a gift sent to us to protect,” Spike defended.  Buffy preferred his take on things, but her experiences were usually more bad than good.

 

“Maybe, but who’d give you something to protect?  You’re evil,” she pointed out, wondering why he flinched at the truth.  He usually boasted his evilness with a bombastic voice that could be heard for miles.  Why did his evilness in this particular venue make him seem repentant?

 

“That’s the million pound question, innit?”  He slouched in his seat a little, dropping one heavy booted foot on the shelf around the fire.

 

“I mean.  Evil generally isn’t the most reliable.  You could skip town any minute,” Buffy recognized fear in the tenor of her voice.  She wasn’t talking anymore about the unknown entity that saddled them with this responsibility.  She was talking with a mother’s fear.  He turned away from the fire and their eyes locked.  Her breath caught.  Spike’s eyes flickered from blue to amber with barely checked ferocity.

 

“I will never leave.  You’ll have to stake me first,” he vowed.  She nodded mutely, unable to express in words, how much his oath meant to her.  People left her.  They either walked away or died, but either way the result was always the same.  She fought alone, and she would die alone.  But he wasn’t making that vow to her, was he?  He was vowing to protect their child.  She was just the extra baggage.

 

They lapsed into silence, knowing more questions would only turn them in circles until they were inside out.  All that was left to them was to wait for everything to unfold.  The second shoe usually dropped right around when the shit hit the fan.

 

“A slayer’s life is short, Spike,” she confessed to her cocoa.  “It’s brutal and dangerous and it’s no life to bring a child into.  I might not be able to protect her.”

 

He reached across the table, his cool hand covering her warmer one.  His eyes flashed orange, but she couldn’t be sure if it was his demon or just the firelight reflecting in their sheen.  “We’ll protect her together, Buffy.  You and I.  If we work together, nothing can get passed us.  She’ll be the most guarded princess this kingdom has ever seen.”

 

His intensity should have been frightening, but she found only comfort in it.  This was the type of man she needed.  Not an absentee fairytale prince from another land, or a mundane peasant who could only offer her normalcy.  She needed a warrior like her.  Someone who could fight at her side for all the right reasons.  He was evil, sure.  But his loyalty was worth an elephant’s weight in gold.  He would fight and die for their child.  That’s what mattered the most.  That’s what mattered to her.

 

“Princess?  Exactly how much are you planning to spoil her?”

 

A leisurely smile spread across his face as he leaned back in his chair.  He kept his arm stretched over the table, their fingertips just barely touching.  “She’ll have the moon and the stars from me.  I expect she’ll get the sun and cloudless skies from you.”

 

“Yah.”  Buffy inched her hand forward a fraction, until their fingertips slotted together.  “I expect she will.”

 

Buffy picked up her spoon and finished her cocoa while Spike stared at her as if she was as hypnotizing as the fire.

 

Disclaimer:  I don’t own or profit from BtVS.  It’s all owned by Joss Whedon and affiliates.  No copyright infringement intended.

 

Dawn of a New Age 

Chapter Six

Buffy contemplated the pastry display at the campus café.  She was trying to limit her caffeine and sugar intake, but it was hard when she felt like she was in a constant state of exhaustion, combined with a gnawing sense of hunger.  She wanted to eat everything in sight, yet at the same time nothing appealed in the display.  Pregnancy was turning out to be fickle bitch.  In the end, she compromised by getting a medium mocha and a banana instead of a chocolate chip cookie.

“Hey.”  Startled, she nearly dropped her coffee, which would have made for a very cranky Buffy.

“Hey!”  Buffy brightened at the sight of her best friend, then dulled when she remembered why they hadn’t spoken in almost a week.  It hadn’t really been Willow’s fault.  Buffy was hiding out at her mom’s house and hadn’t been back to the dorms or attended classes.  Willow called a few times when she was napping, and she admitted to being avoidy Buffy by not calling her back.  It wasn’t that she didn’t want to talk to her friend.  She really, really did.  But she didn’t want any confrontations either.

Suddenly, Willow launched herself at her, winding her arms around Buffy’s neck.  Only Buffy’s super slayer agility kept her from dumping her stuff over both of them.  She awkwardly wrapped her arms around Willow the best she could, feeling all her tension fade away.  Her friend smelled like strawberries, magic and hominess.  Buffy took a deep breath and it came out a smothered sob.

“I’m sorry.  Please stop being mad at me.  I can’t stand it when you’re not talking to me.  Please,” Willow sobbed, her breath hot and wet on Buffy’s neck.

“I’m not mad at you.”  Willow choked in disagreement, and Buffy felt even more guilt.  “I’m really not.”

Still sniffling she led her friend to an empty table, glaring at students who so much as looked at them wrong.  They sat down, their chairs pulled close until their knees touched.  Willow looked horrible.  Red heads never cried prettily.  Her usually pale skin was blotchy, her nose red and her eyes swollen from the short crying jag.  She looked utterly miserable. 

Buffy placed her stuff on the table and hugged her friend again, this time soothing her hands down her back.  Willow was wearing something soft and fuzzy and it made Buffy smile.  “I’m not mad at you, I swear I’m not,” she reassured.

“B-but I did that spell.  A-and you and Spike.  A-and now your pregnant,” Willow stuttered between sobs.  Willow broke away, pawing through her book bag and finding a packet of tissues to wipe her nose.  Buffy’s soft smile stayed as she rubbed a comforting hand down her friend’s arm.

“Sweetie, the spell had nothing to do with me being…you know.”

“I know, but you were so mad the other night.  And you haven’t been back to our room or taking my calls.  I can’t help, but feel like I did this.  That I made you sad.”

Buffy took Willow’s hands in hers.  The other night at Giles’ apartment was the nightmare she was trying to avoid.  Her and Spike had worked out an agreement of sorts.  They would attempt to get to know each outside of their normal comfort...err—uncomfort---zone.  Obviously, there would be no more killing or threat of killing, unless it was totally deserved.  Which in Spike’s case, he deserved at least the threat of staking every time he opened his mouth.  But they had called a truce for the good of their baby.  That truce and the baby were at the heart of why she was being avoidy Buffy.  She just didn’t want to deal with everyone else’s emotions, opinions, and castigations when it really wasn’t any of their business.  Especially when she had enough of her own to go around.  Buffy’s mercurial mood swing had her feeling like that Sybil chick.

“I’m not sad, Willow.  I’m just…”

“Trying to deal?”

Buffy huffed in relief.  No matter what, Willow got her.  Sometimes they had their ups and downs, but when it came down to it they were best friends.

“Yah.”  Buffy’s eyes darted away.  “Everyone is so disappointed in me.  I let them down.”

“No!”  Willow jerked on her hands.  “That’s not true.  We love you.  No matter what.”

Buffy dropped her head, her hair falling over her face in a curtain.  She lowered her head until it was nearly between her knees in the crash position, her forehead resting on top of Willow’s wrists.  “Maybe, but not for long,” she whimpered.  She was keeping the baby.  Oh, god.  She was keeping it and everyone was going to hate her for it.

“You’re keeping it?” Willow asked tentatively, perceptive as ever.  Buffy cringed, waiting for the recriminations.  “So, like, I’m gonna be an auntie?”  The awe in Willow’s voice cracked the ice forming around Buffy’s heart.

Buffy’s head popped up, her eyes wide.  “You’re not mad?  You aren’t gonna tell me what a huge mistake I’m making?  You aren’t gonna tell me it’s a monster?”

Willow surprised her by leaning forward until their foreheads touched.  She placed her small hands on Buffy’s hot cheeks to keep her from turning away.  Their eyes locked, and Buffy gulped.  “Nothing that comes from you could ever be a monster.  You are the best person I know.  Not just because you’re the slayer, but because you’re Buffy.  You are gonna make an awesome mom, and your baby is going to be beautiful.”

Buffy’s broken heart healed itself right back up.  She started crying earnestly, her forehead lodged in the crook of her best friend’s neck.  She felt like she had just received absolution.  It was one thing to have her mother’s blessing.  A mother loved her child no matter what.  Buffy was just beginning to understand that.  The thought of disappointing her mother was scary, but not terrifying in the way it was with her friends.  Her mother would always be there for her, her friends might not be.  Especially, if they thought she was making an insurmountable mistake.

“We love you, Buffy.  We all do,” Willow murmured into her hair.  She was rubbing her hands up and down Buffy’s back like she was trying to sooth an overwrought child.  Buffy pulled back with a small laugh.  Smiling, Willow handed her tissues, glaring at her fellow students when they stared at Buffy blowing her nose.

“I’m sorry.  I’m hormonal Buffy.  If I’m not crying, or screaming bloody murder, then I’m upchucking my internal organs.”

Willow winced.  “That bad, huh?”

Buffy nodded miserably.  “Yah.  I have no idea how I’m supposed to ‘nurture’ this kid if I throw up everything I eat.  I’ve actually lost weight,” she whispered the last part, appalled when any other time she would have been ecstatic to take off an extra five pounds.

“Don’t worry.  I hear you gain it all back by the second trimester.”  Willow rubbed her hand down Buffy’s arm before gathering up her book bag.

Buffy glanced at the clock, and gathered her stuff as well.  Together they wound their way to class.

“You seem to know a lot,” Buffy commented with a sidelong glance at Willow.  The young witch turned pink at the edges.

“I’ve been reading,” she admitted.

Buffy laughed.  “Research, huh?  Yah, me too.”

“I sorta—“ Willow trailed off.  She didn’t know how voice her feelings.  It all seemed ambiguous.  As if something was happening at the far reaches of consciousness that was shaping their reality.  “I just knew you were gonna keep her.  I wanted to make sure I would be a good auntie.”  She smiled brightly and Buffy returned it.

“You’re going to be a wonderful auntie,” Buffy assured as they walked arm and arm.  She felt a giddy amount of happiness.  Willow supported the baby.  Buffy glanced at her from under her lashes.  Did Willow understand fully what that meant?

“Spike’s sticking around,” she confessed, watching Willow’s face closely.

Willow’s lips tightened, and there was an edge of fear in her eyes.  “For you?” she asked tightly.

Buffy thought about it.  The idea of Spike changing his ways, being Mr. Caring and Supportive was romantic.  Vampire or not, the idea of any man giving up everything to be with her was a romantic idea.  But he wasn’t doing it for her, was he?

“For the baby.  She’s what’s important.”  Buffy wholeheartedly agreed with the sentiment.  The baby was important.  But then why did her heart ache when she acknowledged Spike’s motivations were only driven by his need to be near their child?

Willow’s brow crumpled and she looked down at her feet as she walked.  She was silent for long minutes, and Buffy’s nervousness ratcheted up a notch.  She knew instinctively Willow was working through to a steadfast conclusion that once made wouldn’t be reversible.

Outside their classroom, Willow pulled her to a halt.  She wore her resolve face as their gazes met.  “Spike will be a great protector.”  Not father.  What did Spike know of being a father?  What did anyone know of being a parent?  But protector?  Yah, Spike knew how to do that, and do it well.

“Yah,” Buffy agreed.

Smiling they walked into the classroom, nearly bumping into Riley.

“Summers,” he mumbled, looking uncomfortable.

“Hey, Riley,” Buffy replied brightly.  Willow’s pronouncement put her in a good mood, and she was generous enough to share it.

He shifted his weight and looked like he wanted to be anywhere but there.  “How’s the engagement going?”

“My what?”  Buffy was caught off guard. Crap.

“You know.  To that older guy?”  Double crap.

“Oh, that.”  What to say?  Think, Summers, think.

“It was a dare,” Willow suddenly interjected.  “We were playing truth or dare.  Buffy got dared to tell the first person she ran into whom she knew that she was getting engaged.

“Really?” Riley asked skeptically.

“Alcohol may have been involved,” Willow lied spectacularly.  Buffy was dumbfounded.  She may have been catching flies her jaw was so wide open.  “Yah, and on that humiliating note, we’ll be taking our seats.”  Willow hooked her hand under Buffy’s elbow and towed her towards the stadium seating.

“Wow, Will.  That was amazing.”

“I’m not proud,” the witch muttered.

“No, seriously.  Can you come with me the next time I have to tell a whooper to my mom.”

“No.”  Willow rounded on her as they found their seats.  “It’s unethical to lie to your mother.  You should keep that in mind since you’re gonna be one.”

Buffy slumped into her seat.  “Oh, yeah.  Right.”  She scanned the class, her eyes colliding with the gun-metal gray gaze of her professor.  The Bitch Monster of Death was looking extra deathy today.  The speculative gaze of the professor ran down Buffy’s frame, and she had to fight the urge to slouch further into her seat.  Missing two classes was so of the bad.  She didn’t wonder if Professor Walsh was giving her more attention than usual as she got out her pad to take notes.

 

 

Buffy was pacing around the small den before Spike arrived.  This would be their third ‘date’ and both previous affairs had been awkward and stilted.  Most of the subjects they had in common were off the table due to unspoken mutual agreement.  Neither of them thought it prudent to talk about their past lovers or their affinity for trying to kill each other.  Pressure from Joyce, and Spike’s desire to be involved his baby’s development added a new level of strain to their already nonexistent relationship.  Frankly, after updates on the baby front had been exhausted they ended up just pushing their food around their plates until it was time to leave the restaurant.

Buffy had no idea why they were participating in this farce.  It wasn’t like they were going to be a couple.  Just because they were going to have a baby together didn’t mean they were going to be indivisibly exclusive in each other’s lives.  They only had to get along comfortably enough to share custody.  All this pressure to get to know each other was giving her tension headaches.  Adding to it was Buffy’s underlying need to slay something.  Or lay something.  No!  Bad tarty Buffy.  Bad!  She needed to slay, not lay.  Buffy bounced on the balls of her feet.  She had been a good little girl, and a very bad slayer lately.  She hadn’t slayed anything in over two weeks.  She was about to ping pong off the freakin’ walls!

A shiver slid down the back of her neck, and she hurried to the door, jerking it open.  Dusk was just falling and the shadows were blue under the fading light, running wild before the streetlights flickered on and chased them away.  Spike stood on the porch, a darker, more menacing shadow than the rest.  Unafraid, she twisted her hand in his shirt and yanked him inside.  He was wearing the blue silk one she liked so much.  She could barely contain the urge to run her hands down his chest.

“What’s this, then?”

Buffy released him, and hunted down her shoes she had toed off by the couch while waiting for him.  “I’m wound up.  I have too much energy.  I sleep all day and I’m up all night.  And I’ve been having these weird dreams.” 

Spike shoved his hands into his pockets, rocking on his feet a little.  Buffy’s anxious energy was starting to infect him.  “What kinda dreams?”

“I dunno.  Some little girl singing a rhyme about not being able to scream while holding a wooden box.  It’s giving me the wiggins.  It’s probably pregnancy related.  Anxiety about having a kid.  Stupid hormones.”  She swiped up a pamphlet off the coffee table and shoved it at him.  “It says here I can exercise regularly through the first trimester, but my kind of workout is dangerous for the baby,” she pouted, finally slumping on the couch.

“Why don’t you go for a jog?” he offered, still standing by the door.  This charade of them being normal was starting to fray on his nerves.  The last two dates with her had been both the best and worst experiences of his life.  They had been mind-numbingly normal which made the demon inside him howl with near insanity, but simultaneously they provided him a connection to the development of his baby in a way his monster couldn’t comprehend.  No matter how torturous the evenings were, he would keep coming back just for that.

She shot him a dirty, sidelong glance that made his skin prickle in anticipation.  Ever since their blow out the first night they had been disgustingly civil to each other.  She occasionally digressed into superbitch mode, but he was careful to keep his own reactions in check.  He couldn’t fight with her physically for fear of harming the baby, and he wasn’t sure what would happen if Buffy become emotionally overwrought so he kept the snarking to a minimum.  They were both wound up, and if they didn’t find a way to parley their frustration and tension into some sort of activity soon they were going to explode.

“If I go out and jog, I might see something,” she snarled.

Spike raised a brow.  “Come again?”

She sighed and settled against the couch cushions, her fingers massaging her temple.  “If I see someone getting attacked, I’ll have to intervene.  There’s no way I’d just walk away and let someone die.  It’s bad enough knowing people are out there dying every night, because I’m not doing my job anymore.”

She was right.  It made him both angry and resigned.  He wanted to lash out and order her to walk away if she ever came across someone who needed help.  A stranger’s life wasn’t worth the risk to their child.  But he knew that wasn’t who Buffy was.  As Heaven’s Chosen One, she was hardwired to be a hero.  The difference between them couldn’t be more blatant.  She was meant to walk in the sun while he lurked in the shadows.  She saved people; he preferred to eat them.  It was her wiring making her miserable at the moment.  She was a creature who needed to run free, not be caged up by conformity.  Finally, this was something he could understand about her.

“Why don’t you get changed?  We’ll jog together.”

She looked at him, her green eyes cool and assessing.  “And if we come across someone?”

“I’ll take care of it,” he assured her, his dark eyes daring her to say differently.

“What about your chip?”

He shifted.  He didn’t know why he hadn’t told her about his chip sooner.  Honestly, it hadn’t really come up.  It was forbidden topic adjacent.  “It doesn’t work on demons, luv.  Jus’ humans.”

Buffy’s eyes narrowed.  “How did you find that out?”

“Pub brawl.”  He grinned unrepentantly.

She rolled her eyes, but didn’t take another moment to reconsider.  She jumped off the couch and headed for the stairs.  “Be down in a sec.”

“’m gonna get a change of clothes out of the car.”

She nodded, but didn’t pause in her headlong gallop up the stairs.  Finally, she was going to get some action!

Spike was waiting for her, dressed in jeans and his duster when she came down the stairs.  She was a vision in peach velour sweats with white stripes down the legs and a matching hoodie.  She streaked passed him, laughing out the door.  “Catch me if you can, vampire!”

He grinned and leapt down the porch steps in one bound as he chased after her.  They were fast, a streak of peach being stalked by an amorphous shadow as they raced down the side of the darkened street.  By instinct they veered into Shady Rest cemetery, hurdling over gravestones and doing handsprings off tombs.  Buffy’s laughter trailed behind her, and Spike was able to track her by the exultant sound alone.  She ran by a fresh grave, and a fledgling burst through the loose dirt.  She leapt agilely to the side, but before she could wield her stake, Spike was on top of the vamp, dusting it before they fell to the ground. 

Crouched at her feet, the tails of his duster spread behind him Spike was evil incarnate as he looked up at her with yellow eyes.  He ran the tip of his tongue along a fang.  “Gonna get’cha, little girl,” he promised wickedly.  Buffy’s eyes widened, and she sheathed her stake.  She whirled away, streaking into the night, Spike hot on her heels.

Now he was tracking her by the scent of her arousal.  It was redolent in the air, and he was almost afraid it would call other demons to her.  He burst forward with extra speed, but she wasn’t prey to be brought down easily.  She led him into the older section of the cemetery overgrown with bracken and the overcrowded mausoleums narrowed the labyrinthine paths.  She was smaller than him, able to twine herself around obstacles with effortless agility.  Frustrated, when he smacked his head on a low hanging eve, he leapt onto the rooftops, tracking her from above.  He bounded from roof to roof, his duster billowing behind him, keeping her in sight as she weaved her way in and out of the tombs and statuary.

An area widened into a tiny quadrangle, bordered by family tombs.  He pushed off from the roof, flying through the air over her head.  He landed in front of her with a growl.  She squeaked, her momentum carrying her into him.  He gripped her underarms when she would have bounced off on impact.  He used the motion to push her up against the cool, stone wall behind her, capturing her mouth in a reckless kiss. 

She wound her arms around his neck, pulling him closer to him.  Her body temperature was elevated from the run, and it felt like he was holding living flame in his arms.  He edged his knee between her legs, firmly situating his muscular thigh against her.  She was soaking wet, dampening his jeans.  She moaned, and writhed against him, rocking urgently against his thigh.  He kissed his way down the column of her throat, finding the hum of her pulse beneath her ear and sucking her satiny skin between his lips.  His gums ached and he desperately wished he could sink his fangs into her vein and drink her in.  To taste her, to savor her, to be connected to her in a way that was elemental.  He dipped his hands under her top, bracketing her rib cage in his palms.  His fingers spread along her back, greedily trying to feel every inch of her.  His thumbs toyed with the elastic edge of her sports bra, as he slowly slid his palms upwards.

She was writhing desperately against him, and he gradually became aware something was happening.  Something that didn’t really require his participation.  He stilled against her as she panted into his mouth, her thighs clutching at the leg she was riding.  Suddenly she stiffened, her back arching away from the tomb as she released a keening whine.  They were very still within each other’s arms for a long moment.  Crickets chirped around them, and in the distance a dog barked.  Slowly, Spike leaned away to look down at her.  She refused to look at him, covering her hot face with her hands instead.

“’s that normal?”

She shook her head, and mumbled something into her hands.

“What was that, luv?”  He tried to angle himself so he could see passed her hands, but she hunched her shoulders.  Sighing, he gently took her wrists and pulled her hands down.  She allowed her hands to drop, but she focused her gaze to some unknown point over his shoulder.

“The doctor said I’d be more sensitive,” she rushed out.

“So that’s not normal?”

“No!” she spat.  “I hardly ever—“ she trailed off, mortified at what she was about to reveal.

Spike’s scarred brow shot upwards.  “Hardly ever?”

“It’s none of your business, alright.”  Her lips were set in a mutinous line and her body language was dead set on pushing him away.  He didn’t allow it.  “I’m gonna go home now.  We worked out all the kinks, and I’m gonna try to get some sleep.”

He braced his hands on either side of her, refusing to let her escape.  He leaned forward with a long, exaggerated sniff.  “Oh, I don’t think we’ve worked out all the kinks.”

She stiffened.  He could smell her.  Dammit!  She shoved at his chest, but her action was half hearted.  They both knew if she wanted him moved, he would be buried in the wall across the quad.  His smile was slow and wicked, making her horny and irritated at the same time. 

“Don’t get too cocky, vamp boy.  At this point a stiff breeze gets me worked up.  I’m so horny I’m giving serious thoughts to tarting myself out to the Oakland Raiders.”   Seriously, Buffy had been having some hardcore porn fantasies lately.  She was suddenly having dreams in Technicolor of things she wasn’t even sure was legal in some states.  The last three mornings she had woken up to orgasms, and this afternoon she almost came when she leaned against the rumbling clothes washer to get the fabric softener.  Something was clearly wrong with her.  “They might not even do it for me,” she added despairingly.  Who knew that Buffy Summers was a closet hussy? 

“Wanna go back to my place?” Spike offered seductively.  He was never so happy to have a place sorted out.  He’d move into the fifth story flat overlooking the river earlier that week.  It was fairly posh if he said so himself.  Tricked out enough to impress a woman like Buffy, but safe enough for their sprog to roam around when she arrived.  He tried not to give too much thought as to why having Buffy writhing and moaning beneath him excited him so much.  Why he so desperately wanted to possess her.

Buffy almost leapt on that bandwagon.  Because hot damn, Spike was sexy, and the way he kept curling his tongue behind the edge of his teeth made her think he knew exactly what to do with it to make a woman scream.  Instead, she shoved at his chest, this time hard enough to back him up a couple of steps.

“Why would I want to do that?  I can get sex from anyone I want.  A nice normal guy instead of the slobbering undead.”

The idea of another male putting his hands on her made him want to rip out someone’s throat, but only because she was the mother of his child.  Right?  “Have anyone in mind, pet?” he asked silkily, edging towards her.

She put her hands on her hips, jutting her chin forward defiantly.  “There’s a guy.  All big and muscly.”  He cocked his brow in disbelief, and Buffy was quick to add facts.  “He’s the TA for my psych class.  He’s totally in to me.”

“Sweetheart, the entire male population would be daft not to be into you.”  He stepped closer, trailing a finger down her hip.  “’sides, size doesn’t matter.”

She bristled under his touch.  “At least he’s human.  That counts for something.  Vampires can’t compare.”  He shoved her back against the wall, trapping her there.  Before she could protest, he had his thigh between her legs, pressed up tight against her clit.  She gasped, clutching at his biceps.

“Well, lets see.”  He pretended to consider her statement thoughtfully.  “Vampire stamina.  Vampire recovery time.  And, oh yeah.  A hundred and twenty years of experience making women cum.”  He rotated his thigh in a tight circle, lifting her up onto her toes.  Her head fell against the stone, a long tortured whimper echoing from the back of her throat.  He nuzzled her rapid pulse just below her ear.  “So, my place, then?” he offered again, his breath cool against her throat.  His aching hard on begged him to take her against the stone wall of the tomb, but he wanted more than a quickie.  He wanted to take his time with her.  He wanted to explore her inside and out. 

Buffy wasn’t easy.  She wasn’t easy prey and she wasn’t an easy lay.  She threaded her fingers through his hair, gripping a handful and pulling him away from her throat.  Her eyes were dark and speculative as she met his gaze.

“It would just be sex.  It doesn’t mean anything.  I don’t love you.”

He started against her like she had startled him.  His brow furrowed, his tone dry and humorless when he replied.  “I don’t love you either, pet.”

Illogically, his response made her mad.  “I don’t even like you.  I’m sure I must hate you,” she spat.

“Must you?” His sigh was long and suffering.  He eyed the stubborn set of her mouth, thinking about how soft it had been beneath his lips.  Her hand was still tightly fisted in his hair, and his throat was angled in a way that left him vulnerable.  He didn’t think she knew how erotic it was to him.  He gave her a dirty smile and licked the edge of his teeth.  “Sex doesn’t have to be about love.  It can be about pleasure.  C’mon, baby.  Let’s dance.”

She wanted to ask why he wanted to.  Of all the women he could get to dance with him, why her?  However, to question him would be to question her desirability, something she didn’t feel emotionally up to at the moment.  For once it was nice to be the pursued.  To be wanted by a handsome man.  Vampire.  Whatever.  And she so desperately wanted to be touched.  It may not be a fairytale romance.  Hell, it wasn’t even love, but it was desire, and that had its own magical allure.  She slumped against him, nodding in acquiescence.

Grinning, her took her by the hand, and they raced through the graveyard, back to her house where his car was parked.  He helped her in, before sliding behind the wheel.  She was steeped in arousal again, and she squirmed against the seat.  He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, completely fascinated.  He had never come across phenomena like this.

“You’re really worked up, aren’t ya?”

“Shut up,” she grit out between clenched teeth.  “Don’t get used to it.  I’ll be back to normal after I pop this kid out.”  Her statement was ambiguous.  He wasn’t sure if she was indicating they might still have a sexual, but relatively normal relationship, after the baby was born or if she was saying the only reason she was going to have sex with him now was because her hormones were so out of whack she couldn’t control herself.  He wasn’t sure what to think about any of it.  Of course, he was a live in the now kinda vamp, so he decided to take what he could get.

“So.  Do’ya think if you pressed your thighs together really tight, and squirmed a bit, you could get yourself off without your hands?”  Spike leered.  Buffy gaped at him mortified.

“What the hell, Spike!?”

“Try it,” he coaxed in a voice that was coated in sin.

“No.  I’m not going to humiliate myself in front of you.”  She crossed her arms protectively over her chest, and slumped down in the seat.  “Maybe you should take me home.”

Spike ignored her suggestion, focusing on the most important part of her statement.  “Humiliate?  Are you kiddin’ me, luv?  It would be the hottest damn thing I’ve ever seen in my unlife.  There is nothin’ humiliatin’ about a woman in the throes of pleasure.  C’mon, luv.  Let me see how beautiful you are.”  His words, soft and silken, wound themselves around her.  Her clit throbbed, and her thighs were sticky.  She melted in the seat a little, her tightly clasped thighs putting pressure on her heavy and swollen pussy.  It was too dark to see the color of his eyes, but she knew they would be nearly black, only the thinnest band of blue around his pleasure dilated pupils.  He watched her hungrily, like she was a last meal to a starving man.  The intensity on his face, told her he wasn’t lying.  Her pleasure was beautiful to him. 

She tentatively rubbed her thighs together, and the friction set something on fire inside of her.  A corresponding blaze lit up in Spike’s eyes.  He glanced away frequently to watch the road, but she noticed how he slowed down as he navigated through the darkened city streets.  She bucked her hips, using the pressure of her tightly clasped legs and her inner muscles to build on her desire.  She wanted desperately to plunge her hand beneath the band of her sweatpants and tease her clit until she came, but it would be a violation of the rules.  Spike wanted to see her come without using her hands.  She curled her lax hand into a fist, her nails scrapping along the leather seat causing a tug of pleasure in her fingertips.  She arched her hips, giving a little cry of frustration when the soft fabric of her sweats didn’t provide the tension she needed.  If she was wearing tight jeans, she might have been able to find the angle of pressure, but she was thwarted from finding her release.

Spike heard the tone of despair in her mewling little cries of protest.  He glanced at the road, making sure it was deserted before he took one hand off the wheel.  He reached over, edging his hand beneath the band of her sweatpants, and ghosting over her silky panties.  Buffy’s thighs fell open, and she bucked her hips in welcome.  Her panties were soaking wet, making his fingers slick and he slid over them.  His middle finger parted her swollen lips, and with a single firm tap to her clit he made her world explode around her.  She arched off the seat, her head thrown back as a loud, tortured groan keened from her open mouth.  Spike was hypnotized by the sight.  She was so fucking gorgeous.  He glanced back at the road, jerking the wheel when he almost took out some garbage cans aside someone’s driveway.

When she came down from her pleasure high, he slipped his hand out from her pants and shakily placed both hands on the wheel.  His harden cocked pressed painfully against the zipper of his tight jeans.  He was afraid if he reached down to cup himself, he might spew in his jeans like a teenage boy in the girl’s locker room.  Thankfully, they were at his flat, and he quickly pulled into his parking spot.  When he turned off the car, he twisted towards Buffy who was now covering her mortified features with her hands.  He slid next to her, pulling her hands away.  He didn’t say anything, just cupped her face, his fingertips sliding along the underside of her jaw as he drew her up for a long, languorous kiss.  He slid his tongue along hers in deep, slow caresses as if he was trying to coax all her secrets out of her.  She clung onto the labels of his duster, completely and utterly in his thrall.

He drew away, so their lips hovered near each other’s.  He tucked a strand of honey, blonde hair behind her ear, as he stared into her green eyes.  “So beautiful,” he breathed and with those two words he swept away every inhabitation she ever had about the imperfections of her body.  She could see the reflection of herself in Spike’s eyes, and she was glorious.

He reached around her, and opened her door.  The heavy, Detroit steel screeching as it swung on the hinges.  Spike winced.  “Need to oil that.”  Buffy giggled and scooted out, Spike right behind her.  He held her hand as he led her to the elevator, pulling her into his arms as soon as the door closed.  She wound her arms beneath his duster, placing her palms flat between his shoulder blades as they kissed.  The elevator stopped and the doors were beginning to close again, before Spike realized what was happening and shot out his hand to trip the sensor.  They stumbled out of the elevator, and tried to navigate the hall to his door without ending up on the floor.

He dropped his keys twice before he got the door opened, tossing them aside once they were inside.  He pushed her up against the closed door, his hands trapping her wrists above her head.  “Stay.” He ordered, leaning back just enough so he could see her passion hazed features.  Her hair was mussed around her face, the honey tips sticking to her sweat coated skin.  Her lips were pink and swollen, her eyes shadowed with urgency.

He gripped the bottom of her hoodie, and drew it up over her head.  She wore a white, cotton sports bra that made her golden skin glow.  He wrapped his hands around the indention of her waist, just below her ribcage, his fingers spread along her back to feel every silken inch of her.  Slowly he drew his hands upwards, until his thumbs edged under the elastic of her bra.  He didn’t watch his hands as he drew her bra upwards.  He watched her face.  The tip of her pink tongue darted out, sliding along her full lower lip.  The action was both tentative and hungry, making something in his chest ache with corresponding feeling.  He was nervous and ravenous at the same time.  The elastic edge of her bra was banding her nipples, leaving the delicate underside of her breasts bared.  He cupped their weight in his palms, relishing the feel of how soft and sensitive her skin was there.  Hidden away from sight, even when she was naked, it was shy and untouched.  She arched her back, pressing more of her flesh into the palms of his hands.  Still he didn’t look down, watching every flash of emotion as it flittered across her face instead.

“So fucking gorgeous.”  Her eyes widened, her lashes flickering gold in the soft lamplight by the door.  He bent down, and traced the underside of her breasts with the tip of his tongue.  Goose pimples formed up along her ribs, and he could see her nipples harden under the fabric.  He tugged up her bra just a fraction of an inch and her dark pink nipples popped free.  They were puckered in a wordless beg to be touched.  He wanted to roll them between his fingertips, suck them deep into his mouth, but he tamped down the urge.  He had all night to taste her.  There was no reason to rush anything.  He massaged the soft flesh of her breasts around her nipples, watching as Buffy’s pulse increased at the hollow of her throat.  He hooked his thumbs under the elastic, sliding his hands over the sensitive undersides of her arms as he dragged her bra over her head, and left it tangled around her wrists still pinned above her.  He slid his hands back down her arms, leaning in to slick his tongue along her lower lip as he cupped her breasts, tweaking her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers.  She bucked her hips, her teeth nipping at his lower lip with ill concealed aggression at his teasing. 

He chuckled, pulling away.  She tried to drop her arms around his shoulders, but he pinned them back against the door with a strong hand.  “Nuh uh.  Gonna eat my fill of you before I let you go.”  Her eyes widened, and there was a taint of fear in her scent.  He looked away so she didn’t see his disappointment in her reaction.  He dropped to his knees in front of her, flipping the tails of his duster so it flared out on the ground behind him.  He slid off her shoes, then gripped the waistband of her pants, and tugged.  They slid down her legs easily, and she obediently stepped out them.  She was naked, except for a pair of pink silk panties scantly covering a triangle of flesh.  Leaning back on his hunches he looked up at her.  She could see the glitter of his electric blue eyes beneath his dark lashes.  The yellow lamplight cast shadows beneath the hard edge of his cheekbones, and his lips were swollen in a pout.  As she watched, he ran his tongue along the edge of teeth, and her clit throbbed in response.

 “Wonder what you taste like, pet.”  He leaned forward, his nose a scant inch from her dripping pussy.  He inhaled, and his chest expanded.  “Smell like vanilla.”

She fidgeted, her entire body bowstring taut with expectation.  “It’s my body lotion,” she offered, desperate for any connection between them.  Touch me, she begged silently, please.  He cupped his hands around the curves of her body, running up her legs without actually touching her.  The tiny hairs on her body stood on end, as she felt the weight of his nonexistent touch on her skin.  He skimmed his hands up to her hips, and used only his forefingers to hook the thin bands of elastic to pull her panties off.

Now she was completely naked, golden and vulnerable.  He was completely dressed, obscured and shadowed.  The dichotomy of it didn’t escape her.  He rested his open hands on his thighs, leaning forward only as much as he had too.  She watched, wide-eyed as his tongue darted between his lips, the tip slithering lightly against her clit.  The sensation of it jolted her to the core.  She rocked violently, rattling the door.  She untangled her wrists from her bra and dropped her hands to her sides, pressing her sweaty palms to the cool wood behind her for extra support.

“Open up for me, luv.”  His cool breath tickled her hot thighs.  She widened her stance, opening herself up so he could see everything.  She had never been this vulnerable before.  No one, not even Angel had seen her so intimately.  It made her nervous, and relieved at the same time.  For the first time in her life she wasn’t hiding behind any barriers.  She wasn’t shielded physically or emotionally.  She was wide open, and instead of feeling defensive, she felt overwhelmingly safe.  He leaned forward again, and she braced herself.

Spike hadn’t ever taken his time with a woman like this before.  Sex with Drusilla had never been a slow, leisurely affair.  She was a spitfire that had to be contained.  She was something that had to be caught then dominated.  Her pleasure could only be achieved through her painful submission.  To be with her, meant he had to be stronger than her, a forceful and demanding lover.  He never had the opportunity to luxuriate in her.  To explore her in slow, languid strokes.  Drusilla was a pale stone masterpiece.  Her white, firm flesh only colored when bruised.  But Buffy.  She was painted in color.  She was golden, tinted with pink, peach and rose.  The flesh on the underside of her breasts were pale, her shoulders bronze, her inner thighs a slick, light gold, her pussy lips flushed a dark carnation. 

The delicate pink tip of her clit, pushed passed her swollen lips, weeping to be touched.  He flicked the tip of his tongue against it, barely enough to get a sip of her taste.  She was a heady mix of vanilla, cinnamon and something exotic he couldn’t place.  Drusilla had been flavorless.  Her undead body barely producing the secretions needed for sex.  Buffy was dripping with life.  It soaked her pussy and ran down her thighs.  He didn’t know if he could ever go back to a colorless, tasteless world again.

He lifted himself slightly off his haunches, placing his hands flat against the door on either side of her hips.  He slid his hands upwards until his fingers interlocked with hers.  Finally connected with her, he slicked the flat length of his tongue along her slit.  She keened, pressing her pussy against his mouth.  He ran his tongue along the insides of her lips, taunting her clit with teasing little flicks, and delved into her tight pussy.  She fell apart around him.  She wound her fingers around his hair, holding him to her.  He gripped the underside of her thighs, urging her to ride his mouth.  She shuddered and rocked, her upper body bowed over him as he ate her up.  Her thighs quivered, and after experiencing three explosive climaxes in the last half hour, her legs could no longer hold her up.  She collapsed against Spike who quickly gathered her against his chest.  He looped his arms under her knees and shoulders and lifted her off the ground, striding across the room to his king-sized bed.

She sprawled across his satiny black coverlet in debauched abandonment.  Her gold hair flared around her in a tousled halo, her skin glowing with the after effects of her pleasure.  She lolled her head, so she could look up at Spike.  He stood at the side of the bed, watching her with the quiet intensity she had learned to equate with him.  Sometimes she wondered if he was even tamed.  He seemed more animal than man.  Languidly, she gathered her legs beneath her to kneel in front of him.  She reached for his belt and the only sound in the room was the quiet snick of the leather sliding free from the buckle.  She watched as every nuance of his expression tensed with longing as she undid the button to his pants and slowly drew down his zipper. 

The hard, heavy weight of him fell against her hand as soon as it was freed from his pants.  She glanced down surprised he wasn’t wearing underwear.  She’d never fully seen a man’s penis.  She had kept her eyes locked on Angel’s face when they made love, and sex with Parker had been the dark.  Somehow she knew those experiences would never be repeated with Spike.  He demanded full exposure, all barriers torn down so there was nowhere to hide.  Sex with him would be a long, slow, uninhibited affair that would leave her thoroughly explored from the outside in. 

His cock was long, thick, the head slightly ruddy and wet with precum.  She touched her finger to the tip, and it bobbed excitedly.  Her eyes darted up to his, suddenly uncertain.

“I’ve never,” she tried to explain.

“Never?” Spike arched his scarred brow. 

She mutely shook her head, suddenly ashamed of her inexperience.  He expelled a gusty breath, his mouth quirking at the corner.  “Their loss is my bleedin’ fantastic pleasure,” he purred. 

She blushed and looked down again.  She loosely wrapped her fingers around his cock, and ran them experimentally along his length.  He shuddered, rocking forward on the balls of his feet.  “What do I do?”

“You’re doin’ great, luv.”

“But my mouth would be better?” She cast him a coy glance from beneath her golden lashes.  His breath stolen, he nodded mutely.  She kneeled forward, her delectable little arse waving in the air as she flicked her tongue across the head of his cock.  Spike groaned.  It was the first sound of pleasure she had heard him make.  Embolden, she pursed her lips, pressing a kiss to the tip.  Instinctively he rocked forward, ecstatic when her lips parted ever so slightly to let him in.  Her mouth was wet, smooth and purposely tight as she allowed him to slide into her throat.  She wrapped one small fist around the base of his cock, the fingers of her other hand tickling his balls.  He threw his head back, tight tendons bulging in his neck and he ground his teeth together to keep from whooping in joy. 

“So good,” he exhaled in a long groan. 

Quick to learn, Buffy was sliding him in and out of her mouth in a slow dance that was setting his nerve endings on fire.  He wrapped her silky hair around his fists, trying his damnedest to be gentlemanly and not ram himself down her throat. 

“’m cumming,” he hissed, using his grip on her hair to pull her away.  She protested when he dropped to his knees beside the bed.  He snatched a deep, open mouth kiss from her as he shuddered into his hand.  Finished, he broke away and rested his forehead against the edge of the bed to recoup himself. 

“Why did you do that?”  Buffy was confused.  Every whispered, under the covers, sleep-over confession she had heard from her girlfriends growing up confirmed that men preferred mouths to fists when they came. 

He heard her pain, and lifted his head.  Her wide green eyes were so expressive.  A man could judge his actions in the mirror of her eyes.  How was it possible that anyone could hurt her, when she looked at them like that?  He ran his fingers through her hair, pulling her close for a searing kiss.  She w

Disclaimer:  I don’t own or profit from BtVS.  It’s all owned by Joss Whedon and affiliates.  No copyright infringement intended.

 

Some spoilers for Hush.  Olivia won’t appear.  I never fully understood her role other than Giles having a cuddle buddy during an admittedly scary time.  Besides it always kinda weirded me out that Giles had an international booty call.

 

A/N:  What?  You thought it was going to be all puppies and rainbows here on out?  We are talking about Spike and Buffy.  They couldn’t agree on the sky being blue if their lives depended on it.  Seriously, they have a pathological need to argue.  Kinda exhausting, if you ask me.

 

Dawn of a New Age

 

Chapter Seven

 

Spike tasted every inch of her body, from the soles of her feet to her smooth armpits.  She never felt so thoroughly debauched in her life.  She sprawled across his bed, his coverlet long gone, black satin sheets spilling onto the floor in a cascade of oily shadows.  Sometime before ten she managed to call her mom to tell her she was with Spike, and discreetly forgot to mention when she would be home.  Her mother was strangely agreeable, and Buffy chalked it up to maternal acquiescence.  After all, how much more knocked up could she get?  It was well past midnight now, and she didn’t think there were any bones left in her body to get out of bed to pee, much less make her way home.  That was until her belly rumbled.  Loudly.

 

Spike lifted his head off the pillow.  “What the bleedin’ ‘ell was that?”

 

Buffy curled around her belly, hiding it from him.  “m hungry,” she mumbled.  He looked at her speculatively, before glancing towards his kitchen.  He had a sprawling loft apartment, with no interior walls except for the bathroom.  From where they lay, they could see across the large open space to where his kitchen was situated.  The area was dark with only a lit lamp by the door, and more light spilling from the bathroom where she had left it on a couple hours ago.  She could see hints of dark masculine wood and black leather from the seating area close to a bank of windows overlooking the river.  She wondered at the windows, but she supposed Spike was a big boy and could take care of himself.  If he wanted to live on the wild side with a wall entirely made of glass that was his business.  She would mourn him when vacuuming up his ashes.

 

The thought gave her pause.  Would she mourn him?  She snuck a peek at him while he frowned at his state of the art kitchen.  Until now they hadn’t anything in common other than their pending child and the forbidden topics they both skirted around.  On the plus side, Buffy found a way to satisfactorily work out her frustrations.   After the marathon bout of enhanced stamina sex they just shared, she was convinced even the Oakland Raiders would have been found lacking.  She was completely satiated in a way she had never felt in her entire life. 

 

However, sex did not a relationship make.  And that was all it was.  Sex.  Once this weird horniness phase of her pregnancy was over, so would the sex.  After all, he was a vampire.  An evil, soulless one at that.  He was only held in check by the chip in his brain.  Only scant weeks earlier he was trying to rip off her head while laughing merrily in the sunshine.  She must never forget he was a killer.  She shouldn’t even be here with him.  Disappointment loomed inside her at the thought, but she didn’t have time to analyze it before Spike turned back to her. 

 

“I think I have some Weetabix.”

 

“Wheat-a-what?”

 

“Yah, I don’t think you’d like it.  I can run down to the all night market.  Get you some chips or sumthin’.”

 

Buffy frowned.  Chips were of the no.  She wanted something more substantial.  Something meaty.  She licked her lips.  Spike’s brow rose and interest heated in his dark eyes.  Buffy wavered with answering interest.  Nope, that wasn’t of the good either.  She rolled backwards off the bed, proud when she didn’t stagger.  Much.

 

“I think I should go home.  I can make myself a BLT or something.”

 

She missed the flash of disappointment on Spike’s face as she tottered towards the door to retrieve her clothes strewn in front of it.

 

“I can make you a BLT.”

 

Buffy frowned at her underwear.  They were a sodden mess.  Gross.  She shook out her sweat pants and stepped into them commando style.  “I don’t think they are going to have bacon, lettuce and tomato at the Quickie Mart.”  She pulled her pants over her hips with a little shimmy.

 

“I’m sure we can find an all night diner somewhere.”  Spike had no idea why he was so desperate to hold onto her.  There was no way he was going to be able to have sex again tonight.  Yah, he was a vampire, but he wasn’t a bleedin’ machine.  So what would be the point of her staying?  It wasn’t like they had anything to talk about.  He should be finding his keys to take her home, instead of trying to coax her into staying.

 

“Nah,” she rejected, shrugging on her bra.  She pulled her head through her hoodie, when she suddenly turned to him wide-eyed.  “You think they’d have pancakes?”

 

Spike nodded, bemused at the sudden change in her demeanor.  She gripped her belly, her countenance almost thoughtful, before she rounded on him with a smile.

 

“Oh, yeah.  We want pancakes.  The fluffy kind.  With whip cream.”  She practically pranced over to her shoes.  Spike didn’t know whether to shake his head in exasperation at her mood swings or thank his lucky stars.  At least now he was going to be able to spend some time with her. 

 

All her thoughts of food made her think about what Spike was eating.  She abruptly detoured from her shoes and headed towards the fridge.  She opened it up, uncertain what she would do if she found it empty.  Instead, she found plastic containers of pig’s blood.  She looked over the refrigerator door to where Spike stood in the shadows, but the interior light blinded her.  She couldn’t see his expression, and she wondered what he saw on hers.  Relief?  Indecisiveness?  Hope?

 

“We aren’t, like, dating, you know?”  She frowned, narrowing her eyes against the bright light of the fridge.  “Just a couple of weeks ago, we hated each other.”

 

“Yeah.”  His soft agreement was disembodied in the darkness.

 

She closed the refrigerator door with a hard rattle.  “This is just sex.”  She quashed any hint of hope that may have reared its ugly, treacherous head as she stalked back over to her shoes.  Her eyes hadn’t adjusted to the darkness yet, but she knew he was watching her.  She couldn’t help but wonder at his silence.

 

 

They found an all night diner catering to truckers on the way out of town.  The yellow linoleum table was cracked, and Buffy worried the edge with her thumbnail.  Spike sat across from her, his arm thrown over the back of the bench seat, unobtrusively glaring at a shaggy trucker who had given Buffy a once over when they entered.

 

“I can’t decide between pancakes or one of those fried skillet things with bacon and sausage.”

 

“Thought you wanted pancakes?”

 

“I did, but now I want both.  And maybe steak and eggs---without the eggs.”  Buffy frowned at the menu, her thumb still worrying the crack.

 

“Order it all.”  Spike shrugged and looked out into the black night beyond the red pool of light from the neon EAT sign.

 

“I can’t eat all that!”  Buffy glared at him, affronted.

 

“Don’t.  Jus’ take nibbles from what you want.”

 

Buffy very carefully closed her laminated menu and folded her hands on top.  Spike felt the tension ratchet up a notch and he had to suppress the urge to sigh as he braced himself for superbitch emergence.

 

“Where does all your money come from, Spike?”

 

“What?”  That wasn’t what he was expecting at all, but in hindsight, maybe he should of.  He could only flaunt his flushed status so much, before being called on it.  Ordering excessive platefuls of food from a cheap diner may not seem extravagant to him, but to a moneywise woman like Buffy, who had spent an entire summer trying to feed herself off meager waitressing tips, it was.

 

“The car, the books, the apartment.”  Bloody hell.  It was the flat that has her soddin’ knickers in a bunch.  He should have just taken her to the nearest crypt and shagged her silly, instead of being a gent and taking her back to his flat.  She was so hot and heavy she wouldn’t have cared if it were a dirt floor or king-sized bed with satin sheets.  Still got hers, and then some, he thought vindictively.

 

“Got a job,” he said flatly.  Her eyes sparked jade and he felt a tremor in his cock.  Christ!  He would have thought for sure he wouldn’t get a rise out of it for at least two days.  Bleedin’ sexy bint.  He needed to have his head checked.

 

“Doing what?” she snapped.

 

“Stuff,” he snapped back.

 

“Ready to order?” the middle-aged waitress asked.  She smelled of White Shoulders and grease.  Spike could barely control his snarl.

 

“No.”

 

“Yes.”

 

The waitress looked between Buffy’s resolute negative and Spike’s frustrated affirmative.  Shaking her head, she just walked away.  “Let me know when you’re ready,” she called over her shoulder.

 

“What kind of job, Spike?”

 

Spike huffed and threw himself back into his seat.  Stupid woman couldn’t mind her own business.  “I help some business owners.”

 

“Doing what, exactly?”  Spike shrugged and refused to meet her gaze.  “Spike,” she drawled warningly.

 

“I make sure their places don’ ge’ busted up.  Tha’ alroit with you, miss priss?”  His East End accent was getting heavier, a sure sign he was trying to hide something from her.  She narrowed her eyes, before they widened in understanding.

 

“Are you running a protection racket?”

 

“So wot if I am?”

 

“Spike, you can’t go around robbing people.”

 

“I ain’t robbin’ nobody,” he exploded in a snarl.  “I charge a small fee to make sure they aren’ rousted by the local evils.”  There was no way he was going to bring up the smuggling ring he strong-armed from Willy.  The berk wasn’t running it right anyways.  Besides Willy was making twice as much now for doing half the work just taking orders.  Spike’s European connections allowed him to bring in high demand commodities to the demon community.  Nothing evil, mind you.  Just standard demon fare.

 

“That’s what the police are for.”  Her little hands were squeezed into fists on the table.  She realized her voice was pitched a little too high and she quickly pulled her hands into her lap with a quick look around.  The diner was mostly deserted, and the waitress was steadfastly ignoring them, having already ascertained they were going to have a row when she first asked their order.

 

“They can’t call the bobbies you, dumb cow.  They’re demons.”

 

Buffy frowned at him.   She was going to let the dumb cow comment pass.  For now.   “Demons own businesses?”

 

Spike rolled his eyes.  “Yah, or they’re humans who cater to demons.  Who do you think helps out Willy if he has a problem?  Not the SPD, that’s for damn sure.”

 

She watched him with coolly assessing eyes.  He could tell she had questions.  Even though she was the Slayer, she had very little connection to the demon community that flourished around her.  It was logical they would find solutions to their problems internally rather than relying on human agencies that weren’t equipped to handle demonic contingencies.  She leaned back in her seat.

 

“You aren’t robbing anyone?”

 

He imitated her body language.  “No.  I run it fair.  Ask anyone.”

 

Buffy made a note to question Willy when she saw him later.  He was the only business owner she knew of who dealt with demons.  Maybe she could get some information out of him about other business owners so she could question them as well.

 

“Anything else?”

 

Spike felt a twinge in his middle.  If he wasn’t going to tell her about his smuggling ring, then he sure as hell wasn’t going to tell her about the run down demon strip club he just bought with plans to renovate into a first class cabaret.  He intended on running it right with no off the book hook ups or hanky panky on the site, but he knew the self-righteous bitch would read it wrong.  The last thing he wanted was for her to call him a pimp, and tell him he wasn’t good enough to see his kid.

 

“That’s it,” he confirmed straight-faced.

 

The silence lengthened between them.  Fuck.  How he made his money was just added to the list of forbidden topics they didn’t discuss along with their past love lives and their dichotomous murdering tendencies.  If all they had in common was sex and their baby this relationship was never going to work.  Spike had to ask himself for the thousandth time why he even wanted it to.

 

Finally Buffy came to a verdict, one that clearly wasn’t in his favor.  “Take me home.”  Without another glance, she slid out of the booth and walked out of the diner.

 

*******

 

All the houses in the neighborhood were dark when he pulled up to the curb.  He barely had the car in park before she was wrenching open the passenger door.  It was only her mother’s ingrained politeness that had her tossing a goodbye over her shoulder as she got out.  Except nothing came out.  Hovering halfway in and out of the car, she tried again.  Nothing.  She slumped down in the seat, throwing a panicked glance at Spike who was looking at her like she had hit a whole new level of crazy.  She opened her mouth, motioning with her hand that nothing was coming out.  She scoured her memory for any mention in her books of spontaneous laryngitis being a rare symptom of pregnancy, but she came up blank.

 

Spike frowned at her, and cocked an eye.  What the daft cow wanted now he had no idea.  He just wanted her out of his car.  It would still be dark for a few hours, more than enough time to find some booze and drink the memory of this night away.  The last part anyways.  The first part had been pretty damn good.  He sat there watching her flail with her mouth gaping open and he thought about how good it felt to have his cock in it.  He rolled his eyes, and mentally slapped himself upside the head.  Buffy thought he was rolling his eyes at her, and slapped him upside the head for real.

 

Ow!  He snarled, only to realize it didn’t come out of his mouth.  She made throttling motions with her hands and looked at him like he was a moron.  He opened his mouth to tell her exactly what he thought of her and her goddamn mood swings, but nothing came out.  She settled back in the seat, her arms crossed for all of two seconds before one hand flew up in the universal ‘duh’ signal.  He clicked his tongue with disgust and glared out the darkened windshield.  They sat for a few minutes their minds filled with thoughts of how much they couldn’t stand each other, and why did shit like this always happen to them.  Oh right.  Slayer.  Vampire.  The Powers That Be hated them.  Check.

 

Spike flung his hand over the steering wheel, indicating the darkness in a vague wave.  To Buffy his actions weren’t vague at all.  He wanted to know if he should drive her to Giles’ house.  She nodded, but held up her finger for him to wait for her.  She got out of the car, and went around the house to let herself in the back door.  She grabbed the notepad off the counter and wrote a quick note reassuring her mother, and telling her to stay home from work.  She pinned it to the fridge with a Disneyland magnet, and ran upstairs to change into slayer friendly clothes, complete with fresh underwear.  She didn’t have time to shower, so she had to settle with wiping away the night’s secretions with a wet rag.  She was pulling her hair up into a ponytail as she trotted down the stairs.  On her way out of the house she grabbed two bananas and the notepad.

 

She slid into the car next to Spike, flinching at the sound of the car door slamming.  The atmosphere was quieter than normal.  Sound was muffled, almost like someone was pressing a huge pillow over the world.  It made unexpected noises startling.  Buffy bit the side of her thumbnail as they drove in silence to Giles’ house.  She’d kept a low profile since the disastrous Will Be Done spell, and this would be her first time seeing her Watcher or any of her friends other than Willow.  She wondered how they would feel about Spike being there.  She glanced over at him.  His usually full lips were thin, and there were deep shadows under his sharp cheekbones. 

 

He made his feelings clear about her slaying while pregnant.  He didn’t want the baby to get hurt.  By extension that meant he didn’t want her being hurt.  She wondered if he cared about her in any way separate from the baby or if all his concern was centered on the life she carried inside her.  Spike’s attitude made her feel like Pandora.  How had the ancient Greeks put it?  Women were only the jar where the hope of new generations resided, but otherwise they were put on this world with the sole reason of making men miserable, endowed with the soul of a bitch.  She was sure Spike would concur with the whole soul of a bitch thing when it came to her.  They certainly loved to hate each other.  It seemed pretty conclusive that in Spike’s mind, she was just some jar holding the real treasure.  Useful for only as long as she wasn’t useful anymore.

 

They pulled up to Giles’ apartment, and Buffy didn’t bother to wait for Spike to open the door for her before she was out of the car.  He trailed behind her as she stalked up to the apartment.  Spike saw the slight hesitation in her body before she knocked.  He wondered at the state of the relationship between Watcher and Slayer.  Had Buffy told her watcher she was keeping the baby?  Did he react in fury?  Spike hoped he didn’t get staked once he was inside the flat. 

 

It took a great deal of pounding, before they heard the locks being disengaged.  Giles opened the door, looking more than a little rough.  His ratty dark blue robe looked as old as the man wearing it.  It was unbelted, revealing fairly new green and white striped pajamas.  His hair was sticking up at all angles, and he desperately needed a shave.  He took one look at Buffy and wiped his hand down his face, opening the door wider for them to enter.

 

Buffy waited for him to speak, knowing it was the best way to get the ball rolling.  She watched for a few comical moments as he tried to speak, before she indicated they were having the same problem.  Spike watched their interaction closely.  Buffy held herself stiffly until the situation came clear to the Watcher.  When it did, Spike saw something completely unexpected.  Giles wrapped his arms around Buffy in a fatherly embrace she instantly melted into.  He inhaled and he could scent the distinctive tang of her salty tears, but she kept them hidden with a quick swipe of her hand when she parted from her watcher.  It was then, that Spike understood she’d been worried about being rejected by her watcher.  She was after all, knocked up by demon spawn.  Spike was pretty sure that was executable offense as far as the Council of Wankers was concerned. 

 

He had a sudden appreciation for the other man, who without words was able to absolve his girl of her fears, but now Spike had his own concerns.  Once their voices returned he needed to take Rupert aside and find out his intentions.  Spike needed to be prepared if the Council came for them.  The wave of frustration he felt at the thought was palpable.  The Council was composed of humans.  The one creature in all the bleedin’ world he couldn’t defend against.  How was he supposed to protect his family while he remained chipped?  He was well and truly neutered.  A pathetic git of a man who couldn’t even protect his own.

 

Giles waved them to the bookshelves while he shuffled off to start some coffee.  Buffy and Spike pulled out books, and he went upstairs to make himself presentable as the coffee brewed.  When he came back down, he was quick to note that the two parents-to-be were sitting on opposite sides of the room, their backs to each other, reading books.

 

One by one the Scoobies filtered in throughout the morning.  Willow rushed in, hugging Giles and Buffy, and even shooting Spike a little wave that had him raising an eyebrow.  Willow and Buffy were barely settled next to each other on the couch when Xander and Anya burst in.  Xander was full of fumbling anxious energy that made the vampire grateful the whelp couldn’t speak.  Xander shot him a malevolent glare that Spike returned with two upraised fingers.

 

After the news broadcast announcing that Sunnydale was the victim of a citywide laryngitis outbreak the mood in the room was somber.  Xander was holding his bird to his chest while she wept silently.  Giles wandered aimlessly between the kitchen and the living room as if looking for some sort of magical tea that could fix everything, and Buffy and Willow sat huddled together on the couch.  Willow had taken on a comforting role that was almost surprising.  She had her arm wrapped around Buffy, who was curled up as if she was trying to protect her belly.  It was clear by her body language that Willow accepted their baby, and by association she had accepted Spike as well.  It warmed his undead, unbeating heart a little, but it didn’t disperse the jealousy he was feeling.  He wanted to be the one on the couch comforting Buffy.  But he wasn’t being acknowledged again.  She kept her back to him so he couldn’t even see her face.  It made him wonder if their little girl was going to be as stubborn as her mother.  He could picture a little girl with blonde pigtails and big blue eyes tapping her toe impatiently while waiting her turn at the jump rope.  A thought suddenly struck him.

 

He motioned to the Slayer, but she steadfastly ignored him.  He stomped his foot, but she just huddled further into Willow who gave him chastising little glare.  He rolled his eyes.  Soddin’ dozy women.  He tore off a piece of paper from his note pad, wadding it up, and hurling it at Buffy’s head.  She jerked up, her green eyes narrowed and glittering with fire.  He smirked, shifting in his chair to hide his quickening hard on.  He scrawled something on his pad and showed it too her.

 

DREAM?

 

She frowned at him.  He huffed and wrote something else.

 

THE ONE WITH THE LITTLE GIRL AND THE RHYME

 

Buffy’s eyes widened and she nodded before shooting off the couch to confer with her watcher.  He watched her go, her blonde ponytail bouncing behind her.  His eyes shifted back to the couch where Willow was staring at him in a darkly speculative manner that made him distinctly uncomfortable.  He mouthed a wide ‘what’ at her, and she just shrugged, dropping her gaze back to an open book in her lap.

 

Buffy’s description of her dream narrowed the search somewhat.  The Scoobies were trying to find references to anything related to the Gentlemen or spontaneous laryngitis.  Spike flipped through the pages of a large tomb halfheartedly, his attention mostly focused on Buffy.  Every once in a while she would drift into the kitchen and sweep through the cupboards only to come back empty handed and distinctly sullen.  He supposed she was hungry, but there was more than enough donuts and chips to go around.  There was plenty for her to eat.  He frowned, remembering her cravings from earlier.  Pancakes, skillet fried potatoes with sausage, and steak.  She was craving substantial carbs and protein, not empty calories provided by too sweet pastries.

He hauled himself off the couch and followed Buffy into the kitchen as she ransacked it for the fifth time that morning.  While her head was buried in the pantry beside the fridge, he dug around in the freezer.  He found a single T-bone steak still in the store packaging, underneath a bag of frozen French fries.  He pulled it out, showing it silently to Buffy whose eyes brightened from a dull hazel to mossy green.  Seeing her approval, he opened the microwave and carelessly flung the package inside, hitting the defrost button.

Giles wandered in while Spike was searing the steak in a cast iron skillet he found shoved back behind an unused crockpot in the cupboard.  The older man shook his fist, mouthing something unintelligible.  Spike merely raised his scarred brow, cocking his head at Buffy who was standing at his shoulder practically salivating.  Giles took one look at the pointed hunger on his charge’s face and promptly walked back out, deciding a good t-bone steak was worth the sacrifice in keeping her happy. 

Bouncing on her toes, Buffy flashed a plate at Spike before the steak was fully cooked, her pink tongue darting between shiny lips.  A tremor went through his thighs and shot straight to his cock.  He distracted himself by quickly turning off the burner and plating her steak.  She took it from him with the widest smile of thank you he’d ever seen from her.  Suddenly, it wasn’t only his cock affected by her, but his entire chest.  A warm, sappy feeling that had him rolling his eyes as he followed her out into the living area.

She knelt in front of the coffee table and proceeded to attack her food.  As she cut into the meat, dark juice spread across the plain, white plate.  Spike sat behind her on the couch, waiting to see if she would reject it.  Instead, she dropped her knife and fork and picked up the entire thing by the bone to gnaw on it with wet, juicy noises.  One by one the scoobs focused on her, various degrees of concern and tinges of disgust ghosting over their expressions.  Spike shook on his gameface, snarling at them in silent fury so potent, they collectively gasped.   He tamped down the demon as they shifted away, unaware they’d been leaning closer to watch Buffy like she was on display.  Their sudden movement had her looking up, artless confusion wrinkling her brow.  When everyone dropped their eyes, she glanced over her shoulder at Spike who smiled innocently at her and rubbed the dip between her shoulders.  She returned his smile, and went back to gnawing on her bone.

*******

Dusk curled around the edges of Sunnydale, accompanied by the sound of locks being thrown and blinds drawn.  Most of the town’s residents didn’t know what was out in the darkness, but they knew they were being hunted.  Families huddled together, children sleeping between their parents, lovers holding each other tight.  Xander and Anya waved goodbye as they headed back to his basement, and Willow returned to her dorm.  Buffy mouthed ‘mom’ to Spike and he nodded in agreement.  They drove in silence, noting the empty streets and boarded up windows on some houses.  He followed her inside, locking the door behind him as she bounded up the stairs.  He circled the bottom floor, checking windows and pulling down the blinds.  Not a sound could be heard upstairs, but he could smell the saltiness of tears and he imagined the Summers’ women huddled on the bed seeking mutual comfort.

The night lengthened, pooling deep, dark shadows along houses and beneath shrubbery.  Spike prowled the lower level of the house in a continuous circuit, sneaking peeks through the blinds and out the peephole on the front door.  Near midnight a cold chill settled in his bones, prickling the fine hairs on his neck.  He stopped at the front door, concentrating all his senses towards the street.  There was a muffled noise behind him, and he glanced up to see Buffy poised on the landing gripping a two-headed ax that glittered silver in the moonlight.  She was beautiful, like a Valkyrie ready for battle.  He scowled at her, and she scowled back just as fiercely.  The Slayer didn’t back down from a fight, and she sure as hell didn’t hide behind a man.  She wasn’t the damsel in distress, she was the goddamn knight in shining friggin’ armor.

Angry, frustrated, and knowing he couldn’t win, Spike swung open the front door.  Gliding up the walk was a tall, cadaverous figure that made Spike’s skin want to crawl right off his bones.  It’s hairless, dead flesh stretched tight over it’s skull, it’s teeth silver plated and gleaming in the moonlight.  It’s Victorian dress made Spike think about the bullies he had drained just after he was turned, how he had discarded the belly-white, bloodless bodies in piss-stink alleys behind their fancy, brick-faced homes.  He wondered if they looked similar to this creature when they were found.

Behind the creature were two hunched minions that undulated in a rhythmic motion that oddly reminded Spike of the waves crashing on the beach.  As frightening as they were in appearance, what really creeped Spike out was the complete lack of sound.  He kept waiting to hear the tinkle of buckles on the straightjacket worn by the minions or the sharp ting of shiny teeth as the tall creature smiled.  There was only silence.  It was muffled and cottony and made him wonder if he had gone deaf.

Spike shook on his game face and snarled.  He could feel it rip across his throat and vibrate through his jaw, but there was no expected rumbling growl.  Just empty silence.  The tall creature raised it’s hands in retreat, flashing silver teeth.  It slowly backed away, but before it could move on, the Slayer was streaking past Spike, her doubled edged ax flashing in a wide arch. 

Spike wanted to howl.  She just couldn’t let it go.  He knew her reasoning.  If they let the monster escape, then some innocent would die.  For Buffy that was paramount to murder.  But sod it, could she put herself and their child first for once? 

Smoothly, the creature glided to the side, dodging her blow.  Without contact she over extended and had to lunge off the walk and onto the lawn to regain her equilibrium.  As she steadied herself, a minion flew at her, knocking her to the ground.  Enraged, Spike leapt towards them, only to be waylaid in mid air by the second minion.  As they toppled to the ground in a heap the loose buckles of its jacket cut him across the mouth.

Engaged in his own battle, Spike had to trust in the Slayer’s formidable skills to keep her safe.  Regardless of the protective feelings he felt towards her and their unborn child, she wasn’t a woman to be coddled.  The minion he fought was small and quick, it’s tiny contorted body slipping out of Spike’s grasp every time he reached for it.  From the corner of his eye, he watched as the cadaverous creature glided down the street, far away from the house where Joyce still slept.  Satisfied the Slayer’s mother was safe, he concentrated his entire attention on the minion.  The straps and buckles of the straightjacket fluttered around silently, occasionally flashing silver in the moonlight.  Unable to get purchase on the creature itself, Spike lashed out and wound one of the straps around his fist.  Once anchored, it took only a few short moments before Spike was twisting the minion’s head off it’s neck.

As soon as the creature was dead he swung around looking for Buffy.  He watched as she took off the second minion’s head with one smooth lop of her ax.  Panting she dropped the head of the ax to the ground, her fist still wrapped around the handle as she searched the area for the third creature.  Seeing nothing, she met Spike’s eyes who indicated with a lift of his hand that the monster retreated down the street.  He tensed as her gaze followed the direction he pointed, hoping she wouldn’t decide to pursue the Gentleman.

A shadowed look came over her face as she gripped her belly.  They stood together in apprehensive silence, her staring into the darkness, him staring at her.  Finally, she turned to walk into the house, and Spike let out the breath he held.  He didn’t know what he would have done if she decided to follow after the monster.  She was still holding her belly, and Spike trailed behind her, worry tight in his chest.  He hadn’t been able to keep an eye on her during the fight, and he didn’t know if she’d been struck in the stomach or not.  He locked the door behind them, watching as Buffy leaned her ax against the wall, and slowly made her way up the stairs.  She reached the landing before the tension stretching tight inside him snapped.  He took the stairs two at a time, gripping her shoulder to pull her around to look at him.

He dipped his head to look her in the eyes, begging silently to know if she was alright.  She bit her lower lip, her brow furrowed.  The tiny motion she made with her shoulders should have been a nonchalant shrug, but Spike could read worry in the lines of her body.  His heart near bursting, he gently pushed her back to the wall so her shoulders were braced on the cool surface.  He dropped to his knees before her, reaching for the hem of her shirt.  She batted his hands away, annoyance shooting from her eyes.  Spike shook his head.  He knew she thought he was trying to have sex with her, but that was the furthest thing from his mind.  Her hands knotted into uncertain fists at her sides.  Slowly, he rolled up the hem of her blouse, indicating she should hold it up just below her breasts.  She watched him, her teeth rubbing across her lower lip.

She lifted her hand, but instead of holding her shirt, she cupped his cheek in her palm.  Spike stilled under her touch.  He was both calmed and excited.  The worry beating in his chest, the demon rattling the cages of his mind was soothed by her, but her gentle carress of her fingers made him think of their evening together. 

She swiped her thumb over his lower lip, and he forced himself not to flinch away as she traced his cut.  She wiped the blood from his chin, pushing the pad of her thumb into his mouth until the salty tang burst of it on his tongue.  His eyes drifted closed as he leaned into her palm, transported into a place of contentment he never experienced before.  He sucked her thumb clean, scraping his blunt teeth over the sensitive pad of her thumb.  He felt a tremor race up her arm, and arousal flooded the air.  He released her thumb, and with a soft kiss to the center of her palm he tilted his face up to hers.

The look they exchanged was heated, but it didn’t disperse the fear still lurking beneath their arousal.  Smiling reassuringly at her, he replaced his hand with hers to hold up her blouse.  He tilted his head until his ear lay against the smooth, taut flesh of her midriff.  He closed his eyes and honed all his vampiric senses on the ebb and flow of her body.  Her heartbeat was loud.  An insistent, steady staccato against her ribs.  Her blood rushed in silvery waves through her veins, luring him with a siren call.  Her belly rumbled with hunger, and he almost chuckled.  But beneath it all was another tiny, thready beat.  It was small and fast like a hummingbird’s.  He focused all of his energy on listening to the sound.

He brought his hand to rest against her belly, and with two fingers he drummed out the rhythm of the tiny beats on her skin so she could hear them along with him.  He was concentrating so hard, he didn’t feel her move until her fingers were threading through his hair, her hand holding him close to her belly.  Silently, they stood in the dark for what seemed to be hours, reveling in the strong, steady heartbeat of their baby.

 

 

 

 

 

Disclaimer:  I don’t own or profit from BtVS.  It is all owned by Joss Whedon and affiliates.  No copyright infringement intended.

A/N:  Hey guys!  I just want to say thank you to everyone who has taken the time to review.  It makes a writer’s heart go all pitter-patter.  School has started up, so postings may slow down, but not by too much I think.  I have two more chapters written already and I have a completed outline, so hopefully it won’t be more than two weeks between chapters.  Happy Reading!

Spoilers for Hush

Dawn of a New Age

Chapter Eight

Spike had an ulterior motive in bringing Slim Jims to the Scoobie meeting at the college auditorium.  He maneuvered himself into the seat to the left of Buffy, sending the whelp a truly malicious glare when he tried to hedge in.  The young boy gulped and headed for the second row with his bird.  Buffy was oblivious to the silent male posturing as she settled her bag at her feet, but when he sat she looked up, suspicion clouding her green eyes.  Regardless, of their private relationship, they had little contact in public.  That was something he was dead set on changing.  In furtherance of his agenda, he pulled out one of the Slim Jims he had hidden in the inner pocket of his jacket.  Her eyes lit up as she snatched it from his hand.  He smirked as his theory was confirmed.  The Slayer had a craving for meat.

Spike watched with a small curl to his lips as Buffy tore open the packaging and gobbled her treat.  He noticed most of her friends were appalled by her new eating habits, but he was quite fascinated.  A quick glance at her tight, athletic body told him she probably lived off salad, pizza with the toppings picked off, and caffeine.  Seeing this new ravenous side of her, made his insides twitch.  In a good way.

Spike’s head whipped around as soon as Giles started Camille Saint-Saens Danse Macabre.  The twitch in his insides turned into a sickening vibration.  The first time he heard the orchestra being performed, he was a newly turned vampire on the arm of his beautiful sire.  They sat high in the balcony, Darla and Angelus laughing beside them.  As the music ebbed the Scourge of Europe descended on the audience, their screams ascending in the wake of the music.  As blood splashed on the gold brocade walls of the theater, he and Dru danced a sinuous waltz, her humming the tune under her breath.  As he twirled her around, he closed his eyes and imagined skeletons dancing in a graveyard under a full moon.

Ignoring Giles’ presentation, he shot Buffy a glance from under his lowered lashes.  He wondered what she would say about his memory triggered by a bit of history.  For all intents and purposes he considered it to be a good memory.  He was deep in the embrace of love for his sire and the new dark world she was introducing him too.  For the first time in his life he was strong and powerful.  Dru had yet to show her fickle side, and he was completely enthralled with her and everything she represented.  He was convinced she would give him everything he could ever desire.  But she hadn’t.  Until Buffy.  Until the baby, Spike hadn’t even known what his true desires were. 

He thought it was power to make sure he was never a victim again, to wreck vengeance on those who had taunted and humiliated him for years.  He thought it was desirability to attract women who would have never given him a second glance when he was human.  He knew those desires while substantial were inadequate.  He realized he never wanted something as badly as he wanted this child.  More surprisingly, he wanted Buffy.  Perhaps this was what Dru had nattered on about. 

He came back to Sunnydale, because he couldn’t stop thinking of her.  He thought it was to kill her, but now he wasn’t so sure if that was ever his intention.  He certainly had more than enough chances over the years, but he never followed through.  Now he knew why.  It was obvious their child was a miracle.  The Powers That Be always meant for them to be parents, but what if they meant for them to be more than that?  What if the secrets he kept from his sire, from his own self were rooted in truth?  Maybe the changes he had been going through for the last two years were meant to be.  Maybe Buffy was meant to be. 

From the corner of his eye, he watched Buffy speculatively.  What if she was the one he always dreamed of?  The ambiguous promise of love he craved since before he was a vampire.  The one he thought he found in Dru, but never was completely convinced.  It seemed unlikely, his feelings of lust notwithstanding, but then again fathering a child was about as unlikely as it could get, and yet here he was.  A soon-to-be daddy.

He looked up in time to see Giles’ note for Buffy to patrol.  He went from contemplative to enraged in a nanosecond.  He exploded from his seat in a silent roar that rocked the occupants of the room.  ‘No!’ he mouthed to Giles, ignoring the angry woman next to him.  Buffy grabbed his arm, yanking him around to face her.  ‘No!’ he snarled.  He would be shouting if it were possible.  Buffy responded by slamming him with a two-handed shove to the chest, knocking him back several feet.  She flourished her stake, mouthing ‘Slayer’ with a concise sneer to her pretty, pink lips.

Spike covered the distance between them in a blink, his black duster swirling forward around her ankles at his abrupt halt in front of her.  ‘Mother’ he spat in her face.  The air between them was tense, and everyone held their breath.  A copper tang tainted the air, and Spike looked down to see her stake piercing his chest above his heart.  His eyes traveled back to hers in a long, slow ascent.  Her face was pinched and mean, and he could see no hint of her beauty as she mouthed, ‘vampire’ with a glint of human fang. 

They stood in a frozen tableau, both too angry to relent.  Giles shuffled, and the spell was broken.  Spike whirled away from her, seizing the table where the projector sat and flung the entire setup into the far wall with a loud, nerve shattering crash.  He didn’t look back to see the unrelenting anger on Buffy’s face as he stalked from the room.

8888888

Buffy walked the darkened streets alone.  It wasn’t a new occurrence.  She spent most of her time alone in the shadows.  But it had never been so unbearably silent before.  She couldn’t hum the newest pop hit under her breath as she walked, or taunt the newly risen for her own perverse entertainment.  The oppressive weight of the silence made her feel more alone than she had in her entire life.  Worse, the silence gave her nothing, but time to think.

Outwardly, she projected lethal intensity.  Her small, lithe body was coiled for an attack, her footsteps silent as she stalked her prey.  Her eyes never stopped moving as she searched the shadows for any sign of her quarry.  She was a predator in every sense of the word.  But inwardly, she was a carefully compartmentalized woman.  Her Slayer mind hunted her environment while the rest of her analyzed the events of the last few days.  It wasn’t easy to be analytical.  She was a mass of confusion, all centered on the life she now carried inside her.

As the Slayer, Buffy had always been responsible for the safety of others.  It was what she was.  The Chosen One was the protector of innocents.  It was her, and her alone who stood against the forces of darkness and made sure the light was never overwhelmed.  For the most part the innocents she protected were faceless.  A girl’s tear-streaked aspect as Buffy pulled a vamp off her.  A boy’s boot-quaking terror as he cowered from a demon.  Buffy hardly registered them on the peripheral as they scampered away to leave her to fight alone.  Some innocents weren’t so faceless.  Her friends and family.  Her classmates and professors.  She protected them all.  And while there was a personal sense of duty when it came to guarding them, it wasn’t quite the same as when she thought about her responsibility towards her unborn child.  The thought of losing her baby made her throat tighten up with terror and her stomach clench so hard it was difficult to keep food down. 

Not for the first time Buffy was caught between the dilemma of her personal life and her Slayer responsibilities.  Not patrolling for the last few weeks had engulfed her in guilt, yet it hadn’t been enough to override her fear for her child.  She felt selfish, small, and petty.  Buffy knew people were dying because of her lack of action, yet she chose her own happiness over theirs.  She was choosing her own child over someone else’s.  It was wrong, yet it didn’t seem wrong.  It was instinctual.

Just like her attack on Spike earlier was instinctual.  He was a vampire.  She slayed vampires.  Ergo, slay Spike.  So why couldn’t she?  Even before he was chipped, there was something always holding her back.  Maybe, it was the influence of the Powers That Be.  Those selfish jerks were always messing with her life like she was their personal butt monkey.  It was bad enough being their Chosen One, now she was playing the role of the Virgin Mary.  Just, you know, less virginy.  Buffy stopped in her tracks.  Oh, God.  Was she giving birth to the next Jesus Christ!!  Buffy was stumped on that one for a minute, before deciding it wasn’t possible.  Spike was not even close to being a God, no matter how cocky he was.

Even though Buffy was acutely aware of her surroundings, she nearly came out of her skin when a cadre of demons formed out of the shadows to encircle her.  She dropped down into a fighting stance, her heart beating a rapid tattoo inside her chest.  A darker form appeared in a swirl of black leather, as Spike slipped between the ranks to stand before her.  She wasn’t surprised at the hardened look of anger he shot her, before he shifted purposefully to take a place at her side.  With a dawning sense of awe, she realized the cadre of demons was under Spike’s leadership and they were there to protect her.  Protect her!  More like get in her way!  Hadn’t they got the memo?  She was the Chosen One.  She fought alone and she died alone.  That was the way it had always been.

Buffy frowned and smoothed her hand over her belly at the thought.  Spike caught her movement and he shifted to look at her.  Maybe things should change.  At least for a while.  She met Spike’s intense blue gaze.  Would it be so bad to have someone fight beside her?  Someone to watch her back?  Her eyes flittered to the loose circle of demons around them.  They kept their eyes respectively averted, as if by catching her gaze meant catching one of her stakes to the heart.  Was it so wrong to ask for a little help now and again?  Not that she needed help.  She was the Slayer.  She could dance circles around these chumps.  But maybe, just this once wouldn’t be so bad.

She angled her gaze straight ahead, refusing to look at Spike as she started to walk.  With a flare of his duster he fell in step beside her, the demons spreading out in a search formation around them.  She was struck with the irrational urge to reach out and grasp Spike’s hand.  Instead, she shoved it into her front pocket and kept her other hand wrapped tightly around her stake.  They weren’t a cutesy bootsy couple, and this wasn’t date night.  This was business.  With that in mind, Buffy pushed away all doubt, and called on the instincts of the Slayer as they stalked through the night together.

A gray, leather-clad demon whom seemed vaguely familiar to Buffy appeared out of the night, motioning with a toss of his horns for them to follow.  As one, Buffy and Spike shifted their direction, following the demon.  He led them to the town square were the clock tower rose above the city garden.  They watched as two Gentlemen, a bloody jar in each of their hands entered the building with their minions trailing behind.  Buffy felt a thump in her chest.  She had failed again.  At least two people had died this night, because she had been too slow in finding the Gentlemen’s hideout.

Spike moved with her as they raced across the lawn towards the tower.  As they burst from the shadows, a group of commandos in fatigues entered the courtyard from another direction.  From the corner of her eye she saw Spike’s silent snarl and at a toss of his head all the demons except the horned one cut away from the group in an attempt to draw the humans from the building.  Most of the commandos followed after them as Spike, Buffy and the gray demon raced into the clock tower.  Spike and the demon formed a phalanx around her, engaging the cadaverous monsters before she could get a swing in.  Pissed and frustrated, she feinted back to examine the room.  The main floor was wide open with a set of stairs hugging the far wall.  There were no obvious clues on how to kill the monsters, so she swerved around her ‘bodyguards’ and headed for the stairs.

She could feel someone hot on her heels as she raced up several flights of stairs, but she didn’t look back.  The upstairs was a half loft with no railing to stop people from tumbling down to the main floor.  Buffy didn’t have time to dwell on the lack of safeties for turn of the century architecture, because she was hit from behind as she gained the top of the stairs.  She slammed into the wall with a huff, bowing her body on contact, trying to keep her belly safe.  Her face took the bunt of the damage as she scrapped her cheek along the wooden, roughhewn wall. 

Gathering herself, she shoved off, twirling her axe to take the head off the white-jacketed minion that leapt on her.  Grayish blood spurted across her face as it’s head arched through the air and tumbled to the bottom floor.  Briefly, she imagined it splitting open like a watermelon as it hit the ground.  She giggled at the idea of Spike getting spattered with a face full of minion brains.  Serves him right.  She wiped her face with her forearm as she took in the room with a searching glance.  A masked man in fatigues brushed passed her, bracing his legs as he shot one of the Gentlemen with what seemed to be a bolt of electricity.  The creature convulsed, but didn’t stop it’s gliding advance.

In her sweep, Buffy saw a small table covered in jars and bloody knives.  In the center was the prettily carved box from her dream.  She raced towards it, only to be knocked back into a large coil of rope as thick as her arm.  She held off the ferocious minion, trying to ignore the smear of black goo on its lips as she planted her foot in its chest and kicked it off.  The creature flew through the air, landing on the far side of the room with a crack as it’s spine broke on a support beam.  She scrambled off the rope, racing for the table, but a low wall blocked her.  When she tried to leap over it, she was pinned from behind by something tall, thin, and icily cold.  The Gentleman’s long fingers wrapped around her throat, freezing the blood in her veins, making her feel sluggish. 

She pounded on the wall with her fist to get the attention of the commando who was fighting off another Gentleman.  His mask must have been torn away, because when he turned she recognized Riley, the teacher’s assistant from her psychology class.  She motioned frantically for him to smash the box on the table.  He raced up, and with the butt of his gun he smashed one of the vials.  She rolled her eyes and mimed a box.

The hand at her throat tightened and she was wrenched backwards.  She hit the floor face first, a heavy weight on her back.  Her eyes reflexively squeezed shut at the impact.  When she opened them, she realized she was at the edge of the loft floor, her head hanging over the brink.  Below her she could see Spike whirl around to fight off another opponent.  He dances so beautifully, came the unbidden thought.  The monster had her by the belt, and she could feel it’s cold breath on her nape as it tried to drag her over the edge.  She braced her hands on the floor and reared back, scissoring her legs to throw the weight off her as she flipped over.  The sharp edge of the floor cut across her shoulders, and her long hair hung over the abyss.  She was severally unbalanced as the Gentleman lunged at her, its silver plated teeth snapping like a steel trap at her throat. 

Her hands were fisted in the labels of its fancy smoking jacket, holding him off as she frantically tried to knee him.  It snapped at her and she twisted her face away, avoiding its teeth when she saw something flash from the corner of her eye.  Spike was spiraling up the walls of the clock tower, leaping and climbing with amazing speed and agility.  It’s Batman, she thought, a little drunk off the adrenaline from the fight.  Buffy turned back to the Gentleman, using her hips to try and buck him over her head, but she couldn’t get the leverage she needed without falling off the edge herself.  Suddenly, the monster was gone, hurtling over her and onto the floor below.  Then Spike eclipsed her view, his face grim and bloody, his electric blue eyes glittering with fury.

She broke away and rolled onto her knees just as a tingle crept into her mouth and down her throat.  She took a deep breath, closed her eyes and screamed with all her might.  When the sound died away she opened her eyes.  The Gentlemen and their minions were headless, brackish goo splattered everywhere, and Spike was crouched beside her.

“Stupid, woman.  You just couldn’t wait.  Had to be the hero.  Had to nearly get yourself killed,” Spike growled.  His words were furious, but Buffy could hear the fear in them.

“I am the hero,” she muttered quietly, suddenly feeling the exhaustion she was beginning to associate with being pregnant.  “Or in this case the princess.”  She tried for chirpy, but it came out whiskey hoarse.

“Don’t I know it,” he muttered.  “High maintenance is what you are.”  She rolled her eyes at him, but she didn’t stop him when he leaned forward to nuzzle her cheek.  It was the barest of touches, but she felt the tingle all the way down her spine.  Spike helped her to her feet, his hand strong and steady under her elbow.  In a rare show of weakness she allowed herself to lean into him, soaking up his strength.  He smelled like blood, violence and the night air.  He smelled familiar.

Riley stood a little ways away, watching them closely with narrowed, assessing eyes.  The gray-skinned demon appeared at the top of the stairs in a flurry, startling Riley who swung a rifle in his direction.

“Stop!”  Buffy commanded with enough authority for Riley to automatically glance towards her.  “You should get the others and go,” she told the gray demon.  She didn’t want anyone to be hurt, because they were helping her.  She knew she shouldn’t care.  They were demons and at some point she was going to have to hunt them, but tonight they got a free pass.  Riley and Buffy’s gazes were locked so they didn’t see the silent question from Dekker and Spike’s nod for him to obey Buffy.  The demon quickly turned and fled the scene, worry for his hide and his friends evident.

“What are you?”  Riley asked, a pronounced frown creasing his wide forehead.  “Are you, like, Queen of the Demons?”

“Huh!?”  Buffy gasped, completely dumbfounded.  Behind her Spike snorted.

“Are you raising an army to attack us?”  Riley pushed.

“Attack who?” Buffy countered, bewildered.

“Humans.”

“I am human!”  Buffy couldn’t believe it.  He actually thought she was some demon queen set on raising an army?  Why would he think something so ludicrous?

“Well, you’re something, but it’s not human.  You kicked that hostile across the room like he was a nerf ball and you’ve a battalion of demons at your beck and call.  Not to mention a vampire at your right hand, snarling at me like a guard dog.”  He lifted his rifle, not the least bit surprised when Hostile Seventeen stepped between him and the girl.  “See.  Guard dog.”

“I’m gonna twist your head off, you wanker.”  He was no one’s dog.  He was a master vampire, and damned if he didn’t want to show this army git what that meant.  Spike raged at the unfairness of it all.  He was the top predator in the food chain, and yet he couldn’t assert his strength, because some berk thought it would be funny to mess with the natural order.

“I’d like to see you try, Hostile Seventeen.  Being chipped and all, you might find it a little hard.”  It wasn’t hard to recognize the vampire.  His bleached hair and leather jacket made him distinctive.  He was also the most powerful vampire they had ever captured.  Professor Walsh would be ecstatic to get him back.

“Stop it!  Both of you.”  Buffy stepped forward, ignoring Spike’s hedging to try and keep her behind him.  He glanced down at her small, retraining hand on his arm, but she didn’t remove it.  The last thing she wanted to do was attack a human to protect Spike.  The Slayer inside her whispered she should just let him go.  Let him attack the commando.  Let him get captured.  If he were no longer in her life, there would be one less confusion.  Her fingers tightened on his arm as her entire being rejected the thought almost instantaneously.

“Slayer, the.  As in the Chosen One.  You should look it up.  I’m certainly no demon queen.  That’s just stupid.”  The look on her face told Riley how much of an idiot she thought him to be for just thinking it.

“We need to go, Slayer,” Spike urged.  He didn’t trust the tosser not to turn his rifle on Buffy and try to capture her.  Buffy nodded, and together they tried to step around Riley.

“I don’t think so, Hostile Seventeen.  You’re coming back with me.”  Riley leveled his rifle at Spike only to have it painfully kicked out of his hands by Buffy.  Before he could respond he was thrust into the wall by a little girl who was barely hundred pounds soaking wet.

“Let me give you some info about Slayers, commando boy.  We’re protective and territorial.  You can’t just roll up into my town and start grabbing the Big Bads off the streets.  You’re supposed to kill demons, not shove crap in their brains or whatever else you’re doing.  You guys are giving me the wiggins.”  She shoved him into the wall again for emphasis, shocked at her own outburst.  The protectiveness she felt for Spike wasn’t love or desire.  It was elementally tied to the protectiveness she felt for her child.  He was important to the safety of her child, therefore he was important to her.  She was sure these feelings were manufactured by the same magical influences that created their child in the first place.  Weren’t they?  Stupid magic.  She was getting real tired of having her emotions jerked around by it.

As she and Spike walked away from Riley she had a sudden understanding of what Spike was going through.  His almost fanatical protectiveness of her and their unborn child was more than likely magically induced as well.  It was in her nature to protect.  It was apart of who she was.  But what of Spike’s true nature?  He was a killer.  If she was having a hard time coping, how must he feel?  This situation wasn’t of his own free will.  In fact, it was against his very nature.  He was being coerced. 

The thought gave her pause.  If she believed that her emotions for Spike, and his emotions for the child were falsely implanted, did that mean she believed her love for her child was false as well?  It wasn’t as if this was a planned pregnancy with a man who loved her.  She couldn’t even rightly say it was the product of a one night stand.  So why was she so fiercely protective?  Did she even love her unborn child as a mother should love a child or was she just being jerked around?

Outside the clock tower she paused with her hand over her belly.  Spike stopped, looking at her questioningly.  Something clenched desperately in the hollow spot beneath her heart.  She loved her child.  She did.  She really did.  But how did she know if those feelings were true?  How could she know if Spike’s feelings were true?

She looked up at Spike, sorrow ebbing off her in waves.  She watched his throat as he swallowed hard.  How could she know if anything was real?

“Buffy, are you okay? Is the baby?”  His voice was soft, concern radiating from him.  He gripped her elbow as if to show her a measure of support, but she pulled away. 

“The baby’s fine.”  She stuffed her hands in her pockets, turning away to trudge back to Giles’.  She felt tingles across her nape as Spike followed behind her.

As they entered the courtyard of Giles’ apartment complex a dark-haired man in leathers appeared out of the shadows.  Buffy tensed, noting how the man’s gray eyes stayed respectively adverted from her face.

“Go on in, luv.  I’ll be just a mo’.”

Buffy glanced at Spike then back to the man.  He wore the same studded leathers as the gray-skinned demon.  It never occurred to her there could be other demons in the world who could take on human guises like vampires.  It made sense that vampires weren’t the only demons to be able to do so.  If demons always ran around in their true form, the whole human race wouldn’t be as clueless as they were.  Hiding in plain sight was a trick most predators in the natural world used to hunt.  She cast the demon one last narrowed look before going inside.

“Did every one get out, okay?”  Spike asked Dekker.  It had been one of the hardest decisions he ever had to make, sending his cadre of demons after the humans.  The demons weren’t the same as the disposable minions he used in the past.  Most of them were family demons who joined his crew so they could take care of their own.  Spike was their boss not their master, and as such he was responsible for them.

“Spil’jal didn’t make it,” Dekker informed him quietly.  “They captured him.”

Spike raged.  He wished he knew where the labs were.  He wished he had the power to destroy the wankers who were tearing through the demon community like Nazis crusading on their own personal demon holocaust.  He wished he could do something….

“Tell the others to get home to their families.  Those wankers are getting more aggressive.  Tell everyone to start staying off the streets at night.  Maybe if they aren’t getting as many of us they’ll get bored and wander off.”

Dekker scoffed at the unlikeliness of that, and Spike smirked in agreement.  He clapped his second-in-command on the shoulder, and turned to go inside Giles’ flat just in time to hear Buffy’s whining pitch.

“So now Riley thinks I’m some demon queen or something.”

“What, Riley?  Our TA from Professor Walsh’s class?”  Willow asked.

“Yah.  I’m starting to think his little frat buddies are all in on it.  They’re all muscly and stuff.”

Willow pursed her lips and nodded in agreement.  “They’re having a party next weekend.  Maybe we should go and snoop?”

“Oh. Oh.  Recon!”  Xander bounced excitedly.

Spike did not like the sound of this plan.  Although, he couldn’t identify the acidic burn in his stomach as being worry for her safety or jealousy at her being around ‘muscly’ males.  It wasn’t hard for him to put together that Riley was the mysterious guy who Buffy said wanted to have sex with her. 

“Buffy, why would this Riley person think you were royalty?” Giles questioned, his brow furrowed as he shot Spike a dirty look.  Spike crossed his arms and leaned against the closed door, watching as Buffy held court in the center of the room.  She was beautiful even when she was being a snotty bitch.

“Because Spike showed up with a battalion of demons to ‘protect me’.”  She used air quotes as she sneered at Spike.  Taken aback by the implication that Spike was yet again asserting his authority over Sunnydale’s underground population, Giles stalled for time by polishing his glasses.

“It was hardly a battalion, Slayer.  It was jus’ some blokes who work for me.”

“You have demons that work for you?” Xander gaped at Spike.  He was suitably if not scarily impressed.

“Have you become Master of Sunnydale again, Spike?” Giles asked with solemnity that made the hairs on the back of Buffy’s neck go on end.  The way Giles said ‘master’ made it sound like a dirty word.

“No!  I’m no one’s Master.  I don’t got any minions or whatnot.  They jus’ work for me.”

“Great!  No minion having.  That would be bad.  Wait.  The demons work for you doing what?”  Xander asked.

“Spike is running some sort of protection racket for demon business owners.”  Buffy crossed her arms and glared at Spike who returned her look with an equally hard stare.

“Demons own businesses?”  Xander leapt off the couch in a panic.

“Duh.  Who do you think does all the crappy jobs humans won’t do?  Who else would be brave enough to do business after dark in Sunnydale?  It’s scary and dangerous here,” Anya pointed out reasonably.

Xander pinned Spike with his dark eyes.  “So you’re like The Boss.  Like Don Corleone?”

Spike’s upper lip curled suggestively.  “More like Tony Montana.”

“Yah, I can totally see the murderous streak in you,” Xander sneered, looking Spike up and down.

“You’re not murdering anyone are you?”  Buffy narrowed her deadly eyes on him.

“No!”  Spike spat.  “Said I wouldn’t.  Like I told your mum, no big evils for me anymore.”

“Or snorting the snow?” Xander quipped.

“What?” Spike spat truly bewildered.

“You aren’t selling drugs to little demon kids?”  Willow asked, still stuck on Scarface with Xander.

“No, goddamit.  Stop being thick,” Spike sneered and instantly regretted it when Willow flinched.  Slayer wasn’t going to like him being snarly with her bestie.

Buffy opened her mouth to say something, but Giles cut her off.  “Children, we are getting off topic.  Buffy, you say this Riley person now knows who you are and your calling?”  His gaze was piercing, and Buffy had to fight the urge not to scrape her toe across the floor like a chastised child.

“It’s all Spike’s fault,” she whined.  “If he hadn’t shown up with a bunch of demons I could have probably snuck in and done my business and got out without being seen.”

“Not likely, Slayer.  They had an entire squad there.  The more likely scenario is they would have caught you.”

“Whatev.  I didn’t need your demony protection, I’m human.”  She crossed her arms with a pout.  Spike absolutely resisted the urge to bite her lower lip. 

“Maybe, but you tossin’ monsters ten feet into the air don’t look so human.  ‘Sides someone needs to watch your back.”

“You don’t care about me,” she accused, hating the insecurity in her voice.  “Just our baby.  I’m some jar you don’t want to get broken.  Don’t try to make it out to be some noble thing.”   I can’t believe I just called myself a jar.  This is what a college education does to you.  Rots your brain with useless information.

“I don’t do noble, Slayer.  You have no idea what I care about.”

“Why don’t you enlighten me?”

“I care that one of my blokes got pinched while watchin’ your ungrateful skinny arse.  I care that he’s probably splayed open on some vivisectionist’s table having his innards poked at by some Dr. Frankenstein in that underground dungeon.  I care that I’m gonna hav’ta leave here and go tell his mate he won’t be coming home, but the Slayer says ‘ta, but you sacrifice don’t mean a rat’s arse’.”

Buffy’s gold complexion washed white as she drew back from Spike.  For a single moment he could see the girl in her, before the Slayer came to the forefront.

“He’s just a demon.”  She tried her hardest to sneer.  To sound cold.  But her voice was small even to her ears.

“He’s a demon with a family who was trying to protect ours.  And no one, not even demons, deserves to be tortured.”

“A demon with a family,” Buffy scoffed.  “Next you’ll be telling me he works for the Easter Bunny and hands out lollipops to good little girls and boys.”

“Bunnies!  There will be no bunnies!  Xander, please tell them there will be no bunnies.”  Anya clutched her boyfriend’s arm, but he didn’t draw his gaze away from the arguing pair to comfort her.  Spike’s words gave him an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“You’re some piece of work, Summers.  Everythin’s so black and white for you.  ‘nd you’re the center of your colorless soddin’ universe.  I hope you don’t raise our girl to be as biased as you are.”

“I will raise her to be strong, and to not go around trusting what goes bump in the night.  I don’t know about you, Spike, but I don’t want our baby being eaten, because she thinks every Tom, Dick and Hairy with horns are the good guys.  ‘Cause they’re not.  They’re just not.”

“Maybe not.  But they ain’t all bad either.  That’s somethin’ you need to learn.  Someone might be dead because of you.”

Buffy turned away, suddenly tired.  “Yah, well.  He’s not the only one.”  She thought about the hearts in the jars.  She failed more than just a demon tonight.  Some Chosen One she was.  “I didn’t ask for protection.  I’m the Chosen One, Spike.”

“Yah.  I get it.  You fight alone.  You die alone.  You ever think that it’s the alone part that gets you Slayers killed?  Would it be so bad to have a little help on the battlefield?”

“Apparently, it is.”  Buffy flung up her hand halfheartedly.  “If your guy hadn’t been there, he wouldn’t be captured, now would he?”  She was tired.  Her shoulders drooped under the pressure she normally bore with ease.  When did things become so complicated?  When did growing up become so hard?  Everything used to be black and white.  Now the world was a washed out gray.

“I honestly don’t know what the big deal is.  So, what?  Some demon is getting his due.  Hello, evil!”  Satisfied his oversimplification answered one of the dilemmas on the table, Xander moved to his real concern.  He turned towards Buffy, his face pinched.  “Aren’t you going to get an abortion?  You guys keep talking like Buffy’s gonna give birth to this freakazoid.  Just go to the clinic and get it flushed already.  While you’re at it, why don’t you stake Spike so we don’t have to worry about him going gansta on us.”

Buffy gaped at Xander, completely ignoring the deadly growl that was gaining in intensity behind her.  She couldn’t believe the amount of hurt flooding her heart at his hateful words.  She was hardened against his biases when it came to the undead.  His constant demands for stakings to be handed out to Angel and Spike barely registered in her consciousness anymore.  She was just used to ignoring him.  But for him to say such things about her baby.  For him to be so callous about the life she carried inside of her.  It hurt.  It hurt a lot.

The crack of flesh on flesh came out of nowhere and shocked everyone.  Xander and Willow stared at each other for long seconds.  A handprint bloomed red on his face, and the flesh of her palm itched from the strike.

“T-that is my n-neice you are talking about murdering, Alexander Harris.”  Willow could barely speak she was so enraged.  Her lips were pressed into a straight white line and she had to spit out the words with effort.  “Nothing that comes from Buffy could ever be evil.  Their baby will be beautiful.  Now you apologize right now.”

Xander cradled his jaw in his hand, his brow crinkling.  He didn’t glance at Buffy or Spike.  His entire being was riveted on his very best friend in the world and the blatant disapproval rolling off her in waves.  Willow never disapproved of him.  Sometimes she scolded and shushed him, but she never outright disapproved with such ferocious venom.  It confused him, because he honestly didn’t know what he did wrong.

“I-I don’t understand,” he stuttered.  “Buffy called it a monster just the other night.  What’s changed?”

Buffy’s back bowed, her heart clenching as her own words were thrown back into her face.  She had called her baby a monster within Xander’s hearing, and so much worse in the graveyard with Giles.  She couldn’t blame Xander for not understanding.  Her being pregnant with a vampire’s child was a tough nut to swallow.  She crossed to him, placing her hand on his arm.  His brown eyes were watery as he looked down at her, and she tried for a reassuring smile, but she was sure it came out more like a grimace.

“What’s changed, Xander is that I know this child isn’t a monster.  She isn’t evil.  She’s a gift from the Powers That Be.  She’s something for Spike and I to protect.  She’s a miracle.”

“You sound like him.  He’s corrupted you.  Twisted you somehow.  How can you think this child is anything but evil?”

Buffy withdrew her hand like it was scalded.  She felt Spike’s comforting coolness at her back and she had to restrain the urge to lean back into his strength.  She was doing that a lot lately, and it made her angry.  She wasn’t a leaner, she was the leaned on.  She couldn’t stop the small traitorous voice murmuring how nice it was to not be the strongest one in the room all the time.

Willow’s hand whipped out and snagged Xander by the ear.  She yanked him down to her much lower level, nearly toppling him over.  He howled with hurt, but quickly shut his mouth when she dug in her nails with a warning for him to hush up.

“You apologize right now or you’ll regret it.”

“Ow.  Okay.  I’m sorry.  I’m sorry.  I’m all on board with the magical baby having.  It’s gonna be an angel from heaven,” he yelped not very convincingly.

“That’s right.  And you better remember that, Alexander Harris,” Willow growled very convincingly.

“Okay, I get it.  Let go.”  Willow released him and he sprang away rubbing his ear furiously.  “You know what?  You’re all crazy.  I’m so outta here.”  Fuming he stomped out the door, leaving it wide open in his rage.

“You alright, luv?”  Spike rubbed his hands down Buffy’s arms, but she shrugged him off.  She wrapped her arms around her stomach, trying to keep all her rage and sorrow tightly wound up inside her.

“Just go, Spike.  Go and don’t come back.  I’m tired of this charade.”

She waved Spike off with finality and slowly trudged to the bathroom.  For a moment everyone in the room thought Spike would explode in rage, then he just slumped his shoulders in defeat.  Shaking his head, he stalked through the opened door and disappeared into the night.

 

A/N:  Reviews won’t break my heart.  I promise!

Disclaimer:  I don’t own or profit from BtVS.  It is all owned by Joss Whedon and affiliates.  No copyright infringement intended.

Again, thanks to all who enjoy the story and take the time to drop me a review.  Manna from Heaven and all that rot.

 

Dawn of a New Age

Chapter Nine

Buffy thought hard about what Spike said as she went through the motions in the next week.  Guilt was eating at her.  Guilt two more people died because of her failure.  Guilt she wasn’t patrolling.  Guilt a demon who was trying to help her was now a captive of the commandos.  Guilt that she scoffed at his sacrifice.  Guilt she felt guilty over a demon.  She was just a great big, dirty, sticky ball of guilt.  Pregnancy hormones sucked.

The idea of a demon helping her out, much less sacrificing itself in order to keep her safe wasn’t something Buffy was ready to wrap her head around.  As mind numbing as it was, that wasn’t what was really chaffing her hide.  Spike said the demon had a mate.  Someone who was waiting for the demon to come home.  Someone who was grieving for him.  To grieve for someone meant you had to love them.  And that just wasn’t possible.  Because they were just demons.  They weren’t someones.  They were somethings.  And things did not love.  Period.  End of story.

Because if soulless demons could love then that meant…..

No.  She wasn’t going there.  She just wasn’t.  She needed to turn her thoughts to things she could control.  She needed to channel her anger towards someone who could be punished.

She was mad, because she hadn’t heard hide nor hair from Spike since she told him to leave.  And, stupidly, she felt neglected.  If the events of her life taught her anything, it was self-sufficiency.  Her parent’s divorce, her calling, and Angelus had all cumulated into one searingly important life lesson:  In the end, she was the only one she could rely on.  Sure she had her friends, Giles, and her mother.  But when it came down to grit, bone and blood, she was the one standing in the deep end alone, fighting her way out. 

So the abrupt lack of attention, where before it had been all encompassing, shouldn’t have created the void in her life that it did.  After all, she was capable girl.  But now, she was flailing blindly in an abyss.  It was like leaning against a solid wall only to have it abruptly disappear.  She didn’t like the feeling of childlike insecurity it inspired.  Especially, at a time when fear for her child’s safety made her so vulnerable.  He was supposed to be by her side, protecting her when she couldn’t protect herself.  What’s more, she resented Spike for making her think it safe to lean on him, before pulling his Houdini act.  He promised he wouldn’t leave.  He promised. 

She didn’t want to admit how her need for his presence went further than the physical.  She had come to rely on his solid emotional support of their baby.  His constant litany of their baby’s specialness gave her strength when faced with her own doubts or those of her friend’s.  Her mother and Willow still remained staunch supporters of her having the baby, but the men in her life were less than enthusiastic.  Giles did little to acknowledge her condition other than to be lenient on her lack of patrolling, and while Xander wasn’t showing up on her doorstep to berate her decision, his conspicuous absence spoke volumes on how he felt about the matter.  Spike was the only man in her life who actually wanted her to have this baby, and even if his support was magically induced, it went a long way in grounding her own emotions.

Besides, in the words of Anya, he gave her lots of orgasms….and she kinda missed him.

It was about an hour till dusk as she made her way to Spike’s.  She had the reasonable excuse of not having his phone number, and needing to inform him of an upcoming appointment.  She absolutely wasn’t walking over to his house, because she wanted to see him.  She also wasn’t going to tell him how hurt she was by his absence.  That would be stupid.  She knew better than to give ammunition to the enemy.  And no matter what, no matter how long their truce lasted; she could never forget that Spike was the enemy.

********

Buffy totally forgot that Spike was the enemy as soon as he opened the door.  Her eyes ate him up slowly, from his toes to his hair.  His bare feet poked out from the cuffs of his tailored pinstriped trousers and his slick, black, leather belt was unbuckled at the waist.  His wine, silk shirt hung open, revealing a swathe of hard muscled torso only slightly darker than polished marble.   The sharp edges of his cheekbones were accented in the dying daylight from the windows and the dark fringe of his almost girly lashes enhanced the electric blue of his eyes.  Every muscle below her belly button tightened, clamping down on emptiness with a painful sense of loss.  She was struck with the sudden urge to undo his pants while begging him to fill her up.

“Hot date?” She was breathless, and her tongue darted out to lick her lower lip in an attempt to hide it.  His hair was slicked back with the forbidden pomade so she knew he wasn’t coming to see her.  She swallowed the hard knot in her throat, and told herself jealousy was a petty emotion.

“Work.”  He stepped back to let her enter.  She skirted around him, her lips compressed in a white line.  She caught a whiff of his gel and turned a little green around the edges.  Will not barf.  Will not barf, she chanted to herself.

“Nice clothes for beating people up.”

Spike’s lips tightened, but he didn’t respond.  His blue eyes sharpened as his gaze glided down her body, before resting on her face again.  Her expression must have tipped him off to impending disaster, because he took a step towards the bathroom.

“I’ll go rinse off under the sink.”

“Don’t bother.”  For some reason his solicitousness annoyed her.  How dare he abandon her for a week then act like he cared.  “I won’t be long.  I don’t want to make you late.”

Spike gave her a long appraising look and she stiffened, fighting the urge to fidget.  A slow, cocky smile spread over his face, making her palms itched with the need to slap it right off.

“’M the boss.  Can’t be late.”  He turned towards the bathroom, stripping his shirt as he went.  Buffy watched as his back was slowly revealed, his muscles rippling as he peeled the silk from his body.  He tossed it onto the bed as he passed, and it landed next to a matching pinstriped jacket.

He disappeared into the bathroom, and a moment later she could hear running water.  She was struck by the image of Spike delving his head under the facet, his long fingers working their way through his platinum curls to rinse away the hardened gel.  More to distract herself than anything, Buffy moved further into the apartment.  She hadn’t really gotten a good look at the living area the last time she was there.  She was impressed with Spike’s taste.  The floor was polished concrete accented with cranberry rugs in the seating area and under the dark cedar dining table.  She smirked as she passed the large flat screen television on her way to the bank of widows overlooking the river.  The orange sun hung low on the horizon, and the river glittered red and gold like spilt blood mingled with champagne.

“Beautiful, innit?”

Buffy’s breath caught when she turned.  Spike’s curls were tousled white and wet around the crown of his head, beads of water trailing down his jaw and along the line of his throat to his bare chest.  He held the ends of a fluffy white towel draped around his neck, and as she looked at his knuckles scarred with tiny, fine lines from decades of fighting, she was reminded how his strong hands had gently stroked her body into climax after climax.  Her eyes trailed over his laddered abs to the deep shadowed clefts on either side of his lower belly.  His dark trousers hung low on his hips and did nothing to hide his erection.

Her eyes met his, and she could tell by the intensity of his gaze he wasn’t talking about the view.  Her cheeks heated and she whirled around to face the windows.  She took a few breaths to steady her raging hormones before she spoke.

“As nice as the view is, it hardly seems worth getting dusty over.”

“Is that concern for my wellbeing, I’m hearin’, luv?”  His cool breath feathered the fine hairs on her nape, and she had to suppress the naked shudder of need racing down her spine.

She shrugged, struggling for nonchalance.  “Just wondering who gets your apartment when you’re dust.”

His chuckle was dark and rich, strumming her insides.  “I do love mercenary females.”

Buffy ignored his provocative words, knowing it was a turn of phrase, but oddly affected by them.  She held herself still as he reached over her shoulder to knock on the glass with hollow thumps.  “It’s tempered to prevent UV’s from filtering through.  Perfectly safe for vamps and li’l nippers who like the sunshine.”

“Sounds expensive.  Tempered glass, designer suits, apartments with gorgeous views.  I didn’t know racketeering was so lucrative.”

Spike moved away, sweeping his hand towards a bare corner of the room.  “I figure a play area here.  Fence it in and fill it with toys and such.”

Buffy knew a brush off when she heard one.  Spike didn’t want to discuss his finances, but it only made her more curious.

“Spike.”

“Buffy, why are you here?” he cut her off.  His curt tone made her feel unwanted and a tiny bit petulant.

“I don’t have your phone number,” she pointed out in a small voice.  He hummed in agreement, and retreated to the kitchen area.  He searched through a drawer, pulling out a notepad and a pen.  He jotted down some information, tearing the page from the notepad before sweeping it and a green file folder that lay on the marbled counter back into the drawer.  He closed the drawer with a snap and strode back to where she waited at the window.  She took the paper he offered, glancing at the phone number briefly before folding it into a square and tucking it into the front pocket of her swede skirt.   

She got what she came for.  She had no reason to stay.  Other than being a glutton for punishment.  “I have an appointment next Wednesday.”

“I know.”  Her eyes flickered and he shrugged.  “It’s on my calendar.  I didn’t know if you still wanted me to take you.”

She wrinkled her nose, remembering her last words to him.  She told him to leave.  To stay away.  It had been her call.  Her demand.  Then why was she so disappointed when he obeyed?

“Did you find your friend?”  She kept her eyes downcast not out of shyness, but shame.

Spike’s entire body grew taut.  He didn’t want to lie to Buffy, but he didn’t want to tell her the entire truth either.  They found Spil’jal, just not all of him.

“He’s dead.”

“Oh.  I-is there something I can do?  F-for his mate?”  Buffy felt terrible.  Like she had betrayed someone.  That emotion doubled back on her as guilt for having sentiments for a demon rose it’s ugly head.  The only person she betrayed by having compassion for something she was suppose to kill was herself and her ethics.  But as much as she tried to pound that conviction into her head, her heart was resisting.  She felt awful that someone, demon or not, had died for her and her baby.

Spike watched in fascination as Buffy’s brow crinkled in real sympathy.  He imagined it was hard for her.  The Council sure knew how to mind-fuck their girls.  They were indoctrinated into an absolute truth.  A belief in the definitiveness of good and evil.  A steadfast categorization of right and wrong and a taxonomy of who and what fell into either side.  To admit there could be something in-between was paramount to a born again Christian confessing to not believing in Jesus Christ.

Spike shook his head.  “It’s taken care of,” he told her ambiguously.

She frowned, her fingers twining nervously in the folds of her skirt, sweating into the swede.  “Will you tell her---it---that I’m sorry for her loss?”

Spike wanted to snarl at her.  Well, which is it, you bint?  A her or an it?  He just sighed, nodding his agreement.  Some of her tension lessened, and he watched as she eyed the front door.  Despite his anger, he didn’t want her to leave.

“Is that Riley bloke givin’ you any problems?”  Spike almost hoped the answer was yes so he could have the blowhard’s head cracked open.  Not for the first time, Spike desperately wished he didn’t have the chip in his head.  He resisted the urge to glance back at the drawer where the green file of local neurosurgeons was hidden. There was no need for Buffy to know his plans to get his chip removed.  She couldn’t understand what it was like to be handicapped, unable to protect his family from the weakest species in this dimension.  Humans were at the bottom of the evolutionary scale, yet they were kicking his arse left and right.

“He introduced me to Professor Walsh in her professional capacity.”  Buffy shifted closer to the glass, worrying the edge of her thumbnail against the frame of one of the panels.  He was beginning to recognize the action as a nervous tic she displayed whenever she was wrangling with deep, dark thoughts.

“Your psychology professor?”

Buffy was shocked.  She had no idea he actually listened to her mundane chatter during their failed dates, much less retained the information.  Spike must have read the amazement on her face, because he cocked his scarred brow at her.

“What?  I listen.” He defended in a tone that was one hundred percent male affront.

“Shyeah.  The first man in the history of like, ever, to do so.”

“It’s not my fault you have bleedin’ tragic taste in men, pet.”

“Good job insulting yourself, you menace.”

“Well, you didn’t really choose me did you?” he shot back.  Insecurity whipped through him with searing intensity.  She hadn’t chosen him.  Would never choose him.  All she saw when she looked at him was a monster.  He didn’t think there was anything he could say or do that would change her steadfast perception of him.

Buffy felt the weight in her chest compress over her heart.  No, she hadn’t chosen him, and he sure as hell hadn’t chosen her.  It was all entirely out of their control, and Buffy hated it.  She needed control.  Without it, people died.  Without it, she got hurt.

“I should go.”  She pushed away from the window, but Spike blocked her path. 

“You were telling me about this Walsh bint.”

She stopped, caught in the heavy web of his gaze.  She thought about the trip to the mall she took with her mother earlier in the week.  They browsed through one of those franchise jewelry stores and the sapphire rings had mesmerized Buffy.  Spike’s eyes had the same fire and sparkle as the gems.  She was suddenly struck by the overwhelming desire to have the heavy weight of a ring on her left finger set with a sapphire the same color as his eyes.

“Yah.”  She shook herself before continuing.  “She held me after class and told me she was part of some government agency called the Initiative.”  She rubbed her teeth over her lower lip, and it flushed a darker hue of pink.  “I made sure they heard me tell Willow to run down to the lounge to call Giles to let him know exactly who I was with and that I’d meet her within the half hour.  I was kinda bitchy about it, but I could see it made them nervous, like maybe I thwarted their plans.  Or not.  I don’t know.  It made me feel safer.”  She frowned.  “What kind of word is thwart anyways?  Sounds like frog language.”

He could see this was going nowhere quick.  Bleedin’ public schools.  “You did the right thing, luv.  You can never be too safe with types like them.  They got an agenda, an’ you don’t want nothin’ to do with it.  Gotta keep yourself protected.”

He couldn’t stop himself from reaching out to brush a strand of honey-blond hair off her forehead.  For such a tiny little thing she was a powerhouse.  She never had to be afraid before, never caught in a position where she might not be able to defend herself.  Her foresight in sending Willow to call Giles showed how much she had grown in just a few short weeks.  Before she would have been overjoyed in showing off her skills to an admiring audience, but now she was wary.  She no longer threw herself in perilous positions where she could potentially be harmed.  She thought before she acted, and was aware actions had consequences. 

“Did she tell you what they’re doing here in Sunnydale?”

“No.  It’s all hush, hush, top secret stuff.  She was more interested in talking about me.  She wanted to know about being the Slayer.”

Spike’s eyes darkened with concern.  “What did you tell her?”

“Oh, you know.  The basic spiel.  I’m the Chosen One.  Slay vampires.  Yada, yada, yada.”  Buffy frowned, looking out across the river.  “I told her about patrols, but I guess that’d be lie wouldn’t it?  Other than the Gentlemen, I haven’t patrolled for weeks.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Spike waved dismissively.  He wanted to hear more about the Initiative.  That was the real threat in Sunnydale.

“I do worry about it, Spike,” she snapped, her jade eyes zeroing in on him with laser targeting.  Anticipation rifled down his spine and he licked his gums, certain his fangs dropped.  Still in human guise he returned her glare.  “People are dying, ‘cause I’m not doing my job.  How many mothers have lost their children, ‘cause I’m bowing out?”

“Not many.”  He prowled forward and she countered with predatory agility.  He halted, still with the realization he was hunting her.  He shoved his hands in his pockets, trying to hide his erection.  “None of the smart demons are on the streets, and those dumb enough to go out are being swept up by those commando blokes.  No one’s huntin’ or feedin’.  Even the evils.  Too damn scared of becomin’ the next science experiment.”

Shock chiseled away at the Slayer’s hard exterior.  Her pink mouth puckered into a moue and with almost with Pavlovian conditioning Spike’s tongue tucked itself behind his front teeth, curling with the unconscious desire to suck on something.

“Oh.  So people are safe?  No one’s getting hurt?”

“No more than if you were on the job, Slayer.”

Her eyes went flat.  Reflective a moment before they centered on him.  “Are you behind this?  Are you controlling the demons somehow?”

He leered, his upper lip curling around a human fang.  “As much as I ‘preciate your belief in my prowess, I’m not the Godfather.  This is all the Initiative’s doing.  Did that Walsh bint say anything else to you?”  Spike watched as Buffy’s body language changed as they spoke.  She curled into herself, arms protectively crossed over her belly.

“She wanted me to go back to her office to look over some research she dug up on Slayers, but I didn’t like how she was looking at me.  Her and Riley.  He was standing next to her like he was expecting me to attack or something.  It just made me really uneasy.” 

For the first time she saw herself through the eyes of strangers.  Their perception painted her as evil, and she had to ask herself how much of her life was spent in a hazy half-shadow of awareness?  How much of the world she thought she knew with such pinpoint accuracy was only a twisted angle of her own epistemology?   The sensation of their judgment and her newly budding self-awareness was uncanny.  All wasn’t right in Buffyland.

Spike stepped forward and ran his hands over her arms to comfort her.  “That’s cause you have bleedin’ amazing instincts, luv.  It’s one of the things that make you the scourge of the demon world.”

Buffy wrinkled her pert little nose, falling back on her proven technique of vacuity whenever things became too substantial for her comfort.  “I’m nobody’s scourge.  It sounds like a disease.”

Spike chuckled and her insides heated.  “I beg to differ.  Plenty of evils are scared dickless by you.”

Buffy’s pink lips curled at the corners.  “But not you.”

Spike’s gaze heated as he focused on her lips.  “No, not me.”  He edged closer to her, his erecting brushing against her hip.  There were many adjectives Buffy would use to describe Spike, but dickless was definitely not one of them.  He dipped his head, brushing his lips over hers in a butterfly caress.  Electricity jolted through her, and she was suddenly aware of her increased heartbeat thudding in her ears.  How he had such power over her body, she couldn’t understand.  Even before pregnancy hormones there had always been an attraction underneath the violence, and now that she’d tasted what he had to offer, she was addicted.  Her heart beat harder; her breath came quicker, her muscles tensed, all in anticipation of his touch.  It was so wrong.

“I should go.”  She skirted around him, putting her back to the open room so she was no longer pinned between him and the windows.  She soothed her sweaty palms over her tan skirt to hide her nervousness as she watched his stiff back.  He turned his head first, his blue eyes pained, before he pivoted on his heel to face her.

“You just got here.”  His voice was husky, seductive.  “Stay.”

Her breath caught in her throat, and her hands curled against her thighs.  She wanted to stay.  She wanted to slink back over him with a loose-hipped walk and crawl up his body.  But she couldn’t.  She still felt hurt by his abandonment.  It had been so easy for him to walk away, and not see her for an entire week.

“Why?”  Why did he want her to stay?  Was it just for sex?  She wasn’t stupid.  Spike oozed sexual magnetism.  He could find a multitude of women to fulfill his every twisted, kinky fantasy.  Why would he bother to pursue her?  Like he said before, she was high maintenance.

“Cause, I want you too.”

Talk about a non-answer.  Anger bloomed in her chest, and she could taste acid in the back of her throat.  “You can’t say you’ve missed me.  Seems you’ve been just fine without me,” she spat between clenched teeth.  He hollowed his cheeks, his lips puckering like they did when he found something amusing.  He kinked his head to the side, and she gathered her denim jacket around her body, suddenly wondering if he could see inside her.

“What’s this about, then?”

“Nothing.”  Her jacket cinched tight around her throat, she crossed her arms, tucking her hands under her armpits.  Her toe tapped out an aggravated beat on the concrete floor, and she wondered why she hadn’t left yet.   The look he gave her was long and piercing, and she tightened her arms protectively.  He took a step towards her, and it took all her willpower not to back out of striking distance.

“You all but ordered me to go, Buffy,” he reminded. 

“So.”  Stupid, vampires and their long soul-sucking gazes that pick out all your secrets.  So what if she told him to leave that night?  So what if she called their relationship a charade?  If he couldn’t take a little fire every now and again, then he should just get the hell out of the kitchen.  How were they supposed to get along in the end?

“I didn’t want to push.”  His tone was gentle.  The sympathetic male tone of a man who respected boundaries set by a woman.  It was not a tone that should be used by an unsouled vampire!  It was completely at odds with everything she knew to be true in her world.  It made her mad.  What made her madder was how she responded to the unspoken plea in his words for her to give him a crumb.  Any sort of sign that she reciprocated---his what?  Lust?  Desire?  Love?  Nope, that couldn’t be it.

“Then what have you been doing while not pushing me?” she snapped.

His brow crinkled, and he glanced around the apartment as if looking for something tangible he could point to.  An excuse to hide behind.  He tensed and looked directly at her, his electric blue eyes glittering.  “Missing you,” he confessed with intensity.

“Don’t say that!” she exploded.  She flung her hands up in the air, and stalked a few steps away.  “It was easy for you to leave,” she told him bitterly.  It was always easy for them to leave.  It was ridiculous how little contact she had with her father, barely a handful of conversations in the last year.  And Angel.  Other than the Thanksgiving fiasco, she hadn’t heard from him since the night he walked away.

Her thoughts circled around viciously, eating away at her in little miniscule ways that would eventually show more and more wear if left unchecked.  She was jerked out of the cycle by Spike’s strong hands on her shoulders.  He pulled her backside into his hips, his breath tickling the tendrils of hair at her temple as he spoke.

“I never left.  I never will,” he swore.  “I was right here waiting for you.”

Her chin lowered to her chest, but she didn’t pull away.  She wanted to lean back into the comfort of his arms.  She wanted to believe everything he said, vampire or not.  If she closed her eyes she could believe he was a man.

“You weren’t really waiting for me.  This is about the baby.  Not me.”

His grip on her shoulders tightened, and suddenly she was pulled back.  He pinned her against the windows, his chest to hers, one hand braced over her head.  His fingers dipped under her chin to lift her face to his.  His eyes were a dark, storm blue, and one lean cheek ticked angrily.

“You keep sayin’ that, but it isn’t true.  It’s all about you.”

She jerked her chin away and shoved hard at his chest, a little surprised when he barely rocked back on his heels.  Sometimes she forgot how strong he was.  He wasn’t someone she could bully when she was feeling mean.

“I’m just the vessel carrying your child.  You don’t have any real feelings for me.”

Frustration flickered over his face, and she was struck by how easy it was to read him.  Spike didn’t hide things from her.  He bluffed, bullied and bullshitted others, but never her.  He pressed her shoulders into the glass, and dipped his head so he was right in her face.

“I’ve always thought of you, but now that I’ve had you…I crave your taste, your touch.  You think I would be like this if another woman was carrying my child?  Think I would want to touch Red?  Taste Demon Girl?”  As he spoke, one hand trailed over her shoulder and down her arm.  He tangled his long fingers with hers, pulling her forward until their connected hands cupped his hard cock jutting in his loose trousers.  “Think I want to do this with them?”

Her fingers curled around him against her own volition.  Her mouth watered as she remembered the taste of him, the texture of his skin, the earthy, masculine smell of him.  She wanted to pull away, but she didn’t have the willpower.  Closing her eyes to block out the sight of him, she gathered her thoughts to fight back.

“It’s just the magic.  It’s like Willow’s spell.  It wants us to be together.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”  He shook her lightly, and she opened her eyes.  “If we are supposed to be her protectors then our feelings would only extend to her.  There would be no reason for me to feel—“  He broke off, seemingly lost.  He turned his gaze away, but she pressed her fingers into his cheek, turning him back to her.  Still confused he lowered his head until their brows touched.  “I wouldn’t feel anything for you,” he continued.  “I would just guard over you until the baby was born.  I wouldn’t want to see you happy or give you pleasure.  I wouldn’t care about what you thought of me or try to make myself into someone better.”

“Is that what you’re doing?” she asked softly, her hand still on his cheek.

“Look around, Buffy.  This isn’t just for the li’l bit.  If all I was meant to do were guard over her, then I’d do it from a crypt.  I could live like a vampire, instead of trying at being a man.  We may not get along, but I would like to try.  I want to get to know you, Buffy.  Not just as the mother of my child, but as a woman.”

Buffy didn’t know how to respond.  Something was hot and tight in her chest, and she didn’t know if she could speak around it.  What do you say to a man when he confesses to trying to be better just so he could have a shot with you?

“I want to share something with you that I’ve only seen since I started living here like a man.”

“What,” she choked out, still stunned.

Gently he turned her about so she faced the glass.  “The sunset.”

The sky was painted in reds and yellows, the mountains cast in violet.  It was breathtakingly beautiful, but it was a sight she took for granted.  She realized then, that Spike hadn’t truly seen the sun rise or set in hundred and twenty years.  He was sharing something miraculous with her.  She suddenly had a piece of him, that even Drusilla, the woman he loved for decades couldn’t have.

She could feel the warm panes of glass before her, and the hard, cool press of Spike’s body behind her as he leaned into her.  His weight rocked her forward and to balance herself she pressed her palms flat on the glass.  He pulled her hair to the side, exposing the long line of her neck as he nuzzled the hollow behind her ear.  She startled.  Her slayer instincts vibrating in warning.  He sensed her trepidation and wound his muscular arm around her waist, pinning her to him.  Her breath hitched as the tip of his nose traced her jugular to her shoulder.  He licked the curve of flesh where her shoulder formed her neck, and with deliberate tenderness he opened his mouth, pressing his human teeth against her in a painless bite.

She was tense beneath him, but he refused to let her go.  One hand found its way under her blouse, his fingers tracing the taunt skin stretched over her midriff, while his other hand swept over her hip towards the hem of her swede skirt.  He walked his fingers along her outer thigh, inching her skirt upward with agonizing slowness, while he tongued the patch of flesh still between his teeth.  She arched her neck, her breath stuttering in her chest.  It would be so easy for him to call the demon forth.  He could pierce the thin barrier of her skin without effort, and then she would be wholly at his mercy.  Was it only the chip that stopped him or was there something more in the possessive way he held her under his teeth?

His hands were everywhere.  Roving over her stomach, toying with the underwire of her bra, sliding between her thighs to trace the edge of her panties.  Her body heated up, and she could feel her sweat-dampened palms stick to the glass.  He released her neck, soothing her skin with the flat swipe of his tongue.  He blew a stream of cold air over the wet patch of skin, and shivers slid down her spine.

“I want you, Buffy.  Been waitin’ for you.  Say yes.  Stay with me.”  He flicked open the pearl buttons of her blouse expertly with one hand.  He cupped his hand over her breast, as he worked the button situated in the valley of her cleavage.  Her nipple hardened painfully under his palm and she arched, pressing her breast into his hand, her neck to his mouth.  He licked her along the silk collar of her blouse, beneath the fall of her hair to the other shoulder.  His teeth nipped gently, before clamping down on the muscle.

“W-what if, I say no?”  She was hot and it was hard to think.  His body was a cool wall at her back, and she pressed into him, trying and failing to control her temperature.

“Then I’d be a gentleman and see you home.  But then I’d come back and wank off to fantasies of you.”  He drew her unbuttoned blouse and jacket away, and they draped on her elbows, exposing the golden expanse of her shoulders to his appreciative lips and tongue.  “I’d dream of licking my way down your spine and tonguing those two adorable dimples right above your delectable arse.” 

She heard the crunch of cartilage, and her breath caught in her throat.  He nipped at her bra strap, and it suddenly fluttered down over her breast.  His fingers ghosted along her ribs, plucking away the lacy fabric of her bra cup to toy with her nipple.  “I’d dream about your beautiful tits as I stroked my cock, wishing desperately my fist was as warm as your hot li’l mouth.”  Her other bra strap fluttered over her shoulder and the whole thing slid down around her waist like a lacy belt.  He cupped both her breasts, pulling her against him so her back was flush against his chest.  She could feel his hard cock nudge her backside, and she couldn’t stop the teasing swish of her hips if she wanted too.

“Say you’ll stay or condemn me to a cold, lonely wank.”

His touch wasn’t light or teasing.  He cupped her breasts possessively, massaging the muscles of her upper chest with his fingers.  Her head fit perfectly in the hollow of his shoulder, and she tried not to think how wrong it was to expose her throat to a predator.

“Liar.  You’ll drop me off and find yourself some other woman.  Harmony or something.”

She didn’t think their bodies could get any closer, but she was wrong.  He pulled her into him tightly until every curve and crevice of her body was poured over his.  He wrapped one arm over her breasts, and his other hand snaked down her body to cup her pussy through her skirt.  His possessive stance screamed, mine!

“If you want to leave I’ll take you, but rest assured, Buffy I won’t be seeking out any other women.  I don’t want anyone, but you.  Why would I settle for something inferior, when I’ve tasted perfection?  I’d rather dust waiting for you, than get my rocks off on some tramp.”

Buffy didn’t know what to say to that.  The intensity of his voice, his words, it was almost too much for her.  Was this still just sex?  He couldn’t possibly be in love with her.  So this had to be sex.  So why did he sound so infatuated?  Why was she responding so earnestly?  She craved the need she heard in his voice.  She desperately wanted to be wanted, but did that mean by anyone?  If it were someone else crooning such sweet, dirty nothings in her ears, would she react the same?  She thought not.  There was something about Spike.  There had always been something about him.

“I’ll stay,” she promised breathlessly.

Her words seemed to release Spike, giving him permission to unleash his desires on her.  He jerked her shirt and jacket down her arms, and she swayed at the loss of contact with the glass.  She quickly replaced her palms on the window, knowing she was going to need all the support she could get.  He swept her hair to the side, and licked, nipped and lathered his way down the curve of her spine in a slow, sensuous descent that had her nerve-endings tingling endlessly.  His hands danced along the planes of her back and over her sides, seeking to memorize the feel of her.  When he came to the belt of her bra, he unsnapped it and flung it away with barely a pause. He dropped to his knees, his teeth snagging the tongue of the zipper on her swede skirt.  He slowly drew it down, his nimble fingers undoing the clasp at the waist.  He dragged it off her with her panties, leaving her bare except for her knee high, brown leather boots.

“Beautiful.”  He cupped her ass in both hands, massaging the muscles deep inside.  She felt him nuzzling against her cheeks, but she was completely unprepared for the sharp sting of the human bite on the fleshiest part of her ass.  With a squeal she jumped, and tried to whirl around, but he held her steady with a strong grip on her hips.

“Keep watching the sunset.  What color is it now?”

Buffy refocused her gaze, realizing she was so intent on Spike she had completely disregarded the breathtaking view in front of her.  The full, red sun had barely begun to kiss the horizon, and an orange blaze enveloped the mountains, the sky a rosy pink fading violet into the ether.  The mountains looked like they were on fire, but shadows were creeping up from underneath as darkness reached towards the dying light.

“Pink,” she whispered.

His thumbs dipped between her thighs, pressing against her pussy lips to peel them apart.  “Yes.  A nice deep pink,” he concurred, his breath was cool against the hottest part of her.  His tongue traced the edges around his thumbs, before dipping inside in a cool, wet onslaught of pleasure.  She hummed and angled her hips back to give him better access.  Her palms slipped on the glass, leaving behind cloudy streaks, and her breath fogged around her.

He teased and taunted, and she whimpered and whined, begging him for more.  She wanted his fingers, but he would only tease the edges of her lips with his thumbs.  She wanted his cock, but he hummed his refusal against her clit.

“You taste so good, slayer.  Sweet and tart and wet.  Like a ripe summer peach.  I just want to swallow you down.”

She pressed her forehead to the glass, her lashes fluttering.  Color danced behind her eyelids like sunspots.  She opened her eyes and saw the crest of the sun over the mountains.  Panic suddenly set in.  She wanted to share this moment with Spike.

“Spike.  Watch with me before it’s gone,” she begged.  She couldn’t understand the sudden sadness inside her.  The absolute need that they watch the sunset together before it disappeared.

He wrapped his hands around her thighs as he stood.  His hard cock slid into her from behind, and her breath huffed across the glass.  He fitted his face next to hers so their cheeks pressed together.

“It’s beautiful,” she told him as they looked at the setting sun.  He slid out slow, until the tip of his cock teased her lips then pounded back into her.  She cocked her hips back to meet his thrusts, grinding down on him before he receded to thrust again.

“Like you,” he whispered in her ear.

“No.”  She shook her head, her hair sliding over her shoulder.  “I’m just a girl.  That’s magic.”

Spike’s hands covered hers.  Without them anchored on her hips, he couldn’t plow into her, so they rocked in a slow, sensual rhythm.  Their fingers entwined, until they were wrapped together completely.

“You are magic, Buffy.  We’re magic together.”  He pulled their entwined hands down until they were laced over her belly.

She keened low in her throat, fighting the urge to close her eyes.  She wanted to watch the sunset.  She wanted to see how it ended. 

One set of their entwined hands slid up her body to cup her breasts with her own palm, and the other curled over her pussy.  Their fingers toyed with her clit, shooting sparks of pleasure throughout her body.  Outside the window, the shadows crept closer to the fading light and the color of the falling sun intensified.  Pinks and purples, reds and gold cascaded over the landscape.

As the sun slipped beneath the horizon and the last of the blood-red color faded from the night sky, her climax rocked through her.  She trembled around his cock, holding him tight in her body.  His teeth clamped down on her shoulder, but she could feel from the angle of his head that he was watching the dying light with her.  She felt him tense, and his growl of release rolled over her captured flesh and all the way down her spine.

He released her shoulder, lapping lazily at the faint indentations of his blunt teeth on her skin.  “Maybe, someday we’ll see dawn together, Buffy.”

Something tight and hot clenched in the center of her chest and threatened to burst from her throat in a sob.  She was overwhelmed with the desire to see the birth of a new day with Spike.  To stand witness with him as the dawn rose to burn out the dark.  To see the beginning instead of the end.

Then the room darkened as the last of the light extinguished, and the wonderful promise of dawn seemed so very far away.  She pressed her sweaty forehead to the glass as she fought to drag air into her lungs.  As the tingles in her body faded, she briefly thought about running home, but then he traced her pulse with his tongue and she couldn’t remember where home was. 

 

A/N:  Don’t forget to review!  Loves!

 

Disclaimer:  I don’t own or profit from BtVS.

Dawn of a New Age

Chapter Ten

They were lying naked on his black leather couch, her draped over him with her back to his chest.  He was caressing her in long rhythmic sweeps from her collarbone to her upper thigh and back again.  Every couple of revolutions he would pause at her midriff, his palm cupping the barely there feminine pouch above her narrow hipbones.

“Do you love her?”

Spike’s hand stuttered over her belly.  Was she asking about Dru?  Harmony?  Some milk-faced girl seated in a candlelit parlor lifetimes ago?  Her---his golden girl who danced in the sunshine?  She captured his hand and tellingly flattened it over her belly.

“Yes,” he replied with conviction.

“How do you know?”  Her voice wavered as her breath caught in her throat.  Spike could feel her tension telegraph from her body into his.  There was a bigger conundrum at work here, and it was up to him to suss it out.

“How do you mean?”

“How do you know it’s real love, and not part of the magic?  Like Willow’s spell.”

Spike tangled his fingers with hers, his thumb caressing the plump flesh of her palm.  His chest rose and fell in time to her breaths.  It was hypnotic.  Soothing in a way that made him feel connected to her.  He closed his eyes; more to center himself than to block out the bare rafters of the ceiling that made him feel inexplicably bereft when he was alone.

“Does it matter?”  He wasn’t sure if it was a conundrum he could solve or if it was even one needing to be.

“Of course, it matters.”  Her voice pitched, and his arms tensed around her in response.

“Why?”  He deliberately softened his tone to encourage her sense of calmness.  She was silent, but he could practically hear the gears in her brain churning.

“Because I don’t like my mind messed with.  It’s my choice.”  She was hard with conviction, and he didn’t like the direction the conversation had suddenly taken.  There had been a lot of talk about choices lately.  Mostly the choice between keeping their child and….not.

“Choice?  Would you choose to hate her then?”

“No!”  The word dropped between them, and he was gratified at the amount of shock and disapproval it conveyed.  “It’s just…We didn’t have a choice.  We weren’t given options.  It was sprung on us.  We didn’t even get to choose us, you know.  I mean, would you have chosen to have a baby with me?  I don’t think so.”  She started out sounding lost, but she easily segued into angry and acrimonious.  It didn’t take a genius to know her choice would have been Angel.  Her champion.  Her great poncy romance.  How could he ever compare to that?

Spike swallowed around the raw bitterness in his throat.  He tried to find his way past her words, her exposed, jagged emotions, to what was hidden underneath.  Something he was beginning to learn about his little slayer was that no matter the confidence she presented to the world, she was riff with insecurity beneath.  What made her a truly admirable woman was the way she was able to conquer it most of the time.  But sometimes, like now, it slipped through.

He took a breath out of synch with hers to steady his voice.  “So you’d choose not to have her then?”

“What?  No!  You aren’t listening to me,” she accused.  She struggled against him, and he clamped his arms around her, trapping her to his chest.

“Don’t just react, pet.  I want you to really think about it.  Dig past all that glitter on the surface that might be part of some bleedin’ spell and really search your heart.  Would you be happy going back to your apple pie college co-ed by day, Slayer by night, life before the tyke?”

Buffy stilled in his arms, far from relaxed.  Her muscles were bow-string taut and she was ready to fly, but she was giving his words their due consideration.

“No.  I love her.  I wouldn’t give her up for the world.”

“So does it really matter?  She’s the dawn of a new age.  A child of a slayer and a vampire.  A child of light and dark.”  He held her close so he could whisper in her ear.  “She’s our miracle, luv.  Ours and ours alone.”

She gasped, and her hands tangled with his in a tight grip that would have injured a mortal man.  His words affected her deep in the pit of her gut where her instincts as a slayer lived.  Their miracle.  Their dawn.  Their child.  She closed her eyes and a tear leaked out.  The intensity of her emotions had to be induced, but it was so hard to discount them when they welled so strongly from the very depths of her.  She just needed to let go of her resentment and accept.  Accept this child and her unconditional love for it.

The vise that had been steadily clamping down on her since she realized she was pregnant dispersed.  This child was meant to be, and she was meant to be her mother. 

What she wasn’t so sure of was Spike.  His earlier words made sense.  If they were meant to be guardians to a miracle child, then their feelings would only extend to her.  Emotions between them shouldn’t be part of the equation.  But she did feel something, and that just couldn’t be.  It had to be part of the magic.  There could be no other explanation.  Because the idea of reality was so much worse than manipulation by magic.  It meant taking responsibility for her emotions no matter how messy, inappropriate and just plain wrong they were.

Spike anguished in silence.  Deep down he was terrified she would decide that Angel would make a better father to their child.  That somehow she would run to him, and convince him to give up his redemption to be with her.  He wanted to scream at her to forget Angelus.  He was the one who was here.  The child was his.  This family was his.  He wouldn’t give them up without a fight.

“No, but…”  Her breathing hitched, her heart doing a double tap that went straight into his chest, making him think for just half a second his heart was beating along with hers.  The idea made his cock twitch, and he tried to will away his burgeoning erection, knowing the real reason for her knickers being twisted was poised to strike.

“But,” he prodded.

Her hand twisted in his, her sweaty palm slick against his cool skin.  When they were close like this, naked and intertwined until they couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began; when he was covered in everything of hers that made her human, her sweat, her breath, her heat, it made him feel alive.  Like he was a human being, with all the hopes and dreams of a human man within his reach.

“It doesn’t explain us.”

Spike stopped breathing.  They were wandering into territory he wasn’t completely comfortable with.  There was a minefield of secrets between them, and if he didn’t step lightly it would blow up in his face.  He had been so desperate to be with her, be inside her, that he let a hidden side of him slip through.  All those poncy words about dawns and sunsets, craving the perfection of her.  Telling her he wanted her and only her.  It was too close to the truth, to his secrets.  He needed to rout her before she found him out. 

“I thought hormones explained us, kitten.”

She hardened, and he wondered if she turned into molded plastic like one of those department store mannequins.

“Right.  Just sex.  I forgot.”  Her voice was sharp and cold, a viper strike straight to the heart.

“Your words, your rules, pet.”

She rolled off him, and he shivered at the loss of her heat.

“Well, at least we know I was worth a second go.”

Dammit!  The hurt in her tone could cut the balls off a lesser man.  Was he willing to crush her to protect himself?  Yes! his demon snarled ruthlessly.  Then why was he sitting up and watching the angry curve of her backside as she collected her clothes?  Why was his hand twitching to haul her back into his lap to warm up the cold hole over his heart?

“Why are you angry?  It’s not like you care.”  Bloody hell.  How did the bleedin’ heart poet escape from lock down?  He sounded so pathetic.  His disgust didn’t stifle his interest in her answer.  Why did she care?

“No reason.  I’m sure it’s the curse working over time.”

Spike frowned.  “She’s not a curse.”

“Whatever,” she spat with enough derision to put preadolescents worldwide to shame.  She had her unbuttoned blouse and panties on and was working on the zipper to her skirt.  Spike shot up from his seat on the couch, stalking over to her.  He swept his trousers from the floor, stepping into them, and buckling his belt as he closed in on her.  The sun was down, and the only light was the lamp by the door.  He knew she couldn’t see well in the dark, but that didn’t stop her from spinning around, and unerringly pinning him with a glare before he got too close.

“What has that insipid little brain of yours working overtime, Slayer?”

“It’s nothing.”  She waved him off, stomping towards one of her boots.  He blocked her path.

“It’s something,” he shot back.  He thought she wouldn’t answer.  That she would clam up and rush off, her virtue aflutter.  She was trembling with misery and seething with indignation.  The powder blue lace of her blouse just barely guarding her chastity, she popped her fists on her hips and directed a glare right at him.

“I feel something for you.” 

She might have said she was a Muppet for all the comprehension she garnered from him.

“Yeah,” he agreed slowly.  “Hate, disgust, hormonal lust, complete, scathing derision.  We’ve covered all this, pet.”

She folded her arms, propping her chest up.  “Protectiveness,” she cut in.

“Huh?”

She shifted her arms, dropping them so they wrapped around her waist in a little girl gesture that made him feel uneasy.

“When Riley tried to take you, I felt angry and scared.  Protective.  It must be part of the magic.  Like, I know you’re important to our baby somehow, so I have to see you safe.”

“Well that can’t be right because the way I feel about you hasn’t changed a bit since before the nibblet.”  Damn.  He hadn’t meant for that to slip out.  It sounded good though.  On the surface it was a right good put down.  That’s right, Slayer.  Still hate your guts.  Nothing to see here.  ‘Cept there must have been something to see, because the Slayer’s glare sharpened on him and not in that, ‘I’m gonna kick your ass from one end of town to the other’ kinda a way, but in the, ‘I’m gonna run the hamster until it dies thinking’, kind of way.  Dru always said his face showed too much.  Showed his heart on his sleeve, like a right git.  All that poetry over a bleedin’ sunset hadn’t helped his cause either.

“Right, then.  You should be on your way, Slayer.”

He escaped to the sleeping area, not even a little bit surprised when she followed him.  He sat on the edge of the bed to pull on his socks and shiny black loafers.  Time to make his getaway, and see how the renovations at the club were coming along.

Buffy switched on one of the lamps beside the bed, stinging his eyes as they adjusted.

“What does that mean, Spike?”

“It means I still loathe you.”  He refused to look at her.  He didn’t care if he hurt her.  The shagging was fun while it lasted.

“So the sex?  Those things you said?”  She sounded tiny and unsure.  It made his hackles rise.  He shoved his other shoe on.

“Still a bloke.  Not gonna say no.”  He expected a violent outburst of anger.  Screaming, breaking bones and a stupendous exit fueled by righteous fury.  That was something he could handle.  Her passion would suffice.  Her brokenness would not.  She sank down beside him, her hands clasped in her lap and her blouse sliding off her sun-kissed shoulder.

“What’s wrong with me?” she whispered.  She was so lost and alone.  It broke him.  The Big Bad brought down by a little girl’s tears.  He took her small hand in his larger one and pulled her closer until their shoulders touched.

“Nothing.  I’m the one who’s an absolute wanker.  You’re bleedin’ perfect.”

“Not so much.  Sure, it’s a nice thought, but my track record says different.  A father who can’t be bothered.  The love of my life leaves town so fast he can’t even say goodbye.  An oversexed college boy whom I can’t even please for more than one night.  If at all.  Oh, and lets not forget that I’m having warm fuzzies for my mortal enemy who loathes me, but is still man enough to suck it up for a little so-so groinage.”  She shifted, covering her face with her hands.  “Gawd.  I even came here because I needed your strength.  I wanted to lean on you.”  She spat out the last words like they were bitter worms on her tongue.  “I’m so pathetic.”

Great.  Now he felt like something that gets scrapped off at the curb.  He was so far beneath her that he shouldn’t even be graced with her light, and yet somehow he made her feel like she was less than nothing.  He truly was evil.  Worse, he hadn’t missed his upgrades from protectee, to recipient of warm fuzzies, to lean-worthy material.  Buffy’s feelings were evolving every second, and he was loathed to consider the ramifications.  How was he supposed to continue his persona of the Big Bad if she kept making him feel things?  He had done so well pretending since he came back to Sunnyhell.  So much so, he was even fooling himself most of the time.

“You’re a bleedin’ fantastic shag, luv.  Seriously, the best I’ve ever had.”  Christ on the cross!  Could he sound any more patronizing?  “As for the arseholes of your life, all I can say is that they’re nutters for ever letting you go.”  He stuttered to a halt, his throat working overtime as he tried to swallow around the sudden knot.  “And…I was lying.”

It took a moment for her to catch up, but when she did her response was about what he expected.

“Huh?”

“Eloquent as ever, Summers.  I said, I don’t loathe you.”

“But you said---“

“I know what I said,” he cut in.  He gave her a moment to digest his words before he turned towards her, his knee bumping hers.  “Look.  Did I ever tell you why Dru left me?”

She wrinkled her nose in thought.  “A Fungus demon.  Or was it Chaos?

“Chaos the first time, but that’s not why she left me.”

“Why, then?”  Her eyes were big and green, and looked at him in a mixture of concern and wariness.  He wanted to smooth her hair back from her brow, but he was afraid if he touched her he would lay her back on the bed and confess even greater sins than the ones he was about too.  Sins that would sound too much like poetry.

“The truce between me and you.  She was mad I betrayed Daddy, but---You know she had the Sight, yeah?  Always peeking in on people’s dreams, nattering away at the stars and swappin’ riddles with that soddin’ doll of hers.  She just---She had a way of knowin’ all your secrets.”  His voice dropped by octaves as he spoke and his last words were whispers against her hair.

“And you had secrets?”  Her breath brushed over the tight skin of his pectoral as she shifted closer to hear his words.

“Yeah,” he said softly.

“What kind of secrets?”

“I dreamed of you.  Before all this.  Before the baby got magicked here.  Before there was a this.”  He swept out his hand to encompass the entirety of their existence.  The fact that This was so much more than what they were capable of comprehending.  “I dreamed of you every night.  Made me right sick.  Put me off my feed and I started saying no to Dru’s special requests—“

Realizing he said too much he bolted off the bed.  He snapped up his wine, silk shirt and shrugged it on as he glided to his dresser.  He picked a pair of gold cufflinks out of a pretty black and silver dish, and shook out a cuff to affix one.

“What do you mean put your off your feed?”

“Nothin’, Slayer.  Why don’t you fetch your boots and I’ll drive you home?  It’s getting late and I still have to work tonight.”

“Spike, tell me what you mean,” she pleaded.

“No,” his voice was hollow in the large space.  His fingers shook and he couldn’t get the stud of his cufflink through the hole.

“Spike,” she said slowly, and he closed his eyes against the onslaught that was her.  “When was the last time you fed from a human?”

“The night those army wankers took me,” he confessed with complete honesty.  He fed every night.  He was a vampire, after all.  She was silent and he thought maybe she would be satisfied---just this once she wouldn’t dig for more.  And the earth would shift it’s axis.

“When was the last time you killed someone?” she asked quietly.  She was right behind him.  He could feel her heat on his back like the bleedin’ sun.  Any minute now he was going to burst into flames and burn to ash.

“I mighta killed some of those wankers when I escaped.  I slugged a couple of them pretty hard, and the chip must not have been fully seated yet ‘cause it only hurt a little.”

He affixed one cufflink, but made no move to pick up the second from the top of the dresser.  It glinted dully in the low light.

“And before that?”

She never let anything go.  She was like a junkyard dog with a three year old bone.  He gripped the sides of the dresser, his back bowed under the weight of his sick, twisted confessions.  He had been able to push all his feelings down for so long.  He had been able to tell himself he didn’t love her, that he wasn’t attracted to her, that she didn’t affect him.  He was disgusting.  A parody of his kind. 

If he confessed to her, could she give him absolution?

Alright, time to nip this line of questioning in the bud, right the fuck now. 

“I’m a vampire, pet.  What the fuck do you think?  I snatch people up and drink them down.  It’s what I do.”  The ferocity of his snarl reverberated through the loft.  He swept the items from the top of his dresser in a burst of agonized rage.  Glass shattered and cufflinks, rings and coins scattered across the floor.  Behind him he could feel her flinch away, and he squeezed his eyes shut, feeling her rejection as acutely as William had all those years ago in a candlelit parlor.

“You affect a man, Slayer.”  He laughed a little.  Small gusts of air empty of humor.  “Don’t let anyone tell you differently.”

He listened as her feet ghosted over the cement floor as she gathered up her boots.  When his door slammed shut, he allowed his head to hang as he damned himself to hell and back.

 

Disclaimer:  I don’t own or profit from BtVS.  No copyright infringement intended.

A/N:  I apologize.  I have next to no knowledge of genetics and well….pretty much anything sciency.  I’m just winging it.  Just sit back and watch the monkeys fly out of my ass…

Dawn of a New Age

Chapter Eleven

Dr. Patel carefully removed the unbeating heart from the squirming female strapped to the reinforced steel, operating table.  She placed the blackened lump of flesh on the dissection tray, and picked up her scalpel to delicately slice open the heart, spreading it out until she could see the ventricles.  She took a twelve-gauge syringe and extracted the dead blood trapped in the chambers.

The creature on the table shrieked and collapsed into dust.  Dr. Patel lifted the syringe to the light, tilting it as the sand inside shifted like an hourglass.  She sighed, dropping the now useless material onto the table.  Behind her the door swished open and her friend and co-worker entered the room.

“No luck, Amita?”

Amita Patel patted her hair into place before turning around with a wan smile.  “Not yet.  These specimens are too weak.  None of them display nearly the amount of physical fortitude or stamina of Hostile Seventeen.”

“Yes, he was spectacular.”  Maggie Walsh turned aside to allow the technicians to wheel in the next specimen.  “Should we recapture him?”

Dr. Patel watched the male specimen wriggle on the table with dispassionate eyes.  “Not yet.  It is fascinating to be able to observe him in the natural world.  And we don’t yet know if he is supplementing the nutritional needs of Ms. Summers somehow.  For all we know she’s ingesting a steady diet of his blood in order to incubate the fetus.”

“Is that normal?”

Amita huffed.  “Nothing about this is normal.  It’s a scientific quandary.  But vampires do commonly feed from each other, and I don’t want to risk the development of the fetus because we don’t have enough data.”

Maggie Walsh shrugged.  “You’re the resident vampire expert.  I’ll leave you to it.”

Amita nodded goodbye before turning back to the specimen.  She had been working for years on how to crossbreed the vampiric traits of speed, strength and regeneration into human fetuses.  Initially, she thought it was only a matter of introducing vampiric genetic material into a fertilized egg.  The result was less than satisfactory.  The DNA of the host body remained essentially the same after turning, and therefore had only human genes to pass on. 

She then moved onto studying the blood of vampires, but that was inconclusive as well.  The blood retained the same genetic markers of the donor human, and remained seemingly unchanged when introduced to a vampiric host.  Likewise vampire sperm was sterile and eggs from females were dead.  There seemed to be no plausible way for vampires to procreate, much less crossbreed with humans.

Vampires themselves were a medical mystery.  They shouldn’t be animated, yet despite the empirical data otherwise, they were.  There was an essence about them, Amita had yet to isolate and identify through scientific means.  Perhaps her tools were inferior, or her procedures to unrefined to decipher the mystery that were vampires.  Only time and more investigations would tell.  She already knew there was so much more she had yet to discover about the amazing species.

Hostile Seventeen, for instance, had been an enigma.  Why was he so vastly stronger than her other specimens?  Biologically he was identical to the others of his breed she examined.  His blood was no different, his genetics the same as his original host.  Yet, somehow the indefinable essence that animated all vampires was stronger in him.  Amita hypothesized it was his age.  Interrogation of the vampire had rendered little information, but there was something about him that screamed advanced physical maturity.  She suspected the reason so many of her specimens crumbled under her knife was because they were too young and weak to endure.

She would love to have Hostile Seventeen back on her table, but her observations of his behavior were too important at this juncture.  There was too little data to make informed decisions.  She wasn’t even entirely convinced that Hostile Seventeen was the paternal father of the fetus gestating in Ms. Summers.  She’d nearly fell over to find him standing in her examine room, confessing to be the father of an unborn child.  It was unprecedented!  Since she never conducted any interviews with him in person, nor studied him while he was conscious he was unaware of her connection to him.  It gave her the valuable opportunity to observe both he and Ms. Summers as the fetus grew. 

All she needed was to confirm the parentage of the child then she could implement her plans.  She had Hostile Seventeen’s genetic material from his stay in the underground facility, and Ms. Summers was compliant in giving her blood for various prenatal tests, but there would be no way to gather genetic material from the fetus until it was at least thirty weeks along.

Amita carefully removed the ball gag from the specimen.  It snarled and spat, but she was unimpressed.  She held up a blood bag so the starving vampire could see it.  After a few minutes the creature calmed, staring at her with its odd yellow eyes.

“Answer my questions, and I’ll allow you to feed.”

The creature didn’t respond, but she knew it understood her.  It was amazing how these animals were able to display such human characteristics.  Especially, Hostile Seventeen.

“How is it possible for vampires to procreate?”

“To sire---“

“No,” Dr. Patel cut him off.  She knew all about siring.  She had studied it extensively.  She was still waiting for permission to begin human trials, although her and Maggie had discussed foregoing the regular channels.  “How do you breed?”

The creature blinked at her.  “You want to know about the Miraculous One.”  It wasn’t a question, but a statement.  A coldness settled over the creature deformed features.  The fire of resentment and fear of death was snuffed out, replaced by implacable resistance.  Dr. Patel saw the same expression on Hostile Seventeen’s face when she observed his interrogations from behind the mirrored glass.

“The Miraculous One?  The child of Ms. Summers, the supposed Vampire Slayer, and the vampire named Spike?  What do you know of it?  Do you know how they managed to breed?”

“She was not bred.  She is magic.  You’ll never be able to recreate something as miraculous as her.”

“Her?  How do you know it’s a her?”

The vampire turned its face from hers, refusing to acknowledge her questions.  She drew nearer, picking up a scalpel from the sanitized tray.  She knew she wouldn’t be getting any more verbal information from the specimen.  It was time to explore its insides instead.

“There is no such thing as magic, vampire.  It is only a crutch for primitive minds unable to comprehend logical, scientific reason.”

She clearly outlined the superiority of science over the false belief of magic as she cut the screaming vampire open and categorized its innards.

&&&&&&

Buffy watched the teapot heat on the stove.  Let’s see if a watched pot really doesn’t boil.  She rolled her eyes, checking the clock on the microwave.  She was trying her hardest not to think.  Thinking led to all kinds of badness.  Badness usually revolving around questioning her morals, dissecting her beliefs, and analyzing her overworked emotions.  So pretty much just thinking about Spike.

Her last conversation with him had been disturbing.  She couldn’t stop replaying it in her mind.  He was keeping secrets from her.  She hated secrets.  They were like the worlds most addictive Sudoku to her.  She just had to crack them.  But she didn’t want to crack Spike’s secrets.  She knew deep down, if she found out what Spike was keeping from her, it would change everything.  And she didn’t want things to change.  So much was changing around her already.  Was it really so bad to ask for some sense of security?  Some foundation?  There were just some things in this world that needed to remain black and white.  A formalized belief system for instance.  You can’t indoctrinate someone to a certain truth their entire lives, then one day tell them that it was all a load of horse pucky!  That’s how people ended up on tranquilizers.

If Spike confessed to her, what she thought he might, then….then she didn’t know what.  She just knew she couldn’t allow it.  Because for the barest of moments she thought he was going to tell her….No, it was impossible.  Spike was a monster.  A killer.  The only thing keeping him in check was the chip.  Without it he would be rampaging through Sunnydale, drinking down coeds and whatever else murdering bloodthirsty fiends of the night do to pass the time.  He told her himself.  He was a vampire. 

She could never trust him if the chip was removed.  A serial killer in prison was all he was.

But there was something in the openness of his face as he spoke to her.  There had been pain and longing.  There had been vulnerability.  It made her ache for him to open up to her.  She wanted to hear what he had to say, so she could believe him.  Maybe if he trusted her, she could---She rolled her eyes.  No.  It would never happen.  She would never trust him, and she was smart enough to know trust was a two way street.  There was no way Spike was going to trust her, when she couldn’t trust him.

It was hopeless.

Their conversation had solidified one thing in her mind.  Spike loved their child.  Of that there could be no doubt.  She just needed to stop questioning how it was possible and accept it.

She set her tea to steep when there was a light knock on the back door.  She twitched the gingham curtain aside and caught her breath.

Angel…

She was sixteen again.  A time when life and love were fresh and new.  She was happy and safe and didn’t yet know what heartbreak felt like.

Deep pools of emotion welled up in her chest, pushing everything to the fringes except for how much she loved him.  She opened the door, standing silently, just drinking him in.

He was so handsome.  His hands were shoved into the front pockets of his dark blue jeans, his untucked, black silk shirt flowing around his thick wrists.  His shoulders were set in unassuming self-depreciation.  His way of hiding his predatory nature so she would feel safe with him.

Their eyes met and it felt like worlds collided in her chest.  There was so much love for her in his eyes.  It was tortured and battered by his demon, but his soul kept it safe for him.  For them.

“Buffy.”

If she had any doubt of the love in his eyes, it was blown away by the sound of her name on his lips.  It was always the same.  A single word filled with such wealth of emotion.  Love, desire, want, restraint, regret, denial.  It was all layered together making her knees weak and her heart thump.

His eyes flickered to her still flat midriff and the spell was broken.  She wasn’t sixteen and he wasn’t her best guy.  They could never be together, no matter how much they loved each other.

“You know.”  It wasn’t a question.

“Hard not to.  Something like this is big.  Got the demon community buzzing all the way to L.A.”

“Great.  I love being the star of demon gossip.”  Her brow crinkled, and she ran a protective hand over her belly.  She didn’t like the idea of every demon from here to the Mexican border knowing about her baby.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

The hurt in his tone lashed out at her.  She whipped her eyes up to his, her body stiffening.  Oh, God.  The disappointment in his deep, chocolate eyes lacerated her heart.  How could she tell him that she couldn’t find the words?  That she was a coward.  That the very look in his eyes as he stared at her was the reason she had been avoiding talking to him in the first place.

The baby should be theirs.  Their miracle.  But it wasn’t.  The bubble of resentment festering inside since his abandonment swelled beneath her heart.  Maybe if he had stayed?  If he had been closer to her?  Maybe then the Powers would have graced them with this child.  Instead, she was stuck with Spike.

Spike, who promised never to leave.  Unto dust, he swore.  Practically a vampire marriage vow.  Angel never swore on his dust.  He was a more philosophical kind of vampire.  Unlike Spike who was a mess of physical.  Angel wouldn’t swear to dust for her, but he would brood over her until his last days.

Buffy recoiled over her uncharacteristic thoughts.  Angel was the love of her life.  She had no business comparing him to Spike.  There could be no comparison.  Angel was superior in every way.

“Look.  Do you wanna sit on the porch and talk?”  She offered, contrite.  She thought about inviting him in, but somehow it didn’t seem right.  Her home needed to be a safe sanctuary now she was going to have a baby.  Who knew if Angel would ever get happy again?  She frowned at that.

“Sure,” he agreed, his voice smooth and melodious.  She loved the sound of his voice.

“Let me grab my tea and I’ll be out.”  She’d offer him a cup, but knew he would refuse.  It was his way of reminding her of his innate alienism.  His way of telling her they could never be together.

He nodded, and glided away.  Once she had her tea, she found him standing by the weathered patio chairs.  She took a seat, unsurprised when he chose to lean against the porch railing, rather than sit beside her.  She supposed she was disgusting to him now.  Infected with Spike’s spawn.

She placed her hand over her belly and glared at him.  His answering look was hurt and inquisitive.

“How are you, Buffy?”

It seemed he was going to let his other unanswered question slide.  His deference acknowledged what they both knew.  There was no clean answer as to why she hadn’t told him of the child that would allow them to walk away unhurt.

“Pretty good.  I’m holding down more food, and I’m not as tired.”

“That’s good,” he replied cautiously.  It occurred to her, him being a vampire, that the process of pregnancy would be more than a little foreign.  It would probably be better to stay vague with him.

His presence was starting to feel unwelcome.  Stifling almost.  She already had so much negative pressure.  She didn’t need Angel adding to it.  She sighed.  There could be no avoiding this conversation.  It was going to happen whether she wanted it to or not.

“Why are you here, Angel?”  Might as well help the situation on to it’s inevitable conclusion.

“Can’t I just visit?”

The amount of rage that erupted from her belly was shocking.  She had no idea she was harboring such depth of emotion circulating around him.

“No,” she spat.  “You proved that yourself.  I don’t get so much as a phone call for six months, then you show up and do you little shadow song and dance over Thanksgiving, and now you try the ‘can’t I just see my best girl’ routine.  Well, the answer is a big, fat no.  So why don’t you just tell my why you’re here?”

“Spike,” he hissed.

She crossed her arms over her chest and looked out over the darkened backyard.

“What about him?”

“Buffy.”  He sounded pained, and all her anger slunk away like a whipped dog.  Desperately, she tried to hold onto it.

“It’s not like I had a choice, Angel.  Maybe if you’d been here.”

He glided closer, dropping to his haunches beside her.  He wrapped his blunt, cool fingers around her wrist and she felt herself calm.

“We’ve been over this.  I couldn’t stay.  It wasn’t fair to you.  I wanted you to have something normal.”

She laughed bitterly.  “Well, what I got was Spike.”

“No.”

She turned her head to look at him.  His mouth was pressed into a thin line and his dark eyes flickered yellow.

“No?”  She arched a brow.  “What does that mean?”

“It means you don’t have to have Spike.”

She became very still.  Even her breath stopped.  Maybe even the Powers That Be stopped time, waiting to see if their Champion would defy them for the woman he loved.  Spike would defy them, came the unwelcome thought.

“Are you saying that you’ll stay?” she asked quietly, sick, dark hope beating inside her chest.  A farfetched dream coalesced in her mind.  It was bright, beautiful and perfect.  He dropped his eyes from hers, and the crystalline image shattered.  Pain spider-webbed its way through her heart, and she ripped her wrist from his grasp.  This was the very last betrayal she would ever accept from him.

“I am not getting an abortion,” she ground out in a deadly voice.

Angel rocked back on his heels, having never been the recipient of her Slayer self.  At least, not while souled.  He contemplated her silently, but Buffy didn’t fidget like she had when she was a child and faced with his disapproval.  She stared him down, until he relented to her.

“I didn’t say that, Buffy,” he assured her softly.  “I’m sure your child is amazing and she has a special purpose for being here.  I would never advocate ending any child’s life.”

She glared at him.  She hated the suspicion in her gut.  She couldn’t help, but to feel that abortion had been exactly what he was advocating, and was only backing off in the face of her implacability.

“I’m saying that Spike shouldn’t stay around.  He can’t be trusted.”

“The chip…”

“Does nothing, but curb his feeding,” Angel cut her off.  “He’s still evil and still soulless.  Once he figures how to get that chip out…” The mayhem and devastation he would cause was left unsaid.  Buffy stood to put some distance between them.

“Trust me, Buffy.  He’ll get that chip out.  He’s smart and determined.  Look how he’s taken control of the demons.  He’s already positioning himself.”

Her entire body clenched.  She looked towards Angel, automatically wanting comfort, but too unsettled to take it.

“What are you saying?”

“The only reason all the demons haven’t given him their complete allegiance is because of the chip.  Once it’s out, he’ll kill you and take over Sunnydale.”

“He can try.”  The slayer flashed and Angel shifted nervously.  “You keep talking like I’m weak.  Like I can’t take Spike in a fight.  Well, I can.  I’ve done it more than once and I can do it again.”

“But you are weak.  The baby makes you so.”

Buffy snarled, but Angel refused to back down.  “What happens when you are nine months pregnant and too awkward to fight?  What if he strikes after you’ve given birth and you’re still too weak to stand?  You shouldn’t give him the advantage of waiting.”

“I don’t think…”  Buffy shifted awkwardly, before solidly planting her feet.  “I’m not going to murder him in cold blood,” she snapped.  She was not weak.  Not now.  Not ever.  She was the Slayer.  Their miracle made her stronger.  It gave her something to fight for.

“Buffy.”

The look she gave him was deadly.  She moved away, too angry to be close to him.  Angel conceded, trying a new tract.

“What about the baby?”

Buffy glanced at him.  “What about it.  Spike’s the father.”  She stood at the rail.  The shadows crept in closer and she could no longer see the back fence.

“That’s meaningless to a vampire.  Just words.”  He stood behind her, placing his large, comforting hands on her shoulders.  “Spike’s a danger to her.”

“No,” she asserted with certainty.  This she knew with absoluteness.  Spike would never hurt their child.  “Spike loves her.”

“Spike has always been different, but he can’t love.”

Buffy shrugged him off, turning to face him.  “He loves Drusilla.”

Angel shook his head morosely.  His dark eyes caught the moonlight, seeming to glimmer with his sadness. 

“Is that what he told you it was?  It isn’t love.  It’s obsession.  Even after a hundred years, she’s still unobtainable to him.  It’s an endless chase, and Spike will do anything to win her.  They’ve parted in the past, but they always come back together.”  He paused, and trepidation built inside her heart.  “And Dru always demands a reconciliation gift.”

“What do you mean?”

He shifted away from her, his eyes lowered in shame, caught in the memory of his sins.  “Dru’s favorite foods are nuns and children.”  He flexed his hands, seeing the blood that coated them, remembering the infants he once held gently before handing them to his insane child.  “Once she hears about this baby…she’s going to want it, Buffy.  Slayer blood and her sweet William’s all in one pretty pink package.  Succulent is the word that comes to mind.”

She wheeled away from him, disgusted.  He recoiled, jerking himself back from the brink where his yellow-eyed demon gleefully chortled back at him.  He was instantly contrite.  He reached for her, but she kept the distance yawning between them.  Rejected and ashamed, he tried to reassert cool control over himself.  He straightened, all business as he gazed at the love of his unlife.

“Look, all I’m trying to tell you is that Spike spent the last hundred years catering to his dark princess’ every whim.  Whatever wammy the Powers That Be put on him to make him want to protect this child may not be enough to override his obsession for Drusilla.  If she asks for the child, he’ll give it to her.”

Buffy wrapped her arms around her waist.  Unconsciously, she moved closer to her back door.  She stood were the yellow light from the kitchen pooled through the window.  She wanted to be inside where she was warm and safe.  She was tired of having conversations in the dark with monsters.  She needed security.

“No.  I don’t believe that.”  She didn’t.  She had seen the love in Spike’s eyes when he talked about the baby.  He was the only person, including her, who accepted their child without reservation.  She was their miracle.  Spike’s miracle.

But a demon can’t love, her logic asserted.  How could Spike possibly love their child?

“Can you really take the chance?” Angel questioned, but she didn’t respond.  Something close to worry darkened his eyes, and he wavered, like a parent deciding to tell a child a spiteful truth.  Anger shot through her.  He was always holding back.  Always protecting her for her own good.

“A vampire can’t love without a soul,” he confessed.  “The demon isn’t capable of it.  Don’t you think I would have loved you as Angelus?  Our love is pure.  Perfect.  If it were possible for a demon to love then it would have been mine.  I’m proof that it can never be.”

If Buffy had been a weaker person she would have buckled under the onslaught of his words.  They were an attack on her soul, on her heart.  He was absolutely right.  If it were possible for a demon to love it would have been Angel.  Their love was timeless and beautiful.  And only possible with a soul.

A sadistic little voice reminded her that love wasn’t perfect.  It was flawed, and messy, and painful.  Love wasn’t an ideology to be placed on a pedestal.  It was a real bitch of a monster that was in the trenches of everyday life with you, beating you down and picking you right back up.

She had to get away.  She needed to be alone.  She was sick and tired of everyone telling her how to live her life.  How to feel.  Telling her what was right and wrong, like she was toddler who didn’t know that flame burned. 

“I-I think you should go.”  She didn’t look back at him as she scurried inside, slamming the door in his face.  She didn’t want to hear his goodbyes.  She didn’t want to see the pure, perfect love in his eyes. 

She was utterly destroyed.  She didn’t know what to believe.  Who to trust.

She stumbled a few steps the kitchen island before she collapsed.  She slid down the counter front, and curled up on the linoleum, sobbing into her hands.  Her trust was broken.  She just couldn’t decide which vampire had broken it.

Disclaimer:  I don’t own or profit from BtVS

A/N:  Thank you to all who have reviewed.  I’m delighted by all your thoughtful commentary and although I don’t personally respond, please know that I do cherish each and every one.

Dawn of a New Age

Chapter Twelve

Buffy could feel Angel outside her house for long minutes as she cried out all her anxiety on the cold linoleum floor.  Long after he was gone, she stayed prone until her cries quieted and her heartbeat returned to normal.  She stared at the cracked baseboards, absently thinking they needed to be cleaned.  It was amazing how much dirt could be found in an otherwise clean home.  How much was swept away under the rugs in order to make things presentable.

Her muscles ached as she pulled herself off the floor.  She slowly plodded up the stairs and into the bath.  As she waited for the water for her shower to heat, she slipped out of her clothes, thinking about the two vampires in her life.

Angel was the love of her life.  She had always believed nothing would change that.  They were Romeo and Juliet, Isolde and Tristan, Persephone and Hades.  Doomed to love eternally, but never to be together.  They were a romantic fairytale.

But things did change.  Nothing ever stays static.  She still loved Angel, but feelings had a way of shifting around, transforming and growing as a person does.  She had once taken what Angel told her on unquestioning faith.  But that was before Angelus.  Before life had taught her rock solid lessens on independence and self-reliance.

She wasn’t all grown up yet.  She was barely nineteen.  And while she’d been forced to mature rapidly, she wasn’t done learning all there was about life.  But she was going to be a mother now.  She may not have all the answers, but it was up to her to try and find them out.  If she took either Angel or Spike at their words, then she was displaying a vast amount of ignorance.  What she needed to do was ask questions and weigh the answers against her own conscience.  She needed to decide for herself what was right for her child. 

She trusted Angel.  And much to her consternation she trusted Spike as well.  She truly didn’t believe Spike would do anything to harm their baby, but Angel managed to plant a small seed of doubt in her heart.  It would be foolish of her to say she knew absolutely how Spike would react if Drusilla came back into the picture, but she couldn’t bring herself to believe he would feed their little girl to her either.

The question of Spike’s chip was something altogether different.  She had no problem believing Spike would go back to his rotten ways if the chip were out.  He had made promises, that for the sake of their child, he would never commit the ‘big evils’, as he called them ever again, but could she really take his word for it?  Not murdering, not feeding went against every natural instinct for a vampire.

Angel had been right on one point.  Spike was amassing power among the demon community.  He had never given her a satisfactory answer as to why.  If the demons were under his control then Spike could go on being evil without ever getting his hands directly dirty.  The Mayor never did any of his own dirty work, but it hadn’t made him any less filthy.  Spike was filling a void in the vacuum of power, but his purposes for doing so were murky.  He could very easily be ordering his demons to kill for him, and with his power it would be simple to hide the bodies.

She needed answers and she needed them now.  She toweled off and stalked to her room to dress in Slayer friendly clothes.

88888

Spike wasn’t at his apartment.  She hadn’t really expected him to be.  It was early evening, but she was sure his night had already begun.  The problem was that she didn’t know exactly what he did at night.  She knew he was some sort of enforcer, but what did that mean exactly?  Did he just hang out on a street corner, waiting for someone to start causing trouble?  Did he have some sort of secret hangout?

If there were going to be trouble anywhere, the most likely place would be Willy’s.  It was time to visit her favorite snitch.  She did so love the sound of his squeals.

When she entered Willy’s the entire place went deathly quiet.  She wasn’t used to that.  Usually when she barreled in she was treated to death glares and threatening snarls.  Some of the smarter demons would slink out the back, not wanting any trouble.  This time everyone seemed to be frozen into caricatures of themselves.  Their eyes darted around like they didn’t know where to look.  The only thing they seemed to know for certain was that looking at her was of the no.

She tried to hide how thrown off she was by stalking up to Willy.  The weasely little man stared down at his heavily scuffed bar, his body so stiff with fear it was hard to haul him close.

“I’m looking for Spike,” she growled.

His bloodshot eyes darted up to hers before they skittered away.  The shock on his face was apparent.  She supposed it would be shocking that she didn’t know how to find Spike.  After all, everyone from here to L.A. seemed to know her business.  And that business was tied up with Spike at the moment.

“I—uh—I,” the man stuttered.  “Look.  I don’t want no trouble.  Don’t want word getting back to your man that I’m disrespectin’ you.”

Rage may have melted the synaptic responses in her brain.  She certainly didn’t remember pulling the small man over his bar, slamming him onto the floor and pulling back her fist to obliterate his face.

“Oh, God!  Don’t kill me!” he squealed, folding his arms over his face in a panicked attempt to shield his head.

The all out fear in his voice brought her back to her senses, but the rage lingered.  Throbbing hard and hot in her veins.

“Spike is not my man.  He is not my keeper,” she hissed through clenched teeth.  These people.  These demons weren’t afraid of her anymore.  They were afraid of Spike.  She was the goddamn Slayer, and they were treating her like a joke.  Like the little fucking woman.  Oh, God.  She was cussing in her head.  So of the bad.

“I’m the Slayer.  You will tell me what I want to know or I’ll take every one of you apart piece by piece.”  Gawd she wanted to kill them all.  She wanted to reassert herself as the boogeyman of the demon world.  She wanted them to fear her.  Respect her.  Treat her like they did before she became pregnant.  Before her name became tied to Spike’s.

“I’ll take you to him, ma’am.”  Buffy shot a hard glare at the man who spoke.  “Err miss.”  He shuffled nervously.  “Slayer,” he finally settled on.  Why was her identity suddenly in question?  She was the Slayer.  Why did everyone want to devalue her?  Turn her into something else?  Something domestic?  This guy might as well of called her Mrs. Spike.

“I know you.”  She let go of Willy, his skull echoing hollowly on the floor.  Her cool assessing gaze raked over the man.  He had black hair, gray eyes, and absurd taste in leathers.

“Name’s Dekker,” he offered, his gaze respectfully averted. 

“You’re Spike’s guy.”

He nodded, and swept his hand towards the backroom of Willy’s.  She stared at him hard, but he didn’t flinch.  She walked by, keeping her eye on him as she passed.  The backroom was smoky and made her eyes water.  A group of demons ringed a poker table.  The silence would have been deafening if it weren’t for the mewing of kittens.

“This way.”  Dekker pointed.  He showed her through another door that led into the sewers.

She had been in the sewers many times of course, just not recently.  Someone had been doing a bit of maintenance.  The walks were cleared of the usual detritus and lighting had been installed.  It still stunk of sewage, but the difference was glaring.  Even the labyrinthine paths had been laboriously marked out in demon sign, making it easier to navigate the underground.

“You know.  It’s not like we fear you any less.  We fear you more now.”

She glared at the demon walking beside her, but he stared straight ahead.  She couldn’t help the sneer that deformed her lips even though she knew it made her look petty and mean.

“You all fear, Spike,” she spat.

“Well, yes.  But it’s not how you think.”

She stopped in the middle of the walkway, her hands on her hips.  “Why don’t you explain it to the poor, dumb bimbo then?”

He turned to face her, but kept his eyes trained on the toes of her fashionable boots.  There was a long pause as he collected his thoughts.  She watched the crease in his brow become more pronounced as her toe tapped out an irritated tattoo on the aged bricks.

“As the Slayer, you’re a challenge.  A risk worth the reward.  When a demon goes up against you there’s a pretty good chance of dying, but if we win…” he trailed off, scratching his skull where his horn would be if he was in demon form.  “A demon could live off that kind of reputation for a lifetime.  To be the one to take down the Slayer.  That’s balls.”

Buffy huffed, crossing her arms protectively.  She glanced away, not wanting to look at Dekker anymore.  “Yeah.  I get it.  Free drinks for life as long as you tell the story of how you beat the Slayer.  Why has that suddenly changed?”

He shifted, looking away as well.  They stared down opposite ends of the tunnel, looking at everything but each other.  “Before, Spike, you were alone.  Yeah.  You have those humans of yours, but they’re nothing.  Not any kind of threat.  There’d be no payback.”

She turned, frowning at his profile.  “And that’s changed?”

He met her eyes for the first time.  “Yeah.  You have Spike now.”

“I don’t need him to fight my battles,” she hissed.  She expected the passive demon to back away, but to her amazement he seemed to grow.  His gray eyes were steely as he stared her down.

“Spike’s not fightin’ your battles.  No one expects him too.  You’re still the prize.  Still the challenge.  What’s changed is the risk versus the reward.  Now if one of us takes you down, there’ll be Spike to deal with.  There was no risk of payback with your humans.  Not so with Spike.  Every demon around knows that if we hurt you, he’ll hunt us down, no matter how long it takes.  There’ll be no place we’ll be able to hide.  No master that’ll be able to keep us safe.  No matter how long it takes.  No matter who he’d have to go through.  There’s no reward in that.  No rounds of drinks to be bought, cause we’d be too afraid to tell the story.  So you see, Slayer.  You’re not in danger because you aren’t hated and feared anymore, but because you’re loved and cherished.  Because you’re not alone.”

Buffy stared at him stunned.  She didn’t know what to say to his little speech.  Since being Chosen there were certain truths she had accepted as unassailable.  She would fight alone.  She would die alone.  The idea of having a partner to share her life had briefly taken root when she was involved with Angel, but it had died along with her at the Master’s hands.  Over the next two years it had resurrected briefly from time to time, but it never had any strength.  Angel would occasionally fight at her side, but he couldn’t be relied upon.  Not really.  His love for her made him step back and allow her to mature into the fighter she was.  Angel’s love is what taught her the unassailable truths that she fought and died alone. 

Spike’s love was ripping those truths apart.

Did he love her?  He never said as much to her.

“Demons can’t love,” she whispered.  She wasn’t looking at Dekker.  She was focused on her own interiority.  The confused look Dekker flashed pulled her from her thoughts.  He shrugged and started to lead her further along.

She glanced at him, but he was impassive as they walked.  They came to a dead end, sealed by a steel circular door.  Dekker knocks ricocheted along the brick walls.  A tiny door slid open and then closed rapidly.  The large door swung inward on well-oiled hinges, and a deep, gut-thudding beat flooded into the sewer.

Dekker motioned her inside and first thing she saw was an azure neon sign.  Eden was sprawled along the wall.  She rounded the wall and came to a standstill.  She felt as if she had stepped back in time to a lavish, elegant, gentlemen’s club.  The room was paneled in rich mahogany woods, and the carpet was plush red velvet.  The comfortable seating was padded in black leather and the tables were heavy, expensive wood.  The heady beat of the music traveled up from her feet, vibrating her sex.  The room smelled of whiskey, tobacco and unobtainable desire. 

A beautiful, violet-tinged girl sinuously dangled her body from sturdy velvet ropes on center stage.  She writhed and contorted her naked body with awe-inspiring flexibility.  A few customers, male and female sat nearby, watching appreciatively.

“This is a strip club.”  Buffy turned to face Dekker.  “Why would Spike be at a strip club?” she asked neutrally.  In a rare moment of maturity Buffy wanted to make sure she had all the facts before she leveled the building down to its foundations.

Dekker audibly swallowed, and Buffy had to wonder if she wasn’t portraying the neutrality she was striving for.

“Spike owns it.” 

“Spike owns this.”  Buffy didn’t know if she was getting enough air.  They were underground after all.

“Well, yeah.  Bought it and renovated it.  It was a real cesspool before, but he revamped the whole place.  Turns a pretty tidy profit.”

“Spike makes money off this?”

Dekker narrowed his eyes at her.  His gaze swept over her speculatively.  “Yeah,” he said slowly.  Like maybe she wasn’t the sharpest crayon in the box.  “It’s a business.”

“A business!” she spat.  “He’s exploiting women!”

Dekker took a step back.  He knew a ticking time bomb when he saw one.  “Why don’t I just get you to Spike.”

“Yeah.  You do that.”

Dekker led her along a bar towards a darkened hallway in the back.  At the end of the bar was a cluster of women clearly waiting for the evening’s business to pick up.  Buffy could tell they recognized her by the way they stared as she neared.  The closer she got the more nervous the women became.  Now that Buffy could see them clearly, she could tell they weren’t human.  They had various tones of skin and hair color ranging from dark blue to shades of pink.  The only thing they had in common was their exotic beauty.

As they passed, a statuesque demon with lilac skin so dark it shaded black in some areas stepped in front of them.

“Mrs. Spike,” the woman hailed, and Buffy felt an instant flare of anger.

“I am not Mrs. Spike.  I’m the Slayer,” she hissed.  The women ruffled like a flock of beautifully feathered birds.  Although her unease was clear, the tall demon didn’t back away. 

“I meant no offense.  Please accept my apology.”  The woman pressed her hands together, and gave a tiny bow.

Well, shoot.  Buffy felt like a bitch now.  “There’s no offense.  It’s just---“ Buffy waved her away, unsure what she was going to say.

“You are not the property of a man,” the demon finished for her.  Dekker backed away, feeling distinctly uncomfortable.

Another, delicately made demon, cast in shades of pink and cream, finished the other demon’s thought.  “Just because you carry his child, does not make you his.”

“It might make him yours though,” a sexpot of a demon purred from the back.

“Y-you know?”  Gees!  Keeping a secret in this town was impossible.  Her life might as well be in one of those soap mags in the checkout isle of the grocery store.

The dainty demon, who despite clearly not being human, had an essence of homegrown goodness about her.  Buffy could almost imagine her milking cows and seducing cowboys in the hayloft.  She practically effervesced with goodwill, and that made Buffy distinctly uncomfortable.

“Everyone knows, sweetie,” she said.  “We are so happy for you!”  The demon beamed and Buffy honestly didn’t know what to say to her completely genuine offering.  Demons weren’t supposed to be delighted at her impending motherhood.  It was just—wigsome!

“Why?” Buffy asked.

The demons shuffled amongst themselves.  The boldest one who blocked her path spoke.  “You’ve always been good to us docile demons.  You don’t go out of your way to hunt us.  I mean.  You’re the Slayer.  If you wanted to, you could slaughter us all, but you leave us be to live our lives.  You’ve even helped our community a time or two, by getting rid of some really bad elements.  You’re good people and we just want you to be happy.”

Buffy was astounded.  And embarrassed.  She was embarrassed because she didn’t really know what the demon was talking about.  She hadn’t come after these women because she didn’t know about them.  Buffy only concentrated her attention on demons who were attacking the humans.  She never gave a second thought to demons who might be living under her nose who weren’t attacking people.  She was left with the uncomfortable question of whether her knowing about them would have made a difference.  If she knew they existed, would she have hunted them, even if they were harmless?  They were demons after all.  By the very definition that made them evil.  Soulless.  There was no way they couldn’t be hostile.

“I can’t imagine life before my little dumplings,” the delicate demon chirped, her iridescent blue eyes bright in the dim room.

“Y-you have children?” Buffy stuttered.  What a revelation.  She never even considered there were demon children before.  It made sense.  Demons had to come from somewhere, didn’t they?

“You didn’t think we are Autochthons, did you?”  The sexpot from the back purred.  Buffy decided she didn’t like her.  She wasn’t sure she liked any of them.  She felt a twinge of jealousy low in her belly.  They were all so beautiful.  And they worked with Spike.  Every night.  Taking their clothes off.  Revealing their perfect, exotic bodies.

“What?”  Buffy snapped.

The bubbly demon elbowed the sexpot and turned back to Buffy.  “I have four little broodlings.  See.”  She wiggled a photo out of her sequined halter and flashed it proudly.

Buffy’s good manners wouldn’t allow her to dismiss the offer.  The children clustered around their mother in the photo were downright cute.  It was kinda disgusting actually.  Buffy almost couldn’t stop the awww lisping out from between her lips.  Must be hormones.

“They’re adorable,” Buffy said politely.

“Thanks!”  The woman grinned and tucked her family away.

“Anyways,” the bold demon interjected.  “We just wanted to say congratulations and thank-you.  Between you and your man things have gotten a whole lot better around here.”

“He’s not my man!”  Buffy was angry and confused.  She didn’t like the proprietariness everyone was assigning to her and Spike’s relationship.  The women shifted nervously, and Buffy was contrite.  “What exactly has he done?  Besides exploit you,” she added bitterly.

Buffy subconsciously looked down at the profession of exotic dancing.  Her first feminist thought was that they were being exploited by men who were using them as sex objects.  Her secondary, and not so neatly repressed thought was that the women deserved their treatment because of how they chose to live their lives.  Maybe they had a drug habit to feed or they didn’t respect their bodies, as they should.  A tiny, mature voice in Buffy’s head pointed out that stripping was damn good money for single mother trying to feed her kids.

“Mr. Spike does not exploit us,” the bold demon hissed, and Buffy backed up reaching for her stake.  She glanced at the other women, surprised at the shock and slight edge of hostility she saw on their faces.  “He takes good care of us.  Cleared out the riff raff and established the rules.”

“Yeah.  He ran off my bastard ex good and proper.  Won’t be seeing him again.”  The bubbly demon dimmed as she rubbed her hand soothingly across her very delicately made jaw.  “He was starting after my kids,” her wide-eyed innocence hardened.  “The Boss beat him bloody and sent him on his way.”  Buffy stared at her mutely.

“And he gave us jobs.”

“As strippers,” Buffy sputtered, indignant on their behalf.

“Better than what we were doing to feed our kids,” the bold demon told her seriously.  The darkness in her eyes chilled Buffy.  It wasn’t evil she saw.  It was the leavings of despair.  The knowledge that life could be so much worse than it was now.

“And the Boss makes sure no one touches us unless we say so.  Not even his own guys.”

“Yeah.  The last guy who owned this joint would sell us for a few hundred extra.  Mr. Spike won’t have it.  No back room business on the premises.  We aren’t even allowed to take it home from here.  He runs this place clean.”

“Spic and span,” the bubbly demon chirped.

Buffy’s eyes were dark as she listened to them.  She looked away, watching the fibers fluff under the toe of her boot as she rubbed it over the plush carpet.  She didn’t want to ask if he took advantage of them, but she had to.  She just had to know.

“Does he…?”  She couldn’t finish.  The thought of it hurt her heart in ways she didn’t completely understand.  It shouldn’t matter, but it did.

“No!” the demons spat in unison.  Their vehemence was so startling that Buffy looked up, wide-eyed.

“The Boss treats us real respectful.”

The bold demon waited until she had Buffy’s complete, undivided attention and looked her straight in the eye.  “He never even looks at other women.  He’s a good man, that one.”

The demon women murmured their assent to the demon’s statement.

A tiny demon with striking burgundy hair spoke up shyly.  She kept her head down as she spoke.  “He helps pay for my schooling,” she said quietly.  “Says I’m too smart to shake my tits.”  She flamed a becoming shade that didn’t clash as much as it should with her coloring.  “He says I remind him of someone he knows.  It’s not just me though.  He offers it to all us girls.”

“He tells us we gotta make the moula to feed our broods, but if we can find a better way to do it we should.”  Buffy turned her surprised gaze at the sexpot.  She would have thought the sexually charged woman loved her job, but there was a quietude to the woman’s heavily kohl lined eyes that said differently.

“Not that he looks down at us.”

“No,” they chorused in unison.

“He treats us very properly,” the dainty demon beamed at her.

“Ladies, the Slayer wants to see the Boss.  You’ve held her up long enough.”  Dekker stepped up beside her.

They grumbled good naturedly, and after another round of congratulations on her baby, Dekker led her away into the hall.  There were a series of closed doors, but they didn’t stop until they reached the end.  Besides the door was a lavish rosewood settee with hunter green padding.  Buffy, wordlessly, sank into the seat.  Dekker looked at her in askance, clearly discomforted by her behavior.  She flashed him a wan smile that was far from reassuring. 

“I just need to sit a bit.  I need to think.  I’ll let myself in when I’m ready.”

Dekker looked torn.  He wanted to make sure she was safely delivered to the Boss, yet at the same time she was the Slayer.  He couldn’t make her do a damn thing she didn’t want to do.  Right, now she wanted to sit.

He shifted in uncertainty, before turning on his heel.  He returned to the bar, where he could still see her.  Relatively alone, she bent forward so her elbows were braced on her knees and contemplated the upheaval of her life.

Disclaimer:  I don’t own BtVS

Dawn of a New Age

Chapter Thirteen

Spike looked so morose it made her heart clench.  He sprawled inelegantly in the deep-set chair, his extended legs clad in dark dress trousers and the wine silk shirt opened at the collar.  The only light in the room came from the built in wet bar behind him, and the play of light and shadow only enhanced the natural cut plane beauty of Spike’s face.  His long, slender fingers gripped the rim of the crystal cut tumbler as he absently swirled the aged whiskey. The crystal refracted the blue backlighting, casting diamond prisms over the arms of the black leather chair where he lounged.  He looked like a man relaxing after a hard day’s work.  Or a man who knew his night would only be getting progressively worse, and needed a stiff drink to steel his nerves.

The soft click of the door closing was gunshot loud in the room.

“Said I didn’t want to be disturbed.”  His distinct growling voice rolled over her skin, leaving vibrations in it’s wake.

“Consider yourself disturbed, Spike.  Very disturbed.”

His vibrant blue eyes darted up, the lean muscle in his cheek jumping with repressed emotion when he saw her.

“Bloody buggering fuck.” 

Buffy chose to ignore the wealth of frustration and resignation harbored with those three disgusted words.  She advanced into the room, having no idea how her white blouse absorbed the electric blue light from the wet bar and made her glow ethereally.

“A strip club, Spike?” she spat with disgust.

Spike shot the last of his whiskey and levered himself out of the chair with a bitter sigh.  The heavy crystal tumbler made a loud clack as he set it carelessly on the bar to pour himself another two fingers.

“Not doing anything wrong, Buffy.”

He kept his back to her as he spoke, and she was mesmerized by the play of muscles beneath his shirt as he took a sip of his drink.  He was so unconsciously beautiful it hurt to look at him sometimes.

“If you believe that, then why’d you hide it from me?”

He braced his hands on the lip of the bar and hung his head.  Atlas with too much weight on his shoulders.

“’Cause I knew you’d take it the wrong way.”

“Then why do it if you knew I wouldn’t like it?”  She moved closer to him, a moth to a gaslight flame.

He whirled around and the depth of emotion in his gaze was like a thump in the chest.  The air left her lungs in a whoosh.

“I’m a vampire.”  He swiped his hand out, as if he could wipe the truth of his words away.  “Never had to worry about money before.  Just took wot I needed.  Can’t do that no more.  Gotta be respectable.  Or as close as I can get.  Needed the money for you and the Bit.  Needed to take care of you.”

Bright spots of outrage bloomed on her cheeks.  “I don’t need anyone to take care of me!”  She stabbed a finger at him, and he stepped forward, forcing her to flatten her palm on his chest.  The muscle was unyielding, begging for her to smooth her hand downwards to his silver belt buckle.

“Don’t I know it.  You don’t need me.  Don’t want me, neither, I suspect.  But I need it.  I need to feel like I’m contributin’ somehow.  You’re doin’ somethin’ amazing.  You’re givin’ our child life and I can’t help a bleedin’ bit with that.  But I can do other things.  I can make you comfortable.  Make sure you an’ the Bit want for nuthin’.”

Buffy searched his intense gaze, drowning deep in blue-black pools.  She never considered the helpless detachment he must feel while she struggled with the rigors of pregnancy.  The idea of creating life inside her body was disconcerting; the prospect of being a parent, terrifying, but it was all superseded by the connection she felt with her child.  Spike didn’t have that connection so he compensated by giving the only support he could.  Financial.  And on occasion, when she allowed it, emotional.

For some reason it made her feel…cherished.  Delicate, feminine and womanly.  For the first time in her life she wanted to be soft, and luxuriate in the sensation of being the one cared for, instead of the caretaker.  She was hard-pressed not to contrast his determination to be a part of his child’s life in any way possible, against her own father’s absenteeism.  Yes, Spike, like her father, offered money as a way to provide support.  The difference was the intent behind the act.  Spike wanted to offer more, be more, but was held in check by Buffy’s hesitation, while her father treated his monthly payments as an obligation or a pay off in exchange for his attention.  Her father didn’t want to spend time with her, while it would take an apocalypse to separate Spike from his child. 

“But a strip club?” she whined.  Her mind was screaming at her to step away, but her body wouldn’t obey.  He shrugged, and his muscles rippled under her hand.

“Not a lot of options, kitten.  I’m runnin’ it as clean as I can.  Try to give the girls a way to earn decent dosh without sellin’ their dignity.”

The mention of Spike’s stable of beautiful women gave Buffy the resolution she needed to move away from him.

“You’re exploiting them.”

She folded her arms, tucking her fingers beneath her elbows so she wouldn’t be tempted to touch him again.  She wasn’t even sure if she believed her own words.  The feminist inside of her, who insisted all wasn’t equal in the world of men, wanted to believe the women she met outside were brainwashed into thinking it was their choice to be used as sex objects.  But another, pragmatic voice objected.  It asked her what lengths she would go through to support her child.  Even herself.  It reminded her that their bodies were theirs to do with as they pleased and it was wrong for her to judge them.

“I am not,” he snarled.  His tone and expression were pure affront.  “I pay them well and make sure they’re safe.”

“It’s still exploitation, Spike.”

“Bloody hell.  Is that the word of the week on your college campus?”  Buffy’s brows snapped together, and he blew out a gusty sigh.  “I’m not forcing them to work here.  They don’t do anything they don’t want to and no one touches them.”

“Not even you?”  She refused to look at him.  The women assured her they weren’t appeasing ‘the Boss’ as part of their employment duties, but that didn’t mean much.  No one wanted a scorned slayer pointed in their direction.

He glided up behind her, his hands settling lightly on her shoulders.  He pulled her into him.  She wanted to resist, but his pull was too great.  The pull of his sexual heat, his magnetism, of him.  Every fiber of her being ached to connect to him.  Angel’s harsh words became a distant memory and she found it nearly impossible to connect them to the man behind her.  It was so easy to forget sometimes that he was an evil, soulless monster.  Especially when he masqueraded at being a man better than most human men she knew.

“Never.”  His breath whispered over the sensitive shell of her ear and she shivered against him.  “Aside it bein’ wrong, the only woman I want is you, Buffy.”

“Why?”

A question for the ages.  Why did he want her so desperately?  Why did she yearn to be wanted by him?

“Dunno, kitten.  ‘M covered in you.  Your scent, your heat.  I ache to hear your voice, even when I know you’re gonna say somethin’ to brass me off.  I just want to be around you, baby.”

Buffy almost gave in.  It would be easy to melt into him and let him wipe away the world.  To hide away with him behind a diaphanous veil and ignore the plague of reality.  But she couldn’t allow him to overcome her.  Not when she needed answers.

She pulled away from his embrace, circling around so his sleek, black glass desk was between them.  She glanced at it briefly, but his blotter was clear and his PC monitor turned off.

“Your extracurriculars aside, Spike.  The fact is you’ve become powerful among the demons.”  She cast around for the right words.  “A leader in the community.  How do I know you aren’t planning something?”

He cocked an amused brow, before realization darkened his features.

“Ah, that’s why the great wanker came a’calling.  Seeding fear and doubt wherever he goes.”  Spike returned to the bar to pour himself another drink.

“What are you talking about, Spike?”

He sprawled in his chair with a sigh, and sipped his whiskey.  “Well, out with it then.  What did Angelus have to say?  He promise to still love you from afar even though you’re carrying my demon spawn?”

Buffy braced her hands on his desk and carefully sat in the leather chair.  She kept her head lowered and the expanse of the room between them, hiding the hurt his words cause her.  Her avoidance meant she missed the barely there spasm of agony on Spike’s face.

When she felt she had her emotions under control, she brushed back her hair to pin him with a cold glare.

“How did you know Angel was in town?”

His silence was mocking and she exploded in fury.

“This is what I’m talking about!  How much power do you have?”  She swept her hand outward, encompassing the world around them.  “How much do you control?”

Spike’s lips were thin.  The amber whiskey in his glass was of immediate interest.  She hated that he wouldn’t look at her.  “’M not out to hurt anyone, Buffy.”

“How do I know that?  For all I know you’re planning the next apocalypse.”

He crossed the distance in a blink.  He planted his palms on the desk, and leaned over so he could look her in the eye.

“You know that’s bollox!  ‘M not plannin’ a damn thing.  All ‘m tryin’ to do is keep you and the Bit safe while keeping those Initiative buggers off all our backs.”

“The Initiative isn’t doing anything wrong, you are!” she blindly accused.

“Bullshit.”

The word rang in the room, and Buffy inhaled sharply at the unrepressed vehemence of it.

“Not all demons are human devourin’ monsters.  Most are just tryin’ to get by.  You may not consciously know you’re doin’ it, but even you make the distinction when you choose to hunt only those that attack humans.  The Initiative doesn’t.  They are sweepin’ up innocent men, women and children.”  Buffy withdrew as he hissed out the last word.

“They’re terrorizin’ us and we have no recourse.  There’s no law to protect us.  No Constitution sayin’ we have equal rights.  All ‘m tryin’ to do is keep us organized enough to stay off the streets and out of their nets.”

‘You talk like you’re some great leader of a resistance.  Like these demons are people.  Well, they’re not.  They’re demons!”  The words had to fight their way through a minefield of doubt.  These demons weren’t just mindless killing machines causing destruction in their wakes.  They were a society.  They were families.  Males and females mated with little broodlings they cared for, living together in a community.  It was hard to refute when it was right in her face, but every cell in her body needed to deny it.  Acceptance would mean changing everything she believed in.  It meant doubting herself, her watcher, and her calling.  She held herself apart from Spike, every muscle in her body locked into unnatural stillness. 

Spike shook his head.  The expression on his face making her feel a deep sense of shame.

“So all that noise about exploitation was just that.  Noise.  Can’t take advantage of soulless things can you, Buffy?  So go on.  Go out there and tell those women their lives don’t matter.  Go tell them their babies---“ he jabbed his finger towards her belly---“deserve to be tortured and gassed in that underground Nazi lab just ‘cause they were born demons.”

She instinctively spread her hand protectively over her stomach as she faced off with Spike, her jaw locked with stubbornness.  “Nazi is a pretty strong accusation, Spike.”

“Ever met one?”  His jaw flexed in fury.  “Ever seen what they did?  Up close and personal like?  You know how it sounds when an entire race of people scream in fear?  Do you know what genocide smells like?”  Burnt flesh, she thought.  Images of smoke stacks and ovens the size of rooms came to mind.  She choked back a gag, her gaze unable to break away from his.  His eyes glittered and Buffy was shocked at the amount of emotion a vampire could feel for beings he should only consider to be his food. 

How was it possible that a soulless thing could feel such a deep sense of responsibility for his community?  For family?  How could he behave more humanely than humans?

“I do.  I was there, Buffy.  Here and now, and back during the War.  It’s the same damn setup.”

Buffy’s lip quivered and she could feel the hot streaks of tears on her cheeks.  What Spike described was terrible.  It made her belly feel tight and sick.  Like maybe she was infecting her child with evil by talking about the atrocities committed by human beings against other human beings.

“’M sorry, baby.”  Spike rounded the desk and knelt at her feet where she sat.  “I didn’t mean it.  Don’t cry.”

She stared down at their tightly intertwined hands in her lap for long minutes while the tears slipped down her cheeks and onto Spike’s fingers.  Spike’s babble became a soft, comforting murmur in the background of her thoughts.

Before her calling, Buffy had lived in a shiny-bright world where the shoes were cute, the clothes expensive, and monsters were made up by boys to cop feels in dark theaters.  Then Merrick came along and gave her clear cut lessons on the black and white existence of her world.  Demons were evil.  Evil needed to be exterminated.  She was the exterminator.  Over the years, her experiences only reinforce those truths.  But she realized now she purposely didn’t look too closely.  She hadn’t wanted to see the cracks in-between the dichotomy of good and evil.  She didn’t want to question the who or the why or the how come.  It was easier to live on one side of the line, instead of straddling it.

But she couldn’t keep her eyes closed forever.  It was time for her to grow up and let go of childhood ideals of how the world was constructed.  Life, all life, wasn’t black and white.  It wasn’t even shades of gray.  The world was vibrant with color.  Every shade, every possible variation.  It was red for passion and murder.  It was blue for serenity and sadness.  Like the brightly colored demon women who bravely put aside their fear to congratulate her on her miracle, the world was beautiful in all its dazzling shades.

She may not like some of the darker aspects and as a warrior of light she would always seek to destroy evil, but she could no longer go on thinking the vast cosmos were ordered in binary simplicity.  To continue to believe in such concrete negativity only served to rob herself and her child of the richness of life.  To be a good mother to her child, she needed to stop being a child herself.

“I understand, Spike.”  She met his concerned, wide-eyed gaze with conviction.  “I get it.  I do,” she soothed.  “There is good and evil in this world, but not everything falls simply into those categories.  You trying to help these people is a good thing.  It makes you”---she licked her lips nervously---“not good.  But maybe, something gray.”

Spike rocked back on his heels in compete shock.  She didn’t think she had ever seen the vampire look so bewildered.  He opened his mouth to reply but she forestalled him with an upraised hand.

“Angel said some things to me tonight that I need to think long and hard about.”

Thunderclouds settled heavy on Spike’s open features, and for the first time Buffy clued in on the insecurity he must feel.  She could imagine that one of his greatest fears was that she would take his child away to be raised by Angel.  It hurt her heart that he believed her capable of such cruelty.  It broke her even more to know she had been willing to do that very thing just hours ago, if only Angel had said the word.

“This child is ours and we’ll raise it together.”  She placed her hand on his shoulder to convey the seriousness of her next words.  “I need you to know that while I think what you’re doing here is a good thing, all of it could change if something happens to your chip.”

His muscles tensed under her hand.  “The chip is a handicap, Buffy.  I can’t protect you or our child while it’s playin’ Kick the Spike with my brain.”

“I know you feel that way, and that you hate being constrained, but you are just going to have to trust me to protect her from humans.”

“So I have to trust you, but you can’t trust me,” he spat bitterly.  She gripped his hands, caging them in her lap when he would move away from her.

“I’m willing to give you a chance, us a chance, but I want to be honest with you,” she told him earnestly.  She pressed her brow into his, forcing him to look her in the eyes.  “I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to completely trust you.  It’s your nature to be a killer.  It isn’t a choice.  It’s what you are.  You’re a predator.”

“Buffy…”

She squeezed her eyes closed, fighting the urge to cry.  She could feel Spike’s pain emanating from him.  She was hurting him, but she didn’t know what choice she had.  She refused to have a relationship based in dishonestly.  “I know it sounds like I’m holding it against you, but I’m not.  I’m accepting your nature and part of that is understanding what you are.  We can play house and pretend that you’re tame all we want, but just because you have a tiger in a cage doesn’t mean it won’t tear your head off one day.”

“I will never hurt you or yours.  Not your mother or your watcher.  Not even that annoying whelp you insist on hangin’ around with.  The chip could stop workin’ tomorrow and I’ll still be here, drinking bagged blood, and not so much as looking sidewise at a happy meal,” he whispered fiercely his eyes blazing in the shadows.  “Our child—us--is more important than all the sweetest elixir in the world.”

She leaned forward cupping his cheeks in her hands.  “And I believe that you believe that, but ultimately my responsibility lies with our child.  The temptation…” she glanced away, shaking her head.  “I can’t imagine how great it must be.  The desire, the need you must feel every second of the day.  It’s a craving in your blood.  If the chip was out it would just be that much easier to give in.”  Spike’s desire for blood was greater than any addiction.  It was life.  Blood was life.  How could anyone, no matter how strong they were, say no to life?

“The moment I think you’re a threat I’ll either cut you out or stake you dead.  Would you expect me to do anything less?  For my family?  For our girl?”

He held her gaze for decades.  She could read a plethora of emotions in his eyes.  Fury, denial, knowledge, understanding and resignation.  Love?

Buff caught her breath and waited.  Could they move beyond this or would he ultimately reject her.  How could he not?  Why would any man want a woman who could only offer parts of herself and not the whole?  A woman who demanded too much, and offered so little in return.  What man would want someone as damaged as her?

Disclaimer:  I don’t own or profit from BtVS.  A smattering of dialogue was taken from the episodes Touched and The Gift.

 

Much thanks to Obscurebookwyrm for helping make this readable.  She’s a great beta!  All flaws are my little tweaks.

 

Thank you for all your support!  Happy Reading!

 

 

Dawn of a New Age

 

Chapter Fourteen

 

 

He watched her from his knees as she smoothed strands of his hair between her fingers.  The amount of regret reflected on her beautiful face, broke his heart in half.  The cold resolve replacing it, shattered it fully. 

Spike knew in that moment he loved this woman, but she would never love him in return.  Not in the way he desired it.  The ridiculousness of it struck him.  The Big Bad Vampire, always the lover and never the loved.  He admired her inner core of strength as much as he resented it.  Her priority was her family’s safety, their child’s safety, and an intrinsic part of that was never forgetting his nature.  Even as he loved her, loved their child, he would forever remain their enemy.  In her mind, letting her guard down with him could possibly lead to the greatest tragedy of her life; the death of their child.  She was only doing what she thought to be right.  He could only hope that time would tell.  If she saw his loyalty time and time again, perhaps he would be able to break through the protective barriers she wove around herself.

She wasn’t wrong.  The craving for blood was a fire in his veins he struggled against every second of every day.  He surrounded himself with demons because humans caused him nothing but torment.  He could hear their blood rushing through their veins, their hearts an excited staccato in their chests, and he dreamed of ripping into their necks and letting the rich elixir cascade down his throat until he succumbed to the erotic ecstasy of it.  What she didn’t know was how much the idea of hurting her disgusted him.  What she didn’t understand was how much he was willing to endure to stay in his child’s life.  To keep his family intact he would withstand the cries of his desiccated cells that screamed for the life that could only truly be satisfied by human blood and not the animal rot he subsisted on.  None of it mattered.  Only family mattered.

She sat stiffly, her lips drawn tight, her brow creased as she waited for him to reject her conditional affection.  He could tell she expected it.  For all her flaws, Buffy was not a stupid girl, nor was she as emotionally stunted as she liked to pretend.  She knew what she was asking of him was cruel.  Love me, but don’t make me love you back, she pleaded.  She thought it too much to ask of any man, to accept her as the flawed individual she was, to love her unconditionally, even while she set limits.

It showed how little she knew him.  How much she had yet to learn about him.  Spike didn’t abandon cruel mistresses.  He worshiped them.  He cared for them.  He loved them, flaws and all.  And while Buffy had some doozies for flaws, she also had uncontestably admirable traits.  She was strong, brave and loyal.  When she loved, she did so with all her heart.  She loved openly, earnestly and with eager innocence that had all but ruined her heart.  A ruined heart which could only be taught to love again through patience, understanding, and unswerving loyalty.

“I see you, Buffy,” he told her sincerely.  “I see how you try to be the perfect woman.  The perfect daughter for your mother, the perfect friend for Red and the Whelp, the perfect Slayer for your Watcher.  I see how you strain beneath the burden of being the Chosen One, and how you still manage it all while being damn sexy.”  He leered and she rolled her eyes.  The moment was fleeting and his face was drawn into seriousness again.

“I see how you deny and torture yourself, until you drown in doubt.  Then I see you resurface with new determination founded in unimaginable strength.  I’m not talkin’ physical strength, though you’ve got that in spades.  I’m talkin’ emotional and mental fortitude.  You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever met.  I know what lengths you’ll go through to protect the ones you love.  The ones who’ve earned your loyalty and respect, and I know I’m not one of those people, yet.  I’ve hurt you and yours too many times.  All I can do is promise you ‘never again’, and then prove it to you over and over until you believe.  You’re a helluva woman, Buffy Summers.  Our little girl is lucky to have you as her mum and I’m grateful to be in your life any way you’ll have me.”

Her fingers stilled in his hair, her eyes widened with shock.  Her surety he would reject her was written all over her face.  Her bold demands were too selfish for most to agree to.  They both knew it.  She expected him to tell her how wrong she was, call her a bitch, and then throw her out.  What she didn’t expect was his perceptiveness.  His compliments.  It occurred to him then, that no one complemented her much.  Sure, her Watcher might praise the skillfulness of her punches, but it would be quickly followed up by a critique of the power of her kicks.  Her friends told her thanks for being the Supergirl who saved the day, while their eyes covertly asked why she hadn’t saved everybody.  Her mother would smooth her hair and tell her what a beautiful girl she was, but the action hid a scream of pain, begging Buffy to just be normal.  No one ever told her she was wonderful without first qualifying it by telling her to be something better.

Even he wanted something from her she couldn’t give.  He wanted her to be more than a lover; he wanted her to be a beloved.  To return his affections with intensity equal to his own, even if she didn’t feel the same love he did.  He wanted her to crack into yet another facet of her multifaceted life where she was daughter, student, slayer, friend, and soon-to-be mother.  How many more pieces could she splinter into before she lost herself entirely?  He decided right then to never ask for more, but only accept what she could give.

Her face was soft as she looked down at him.  For all her protests, for all her denials, he could see she genuinely felt something for him.  She just didn’t want to admit it.  Or maybe, she couldn’t.  Her heart was still too damaged.

“And she’s lucky to have you as a father, because I have faith, despite what others may say, that you will love and protect her until your last.”

There was a thud in his chest.  It couldn’t be his heart, but it sure felt like it.  At the very least, regardless of everything else that lay between them like an open wound, this was something he could rest easy on.  She believed in his love for their child.  It may be in complete divergence from her obstinate creed that demons couldn’t love, but she believed it nonetheless.

His hands traveled up her arms, until his palms cupped her shoulders.  “To the end of the world, luv.  And she’s not the only one.”

Buffy’s heart swelled.  She tried to tell herself it was romantic nonsense.  That Spike couldn’t guarantee his love for her like he could their daughter, but the sincerity of his gaze dared her to call him a liar, and she couldn’t.  There was something so elemental in her response to him.  In her need.

It was terrifying.  The last time she was emotionally needy for a man, he ripped her world apart.  When most young girls lose their first loves, there are tears and copious amounts of ice cream to be eaten.  Some break-ups admittedly were worse than others, but mayhem and murder typically weren’t part of the equation.  Her affair with Angel not only robbed her of the beauty of a first love, but the healthy experience of a break-up to normalize her attitude towards relationships in general.  Instead, she got a Shakespearean romantic tragedy and a Tarantino slaughterhouse all in one.

It was something she could never experience again.  She didn’t have the strength Spike claimed she did.  It would break her.

“Were you brooding when I walked in because you knew Angel was in town?” she teased with hidden maliciousness.  She knew he hated to be compared to his grandsire.

“I don’t brood.”

“Hmm, dark room.  Whiskey.  Pouty lip.  Seemed like brooding to me.”

His ice blue eyes glittered from beneath his down swept lashes.  She didn’t fool him.  His speech had cracked her heart, and now she was trying to push him away before he could weasel his way in.

He slid his hands down, his palms sweeping over the satiny skin of her arms, until they landed on her hips.  He twined his forefingers into the belt loops of her jeans, so she couldn’t struggle away.  He rose from his haunches until he was fully on his knees and looked her in the eye.

“You’re a wicked woman, Buffy Summers,” he purred silkily.  He felt the shivers arc through her body as he spoke.  She could deny it all she wanted, but she was attracted to him, never more so than when he was at his most insidiously seductive.  “You want to beat me down to the floor and see if I’ll stay there.”  Her eyes widened, and he felt himself fall forward into pools of cool green.  “What you don’t know is that I don’t mind being on my knees for a woman.  I’m strong enough for it.  Besides, it puts my mouth level with the most interestin’ places.”

“Spike!” A dusky blush spread over her cheeks, and he could feel the heat of it through the silk blouse covering her breasts.  “That’s not what this is about at all.”

“Sure, it is.  It’s about strength.  You’ve got it and the other wankers in your life don’t.  I suspect your da ran for the same reasons.  Your mum is a helluva lady.  She’s a hot bird to handle.  Beat me over the head with a fire axe and told me where my place was the first time I met her.”  Buffy opened her mouth, but he cut her off.  “Don’t deny it.  She’s got us both wrangled.  Tellin’ us exactly how to behave, how to be good parents.  Suspect your da couldn’t deal bein’ in the house with two strong, independent women, so he ran.”

Buffy’s pout was a distraction.  He stared at her glossy, pink mouth as she spoke.  “I admit my father has his flaws and my mother can be difficult, but his leaving had nothing to do with us being too strong or independent.  We needed him.  We told him how much we needed him and he still left.”  He could hear the insecure little girl crying inside the woman who held herself before him with such innate poise.  He wanted to hold her close, and whisper reassurances, but he had more unwanted truths for her to hear.

“You weren’t willin’ to play weak to make him feel strong.  It’s why Angel left, innit?  He wasn’t strong enough to be your man.  Turned it around on you and said he dinna trust you not to be a temptation to him.  Blamed you for his lack of strength.”

“That’s just not true!”  Her eyes spat fire and his fingers tightened on her hips.

“He sure likes to keep you weak, doesn’t he?  Keeps you guessin’ ‘will he, won’t he’.  He tells you he loves you then proves it by makin’ sure you can neither be happy with or without him.  Bet this baby is just eatin’ him up on the inside.  Bet he told you it makes you weak.”

Buffy recoiled.  Angel had said that.  But surely he didn’t mean it in this context.  Surely, he just meant the baby was only a physical hindrance to her.  Didn’t he?  “That’s not true.  Angel left so I could have a family.  A husband who’d take me for picnics on sunny days and fat babies to love.”

“Sure.  A Joe Normal to resent how strong you are and babies to mourn you because you lived a life where you had no equal to watch your back.  This baby has a father strong enough to make sure mum has a fightin’ chance of getting back home to her every night.  And that’s what’s brassin’ Angel off.  That someone is fillin’ the void he’s too weak to fill himself.  Face it, Buffy.  Angel isn’t strong enough to love you.”

Buffy’s brow streaked white with anger.  How dare the bastard spew such arrogant nonsense at her?  “Angel loves me,” she spat with unquestioning conviction.  “He loves me so much he broke his own heart to give me something he couldn’t.  If you love someone you set them free.  He set me free to seek my own heart.”

“But that’s not the right of it, is it?  Your heart belongs to him.  I know you, Buffy.  You’d do anythin’ to be with him.  Vow of chastity?  No problem.  You’d live like a soddin’ nun, live and die your duty, if only you’d have him to come home to every night.  But he couldn’t do that for you.  Your strength, your will, your conviction to do whatever was necessary to keep your love alive only reflected his weaknesses back at him.  He didn’t stay by your side because he knew he didn’t have the same strength of will you possess.  He knew you’d always be the strongest and even with his lilywhite soul he couldn’t take it.”

Buffy’s heart thudded double-time in her chest, and her mouth was dry.  Spike was right.  She would have lived like a nun for Angel.  Her life was short.  She only had a handful of years, and she desperately wanted to live them out with the man she loved.  Sex didn’t matter to her.  It was the physical aspect of love, but it wasn’t the only way to express their devotion to each other.  If Angel stayed with her she would have showered him with love, every moment of every day. 

Why didn’t he stay for me?  Fight for me?  Love me?  Is he weak like Spike says?  Or did Angel not love as strongly or with equal conviction as she?  Was their love as tragically perfect as she thought it to be or was she just making excuses to protect her damaged heart?

Panic rose inside her like a wave, pressing against her throat, and cutting off her oxygen.  She had to escape before Spike tore away everything she had and rendered all her cherished beliefs to dust.  She squirmed in his arms, but Spike yanked her forward, forcing her knees apart so he could tuck himself in tight, his breath against her throat.

“I’m man enough to stay on my knees for a woman.  Not goin’ to let you run me off, because you’re afraid of losin’ control.  You wanna keep your pretty, little, booted heel on my throat so you know where I’m at all times, then you do it.  I don’t mind.  I like it.  ‘Cause at least I’m here with you, and if you’re keeping me beneath you, then you’ll know I’ll never leave.

“I’m not afraid!” she spat.

He gripped her hard, his arm an iron bar curving behind her back, cutting of her tirade before it could start.  “Yes.  You are.  You’re afraid that all men are weak.  That some way, some how, they’re evil.”

“That’s ridiculous!”

“No, it’s not.  It’s valid.  Your emotions are part of who you are and shouldn’t be brushed off because they don’t make perfect, logical sense to others.  Men have hurt you.  Your lovers have hurt you.  How could you possibly trust me when everythin’ you’ve ever been subjected to screams run!”

“Spike, I…” She looked away, drowning in his insight.

“I get it, Buffy.  I do.  This chip makes me safe.  It’s somethin’ concrete.  A bit of technology rooted in logic.  It’s not messy or imperfect like emotions.  The chip says I can’t bite, so I don’t bite, and there’s no maybe about it.  If I say I don’t bite, then it’s questionable, because my reasons are emotional, and emotion is fallible.”

“You’re not making any sense.  This is stupid.”  She tried to shove him away, but he was twined around her too tightly.  “You’re a vampire.  It’s your nature to bite!”

He wanted to recoil from the pain her words inflicted.  She would never accept what he was.  A vampire.  A creature that fed from her kind.  He pressed his brow to the sharp edge of her collarbone.  He wanted her to see who he was, but was it really fair of him to try to get her to separate him from his demon nature?  He was a vampire.  The fact would never change.  Nor did he want it to.  He liked being a vampire.  He liked the strength and power of it.  He liked knowing she could rely on his strength, emotionally and physically.  He just wished she could like it, too.

He blew out a gusty breath.  Their relationship was a battle, one that he wasn’t willing to concede.  Instead of withdrawing, he furrowed his fingers through her thick, honey hair, levering her face towards his so he could feel her warm breath on his cheek. 

His sharp blue gaze penetrated her deep and froze the flurry in her belly that told her to fight, to run before he said something he couldn’t take back.

“You’re afraid that my mind and flesh are weak.  You already know I’m evil, but you’re afraid that I can’t control myself.  That, like Angelus, I can’t control the evil inside.  You won’t give yourself over to me, because you fear you’ll have to end me.”

“I’ve done it before, and I can do it again,” she whispered shakily.  Her breath was a kiss on his lips, and he savored it.

“Of that I have no doubt, luv.  But that doesn’t mean you want to.  It doesn’t mean the thought of it don’t cut you up.  The whole bloody idea of it hurts you so bad you have to shut down just to survive the pain.”

Her eyes closed tight, squeezing out streams of tears down her cheeks.  Spike was a man of words, but Buffy was a woman of action.  All night people had been talking at her, but none of them were speaking a language she understood.  Buffy understood physicality and Spike knew this about his Slayer.

He brushed his lips over hers.  “I’m on my knees for you, Buffy.  For you and only you.  Forever,” he vowed.

His mouth crashed down on hers.  Her lips parted under his, and his tongue swept against hers in long, deep strokes that made her feel like he was trying to search out all her secrets.  She was exposed and raw under his gaze, but it wasn’t scrutiny she felt, it was worship.  She never experienced a man like Spike before.  He was so willing to surrender completely to her.  He was unconditionally, unequivocally hers.  Hers to command.  Hers to abuse.  Hers to dust.  Maybe if she was as strong as he claimed, he could be hers to love.

She squeezed her eyes tighter at the thought, and fresh tears rolled down her cheeks.  How could she even think of loving him?  How could she dare it?  She was afraid she barely had enough love for her child, but for this man as well?  Not just a man.  A vampire.  She didn’t know if it was possible even if she wanted to.  She didn’t have the reserves in her heart to do so.  There was something wrong with her.  Something broken that didn’t allow her to love like other people.  Maybe she used it all up on Angel.  All that fire and energy she put into trying to make them work until she suffocated under the weight of their love.  The fire inside her extinguished from lack of breath, and she doubted the flames would ever be rekindled.

Except for the first time in a long time, she felt like she could breathe.  Spike was breathing life into her.  He had no breath, but he was performing CPR.  Every vow, every promise from his mouth was breath to her soul and every kiss, every caress of his hands was rhythm to her heart.  She was deeply afraid that if she let him go she would fall down dead, but she was more afraid to pull him close.  Death was preferable to the possibility of betrayal.  She couldn’t take the chance he was resuscitating her heart to stab it dead again.

She wasn’t sure how, but the sneaky weasel had her shirt and bra undone and was working the snaps to her jeans.  His mouth alone was like a mind altering aphrodisiac.  He sucked on the pulse point in the hollow of her throat, his tongue flickering against her skin in tempo to the heartbeat in her ears.  He slid his mouth over her collarbone and down to capture her taut, sensitive nipple between his teeth.  She keeled low in her throat, arching into him as he tugged.  The pain was pleasure and made everything inside her tingle with awareness of the smallest caress.

“Stand up, so I can kneel before you proper like,” he rasped against her skin, pinching his fingers into her hips to prod her off the chair.  She stood and he hastily whipped her pants and panties down to mid-thigh.  She tried to shimmy out, but he stopped her, trapping her legs so they were pinned together tightly.

She stood before him, her torso naked and gleaming in the electric blue light.  The triangle of her cunny framed neatly by her golden thighs, her knees cinched tight by her jeans.  He knelt in front of her, his gaze worshiping her from her thighs to her beautiful, passion darkened eyes.

He licked his lips and something wet and hot clenched tight in her womb.  “Someday I’m gonna take you like this.  I’m gonna press you flat on my desk, and slide into you from behind, while your thighs are cinched tight and your quim is dripping.  Gonna be so fuckin’ tight.”  Her belly quivered and her clit tingled like it was being stroked.  “But not tonight.  Tonight I’m gonna worship you proper.  You keep me on my knees until you’re ready to let me up, kitten.”

She knew he was talking about more than just this one night.  He would stay on his metaphoric knees for a lifetime if that were what it took.  She couldn’t stop the thrill that went through her body at the power of it.  It was wrong, and a little dirty, but she liked seeing him kneeling before her.  She liked the idea of him being exactly where she wanted him, for exactly the reason he stated.  If she knew where he was at all times, then he could never leave her.

She swallowed hard, and watched as he swept his hands along the outsides of her thighs until they framed her pussy.  He stretched out his thumbs to peel open her folds to see her swollen pink pearl hidden inside.  He curled his tongue, behind his teeth in an unconscious gesture of his desire to taste her, to devour her, to consume every last drop of her.  She shivered at the intensity of it.  He leaned forward, burrowing his tongue along her cleft and deep into her pussy.  Her hips bucked against his mouth and her head fell back until her long, honey hair cascaded to the small of her back in waves.  The sensation of his cool tongue on the hottest part of her knocked the strength from her knees and she scrambled to latch one hand onto the corner of the desk, while the other buried itself into his soft hair to anchor him closer.

His insistent, clever tongue kept her folds pried apart, leaving his hands free.  He palmed the curve her thigh, his fingers finding the wet hollow of her pussy from behind.  His other hand danced along her ribs to cup her breast, the pad of his thumb brushing her aroused nipple.

She tried to wedge her thighs apart, but the tight denim thwarted her.  She growled, her nails scraping over his scalp.  He responded by nuzzling into her deeply, his tongue pressing almost ruthlessly against her sensitive nub.  Hot rivers of sensation ran up and down the length of her body, and she ached to have him inside her to quench the fire.  He felt so good, so perfect, she thought she might have found heaven.  If heaven was a hellfire of need and want beneath the skin.

She tugged his head away, and he looked up at her with glistening lips.  She ran her thumb over his chin, before pushing it into his mouth.  His lashes fluttered closed in delight as he sucked on her digit, scraping his teeth over the pad of her thumb.

“Take the rest of my clothes off,” she ordered huskily.  He complied without hesitation, unzipping her ankle boots and offering his shoulders as support as he yanked off her jeans.  She pulled him to his feet, herding him backwards towards his sprawling leather chair.  As they walked, she slipped the buttons loose on his tailored, silk shirt, spreading it wide so she could see the hard cut of his muscles and beauty of his milky skin.

 She kept her attention on the center of his chest, afraid to look him in the eyes.  She felt a flutter of nervousness in the pit of her stomach.  She wasn’t used to being the one in control during sex.  She had always been the led, not the leader.  She knew how contrary that was to her innate personality.  How could she ever think she could be anything other than the aggressor?  She was a leader by legacy, the Slayer, a general on the battlefield.  It was only right she take control in the bedroom as well.

The backs of his legs hit the edge of the chair, and she stopped him from falling backwards with a hand on his slick leather belt.  She took a deep breath and slowly drew her gaze along his gorgeous body to his beautiful eyes.  She was afraid of seeing condemnation for her aggressiveness, or worse, amusement at her expense.  Instead, she saw adoration and blazing-hot desire.

Something bloomed inside her.  There was the soft, luscious heat of lust, but there was something else as well.  Something indefinable.  It was bright and throbbing, making it hard for her to breathe.  This man was an addiction in her blood.  She could never give him up.

Her eyes locked with his, she slipped the tongue of his belt through the sliver buckle and undid his pants.  She let them fall to mid hip, just enough to free his straining erection.  She pushed on his laddered abs and he fell back into the chair in a bad boy slouch.  Years of experience had him automatically angling his hips towards the edge of the seat, so they would fit together comfortably.

She stared down at him.  The tails of his wine shirt fell to the sides, exposing the long length of his sculpted torso and the ridges of his six-pack abs.  He managed to peel back the corners of his trousers so they opened in a large vee, framing his long, pale cock that jumped with nervous excitement on the soft swell of his lower belly.

His eyes were hooded while he watched her, watching him.  His hair was tousled from her fingers, and his lips looked kissably soft.  She wished she could take a picture of him just then.  Something sweet and dirty to keep in a secret pocket of her wallet, so she could pull it out whenever she needed a bit of sin to make it through the day.  That’s what he was - sin, wicked enticement and deadly temptation.  Her own personal demon.

She knelt onto the chair, her knees on the outsides of his thighs.  She braced one hand on the back of the chair beside his head, reaching for the long length of his cock with the other.  She held him tight against her hot cleft, wetting the length of him in a sinful tease that left them both painfully unfulfilled.  She pressed the heart-shaped head of his cock over her swollen clit, gyrating in slow circles that enflamed her nerve-endings. 

Never once did she look away from his eyes.  She could see the entire cosmos inside the glittering sea of blue.  He looked at her like she was a goddess and he was her willing acolyte.  Her breath caught in her throat, when she realized she would be willing to burn all her beliefs to ash as long as he kept looking at her with such unrepentant awe.

Slowly she sank down until the thick head of his cock pushed past the tight cleft of her folds.  She stilled, holding him there in delicious torment, desperate to be swallowed to the root.  His jaw set, and a muscle ticked in his lean cheek.  A wicked smile curled at the corners of her pink lips as she squeezed.

“Fuck,” he groaned.  He broke their connection, throwing his head back against the chair, exposing the strained cords of his throat in submission.  He gripped her waist, his fingers dimpling her soft flesh as he tried to pull her down onto his bucking hips.  She resisted with ease and his tormented groans grew louder.

She pried his hands away from her waist and flattened them on the arms of the chair.  “Don’t touch,” she breathed.

She laid her hand flat on his belly, the heel of her palm pressing reprovingly against his groin.  He grit his teeth so hard she could hear the enamel scrape together, but he obeyed her command and stilled his desperate thrusts.

Once she was sure he would stay still, she moved; short, shallow rolls that worked only the head of his cock inside her tight cunny.  He was helpless beneath her.  The tendons in his neck stood out visibly, and all the muscles in his torso tightened until he looked like polished, diamond-cut marble.

Her pussy felt tight and empty at the same time.  She didn’t know whom she was teasing more, him or her.  She wanted desperately to sink down onto him completely, to fill the aching hollowness inside, but at the same time a buzzing sort of pleasure was trilling its way through her veins, centering at the exact point where only the most minimal of their flesh met.   

She caressed her own body, watching how his eyes flared as she cupped her breasts to tweak her nipples or slicked her fingers over her clit.  Her muscles quivered with delicious strain as she rolled her hips in short, controlled swirls that were only doable with strong, well-toned thighs.  Her skin was hypersensitive, and she could feel beads of sweat roll down her spine, into the cleft of her ass, to mingle with her hot essence that dripped teasingly down his cock.  She lifted her sweat-soaked hair off her neck, thrusting her rosy-tipped breasts forward, and pouted in just the way she knew he liked. 

Spike’s jaw slackened and the utter worship reflected in his gaze as he watched her move over him sent her spiraling off the edge into a mind-whitening orgasm.  She rocked down on him in desperation, filling up the empty hollow inside her with slick, hard strokes.  His groan of pleasure and relief reverberated in the room as she rode his cock with wanton ferocity.  At the far reaches of her consciousness she heard something tear, but it was discarded as unimportant as they shuddered around each other in orgasmic bliss.

She blinked back into awareness, realizing she was in Spike’s lap, his spent, but eager cock fully seated inside her, and her face pressed into the hollow of his throat.  She was melted onto his torso, and an apocalypse wouldn’t be able to peel her away.  He was panting heavily, lifting her with every breath.  She suppressed the giggle that trickled in her throat.  Spike’s unconscious urge to breathe was always amazing to her. 

She turned her head so she could lay her cheek on his shoulder.  Spike’s hands were still on the armrests, but his fingers were buried in soft, white fluff.  She smiled, pressing her lips against the strong curve of his shoulder.  He obeyed her.  Even in the mind-blanking throes of passion, he never took his hands off the chair to force her into a rhythm of his own making.  He allowed her complete, uncontested control.

They sat still for long minutes, their breathing harsh in the silent room.  Eventually, Buffy pushed herself upright, perching haughtily on his cock like she was a queen.  She lightly scraped her nails down his chiseled chest, curling into the thick thatch of hair where they were joined.

“Got me by the short and curlies, do you?”

“Do I?”

He didn’t say anything and a strange disquiet settled around her.

“What’s it say about me?”  She kept her eyes downcast.  Confessions were always easier when you weren’t looking someone in the eye.

“What’s that?” he probed softly.

“That I can’t stay away from you.  No matter my conviction.  No matter what others tell me.  I just can’t stay away.  You’re an addiction.”  God, it was true.  Angel warned.  Giles disapproved.  Xander hated.  And yet she couldn’t stay away.

“That hardly seems true.”  His tone was light, but she could hear the derision, the pain of her conditional acceptance.

Her fingers tightened in his curls.  He flexed against her and she clamped down with her inner muscles until he subsided.  She released him, placing her palms flat against his stomach and gliding them upwards over his chest and shoulders in a slow, admiring caress.  She studiously watched her hands, refusing to meet his eyes.  “I just can’t seem to stop touching you.  I know I should.  I push you away, then I find myself reaching for you again and again.”  She cupped her hands around the firm curves of his shoulders; her manicured nails leaving half-moon marks on his back.  “It isn’t hormones or a spell.  It’s just you, Spike.  And it scares me so bad.”

“Why, baby?”  His hands soothed down her arms, rubbing her as if she was cold and he could warm her.

Her eyes flew up to his, and they were full of tears.  “’Cause someday I might have to stop.”

He drew her closer, until their brows touched.  She closed her eyes against his gentleness.  She didn’t want to soften to him, but it seemed inevitable.  “’M not going anywhere.  Always gonna want you to touch me.  Always gonna want you.”

“Maybe, but someday something will happen, and I’ll have to push you away for good.”  He was right.  Goddamn vampire.  He was always right when it came to her.  The thought of having to push him away or worse…dusting him…the idea of it cut her up inside.  She resented him being around, but she wasn’t so sure she could live without him either.

“Never gonna happen, kitten.  Never gonna do anything to make you push me away.”

“I want you so bad, and I think….”

“What?”  His voice was soft, encouraging.  The devil leading her down the darkened path.

She opened her eyes so she could stare straight into his.  This was one confession that needed to be seen as it was.  “I think it might be a sin.”

His laugh was humorless, but his eyes sparkled.  “’T’s good thing I don’t go for that sort of rot.”  He wrapped her hair around his wrist and angled her head slightly to the side.  “Now, give us a kiss, baby and we’ll let…” He rolled his eyes skyward.  “’em sort it all out later.”

He crushed his mouth to hers and licked away all her doubt.  Right and wrong could be sorted out in the morning.  For now, it was just them.

Disclaimer:  I don’t own or profit from BtVS

 

 

Dawn of a New Age

 

 

Second Trimester

 

 

Chapter Fifteen

 

Chantilly damned the fact her rain slicker was bright, fire-engine red and tugged it tighter around her slender body.  The violent wind yanked the hem aside, and soaked her jean-clad thighs with icy rain that pelted her to the bone.  Her umbrella had long since been torn out of her hands, and her pale hair was plastered to her skull in long, scraggly skeins. 

The winter storm was wild.  Lightning and thunder crashed all around her, shorting out power lines and toppling aged oak trees.  The wind howled fiercely, and the rain sliced sidewise through the empty streets, small bullets seeking targets to shred.  Chantilly never dared to go streetside, even in weather guaranteed to keep everyone inside, but her youngest was ill and needed goat’s milk.  Barwin, the butcher, promised to keep his store open for the next hour, but the sewer access was flooded by the storm, leaving her no choice but to scamper along the sidewalks of Sunnydale.

Thunder clashed and a bright shock of lightning blinded her.  Dark-clad men came out of the darkness like the storm had a tongue, slithering their way around her, until she had nowhere to run.  Her scream ricocheted off the brick walls in the alley, dying a nasty death beneath a crash of thunder.  She tried to keep her human guise in place, but her terror was too great, and her demon flickered to the forefront.  She frantically fought off the men, but her arm- and spine-barbs were mostly decorative, and the delicate spurs of bone snapped under their rough handling.

“Use a tranq.  A taser will electrocute us all in this damn rain,” a rough voice ordered.  Something sharp jabbed her thigh.  She kicked out, her foot connecting with a meaty thunk.  The man grunted, but didn’t go down.  She wasn’t surprised.  She might have been a demon, but her kind had roughly the strength of humans.  She was no match for these men.

Her vision blurred and her knees felt weak.  She slumped against the man holding her.  Her last thoughts were of her broodlings she left with a neighbor.  Mrs. Coush would undoubtedly call Ryana when she didn’t return.  She would tell the Boss, and her broodlings would get looked after.  She just hoped someone would know to get goat’s milk for Kanshe before his fever grew worse.

Chantilly awoke to find herself being hauled between two men, her toes dragging on slick, tiled floor.  She drowsily lifted her head, but couldn’t see much beyond the fall of her thick hair.  The light was blinding, the walls glaringly white.  She jerked in sudden panic.

“No, please.  Let me go.  I haven’t done anything wrong.  I’m peaceable.  I don’t hurt anyone.  Please, stop.  Don’t hurt me,” she begged in an endless torrent of terror.

She tried to dig her heels in, but they dragged her along mercilessly.  “Please, I have to get back---.“  She was jerked upright to stare into the face of a sneering man.

“Get back to what?  Your nest?  Don’t worry about it, Sweetcakes.  We’ll have it cleaned out in no time.”  She choked in terror.  They couldn’t possibly know where she lived, could they?  There was no way they could track her back to her apartment.  Her entire building was inhabited by family-friendly demons.  The only way the humans could know about them was if someone informed on them.  There wasn’t anyone who would dare do something so…demonic.  She swallowed back her tears.  What if there was a human sympathizer in the building?  Someone who struck a deal to keep their family safe by trading in others?

The man gripped her arm hard, pinching her skin.  She blinked back her tears, watching with sick dread as he swept the length of her body, noting how her clothes clung to her wet, lithe frame.  “For a demon you aren’t half bad.  If it wasn’t for your coloring, and the demonic energy you put out, I’d think you were human.”

“Please…” she pleaded from between bloodless lips.  She didn’t like how he was looking at her one bit.

“Knock it off, Forrest.  No fraternizing with the HSTs.”  The man gripping her other arm was harsh and unrelenting.  When he looked at her he didn’t see a feeling creature.  He saw an animal.

“Who said anything about fraternizing, Finn?  What I was thinking wouldn’t be considered friendly.”  He fingered the torn sleeve of her blouse.  His teeth were very white against his dark skin.

Another man moved around in front of them to key open the door to a prison cell.  His face was impassive, but his blue eyes swept over Forrest with an air of distanced disgust.

Finn’s fingers tightened on her arm, and she whimpered.  He pivoted on his heel so he could look over her head to his partner.  “I know exactly what you’re thinking.  It’s perverse.”

“Nah, c’mon.  It’s not like they feel anything.”  His thumb smoothed over the bare skin on her arm.  The door to the cage opened, and Finn yanked her inside.

“They’re animals, not inanimate objects.  It’d be like fucking sheep.  You a sheep fucker, Forrest?”

The black man’s face twisted into carefully controlled rage as he faced his superior officer.  “No, sir.” 

Chantilly could see the sickness of anger and jealousy churning inside the man’s soul.  His aura was dark with it.  He resented having to answer to the one called Finn, and he hated her and her people with a madness that was palpable.  She slunk away from the door as they marched off without a second glance her way.

The third man turned to leave, but was distracted by something stuck to his heel.  As he pulled it off to glance at it, Chantilly knew immediately what it was.  She whimpered low in her throat, and his piercing blue eyes swung towards her.  She covered her mouth with her hands, afraid her sobs would draw the wrong kind of attention from him.

He stepped closer to the door and a spasm of terror shuddered through her frame.  He placed the item in the food slot and pushed the drawer open to her.  Hesitantly, she reached inside the drawer and pulled out the photograph of her and her broodlings she always kept inside her blouse.  It was something to remind her of why she worked so hard, doing a job she hated.

“You should hide that,” he told her softly.

She swallowed hard and nodded.  His fingers danced over a panel and the door to her cell became opaque. 

Graham watched through the one-way glass as the demoness clutched her photograph between her clasped hands and knelt beside the bed.  Forrest hadn’t been wrong.  She really was beautiful, with skin the color of thick cream and light pink hair.  Her eyes were an iridescent blue that glowed like gas lamps in the dark.  Down her arms and spine in a single, subtle line were tiny scales the color of dusky roses that hid hollow bone spurs that were as delicate as a bird’s.

She wasn’t made for fighting, but for something else entirely.  Even her human guise was beautiful.  Summer wheat hair and satiny skin, a pink mouth he imagined looked sweet as honey when she smiled.  She wasn’t doing any of that now.  Her tears left faint traces of cloudy blue on her apple cheeks.

Her voice was husky, but he thought that might be from the screaming.  Her screams sounded like a human woman’s.  High, sharp, and terrified.  She was terrified – of them, of this place, of what they were going to do to her.  What they would do to her children if they found them.

Graham hadn’t known about demons or vampires or anything else that went bump in the night before being assigned to the Initiative.  There wasn’t a lot of nightlife in the small town of Addison, Texas, which is why he joined the Army in the first place.  Now he wished he hadn’t.  Demons were one thing; women and children were another.  He never went to the level beneath them where they housed the children.  He couldn’t stomach it, no matter what Walsh said about them being nothing more than animals.  Graham grew up on a fully functioning cattle ranch.  He knew about animals.  How to feed them, how care for them, and how to slaughter them.  He never once opened them to rearrange their innards, whipping up something brand new.

The demoness was praying.  He didn’t know if it was to his God or not.  For all he knew it could be to some Hell deity, but her words sure sounded human enough.  She prayed for her children’s safety, using her own life as a bargaining chip.  He wondered how many women, human and demon, the world over, prayed for their babies to make it through the tragedy of war.

Is this what this is?  War?

There was no enemy beating at their doors.  There were no drawn battle lines.  The only time there was a conflict was when they went out and hunted their quarry.  There were no enemy soldiers.  There was no identifiable leadership.  So if they weren’t engaged in war, then what exactly were they doing?

Frowning, he turned on his heel and strode away.  There wasn’t a bottle, Bible, or battle that could distract his mind from the atrocities he’d seen since coming here.

888888

“If that woman pressed the wand any harder into my belly, I swear I woulda peed all over the bench.”

Spike smiled down at Buffy as she spoke animatedly.  He pulled her closer to his chest as they walked.  His arm was over her shoulders, while hers was around his waist, her dainty hand tucked into his back pocket.  It had been two months since their confrontation at his club, and since then their relationship had flourished.  Spike knew Buffy wasn’t one hundred percent committed, but she wasn’t fighting them either.  He could tell she was in a holding pattern.  Subconsciously, she was waiting for him to betray her.

For his part he did his best to be supportive, caring, and downright worshipful.  He was still on his metaphoric knees for her, and he was happy enough to stay there.  As long as he was in her orbit and near their Li’l Bit he was as happy as he could be.  Even if he did feel unfulfilled.  Even if he did long to be loved by her.

Of course, he wasn’t completely under her thrall.  If he was, he wouldn’t have contacted a neurosurgeon in Los Angeles and made an appointment to get the chip out next week.  He knew it was a mistake getting the chip out, but it had to be done.  More demons were snatched off the streets every day and it was only a matter of time before someone came for Buffy and the baby.  Who could pass up the chance to possess the Chosen One and her miraculous demon spawn?  He closed his eyes against the shiver of dread that vibrated through his body at the thought.

“You okay, honey?”  He opened his eyes and stared down into her clear green ones.  She was so beautiful, and he was going to lose her.  He had no idea how long he would be able to keep the secret of his chip removal from her – maybe years, if he was lucky.  Precious stolen moments, before she would undoubtedly find out.  Such was his luck.

“Just a spot of sympathy for you, luv.  I know they needed your bladder full to get good photos, but it must have hurt holding it so long.  You piss every five minutes it seems.”

“Gee, thanks,” she said drily, nudging him in the shoulder.  They wobbled a few steps, but they soon straightened out with a chuckle.   She pulled out a length of sonogram photos to study them. 

When she found out, he would lose this: her trust, her laughter, her presence in his life.  Maybe he would even lose the Niblet.  But he couldn’t take the chance with their safety.  Being removed from their lives would be traumatically painful to him, but worth it if he could keep them safe, even if it was at a distance.

Her smile dimmed as she rubbed her thumb over one of the pictures.

“Worried about the amniocentesis?” he asked perceptively.

She shrugged, stubbornly silent.

“I’m sure it’s nothing.  Just standard procedure,” he tried to reassure her.  She pulled away, and coldness spread along his ribs where she had been.

“No.  It’s not.  Only if you are over thirty-five or they think there might be genetic problems.”  Her empty hand fisted along her thigh as she stared intensely at the photos of their baby.  She looked like she was trying to see fangs.  All he saw was perfection.

“We heard her heartbeat,” he reminded.  “She healthy and strong.  She’s….human.”

Buffy stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, still staring at the photos.  Spike watched her with trepidation.  Non-pregnant Buffy wasn’t the poster child for stability; pregnant hormone Buffy was a ticking time bomb.

“We got some great pictures though.  I can’t wait to show them to Mom and the girls.” 

Spike’s heart clenched.  She was avoiding.  She wasn’t convinced their child was normal.  He wondered what that would mean for them further down the line; if it would affect Buffy’s relationship with their daughter, with him.  They started walking again, and he was relieved when she let him tuck her back under his arm.

Joyce was enthusiastic about the baby, but Spike was surprised by how supportive Willow and her new bird Tara were being.  Even Demon Girl was in on the fun.  There was something about babies that brought women together.  Xander had been conspicuously absent the last few months.  He knew Buffy was deeply hurt by his defection, more so by her watcher’s aloof acceptance.  Spike shook his head.  It seemed the men in her life were destined to disappoint her.

“I’m so glad we confirmed we’re having a girl,” Buffy continued while fingering their baby’s profile.  The pictures were surprisingly crisp.  They could see her little nose and mouth, her fingers and toes.  In one picture she was sucking her thumb.  Even he thought it was damned adorable, and he didn’t go in for all that baby rot.

“We already knew that.”  He smiled at her, and his heart warmed when she returned it.

“I know.  But it’s nice to have it confirmed.  Mystical knowledge notwithstanding, it’s good to have science back it up.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, thinking about her reliance on his chip to keep him in line.

She fidgeted, making a show of putting the photos carefully in her purse.  He cast her a sideways glance.  He knew all her quirks now.  His Slayer had something on her mind.

“Hot cocoa?”  She pointed at the Espresso Pump, and he nodded.  Hmm, a distraction technique.  She must be nervous about what she wanted to say.  The line was minimal in the early evening and it only took them a few moments to get their order.  They walked out with a cocoa for her and black coffee for him.  Their path would take them to the outskirts of town where they would circle back to Revello Drive.  Although she was five months along, looking like she was seven, she insisted on taking daily walks to keep healthy.  The doctor also told her that it was a good way to prepare for the birth.

“Mom and I are going to the store.”

“Mmmhmm.”  Where could this possibly be going?

“To, you know, buy stuff.”

He quirked a brow.  “That is typically what one does at a store.”

She turned a pretty shade of pink all the way down the line of her neck.  “To buy baby stuff.”

“Oh.”  He didn’t know what to say.  Was she asking him for money?  He was more than happy to buy all the ‘stuff’ she could possibly need.  He’d be overjoyed to contribute in any way.

“Didja want to come?”

“Where?” he asked, bewildered.

“To the store, dummy,” she nudged him with her elbow, gifting him with her thousand watt smile.  He was unconvinced.

“The baby store?” he asked slowly, and she nodded.  “Where there are….babies?”  He wanted to help out, but this was a horribly bad idea.  He could give her wads and wads of cash.  Hell, if she gave him a day or two, he could get her a secured card in her name if she wanted, but a store…..with babies…

She laughed, then groaned, reaching beneath her belly when she shook her abused bladder too hard.

“There may be babies there.  It’s not like you have to touch them or anything.  Besides, ours is going to be here soon.  You should start to get used to them.  Or, you know…be able to look at one without wigging.”

He was embarrassed and uncertain.  He wanted to shove his hands in his pockets, but she was still snuggled up under his arm and there was no way he was giving that up.

“Did you really want me to go, kitten?” he asked her softly.

She cuddled in closer to him, and when she nodded, he could feel her cheek rub across his chest.  “Yeah.  You can help pick out the crib and stuff.”

He snorted.  “Oh, I won’t be havin’ a say ‘bout that.  You and your mum will sort it out just so.”

She giggled, but didn’t contradict him.

“So, we should start thinking about names.”  She was fidgeting again.  He couldn’t imagine whatever was on her mind could be worse than dragging him along for baby shopping.  She rubbed her extended belly.  She looked like she’d swallowed a basketball.  Her frame was so slight that her baby bump looked huge.  Spike noticed her starting to soften in other places.  Her thighs had thickened, and her delectable arse was rounder.  He wasn’t stupid enough to mention it to her, even though he privately thought it was sexy.  He had no problem telling her what he thought about her lusciously enlarged tits.  Especially when he was playing with them.  She was sensitive and soft everywhere.  Even her puss was enlarged and swollen.  It was pure, bloody bliss as far as he was concerned.

“I was thinking this was going to be the only baby either of us will ever have,” Buffy told him quietly.  He looked down at her, but all he saw was the top of her bowed head.  The idea of not having any more children didn’t bother him.  Hell, he never expected to have one.  He was more than grateful for what he had.  He wondered if Buffy wanted more.  If before her calling she had dreamed of a houseful of rugrats in the suburbs and a man who worked a nine-to-five in the city.  That didn’t seem very Buffy-like, Slayer or not, but who was he to question a woman’s dreams?

“Probably.  Leastways for me.”

She ducked under his arm, coming to an abrupt stop.  “What does that mean?” she asked sharply.

His face was unreadable as he turned to face her.  He wasn’t sure what he said to brass her off, but her eyes where shooting green sparks of fire.

“Vampire.”  He motioned towards himself.  “Highly doubtful I’ll be a baby-daddy a second time.”  He smiled, but the thin line between her brows told him she didn’t think he was cute.

“Meaning, I might.”

“Become a baby-daddy?” he teased.

“Have another child,” she said coldly.

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his leather duster and set his shoulders.  “Well, it’s inside the realm of possibility, innit?  You being human and all.”

“Let’s put aside the fact that I’m not entirely human.  Hello.  Slayer.  I have a soon-to-expire date on my ass---“

“No,” he growled, cutting her off.  She blinked as he invaded her space.  He seemed to loom over her, though he was only a few inches taller.  His face was a mask of merciless intent.  “You’re gonna live a nice long life as long as I’m around.”

“My point, exactly!”  She shoved his chest, dislodging him a few steps.

He kinked his head to the side.  “What’s this?”

One hand flew to her hip, her toe tapping on the sidewalk.  “If I’m having other babies then you aren’t around, are you?” she accused.  Her lower lip wobbled, and he blinked in surprise.  She was upset!  Upset about him not being around.  What a revelation!

He reached out, gripping her soft, rounded hip, and pulling her to him.  He brushed his fingers along her cheek, before furrowing them into her hair to lever her face to his.  He leaned forward until his lips were a bare, butterfly caress on hers.  He could smell the chocolate on her breath.

“Always gonna be here, kitten, even when you don’t want me anymore.  Even,” he emphasized harshly, “if you decide on someone better than me to have babies with.”

She braced her hand on his chest when he pulled her close, and now it drifted downward to tangle her fingers in his belt loops.

“Who could be better than you?” she breathed in a rare moment of personal honesty.  Those moments were becoming more frequent and although they warmed his unbeating heart, he knew better than to point them out - especially when he couldn’t quite bring himself to believe them.  Spike was under no illusion that Buffy wouldn’t very well decide to kick him to the curb someday.  Most likely right after he got his chip removed.

When that happened – and he had no doubt it would – he would still be faithful to her.  He would stay as close to her as she would allow, watch her back in battle, and see her safely home each night.  Even if that home was filled with brats and another man who loved her.  It would kill him slowly and painfully, but he would never leave her.  At least Buffy and his sprog would be safe.

“My point exactly,” he said lightly and rubbed his lips across hers in a delicate kiss.  She pulled him closer, but he bounced off her belly.  He tried to keep his amusement to himself, but he couldn’t stop his lips from smiling under hers.  She pushed him back with a huff, and stalked off a few steps before stopping.  She waited with aloof expectation, as he tucked her back under the shelf of his arm.

They walked a little ways, her nibbling her bottom lip before speaking again.

“Anyways, what I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted.”  He snorted, and she continued undaunted.  “I thought her name should be something from both of us.  Like both our mom’s names together.  You know, like a legacy or something.”

She shot him a quick little glance from under her lashes.  Something hollow knocked in his chest and he had to swallow a few times before he could answer.

“That would be lovely, pet,” he breathed.  For the first time in a long time he thought about his mother.  How beautiful and kind she had been.  How much they loved each other.  How he had destroyed everything good and pure in her for his own selfishness.  He nearly doubled over at the pain of it.  Would he do the same to this family as well?  Was he destined to ruin everything he touched?

She smiled shyly up at him, clearly relieved.  He wondered what she thought happened to his human family.  He could tell she was hesitant to bring it up.  Liam had murdered his entire family and village.  Had her precious Angelus ever shared that tidbit with her?

“What was your mother’s name?”

“Anne.”

“Oh.”  She frowned and looked away.  He had mentioned he liked her middle name and now she knew why.  It had been his mother’s.  “Anne’s a family name.  It’s my mother’s middle name as well.”

“So shall it be our Niblet’s middle name then?”

“Yeah, I think that would be great.”  She frowned in concentration.  “We need a first name though.  I was thinking Joy.  You know, because she’ll bring us joy.”

“So she does.  Joy Anne,” he tried it out.

Buffy’s brows snapped together.  “That sounds like JoAnne.  I definitely don’t like that.  I knew a little rat-faced brat in third grade named JoAnne.”

Spike chuckled.  “Not Joy then.  Don’t want you thinkin’ our bundle of joy is rat-faced.”

She wrinkled her nose at him.  They walked arm in arm as he carefully steered her around the puddles left by the storm.  They passed a crew working on the power station.  The storm blew over an old tree and it crashed through the tall chain link fence and destroyed a transformer.  Half of Sunnydale was without power at the moment.  His PC had crashed during the storm.  Chrysie, a sex-pot of a demon that worked for him, was an absolute genius with electronics and his unofficial tech nerd.  She had reamed him a second arsehole for not having it set up on a surge protector.  His entire hard drive was fried, and all his electronic business records were lost.  It was a good thing he was an old-fashioned vamp and had most of them printed out in hard copies.

“So maybe just Anne?”  She looked at him, and he nodded.  “Summers?” she asked quietly, glancing down to pick at the clean curve of her nails.  He didn’t say anything and she went into overdrive.  “I know that it’s traditional that the baby’s last name be the father’s, but I just don’t think it would be a good idea.  And I rather---“

He brought them to a halt, placing a finger to her mouth.  “Summers is fine.  My human name is long gone.  It doesn’t matter to me anymore.  I’m just thankful you’re including me at all.  I never thought I would get the chance….Me mum.”  Tears burned his eyes and he was incredulous.  Unless he was rat-arsed, he rarely cried, especially not over something so sentimental.  He realized now how much he missed his mother.  How much he missed having a family.

She moved into his arms, and her rounded belly brushed his belt buckle.  She laid her cheek on his chest as he embraced her.  He had all he ever wanted right in his arms.  Names didn’t matter, not really.  All that mattered was that they were happy and healthy, and that they were together.

“Did you want to sleep at my place tonight?”

She smiled at him.  “Alright.”

He held her tight as they continued to walk.

Disclaimer:  I don’t own or profit from BtVS

A/N:  Thank you to all who have stuck with this story.  I know it’s been pretty boring, but it’s going to start ramping up here soon and all those lovely threads are starting to come together.  I hope you all continue to enjoy!  Happy Reading!

Dawn of a New Age

Chapter Sixteen

Buffy stared at the phone.  It was such an innocuous thing, a white cordless handheld with beige highlights.  She noted that it looked a little dingy.  It probably hadn’t been wiped down for years.  Great way to catch the flu, she thought while pulling a disinfectant wipe out of the tube her mom kept under the kitchen sink.  She hastily wiped down the phone, glancing at the dirty cloth before tossing it out.  Great, motherhood is catching.  Wiping down anything with a disinfectant cloth was something she had never done before getting pregnant; now she looked at her home like it was a breeding ground for illness.  No wonder Mom freaks when I track in mud.  Children are like a walking disease vector.  Shaking her head ruefully, she sat back down at the kitchen island to stare at the phone some more.

Don’t be a chicken.  Pick it up and dial.

She glanced at the clock.  Spike would be arriving soon, and her mother was still upstairs putting on her make-up.  This was her last chance.  Just do it!  She snatched up the phone and dialed the number she knew by heart.  It rang and she almost hung up.

“Hello.”

Buffy froze, her voice locked in her throat.  Her fingers curled around the phone and the plastic casing groaned in protest.  The sound released her, and she was able to squeeze a squeak past her tight larynx.

“Hey, Xander.”

There was a pause on the line and Buffy felt the hellmouth open up and swallow her.  She hung her head and told herself not to cry.  She would not be a hostage to her hormones!

“Hey, Buffy.  You okay?  Apocalypse looming on the horizon?”

“No.  No apocalypse.  Can’t I just call you?”  She pressed the back of her delicate wrist to her suddenly blurry eyes and waited through another heavy pause.

“I don’t know.  Can you?”  His tone was quiet and bitter, two things she wasn’t used to having directed at her from Xander.  He was her best male friend.  He stood by her side during every apocalypse, helping her to face down every Big Bad that rolled into Sunnydale.  Hell, they survived high school and Snyder together.  He had literally breathed life back into her.  She loved him, and she disgusted him.

“So what’s new with you?” She tried for perky, but it came out sounding more like a choked chicken.

“Nothing.”

“Oh.”  She bit her lip.  “Still working in construction?”

“Yeah.”

She picked at the edge of the Formica.  “So, listen.  I’m having a painting party tomorrow.”

“A what?”  For the first time, she heard genuine interest in his voice, and she perked up.

“A painting party,” she replied brightly.  “It’s when you paint the baby’s room and put the crib and stuff together.  I thought you might want to come.”

“Oh.”  Buffy didn’t think a single syllable could hold so much disappointment.  “I don’t know.  I might have to work.”

“But it’s Saturday.”  Yep, she was gonna cry.  She was a hostage to her hormones.

“Overtime.”  He clipped off the word with enough force that Buffy nodded automatically in response, though he couldn’t see her.

“Oh, okay.  Maybe, if you don’t have to work...” she trailed off uncertainly.

“Sure, Buffy.  I’ll see what I can do.  See you around.”

“Bye,” she said, but he had already hung up the phone.  She pulled the handset away from her ear and stared down at the blurry, glowing buttons.  The front doorbell rang, and she set down the phone and hurried to the sink to rinse her scalding eyes with cool water.  Once she was sure she had her emotions under control, she wiped her face with a paper towel.  She pasted on her best fake smile and headed for the door to greet her kinda boyfriend slash baby-daddy.

8888

Spike had never been more freaked in his life.  The store was huge.  It was bright, white, and clean.  It reminded him way too much of the Initiative labs, except for all the cutsie crap shoved in every conceivable corner.  It was like some gigantor baby had crapped teddy bears all over the place.

He was sure the florescent lighting was making him look deader than usual because all the superfluously happy women lost their smiles when they saw him, and their browbeaten men herded them away.  He glanced down at his clothes.  He was wearing his standard black jeans and tee, but as a concession he had left his leather duster in the car.  Apparently, even chipped he gave off an aura of badassness.  The smile that curled at the corners of his lips was pure wickedness. 

Joyce and Buffy were undeterred at being in his evil presence.

He eyed them as they squealed over a matching pink and spring green crib set that spouted butterflies and honeybees.  He trailed behind them obediently, mumbling his opinion when asked, but it was clearly only for show.  Joyce and Buffy were the ones making all the decisions, and he absolutely had no problem with that.  Firstly, he had no idea what it took to care for a child, and secondly he could give a good goddamn what the nursery colors should be.  A sales assistant stalked behind them, honing in for the kill.  These women weren’t shopping; they were buying.  Spike quickly calculated the remaining credit on his business Visa, just in case the couple thousand in cash he brought wasn’t enough.

Several hours later Spike was shell-shocked.  He had no conceivable idea of the plethora of crap it took to care for one tiny human being.  Cribs, bedding, car seat, stroller, play pen, diaper bags, diapers, lots of diapers, bottles, warmers…a breast pump.  What the bleedin’ hell!  That was a scary looking contraption, and he didn’t want it anywhere near his bits.  And that was just for the first few months.  Soon they would need a highchair, bibs, bouncies, and what the fuck ever.  It went on and on and on.

The upside was everything was so bloody soft.  Spike spent twenty minutes in the bedding section fondling swaddling blankets.  The only reason he left was because he noticed several women glaring at him like he was the local pervert hanging out at the playground.

He settled himself in one of the ergonomically correct rocking chairs.  He was definitely buying one of those.  His back never felt better.  Other fathers drifted in and out of the area, and they exchanged nods of wearied forbearance.  Some were clearly more experienced in shopping etiquette and brought their phones or magazines to entertain themselves while they waited for their wives to spend their money.

Spike was relieved when it was time to check out.  He took out his wallet, convinced that this was his entire purpose for being there.  Buffy curled her fingers around his bicep, waylaying him before he could reach the shop girl.  She looked up at him with wide green eyes that made her look young and innocent, and Spike tried his damndest to not lean into her touch.  He wasn’t embarrassed by how much she turned him on, but sometimes it was a disadvantage.  It was hard to assert himself when all he wanted to do was get on his knees and lick her heady.  She flicked her tongue over her pink, glossy lips, and he shuddered.  It was more of a disadvantage when she was so completely aware of his weakness.

“You don’t have to pay.  Mom can take care of it.”  He cut a sharp glance at Joyce, but she had tactfully wandered off to look at onesies claiming that she was the ‘World’s Best Grandma’.

“We’ve talked about this, kitten.  This is what I can do for you.”  He drew her closer, until their brows nearly touched.  “I want to.  I need to.”

Her face was soft, and he could hear her breath catch in her throat.  He nuzzled her cheek, relishing the satiny feel of her skin.  “Let me.”

“Okay,” she exhaled shakily.  “If you think you can afford it.”

He brushed his lips over hers.  “Business is good, kitten.”

Her eyes flashed just like he knew they would, and he had to shift his weight as his cock hardened.

“The exploitation of women—“

He swooped in, kissing her hard.  She resisted at first, before melting into him.  When he knew she would be too breathless to protest he pulled away. 

“That reminds me.  The girls want you to swing by so they can give you a shower.”

Her mouth gaped.  “But I’m already going to have a shower,” she protested, a little embarrassed.  Had she made a faux pas by not inviting the women from Spike’s club? She had gotten to know them marginally, since she started visiting Spike at the club some nights, but somehow she couldn’t imaging her mother and Giles in the same room as strippers.  And God only knew what kind of rant Willow would descend into.

“I know.  It’s just somethin’ small.  They wanted to give you some gifts is all.  I told them I’d talk to you.  Now.”  He slapped her sharply on the ass and she squeaked.  “Go.  Let me do this, woman.”

She flashed him a dirty look and sauntered off to her mother.  Grinning, he turned to the counter, and opened up his wallet as the sales associate greeted him cheerily.

“I need two of everything,” he told her.  “One set sent to this address.”  He filled out the Revello Drive delivery forms.  “And the second set to this address.”  He filled out his own address.  He wanted his home to be as baby friendly as possible.  He hadn’t officially asked Buffy to move in, but she spent most nights with him.  He didn’t want that to stop once the baby came.  He wanted both his girls with him as much as possible. 

The shop girl’s eyes gleamed as she collected the disgustingly exorbitant amount of money from him.  Spike made a mental note to tell Anya that bank could be made in the selling of baby goods.

88888

Buffy hurried to the door with a bright smile on her face.  It melted away when she saw only Anya on the other side.

“Xander couldn’t make it, then?”

For the first time in their acquaintance, the ex-vengeance demon looked nervous.  “I’m uncomfortable with the concept of lying.  Please don’t ask me about Xander.”  She thrust a platter towards Buffy.  “I made cookies shaped like teddy bears.”

“T-thank you.”  Buffy scrambled to take the platter without dropping it.

Anya frowned, dropping her eyes.  “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Buffy told her firmly and lifted her arm to motion her inside.  Anya took the opening to give her a brief, but fierce hug.  Buffy was surprised.  Anya was only ever physical with Xander.  It was a testament to how upset she was over his behavior.

She led Anya into the kitchen where the others were gathered.  Willow and Tara sat at the island, arranging different trays of goodies, and Anya walked over to stand next to them.  Buffy shot a small smile at Spike, who had found the furthest corner of the kitchen to shove himself into when it became clear he was the only male in a sea of estrogen.  Joyce hung up the phone just as Buffy glided to a stop beside the counter to place Anya’s cookies with the rest of the goodies.

“That was Mr. Giles, dear.  I’m afraid he’s not able to make it.”  Joyce’s smile dispersed as soon as she saw her daughter’s haunted look.  She hadn’t realized Mr. Giles’ presence was so important to the young woman.

“Oh.”  Buffy’s response was subdued.  Anya twitched at the counter as she was reminded of Xander’s defection.

Willow shot a quick, panicked look at her girlfriend.  Ever steady, Tara stood up and gently took Buffy’s arm.

“Why don’t you show us the baby’s room?  Willow and I have been working on some really beautiful protection symbols to work into the design we showed you.  If it’s alright with you, maybe we can add them?”

Buffy shot the young witch a watery smile.  “That would be really nice, Tara.”

Willow darted to her best friend’s side with a bright smile that was only a little brittle around the edges.  “Of course!  We want our niece to be the safest baby ever.”

Buffy heard the possessive ‘we’ and felt a little buzz at what it meant for her best friend.  Tara was new to their group, but Buffy suspected her relationship with Willow was serious.  She had been shocked when Willow announced she was dating a woman.  Truly, it was less of an announcement and more of a surprise.  Willow couldn’t explain away their closeness as friendship when Buffy caught them in bed together at the dorm room the girls used to share.  Buffy had forgotten some things after moving back to her Mom’s house, and thinking that Willow was in class had used her key to let herself in.  And, wow, was that an image that would never be burned out of her brain.  Needless to say, Willow admitted that while she wasn’t sure if she was gay, she definitely loved Tara.  Buffy had wordlessly nodded.  It wasn’t that she disapproved of Willow’s choice to be in a same sex relationship, she was just caught off guard by it.  After all, Willow had been dating definitely boy-shaped Oz only a few weeks prior.  But over the last few months, Tara had become a permanent fixture at Willow’s side, and Buffy found herself enjoying the young woman’s company as well.  Willow, Tara, Anya and Buffy had become fast friends, something Buffy desperately needed during this rough emotional time.

 Buffy was jealous of how easily Willow seemed to commit to her relationship, even as the outside pressure to conform increased.  Buffy knew for a fact that the Rosenburgs didn’t know about Tara for the sole reason that Willow would be disowned.  Willow’s parents were staunchly conservative, and the thought of their only child in a homosexual relationship might actually cause the normally unruffled household to implode.

Yet even though Willow knew disaster loomed on the horizon and she could potentially lose the love and support of her family, she persisted in her relationship with Tara, because Willow loved Tara.  That was reason enough to risk everything.  It didn’t matter to Willow that Tara was a woman.  It didn’t matter that some thought their relationship was a perversion.  None of it mattered, because for Willow the thought of living without Tara was far more devastating than being a social outcast.

Willow had reserves of strength Buffy could only marvel at.  Buffy could see how easy it was to love Tara.  She was a wonderful, beautiful, and kindhearted person.  There wasn’t an evil bone in her body.  She would sooner cause herself harm than hurt another living creature.  Tara was someone worth risking it all for.

Buffy glanced hard at Spike, who watched from the corner of the room.  He seemed to find the deepest shadows, even in the afternoon light, and swathe himself in them.  Even ensconced in the bright, cheery kitchen, surrounded by domestic bliss, there was no denying his true nature.  Spike was unquestionably a monster, and Buffy had to wonder whether or not he was worth risking everything for.  Was the happiness he brought her now worth the unhappiness that was sure to follow?

She concentrated on the witches, determined to push down the sad disappointment lingering behind her breastbone. 

“So did you guys bring the design?”

“Yep!”  Willow flourished a square of paper from her purse, which she unfolded.  Flanked by the best trio of young women any girl could hope to be friends with, they ‘oohed’ and ‘ahhed’ over the design the witches swore they could replicate on the nursery walls.  If Buffy was a little subdued, they didn’t comment on it.  Instead, they redoubled their efforts to make the mother-to-be smile.

 

Joyce and Spike were left in a wake of silence as the girls made their way upstairs.  The older woman’s knuckles were white as she clamped down on the edge of the countertop.

“I told that man,” she muttered angrily, staring hard at the array of cookies in the forms of teddy bears and rattles.

Spike shifted, deciding it would be safer at his Slayer’s side.  He froze when Joyce’s narrowed gaze pinned him to the floor.

“Just when I think it isn’t possible, men soar to new heights in their capacity to astound me with their stupidity.”

Spike glanced towards the back door, noting the blinding bright pool of sunlight streaming through the window.  There was no escape to be found there.  He edged towards the basement.  If he couldn’t get past Joyce to the upstairs, he would settle for hiding in the darkest hole he could find.

“Where do you think you are going?”

Spike was so still he nearly blended into the wall behind him.  He wasn’t sure what the proper answer was.  Was he going upstairs or downstairs?

“To help Buffy,” he said cautiously.

Joyce shot him a knowing look.  “You’ve already laid out the drop cloths and paint.  Let the girls have their fun.”  She moved to the stove to start a kettle.  “Sit with me and keep me company.  We can sample all the treats to make sure they are good enough for Buffy.”

Spike smiled shyly as he skirted a large pool of sunlight.  He settled himself at the counter, preparing for a long chat with Joyce over tea and biscuits.  If she was a little tense, that was okay.  He had decades of experience charming women out of their bad moods.

 

 

Spike had already paid for a crew to base paint the nursery.  It ranged from a blue-green at the baseboards to a sky blue midway up the walls, before fading into twilight at the ceiling.  It was a professional piece of work that the girls awed over.  Of course, it was only the foundation for what the witches had in mind.  Spike had already set out a multitude of paint tins and several dozen paintbrushes in all sizes. 

“Are you sure you guys can do this?”

Willow’s smile lit up the room.  “Sure, it’s just a little bit of magic.”

“I don’t know.”  Buffy twitched nervously.  “I’m slay girl.  Not magic girl.”

“I-it’ll be okay, Buffy.”  Buffy found Tara’s quietude to be more reassuring than her friend’s perky smile.

“Yeah.  Tara is the one who’s going to be doing all the magic.  All we have to do is hold hands and think about the design and how much we love you and the baby.”  Willow leaned into Buffy’s shoulder as she spoke.

“All those good vibes get soaked up by Tara and she projects it outward,” finished Anya.

“Bippty boppity boo and we are the best fairy godmothers ever!”  Willow’s giggle was infectious.

Buffy inhaled deeply.  “Okay.  So what do we do?”

“We sit in a circle,” Anya stated matter-of-factly.  When the other girls glanced at her, she shrugged.  “This isn’t my first magical painting party, you know.”

Willow looked a little crestfallen that her awesome idea wasn’t as original as she thought, but she perked up as Tara squeezed her arm lovingly.

The four girls sat in a circle, linking their hands.  The design the witches had brought with them was unfolded in the center.

“So Tara is going to be the focus.  She’s such a wonderful artist,” Willow gushed, and the shy witch dipped her head and blushed.  “You and Anya will give her all that good energy while I’ll mainly feed her the power she needs to wield all the objects at once.  With all of us working together it should be done lickety split.”

“So I do what, exactly?”  Buffy asked.

“Just think about your baby.  About being in this room with her for late night feedings and playing peek-a-boo.  All that kind of stuff.  Just concentrate on all the love and happiness you have in store for her.”

Buffy nodded, smiling at Anya when the ex-demoness squeezed her hand reassuringly.  Buffy closed her eyes and dreamed about what it would be like when her baby finally arrived.  She imagined playing with her tiny feet, dressing her in adorable outfits, rocking her to sleep, and holding her close for feedings.  A pleasant tingle started in the bottom of her belly and spread through her limbs, until it felt like she was getting a full body hug from love itself.

“And away we go,” Willow whispered around a smug smile.  Buffy’s eyes shot open and she watched the scene with awe.  All the paintbrushes were dancing in the air, dipping themselves in different colored pots and twirling along the walls and ceiling.

“Bippity, boppity boo,” Buffy breathed.  She met Willow’s pleased eyes and smiled.

An hour later the room was transformed into something magnificent.  The walls were a field of waist high, rolling grass dotted with a profusion of flowers in all colors.  Inside the hearts of poppies and tulips, secret symbols of protection bloomed along the petals.  A rowan tree dominated one corner, its wide, leafy boughs hiding curious little animals looking down at an odd family cluster consisting of a golden lioness, a great black wolf, an elegant doe and an innocent lamb.  Guardianship runes were carved into the mottled whorls of bark.

The bright sky blue walls fell into twilight and the ceiling revealed the cosmos in all its splendor.  Lilac nebulae twirled around shattered comets and cyclical galaxies promised to soak up the sunshine so they would glow overhead at night.  Small silver stars were arranged into sheltering sigils and twirled overhead as they subtly shifted their position as day and night passed.

The room was the purest, strongest kind of magic there was.  It was the magic of love.  Buffy took one look and burst into tears.  The girls crowded around, hugging their best friend and their soon-to-be niece tightly.

Spike heard Buffy’s sobs and bounded up the stairs with a low, threatening growl.  He raced towards her, but was thrown forcibly into the opposite wall when he tried to rush into the shielded nursery.  He hit the ground hard, but instantly sprung to his feet in full game face.  The girls gasped collectively.

“OhmiGod!”  Willow cried in horror, her hands covering her mouth.  “I didn’t think about that!”

“What’s going on?”  Buffy demanded.  She was easily able to pass through the nursery’s doorway into the hall.  She fearlessly approached Spike, who snarled at the room that rejected his entry.  At her gentle touch, his demon faded back and he blinked down at her with hurt, blue eyes.

“The protections are keeping him out.”  Willow explained.  She wrung her hands, uncertain of what to do.

“Yeah.  That whole evil thing is a real downer sometimes.  The magic can’t register intent, only essence.”  Anya waved her hand as if the entire situation was self-explanatory.

Buffy frowned at Spike, and he cut his eyes away.  Evil is as evil does, she thought.  Spike would never be able to change what he was; no matter how he persisted in playing at being a man, in the end he was a vampire to the core.  Not for the first time a fractious voice in the back of her head questioned if it really mattered what he was, only who he was.  How he chose to live despite than his innate nature.  His strength of will was important and she shouldn’t discount it, because it kept him safely tucked away in a box she could more easily understand.  She slowly backed away until she was inside the nursery.  She beckoned to Spike with one hand.

“Come in, Spike.”

She could see the aching vulnerability in his bright blue eyes as their gazes met.  Slowly, he stepped towards her, taking her by the hand before cautiously stepping over the threshold.  Everyone sighed in relief when the room accepted him.

“Should that have worked?”  A wide-eyed Willow asked Tara.  The younger witch shrugged unknowingly. 

Anya watched with narrowed eyes.  “No.  It really shouldn’t have.”  She stepped closer to Spike, staring intently at him.  He resisted the urge to shuffle away, and met her gaze head on.  After a few moments she shrugged and turned away.  “Must be part of the whole weird baby thing that’s going on.  Buffy trusts him, so the room trusts him.”

Spike’s eyes shot to Buffy’s.  He cocked his head in a way that made her swallow hard.  “You trust me, kitten?”

Buffy smiled nervously, rubbing her belly.  Trust him?  She was half way to loving him, but did she really trust him?  The room initially rejected him because he was evil.  All the magic and love in the room felt he was untrustworthy.  She frowned at that.  What did magic know anyway?  All it ever did was mess up her life.

“You’d never hurt our baby.”  She wrapped her arms around his waist, laying her cheek on his chest, while ignoring the flash of hurt in his eyes.  She trusted him with their child, but never with her heart.

“This is just beautiful, girls.”  Joyce stood in the doorway.  She was continually astounded by the mystery that infused her daughter’s life.  Before Buffy’s calling, Joyce had lived in blissful ignorance; now she couldn’t imagine living in a world where magic and myth didn’t exist.

“Thank you, Mrs. Summers.”  Willow smiled.  “But really, it was all Tara.”  The young girl blushed.

“Well, it’s lovely.  Let’s get this paint cleaned up and we can start on constructing the furniture.”

Everyone chimed their agreement and worked together to store the paint tins in the garage and rinse out the brushes.  Once all the paint tarps were cleared away, Spike hauled in the heavy boxes of furniture.  Before the day was done they planned on having the crib, changing station, shelves, and toy box constructed and arranged.

That, of course, was easier said than done.

“No, Spike, it says that bolt ‘c’ has to go into slot ‘d’ which is supposed to be on slat ‘f’.”

“Why the bleedin’ hell are you ‘citing the alphabet at me, woman?”

“I’m just trying to read the instructions to you.”  Buffy threw up her hands in exasperation.

“I don’t need instructions.  I’ll figure it out myself.”

“Oh, yeah?  You’re about to split that board in half.  You can’t force the bolt in there like that.”

“If you think you can do better, then you do it.”

“I can’t do it.  If I get down on the floor I’ll never get back up again.  Besides, I’m going to have to pee again soon.”

“All you do all day is sit in the bathroom.”

“Well, excuse me for having a freakin’ watermelon sitting on my bladder playing bouncy.”

“That’s a likely excuse.  You’re probably just redoing your hair and nails.”

“A likely excuse!”  Buffy’s eyes rounded.

“This would go a lot quicker if Xander was here.  He is experienced with tools.  It makes him very manly.”

The room quieted as everyone stared at Anya, who was trying to figure out how the castors attached to the bottom of the changing station.

It was too much for Buffy – the raised tension from bickering with Spike, the moral dilemma of his innate essence, Xander’s earlier rejection, and Giles’ defection.  It all coalesced into an emotional storm inside the hormonally challenged woman.  She burst into tears, sinking to the floor.  Everyone rushed towards her, but Spike reached her first.  He wrapped his arms around the woman he loved, and pulled her close to his chest.  He ran a soothing hand down her back as he whispered reassurances to her.

“The boy is a wanker.  Hardly worth all this.”  He glared over Buffy’s head at Anya, who had the grace to look embarrassed. 

“He’s not a wanker,” Buffy protested.  “He’s one of my best friends.  He’s stood with me through thick and thin.  Even when Angelus killed Ms. Calendar though it was all my fault.  He must really think I’m terrible to turn his back on me now.”

Spike gritted his teeth.  He would love to wrap his hands around the boy’s scrawny neck.

“First of all, luv, what happened to the teacher wasn’t your fault.  It was all Angelus and Dru.  Don’t take that blame onto yourself.”

Buffy wrenched away so she could look up at him with watery eyes.  “It was my fault,” she protested vehemently.  “I didn’t take the chance to stake Angel when I could and people died because of it.  Jenny died.”

Spike palmed her cheeks, his fingertips sliding along her delicate jaw.  He pulled her close so their brows touched and she couldn’t escape the intensity of his gaze.  “You have to stop lettin’ people place blame on you.  Yeah, you’re the Chosen One, but you aren’t God.  You can’t control everythin’.  Especially something like Angelus.  What happened was a tragedy, but it’s no more your fault than a tsunami is the fault of a butterfly flappin’ its wings.”

“You know, there are theories about that.”

“Exactly.  Theories aren’t fact.  And there are no facts sayin’ you’re at fault for every goddamn thing that goes wrong.  Only people’s theories.  You have to stop beatin’ yourself up for things that happened in the past.  You need to live your life for the future.  This boy…”

“Xander.”

Spike sighed deeply.  “The boy will come around eventually.  If he’s as good a friend as you say he is.”

Buffy stared at him for long moments, before her face crumpled.  “No.  No, I don’t think he will.”  She collapsed into sobs that had the rest of the women in the room discretely excusing themselves to go downstairs.

 

 

Willow and Tara sat besides the trays of goodies, half-heartedly picking at the cookies, while Joyce stared out the kitchen window.  Anya stood by the stove, seemingly enthralled with the cast iron skillet.  Even all the way downstairs they could hear Buffy’s sobs.

“This is a nice pan, Joyce.  Is it cast iron?”  Anya asked while hoisting a large, heavy pan in her small hand.

“Yes,” Joyce murmured distractedly as she cast glances towards the stairs.

“I’ve heard stories about cast iron pans and grits.  Do you know about grits?”  Anya asked brightly.

Joyce frowned at the strange, but friendly girl.  “Yes.  But I’ve never made them.”

“Oh.”  Anya’s smile dimmed, then reignited with wattage that was nearly blinding.  “No matter, I can look it up on the internet.  There’s lots of information on the world wide web, you know.  It used to be you had to ask the town crier for news, but now it’s all at your fingertips.”

No one said anything, but Anya barely noticed.

“I think I’ll make grits for Xander.  He really deserves them.”

Tara and Willow exchanged glances.  Joyce stared after the girl, who absconded out the backdoor with her grandmother’s cast iron pan.

After a while the sobs quieted.  Willow and Tara made their way upstairs to say their goodbyes.  Later, Joyce helped Buffy into the bath then put her exhausted daughter to bed.  She stayed up late into the night, making tea for the vampire who refused to leave until the furniture was properly assembled and arranged.

Joyce kissed the man on the cheek before he left, earning herself an astounded look.  She merely smiled softly before closing the door and making her way upstairs to bed.

 

A/N:  Look, my husband has a thing about grit ball.  So this last part was kinda a personal joke.  It’s a thing.  He seems to think pearls of wisdom fall from Madea’s mouth.  Personally, I’m skeptical.