The two men sat side by side on the steps, sharing a first-ever comfortable silence. The moonless sky allowed them to view a mid-winter’s speckling of constellations--a vision that would hardly change in their lifetimes, however long they might be.

The younger of the two vamps broke the silence, patience never having been his strong point. “So... why are you here, again?” He took in another drag of his cigarette, never taking his eyes off the firmament.

Angel let out an exhausted sigh. “Cordy sent me.” More like she’d threatened to kick his ass if he didn’t pay the two blondes a visit--but he didn’t have to share that piece of information with the bleached blonde, now did he?

“That’s the bird with the visions, right? How’re those going, anyway?” Maybe if Spike steered the conversation, it wouldn’t go where he assumed his grandsire would take it.

Nice try, Spike, but I’ll play along--for now. “Yeah, that’s her. And the visions? Not going so well. Imagine being staked in the head.” Unable to hold back a chuckle, Angel added: “Of course, that’s not how she puts it. I think she once said it felt like she’d been forced to watch hours of last year’s fashion shows...”

Although he didn’t know Cordelia first hand, Spike had to smile. He admitted that she sounded just like Buffy had described her. In one of his most unguarded moments with Angel, he surprised himself with what he said next. “I’m glad you’re happy, mate.”

The younger vamp’s honest remark caught Angel off guard. Shaking out of his stupor, he tossed back a genuine ‘thanks’ before remembering part of the reason he was there. “How about you, Spike? Are you happy?” Do you make Buffy happy? That was the question he really wanted to find out, though.

This heart to heart was almost too much for the rebellious vampire, but he knew it eventually had to take place. No way would Angel just lie back and let him make an attempt at an honest life without questioning him or his incentives. Years, heck--maybe even months ago, this would have perturbed him, but now he understood the darker vamp’s motivation: Buffy. Anyone who knew and loved her would do anything to protect her, to make sure she was happy. And if that was the purpose of this ‘Spanish Inquisition’--minus the comfy chair, he thought to himself wryly as he fought to find a comfortable position on the wooden steps--then so be it. He’d put up with it.

The bleached blonde took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “That’s the question I’ve been asking myself, you know?” He got up off the stairs and began to pace the length of the bottom step. “Was always an outcast, even before Dru turned me. William was a right wanker--the bloody biggest joke to the crowd I hung around with. The constant butt of their jokes, held in their lowest esteem...”

Angel nodded. “Ah. So that would explain the...” He jabbed his closed fist in the air, in an upwards and downwards motion.

“The spikes? Yeah... Be another century before I even consider feeling bad about that one.” Spike cast a quick glance towards the house. “Not that I’ll ever share that tidbit with the Slayer, though.” He took his seat back on the steps before resuming his train of thought. “Anyway, then I got stuck with you lot. No need to tell you how poorly I fit in with your little family. Even Dru, on those days where she more lucid than not, seemed to look at me with more pity than love.”

His hand trembled as it brought the cigarette up to his lips. “You know how it feels to have the love of your life look at you with pity? Like she doesn’t know if she regrets ever giving you life? Bloody hard to be looked at like that, mate. Especially when the look’s aimed at you for over a century.”

For the first time since he’d met his grandchilde, Angel actually felt sympathy for him. “Can’t say that I do, Spike.” And it was the truth. Even after the Gypsies had cursed him, Darla had been by his side, as if the soul was more of an infirmity that could be tolerated--maybe even cured.

It had been more of a rhetorical question, but Spike appreciated the other vamp’s answer nonetheless. He nodded, but didn’t have a reply. So he continued, for a lack of something better to say. “Then I get stuck here in Sunnyhell and my unlife takes a nosedive. First, the Slayer is damn near invincible what with her family and friends, then we have the joy of experiencing Angelus once again, Dru leaves me, I nearly get caught by GI Joe for God knows what ends... Didn’t think it could get worse, but then I’m offered the job of patrolling for a pregnant Slayer.”

His eyes were steeled against the firmament, and even with his heightened vision Angel couldn’t see them well enough to make out his thoughts.

“That should have been the absolute worst moment of my unlife, you know? William the Bloody, descendant of the line of Aurelius, helping a bloody Slayer--master vampire can’t get much more pathetic than that, can he? But every day after I accepted, every day I spent with the Slayer and her superfriends, I realized that it was just the opposite. For some truly fucked-up reason, it ended up being the best decision I’ve ever made. For the first time ever, I’m accepted--’course, the Scoobies aren’t much more than a bunch of misfits, but it’s probably why I fit in, innit?”

“And Buffy?”

“You’ve loved her, mate. I don’t think I need to explain that, do I?” Spike paused and, noting the other vampire’s silence--a hint that an explanation was indeed requested, tried to organize his thoughts. “Fine, then. Doesn’t look like I’ve got any other option but to prattle on until you’re satisfied.”

Truth was the bleached blonde was happy to have this opportunity to sort out the myriad thoughts that were spinning around in his head. And Angel, despite being a brooding ponce (well, in Spike’s mind, anyway), was the best sounding board he could get. The older vamp had been where Spike was, part of the Scoobies, in love with the Slayer--no one would understand as well as him.

“Why do I love her? I love her because she accepts me as an equal. No more being anyone‘s bitch, ’cept for love--that won‘t ever change. She challenges me to be a better person without being some nonce--I can still do good and come home and trash talk Harris to his face. ‘Course, she doesn‘t like that, but she doesn‘t hold it against me. She‘s beautiful, she‘s tough and she turns me on like no one else ever has--not even Dru.” The vampire added quietly. “I thought I loved Dru all that time, but I had nothing to compare true love with, you know? Now I figure it must’ve been some sort of infatuation or something, cause it wasn’t anywhere near as real as what I feel for Buffy.”

Angel nodded in agreement. He knew exactly what Spike was saying--he’d gone through it a few years previous. Buffy had been his saving grace, the person who managed to make him believe in himself--who gave him his self-worth back. But now he figured it was time to steer the conversation over to a lighter subject. “So how are Buffy and the baby doing, anyway?” He had to admit it was strange to see the younger vampire’s face take on a proud glow, eyes shining with emotion, mouth stretched from ear to ear with a stupid grin. To tell the truth, he had expected this reaction but it was so different to actually witness it with his own eyes.

“They’re both doing really well. There was a bit of a rough spot right after the bit was born--he didn’t catch on to breastfeeding well--wouldn’t latch on, or something--and Buffy took it pretty hard. Guess she kind of blamed herself, I suppose. But Joyce went out and bought her a pump--a right good electric one, not one of those manual ones that gives you cramps in your hands and... What?!” Spike looked up to find his grandsire staring at him wide-eyed and biting back a grin.

“You do realize that you’re talking about breast pumps with the same enthusiasm that the average man discusses his car’s engine, right?”

Shaking his head, Spike let out a chuckle. “Fuck off, ponce. It’s just that... Remember back when you were still alive? What happened when women weren’t able to get their babies to feed? The tots died, that’s what. Now, all the mothers have to do is go out and buy themselves a pump--or, failing that, some powdered formula--and the baby lives. A century ago, we would have been talkin’ about the baby’s funeral, not about how much bigger he’s getting every day. It‘s just... Hell, it‘s just that after 120 years of bathing in people‘s blood, it‘s a nice change to appreciate life.”

There was nothing the older vampire could say to that. He was just glad that Spike of all people had been one to realize the beauty of life. Of course, that thought led to the reason for which he was really speaking to his grandchilde...

“Spike, I didn’t come here just to see how you and Buffy are coping.”

Here it comes... “I gathered as much. If you cared that much you would’ve been here harassing me during the pregnancy.”

Now Angel remembered why he kept his distance from the younger vampire. “Funny. Really. Now shut up so I can actually go through with this without balking.” He pulled a small velvet sac from his coat pocket and offered it to Spike. “This is for you. It was Cordy’s idea...”

Spike opened the sac as his grandsire spoke, only half listening. He emptied its contents out into his hand and nearly choked. “Bloody hell...”

“...’cause it sure as hell wasn’t my idea. But she figured that it might come in handy now that the baby’s here.” When no sound came from the other vampire, Angel waved a hand in front of his face. “Spike?”

Nothing could have prepared him for the gift that he’d just received. Spike opened his mouth to say something--one of a million questions--but was interrupted by a sound from the kitchen door.

“Angel! How long have you been here?” Buffy had been wondering where her better half was, as it was his turn to take care of the baby. She never would have imagined seeing him sitting on the back steps with the one person he claimed to hate more than anyone. Deciding to be social, she stepped out onto the porch, still carrying the baby.

The older vampire got up and dusted his pants off before walking over to the Slayer. “Just a short while.” He kissed her on the cheek, pulling back to awkwardly examine the child. “How are you holding up?”

The young woman smiled and shifted the baby from one arm to the other. It was a good thing she still had her slayer strength, because carrying eight wiggling pounds was hard enough as it was. “I’m doing great. Christopher’s a wonderful little boy.” She positioned the baby to face Angel before holding him at arm‘s length. “Here. Take him.”

Spike couldn’t help but laugh out loud at the look on his grandsire’s face. He looked like he’d been asked to go shopping for shoes with his girlfriend. “Come on, peaches. It’s just a baby. They don’t sting, spray acid, or cast spells and if you keep your fingers away from their mouths they don’t bite.”

Awkwardly, the vampire took the tot in his arms and held him, looking at him curiously. The baby was, of course, tiny. Its skin was wrinkled and flaking, its eyes unfocused... funny enough, though, he’d never expected babies to be so funny looking. A hiccup, coming from the small form in his arms, shook him from his reverie.

“Here, mate.” Spike reached over and took Christopher from Angel. “That’s a sign that the bit’s hungry. Best to feed him before he starts to cry or it’ll be too late and he‘ll be whinging all night.” He walked towards the door and signalled for the other vampire to follow him. “Come on. If you’re lucky enough, I’ll show you how to change a nappy...”

The last thing that was heard before the door closed behind them was Angel’s protests and Buffy’s laughter.

***

Six years later...

Buffy opened the screen door and stuck her head out, shielding her eyes from the strong noon hour sun. “Lunch, guys! And I’m not calling out twice today--you guys can have cold fish sticks for all I care!” When neither acknowledged her call, she shook her head at the two best friends playing out in the sandbox. Retreating back into the kitchen she covered both plates with foil paper and put them back in the oven to keep them warm. They never come in until the second call, anyway.

The call for lunch registered at the back of Christopher’s mind, but he pushed it aside. After all, lunch--even fish sticks, his favourite--came a distant second to building sand castles. He was good at it, even he knew that. His dad had mentioned something about him being an engineer--whatever that meant. What the heck did building castles have to do with engines, anyway?

“Pass the small shovel, ok?” He pointed the instrument out to his playmate and caught it when it was tossed his way. His “thanks” was muttered under his breath as his attention was already directed back to the castle’s moat. This time, he’d manage to get the bridge to stay up...

Mouth slightly agape, tongue caught between his teeth, the six year-old was the picture of concentration. Something he hadn’t picked up from his mother, or so everyone said. Now all he needed to do was put a little more sand... right there...

“Yes! Finally!” The young boy pulled his hands back and grinned with self-satisfaction. Dusting the sand off his hands he looked over to the castle’s other side, which was being worked on by his friend. What the? Oh, not again... “Hey! You’re supposed to be working on the castle, not lying down!”

Now, the impatience he did get from his mom. Even he could figure that one out.

Pushing himself up to a sitting position, the other brushed himself off. “I know, I know. I just got distracted...” Taking the butter knife that they had pilfered from the utensil drawer, he began to cut out crenels on the turret closest to him.

Both looked up when the second lunch call was hollered. Christopher didn’t even budge, but his companion got up, trying to rid all creases and crevices of sand.

“Come on, bit. You know Mum doesn’t call three times.” Spike looked down at the castle’s other side--the one worked on by the young boy--and shook his head bemusedly. When it came to imagination and the execution of his designs, Christopher was a tough act to follow.

All of a sudden, the backyard was filled with the squeals and giggles of a six year-old as he was grabbed by his ankle and turned upside down in an effort to shake all the sand off of him. “Stop! Stop! I gotta pee!” Squirming out of his dad’s grasp, he landed on the lawn with a solid thump.

Spike helped the youngster up to his feet before shooing him towards the house. “You go on and wash up; I’ll be in in a sec.” He turned his gaze to the castle, wondering at how quickly it had been built back up from the ruins of the previous one, which had been decimated by a good rainstorm a few days back. Christopher had been upset, but had cheered up at the prospect of having the chance to build a better one.

He was jolted from his reverie by a hand slipping into his. “Food’s gonna get cold, you know. Even your blood’s getting all weird. You know how gross it gets when it starts clumping.”

The vampire looked down at the love of his life, pulling her closer to him. He kissed the top of her head, breathing in the scent of her shampoo. Even after all these years, she still made the effort to find apple scented shampoo because it was his favourite. “S’ok, luv. It’s worth it. Over a century stuck in the dark--you can’t expect me not to bask in the sun whenever I get the chance to.”

“Spike--Angel gave you the gem back six years ago. You‘ve had hundreds of days in the sun.” Buffy couldn’t help but chuckle as she slipped her hands in the vampire‘s back pockets, looking up at his face. “Guess we found out that you don’t freckle, though.” She’d never given any thought to whether vampires would tan or not, and she honestly didn‘t expect to have a chance to ever find out. Although he didn’t seem to be as pale as when they’d first met, Spike’s skin was far from being as dark as it should have been with all the time he spent in the sun with Christopher.

The young woman was pulled from her reverie by a quick, but passionate, kiss. “Let’s go make sure that the bit hasn’t started in on my fish sticks, as horrid as those things are.”

Buffy couldn‘t help but laugh out loud. “Yeah, right. You know, if it wasn‘t for you, Captain Highliner would have to find himself a new job.”

The sound of friendly teasing followed the two blondes as they made their way up to the house that had been left to them four years ago. Joyce and Giles had moved to England, both content that Buffy and Spike--and Christopher, of course--would be fine without them.

Faith had been released on early parole and had joined Angel Investigations. She was making an earnest attempt at setting herself straight and in the meanwhile had accepted full Slayer responsibilities. Half her time was spent in Sunnydale, half in LA. Because of this, Buffy had been free to go back to College and had earned herself a degree in Landscaping--much to the amusement of Xander and Willow.

She had argued that it was nice to help things thrive instead of killing them, for once. No one could argue with that.

As they approached the porch, Spike grabbed Buffy by the waist. “You do remember that Christopher’s staying over at Jason’s tonight, don’t you?”

The former Slayer smiled--she knew full well where this was going. “Oh, he is? Guess that gives us a free night to enjoy all those Star Trek reruns before turning in early.” She let out a scream as she was tickled mercilessly to the ground. “Ok! Ok! I give!”

When she was finally standing, Buffy brushed the grass off her pants. Snaking her arm around his waist--and giving the vampire‘s ass a pat on the way--she poked him in the ribs. “This time, though, let’s avoid the sandbox. I was picking sand out of my hair for weeks after that night...”

Author’s Note: Well, that’s all, folks. I really hope you enjoyed reading this story as much as I did writing it (and pretty much living it, too.) I’d like to thank my beta Melissa once again for her help with the first twenty-two chapters. And for the twenty-third and the epilogue a great big thanks to VamptasticA, who lent a hand at the last minute so I could finally get this over and done with.

Next up is a very, very long story that I actually started writing before this one--started in 2002! I’ll begin posting what I have already finished, and in the meanwhile write the last of it. It’s called Dark Prophecy and we find Spike and Buffy (4th season) being sent to England to help the Council of Watchers avert yet another apocalypse. A fun romp that I hope you’ll follow and enjoy.

And last of all, thanks to everyone who reviewed. It always means so much to a writer to know that our efforts are appreciated.