He’d spent the better part of the evening poring through his books, but Giles couldn’t come up with a supernatural origin to Buffy’s child. As far as he could tell, this baby was 100% witchcraft and prophecy free. He slammed the last book closed and let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding.

Buffy as a mother. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. If it wasn’t for the Slayer aspect of her life, he would allow himself to sit back and watch her trudge through having and raising this child--offering her fatherly support, of course. But he’d still feel a secret glee at seeing her go through at least one-tenth of the stress that she had put him through since he’d been assigned as her Watcher.

But Buffy was a Slayer. Slayers weren’t meant to have children--they were destined to live short, dangerous lives. She was unique, of course, in having the support of her mother and friends--but that didn’t eliminate altogether the danger she faced in her calling. This was to be the biggest challenge ever for her--and for all those who cared about her. He knew that sooner or later, the child would become the ward of one of those who were close to her--there was no denying the fact that she wouldn‘t live to see her child graduate from preschool. They could cover her patrols during her pregnancy, but they couldn’t do it forever. Spike, if Joyce managed to convince him to help, would probably bow out after the child’s birth. Hell, they probably couldn’t afford to have him help much longer than that.

He hadn’t wanted to say it in front of Buffy, but things would have been much easier for everyone if Riley had stuck around. Although not as strong as the Slayer or Spike, he’d always been able to hold his own while on patrol. Pair him up with any of the Scoobies (well, maybe except for Xander...) and Buffy’s job would be completed to the best of their capabilities. But the pillock hadn’t stayed. The watcher’s hand tightened around the tumbler of scotch as he thought of his surrogate daughter’s pain over the separation. Whatever part of Ripper remained within him wanted to meet the young man just one last time...

His line of thought changed tracks, leading to one bleach blonde master vampire. Spike. William the Bloody. Now there was a name he’d read often enough in his studies at the Council. He and the others in the line of Aurelius had not only entire books devoted to them, but entire shelves of books. But Spike was different from the others in the sense that he seemed to have retained a spark of humanity. His cruelty and penchant for mayhem were renowned, but so was his devotion to Drusilla.

The Scoobies’ first insight into Spike’s uniqueness was in his offer to help Buffy fight Angelus in his plans to wake Acathla. What was it that Buffy said he’d mentioned? Something about liking this world, about ‘happy meals on legs’--whatever that meant. Of course, he’d had selfish reasons for not wanting the world to end, but hadn’t they all? Someone says ‘I’m going to destroy the world’, what’s the first thing you think of? Your neighbour’s aunt in Leeds? No--you think about your loved ones, your favourite restaurant, your favourite football team... He showed them that he was no different than them in that regard. And, true to his word, he followed through with the plan, hightailing it with Drusilla in tow when all was done.

Then he’d returned to Sunnydale the following year, kidnapping Willow and Xander. They all got to see Spike’s evil side that time--except when he was blubbering about losing his ‘dark princess’... A lovesick vampire. Willow said he’d cried on her shoulder, heartbroken. He’d even leaned into the awkward pats she’d given him on the shoulder.

But the kicker had been when he’d returned earlier this year, once again bereft of Drusilla. He’d started out with some lame story about almost being kidnapped by the army, but no one believed the tall tale. Why would the army bother with collecting demons anyway? And for some cosmically unexplainable reason, he’d remained in Sunnydale ever since, taking residency in a mausoleum in one of the town’s many cemeteries. They’d been able to find no clues to his involvement in anything more evil than kitten poker--although, in Buffy and Willow’s opinions, that rated almost as high as plotting to end the world.

So William the Bloody now lived on the Hellmouth, apparently posing them no more threat than any other vamp. Actually, maybe even less than the average vampire since he really seemed to be minding his own business, never being caught with his teeth in some poor unsuspecting victim’s throat. Of course, Giles realized, a master vampire would be smart enough not to get caught in the act.

But why the sudden change in personality? They’d all been reluctant to believe him when he said he just wanted to be left alone--that if they wouldn’t bother him, he wouldn’t give them a reason to. Was the former scourge of Europe (or one of them, rather) retiring to greener pastures, to spend the rest of his unlife in relative peace? Maybe play a few rounds of bocce ball with other ancient vampires? Not bloody likely, but Giles couldn’t for the life of him figure any of it out. There had to be a reason for the sudden change...

The Watcher groaned and poured himself another finger (or two--he wasn’t really measuring anymore) of scotch. The thing that disturbed him the most, that set him most on edge, was the fact that no part of him--not even the gut feeling that was always right--railed against Spike as a substitute Slayer. As loathe as he was to admit it, it seemed right.

Just to keep options open, however--always had to have options, alternate plans if you wanted anything to go right--he tried to think of anyone else who could replace Buffy. He cringed as the only person he could come up with was Faith.

Oh dear. The baby would be in more danger with Faith than Spike. With the hatred she had for Buffy, she’d probably sell the kid to the first bidder. Heck, she’d probably hand it over to the first fledgeling she’d set eyes on. Not trustworthy, that one. Anyway, Giles remembered that she was in jail--or so he’d heard.

At least Spike was friends with the baby’s grandmother. If his affection for Joyce was any indication, he’d never lay a hand on the child. And God only knew why they were friends.

Maybe because she’s an intelligent, good-looking woman, Rupert. Something you haven’t let yourself think about since Olivia. Someone who knows exactly what’s going on, who wouldn’t think it strange to find your library full of ancient texts and witchcraft how-to books. A woman who wouldn’t get jealous of an entourage of young women who look up to you like a father.

Giles emptied the Johnny Walker from his glass in one swallow. Since when did he go by Council code, anyway?