Buffy sighed and sat back in her chair. Life was so unfair, wasn’t it? Since when was an evil, undead, pain in the ass truer of heart than the ‘normal’ man she‘d loved? According to her mother, Spike had been livid when he‘d heard what had happened between her and Riley. Initially, she’d rolled her eyes, but after hearing Spike defend himself, she was more inclined to believe her mother’s story.

A glass of Ginger Ale, suddenly popping into her field of vision, snapped her out of her musings. “Thanks.”

Instead of dropping down on the sofa, where he had been sitting before having words with the Slayer, Spike took the chair beside Buffy. He’d done some thinking on his drink run and had a few things he wanted to air out. “Look, Slayer...”

“Spike, I appreciate the drink--I really do, but I don’t think I can keep this up tonight, ok? I‘m tired, grumpy and not in the mood for arguing.” She knew he was right, but she didn’t need him rubbing salt into the fresh wounds. She was surprised when the vampire leaned forward and pressed a cool finger to her lips. Instead of hitting him, as she would have done at any moment, she simply raised her eyebrows.

“This isn’t a continuation of what we talked about.” Spike’s brow furrowed, and his lips pressed together. “Well, maybe it is, but just hear me out, alright?” When the young woman nodded, he removed his finger--feeling a sense of loss, for some odd reason--and sat back in the chair.

“I don’t regret saying what I said because every word of it is true, if you ask me. The pillock had no right to leave you in your condition and there’s no arguing with that. But I had no right to bring it up suddenly like I did, nor did I have any right to gloat. I’m sure you’re feelin’ bad enough without having me rub it in your face. I’m sorry I hurt you--I won’t bring it up again unless you want to talk about it.” There. That wasn’t so hard, was it? As he watched the myriad emotions flicker through her hazel orbs, Spike knew the apology had come as a surprise, albeit not an unwelcome one.

Ok. Who was this blonde guy and what had he done with Spike? Buffy stared at the man seated beside her, silent as she digested his words. Spike apologized. Stranger things could happen. Astronauts could discover that the moon really was made of cheese, or Pauly Shore could win an Academy Award, or vampires could apologize for being mean to her... The young woman was slowly discovering that there were indeed many layers to the bleached blonde who shared her company.

She took a sip of her drink and placed it on the table in front of her chair. Bringing her leg up onto the chair so she could sit on it, Buffy turned towards Spike. “I accept your apology Spike. However...” She paused on purpose to tease the vamp a bit. He did deserve it, didn’t he? “...I have something to tell you, too. I think I need to apologize as well. I’ve been harsh with you, even though you’ve agreed to help us out, no strings attached. Ever since you came back a few months ago, you’ve kept your nose clean, you’ve minded your own business and I realize that--and appreciate it. Until now, I haven’t given you the chance to defend yourself against my prejudices and that just isn’t fair. So, Spike, I’m sorry I’ve been a bitch, I’m sorry I haven’t believed you or given you any respect, and as long as you keep it up I’m willing to throw down the gauntlet.”

Spike couldn’t help but stare at the Slayer. This was so much more than he’d expected. He figured that he’d get a grunt, maybe, acknowledging his apology. But an apology from the Slayer herself? And, on top of that, a truce? Maybe there was much more to the young woman than he’d imagined. Perhaps her pregnancy was giving her a touch more maturity than she’d previously had--something to do with hormones or whatnot. That or she’d just needed a verbal slap in the face to wake her up, to shake her out of her black and white world. “Apology accepted, Slayer.”

For the first time ever, Slayer and master vampire shared a comfortable silence. The one that can span quiet moments between friends as they simply enjoy each other’s presence. They sipped their drinks, watching the Scoobies dance to some latin pop song.

Never one much for silence, however, Spike turned his attention to the woman sitting beside him. “So, how far along’s the bit?”

“Huh?” Why can’t he speak English like the rest of us?

The vampire rolled his eyes. Stupid Americans, gotta simplify everything for them. Enunciating clearly, he repeated himself, pointing to her stomach. “The baby, luv. How far along is it?”

“Oh! I’m ten weeks along. But the baby’s only eight weeks old.” Seeing the vampire’s raised eyebrow, Buffy explained. “They’ve got some weird way of calculating your due date now, where they start counting at the first day of your last period. So it kind of adds a couple weeks extra--that way, the pregnancy is always two weeks ahead of how old the baby is. It‘s kind of confusing, but makes sense in a weird logic kind of way.”

The vampire wasn’t even going to pretend to understand what she was trying to explain. “Confusing indeed, pet. Makes no sense whatsoever, but I’ll take your word for it.”

Both blondes sat there, talking about the baby, slaying and anything else that came to mind. They fell into a strangely comfortable discourse that belied any enmity that had existed between them previous to this evening.

A truce in the works, between Slayer and vampire. Maybe things would be better between the two foes after all...