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Epilogue


Christmas Day dawned cold but clear, weak sunlight glinting off the few inches of snow that had fallen during the week. In what had already become habit, Spike slid out of the warm bed, shivering when his bare feet hit the cold wood floor. Vowing to buy some new rugs at the first opportunity, he quickly dressed and walked across the room to the crib. He picked up the crying baby and, after checking to see if he was wet, carried him back to where Buffy was now sitting up and holding out her arms.

“Come to mommy, baby. Breakfast is all ready to go.”

“Is it wrong to be jealous of my own offspring?” Spike wondered aloud as little Billy fastened his mouth around one breast.

“Yes!” she said indignantly. “Very wrong. And immature, and…”

“I’m just making conversation,” he protested. “I didn’t really mean it. Watching you and him together is …” His voice trailed off and he gave her an embarrassed smile. “If I were still the bad poet I was so many years ago, I’d be writing all kinds of drivel about how seeing my first child at his mother’s breast was amazing and…and effulgent.”

Buffy raised an eyebrow at him.

“Do you really think I don’t know that you’ve been scribbling away every night this week?”

He shrugged, dropping eyes evasively. “Hasn’t been poetry,” he mumbled. “Been working on something else.”

She stared at him expectantly; when there was no response she prodded, “And…?”

“I’d rather not say yet, pet,” he said with a sigh. “Probably come to nothing, anyway. ‘s not poetry though, I promise.”

“You know,” she said thoughtfully as she switched the baby to her other breast, “I’ve never seen any of your poetry – except for a couple of lines in that notebook you kept beside the bed when you were a ghost.”

“And you never will!” She had to laugh at his horrified expression and the panic in his voice.

“I don’t mean the stuff you did when you were a…a…” She fumbled for what to call the William Pratt she’d only heard about.

“Callow youth?”

Buffy crinkled her nose. “Not exactly what I would have said; but, yeah, okay. When you were just an ordinary human who hadn’t been anywhere or done very much. But now…”

“Now, I suspect, I’d be just as bad a poet as I was then – just more aware of how bloody awful I am.”

Buffy left the now-sleeping baby in the middle of the bed, tucking the sheets in on either side just in case, and then getting out and immediately stepping into her warm slippers. She walked around the bed and put her arms around Spike’s waist, resting her head on his chest and enjoying the feel of his warm body. When he shifted away so that she wouldn’t notice how he was reacting, she smiled and nuzzled his neck.

“Just a couple more weeks,” she promised.

“Wasn’t complainin’, love.”

“I know you weren’t. But I miss you, too. I’ll be glad when the doctor tells me I’m good to go again. I miss you,” she repeated, hugging him tightly.

“Miss you, too, Buffy,” he said gruffly, putting his arms around her again. “But wouldn’t give up this past week for all the shagging in the world. He’s worth every lonely wank.”

“And on that little note of TMI, I think I’ll take my shower and get dressed before everyone gets here.” Buffy made a little face at him and began gathering warm clothes from the closet. “Watch him for me, please?”

“Don’t believe he’s going anywhere, Slayer,” he said, even as he sat down in a chair by the window. “Hurry up, will you? I want to get some fires going downstairs before the merry band gets here.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hours later, the now much warmer downstairs rooms were filling up with friends and family, all of whom insisted on leaving the new mother and baby to enjoy a vacation from chores while they warmed up the food they’d brought and prepared to put a Christmas dinner on the table. This year, rather than hiding in fear, Noelle was in the middle of everything, her nose twitching at the scents coming from the oven and her purr working overtime as everyone stooped to pet her at least once.

With Billy snuggled against her chest in a baby pouch, Buffy hung around the entrance to the center of activity, insisting that she was perfectly capable of helping in her own kitchen. The lack of sincerity in her protestations was obvious and Willow, Emma and Dawn waved her out of the room, telling her to go enjoy her baby and the unusual pampering she was getting.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Dinner was almost a repeat of the previous year’s meal – with the exception that this time, Spike was at the head of the table, beaming down its length towards Buffy. Their eyes met and held, sharing the moment; and then, apparently sharing the same thought - There’s no way this can’t lead to an apocalypse with the next week. Everything’s too good. They shared a rueful laugh, which then had to be explained to their puzzled guests, who nodded and offered their own pessimistic thoughts.

“Way to remind us, B,” Faith laughed, picking up her table knife and testing its dull edge on her thumb. “But it’s okay. Anything bothers us tonight, I’m taking my butter knife to ‘em.”

A crash from the living room had both Slayers and Spike at the entrance before the more ordinary humans had even registered the sound. They paused and surveyed the cause of the sudden noise. The baby carriage full of gifts that had been near the tree was now on its side with an ornament covered Noelle peering out from under gaily decorated paper. The broken and bare tree branch overhead offered a clear explanation of the cat’s embarrassed expression.

Laughing in relief, the three heroes quickly picked up the debris and banished Noelle upstairs. Non-evil explanation accepted, all but Buffy soon returned to their seats to finish off the meal. Her sharp ears had picked up the sounds of an uncomfortable baby, and she picked Billy up from his portable bed, taking him off to be changed and fed.

When she returned some time later, it was to find that the table had been cleared, the dishes stacked, and all her guests were seated in the living room enjoying an after-dinner eggnog. She paused in the doorway, cradling her sleeping baby against her chest and gazing at the warm scene with a contented smile. She barely moved when Spike came up behind her and put his arms around both her and the baby, pulling them back against his chest.

She shuddered briefly, remembering standing in the same place a year ago and being so sure that he was with her. As if reading her thoughts, he whispered, “Our house is a home, Buffy. You’ve filled it with love, the way I always knew you could.”

She leaned her head against his shoulder and sighed.

“Now it’s a home. I love you. Merry Christmas, William.”

“Happy Christmas to you, my love.”

Dawn glanced up in time to see the small family sharing an intimate, happy moment and grabbed her ever-present phone, snapping a picture before they could move and spoil the scene. She passed the phone around for everyone to see, then sent the photo to Spike’s computer for printing later, telling them it was her first Christmas gift to her nephew.

Giles quietly raised his glass to the beaming couple, wishing sadly that things could remain as peaceful and tranquil as they seemed, but knowing that the coming year would bring its own share of drama and danger. His eyes met Spike’s in understanding and they exchanged silent toasts to the future. Toasts in which each promised to protect and cherish the people in the room to the best of their ability. That at least two of those people (if one didn’t count the witches) were more than capable of taking care of themselves, didn’t detract from the genuine emotion behind the silent gesture.

Removing his free arm from around Buffy, Spike stepped into the room and lifted his glass again.

“I’d like to propose a toast – to good friends, to loving family…” his smile included Dawn and her new fiancé, Teddy, “and to all those brave little girls we send out to protect the world from evil. I wish you all a very merry Christmas and a safe and happy New Year.”





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