Buffy wasn’t sure exactly what roused her from the depths of sleep. It could have been the delicious scent of bacon and syrup weaving its way into her dream state. Maybe it had been the gentle rocking of the bed as someone sat down on it that tapped her subconscious on the shoulder. Possibly it was the oh-so-familiar but still zippy little back of the neck tingle that stirred her Slayer self. Or perhaps it was just the dragging ache in her lower back that informed her she’d probably been sleeping in the same spot for too long.
Either way, the end result was the same. Still wrapped around her preggy pillow, Buffy drew one eye open, somewhat mulishly given what seemed to be sensory input of a promising nature. Her view was dominated by Spike, peering down earnestly at her. His eyes shone with love and excitement, matching the almost boyish expression of glee on his face.
“Morning baby, happy birthday,” he said, leaning forward to press a kiss upon her forehead.
Buffy resisted the urge to wrinkle her pampered brow, and only allowed herself the smallest of pouts before happily surrendering to her fiancé’s attention. She could practically feel the waves of anticipation coming off of him. Despite her general misgivings about commemorating the day of her birth, she couldn’t deny Spike the opportunity to celebrate with her, the first time that he’d been able to do so openly and at her side. Besides which, what could possible go wrong this year?
She threw her arms around his neck and traded in her forehead for her mouth, an offer that Spike enthusiastically accepted. He dove in to bestow upon her a kiss that rapidly shifted from loving to passionate. Only the clatter of cutlery dropping onto the floor slowed him down enough to derail what might have become a different sort of birthday present.
Instead he pulled back, grinning again as he shoved a neatly laid breakfast tray at her. A covered plate, a small glass of juice and a mug of creamy hot chocolate jostled for space alongside a single red rose and a small gift wrapped box.
“Ooo! For me?”
“Course pet. What would you like first, food or prezzie?”
“I hate to put a dampener on things, but my first choice had better be the bathroom or the results won’t be pretty.”
By the time she’d waddled to the bathroom and back, Spike had set the rose and present on her pillow, the two drinks sat on her bedside table, and the tray lay on his half of the bed, ready to be placed on what remained of her lap once she’d settled back into bed. Tears filled her eyes at the sight.
“Ruddy hell luv, are you all right?” Spike, ever observant dashed to Buffy’s side at the first sign of distress.
“Course,” she sniffled, “I mean look at this, breakfast in bed and a birthday gift from my loving fiancé. What could be more clichéd and normal than that?” Buffy paused, taking in Spike’s crestfallen expression long enough to wrap her arms around his waist. “It’s just that I’ve never had the typical, standard delivery, birthday spoilage. Not since becoming all Chosen, and certainly not with a significant other by my side. It’s,” Buffy breath hitched a little before she graced Spike with a wobbly smile, “It’s kind of all I’ve ever wanted. Well that, and making it through a birthday disaster free!”
“Well madam,” Spike said, in his most affected, upper crust accent, “Your wish is but my command. Please, make yourself comfortable, and breakfast will be served momentarily.”
“Ha! You haven’t gone blind in the last twenty minutes have you? I mean you have seen me right? There’s no way in the world I’m getting anywhere even close to comfortable with this enormous add-on stuck to my front. Why this baby is being so stubborn about staying put I’ll never know. Takes after its father most likely,” she grumbled.
Spike rolled his eyes, but refrained from saying or doing anything beyond helping Buffy clamber onto the bed. He tucked the preggy pillow around her so that the top sat in front of her baby bump, forming a soft horizontal surface on which to balance the tray and its ‘arms’ gave her somewhere to rest her own. Finally he propped an ordinary pillow behind her back to give her extra support.
“Right birthday girl, name ya preferred order of ‘spoilage’.”
“Hmm, I believe I’d like a birthday kiss from my fiancé, followed by present opening, and finally breakfast. How does that sound?” she squeaked, excitement beginning to override pregnancy grumbles now that she was comfortably seated.
“I think I can accommodate your wishes pet.” Spike murmured as he slid onto the bed next to her. Reaching across both the pillow and her baby bump, he nuzzled his lips against her throat, pressing a little trail of kisses up to the soft skin beneath her ear lobe. Buffy could feel the pulse in her neck flutter wildly beneath his mouth, and she quivered as he began to use his tongue in concert with his lips to kiss and lick his way along her jaw, from lobe to mouth.
“Ahh!” Buffy cried out inarticulately, just before Spike’s mouth swooped in to claim her lips. He immediately deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding into her mouth to stroke and shimmer against hers in a passionate dance. He drew the kiss out until they were both panting, then pulled back only enough to create a small, shared air space.
“Happy Birthday my true love. May you enjoy your happiest, most boringly down to earth birthday ever. Although fair warning, I will be doing my best to liven it up from time to time.” Spike smirked, curling his tongue behind his teeth in allusion to what sort of livening up he had in mind.
“I might just hold you to that. Okay, prezzie time!”
Spike sat back enough that he could reach over to grab the gift and rose from the other side of the bed. He passed them to Buffy, thrilled to see the excited glow in her eyes. She breathed in the delicate scent of the rose slowly and sensuously before tearing into the package like a child. Once the wrapping was off, the box was of course a dead give away, the dark blue velvet and the name ‘Lang’ in vintage script a match to the box in her dresser drawer.
Buffy squealed excitedly, bouncing up and down as she prised the box open. Nestled upon the satin liner lay a beautiful pear shaped pendant. She recognised the central gemstone immediately, an alexandrite, cut no doubt from the same raw rock that Spike had discovered in Krubera. The setting was a match for her engagement ring, the presently red stone surrounded by a bed of round cut diamonds set into a platinum mount. The pendant was suspended from a sparkling yellow gold chain, and Buffy quickly unhooked it from the packaging and handed it to Spike, turning slightly so that he could drape it around her neck and fasten it in back.
“Oh my God Spike, thank you so much. I love it. It’s perfect. My best birthday present ever.” She turned back and pressed a soft kiss to Spike’s lips. “Love you baby, so much!”
“Right my love, settle yourself down and lets get breakfast underway.” He placed the tray on her pillow table and lifted the lid off of the plate. Two rashers of bacon, a fried egg and two syrup-drenched pancakes filled the plate. Buffy’s eyes widened in delight, her tummy rumbling in appreciation, and she tucked in to the delicious home made meal.
Spike, who’d already prepared a plate of food for himself, whipped back to the kitchen to grab his tray and his mug of blood.
“Mmm, yummy Spike,” Buffy’s enthusiastic food review greeted him as he plopped down on the bed beside the birthday girl. “My tummy says thank you and bubs does too. See little one,” she said, patting her baby bump affectionately, “The sooner you get here, the sooner you’ll get to enjoy delicious, nutritious food items like pancakes and syrup.”
“Oi, those are made with oatmeal, whole wheat and Greek yoghurt I’ll have you know. None of those bloody preservatives or colourings. Only the best for my girl. But you have a point, might be able to lure the lad out with the smell of bacon.”
At that he grabbed up one of his rashers with one hand, and started pushing aside the bed sheets, pillows and sleepwear with the other.
“What are you doing?” Buffy squealed, wriggling and thrashing against him as he waved the bacon slice around madly. “Oh my God Spike, you pig! Put down the bacon!” She gigged madly and lunged towards him, gracefully chomping down on the offending food item and tearing it away from Spike’s grip. “There, that’ll teach you,” she added, haughtily nibbling away on her prize.
Spike lay at her feet, gazing up at his love in adoration. She was dishevelled, puffy and ungainly, but with her sparkling eyes and glowing skin, he didn’t think he’d ever seen anyone more beautiful in his life. The gift she was due to give him far outweighed the most precious jewels in the known universe. Her love, and their child were rewards beyond measure.
“Tomorrow’ll be soon enough pet.”
Buffy’s eyes glittered and she nodded. Already a week past her revised due date, she was booked in with Cat the following morning for her final yay-or-nay prenatal visit. They’d always planned for baby to be born at Cat’s Ashdown clinic. It was certainly well enough equipped to handle straightforward deliveries, and would save them the forty-minute car trip to Hayward Heath. But if the baby didn’t cooperate soon they’d be forced to consider a hospital induction.
Once breakfast was finished, Buffy went off to shower and change while Spike washed the dishes and tidied away the breakfast stuff. He had a fairly full day planned, all aimed at giving Buffy the most enjoyable, disaster-free birthday she’d ever had.
First up he’d booked her into the beauty salon in East Grinstead for a wash, cut and style along with a manicure and pedicure. That was to be followed by lunch with the Ashdown crew at the pub next door. If she was up to it, he was taking her to the movies for the afternoon, a bloody awful sounding rom-com called ‘Along Came Polly’ with the minimally talented duo of Ben Stiller and Jennifer Aniston. The plot sounded like a bunch of bollocks, but he was pretty sure Buffy would love it. Finally they’d head home, where Giles and Cat were hosting a birthday supper for his girl. All and all, it was going to be a pretty full on day.
~~~
Buffy’s eyes lit up as the waiter placed the bowl of sticky date pudding in front of her. She’d had a wonderful day so far, she felt pampered, gorgeous and thoroughly spoilt. The soft highlights in her hair complemented her new easy wash and wear cut, and the pearly pink polish on her nails adding a touch of glamour to her look. Her beautiful new pendant sparkled at her throat, the diamonds highlighting the soft green gem at the centre. She was surrounded by friends and family and was enjoying an absolutely scrummy late lunch. So far things couldn’t be better.
She didn’t even mind the amount of shoptalk that had taken place during lunch. Everyone had already spoiled her with birthday presents, hugs and kisses, and she was quite content eating her meal and listening in on the latest slayerette gossip, theories about the coming apocalypse or weapon research.
It had taken some time, but they’d finally all identified their individual weapons, thanks to Wes in the main, with his access to Wolfram and Hart’s resources. Most of the weapons had ended up being not only mystical in nature, but also mythical. Buffy had never been much of a one for the classics, so she’d been pretty bewildered, and more than a little amused by the reactions of the fanboys in the group. Giles, Wes, Andrew, even Spike and Xander, had oohed and aahed over the enchanted talking mace of this God and the serrated spinning disk of that. To be honest, she hadn’t even heard of half of the Gods or war heroes mentioned, particularly the Indian or Sumerian ones.
But even she knew who Xerxes was, which meant that she understood why Xander was so excited when his eyepatch had turned out to be the fabled ‘Eye of Xerxes’, used by the Persian king to foretell coming events and often regarded as one of the key features of his military successes. Of course she knew who Artemis was, and was pretty impressed that Rowan had been gifted the Greek Goddess’ silver bow and arrows. But by far her favourite treasure was her own. After a lot of research, using a range of mythological and historical accounts, Buffy had established that her woven leather belt was none other than the famed ‘Girdle of Hippolyta’.
She’d had to do a bit of reading before she discovered that Hippolyta was the most renowned Queen of the Amazons and undoubtedly a slayer herself. The magic belt had been given to her by her father Ares, God of war, and it gifted her with the authority to rule over the Amazons. The parallels weren’t lost on Buffy.
What’s more the legends were more than just fairy tales. Buffy could feel the power coming off of the belt whenever she strapped it on. And, as a bonus, there was an attached sheath that seemed custom made for Sagaria. Which seemed a pretty big coincidence. Or not. How the girdle came to end up in the weapons’ satchel was another mystery for the ages. According to the myths Hercules was given the task of obtaining the girdle. What became of it after the Greek hero stole it away was anyone’s guess. But either way, it was hers now.
Tuning back into the conversation drifting around her, Buffy smiled as she overheard Fred detailing the goings-on at Wolfram and Hart. Although the pretty scientist now seemed to split her time almost evenly between Ashdown and L.A., she’d been at the law firm often enough to regale them with some of the crazy goings-on. Her story about how Harmony had almost gotten herself framed for murder was both wacky and amusing. The blonde vampire sounded just as shallow and incompetent as Buffy remembered her to be, and why Angel would put up with her for a secretary was anyone’s guess.
“Poor Harmony,” Fred laughed, “I almost felt sorry for her. Sometimes I don’t know who’s more unsettling, her or Eve,” she added.
“Who’s Eve?” Buffy asked.
“Skanky ho and wanna be big gun,” Faith threw in. “She’s the so-called liaison to the Senior Partners of Wolfram and Hart. More like an errand girl if you ask me. All bark but not too much bite. Looks like someone should stuff her in Paris Hilton’s handbag.”
Fred, Wes and Connor, all of who knew the infamous Eve, broke out laughing at the thought, before acquainting Faith with the bitch’s latest treacherous actions. As Buffy half listened to their ongoing conversation, a tale that involved Angel being set upon by some huge spidery thing, she mused about the way that her ‘family’ had grown over the last six months.
From the motley crew of Hellmouth survivors – Giles, Willow, Xander, Dawn, Andrew and herself, they’d added a clutch of significant others, both old – Spike, Oz and Tara, and new – Rowan, Cat, Connor. They’d strengthened old relationships – Faith, Althanea and Wes, and adopted some new acquaintances – Fred, Frank, Khatia and Drogyn. Their little band of six had mushroomed to a loud, boisterous, funny, gifted and powerful dynasty of nineteen or so members. Okay, so some, like Faith, Fred, Wes and Connor, were a bit come and go, but thanks to Dawn’s portal abilities, they caught up with the L.A. troop two or three times a week. At least. Which reminded Buffy.
“So Connor,” she asked the young man sitting on her left, “How are things between you and Angel? Do you see much of him?”
“Not a lot, but now and again,” Connor paused, “Its still a little weird you know? Awkward. But I’m not so pissed, ah I mean annoyed, at him anymore. I mean, I can kind of understand why he did what he did. I don’t necessarily agree with it, but I get it.”
Buffy nodded. The whole sorry tale of Angel’s efforts to create a ‘better’, more ‘normal’ life for his son had come out after Willow’s little slip of the tongue at Thanksgiving. Connor had stormed into Angel’s Wolfram and Hart apartment the next morning, as his initial shock having turned from confusion into anger and hurt.
According to Dawn, he hadn’t slept that whole night long, the two of them just sitting and talking, with Dawn contributing what she knew of Connor’s existence, which was precious little, as well as a brief description of the life and times of Angel. She hadn’t gone into too much detail, leaving the more vicious, bloodthirsty, deranged and controlling aspects of the vampire’s history out of the mix at that stage. But by then Connor had known enough to begin bristling at what he saw as betrayal and manipulation by the man, no vampire, who had supposedly fathered him.
So first thing the following morning, accompanied by Dawn, Wes, Fred and Faith, they’d opened a portal directly into Angel’s office. It had been mid afternoon in L.A., and the CEO had been in the middle of a meeting with some sort of demon cartel. Connor had just bowled in, ignoring Harmony’s protests that the boss was busy. Angel had frowned at the interruption, before smoothing the ruffled feathers (literally) of his clients and rescheduling his meeting for the next day.
Connor had insisted on hearing the full story of his existence from Angel, warts and all. According to Dawn he’d been visibly shaken by what he’d heard, especially that he’d made attempts on his father’s life and had an affair with Cordelia (which ew, Buffy was pretty squicked about herself). Once Angel had reached the end of the sorry tale, Connor had demanded that they all return to Cyvus Vail’s place so that the Orlon Window could be broken and their memories returned to them.
It was a lot for a young man to take in, but with Dawn’s help, he seemed to be coping amazingly well. The fact that he was not only ‘The Destroyer’, but also a Scion, had given him a much more positive sense of self. But if Angel’s stories, and Connor’s own reassimilated memories, were to be believed, it hadn’t been so long ago that the young man was a raging psychopath. Not that Buffy thought he was in any danger of sliding back into such a violent, antisocial state, but she did want to make sure he wasn’t under undue stress or anything.
“So, how’s school going? Stanford isn’t it?”
“Um, yeah, its all good.”
“You're managing to get your assignments done between popping back and forth to Ashdown?”
“Yeah, yeah. Its cool! Dawn and I have worked out a daily schedule so that I can fit everything in when …” He paused, his big blue eyes glancing up at Buffy’s suddenly sharp expression. “Oh, um, did I say daily? Ha ha, of course I mean weekly, ah …” He gave up, slumping as he realised that he’d blown his and Dawn’s cover.
“Yes well, I knew you were here every weekend, but I don’t believe I've spotted you more than the odd day or two mid week.”
“Well its not always me coming here, sometimes Dawn …” His eyes widened in horror as he realised what he was saying. He slumped face first onto the table, banging his forehead against the surface as he mumbled “Oh my God, oh my God!”
Spike, who had been deep in conversation with Wes, had caught Connor’s final confession, and was glaring at the semi-prostrate young man with sparks in his eyes. Thankfully the whole scene appealed to Buffy’s sense of humour and she burst into giggles as she patted Connor on his shoulder.
“Never mind Connor, perhaps you just need to get a little more rest so that you're not so um ‘indiscreet’ next time we chat.” The boy lifted his head tentatively and nodded hopefully. “And don’t worry, I’ll be having a chat with my little sister. Not that it will necessarily do me any good. But I guess I can’t rant about things too much considering that I spent my High School years sneaking out of my window. All I ask is that you be careful, and both keep your grades up.”
“Sure, sure, no problem Ms Summers, I mean Buffy,” Connor said. “In fact, I've actually just put my application in to study at Oxford. Stanford has a number of Undergrad scholarships that are available for exemplary first year students, so you see, I’m pretty motivated to work hard and hold onto my ‘A’ average.”
“Hmm, Oxford aye? Isn’t that where Dawn’s planning to go?”
“Oh, um, yes, I guess it is,” Connor spluttered.
“Oh well, I suppose you’ll both be studying pretty hard then. Just keep that up, and don’t forget the safe thing, and I don’t think we’ll have a problem,” Buffy said, smiling sweetly at him.
Connor nodded sheepishly and got to his feet, pulling Buffy’s chair out for her. Nonplussed, she glanced around the table, only then noticing that Spike and Giles were up at the counter paying the bill, arguing about how they were going to split it no doubt, while everyone else was getting ready to leave. She nodded at Connor and clambered to her feet. Immediately her bladder reminded her of its currently compromised status.
“Um Connor, can you just let Spike know I’m popping to the bathroom first.” She waited for his nod of acknowledgement, then headed towards the back of the pub where she’d spotted the ‘Ladies’ sign. She had to pass a group of rowdy lads who’d been holed up in the back booth all afternoon. They’d had a fair few beers by the strength of the fumes wafting off them as she eased her way around the group. Her toilet stop wasn’t exactly speedy. Getting preggy clothes undone and down in a small cubicle, while doing the urgent pee jiggle wasn’t the easiest task in the world, but eventually she was toileted, rinsed and even freshly lipsticked, ready to spend the afternoon at the movies. This really had been her best birthday ever.
Pushing the bathroom door open, Buffy’s smile turned into a frown. The noise from the drunkards around the corner had got even louder and was pretty aggressive sounding. Sure enough, within seconds the angry voices had turned into yelling and swearing, and just as she was attempting to dash past the booth, half a dozen smelly, hairy, fired up louts lurched and stumbled out of their seats and directly on top of Buffy, fists and boots swinging wildly. In their testosterone and alcohol fuelled free-for-all, they were actually quite oblivious to the heavily pregnant blonde in their midst.
It was all Buffy could do to keep on her feet. Her normal aggression and agility deserted her, replaced instead by fear and an overwhelming need to protect her child. In fact, the protection spell would have kept her and the baby safe from harm, but in her panic she’d forgotten about the tattoo’s safeguard. All she could think about was the fact that one little knock in the wrong place could be enough to injure or even kill her baby.
So instead of dishing out a few well-timed punches and kicks of her own, she ducked and dived, hands wrapped tightly round her belly as she tried to avoid any direct hits. Suddenly she lost her footing, knocked backwards by an elbow to the jaw. With nowhere to go but directly down, she landed heavily on her butt. The impact reverberated through her body like a jackhammer, jarring everything loose, or so it seemed. But she didn’t have time to sit there in shock, the fight hadn’t slowed down in the least and she was in no less danger on the ground than she’d been on her feet.
Scrambling awkwardly onto her knees, Buffy tried to find a break between the swaying legs. It was hard going, she was hemmed in on all sides and those sides were stamping and thumping. Suddenly a gap opened up, one of the ruffians had taken a step back. As fast as she could manage, Buffy began to crawl towards the light. But at the last moment she realised that the absconder hadn’t abandoned the fight, he’d just taken a step backwards so that he could give himself some room to swing his leg. And now that leg, and the boot clad foot attached to it, was heading straight for her head.
If she’d had room to move, or even a fraction of her normal flexibility, she would have just grabbed the bastard’s foot and flipped him over her back. But she couldn’t move more then an inch or two. Panicking, she tried to turn, but she only got halfway before she was jammed tight between the bulging calf muscles and chunky knees of the various combatants. With a burst of terror Buffy realised that the kicker’s foot was now only inches away from contact with her unprotected belly.
A wailing shriek of dread and despair had just left her mouth when all of a sudden light was once again pouring in through the gap. Then, bit by bit, the light and space continued to grow as one by one the men surrounding her seemed to leap up and out of her arena. Their abrupt departures were accompanied by yells, thuds and the sound of smashing furniture.
Still huddled on the ground in a state of shock, Buffy couldn’t have explained exactly what was going on, and when strong arms reached down and plucked her out of the melee, her initial reaction was to struggle and fight against her accoster. But finally the gentle stroking and soothing voice cut through her panic.
“Spike! Oh God Spike, I was so scared. He was going to hurt the baby,” she sobbed, clinging to her partner frantically.
“It’s alright sweetheart, it’s alright,” he murmured, rocking her as he held her tightly against his chest. “You’re safe now. Spike’s got you.”
“What, what happened?” she stammered through her tears.
“It was Connor, pet. He saw what was going on and got over here just in time to snatch up the bastard that was aiming to kick you. Threw him halfway across the room he did. I was only a step behind him, maybe two, but I wouldn’t have made it in time before he …” Spike shuddered with the thought of what could have happened. “Maybe your ink would’ve been enough to protect you and the bit, but I don’t know. Sure it dampens the impact of any blows, but a direct hit on your abdomen, lets just say I wouldn’t ever want you testing it.”
Buffy nodded, although the action was difficult to pick up in amongst the shakes and tremors that were jarring her body. Clutching onto to Spike’s arms, she managed a peek over his shoulder. Connor, Faith and Khatia had hold of various members of the East Grinstead Fight Club, while others were still strewn around the room. The pub manager was alternately yelling at the miscreants and shaking hands with or slapping the backs of the Ashdown crew, who he seemed to view as some kind of super heroes. Buffy guessed that any bill for damages would be ending up in the hands of the troublemakers rather than the gung-ho saviours.
Once she felt strong enough to sit up on her own, Spike ran his eyes and hands up and down Buffy’s body, a worried look on his face.
“Are you all right pet? Where did they hurt you? I can smell blood. And I hate to say it but that bunch of tossers did such a number on my fierce warrior girl that they obviously scared the piss out of you. Your jeans are soaked through luv.”
“Huh? No I’d already been to the toilet, so I couldn’t have wet my pants. Maybe one of those wankers spilled his beer on me.”
Spike smiled at Buffy’s use of wanker and her little joke. She was obviously feeling a little better. Still, he was seriously pissed off that the bastards had scared her so badly and ruined her birthday afternoon. The movies were definitely off, which was possibly the only bright side to this whole ugly incident. Anyway, she’d definitely need a warm bath and a change of clothes. He sniffed again. No, absolutely not beer, but now he thought about it, the odour was slightly sweet, so not urine either. And the smell of blood was getting stronger.
“Pet, I think we need to get …”
“Aaaah,” Buffy suddenly groaned, clutching her tummy, “Aaah, oh shit, oh shit!”
“What is it luv? The baby?”
Buffy nodded, tears in her eyes as she clenched her teeth and fists. “I think, aah, oh God Spike, I think something’s wrong.”