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‘Of all that is written, I love only what a person has written with his own blood.’
Friedrich Nietzsche


Spike yelled out for Cat, his heart thumping loudly in his chest as he did so. Every second it took for the five and a half month pregnant doc to get there seemed to take a lifetime.

“Spike, is Buffy okay,” Cat panted, easing herself down onto her knees.

“No doc, she’s not. She’s bleeding, she’s in a hell of a lot of pain and I think her waters have broken.”

“Okay, that’s braw. I assume ye can smell th’ blood?” she asked Spike.

“Yeah, haven’t established for sure yet where it’s comin’ from, but I’m pretty sure it’s from down below.”

“Calm doon man, its likely nae a problem. My guess is that it’s jist her operculum, th’ mucus plug ya ken, that’s bin passed either before or as her waters broke. Th’ pains’ll be her labour contractions.”

“No, not contractions,” Buffy panted, “Sore all the time.”

“Were you hit Buffy, or kicked?”

“No,” she whimpered. “Fell hard though. On my butt.”

“Alright, we need tae get ye back tae Ashdown so that we can examine ye. Looks like either way, this babe is on its way. Spike, if ye could pick her up and carry her out tae Rupert’s motor. Ah think it best we travel together, one ay the others can bring yer car back later.”

Spike nodded and reached into his pocket, pulling out the keys and tossing them to Xander. Then he slid his arms under Buffy’s lower back and thighs and rose slowly and gently to his feet. She whimpered in pain as he did so. Her jeans were wet and cold and she was shivering, whether from fear, pain or shock he was loath to say. As Spike stepped back, he glanced down at the floor. He had to grit his teeth to stop an anguished groan from escaping. A puddle of bright red fluid lay splattered across the pale grey tiles like a Rorschach pattern. Shakily, he nudged Cat’s arm, flicking his head downwards to point out the disturbing souvenir Buffy had left behind.

Cat frowned briefly then nodded at him, uncharacteristically brusque and serious in her tone. “Jist gie her in the car Spike,” she said.

He couldn’t have said what was happening with the others, whether there was shouting and wailing or stunned silence, whether people were dashing around in panic or standing frozen in shock. If anyone asked him a question or wished them well he couldn’t say. His senses had narrowed down to just Buffy, Cat and his task of getting her out of the pub and into the waiting car.

East Grinstead was the closest town to Ashdown, and the trip was usually only about ten minutes. This time, he swore the Watcher must have made it in five. Spike sat in the back, Buffy laid out along the seat with her head in his lap and her legs pulled up in front of her. She was still in a lot of pain, but her heart rate was even and the bleeding seemed to have slowed a little. The Niblet’s little ticker was still pattering away steadily as well. Cat had sternly told him to monitor her, which thanks to the presence of his demon, was easy enough to do without benefit of stethoscope or fancy monitors. And at least he felt like he was doing something.

Rupert’s tires crunched across the gravel driveway and he pulled up practically on top of the Manor House’ front doorstep. Spike leapt out almost before the car had stopped moving, racing around to the far side to open the door and scoop Buffy up into his arms. Cat had already darted through the front door and headed off towards her rooms. Spike dashed through the door after her, cradling his precious load carefully as he turned left and proceeded down the long corridor that connected the Manor House first to the converted Chapel and then to the East Wing.

Cat’s medical clinic consisted of three rooms at the entrance to the East Wing, her office and examination room, a treatment room and a mini theatre. By the time Spike strode into the treatment room, the same one Buffy had occupied back in November, Cat was just inside the attached bathroom, having already pulled her white lab coat on over her dress, and with her sleeves rolled up and her hands and arms bared for scrubbing.

“Spike. Put ‘er doon on the bed,” Cat called out from the other room. “I’ll be there in a minute, then ye can come and wash up yerself. There’s a spare set ay scrubs in the closet here fur ye.”

“What the hell? You’re intending to operate? Hate to tell you, but I’d make a piss poor theatre nurse.”

“Calm doon ye drama queen. Hopefully there’ll be nae need for surgery, but Buffy’s waters hae broken, which means she’s susceptible tae infection. I don’t know if you’ve looked at yerself, but yer covered in blood and amniotic fluid, and I’d prefer ye as sterile as possible if you're gonnae keep yer lassie company.”

“You want me to stay baby?” he asked.

“Stupid vampire,” she answered through gritted teeth, “Of course I want you to stay. Who else am I going to curse and swear at if not you?”

“Good, because wild horses couldn’t drag me outta here.”

With that he left Buffy in Cat’s capable hands and ducked into the bathroom to wash his hands and change into the funky green scrubs he found in the cupboard. By the time he returned, Cat had set up an equipment cart, an I.V. pole and a small portable electronic fetal monitor. She had a clean, folded gown and a flannel backed rubber sheet sitting on the bottom of the bed, and was chatting quietly to Buffy.

“Guid timin’ Spike. Come an’ help me sit Buffy up, and get her out ay her clothes and intae this gown. Then we can examine her an’ see what’s gonnae on.”

The Slayer still seemed in quite a lot of pain, but she was coherent and mobile enough to help with the outfit change. Getting her wet leggings off was a bit of a challenge, but once that was done and she was settled into the newly waterproof-sheeted bed, Cat busied herself attaching the elastic belts for the monitor transducers, and taking Buffy’s pulse and heart rate.

“Alrecht, yer blood pressure’s a wee on the low side, but everything else looks braw, and the baby’s heart rate is guid. You're definitely in labour. I’d like to examine you now so that I can try and determine how far along you are.”

Cat was just about to start the examination, when there was a knock on the door. Rowan and Dawn popped their heads in. After receiving a brief rundown on Buffy’s condition, Spike asked Dawn to whip back to the house to grab Buffy’s hospital bag, while Cat gave her niece instructions to go and get a bag of fluids ready. She wanted to hold off on a transfusion at this stage, but they had plenty of blood in stock should Buffy need one later. Cat had set up a blood bank on site, and all of the slayers were required to donate every three months. With such a wide spread of ethnicities, they had built up a valuable supply of all eight blood types, even the rare AB– and B–.

“Aw rite folks, let’s get going.” Cat pulled the sheets back. “Buffy, can ye lie back, bring your knees up an’ out.”

Buffy did as she was asked and Cat gloved up before gently sliding two fingers into the Slayer’s vagina. She pushed and prodded for a while before withdrawing her hand, stripping off her bloodied gloves and binning them.

“Alrecht, you're still bleeding fairly heavily, but it’s nae excessive. I think the bleeding and pain would indicate you’ve had a placental abruption. It probably happened when ye crashed to the hard floor. At least part ay the placenta has separated frae the lining of the uterus.”

“Fuck, that doesn’t sound good doc.” Spike was obviously quite shaken.

“I’m nae gonnae soft soap you, it’s a potentially fatal condition, both fur mother and bairn. But, the monitor tells us that the baby’s heart rate is steady, and it looks as though the bleeding has eased off a wee bit. Possibly Buffy, yer Slayer healing has kicked in which gives us a wee time. And there’s mair good news an’ aw. You're having regular contractions, and you're dilated 5cm, sae its time tae get the show on the road.”

“What should we … ah, ah, ahhh,” Buffy groaned as another contraction hit. She scrunched up her face and bit her lip as she worked through the pain. “Whoa,” she panted, “That was a doozy. What was I saying? Oh yeah, what should we do now?”

“I’m gonnae hook you up tae a saline drip. I think we can hold off on a blood transfusion at this stage, but Rowan’s grabbin’ a unit ay A+ anyway jist in case. Once Dawn arrives wi’ yer bag Buffy, I think you can pop on some clean clothes and go fur a wee wander. Being upright an’ active can help move things along. Given your bleed, I wouldn’t recommend the spa bath, it’d be apt to get a little too messy. But otherwise do whit ye can to be comfortable and engaged. Spike, mind yer role, timekeeping an’ offering damp facecloths, cold drinks, gentle back massages and encouraging words.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he said, nodding. “I know, I know. Bloody hell, this is really it.” He scrubbed his hands over his face and mumbled to himself, “Come on, you’ve got this. You can do it.”

“Oh for God’s sake you jerk,” Buffy growled, slapping him on the arm. “I’m the one ‘doing it’. You're just the sidekick! The pit crew! I’m driving this juggernaut. Although you can probably replace ‘driving’ … ahhhhh!” she paused and gripped Spike’s hand tight, “With ‘trying to squeeze out’.”

Spike looked like he was going to take offence, before sucking it up and nodding decisively.

Cat quickly and efficiently sterilized Buffy’s arm, inserted the needle and cannula and was attaching the drip just as a knock sounded on the door. Dawn popped her head around the door.

“Is it alright to come in?” she asked, her eyes big and shiny, and her voice wobbly with supressed fear.

Spike checked with Cat and Buffy before signalling Dawn to enter. “Come in Bit. You got everything?”

“Yeah, and I grabbed a cold bottle of Gatorade out of the fridge.”

“Good girl!” He started fossicking through Buffy’s bag, hauling out knickers, dark grey sweatpants, a sanitary pad, a warm coat and her ugg boots, while Buffy took a few welcome slurps of the blue energy drink. “Just gonna get your sis a bit more decent and we’re gonna do a lap of the grounds. If you hold on a sec you can join us.”

Spike helped Buffy out of bed, and between the three of them they had the Slayer dressed and raring to go within minutes. Then they set off, slowly, carefully, with the I.V. pole doubling as a wheeled walking stick. Spike alternated between giving Dawn a few more details on the situation and rubbing Buffy’s back and counting down the seconds on his watch when the contractions hit, while Dawn filled them in on what had happened at the pub after they left.

They didn’t go far, just back along the corridor to the chapel and from there out into the courtyard next to the East Wing. It was close to five o’clock by that time, and cold and dark outside, so they did little more than walk over to the back doors to the dormitory wing, so they could walk along the corridor back to the medical wing. It was mainly the younger girls that lived in this block now, the older girls having shifted to the two big tower blocks.

Dinner for the Year 10s took place on the dot of 5.00, so there were girls streaming past them in little groups of three or four, heading to the dining room. None of them would have known about the day’s events, but of course they all knew who Buffy was, knew that she was The One, the original Chosen One. They also all recognised Spike. They admired and esteemed the vamp that was Buffy’s consort and champion, all the while keeping their guard around him. They wouldn’t take P.E. classes with him until they were seniors, so their danger tingles were still set to high alert if they ever got so close. And this was as close as many of them had ever been.

Still, manners and respect overrode their innate fear, and all being aware of the head Slayer’s overdue pregnancy, were instantly mindful of what the status quo obviously was. So the first “Good luck Ms Summers,” shouldn’t have been a surprise, but to Buffy, who was pretty self-focussed at the time, it gave her quite a start.

The subsequent well wishes, including a few directed to both herself and ‘Mr Spike’ made her grin, until she remembered the state of her outfit, but then she thought, ‘New hairdo, sparkly nails! What the hell!’ and she held her head up, returning the girls’ greetings with a nod and a smile.

That was until one studious looking young lady added “Oh and happy birthday as well.”

Buffy stopped, her mouth gaping in surprise. “Oh my God! She’s right! It’s still my birthday isn’t it? Typical! See Spike, despite all of your hard work and careful planning, my birthday just refuses to be disaster-free. Who ever heard of a bar fight and a haemorrhage on your birthday? Humph!”

“Oh well pet, let’s see if we can’t turn the bad luck around. Still got a few hours left yet.”

“Yeah, hours I’m gonna spend screaming and writhing in pain. Like, ooo, like now!” And she hunched over again, trembling and clutching the I.V. pole so hard that it started to bend.

Spike winced, torn between saving the pole and thanking the almighty that she wasn’t using her slayer strength on his hand. It was pretty unheard of for slayers to give birth, only a handful ever had according to the Wanker’s Diaries. But he certainly pitied any poor human bastard who got stuck alongside a labouring slayer. It was going to be a long night!

In the end they did four circuits of the East Wing, the trips spread out over a couple of hours. In between times, Cat checked Buffy’s contractions and the baby’s heartbeat and Spike massaged her back and legs. Willow, Tara and Faith popped in for short visits before they headed off round the block again. Finally, just after seven, they decided to call it quits on the walking. With the contractions only three minutes apart and Buffy feeling tired, irritable and increasingly uncomfortable, they were both relieved to follow Cat’s suggestion.

“I think it’s abit time we check how dilated ye are again. Strip aff your boots and keks and we’ll see how far along ye are.”

Buffy’s pad was soaked through, but not it seemed the bright red of new blood. Cat’s examination explained why.

“Weel done Buffy, youore fully dilated an’ the baby’s head is fully engaged. We’re good tae go.”

Spike piled a couple of pillows behind Buffy’s back so that she could sit in a more upright position.

“Comfy baby?” he asked.

“God no,” she grimaced, shaking her head at him, “But thanks for asking.”

From that point on it became a bit of a blur. Buffy’s moans transmuted into grunts, screams and more than a few swear words. Both Cat and Rowan whirled around their little nucleus, busying themselves with monitoring and sage advice, while Spike did his level best to be the most sensitive new age vamp he could manage, sponging Buffy’s hot brow, lightly massaging her aching back, biting his lip in silence when she used that slayer grip on his left hand, and offering endless encouragement.

Not that it had seemed to do a lot of good as far as his girl went. She alternated between various weepy, bitchy, panicky and gritty versions of herself on a schedule that appeared unrelated to any external input whatsoever. He was there, playing the supportive partner every step of the way, but really, it was all on Buffy. The closer she came to the actual delivery, the more inwardly focussed she became, dancing to a rhythm that only she could hear. It astonished Spike, filling him with awe and admiration for the child-birthing job that not only Buffy, but also women the world over, performed.

And by the time she got to the final stages, Spike was as wrung out as he’d ever been at the tail end of a fierce to-the-death fight, or a prolonged hunt. But the rush of adrenaline he felt as the baby crowned, and the uncontrollably powerful flood of emotions that hit him as that squirmy little body slid out on a wave of blood and fluids, were his ultimate undoing.

Tears were already streaming down his cheeks as Cat lifted the baby straight up onto Buffy’s chest. A boy! My God, they had a son. The little lad was calm and alert as Rowan tucked a blanket over him. Spike gently laid his hand on his son’s back and pressed kisses and words of adoration onto Buffy’s forehead and cheeks. She was red, sweaty and dishevelled, but she had never looked more beautiful to him.

“Love you my beautiful, clever girl. Love you so much. Thank you Buffy, thank you sweetheart,” he murmured

A love so powerful that it seemed to eclipse any previous experience of the emotion he’d felt, lit up his synapses. Love for Buffy, for this precious gift she’d given him. Love for this new member of their family, their son.

“We have a boy?” Buffy asked.

“We do, our son. You did it my gorgeous girl, you did it!”

“We did it Spike.”

“Hae ye got a name fur him?” Cat asked as she came up to check on mother and child.

“Yes,” Buffy looked at Spike and he nodded, “Yes we have. Aidan William Pratt.”

“Aye, that’s a bonny name fur a bonny laddie. Well, I need tae whip him away frae you for a minute tae get him cleaned up an’ assessed. Spike would you like tae cut the cord?”

“Soddin’ hell, this is surreal. I‘m a 126 year old viscous, bloodthirsty vampire,” Spike shook his head, “And I’m feelin’ like a total poof about cutting a poxy little umbilical cord. Damn!”

“So I take it that means ‘aye’.”

“As long as its not gonna hurt him, then yeah pet, I’d love to.”

There followed another little burst of activity, the cord cutting and delivery of the troublesome placenta, followed by Spike helping Buffy through to the shower. Meanwhile Cat cleaned, weighed, assessed and wrapped baby Aidan, and Rowan stripped and remade the bed. Finally, Buffy was clean and dressed in her own clothes, propped up in bed with Aidan suckling at her breast. Rowan had slipped away to organise a late supper for the hungry parents, and Cat was filling in the paper work in her office.

It was just their little family, Spike, Buffy and their child, sharing this moment of solitude together. They knew that late as it was, they would probably be inundated with at least a few visitors tonight, and either way, as long as Cat gave them the go ahead, they were planning to head home in half an hour or so. But for now it was just them, this new, miraculous, little family unit that embraced one another, bound by the bonds of not just blood, but also a deep, abiding, unconditional love.

Still attached to his mother’s nipple, Aidan stared solemnly up at them. His dark blue eyes seemed to communicate a depth of instinctive trust and adoration that floored them both, filling them with pride and a huge sense of responsibility. At that moment they truly became parents, recognising and accepting the duty that lay ahead of them, willingly slipping on the mantle of loving guardianship that accompanied the birth of their child. Silently they made a promise, to their son, and to one another, that they would always put each another first. A promise of love and loyalty.

Spike glanced at the clock on the wall and grinned. “Happy birthday my love,” he whispered into the quiet of the room. “Happy birthday.”

Buffy looked up at him and smiled. “Yes Spike, I think you're right. For the first time in a very long time, it is indeed. A very, very happy birthday.”
q95;





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