Aristotle
Spike was bored. Due to her extra dose of crankiness, he knew Buffy was as well. The place was like a ghost town, with just about everyone out on the road.
He and Rupert had made a joint decision about his non-involvement in the Recruitment Teams. They both felt that his presence would set the baby Slayers off and confuse them at such an early stage in the conscription process, putting off more than they’d attract. And it was a shame really as he had a lot of valuable skills, not least his ability to converse fluently in most European languages.
Buffy was still feeling a bit peaky, and travel sickness on top of pregnancy nausea didn’t seem like such a good idea, so she’d been left out of the teams as well. But the Action Duo were getting a little restless.
To be fair Rupes probably needed them here anyway. They’d both attended a horde of meetings. Spike had been surprised, and secretly a little thrilled, when the Boss man had offered him a seat on the Board of Watchers. He already sat on the Executive Council, along with Buffy, Dawn, Willow, Xander, Althanea, Rowan, Faith, several of the Hellmouth Slayers and several of the Surviving Watchers. Giles was determined to ensure that the decision making group was as diverse as possible; as resident vampire, he had no problem being on the Exec.
But a group made solely of Watchers? Spike’s first instinct had been to turn the position down, Big Bad offended by the idea of sitting around all chummy with a bunch of Wankers. But then he’d realised how invaluable his knowledge and experience could be, a hundred years as the Slayer of Slayers and five as the thorn in Buffy’s side. He’d certainly bring a unique perspective to the Board.
What’s more, he could influence the future direction and responsibilities of the Watchers within the overall Amazon International organization. And that’s really what the current round of meetings were all about.
As a group, the Watchers were in a crisis situation. With thousands of Slayers to find, train and deploy, the Watcher role was critical. This came at a time when they had been decimated by the First, either tracked down and slaughtered by the Bringers or blown to smithereens in the Headquarters explosion. These actions had removed more than seventy percent of active Watchers.
There were still pockets of Watchers out there. Several dozen Council staff had survived the blast, among them Hurst, Edwards and old Davis. Most of these though were clerical or administrative workers rather than actual Watchers and had already been transferred to the new offices at Bromley.
Elsewhere, they were continuing to receive reports of Field Watchers who had survived the actions of the Bringers. Some of these, like Robson, had witnessed their potentials being butchered right in front of their eyes, before escaping to safety themselves. A few had managed to hear of the impending danger and go into hiding with their Slayers before the First’s minions had arrived, and by using cloaking spells and moving around a lot, had escaped the initial cull.
These men and women were coming out of the woodwork now. Some twenty odd Watchers, nine of them with their new Slayers in tow, had contacted Giles and were due to arrive next week. The girls, already trained and prepared for their roles in the scheme of things, would be invaluable. But the Watchers would be in even higher demand. Many of them, although they had trained and studied in England, were foreign nationals, repatriated to their own homelands when and if local girls were identified as potentials. This continued a tradition long established in the old Council, as the need for effective communication and rapport with the potentials became apparent.
The largest single group of surviving Watchers was stationed at Sackville College, The Watcher’s Academy in nearby East Grinstead. Twenty-four first, second and third year students and six staff members, including the principal Anthony Collins (younger and less deadly brother of wetworks commander Duncan Collins), had gone into immediate lock down when news of the explosion had made it to them. It had been a traumatic time; almost all of them had lost close friends or family members in the explosion. But they had come through it unscathed and many had really stepped up a level in the months since.
The eight third year students, Matthew Morris one of them, had since graduated and the new academic year was due to start. One of the Board’s jobs was to work with Collins to set out a new curriculum that would produce relevant, Twenty-first Century Watchers. The new Slayers would need men and women that were knowledgeable, adaptable, skilled, willing to follow as well as lead and not bound up in the old Council rhetoric.
Judging by the caliber of Matthew and a few of his mates, Spike didn’t think that Sackville needed to undergo too many changes. Traditionally the Academy provided a three-year Masters degree, its students having already completed undergraduate degrees within the conventional university system, many of them at either Oxford or Cambridge. Competition to enter the programme was fierce, and generally only the most accomplished students were accepted.
A new and greatly increased intake, many of them from outside of the traditional families that had served the Council for centuries, would soon be selected as inaugural students in the new wave. And the Board were considering running supplementary secondary school classes as well, an option for students who wished to accompany the new junior slayers as potential future Watchers. Challenging but exciting times.
But a greater part of the Board of Watcher’s current mission involved defining just what a Watcher’s responsibilities would now entail. The Slayer/Watcher balance had shifted drastically and the Field Watchers needed to develop more of a team mentality if they were going to be an effective part of their squads. Communication was going to become a vital new skill.
Finally, Amazon International needed to maintain a comprehensive team of Researchers. Cecil Davis was put in charge of this team. Their two main goals were to scan, archive and catalogue all of the research books and documents: historical, mystical, and prophetical; onto a central A.I. website for easy access from anywhere in the world; and to start searching for any links to the two current prophecies, either the Song of Sagaria or the Scourge of Amroz.
They had almost no information on the Scourge, no idea of timeframe, except possibly within the next few years if they broadly interpreted the context of the Prophecy. But where, what and who was totally unknown, so research was critical.
As for the Song, the stopwatch was ticking away on it. All they could really do was wait for his and Buffy’s child to be born and then carry out the Sagaria claiming ceremony, although the prophecy gave them no clues as to what that might involve.
Spike himself had contributed plenty to the discussions, but his main interest lay in building a detailed picture of an effective Watcher and getting the research around the Song in particular underway. He knew Slayers in general pretty well and Buffy even better. He’d seen what worked well in terms of Watcher support and what didn’t. Some actions, he offered, with all respect to Giles, were even highly destructive to their protégés.
The first thing that had to go was the Cruciamentum, and he’d got no argument on that. None of them could see any harm in testing the Slayers, either in theoretical or physical challenges, but to deliberately endanger them to the extent of extreme jeopardy was not only brutal and archaic, but in economic terms, it was also a potential loss of valuable company resources.
Spike wanted to see the Slayers and Watchers working together in a partnership, not a mentor/pupil relationship. What the Watchers often neglected to understand was that when a Slayer was activated, along with enhanced physical skills and abilities, she received an upgrade on her ability to plan and react intuitively and instinctively. Given good training, greater headway and more backing, Spike thought Slayers capable of making superior strategic decisions.
Finally, he wanted the Watchers to consider how they were going to handle the Slayer explosion in terms of public relations. Spike felt they needed to shift away from the old layer of secrecy they’d operated under and be proactive in terms of presenting their role and mission to the world. He suggested they might need to hire image consultants to present their organization in the best possible light. The others had scoffed at that, not even certain that they needed to uncloak let alone sell themselves.
Spike’s William persona had thrived on the intellectual stimulation of the Watcher’s Board, so the two meetings had been no great hardship. It was a novelty to be consulted and listened to with such respect, something he’d rarely experienced in either his living or undead existences. But his demon side was restless and antsy, suffering withdrawal symptoms from the lack of action since his amulet release.
He’d sparred with Faith a few times before she’d flown out the week before, but now there were precious few Slayers around except his own true love, and until they got the go ahead from the doc, he’d refused to spar with her.
He and Buffy were seated in the living area of their suite now, waiting on the Doc’s arrival. They hadn’t met her before, but she was some relation of Rowan’s and was seemingly in the know about the supernatural side of life, so that was a good start. Apparently she didn’t usually make house calls this early in a pregnancy but Rowan had also organized her an interview with Rupert, who was looking for a reliable and experienced doctor to join their staff. A horde of Slayers could keep a medic pretty busy.
Spike had gotten much better at doing the sitting around waiting thing, but after a whole week of little more than meeting attendance, he was feeling pretty twitchy. As he looked around their gorgeous room, he decided that maybe it would be better to take his mind off the boredom by thinking about something else.
His and Buffy’s first task, on arrival at Ashdown, had been to shift into their rooms in the Fairway Suites. The Suites had still been booked out when the Council had taken over Ashdown’s lease, and Rupert had honored the reservations. But once they were empty, these twelve rooms had became the long-term accommodation for any resident Sunnyhell survivors or key personnel, recreating a sense of home for those who had lost their’s.
They were gorgeous, luxurious and surprisingly private. Spike had, over his time traipsing round the world, found occasion to hole up in rooms of this caliber, but Buffy had never had an opportunity to live in the lap of luxury. And it was about time she got that chance – she deserved it.
Spike had gone all traditional and carried her over the threshold, figuring the suite would be the closest thing they would get to having their own place, for a while at least. She’d turned surprisingly docile and snuggled in contentedly, bright tears shimmering in her eyes as he’d stepped through the door and into the beautiful rooms that would quickly become their home.
She’d taken one look and wriggled her way down to the floor and kissed him quickly before dancing off to view all the pleasures that high quality interior decorating could produce. Spike had ambled off after her, taking his delight in the squeals of excitement and coos of joy that his girl had issued as she’d wandered through the modern, well equipped kitchenette, the lavishly appointed lounge, the sumptuous bathroom, complete with a massive multi jetted shower and sunken spa bath, and through into the opulent bedroom where he’d discovered his little minx spread out naked on the king size bed, ready to christen the suite in her own way.
Spike had quickly shed his own clothing and crawled onto the bed, both enthralled and aroused by the glistening goddess sprawled beneath him. He could sense and smell her desire, as he’d knelt over her on all fours, and had had to fight hard to keep his demon below the surface, the longing to possess and mark her clawing at his self-control.
Buffy had giggled and slid her lean legs up around his hips, dragging his pelvis down to hers. His aching, tumescent cock had pressed into the heat of her groin and they’d both groaned as he’d begun sliding back and forth along her wet slit, his head and shaft dragging across her throbbing clit. His hips continued to plunge backwards and forwards as he’d leant down to devour her mouth in a passionate kiss. Buffy had lifted her legs even higher and slipped her hands down to Spike’s butt, stroking and massaging his gluts, pushing and pulling in time with his thrusts.
Cradled by her fleshy lips, his hard prick had been slick with her hot nectar, and the feelings triggered by their grinding so intense that, as Buffy had reached her peak, he’d had to stop and take several long slow breaths to keep from shooting all over her belly. But as much as they’d both enjoyed the frottage, for their first time in their new home Spike had wanted to come inside her.
Having calmed down enough to avert a hasty finish, Spike had drawn himself back through the swollen folds of her quim, pressing down firmly enough to squeeze his knob against her still sensitive button. At the furthest point of his backstroke, he’d grabbed his shaft and, never losing contact with Buffy’s sodden flesh, slid down until he was aligned with her opening.
This time his forward stroke had led him directly into the tight, wet heat of her glorious cunny. Oh God, this bliss was his real home, buried here deep inside her body. He’d known he wouldn’t last long, and that last stroke down through her vulva, combined with the sudden thrust into her stimulated sheath, had also put Buffy right on the edge again. Plunging in and out of her slippery depths, Spike had leant forward again to whisper in her ear.
“That’s it baby, come for me. Let me feel you squeeze my cock. Show me how much you love me pet. Oh Buffy, oh sweetheart, I love you. I’m gonna come baby, you’re making me come. Come with me Buffy.”
He’d nuzzled into her neck instinctively, licking and sucking the silvery scars of his bite, and her response was fierce and instantaneous. She’d exploded, her powerful internal muscles spasming violently around him, pulling him over the edge into a convulsive explosion of light and colour. Deep within her body he had felt himself spending, his warm cum pulsing within her, flooding her core as she’d continued to milk him.
Finally they had collapsed, bodies replete with exhaustion and satisfaction. Spike had rolled onto his side, bringing Buffy with him. They’d wrapped themselves around one another and spent the next half hour sharing gentle kisses and sweet words of adoration, mutually pleased with their choice of house-warming celebration.
Spike jolted as he came back to himself, no longer bored but now with a different problem to, ah, solve. Casually, he straightened his shirt and buttoned the bottom half up, hoping the loose fabric would cover his aching erection. Damn, how’d he get himself into these situations. Now he was restless and extremely uncomfortable.
Buffy didn’t look much better, but undoubtedly for a different reason. She was nervously sitting on the edge of the couch, rubbing her hands up and down her thighs. Spike sighed and tried to rein his libido in. Time for best boyfriend mode he reckoned, as he slipped his arm around Buffy’s shoulders and pulled her against him. The contact immediately calmed both of them, and they were both much more relaxed by the time a knock sounded on the door five minutes later.
Spike got up to let their visitors in, checking his shirt again to make sure he was decent.
He opened the door to Rowan, his and Buffy’s own little personal crystal ball, her face lit up by an infectious grin.
Behind her stood a petite, fine-featured woman. Her dark hair was shot through with thick bands of intense violet and styled in a wispy, pixie-cut. Her wide set, warm brown eyes sparkled with curiosity and possibly a touch of mischief. She was dressed casually in faded jeans, black boots and a fitted black tee that bore the head shots of four guys beneath a stylized logo proclaiming the name ‘Skids’.
Spike’s eyebrows rose in surprise as he recognized the logo of the Scottish punk band and tried to reconcile the woman’s appearance with her occupation. He nodded at Rowan before he ushered her and the doc into the room and over to the lounge suite where Buffy was standing nervously.
Finally remembering his manners, Spike stepped forward and held out his hand.
“Morning Doc,” he said firmly, “I’m Spike, or William if you’d prefer, and this is Buffy. We’re pleased to meet you.”
The woman smiled back at them and returned Spike’s handshake before offering Buffy a similar greeting.
“I’m Dr Catriona McNair, but please just call me Cat.” The woman’s soft Scottish burr betrayed her nationality. “Please excuse our tardiness, but I’ve just met with your good leader and I guess we forgot the time. Our ‘discussions’ went on wee bit I guess you could say.” The doctor’s eyes twinkled with mirth and she had to cough into her hand to control an impending outbreak of giggles.
Buffy and Spike looked at each other in confusion, while Rowan rolled her eyes and frowned.
“Never mind me,” the doctor grinned, “a tale for another time I think.” She shook her head then threw her shoulders back before adopting a more subdued expression. “Ah now, to business, ya must think me slightly addled, but there’s just something about that man that…” Dr McNair trailed off and shook herself once more. “But really, I’m verra excited about supporting ya through this pregnancy Buffy and Spike. It’s an honour really. Come, let’s get comfortable and start.”
Everyone took a seat and the doctor popped her antique black leather bag on the ground.
“So how does this work Dr McNair?” Buffy asked, a touch of anxiety threading through her voice. “I just don’t know anything about pregnancy or what I’m supposed to do or expect to be feeling.” She smiled gratefully up at Spike as he wrapped an arm around her and dropped a kiss on her forehead.
“First of all, its Cat remember, I’m not much of one for standing on ceremony, so I’m more comfortable with first names.” She waited until Spike and Buffy had nodded their agreement before continuing on. “Now I know this pregnancy is pretty unique. Rowan told me a little about the special circumstances surrounding the conception of this wee one, and I know that may be some cause for anxiety. But most of what you’re feeling is what every young couple experience when faced with the amazing, thrilling, life-changing and terrifying reality of being responsible for nurturing a new life.”
Buffy and Spike looked at one another before letting out the breaths they were each holding, unnecessarily in Spike’s case, grinned nervously and nodded.
“Reckon you’ve got us pinned Doc, ah Cat, and that’s good enough for us, so point us in the right direction.”
“All right, good. And just so you know, I’m currently working in the Emergency Department at Princess Royal Hospital in Haywards Heath, but I’m a qualified Obstetrician and I spent five years in their obstetrics department and still have access to their facilities when I need them. Okay, now this is what is known as your booking appointment in the U.K. I’ve got a raft of forms for you to fill out so that we can work out things like your due date and family medical history.”
“S’gonna be interesting pet, what with me being born in the 19th Century. Don’t know how much of my family history’ll be relevant anyways, too much water under the bridge.”
“You’d be surprised Spike. If what my niece tells me is correct, and mystical forces managed to reanimate your own sperm, then we could very well be looking at William’s gene pool pure and simple, no matter how many years since he was born and died. After all, even undead, your body cells must still carry the blueprint of your DNA.”
“How do you figure that pet?” Despite himself, Spike was hooked. Balanced on the edge of the seat he was eagerly trying to follow Cat’s train of thought.
“Well, I’m no expert, but it seems that when a vampire is wounded, he or she is able to accurately reproduce the damaged cells in much the same way that a living human can, although much more efficiently from what I understand. The DNA of the host body lies dormant in each cell, ready to divide and proliferate, replacing damaged bone or tissue rapidly when needed. Although the cells aren’t alive in a biological sense, they’re inactive really rather than dead. Vampires after all look and move like the humans they once were, unlike zombies whose bodies really are dead.”
“Thank goodness for that,” Buffy shuddered as she screwed up her nose.
“So it seems to me Spike, that your body is doing everything that it did before you were turned, but in a stop-start fashion instead of continuously. Your cells are inactive until activated by injury, and your life force is mystical not biological – hence the lack of aging – if your cells aren’t living and aging then neither are you. So normally, when you release semen, it contains sperm but they are inactive or dormant just like your other cells. It took a mystical power source to activate them, but they should carry a perfect little blueprint of your DNA.”
“Yes, go me,” Buffy yelled, punching the air with her fist. “I might have flunked Biology my senior year but I still got the mystery of our miraculous conception right.” Spike sat next to her looking chuffed.
“Right, enough of the physiology lesson. Let’s get onto the good stuff.” Cat opened her bag up and pulled out several sheets of paper, which she passed to Spike, her stethoscope, which she hooked around her neck, and a Blackberry PDA. “Buffy, I’m going to take your blood pressure, then draw down some blood. There are a raft of tests to get done and believe it or not none of them relate to being a vampire.”
Cat moved over to sit next to Buffy so she could begin administering her tests while Spike drifted over to the table to begin filling in his sections of the paperwork. He was in a very contemplative mood, the doc’s musings setting him to wondering about the baby, meeting Buffy, vampirism and the meaning of his existence in general. Pretty heavy navel-gazing for a Wednesday afternoon.
Rowan had slipped through to the kitchen to pop on the kettle, and was now setting up a pot of tea and a plate of treats on the table for afternoon tea. She wandered through to chat to Cat as Buffy headed off to the bathroom with a small container in her hand.
The two McNairs had made their way through to Spike, Cat with her PDA and a small booklet in her hand. They sat down at the table and when she’d finished entering Buffy’s results, both in the booklet and on her Blackberry, Cat smiled at Spike.
“How’s the form filling going Sassenach?”
“Oi you cheeky wench, don’t forget that despite this youthful exterior I’m your elder and to be respected. Besides which, I’ve not been tame long enough to have forgotten the rich, smooth taste of a bonny Scots lassie’s blood. Goes down a treat on an chilly Glaswegian evening, if I recall.” He gave her his patented Spike smirk, eyebrow tilt, tongue roll and all.
Buffy caught the last part of Spike’s monologue as she came through the door. “Hey,” she growled, “watch it Big Bad, don’t go scaring our baby doctor off.”
Cat laughed, the warm sound filling the room. “Och, it’ll take more than his bree tung to scare this canny lass. Now, lets take a spot o’ tea while you fill out your life story for me.” She passed the forms Spike had finished with over to Buffy, who started scribbling away.
Once she’d finished, Cat passed Buffy a small bottle of pregnancy vitamins and a prescription for more once she’d finished them. She looked over Buffy’s dates and worked out her due date.
“Okay, by my estimate you’re 11 ½ weeks pregnant so provided this pregnancy runs the normal gestational length, you’ll be due around the 15th February.” She scribbled something into the little booklet. “So next week you’re due for your 12 week scan and all of your test results will be back by then too. We can do the scan at Princess Royal. Hayward Heath’s only about 14 kilometres down the road, so it’ll take nae tyme a’tall. We’ll make it in the forenicht, ah I mean evening, if you like, so it’s easier for Spike to get around.”
Spike looked at Buffy before clearing his throat. “Actually pet, looks like that niece of yours didn’t get to tell you the full tale of this here vamp. Seems I’m no longer afflicted with the sun allergy I once was, quite convenient actually.”
Cat’s eyes popped open in astonishment. “Really, its seems there’s more to this fairy tale than I could guess. Well that’s a story for another time. Alright, let’s make it ten o’clock on Wednesday morning then. Your pre-visit instructions are in this booklet Buffy, along with all of your baseline measurements. Bring it with you each time we meet.” She stood up and started moving towards the door.
“Ah, before you go Cat,” Buffy asked, a sheepish expression on her face, “How do you feel about pregnant women sparring against semi-vampiric men and young, untrained slayerettes?”
“Hmmm, I’d normally say no, but I guess you’re not my normal sort of patient. As long as you take it easy, no direct contact anywhere in the abdominal region and avoid lifting anything too ridiculously heavy,” she eyed Spike up at this point, “then I’d say go ahead, at least for the next two months. We’ll review things after that.”
With that Cat breezed out the door and the parents-to-be were left there, bemusedly contemplating the suddenly very real direction their lives heading in.