Disclaimer:  I don’t own or profit from BtVS.

Dawn of a New Age

Chapter Ten

They were lying naked on his black leather couch, her draped over him with her back to his chest.  He was caressing her in long rhythmic sweeps from her collarbone to her upper thigh and back again.  Every couple of revolutions he would pause at her midriff, his palm cupping the barely there feminine pouch above her narrow hipbones.

“Do you love her?”

Spike’s hand stuttered over her belly.  Was she asking about Dru?  Harmony?  Some milk-faced girl seated in a candlelit parlor lifetimes ago?  Her---his golden girl who danced in the sunshine?  She captured his hand and tellingly flattened it over her belly.

“Yes,” he replied with conviction.

“How do you know?”  Her voice wavered as her breath caught in her throat.  Spike could feel her tension telegraph from her body into his.  There was a bigger conundrum at work here, and it was up to him to suss it out.

“How do you mean?”

“How do you know it’s real love, and not part of the magic?  Like Willow’s spell.”

Spike tangled his fingers with hers, his thumb caressing the plump flesh of her palm.  His chest rose and fell in time to her breaths.  It was hypnotic.  Soothing in a way that made him feel connected to her.  He closed his eyes; more to center himself than to block out the bare rafters of the ceiling that made him feel inexplicably bereft when he was alone.

“Does it matter?”  He wasn’t sure if it was a conundrum he could solve or if it was even one needing to be.

“Of course, it matters.”  Her voice pitched, and his arms tensed around her in response.

“Why?”  He deliberately softened his tone to encourage her sense of calmness.  She was silent, but he could practically hear the gears in her brain churning.

“Because I don’t like my mind messed with.  It’s my choice.”  She was hard with conviction, and he didn’t like the direction the conversation had suddenly taken.  There had been a lot of talk about choices lately.  Mostly the choice between keeping their child and….not.

“Choice?  Would you choose to hate her then?”

“No!”  The word dropped between them, and he was gratified at the amount of shock and disapproval it conveyed.  “It’s just…We didn’t have a choice.  We weren’t given options.  It was sprung on us.  We didn’t even get to choose us, you know.  I mean, would you have chosen to have a baby with me?  I don’t think so.”  She started out sounding lost, but she easily segued into angry and acrimonious.  It didn’t take a genius to know her choice would have been Angel.  Her champion.  Her great poncy romance.  How could he ever compare to that?

Spike swallowed around the raw bitterness in his throat.  He tried to find his way past her words, her exposed, jagged emotions, to what was hidden underneath.  Something he was beginning to learn about his little slayer was that no matter the confidence she presented to the world, she was riff with insecurity beneath.  What made her a truly admirable woman was the way she was able to conquer it most of the time.  But sometimes, like now, it slipped through.

He took a breath out of synch with hers to steady his voice.  “So you’d choose not to have her then?”

“What?  No!  You aren’t listening to me,” she accused.  She struggled against him, and he clamped his arms around her, trapping her to his chest.

“Don’t just react, pet.  I want you to really think about it.  Dig past all that glitter on the surface that might be part of some bleedin’ spell and really search your heart.  Would you be happy going back to your apple pie college co-ed by day, Slayer by night, life before the tyke?”

Buffy stilled in his arms, far from relaxed.  Her muscles were bow-string taut and she was ready to fly, but she was giving his words their due consideration.

“No.  I love her.  I wouldn’t give her up for the world.”

“So does it really matter?  She’s the dawn of a new age.  A child of a slayer and a vampire.  A child of light and dark.”  He held her close so he could whisper in her ear.  “She’s our miracle, luv.  Ours and ours alone.”

She gasped, and her hands tangled with his in a tight grip that would have injured a mortal man.  His words affected her deep in the pit of her gut where her instincts as a slayer lived.  Their miracle.  Their dawn.  Their child.  She closed her eyes and a tear leaked out.  The intensity of her emotions had to be induced, but it was so hard to discount them when they welled so strongly from the very depths of her.  She just needed to let go of her resentment and accept.  Accept this child and her unconditional love for it.

The vise that had been steadily clamping down on her since she realized she was pregnant dispersed.  This child was meant to be, and she was meant to be her mother. 

What she wasn’t so sure of was Spike.  His earlier words made sense.  If they were meant to be guardians to a miracle child, then their feelings would only extend to her.  Emotions between them shouldn’t be part of the equation.  But she did feel something, and that just couldn’t be.  It had to be part of the magic.  There could be no other explanation.  Because the idea of reality was so much worse than manipulation by magic.  It meant taking responsibility for her emotions no matter how messy, inappropriate and just plain wrong they were.

Spike anguished in silence.  Deep down he was terrified she would decide that Angel would make a better father to their child.  That somehow she would run to him, and convince him to give up his redemption to be with her.  He wanted to scream at her to forget Angelus.  He was the one who was here.  The child was his.  This family was his.  He wouldn’t give them up without a fight.

“No, but…”  Her breathing hitched, her heart doing a double tap that went straight into his chest, making him think for just half a second his heart was beating along with hers.  The idea made his cock twitch, and he tried to will away his burgeoning erection, knowing the real reason for her knickers being twisted was poised to strike.

“But,” he prodded.

Her hand twisted in his, her sweaty palm slick against his cool skin.  When they were close like this, naked and intertwined until they couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began; when he was covered in everything of hers that made her human, her sweat, her breath, her heat, it made him feel alive.  Like he was a human being, with all the hopes and dreams of a human man within his reach.

“It doesn’t explain us.”

Spike stopped breathing.  They were wandering into territory he wasn’t completely comfortable with.  There was a minefield of secrets between them, and if he didn’t step lightly it would blow up in his face.  He had been so desperate to be with her, be inside her, that he let a hidden side of him slip through.  All those poncy words about dawns and sunsets, craving the perfection of her.  Telling her he wanted her and only her.  It was too close to the truth, to his secrets.  He needed to rout her before she found him out. 

“I thought hormones explained us, kitten.”

She hardened, and he wondered if she turned into molded plastic like one of those department store mannequins.

“Right.  Just sex.  I forgot.”  Her voice was sharp and cold, a viper strike straight to the heart.

“Your words, your rules, pet.”

She rolled off him, and he shivered at the loss of her heat.

“Well, at least we know I was worth a second go.”

Dammit!  The hurt in her tone could cut the balls off a lesser man.  Was he willing to crush her to protect himself?  Yes! his demon snarled ruthlessly.  Then why was he sitting up and watching the angry curve of her backside as she collected her clothes?  Why was his hand twitching to haul her back into his lap to warm up the cold hole over his heart?

“Why are you angry?  It’s not like you care.”  Bloody hell.  How did the bleedin’ heart poet escape from lock down?  He sounded so pathetic.  His disgust didn’t stifle his interest in her answer.  Why did she care?

“No reason.  I’m sure it’s the curse working over time.”

Spike frowned.  “She’s not a curse.”

“Whatever,” she spat with enough derision to put preadolescents worldwide to shame.  She had her unbuttoned blouse and panties on and was working on the zipper to her skirt.  Spike shot up from his seat on the couch, stalking over to her.  He swept his trousers from the floor, stepping into them, and buckling his belt as he closed in on her.  The sun was down, and the only light was the lamp by the door.  He knew she couldn’t see well in the dark, but that didn’t stop her from spinning around, and unerringly pinning him with a glare before he got too close.

“What has that insipid little brain of yours working overtime, Slayer?”

“It’s nothing.”  She waved him off, stomping towards one of her boots.  He blocked her path.

“It’s something,” he shot back.  He thought she wouldn’t answer.  That she would clam up and rush off, her virtue aflutter.  She was trembling with misery and seething with indignation.  The powder blue lace of her blouse just barely guarding her chastity, she popped her fists on her hips and directed a glare right at him.

“I feel something for you.” 

She might have said she was a Muppet for all the comprehension she garnered from him.

“Yeah,” he agreed slowly.  “Hate, disgust, hormonal lust, complete, scathing derision.  We’ve covered all this, pet.”

She folded her arms, propping her chest up.  “Protectiveness,” she cut in.

“Huh?”

She shifted her arms, dropping them so they wrapped around her waist in a little girl gesture that made him feel uneasy.

“When Riley tried to take you, I felt angry and scared.  Protective.  It must be part of the magic.  Like, I know you’re important to our baby somehow, so I have to see you safe.”

“Well that can’t be right because the way I feel about you hasn’t changed a bit since before the nibblet.”  Damn.  He hadn’t meant for that to slip out.  It sounded good though.  On the surface it was a right good put down.  That’s right, Slayer.  Still hate your guts.  Nothing to see here.  ‘Cept there must have been something to see, because the Slayer’s glare sharpened on him and not in that, ‘I’m gonna kick your ass from one end of town to the other’ kinda a way, but in the, ‘I’m gonna run the hamster until it dies thinking’, kind of way.  Dru always said his face showed too much.  Showed his heart on his sleeve, like a right git.  All that poetry over a bleedin’ sunset hadn’t helped his cause either.

“Right, then.  You should be on your way, Slayer.”

He escaped to the sleeping area, not even a little bit surprised when she followed him.  He sat on the edge of the bed to pull on his socks and shiny black loafers.  Time to make his getaway, and see how the renovations at the club were coming along.

Buffy switched on one of the lamps beside the bed, stinging his eyes as they adjusted.

“What does that mean, Spike?”

“It means I still loathe you.”  He refused to look at her.  He didn’t care if he hurt her.  The shagging was fun while it lasted.

“So the sex?  Those things you said?”  She sounded tiny and unsure.  It made his hackles rise.  He shoved his other shoe on.

“Still a bloke.  Not gonna say no.”  He expected a violent outburst of anger.  Screaming, breaking bones and a stupendous exit fueled by righteous fury.  That was something he could handle.  Her passion would suffice.  Her brokenness would not.  She sank down beside him, her hands clasped in her lap and her blouse sliding off her sun-kissed shoulder.

“What’s wrong with me?” she whispered.  She was so lost and alone.  It broke him.  The Big Bad brought down by a little girl’s tears.  He took her small hand in his larger one and pulled her closer until their shoulders touched.

“Nothing.  I’m the one who’s an absolute wanker.  You’re bleedin’ perfect.”

“Not so much.  Sure, it’s a nice thought, but my track record says different.  A father who can’t be bothered.  The love of my life leaves town so fast he can’t even say goodbye.  An oversexed college boy whom I can’t even please for more than one night.  If at all.  Oh, and lets not forget that I’m having warm fuzzies for my mortal enemy who loathes me, but is still man enough to suck it up for a little so-so groinage.”  She shifted, covering her face with her hands.  “Gawd.  I even came here because I needed your strength.  I wanted to lean on you.”  She spat out the last words like they were bitter worms on her tongue.  “I’m so pathetic.”

Great.  Now he felt like something that gets scrapped off at the curb.  He was so far beneath her that he shouldn’t even be graced with her light, and yet somehow he made her feel like she was less than nothing.  He truly was evil.  Worse, he hadn’t missed his upgrades from protectee, to recipient of warm fuzzies, to lean-worthy material.  Buffy’s feelings were evolving every second, and he was loathed to consider the ramifications.  How was he supposed to continue his persona of the Big Bad if she kept making him feel things?  He had done so well pretending since he came back to Sunnyhell.  So much so, he was even fooling himself most of the time.

“You’re a bleedin’ fantastic shag, luv.  Seriously, the best I’ve ever had.”  Christ on the cross!  Could he sound any more patronizing?  “As for the arseholes of your life, all I can say is that they’re nutters for ever letting you go.”  He stuttered to a halt, his throat working overtime as he tried to swallow around the sudden knot.  “And…I was lying.”

It took a moment for her to catch up, but when she did her response was about what he expected.

“Huh?”

“Eloquent as ever, Summers.  I said, I don’t loathe you.”

“But you said---“

“I know what I said,” he cut in.  He gave her a moment to digest his words before he turned towards her, his knee bumping hers.  “Look.  Did I ever tell you why Dru left me?”

She wrinkled her nose in thought.  “A Fungus demon.  Or was it Chaos?

“Chaos the first time, but that’s not why she left me.”

“Why, then?”  Her eyes were big and green, and looked at him in a mixture of concern and wariness.  He wanted to smooth her hair back from her brow, but he was afraid if he touched her he would lay her back on the bed and confess even greater sins than the ones he was about too.  Sins that would sound too much like poetry.

“The truce between me and you.  She was mad I betrayed Daddy, but---You know she had the Sight, yeah?  Always peeking in on people’s dreams, nattering away at the stars and swappin’ riddles with that soddin’ doll of hers.  She just---She had a way of knowin’ all your secrets.”  His voice dropped by octaves as he spoke and his last words were whispers against her hair.

“And you had secrets?”  Her breath brushed over the tight skin of his pectoral as she shifted closer to hear his words.

“Yeah,” he said softly.

“What kind of secrets?”

“I dreamed of you.  Before all this.  Before the baby got magicked here.  Before there was a this.”  He swept out his hand to encompass the entirety of their existence.  The fact that This was so much more than what they were capable of comprehending.  “I dreamed of you every night.  Made me right sick.  Put me off my feed and I started saying no to Dru’s special requests—“

Realizing he said too much he bolted off the bed.  He snapped up his wine, silk shirt and shrugged it on as he glided to his dresser.  He picked a pair of gold cufflinks out of a pretty black and silver dish, and shook out a cuff to affix one.

“What do you mean put your off your feed?”

“Nothin’, Slayer.  Why don’t you fetch your boots and I’ll drive you home?  It’s getting late and I still have to work tonight.”

“Spike, tell me what you mean,” she pleaded.

“No,” his voice was hollow in the large space.  His fingers shook and he couldn’t get the stud of his cufflink through the hole.

“Spike,” she said slowly, and he closed his eyes against the onslaught that was her.  “When was the last time you fed from a human?”

“The night those army wankers took me,” he confessed with complete honesty.  He fed every night.  He was a vampire, after all.  She was silent and he thought maybe she would be satisfied---just this once she wouldn’t dig for more.  And the earth would shift it’s axis.

“When was the last time you killed someone?” she asked quietly.  She was right behind him.  He could feel her heat on his back like the bleedin’ sun.  Any minute now he was going to burst into flames and burn to ash.

“I mighta killed some of those wankers when I escaped.  I slugged a couple of them pretty hard, and the chip must not have been fully seated yet ‘cause it only hurt a little.”

He affixed one cufflink, but made no move to pick up the second from the top of the dresser.  It glinted dully in the low light.

“And before that?”

She never let anything go.  She was like a junkyard dog with a three year old bone.  He gripped the sides of the dresser, his back bowed under the weight of his sick, twisted confessions.  He had been able to push all his feelings down for so long.  He had been able to tell himself he didn’t love her, that he wasn’t attracted to her, that she didn’t affect him.  He was disgusting.  A parody of his kind. 

If he confessed to her, could she give him absolution?

Alright, time to nip this line of questioning in the bud, right the fuck now. 

“I’m a vampire, pet.  What the fuck do you think?  I snatch people up and drink them down.  It’s what I do.”  The ferocity of his snarl reverberated through the loft.  He swept the items from the top of his dresser in a burst of agonized rage.  Glass shattered and cufflinks, rings and coins scattered across the floor.  Behind him he could feel her flinch away, and he squeezed his eyes shut, feeling her rejection as acutely as William had all those years ago in a candlelit parlor.

“You affect a man, Slayer.”  He laughed a little.  Small gusts of air empty of humor.  “Don’t let anyone tell you differently.”

He listened as her feet ghosted over the cement floor as she gathered up her boots.  When his door slammed shut, he allowed his head to hang as he damned himself to hell and back.