Disclaimer:  I don’t own or profit from BtVS

A/N:  Thank you to all who have stuck with this story.  I know it’s been pretty boring, but it’s going to start ramping up here soon and all those lovely threads are starting to come together.  I hope you all continue to enjoy!  Happy Reading!

Dawn of a New Age

Chapter Sixteen

Buffy stared at the phone.  It was such an innocuous thing, a white cordless handheld with beige highlights.  She noted that it looked a little dingy.  It probably hadn’t been wiped down for years.  Great way to catch the flu, she thought while pulling a disinfectant wipe out of the tube her mom kept under the kitchen sink.  She hastily wiped down the phone, glancing at the dirty cloth before tossing it out.  Great, motherhood is catching.  Wiping down anything with a disinfectant cloth was something she had never done before getting pregnant; now she looked at her home like it was a breeding ground for illness.  No wonder Mom freaks when I track in mud.  Children are like a walking disease vector.  Shaking her head ruefully, she sat back down at the kitchen island to stare at the phone some more.

Don’t be a chicken.  Pick it up and dial.

She glanced at the clock.  Spike would be arriving soon, and her mother was still upstairs putting on her make-up.  This was her last chance.  Just do it!  She snatched up the phone and dialed the number she knew by heart.  It rang and she almost hung up.

“Hello.”

Buffy froze, her voice locked in her throat.  Her fingers curled around the phone and the plastic casing groaned in protest.  The sound released her, and she was able to squeeze a squeak past her tight larynx.

“Hey, Xander.”

There was a pause on the line and Buffy felt the hellmouth open up and swallow her.  She hung her head and told herself not to cry.  She would not be a hostage to her hormones!

“Hey, Buffy.  You okay?  Apocalypse looming on the horizon?”

“No.  No apocalypse.  Can’t I just call you?”  She pressed the back of her delicate wrist to her suddenly blurry eyes and waited through another heavy pause.

“I don’t know.  Can you?”  His tone was quiet and bitter, two things she wasn’t used to having directed at her from Xander.  He was her best male friend.  He stood by her side during every apocalypse, helping her to face down every Big Bad that rolled into Sunnydale.  Hell, they survived high school and Snyder together.  He had literally breathed life back into her.  She loved him, and she disgusted him.

“So what’s new with you?” She tried for perky, but it came out sounding more like a choked chicken.

“Nothing.”

“Oh.”  She bit her lip.  “Still working in construction?”

“Yeah.”

She picked at the edge of the Formica.  “So, listen.  I’m having a painting party tomorrow.”

“A what?”  For the first time, she heard genuine interest in his voice, and she perked up.

“A painting party,” she replied brightly.  “It’s when you paint the baby’s room and put the crib and stuff together.  I thought you might want to come.”

“Oh.”  Buffy didn’t think a single syllable could hold so much disappointment.  “I don’t know.  I might have to work.”

“But it’s Saturday.”  Yep, she was gonna cry.  She was a hostage to her hormones.

“Overtime.”  He clipped off the word with enough force that Buffy nodded automatically in response, though he couldn’t see her.

“Oh, okay.  Maybe, if you don’t have to work...” she trailed off uncertainly.

“Sure, Buffy.  I’ll see what I can do.  See you around.”

“Bye,” she said, but he had already hung up the phone.  She pulled the handset away from her ear and stared down at the blurry, glowing buttons.  The front doorbell rang, and she set down the phone and hurried to the sink to rinse her scalding eyes with cool water.  Once she was sure she had her emotions under control, she wiped her face with a paper towel.  She pasted on her best fake smile and headed for the door to greet her kinda boyfriend slash baby-daddy.

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Spike had never been more freaked in his life.  The store was huge.  It was bright, white, and clean.  It reminded him way too much of the Initiative labs, except for all the cutsie crap shoved in every conceivable corner.  It was like some gigantor baby had crapped teddy bears all over the place.

He was sure the florescent lighting was making him look deader than usual because all the superfluously happy women lost their smiles when they saw him, and their browbeaten men herded them away.  He glanced down at his clothes.  He was wearing his standard black jeans and tee, but as a concession he had left his leather duster in the car.  Apparently, even chipped he gave off an aura of badassness.  The smile that curled at the corners of his lips was pure wickedness. 

Joyce and Buffy were undeterred at being in his evil presence.

He eyed them as they squealed over a matching pink and spring green crib set that spouted butterflies and honeybees.  He trailed behind them obediently, mumbling his opinion when asked, but it was clearly only for show.  Joyce and Buffy were the ones making all the decisions, and he absolutely had no problem with that.  Firstly, he had no idea what it took to care for a child, and secondly he could give a good goddamn what the nursery colors should be.  A sales assistant stalked behind them, honing in for the kill.  These women weren’t shopping; they were buying.  Spike quickly calculated the remaining credit on his business Visa, just in case the couple thousand in cash he brought wasn’t enough.

Several hours later Spike was shell-shocked.  He had no conceivable idea of the plethora of crap it took to care for one tiny human being.  Cribs, bedding, car seat, stroller, play pen, diaper bags, diapers, lots of diapers, bottles, warmers…a breast pump.  What the bleedin’ hell!  That was a scary looking contraption, and he didn’t want it anywhere near his bits.  And that was just for the first few months.  Soon they would need a highchair, bibs, bouncies, and what the fuck ever.  It went on and on and on.

The upside was everything was so bloody soft.  Spike spent twenty minutes in the bedding section fondling swaddling blankets.  The only reason he left was because he noticed several women glaring at him like he was the local pervert hanging out at the playground.

He settled himself in one of the ergonomically correct rocking chairs.  He was definitely buying one of those.  His back never felt better.  Other fathers drifted in and out of the area, and they exchanged nods of wearied forbearance.  Some were clearly more experienced in shopping etiquette and brought their phones or magazines to entertain themselves while they waited for their wives to spend their money.

Spike was relieved when it was time to check out.  He took out his wallet, convinced that this was his entire purpose for being there.  Buffy curled her fingers around his bicep, waylaying him before he could reach the shop girl.  She looked up at him with wide green eyes that made her look young and innocent, and Spike tried his damndest to not lean into her touch.  He wasn’t embarrassed by how much she turned him on, but sometimes it was a disadvantage.  It was hard to assert himself when all he wanted to do was get on his knees and lick her heady.  She flicked her tongue over her pink, glossy lips, and he shuddered.  It was more of a disadvantage when she was so completely aware of his weakness.

“You don’t have to pay.  Mom can take care of it.”  He cut a sharp glance at Joyce, but she had tactfully wandered off to look at onesies claiming that she was the ‘World’s Best Grandma’.

“We’ve talked about this, kitten.  This is what I can do for you.”  He drew her closer, until their brows nearly touched.  “I want to.  I need to.”

Her face was soft, and he could hear her breath catch in her throat.  He nuzzled her cheek, relishing the satiny feel of her skin.  “Let me.”

“Okay,” she exhaled shakily.  “If you think you can afford it.”

He brushed his lips over hers.  “Business is good, kitten.”

Her eyes flashed just like he knew they would, and he had to shift his weight as his cock hardened.

“The exploitation of women—“

He swooped in, kissing her hard.  She resisted at first, before melting into him.  When he knew she would be too breathless to protest he pulled away. 

“That reminds me.  The girls want you to swing by so they can give you a shower.”

Her mouth gaped.  “But I’m already going to have a shower,” she protested, a little embarrassed.  Had she made a faux pas by not inviting the women from Spike’s club? She had gotten to know them marginally, since she started visiting Spike at the club some nights, but somehow she couldn’t imaging her mother and Giles in the same room as strippers.  And God only knew what kind of rant Willow would descend into.

“I know.  It’s just somethin’ small.  They wanted to give you some gifts is all.  I told them I’d talk to you.  Now.”  He slapped her sharply on the ass and she squeaked.  “Go.  Let me do this, woman.”

She flashed him a dirty look and sauntered off to her mother.  Grinning, he turned to the counter, and opened up his wallet as the sales associate greeted him cheerily.

“I need two of everything,” he told her.  “One set sent to this address.”  He filled out the Revello Drive delivery forms.  “And the second set to this address.”  He filled out his own address.  He wanted his home to be as baby friendly as possible.  He hadn’t officially asked Buffy to move in, but she spent most nights with him.  He didn’t want that to stop once the baby came.  He wanted both his girls with him as much as possible. 

The shop girl’s eyes gleamed as she collected the disgustingly exorbitant amount of money from him.  Spike made a mental note to tell Anya that bank could be made in the selling of baby goods.

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Buffy hurried to the door with a bright smile on her face.  It melted away when she saw only Anya on the other side.

“Xander couldn’t make it, then?”

For the first time in their acquaintance, the ex-vengeance demon looked nervous.  “I’m uncomfortable with the concept of lying.  Please don’t ask me about Xander.”  She thrust a platter towards Buffy.  “I made cookies shaped like teddy bears.”

“T-thank you.”  Buffy scrambled to take the platter without dropping it.

Anya frowned, dropping her eyes.  “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Buffy told her firmly and lifted her arm to motion her inside.  Anya took the opening to give her a brief, but fierce hug.  Buffy was surprised.  Anya was only ever physical with Xander.  It was a testament to how upset she was over his behavior.

She led Anya into the kitchen where the others were gathered.  Willow and Tara sat at the island, arranging different trays of goodies, and Anya walked over to stand next to them.  Buffy shot a small smile at Spike, who had found the furthest corner of the kitchen to shove himself into when it became clear he was the only male in a sea of estrogen.  Joyce hung up the phone just as Buffy glided to a stop beside the counter to place Anya’s cookies with the rest of the goodies.

“That was Mr. Giles, dear.  I’m afraid he’s not able to make it.”  Joyce’s smile dispersed as soon as she saw her daughter’s haunted look.  She hadn’t realized Mr. Giles’ presence was so important to the young woman.

“Oh.”  Buffy’s response was subdued.  Anya twitched at the counter as she was reminded of Xander’s defection.

Willow shot a quick, panicked look at her girlfriend.  Ever steady, Tara stood up and gently took Buffy’s arm.

“Why don’t you show us the baby’s room?  Willow and I have been working on some really beautiful protection symbols to work into the design we showed you.  If it’s alright with you, maybe we can add them?”

Buffy shot the young witch a watery smile.  “That would be really nice, Tara.”

Willow darted to her best friend’s side with a bright smile that was only a little brittle around the edges.  “Of course!  We want our niece to be the safest baby ever.”

Buffy heard the possessive ‘we’ and felt a little buzz at what it meant for her best friend.  Tara was new to their group, but Buffy suspected her relationship with Willow was serious.  She had been shocked when Willow announced she was dating a woman.  Truly, it was less of an announcement and more of a surprise.  Willow couldn’t explain away their closeness as friendship when Buffy caught them in bed together at the dorm room the girls used to share.  Buffy had forgotten some things after moving back to her Mom’s house, and thinking that Willow was in class had used her key to let herself in.  And, wow, was that an image that would never be burned out of her brain.  Needless to say, Willow admitted that while she wasn’t sure if she was gay, she definitely loved Tara.  Buffy had wordlessly nodded.  It wasn’t that she disapproved of Willow’s choice to be in a same sex relationship, she was just caught off guard by it.  After all, Willow had been dating definitely boy-shaped Oz only a few weeks prior.  But over the last few months, Tara had become a permanent fixture at Willow’s side, and Buffy found herself enjoying the young woman’s company as well.  Willow, Tara, Anya and Buffy had become fast friends, something Buffy desperately needed during this rough emotional time.

 Buffy was jealous of how easily Willow seemed to commit to her relationship, even as the outside pressure to conform increased.  Buffy knew for a fact that the Rosenburgs didn’t know about Tara for the sole reason that Willow would be disowned.  Willow’s parents were staunchly conservative, and the thought of their only child in a homosexual relationship might actually cause the normally unruffled household to implode.

Yet even though Willow knew disaster loomed on the horizon and she could potentially lose the love and support of her family, she persisted in her relationship with Tara, because Willow loved Tara.  That was reason enough to risk everything.  It didn’t matter to Willow that Tara was a woman.  It didn’t matter that some thought their relationship was a perversion.  None of it mattered, because for Willow the thought of living without Tara was far more devastating than being a social outcast.

Willow had reserves of strength Buffy could only marvel at.  Buffy could see how easy it was to love Tara.  She was a wonderful, beautiful, and kindhearted person.  There wasn’t an evil bone in her body.  She would sooner cause herself harm than hurt another living creature.  Tara was someone worth risking it all for.

Buffy glanced hard at Spike, who watched from the corner of the room.  He seemed to find the deepest shadows, even in the afternoon light, and swathe himself in them.  Even ensconced in the bright, cheery kitchen, surrounded by domestic bliss, there was no denying his true nature.  Spike was unquestionably a monster, and Buffy had to wonder whether or not he was worth risking everything for.  Was the happiness he brought her now worth the unhappiness that was sure to follow?

She concentrated on the witches, determined to push down the sad disappointment lingering behind her breastbone. 

“So did you guys bring the design?”

“Yep!”  Willow flourished a square of paper from her purse, which she unfolded.  Flanked by the best trio of young women any girl could hope to be friends with, they ‘oohed’ and ‘ahhed’ over the design the witches swore they could replicate on the nursery walls.  If Buffy was a little subdued, they didn’t comment on it.  Instead, they redoubled their efforts to make the mother-to-be smile.

Joyce and Spike were left in a wake of silence as the girls made their way upstairs.  The older woman’s knuckles were white as she clamped down on the edge of the countertop.

“I told that man,” she muttered angrily, staring hard at the array of cookies in the forms of teddy bears and rattles.

Spike shifted, deciding it would be safer at his Slayer’s side.  He froze when Joyce’s narrowed gaze pinned him to the floor.

“Just when I think it isn’t possible, men soar to new heights in their capacity to astound me with their stupidity.”

Spike glanced towards the back door, noting the blinding bright pool of sunlight streaming through the window.  There was no escape to be found there.  He edged towards the basement.  If he couldn’t get past Joyce to the upstairs, he would settle for hiding in the darkest hole he could find.

“Where do you think you are going?”

Spike was so still he nearly blended into the wall behind him.  He wasn’t sure what the proper answer was.  Was he going upstairs or downstairs?

“To help Buffy,” he said cautiously.

Joyce shot him a knowing look.  “You’ve already laid out the drop cloths and paint.  Let the girls have their fun.”  She moved to the stove to start a kettle.  “Sit with me and keep me company.  We can sample all the treats to make sure they are good enough for Buffy.”

Spike smiled shyly as he skirted a large pool of sunlight.  He settled himself at the counter, preparing for a long chat with Joyce over tea and biscuits.  If she was a little tense, that was okay.  He had decades of experience charming women out of their bad moods.

Spike had already paid for a crew to base paint the nursery.  It ranged from a blue-green at the baseboards to a sky blue midway up the walls, before fading into twilight at the ceiling.  It was a professional piece of work that the girls awed over.  Of course, it was only the foundation for what the witches had in mind.  Spike had already set out a multitude of paint tins and several dozen paintbrushes in all sizes. 

“Are you sure you guys can do this?”

Willow’s smile lit up the room.  “Sure, it’s just a little bit of magic.”

“I don’t know.”  Buffy twitched nervously.  “I’m slay girl.  Not magic girl.”

“I-it’ll be okay, Buffy.”  Buffy found Tara’s quietude to be more reassuring than her friend’s perky smile.

“Yeah.  Tara is the one who’s going to be doing all the magic.  All we have to do is hold hands and think about the design and how much we love you and the baby.”  Willow leaned into Buffy’s shoulder as she spoke.

“All those good vibes get soaked up by Tara and she projects it outward,” finished Anya.

“Bippty boppity boo and we are the best fairy godmothers ever!”  Willow’s giggle was infectious.

Buffy inhaled deeply.  “Okay.  So what do we do?”

“We sit in a circle,” Anya stated matter-of-factly.  When the other girls glanced at her, she shrugged.  “This isn’t my first magical painting party, you know.”

Willow looked a little crestfallen that her awesome idea wasn’t as original as she thought, but she perked up as Tara squeezed her arm lovingly.

The four girls sat in a circle, linking their hands.  The design the witches had brought with them was unfolded in the center.

“So Tara is going to be the focus.  She’s such a wonderful artist,” Willow gushed, and the shy witch dipped her head and blushed.  “You and Anya will give her all that good energy while I’ll mainly feed her the power she needs to wield all the objects at once.  With all of us working together it should be done lickety split.”

“So I do what, exactly?”  Buffy asked.

“Just think about your baby.  About being in this room with her for late night feedings and playing peek-a-boo.  All that kind of stuff.  Just concentrate on all the love and happiness you have in store for her.”

Buffy nodded, smiling at Anya when the ex-demoness squeezed her hand reassuringly.  Buffy closed her eyes and dreamed about what it would be like when her baby finally arrived.  She imagined playing with her tiny feet, dressing her in adorable outfits, rocking her to sleep, and holding her close for feedings.  A pleasant tingle started in the bottom of her belly and spread through her limbs, until it felt like she was getting a full body hug from love itself.

“And away we go,” Willow whispered around a smug smile.  Buffy’s eyes shot open and she watched the scene with awe.  All the paintbrushes were dancing in the air, dipping themselves in different colored pots and twirling along the walls and ceiling.

“Bippity, boppity boo,” Buffy breathed.  She met Willow’s pleased eyes and smiled.

An hour later the room was transformed into something magnificent.  The walls were a field of waist high, rolling grass dotted with a profusion of flowers in all colors.  Inside the hearts of poppies and tulips, secret symbols of protection bloomed along the petals.  A rowan tree dominated one corner, its wide, leafy boughs hiding curious little animals looking down at an odd family cluster consisting of a golden lioness, a great black wolf, an elegant doe and an innocent lamb.  Guardianship runes were carved into the mottled whorls of bark.

The bright sky blue walls fell into twilight and the ceiling revealed the cosmos in all its splendor.  Lilac nebulae twirled around shattered comets and cyclical galaxies promised to soak up the sunshine so they would glow overhead at night.  Small silver stars were arranged into sheltering sigils and twirled overhead as they subtly shifted their position as day and night passed.

The room was the purest, strongest kind of magic there was.  It was the magic of love.  Buffy took one look and burst into tears.  The girls crowded around, hugging their best friend and their soon-to-be niece tightly.

Spike heard Buffy’s sobs and bounded up the stairs with a low, threatening growl.  He raced towards her, but was thrown forcibly into the opposite wall when he tried to rush into the shielded nursery.  He hit the ground hard, but instantly sprung to his feet in full game face.  The girls gasped collectively.

“OhmiGod!”  Willow cried in horror, her hands covering her mouth.  “I didn’t think about that!”

“What’s going on?”  Buffy demanded.  She was easily able to pass through the nursery’s doorway into the hall.  She fearlessly approached Spike, who snarled at the room that rejected his entry.  At her gentle touch, his demon faded back and he blinked down at her with hurt, blue eyes.

“The protections are keeping him out.”  Willow explained.  She wrung her hands, uncertain of what to do.

“Yeah.  That whole evil thing is a real downer sometimes.  The magic can’t register intent, only essence.”  Anya waved her hand as if the entire situation was self-explanatory.

Buffy frowned at Spike, and he cut his eyes away.  Evil is as evil does, she thought.  Spike would never be able to change what he was; no matter how he persisted in playing at being a man, in the end he was a vampire to the core.  Not for the first time a fractious voice in the back of her head questioned if it really mattered what he was, only who he was.  How he chose to live despite than his innate nature.  His strength of will was important and she shouldn’t discount it, because it kept him safely tucked away in a box she could more easily understand.  She slowly backed away until she was inside the nursery.  She beckoned to Spike with one hand.

“Come in, Spike.”

She could see the aching vulnerability in his bright blue eyes as their gazes met.  Slowly, he stepped towards her, taking her by the hand before cautiously stepping over the threshold.  Everyone sighed in relief when the room accepted him.

“Should that have worked?”  A wide-eyed Willow asked Tara.  The younger witch shrugged unknowingly. 

Anya watched with narrowed eyes.  “No.  It really shouldn’t have.”  She stepped closer to Spike, staring intently at him.  He resisted the urge to shuffle away, and met her gaze head on.  After a few moments she shrugged and turned away.  “Must be part of the whole weird baby thing that’s going on.  Buffy trusts him, so the room trusts him.”

Spike’s eyes shot to Buffy’s.  He cocked his head in a way that made her swallow hard.  “You trust me, kitten?”

Buffy smiled nervously, rubbing her belly.  Trust him?  She was half way to loving him, but did she really trust him?  The room initially rejected him because he was evil.  All the magic and love in the room felt he was untrustworthy.  She frowned at that.  What did magic know anyway?  All it ever did was mess up her life.

“You’d never hurt our baby.”  She wrapped her arms around his waist, laying her cheek on his chest, while ignoring the flash of hurt in his eyes.  She trusted him with their child, but never with her heart.

“This is just beautiful, girls.”  Joyce stood in the doorway.  She was continually astounded by the mystery that infused her daughter’s life.  Before Buffy’s calling, Joyce had lived in blissful ignorance; now she couldn’t imagine living in a world where magic and myth didn’t exist.

“Thank you, Mrs. Summers.”  Willow smiled.  “But really, it was all Tara.”  The young girl blushed.

“Well, it’s lovely.  Let’s get this paint cleaned up and we can start on constructing the furniture.”

Everyone chimed their agreement and worked together to store the paint tins in the garage and rinse out the brushes.  Once all the paint tarps were cleared away, Spike hauled in the heavy boxes of furniture.  Before the day was done they planned on having the crib, changing station, shelves, and toy box constructed and arranged.

That, of course, was easier said than done.

“No, Spike, it says that bolt ‘c’ has to go into slot ‘d’ which is supposed to be on slat ‘f’.”

“Why the bleedin’ hell are you ‘citing the alphabet at me, woman?”

“I’m just trying to read the instructions to you.”  Buffy threw up her hands in exasperation.

“I don’t need instructions.  I’ll figure it out myself.”

“Oh, yeah?  You’re about to split that board in half.  You can’t force the bolt in there like that.”

“If you think you can do better, then you do it.”

“I can’t do it.  If I get down on the floor I’ll never get back up again.  Besides, I’m going to have to pee again soon.”

“All you do all day is sit in the bathroom.”

“Well, excuse me for having a freakin’ watermelon sitting on my bladder playing bouncy.”

“That’s a likely excuse.  You’re probably just redoing your hair and nails.”

“A likely excuse!”  Buffy’s eyes rounded.

“This would go a lot quicker if Xander was here.  He is experienced with tools.  It makes him very manly.”

The room quieted as everyone stared at Anya, who was trying to figure out how the castors attached to the bottom of the changing station.

It was too much for Buffy – the raised tension from bickering with Spike, the moral dilemma of his innate essence, Xander’s earlier rejection, and Giles’ defection.  It all coalesced into an emotional storm inside the hormonally challenged woman.  She burst into tears, sinking to the floor.  Everyone rushed towards her, but Spike reached her first.  He wrapped his arms around the woman he loved, and pulled her close to his chest.  He ran a soothing hand down her back as he whispered reassurances to her.

“The boy is a wanker.  Hardly worth all this.”  He glared over Buffy’s head at Anya, who had the grace to look embarrassed. 

“He’s not a wanker,” Buffy protested.  “He’s one of my best friends.  He’s stood with me through thick and thin.  Even when Angelus killed Ms. Calendar though it was all my fault.  He must really think I’m terrible to turn his back on me now.”

Spike gritted his teeth.  He would love to wrap his hands around the boy’s scrawny neck.

“First of all, luv, what happened to the teacher wasn’t your fault.  It was all Angelus and Dru.  Don’t take that blame onto yourself.”

Buffy wrenched away so she could look up at him with watery eyes.  “It was my fault,” she protested vehemently.  “I didn’t take the chance to stake Angel when I could and people died because of it.  Jenny died.”

Spike palmed her cheeks, his fingertips sliding along her delicate jaw.  He pulled her close so their brows touched and she couldn’t escape the intensity of his gaze.  “You have to stop lettin’ people place blame on you.  Yeah, you’re the Chosen One, but you aren’t God.  You can’t control everythin’.  Especially something like Angelus.  What happened was a tragedy, but it’s no more your fault than a tsunami is the fault of a butterfly flappin’ its wings.”

“You know, there are theories about that.”

“Exactly.  Theories aren’t fact.  And there are no facts sayin’ you’re at fault for every goddamn thing that goes wrong.  Only people’s theories.  You have to stop beatin’ yourself up for things that happened in the past.  You need to live your life for the future.  This boy…”

“Xander.”

Spike sighed deeply.  “The boy will come around eventually.  If he’s as good a friend as you say he is.”

Buffy stared at him for long moments, before her face crumpled.  “No.  No, I don’t think he will.”  She collapsed into sobs that had the rest of the women in the room discretely excusing themselves to go downstairs.

Willow and Tara sat besides the trays of goodies, half-heartedly picking at the cookies, while Joyce stared out the kitchen window.  Anya stood by the stove, seemingly enthralled with the cast iron skillet.  Even all the way downstairs they could hear Buffy’s sobs.

“This is a nice pan, Joyce.  Is it cast iron?”  Anya asked while hoisting a large, heavy pan in her small hand.

“Yes,” Joyce murmured distractedly as she cast glances towards the stairs.

“I’ve heard stories about cast iron pans and grits.  Do you know about grits?”  Anya asked brightly.

Joyce frowned at the strange, but friendly girl.  “Yes.  But I’ve never made them.”

“Oh.”  Anya’s smile dimmed, then reignited with wattage that was nearly blinding.  “No matter, I can look it up on the internet.  There’s lots of information on the world wide web, you know.  It used to be you had to ask the town crier for news, but now it’s all at your fingertips.”

No one said anything, but Anya barely noticed.

“I think I’ll make grits for Xander.  He really deserves them.”

Tara and Willow exchanged glances.  Joyce stared after the girl, who absconded out the backdoor with her grandmother’s cast iron pan.

After a while the sobs quieted.  Willow and Tara made their way upstairs to say their goodbyes.  Later, Joyce helped Buffy into the bath then put her exhausted daughter to bed.  She stayed up late into the night, making tea for the vampire who refused to leave until the furniture was properly assembled and arranged.

Joyce kissed the man on the cheek before he left, earning herself an astounded look.  She merely smiled softly before closing the door and making her way upstairs to bed.

A/N:  Look, my husband has a thing about grit ball.  So this last part was kinda a personal joke.  It’s a thing.  He seems to think pearls of wisdom fall from Madea’s mouth.  Personally, I’m skeptical.