Disclaimer:  I don’t own or profit from BtVS.  It all belongs to Joss Whedon and affiliates.  No copyright infringement intended.

Dawn of a New Age

Chapter Three

Spike watched as Giles and Buffy left the graveyard.  He lit a cigarette with shaking hands, inhaling the nicotine deeply into his lungs to steady his nerves.  He had heard the entire conversation, having been about to approach the Slayer before Giles appeared.  What was said broke his unbeating heart.  He hadn’t realized Buffy’s fears ran so deep.  Her natural animosity towards vampires had her envisioning a monster growing inside her, while the distrust implanted by Angelus made her fearful of any kind of love, even between a mother and child.  Then there were the fears manifested just by the nature of her being the Slayer.  The fear that the child would be hurt because of what she was or her own death would leave it unprotected.  All of Buffy’s fears came back to one premise-- she was alone.  She was surrounded by friends, a mother who loved her, yet she still felt as if she’d be the only one raising and more importantly, protecting their child.  Buffy was either unwilling or too ignorant to realize that he’d fight just as fiercely to protect their child as she would.

He didn’t know why he thought the baby was his.  It was just something he knew.  It was a bone-deep ache in his marrow.  He was meant to protect this child.  He was meant to apart of its life.  It was enough to humble any monster.

He left the graveyard and headed to Willy’s.  He needed a drink in the worst possible way.  The joint smelled of spilt beer, cigarettes and demon musk.  Spike liked it because the corners were dark, and blood was cheap.  He settled at the bar, his demeanor daunting enough for Willy to wordlessly leave a bottle of Jack in front of him, only returning to replace it when it became empty.  Spike was well passed happily sloshed and on his way to rat arsed when a demon broke away from a group of nervous looking monsters huddled in a booth in the back.

“Hey!  The guys and I just wanted to buy you a drink.”  The demon greeted as he bellied up to the bar.

Spike cocked his head to eye the demon.  He was in a human mien; dark hair and gray eyes, studded leathers that were a little too garish even for his tastes.  Spike was certain he hadn’t met him before, but he did seem familiar.  “Wot for?”

“To say congratulations on your bundle of joy.”

Spike slammed his tumbler on the bar with a loud smack and whirled to face the demon.

“Do I know you, mate?” he snarled and the demon took a step back, his hands raised.

“Uh.  We, uh, met earlier.”  The demon’s human disguise melted away revealing gray skin and backswept horns.

“You’re the demon from the cemetery.”  Spike’s wariness settled, and he dismissed the demon from his thoughts.  He picked up the bottle of Jack to replace the whiskey that had sloshed out when he slammed his glass down.  The demon approached him tentatively, his human aspect slipping back into place.

“Is uhh, everything okay?  Is your girl—err---the Slayer doing okay?”

“She’s not acknowledging me right now,” Spike muttered bitterly into his liquor.

The demon visibly relaxed.  “Heh, yah.  Been there a time or two.  Women sure know how to make you crawl for it sometimes.  But the baby’s okay and all?”

“What’da ya care?”  Spike shot the demon an angry look, wondering why he thought it was okay to cozy up to the bar next to him.  Did he think they had bonded or something?

“Well, you know, with the fighting and everything.  You gotta be careful.  Wouldn’t want anything to happen to her.”

Spike vamped out as he grabbed the demon by the collar and shook him off the barstool.  “You threatening my family?”  For all the violence of his actions, his tone was silky with deadly intent. 

“What?  No!  Of course not.  I’d never do that.  I’ve a family myself,” the demon scrambled to assure him, musky with fear.

Spike glared into the demon’s terrified face.  Deciding he wasn’t a threat, he released him with a shove.  The demon caught himself before he fell.  He straightened his studded leathers, shooting Spike a look of irritation.  Spike sighed and motioned to Willy.

“Look.  I’m being a wanker.  Jus’ had a shite night is all.  I’ll buy you a drink.”

The demon glanced over to his friends, noting their looks of terrified concern.  They all knew of Spike’s reputation for violence, and being of the nonviolent types they usually tried to avoid him.  The demon glanced back at Spike, noticing his tight-lipped look and relented.  He’d seen that look on many a man.  Himself included.  He gave Willy his order as he resettled himself on the stool.

“Woman trouble?”

“You said it, mate.”  Spike shot another finger of whiskey and poured himself another.

“Name’s Dekker.”

They briefly shook hands.  Spike didn’t bother to introduce himself.  Everyone knew who he was and if they didn’t, well, they wouldn’t make the mistake for long.

“Aren’t ya a Purgos demon?  What’re you doin’ hanging around those prats?”  Spike nodded to the reflection in the mirror over the bar.  Dekker glanced at his friends.

“What’ya mean?”

“They’re a bunch of pillocks.  Don’t hunt humans.  If I remember aright, Purgos demons like the taste of human flesh.”

Dekker shifted uncomfortably.  “Yah.  Well, my mate has me on a no humans diet.  Afraid the Slayer might---“

“Slay you?”  Spike offered.

“Yah.”  Dekker shrugged sheepishly.

“Nuthin’ wrong with that.  A demon’s gotta take care of his own.  Can’t do that with a stake in your heart.”

Dekker nodded and blew the froth off his pint.  “Hard enough taking care of them as it is.  Can’t get work with the evils, and the goods are afraid of me.  I got six broodlings and it seems like every time I turn around they need their fangs twisted or their horns polished.”

Spike cast Dekker a glance from under the veil of his lashes.  “That’s tough, mate.”

Dekker ducked his head, and they lapsed into a short uncomfortable silence.

“So you and the Slayer, huh?”

“What of it?” Spike asked tightly.  A hundred and twenty years of building his reputation as the Big Bad shot to hell over a woman he didn’t even like.  Right?

“It’s just---neat.”

“Neat?”

Dekker shifted.  “Well, yah.  Maybe, she’ll be less—“ Dekker made a sharp jabbing motion with his hand.

“Stabby?” Spike finished.

“No offense, man.  But she is the scourge of the demon world.  And now with those commando guys running around.”  Dekker shuddered.  “Population’s getting a little demon lite.  Ya know what I mean?”

“Yah.”  Spike answered noncommittally.  Buffy was Heaven’s Chosen One.  It was her job to keep the balance, but those commandos were tipping the scales, and no good ever came from an imbalance of nature.

A group of riotous demons burst through the back door, the biggest of the group striding up to Willy.  Spike threw back another shot, noticing how Dekker stilled in his seat and Willy shrank away.

“Time to pay up, human.”

“I-I just paid last week,” Willy squeaked.

The big demon grabbed Willy by the shirt collar and hauled him over the bar.

“You’ll pay up when I say or we’ll break this joint up good.”

“That’s not cool,” Willy protested.  “I told ya I’d pay your protection money, it’s only right.  I gotta be under someone’s protection, right?  Don’t want my place busted up by any ol’ demon, but you can’t just steal everything I got.”

Spike was listening to the conversation only on the peripheral.  He had no reason to get involved in Willy’s business dealings.  It wasn’t uncommon for the demon business owners to pay protection money to whichever gang of thugs claimed turf in their neighborhood, but they were notoriously unreliable.  Being thugs and all.  The protection usually guaranteed less protection from other random demons, and more protection from the gang itself from retaliating against the business owner.  It was kinda like insurance.  As long as you paid them, they didn’t wreck your joint.  The gangs themselves changed all the time, depending on who had the most power at the time or if during a particularly veracious slaying spree Buffy unintentionally wiped them out.  It made no never mind to Spike if Willy was getting shook down, just as long as the barkeep kept serving liquor.

Spike watched in the mirror as one of the demons nudged a crony then pointed at the empty space where he was sitting.  They whispered something he couldn’t hear, but guessed it wasn’t good when they broke into matching malicious grins.

“Look, guys.  It’s the Slayer’s leashed vamp toy.  The skank got herself knocked up, and she’s got this dumbass thinking he’s the father.  I mean, how stupid do you have to be?  Everyone knows vamps can’t have kids.”

Spike turned to Dekker.  “Who all did you tell?” he spat.

Dekker looked repentant.  “Just a few of the guys.  I didn’t think it was a secret.  You two were all about announcing it to the whole graveyard.”

Another demon stepped up, rubbing his crotch with a leer on his face.  “If I’d known she was that easy, I would have taken a poke at her a long time ago.  She’s not bad looking for a human.  Perky little tits and I bet her ass is so tight you’d lose your---”

Spike crossed the distance between him and the demon in a flash, his long coat billowing behind him.  He slammed his fist into the demon’s heavily reinforced jaw, shattering the thick bone with one blow.  Spike tensed, expecting to feel an excruciating shock from the chip, only to exhale in relief when nothing happened.  He’d been afraid the fight with the demons at the graveyard had been a fluke brought about by the spell, but it seemed the chip only fired when he attacked humans.  As long as he stayed clear of them, he should be fine.  The demon at his feet groaned, and with malicious glee he stomped on it’s head.

“That’s my fiancée you’re talking about,” Spike snarled.  Deep down he cursed the residual effects of the spell that kept triggering repressed thoughts of Buffy being his bride, but the result was still the same.  She was the mother of his child, and she would be respected.

The largest demon dropped Willy, and with a nod of his head the rest of the gang charged.  Spike lashed out with every weapon at his disposal, hands and feet shattering bone, fangs tearing flesh.  He was vaguely aware of a presence at his side as Dekker waylaid a demon who tried to blindside him.  In mere minutes most of the gang were either dead or damn near.  Spike grinned maniacally, nodding his thanks to Dekker.

“Great!”  Willy threw his hands up in the air.  “Now whose gonna run the racket?”  He glanced around, worried demons were going to spontaneously start wrecking his place.  Spike watched him with a narrowed glance, a half formed idea taking root.

“I am, mate.  I’m takin’ over.”  He glanced around the bar, satisfied when no other demons would meet his hard look.

“Spike?”  Willy stuttered nervously.

“I’ll watch your place, and everyone else’s too.  Treat you fair I will, and you’ll give me a good bit of dosh for it too.  Yeah?”

Willy assessed him a moment, before nodding with a small smile.  “Yeah,” he agreed.

Spike returned his nod.  He emptied the pockets of the dead demons, and for the first time in a long time he paid his bill.  He took the rest of the money and split it with Dekker.

“Need a job?”

Dekker grinned.

“Good,” Spike said curtly.  “I need a right hand man I can trust.”

“You got it, man.”

“And a crew.”

“I can get you one of those,” Dekker assured, a gleam in his eye.

“Good.  I want all the demon run business under our control by the end of the week.  Put the word out.  The Big Bad is in town, and he’s lookin’ to run it.”  Spike smacked his hands together, an evil smile curling his lips around his fangs.

Dekker swallowed.  “All of it?”

Spike’s eyes glittered sulfur yellow under the dim lights.  “All of it.  From docks to the hills.  They can either kneel down or choke on blood.  Either way, I’m getting my due.”  Spike clapped Dekker on the shoulder.  “Gotta take care of our women folk anyway we can, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Dekker agreed as they exited the bar.

“Buffy, phone!”

Buffy rolled over with a groan.  Her eyes felt swollen from last night’s crying jag, and she had a horrible case of cottonmouth.  Rubbing her face with her hands, she shuffled out to the hall where a polished wood end table was pushed against the wall, a vase full of fake sunflowers in the center.  She plucked the cordless phone off the base, leaning her warm forehead against the cool plaster wall. 

“Got it, mom,” she called down the stairs.  “Hello?”

“Spike didn’t come back last night.”

“Giles?” Buffy felt a little fuzzy as she made her way to the bathroom.

“Did you hear me?”  Giles concern was apparent, but Buffy couldn’t drum up any corresponding feeling.  She caught her reflection in the mirror and shuddered.  Oh, yeah.  She needed a long, hot shower.

“Yeah.  What of it?”

“Who knows what he’s up too?”

“He’s a big boy.  I’m sure he can take care of himself.”  Buffy retrieved a clean washcloth from the cabinet and turned on the tap.

“That’s what I’m worried about,” Giles muttered.

Buffy ran the cloth under the water, and wrung it out as best she could with one hand.  “Look, Spike’s got that chip, right?  So it’s not like he’s on a reign of terror.  And frankly, I have other things I need to worry about right now.  He’ll turn up when he gets hungry.  Till then I’m gonna take a break from Spike sitting.  Okay?”  She knew she was being harsh, but she was wrung out.  And tired.  She hadn’t been this tired in a long time.  She pressed the cold cloth to her eyes, suppressing the urge to moan.

“Yes, of course, Buffy.  You get some rest.  I’ll keep a look out for Spike.  Don’t you worry.”

“I’m not,” she replied dully.

“Very well.  I’ll speak to you later.”

“Bye, Giles.”  She hung up the phone, dropping it on the back of the toilet, and stripped off her clothes in preparation for what she hoped to be the best hot shower of her life.

An hour later, a dressed and partially living Buffy oozed down the stairs and turned towards the kitchen where she could hear her mother moving around.  She made it to the threshold when the smell of cooked eggs assaulted her.  She spun on her heel, ducking into the downstairs bath, barely making it to the toilet before she started to dry heave.  Fantastic.  Since she hadn’t eaten in more than twelve hours the only thing she could bring up was clear bile, but that didn’t stop her stomach from trying to flip itself inside out.

“Buffy, are you okay?”  Her mom knocked loudly on the door, making Buffy’s head pound.

“I’m good.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yah.  I think something’s off with those eggs you’re cooking.  They smell pretty rank.  I’ll be out in a sec.”

Buffy could sense her mother’s lingering presence outside the door for a few moments before she returned to the kitchen.  She rested her heated brow on the rim of the cool porcelain seat, breathing deeply through her mouth in an effort to avoid toilet stench.  When she finally felt like her world wasn’t going to upend itself, she stood and rinsed her mouth out in the sink.

When she came out, the smell of eggs had disappeared, and her mother was washing the pan in the sink.  Buffy smiled at her, and listlessly made her way to the refrigerator.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Buffy?

“I said I was fine,” Buffy snapped.  She was feeling more irritable than usual, but gees, how many times did she have to answer the same question.  She wrenched opened the fridge and a god-awful odor wafted out.  Buffy whirled towards the kitchen sink, knowing instinctively she wouldn’t make it back to the bathroom.  She convulsed over the sink, her stomach empty even of bile.  Her mother ran a soothing hand down her back while murmuring words of encouragement that made Buffy feel better even at her worst.  She wondered if this is what being a mother was about, holding your children close even when they were at their grossest.

When she finished, her mother guided her to the couch in the living room.  “Why don’t you just lay down for a bit and I’ll get you some toast?”

“K, mom,” Buffy agreed meekly.  She laid down, her arm over her sensitive eyes to block out the light.  Life totally sucked sometimes.

Her mom came back with two slices of dried toast and a glass of milk, which was weird.  The only time Buffy had milk was on her cereal or if she was dunking cookies.  Joyce sat in the recliner near the head of the couch, watching Buffy with cool eyes.  Buffy’s stomach gurgled, reminding her how hungry she was.  Probably just wants something to throw up the next go around, she thought wryly as she wolfed down the surprisingly appetizing toast.  After a few moments, she noticed her mom watching her appraisingly.

“What?” she asked around a mouthful of toast.

Joyce shook her head as she leaned back in her chair.  “You know when I was pregnant with you every little smell would set me off.  A hint of rotten food in the fridge, the produce isle in the grocery store, asphalt in the summer.  Your father couldn’t even wear cologne.  It would just make me wretch.”

Joyce caught sight of Buffy’s pale, stricken features, and suddenly it all clicked.

“Omigod, Buffy.  Are you pregnant?”

Buffy’s only answer was to hide her eyes behind her hands.  Joyce shot up from the chair.  “How could this of happened?”  Buffy hadn’t thought it possible for her to cry anymore, but she was wrong.  She started shuddering with dry sobs that made her eyes burn.

“I don’t know, mommy.  Parker was being mean to me.  And then Spike was there and we started fighting.  And there was this ring.”  Her harsh sobs made it hard for her to speak, and her mother instantly flew to her side, gathering her close in a calming embrace.

“Just start from the beginning,” she coaxed.  Buffy nodded and told her everything.

After she finished she couldn’t meet her mother’s shell-shocked eyes.  She never felt so small in all her life.  She knew her mother was disappointed in her.  How could she not be?  It seemed all Buffy ever did was make one bad decision after another, starting with Angel and ending with Spike.

“So Spike didn’t—“

“No!”  Why did everyone assume that Spike raped her?  She was getting tired of it.  The uncertain look in her mother’s eye told her that she didn’t believe it either, but had to ask to be sure.

“No.  Of course he wouldn’t.  He’s a good boy.”

Buffy rolled her eyes.  “He’s like a hundred and something years old.  He’s hardly a boy.”

Joyce nodded, her hand idly tracing the inside of Buffy’s wrist.  She was wearing her mulling face that always made Buffy nervous.

“So what are you thinking?”  It was a noncommittal, multilayered mom question that Buffy was rarely treated to.  It was an acknowledgment of Buffy’s adulthood and right to make her own decisions, while expressing unvoiced solidarity and support.  Buffy shied away from other, deeper implications of the question.

“Well, it would be hard to continue college.”  Buffy danced around the subject at hand.

“True.  But you are hardly the first student to ever get pregnant.  I’m sure we can arrange a leave of absence that won’t effect your student status.”

Buffy nodded, already have thought about it.  She didn’t know yet if she wanted to continue college.  The idea of juggling motherhood, classes and slaying seemed overwhelming.

“Then there’s the slaying.”

“Yes, the slaying.”  Joyce’s voice was quiet, soothing, but Buffy could feel the tension in her mother at the mention of her night job.  It wouldn’t take much for Joyce to advocate giving up slaying.  A baby would be just the leverage she would need.  However, at the moment, her mom didn’t seemed inclined to play that card.  When Buffy didn’t say more, Joyce slid her long fingers between hers, and tugged her back so they could look at each other.

“These are all things to consider when you are about to be a mother, but they aren’t the only things.”

“They’re not?”  Buffy was confused.  Giles expounded on addressing facts when one had a dilemma to solve.  There were always pros and cons to be considered meticulously.  It was part of a slayer’s training to assess situations with levelheaded calculation.

“No.”  Joyce waited a beat before saying more.  “Buffy, how do you feel when you think about having a baby?”

That wasn’t hard.  “Fear, anxiety, anger,” she babbled.

“Anything else?” Joyce prodded.

Buffy paused, searching deep.  “Excitement?” she murmured tentatively.  “Maybe kinda happy.”

Joyce nodded.  “And what do you feel when you think about not having the baby?”

Buffy tensed at the thought.  There were a lot of emotions swirling inside her, but one stood out the most.  “Loss,” she whispered.  Joyce rubbed a hand down her back, her fingertips dusting over the small knobs of her spine.  Buffy frowned, not completely convinced.  “I think, maybe, Giles wants me to have an abortion.”

It was Joyce’s turn to tense.  “It’s a good thing it’s not his decision.”  Joyce’s voice lost its warm, soothing quality and Buffy shivered.

“He’s my watcher.”

“But he’s not the father.  How does Spike feel about it?”

Buffy turned away, picking at some nonexistent dirt under her nails.  “Giles says vampires don’t have feelings.”

“That’s just ridiculous twaddle and you know so, Buffy Anne.”  Buffy drew back, suddenly ashamed.  “That’s just years of racial prejudice talking.”

“I don’t think it’s the same thing, mom.  Vampires aren’t people, they’re just evil.”

“They are too people and maybe some of them are evil.  There’re certainly evil humans out and about.”

“There are no none evil vamps.”

“What about, Angel?”

“He has a soul.”

“So you’re saying that Spike’s lack of soul makes him incapable of loving his child.”

“Well, yeah.”

“I am extremely disappointed in you right now, Buffy.  You are judging an entire race because of preconceived misconceptions.”

“They are preconceived on the basis that he’s tried to kill me more than once.  Recently in fact.”

“Things change.  And it seems to me you gave that Angel character more than his fair share of chances.  It seems a little narrow-minded of you to dismiss Spike out of hand.  Especially since he’s going to be the father of your child.”

“I don’t know if I’m keeping it,” Buffy said mutinously.  She narrowed her eyes at her mother.  Was this her way of getting that fat grandbaby she had always wanted?  Something she could have and love after Buffy is dead and gone?  Buffy winced.  She was just being mean now.  Her mother didn’t think like that.

Joyce wound down.  She sat back on the couch to study her daughter’s profile.  The moment lengthened and Buffy fidgeted.

“Well.  Are you?” her mother prodded.

Buffy expelled a harsh breath, settling back against the cushions with her mother.  She already knew what the answer was, there was no point denying it any longer.

“Yes, I’m going to keep it.  I won’t let anything happen to my baby.”

Joyce patted Buffy’s knee reassuringly.  Buffy relaxed for the first time since the spell broke yesterday.

“Then you need to make amends with Spike.  He is the father, and you two need to come to an understanding of some sort.”

“Yah, we got an understanding, alright.  He comes around and I stake him.”

Joyce sighed in disappointment and Buffy had to fight the urge to curl up in shame.

“Give it time, honey.  You’ll work it out.”

“I guess,” Buffy answered.  She lulled her head to the side and peeked out between the curtain panels.  The sun was blindingly bright, and she wondered what Spike was doing at that moment.