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

A/N:  There is some Giles/Joyce in this chapter.  I think they’re cute.  And we older folks need lovin’ too.

A/N:  Thank you so much for the reviews.  I’m so happy you all are enjoying the story so far.

Dawn of a New Age

Chapter Four

“Mrs. Summers.”  Giles gaped at the immaculately dressed woman who stood outside his front door at an ungodly early hour.  The bright morning sun cast a gold halo around her head, and he had to squint to see her fine features.  He resisted the urge to rub his brow as the drinking binge from previous evening made its presence painfully known.  “Please, do come in,” he offered more to get her out of the light than to be polite.

“Call me, Joyce, please.”  She breezed by, stopping a few feet from the door.  Mr. Giles and her had danced around the edges of propriety for years.  It was better to have distance and with it came perspective.  Perspective was something they needed in the last years.  First names made their perspective blurry.  Nicknames like Joycie and Ripper obliterated it completely.

“Please, sit.  Would you like tea?”  He tactfully sidestepped her name, keeping perspective intact.

“Yes, thank you.”  Joyce tucked her smart, beige business skirt beneath her thighs as she sat primly on the edge of his older couch made presentable by a colorful afghan arranged over the back.  As he returned with a tea tray and some puffy muffins, he had to force his lingering gaze away from her long legs encased in nude hose.  He vividly remembered those legs curling around his hips, her delicate ankles locked behind his back.

He set down the tea tray with a sharp rattle.  “Please, have a blueberry muffin.  They’re store bought,” he offered apologetically.

Joyce smiled.  “Well, I certainly wouldn’t expect a bachelor such as yourself to have had made them.”  She often found herself wondering why Mr. Giles was still a bachelor.  She supposed his duties to Buffy dictated a certain amount of privacy, but he was a very handsome, virile man.  Very virile.  There was absolutely no reason for him to be single.

“Yes, yes.  Of course.”  Giles sniffed as he poured her tea.  “Sugar?  Milk?”

“Milk, please.”  The stiff etiquette in the room could crack ice.

The tea served, Giles uncomfortably settled himself next to her at an angle.  He was under no illusions as to why she was there, but he would rather postpone the conversation as long as possible.  She must have felt the same, since she allowed the silence to stretch as they sipped their tea.

She knew in this instance distance wasn’t going to be possible.  Perspective just didn’t need to be blurred; it needed to be recreated completely, which meant obliteration of the status quo.  This could only be accomplished by closing the distance and the sharing of private things.  Things which were embarrassing to her, but she was willing to make the sacrifice for her child.  After all, that’s what mothers do.

“I met Hank while we were still in college,” she commented to her tea.  Her teacup was carefully balanced on her knees.  They stared at it together.  An innocuous blue and white pattern hardly benefiting the attention it received from the two occupants in the room.  “After he completed his MBA we were married, though I finished my MA in Art History the year before.  I didn’t realize at the time, but Hank had traditional---views--on women’s roles.”  Giles shifted uncomfortably, his gaze focused less on the teacup and more on her long slender fingers toying with the rim.  “My expertise on art was all well and good when it came to hob knobbing with his co-workers during company events, but we both agreed I should stay home with our children, and Buffy was born soon after.”

Realizing he was ogling her, Giles diverted his attention to a blueberry muffin.  His appetite suddenly gone, he settled for picking it slowly apart, squishing blueberries between his fingers like eyeballs.

“When Buffy was three, Hank started staying late at work.  The foolish young woman that I was, I thought we were having financial troubles and I promptly got a low paying job at an art gallery.  I was very proud of that job.”  She smiled softly and finally took a sip of her cooling tea.  “When I finally did find out what Hank was doing, he nearly convinced me to quit.  Clearly, I had overextended myself if I couldn’t see to my husband’s needs.”

Giles’ blueberry muffin squeezed out between his fingers.  He hastily set it aside and conspicuously wiped his hands with a paper napkin.  It shredded on his sticky fingers, and he silently berated himself for not setting out his linens.  Paper napkins were all fine and good for the children and their donuts, but Joycie deserved better.

“But you didn’t?” he rumbled.

“What?”  She seemed startled, almost if she had forgotten he was there.

“Quit,” he reminded, silently offering her more tea.

She added milk.  The only sound in the room was the clink of her spoon against the rim of her cup.  “No.  I’ve always had a rebellious streak.”  She blushed, remembering chocolate bars tainted with youth.

Giles cleared his throat.  “Like mother, like daughter, I say.”

Joyce smiled proudly.  “Yes, she did get some of her independence from me, I’ll admit.”  Her smile melted.  “Of course, her bravery must come from someplace else all together.”

“I daresay it didn’t,” Giles protested only to be cut off by her sharp, angry glance.

“No.  It did.  You see, I stayed.  For eleven long years.  It came to a head when Buffy was about fourteen.  The fights wouldn’t stop.  And I was so angry.  I kept asking myself ‘why can’t he just be loyal?’  ‘What is it about me that is so unloveable?’  Of course mistakes are always correctable in hindsight.”  She exhaled a gust of air.  “I made some whoopers too.  I was so caught up in my misery that I completely overlooked Buffy’s.  When the trouble started I thought she was just acting out.  When she started babbling about vampires, I--“ 

Her teacup rattled as she set it on the table.  She curled her fingers around the hem of her skirt, yanking it towards her knees.  The fine white bone of her knuckles showed beneath her translucent skin.  She inhaled a ragged breath, making every vertebrae in Giles’ spine tighten.  He locked his large hands around his teacup to prevent himself from reaching out to her, wishing it were a cut crystal tumbler instead.

“I told myself she was just punishing me for making her father leave,” she whispered as if revealing some dark, terrible secret.  He handed her a napkin and she turned away to dab the corners of her eyes.  “It wasn’t until we came here, even before I knew about the slaying, that I understood she believed Hank left because of her.  Because of all the trouble she was mixed up in.  She believed she drove him away.  Still does, I suppose.  I had no idea how to fix it.  I couldn’t tell her why he left.  I couldn’t break him down in her eyes to build myself up.  So I didn’t say anything, and time passed.  Now I realize those wounds healed, but the scars are deep.”

Giles inched closer, placing a big hand in the small valley between her shoulder blades.  Her eyes drifted closed as she leaned into his comfort.  “Joyce, none of it is your fault.  You are a beautiful, vibrant woman, and Hank is nothing but a fool.”  Something inside her cracked a tiny bit, and she realized she needed to make a clean get away before things got out of hand.  She would not run this man off like she had Hank.  Buffy needed Giles.  She leaned forward, gathering the tea things onto the try.

“Please, don’t bother,” Giles protested.

“I insist.”  She picked up the tray and carted it towards the kitchen.  Efficiently, she rinsed the cups and gathered the used napkins.  She lifted the lid to the garbage bin in the corner of the kitchen and paused.  At the bottom of the bin were several empty greenish bottles.  Her normally smooth brow creased, and she threw the wadded napkins on top of them. 

Everything tidied she drew a deep breath.  She stood in the threshold between the kitchen and den and watched Giles.  He was frowning wickedly at an intricately carved trunk situated in the corner of the room.  It looked deep and wide, and she wondered what he kept in there.  He must have felt her presence, because he quickly looked up at her.

His lush lower lip curved into a smile, but his brow was still worried.  She smothered the urge to run a soothing hand over it.  “I suppose you are wondering why I’m telling you this?”  Giles tactfully remained silent.  She walked to the arm of the couch, looking down at him.  “Buffy was deeply hurt by what she perceived as her father’s disappointment in her.  The only thing that lessened the blow was you.  I admit, I was jealous at first, and resentful of the danger you put her in.”  Joyce’s eyes flickered wintery, but he didn’t look away.  He would not apologize for Buffy’s calling and his part in it.  “But you gave her purpose.  And—“  Joyce dipped her chin in shame.  “You understood her when I didn’t.”  She sat beside him, dropping her hand onto his knee.  Startled he shifted, but didn’t move away.  “She thinks of you like a father now.”  Giles couldn’t help, but to remember how touched he had been when Buffy asked him to walk her down the isle.  Of course, that was before he remembered it was all a spell, but the sentiment was the same.  Her desire for filial connections had nothing to do with Willow’s will.  Joyce’s fingers tightened on his knee, and he found himself unable to look away from her pale blue eyes.  “Don’t let her think she’s disappointed you too.”

Giles drew back, deeply wounded.  “Joyce I—“

“This baby is going to happen,” she cut him off in a curt clip.  “Buffy is going to keep it.  And you are going to be supportive.  I don’t care about your hang ups with Spike.   That’s for you and him to work out.  But Buffy doesn’t need any end-of-the-world bullshit right now.  And I will not, absolutely will not, have you telling her that she’s giving birth to a monster.  Are we clear, Rupert?”  Her fingernails were digging into his kneecap and her words were being spit out from behind straight white teeth.  Something raw and angry roared in Giles’ chest.  He wrapped his strong fingers around her wrist, almost immediately loosening his grip when he felt the delicacy of her bones beneath his hand.  He pulled her forward, so their noses were nearly touching.  She gasped and he smelled mint. 

“Buffy has my everlasting love and support.  I would never abandon her, Joycie.  Never.”  He held her there, his gaze drawn to the pink curve of her mouth.  She was a luscious, striking woman.  How that rotter ever let her go he had no idea.  She nodded slowly and withdrew.  Reluctantly, he watched as she slung the strap of her purse over her shoulder and smoothed out her skirt.  He stood, walking her to the door.

“Thank you for coming by.”

“Of course, thank you for having me.”  The order of courtesy reigned yet again.  He opened the door and she stepped into the sunlight.  She paused, and he could see indecision in the straight lines of her shoulders.  She turned back and he braced himself.

“Rupert…near the end Hank drank.  A lot.  It wasn’t very pretty.  There were things he said—did—nothing unconscionable mind you, but he became less of a man in my eyes.  I would hate for something like that to occur a second time.  For Buffy’s sake.”

Giles stood at the door a long time after she walked away.

Later that afternoon, Joyce had an unexpected visitor at the gallery.  She was in the backroom tracking inventory when she heard the front door bell jangle along with a litany of curses.  She walked out to see Spike stamping out his blanket.  She glanced around, relieved to see no one else in the gallery.  She took a deep breath to stiffen her resolve.  She didn’t know much about Spike’s feelings about the baby other than he expressed a desire to have it.  For what purpose remained to be seen.  Joyce wasn’t fully aware of the motivations of vampires.  She could only judge people by their actions.  He looked up, honing in on her without having to glance around.  His intensity was like a thump in the chest.  He was strikingly handsome, and she could see why her daughter was in chaos over the man.  A beautiful man was never a good thing, but they sure were hard to resist.

“Spike,” she greeted coolly.

“Joyce.”  He dipped his head politely.

“Looking for something in particular?  Something Avant Garde?  Or perhaps more surrealist?”

Spike looked at her warily.  “’m more of a expressionist, kinda bloke.”

She circled around to the counter, her head held high.  “Expressionism needs to have a solid foundation.”

Spike leaned straight-armed on the counter, refusing to back away.  “Foundations can be built.”

“You can’t put the cart before the horse.”  Mix your metaphors much, Joyce?  She mentally sighed to herself.  Parenthood was supposed to get easier the older your children got.  Shyeah.

“Sometimes you gotta back that stubborn mule up the cart.”

“Are you calling my daughter a mule?”

“Are you calling her a horse?”

Silence lengthened.  Finally, Spike backed down with a sigh.  “Look.  I don’t love your daughter, alright?  Is that what you wanted to hear?  How can I?  I barely know her.  We barely know each other.”

“Well that certainly didn’t stop you from fathering a child on her.”

“It takes two to tango,” he snapped.  How was it that Buffy came out as the victim in all this?  Sure, he was an evil, rampaging vampire who had done some pretty bad things in his time, but he hadn’t done this.  Had he?  Fuck.  He had no idea what this was.

Two bright red spots formed on Joyce’s cheeks, and Spike felt his chest tighten.  He dropped his head between his arms.  This wasn’t going as planned.

“Like I said, I don’t know her.  But I want to.”  He looked up, his blue eyes glittering.  “I want to know her and the Li’l Bit.  I want to be apart of their lives.  An’ no matter how stubborn you Summers women are goin’ to be, I won’t be run off.  I’m not some weak-willed wanker that can be chased off with a harsh word and a rolled up newspaper to the nose.  ’m in for the long haul, whether you two like it or not.”

“Why?”  Long haul guy?  That seemed vaguely ominous.  Not in an evil sort of way, but in a ‘until death do us part’ kind of way.  Joyce couldn’t help but to think of Angel.  A few well placed words and deep soul-searching looks from her and he was more than happy to trot his way out of Buffy’s life.  Test failed.  This man however seemed to think a crowbar and TNT couldn’t pry him away.

“What?”  Spike was taken aback.  Her tone wasn’t harsh, but it was straightforward.  The searching look she was giving him made him uncomfortable.  It made him think that if he had a soul she would be scouring it.  If she was looking for imperfections then she’d better brace herself.  All he was were imperfections.

“If you don’t love her, then why stick around?”

“You tryin’ to get one over on me?”  Joyce stared at him without blinking.  He realized, she truly didn’t understand.  No one seemed to.  He was a soulless, evil monster, right?  Completely and utterly incapable of the finer emotions such as love and compassion.  Well, maybe it was true.  But he sure has hell knew how to protect and care for something.  They at least had to concede on that point, the hypocritical wankers.  “She’s goin’ to have my baby.  I’d never leave my child or her mother unprotected.  Do ya know how dangerous this world is?  I may not love Buffy now, I may not love her ever, but I do love our Bit.  I’ll do right by them.  Give ‘em every thing I can.  Whatever it takes to see ‘em happy and safe.  My right as a father, innit?  As a parent?”

“You say that now.”  Joyce watched him appraisingly.  His words weren’t flowery, but they were honest.  It was a trait she wasn’t used to in a man.  She wasn’t certain what to think.

“It’s non-negotiable.”  Spike sliced his hand decisively through the air.  “I know some human gits run out on their sprogs.  And yah, I’ve got my faults.  Vampire, here.  Evil.  But I’m nuthin’ if not loyal.  I’ll never do another evil thing.  Well, not the big evils like killin’ people and what not.  I’ll even bag it till the day I dust if I have to.  Whether, I’ve the chip or not.  I’m willin’ to do what it takes to be in my baby’s life.”

Joyce didn’t understand much of what Spike was saying, and she didn’t know anything about chips, but she did believe him.  Spike was willing to go against his very nature just for the privilege of being in his baby’s life.  It was unfair to demand he love Buffy, just as it was unfair to demand Buffy love him.  Love could grow.  Until then the cart would have to come before the horse.  However, that didn’t mean it couldn’t be helped along.

“Why don’t you come over for dinner tonight?”

Spike shifted, the intensity in his aspect replaced with self-doubt.  “I don’t think—I just wanted—“

“What?” Joyce prodded.

“I was jus’ hoping you could tell me how Buffy’s doin’?  If she needed anythin’.  I’ve got a fair bit of dosh coming in and—“

“I thought you wanted to be apart of their lives?” Joyce cut in coolly.

“I do!”

“Well, that means more than just money,” Joyce pointed out sternly in her best mothering voice and Spike flinched. 

“That’s all well and good, ‘cept Buffy made it pretty clear she doesn’t want me around.”

“I guess we’ll just have to muddy the waters, won’t we?  Dinner is at six.  I expect you to be there on time.”  Joyce turned on her heel to return to the back room, not wanting to give him the time to back out. 

“Joyce.”  She wouldn’t have turned around if his tone hadn’t been so pained.  He was standing near the counter, looking as if he was crumpling under an invisible weight.  He kept his profile to her, but she could see a flash of blue from one eye.  “She’s goin’ to keep it, then?”   He sounded like he was begging, and it made the soft spot she had for him go gooey. 

“Why don’t you ask her tonight?” she told him softly.  He ducked his head, his brow creased.

She went back to work, and when she heard the bell over the front door jingle, she hummed a little tune.

Buffy heard the doorbell followed by the soft drone of voices.  She slept most of the day and was still feeling fuzzy around the edges.  No one told her pregnancy could be so exhausting, even as early on as this.  She tucked her uncombed hair behind her ears and a quick glance down at her peach colored sweat pants and her worn Razorback sweatshirt showed everything important was covered.  She slowly thumped down the stairs to see who was visiting.  Half way down she glance up and jerked to a stop.  Spike was standing just inside the door dressed in loose dark trousers and a navy button down shirt.  His hair was slicked back and his cheeks looked like cut glass in the low yellow lamplight.  He looked up at her, his blue eyes glittering with predatory intensity.  Damn, he’s dead sexy.  Buffy stiffened as the thought came out of left field.  Worse, she felt her panties dampen.  What the hell?  Buffy was as horny as the next girl, but she wasn’t that horny.  Usually something had to happen to get her that wet that fast.  Spike’s nostrils flared, and his scarred eyebrow lifted.  He absolutely could not smell her.  Could he?

“What’s he doing here?” she hissed between tightly clamped teeth.  Her mother turned around, a bouquet of carnations and daisies in her hand.

“Spike’s our guest for dinner.”

“No, he is not,” Buffy bit out neatly.  “Get out,” she directed at Spike.

“Buffy Anne Summers this is my house and I say who will be a guest in it.  Go upstairs and make yourself presentable.”  Buffy drew back as if slapped.  Her mother raised her to be polite, but Joyce almost exclusively deferred to Buffy in slayer matters, ie: vampires.

“He’s a vampire, mom.”

“I know exactly who and what he is.”  Joyce’s precise clip indicated knowledge of a depth to Spike that went beyond his animal nature.  It made Buffy pale.  A vampire was the father of her child.  Oh, God.  How could’ve it happened?  The world ceased to make sense.  No matter how many times she tried to wrap her mind around the idea as Spike as the father of her child, she couldn’t.  How could she?  Stupid magical rings.  Stupid Hellmouth.  Stupid…whatever did this!  Her mother pointed to the top of the stairs.  “Now.”  Her tone wasn’t to be rebuked, and the little girl in Buffy was hardwired to obey.  Shooting one last glare at Spike, she turned and slowly trudged back up the stairs.

Joyce waited until Buffy disappeared before turning to Spike with an apologetic smile.  “Won’t you sit down?”  She indicated the couch.  Spike politely sat, remembering the last time he was here, he’d sprawled inelegantly in the armchair.  “I need to finish up some things in the kitchen.”

“Need some help?”  Spike perked up.

“No, thank you, dear.  Buffy will be down in a moment to keep you company.”  She walked out and Spike flung his arm over the back of the couch, huffing.  Yah, he knew Buffy better than Joyce did.  There was no way she was going to be back down anytime soon.  He took out his lighter, flicking it open and closed rhythmically as he waited.  And waited.  And waited.

“You’re obnoxious.”

Spike glanced up.  She was dressed in beige trousers with a razor sharp crease and a soft looking white turtleneck.  Her tight bun enhanced the dark bags under her eyes and hollowed out cheekbones.  She was trying to look as unappealing as possible, without realizing how appealing it made her.  Vampires did love the chase.  She paused on the bottom step, refusing to come any nearer to him.  He lounged deeper into the couch, his eyes heavy lidded.  He flicked the lighter one. more. time.

“Knock it off.”

“Knock wot off, pet?”  His East End accent deepened.

“That clicking is annoying.”

His smile spread slow and easy.  She shifted, pressing her thighs together.  “Gotta do sumthin’ with my hands.”

Her eyes narrowed.  She wasn’t sure how that could be an innuendo, but he sure made it sound like one.  “Put them in your pockets and leave them there,” she spat.  His smile grew and he slouched down on the couch to slip his hands into his front pockets and the loose material stretched tight over his crotch.  She wrinkled her nose.  He was just trying to goad her, and she was letting him.  She turned away to examine some childhood photos of her on the wall.  The silence between them was deafening.

“So Anne, huh?  I like it.”

“Shut up.”

Spike huffed and scowled at the back of her head.  Stupid bint couldn’t even take a compliment from him.

“Dinner’s ready,” Joyce called from the dinning area.

“Thank god,” they both sighed.  Spike flashed in front of her, nearly startling her off balance.  He offered his arm, but she just scowled and walked around him.  She took a deep breath to berate him and immediately bolted for the downstairs bathroom, slamming the door in her wake.  Spike was staring after her in bewilderment, when Joyce came to investigate the noise.  They both stood in the hall while Buffy wretched.

“What’s that all about?” Spike asked nervously.

“Morning sickness.”  Joyce led him to the dinning room, knowing her daughter wouldn’t want them listening in on something she would find humiliating.

Spike shot her a confused glance.  “Shouldn’t it be in the morning, then?”

Joyce chuckled.  “Hardly.  It’s usually smells that set it off.  Least it was for me.  Seems to be that way for Buffy too.  So far its cooked eggs and refrigerator smells.  Oh, and her skin lotion.  We’re going to have to find a new one she can tolerate.  She’ll need to keep her skin hydrated.”

She sat him down at the table set with white linens and plain china and began to spoon heaping forkfuls of spaghetti and salad onto plates.  They were waiting to get started when Buffy came out looking pale and glassy eyed.  She sat down as far as possible from Spike, making him want to snarl at her.  They ate in silence, even Joyce daunted by the tension in the room.  Couldn’t she just be civil for an hour?  How were they supposed to raise a child if they couldn’t even be in the same room together?  His fingers tightened on his fork.  His appetite fled and he didn’t know if he could force another bite down his tight gullet.  Joyce said he should ask her if she was keeping the baby.  This whole ridiculous tableau might be completely unnecessary if they weren’t going to be parents.  His stomach clenched.  Spike dropped his fork with a clatter, startling the two women.

“Are you keeping it or what?” he asked baldly. 

Joyce rolled her eyes and started to clear the table.  She wasn’t done with her food, but clearly dinner was over.

“That’s none of your business,” Buffy spat.  Joyce cringed and disappeared into the kitchen to find the Excedrin.

He slammed his hand on the table and the china rattled.  “Of course, it’s my business.  ’m the father.  I need to know how much dosh it’s gonna cost me whether you keep it or flush it,” he snarled with as much venom he could muster.

Red spots flared on Buffy’s cheeks, the only color in her otherwise pale face.  She sprang up from her seat and the straight-backed chair fell over with a clatter.  “I don’t need any money from you.  I’ll take care of it myself.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means, what it means.  I’ll take care of it.”

In one smooth motion, Spike leapt over the table without disturbing the china.  He landed besides her, grabbing her narrow shoulders.  God, he wanted to shake her until her brains rattled.

“Take care of it how, you bint?  ‘m I gonna be a da or not?”

“Get away from me.”  She slammed the backs of her hands into the insides of his wrists, forcing his hands off her shoulders.  “No matter what, you aren’t the father!”

“Enough!”  Joyce roared.  She was standing just inside the doorway, her fists on her hips.  Buffy looked rebellious, then nauseous.  She quickly bent over at the waist and threw up in the potted palm in the corner of the room.  Spike went from furious to concerned in a heartbeat.  He bent down beside her, rubbing small circles over her back.  She leaned into him, exhausted and in need of any physical comfort she could get.  When nothing more would came up, she pulled away from Spike and fled to the kitchen. 

“Stay.”  Joyce pointed to the table, before chasing after her daughter.  Feeling like a complete pillock, Spike sat.  He cleared a space with a slow sweep of his arm, and banged his forehead on the table.

Joyce caught up to Buffy who was rinsing her mouth out with cold water at the sink.

“Buffy, I know you are under a lot of stress.”

“You have no idea,” Buffy snarled.

“You know what?  Grow up!  You’re being a brat.”  Buffy gasped at her mother, too shocked to realize water was running down her chin.  Joyce tore off a paper towel and handed it to her.  “You are going to be a mother soon, and you need to start acting like it.  One of the things a mother does is put the welfare of her child before own.”

“I’m doing that.”  Didn’t her mother see?  Vampires, even ones claiming to be daddy, were not good things for children.  ‘Cause, you know.  The blood drinking and swearing and all.

“By running off the father of your child?  Don’t you think they should have a relationship?”  Buffy thought about her own nearly nonexistent financial based relationship with her father.  It made Spike’s words sting all the more.

“He doesn’t care.” She flung her hand towards the dining room.  “All he wants to know is how much money he’s gonna have to shell out.”  Belatedly, she wondered if this had less to do with Spike being a vampire and more with him being a man.  Not that she was a man-hater.  She wasn’t.  She liked men.  She’d like them even more if they stuck around.

“Buffy, if that were true, he would have skipped town as soon as he found out.  He certainly wouldn’t be here with you.”  The way her mother said ‘you’ made Buffy feel like a worm.  Worse, her mother had a point.  Even with the chip, there was no reason for Spike to be here, in her dining room, in her life, if he didn’t want to.  She narrowed her eyes.

“He’s dangerous.”  She could never forget who he was.  What he was.  Slayer of Slayers.

Joyce nodded, soothing her hands down Buffy’s arms.  “That may be so, but I don’t think he’s dangerous to you or the baby.”

Buffy’s instinct to protest was instantaneous.  “Did you see him in there?  He grabbed me!”

“Grabbed you?  I think I might have smacked the crap out of you!”  Buffy’s head snapped back at her mother’s language.  It pulled her from her mental rumblings and made her focus entirely on her mother’s words.  “You’re practically torturing him.  Just tell him, already.”  Joyce put her hand on Buffy’s shoulder, leaning in so their foreheads touched.  Buffy relaxed under her mother’s influence.  Was this what being a mother meant?  Curbing your kid’s insanity when they were going off the rails?  “Let him in, Buffy.  Get to know him.  Get to know each other.  Try to at least be civil.  Because no matter how you feel about each other, this child will bind you together for the rest of your lives.  And you have to do what’s best for her.”  Buffy felt something ghost over her, and she shivered.  Her mother sounded so tired.  The kind of tired that comes from the sadness and experiences of being a single mother.

Buffy nodded against her mother’s forehead.  She needed to get hormonal Buffy under control before she nuked the west coast.  Slayer plus pregnancy hormones equaled nothing good.  Joyce kissed her cheek and told her to go out to the den.  Spike joined her a few moments later.  His hands were tucked in his pockets, his face turned aside.  She could see a muscle jump in his lean cheek as he clenched his jaw.  She sighed inwardly, and scooted over on the couch in a silent invitation for him to sit with her.  He sat at the far edge, his elbows braced on his knees, his hands loosely clasped.  His shoulders were hunched defensively, and she had the insane urge to run her hand down his back to soothe the tension from his muscles.  She was so entranced with the idea she almost didn’t hear him speak.

“’m sorry.”

“What?”  Her fingers curled until she could feel her nails cut her palm.  He continued to stare at his hands.

“I shouldn’t of put my hands on you like that.  I upset you.  An’ the Nibblet.  Made you sick.  ‘m sorry.”

“Oh, no.”  Almost with out thinking she flattened the palm of her hand between the wings of his shoulders.  He tensed under her touch and she pulled away.  “That’s not why I got sick.”

His eyes glittered blue under his dark lashes as he flashed her a questioning look, before studiously turning back to his hands.  “You smell.”

“I smell?”  He straightened, his lips parted in affront.

Mortified, she hid her nose and mouth behind her hands, peeking at him from over her fingertips.  “No!  I mean.  A little.  It’s the cigarette smoke and maybe your hair gel,” she told him almost apologetically.  Horrified, he tried to scoot further away from her.  “I’m sorry!” she whined.  Buffy felt awful.  If someone told her that she smelled she would be humiliated.

He shot her a wry grin.  “Not your fault, pet.”  He fidgeted a moment, shooting her quick, nervous glances.  “Does this mean I should give up smoking?” he asked tentatively.

She studied him.  He looked young and uncertain.  He was at the very edge of the couch trying to protect her from his own scent.  He was trying too hard.  For what she wasn’t certain.  She did know that if the baby had been Parker’s this conversation wouldn’t be happening.  He would have denied it was even his.  Spike on the other hand seemed bound and determined to shout it from the rooftops.  Giles told her it was because it would increase his reputation.  How, she wasn’t sure.  Maybe being the only vampire with a living child?  Still.  It didn’t seem likely.  A mortal child would be more of a weakness than a strength to be flaunted.  Which could only mean Spike wanted the child for itself.  Because he…loved it?  That didn’t seem possible.  Vampires couldn’t love.  Maybe she was reading too much into this.  Maybe all Spike wanted was to be apart of something greater than himself.  As a vampire he would have been resigned long ago to never having a real baby.  Not another vampire he sired, but an actual living child.  Maybe this was all an experiment to him?  Something he would get bored of eventually.  Although, if Spike had proven one thing, it was that he was steadfast in his devotions.  He remained loyal to Drusilla for over a hundred years.  Could he remain devoted to their child just as long?

The silence stretched and she thought he was going to fray apart at the edges.  White brackets slashed his cheeks as he pressed his lips together to keep from demanding an answer from her.

“Yeah.  Second hand smoke is bad for babies.”

The smile that wreathed his face was magical.  She couldn’t help but to stare at it in awe.  She had never seen such happiness before.  It was disconcerting to realize she was the cause.  He reached over like he was going to hug her, but quickly pulled away, and she had to tamp down her disappointment.

“Thank you, luv.”  His baritone voice was deep and rich, infused with intense pleasure.  It made her feel like she had just gifted him the world.  Maybe in his eyes, she had.

“Excellent.”  Joyce clapped, appearing from the next room where she’d been shamelessly eavesdropping.  “Buffy has a doctor’s appointment tomorrow at six.  It was the latest appointment I could get.  You’ll drive her, Spike.”  It wasn’t a request.

Buffy rounded her panicked eyes on her mother, waving her hands in dismay.  “Uh, mom.  I don’t think that’s necessary.”

“Yes.  I will take her,” Spike agreed unequivocally.  Buffy stilled.  The determined devotion in his deep blue eyes stunned her to silence.  She nodded and he gifted her with a tight smile.  He stood up to take Joyce’s hand, placing a light kiss on the back of her wrist.  “Thank you ever so for dinner, Joyce.  It was delicious.  I should go.  I have a lot of things to do before tomorrow.”

“Like what?”  Buffy tilted her head quizzically.  Spike returned her question with a wide smile. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, luv.”

He let himself out, leaving Buffy to bemusedly flick the curtains aside so she could watch him practically skip down the walk to his car.  When he was dangerous he was desirable.  When he was boyish and happy he was irresistible.  She sighed and watched the black Desoto pull away from the curb.