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

A/N:  There’s some clinical nonsense in this chapter.  This should be very familiar to any of you who’ve had a prenatal check up.  It’s all very cookie cutter. 

I hope you are all enjoying the story so far!

Dawn of a New Age

Chapter Five

The Desoto was immaculate.  The entire interior had been detailed, and hinted at a slight chemical smell that made Buffy frown, but her stomach didn’t protest.  She carefully slid inside, surreptitiously checking the soles of her shoes to make sure she didn’t have any mud on them.  Spike shut her door and hurried to the driver’s side to slide in.  He was in his usual dress of black jeans and tee with a red over shirt and his duster.  All of which smelled freshly dry-cleaned.  She slyly leaned in to take a whiff, relieved when no scent of cigarette smoke lingered.

“Yah, it was a real bitch to get out.”  He grinned at her, knowing exactly what she was up too.

She ducked her head at being caught.  “So you quit smoking?”

He pulled his duster and over shirt off his shoulder, so she could see the nude colored patches peeking out from under the sleeve of his tee.  His bicep flexed, and she felt something tingle between her legs.

“Three?”  She raised a brow.

“Four,” he confirmed.  “Takes a bit more with vamps.  Good news is I’ll be weaned by next week.”

“Go vamp healing,” she approved and he chuckled in agreement.  He tossed his head back, and she noticed a soft white curl brush his forehead.  No hair product.  He looked good with loose curls.  White-gold hair, alabaster skin, cut marble body.  He was a fallen angel.  Desire gushed at her center, and she had to press her thighs together, suddenly mortified she was going to stain his seats.

His head whipped towards her, his black pupils dilated.  She pressed herself into the door, hoping she could disappear.  Still watching her with predatory intensity, he leaned towards her.  Just when she thought he was going to what?--kiss her? murder her?--he reached passed her and depressed the door lock.

“Don’t want you to get away.”  His voice was low and silky, like he was hunting.  Every nerve in her body screamed ‘vampire!’ and her muscles trembled with the strain of staying perfectly still.  He stayed poised over her, his arm barred across her body, close enough to feel her warmth.  He inhaled and his nostrils flared delicately.  His pupils were black with just the thinnest band of blue.  Slowly, he shifted away to start the car.  She exhaled in a rush.  Now she knew what it was like for the plump little rabbit cowering in the shadow of the wolf.

Nervous, she glanced around the interior of the car.  As he pulled away from the curb, he noticed her glancing into the back seat.  “It’s an old car,” he said almost apologetically.

“Yeah.”  She gave him the ‘and your point’ face.

He shrugged sheepishly.  “It doesn’t have those tab things for car seats.”

She glanced again, noting the original leather was in excellent condition.  “I don’t think you’d want a kid in here anyways.  They’re little oinkers.”

He laughed, a surprised gust of air between parted lips.  She’d never heard him laugh like that before.  It was sexy.

“I’m gonna get a new car.  One with all those safeties.”

She leaned back in the seat, rapping her fingers along the doorframe where it met the window.  “Can you afford that?”

A muscle jumped in his cheek, and she wondered if she insulted him.  He had a gorgeous profile.  A sharp nose, full lips, high cheekbones.  He almost made her jealous.

“I’ll have it by the time the li’l nibblet gets here.”

Her chest tightened.  He was making a lot of sacrifices.  Things she would have expected a happy husband, eager to start a family to do, not a man caught up with the consequences of a one night stand.  A one night stand neither of them remember and shouldn’t have been fruitful in the first place.  She wondered how Angel would have reacted if it was him.  She imagined he would have been ploddingly thoughtful, soulful even in his understanding of her plight.  That’s how Angel would have viewed her pregnancy.  A plight.   A dilemma that she needed to overcome.  The pregnancy would have been her problem, alone.  Unlike Spike who lobbied so desperately for her to keep the child, Angel wouldn’t have voiced an opinion on whether or not she should keep the baby.  He would have left all the decisions up to her, and left her alone with consequences.  She wasn’t even certain he’d put aside his redemption to stay and raise their child or just send monthly support checks.  He didn’t stay for her, why would he for a kid?  She rubbed the hollow between her breasts and looked out the window.  They were turning off Main Street, heading up Holly Lane towards the clinic.  They’d be there soon.

“Don’t get rid of your car,” she told him softly.

“Why would I do that?  A man’s gotta have a nice ride when he’s not chauffeuring around the sprogs.”  He tossed her an unrepentant grin that made her laugh in response.  Her bad mood was suddenly lifted.  He smoothly pulled the car into an empty spot and hurried around to get the door for her.  She wasn’t an invalid, but she knew it was important to him.  Besides, she thought woefully, it was good practice for when she was too fat to stand up by herself.

The room was cramped, most of the space taken up by an adjustable bed with metal stirrups at one end.  Buffy perched at the end, rudimentarily familiar with her surroundings having been burdened with doing a pap smear every year since she was fifteen.  Spike stood uncomfortably at the head of the bed, as close to the door as he could get without obscuring the doorway.  Buffy laughed to herself.  He wanted the full daddy experience and he was going to get it.

She glanced down at the clipboard in her lap.  She had answered standard questions about her diet, lead paint and the safety of her household pretty easily, but the last question had her stumped.  ‘Does your partner physically abuse you?’  Huh.  That was a tricky one.  She glanced at Spike under the veil of her lashes.  She was suddenly bombarded with flashbacks.  Spike stalking her in the alleyway outside the Bronze.  Spike sliding his hand down his chest while telling her weapons made him feel manly.  Spike saying the most hateful words possible while standing under the midday sun. 

Her speculative gaze turned to a scowl.  Spike seeing the change in her expression flared his scarred brow in question.  She tilted the clipboard, her finger tapping the question.  Unwilling to leave the safety of the doorway, he craned his neck to look.  Buffy was fascinated by the stillness that came over him, broken only by the slight ticking of the muscle in his hollow cheek.  Although his face was partially averted, she couldn’t miss his predatory blue eyes glittering from under the fringe of his dark lashes as he glanced towards her.  Behind him the door opened, and he stepped to aside to let the intruder pass.  Their eyes met for a moment, before she looked away to tick off ‘no’ on the questionnaire.

A small East Indian woman bustled in, her thick black hair pulled neatly into a bun and wire rimmed glasses perched on her nose.  Her white coat swished against her tailored wine colored pantsuit when she walked.

“Hello.  I’m Dr. Patel.  You must be Ms. Summers.”

“Yes.  I’m Buffy.  And this is my---Spike.”

Dr. Patel held out her hand to each of them.  When she shook Spike’s hand he mumbled, “’m the father,” in a way that was both proud and shy.  Buffy’s breath caught.  He met her gaze and held it.  They didn’t notice the doctor start and quickly recover by taking Buffy’s clipboard with barely a cursory glance.

“It says here you’re about four weeks?”

Buffy gave her full attention to the doctor.  “Yes, I think so.  Maybe a little bit more now.”  They talked about menstrual cycles, which had Spike edging for the door again.

“Well, we will be able to narrow down conception date along with the estimated due date after we do a pelvic.”

Spike flinched.  Hard.  Buffy resisted the urge to snort.

“Before we do that, do you two having any questions?”  Dr. Patel pulled up her rolling stool, setting her clipboard in her lap.  She waited expectantly.  Buffy glanced at Spike from the corner of her eye.  She imagined he had questions, but just wasn’t sure what to ask.  He hadn’t had to worry about the idea of children in over a hundred years, and even then as a Victorian man, childbirth would not have fallen within his purview.  More than likely this entire process was making him more than a little queasy.  Speaking of which.

“Is morning sickness this early normal?”

“Oh, yes.  And it can happen anytime.  Not just in the morning.”

“Yah, figured that one out myself.  Is there anything I can take?”

“Well if the nausea becomes too bad there is medication, but we would rather you only take that if it’s severe.  Many medications can be harmful to the baby.  You can try natural remedies, though.  Carry peppermint candies around with you wherever you go and keep some dry crackers by your bed to snack on before you get up in the morning.  Mint tea helps too, just make sure it’s decaffeinated.”

“I can’t have caffeine?”  Buffy panicked.  Coffee was essential to her survival.

“One or two cups of coffee or tea a day is fine, but you shouldn’t drink anymore than that.  You are going to have trouble sleeping as it is.  You don’t want to add to it.”

“Oh, right.”

“Also you might start getting cravings.  It’s a perfectly normal way for you body to get the nutrients your needing.  Although, we will be providing you with some prenatal pills today.  Just alert us if your cravings are abnormal.”

“What’s abnormal?”  Buffy thought about her weird desire for peanut butter cups with sliced avocado on top.  That was pretty abnormal.

“Well, like ashes, paint chips, gravel.  Anything inedible.”

“Eww.  Gross.”

Dr. Patel laughed.  “It happens.  Sometimes people even crave blood or raw meat.”  She riffled through some papers on her clipboard, missing the exchanged glances between Spike and Buffy.  “On your way out, you can pick up some literature from the RN.  It will have lots of information about symptoms and cravings.  Also, Lamaze and parenting classes and how to set up a tour of our prenatal facilities.”

“That seems like a lot of information,” Buffy mumbled, suddenly overwhelmed.

“Yes, it seems like it, but remember you’ve got nine months.  Take your time and pace yourself.  The first trimester can be the most exhausting.  Your body is working hard to turn itself into a hospitable environment and that takes a lot of effort.  So don’t be surprised if all you want to do is nap.”  Dr. Patel smiled and Buffy couldn’t help but smile back.

“Now, for the pelvic.  Daddy did you want to step outside?”  Dr. Patel looked up to see the door swinging closed.  Buffy giggled.

“Skittish isn’t he?”

“He just knows better.  The last thing he needs to see is me in stirrups.  Not if he values his un—er--life.”

“Mm, yes.”  She motioned for Buffy to scoot down to the edge of the bed, while she readied the sonogram wand.  “Did you have any other questions while he isn’t here?”

Buffy slanted her a look.  Dr. Patel gave her a brief, businesslike smile.  “Is it normal—“ Buffy struggled to word her question.  Somehow saying, ‘is it normal to be horny tart of a slut bag didn’t seem appropriate.  “To want to have sex?  I mean.  Like, really want to have sex.  A lot of it.”  Buffy wiggled uncomfortably and frowned at the ‘hang in there’ kitten poster tacked to the ceiling.

“Yes, it is very common.  Your hormones are working on overdrive and it’s perfectly normal to feel an increased sexual drive.  You may also notice some differences in your experience.”

Buffy did her damnedest to ignore the cold fingers prodding her opening.  “Like what?”

“Well, an increase in sexual sensitivity due to increased blood flow.”

“What does that mean?”  Buffy grimaced as something cool and plastic entered her.

“It means you may achieve orgasm more quickly and intensely.”

“Really?”  Her head popped up, eyes wide.  That was food for thought.  How ironic.  She’d only had sex twice (that she could remember) and both those times she hadn’t orgasmed.  She had of course, by her own hand, but not very often.  Being the slayer, she was always on the lookout, always on the prowl, it was hard for her to relax enough to enjoy herself even the tiniest bit.  Maybe this was an opportunity she needed to take advantage of.  It certainly explained the naughty feelings she was getting whenever she was in the same room with Spike.

“Well, good news.  You’re pregnant.”

Buffy fought the urge to roll her eyes.  Yah, that she knew without a doubt, even before she tested herself.  Everything else was a pea soup toss up, but at least she knew for sure she was preggers.  Dr. Patel angled a monitor towards her.  All she saw was a black and white Doppler looking thing.  Dr. Patel pointed to a gummy bear floating in the center of the screen.   “There’s your baby.”

“Oh.”  Buffy caught her breath.  “Wow.”  The whole world became a tiny point of light in the center of her chest.  There she was.  Her baby.  Buffy had to cover her mouth with her hands her grin was so big.  Dr. Patel smiled with her.

“Congratulations, mommy.”

“I’m going to be a mommy,” Buffy whispered in an awed voice.  Dr. Patel nodded and printed out some pictures for her to take with her.  After Ms. Summers was shuffled off to the RN to make future appointments and gather her literature, Dr. Patel went into her office closing the door firmly.  She dialed the phone, waiting patiently as it rang.  “May I speak to Dr. Walsh please,” she asked while flipping through Buffy Summers’ file.

“Look!  There she is!”  Buffy pointed at the blur in the center of the sonogram.  They were seated in front of the Spike’s Desoto, a mess of paperwork in her lap, and him leaning over her to squint at the dot she was pointing at.  He barely had time to make it out before she was holding to her chest like was a beloved pet that had just found its way home after being lost.  He smiled at the image she presented.  She was practically glowing.  Effulgent in a sense he never understood before.  All his bad poetry in the world couldn’t capture her beauty.  “The doctor said she’d be here around July 18th,” Buffy bubbled.

Spontaneously, Spike curved two fingers around the back of her neck to pull her closer.  He placed a quick kiss on her temple, taking in accents of green apple shampoo as he did.  She grew rigid, and reluctantly he drew away to slide back behind the wheel.  He shot her a sidelong glance, inhaling the scent of her arousal that could damn near choke a horse.  He rolled down his window and started the car.  She wanted him.  She just didn’t want to want him.  Frankly, he wasn’t sure if he wanted her either.  Yah, during the Will Be Done spell he hadn’t been able to keep his hands off her, but this wasn’t a spell.  This was reality.  And the reality was that he barely knew Buffy.  Sure, he was attracted to her.  Who wouldn’t be?  She was fucking gorgeous with pouty kiss me lips and wide expressive eyes that let a man know when he was touching her just right.  Her hair was silk and her skin was satin.  He’d have to have half a nut not to want her.  But it was just lust.  He wanted more.  He had always wanted more, even from Drusilla.  He never got it of course, but it didn’t stop the longing…the desire for something better in his life.  The longing for purpose.  The desire for love.  A vampire fairytale.

He shook his head, and backed out of the parking slot.  “Where to, luv?

Buffy was shuffling through her papers, organizing them by content and immediate importance.  “The book store.  If being a slayer has taught me anything, it’s that research is a number one priority.”  She flashed him a smile that made him feel warm on the inside.

“Right you are.”

An hour late, Spike wondered if maybe he should buy himself some books.  Namely ones on how to deal with a pregnant hormonal woman.

“But the RN said I should buy this one,” Buffy insisted, pointing at the paper in her hand.  She was near tears, her hysterics increasing with every word.

“I’m sorry.  We don’t have it.”  The gangly, pimply-faced teenager behind the counter looked like he was about to piss himself.  Although, he topped the Slayer by a good five inches, something told the boy that pissing off the woman could put him in traction.

Spike stepped up.  “But you can order it, right, mate?”  Spike gave the boy a hard look that made his prominent Adam’s apple bob nervously. 

“Yah.  Totally.  I mean, yes sir.”

“But I want it now,” Buffy whined.

“They’ll put a rush on it, yeah?”

“Yes!  Three days tops,” the boy promised.  He cringed when the woman narrowed her green eyes on him.  They stood tensely in a loose isosceles triangle, the boy wanting to slink away, but held in place by his employee duties.

“Okay,” Buffy said congenially, fishing in her pocket for a red and white stripped candy she had picked out of a dish at the doctors.  She undid the wrapper and popped the candy in her mouth.

Spike sighed in relief, his muscles relaxing.  He’d been less stressed fighting for his life.  “Why don’t you wait outside, while I get these wrapped up?”

“Sure thing, Spike,” she agreed over her shoulder as she ambled outside.

“Wow.  She’s—“  Spike growled and whatever the boy was going to say died a nasty death in his throat.

“Ring it up.”

“Right.”  The boy did what he was told.

Buffy waited for Spike outside the store, huddling in her jacket.  The December air was nippy enough to put color in her face, but being Southern California that was about as far as it went.  No white Christmases for her.  Fake greenery was wrapped around lamps and palm trees, topped with scarlet bows.  Silver and gold bells were strung between the posts and some businesses had put up colored lights around their windows.  The outside speakers were playing some tinny seasonal music, and instead of rolling her eyes like usual she found herself humming along.  ‘Tis the season, after all.  She was late on her Christmas shopping this year.  She still needed to pick something up for Willow and Giles.  And she supposed the polite thing would be to get Spike a gift as well.

She wondered where Spike was getting his money.  All this talk about getting a new car and buying a hundred dollars worth of books for her.  She wasn’t stupid.  Getting the Desoto detailed so thoroughly would have cost a pretty penny as well.  She narrowed her eyes in thought.  He couldn’t be mugging people.  Well, maybe he could as long as he didn’t hurt them.  Was he sublimating his income with a little B&E?  Maybe gambling?  He joined her on the sidewalk and she let the thought go.  She didn’t want to think about it.  Today was a good day.

“Baby want some hot cocoa?” he suggested, nudging her with his shoulder towards the café on the corner.  The thought of warm chocolate sliding down her throat made her tummy rumble.

“Yes, baby wants!”  Her laughter tinkled in harmony with the Christmas music.  Spike smiled, the deep slashes along the corners of his mouth telling her it was genuine.  Shoulder to shoulder they crossed the street, dodging around other pedestrians.  Even at a leisurely stroll they walked at a pace most people would find exhausting.  She usually had to check herself with her friends, but not with Spike.  He could keep up with her.  Always could.

He sat her down in a comfortable chair on the veranda at an angle that blocked any cold chills that may blow through.  The cafe had a brick fire pit lit up, and screened off for safety.  Buffy rested her feet on the cobblestone shelf around the pit and watched the flames dance as Spike got their drinks.  He set down a large bowl shaped mug that was heaped with cloudy mounds of whipped cream.  She grinned like a kid as she skimmed the thick cream with her spoon.

Spike watched her for a while, his eyes dark and heavy as he sipped on his coffee.  She knew he was thinking.  She could practically see the clockwork chugging away behind his eyes.  He preempted her before she could call him on it.

“Wanna talk?”

“’Bout what?”  She kept her eyes focused on her drink.  She ate her way through a small potion of whipped cream and now she could see pools of rich brown beneath.

Spike shifted in his seat.  He didn’t want to give away that he overheard her and Giles in the graveyard, but at the same time he knew it was something they should talk about together.  “It’s gotta be scary.”

Buffy’s fingers tightened on the slender handle of her spoon.  “The doctor said everything was normal.”  The silence lengthened between them.  The fire popped and an orange ember died before it could escape into the night.  “For now,” she whispered.

Spike tensed, and he found himself unable to look at Buffy.  He watched the fire instead.  So beautiful.  So deadly.  Just like her.  “Do you believe she’s a monster?”  His baritone voice was a rough caress.  So quiet she could barely hear him.  Her stomach clenched at the thought, and she dropped her spoon, suddenly not hungry for chocolate anymore.  It hit her saucer with a loud clatter that made them both jump.  She leaned back to watch the fire with him, her hand resting protectively over her flat abdomen.

Did she think that?  Was the creature inside her a monster?  Was it going to eat her from the inside out?  Would it be evil in the guise of something beautiful and precious?  A china doll that murdered in the night?  “No,” she replied forcefully, believing it with every cell in her body.  She didn’t know what was growing inside her, but she knew it wasn’t evil.  It was a miracle.

Spike’s straight-lined shoulders slumped, and Buffy realized he had been waiting for her decree.  He believed their child to be something precious, but he wasn’t the one carrying it.  He wasn’t elementally connected it to it as she was.  If it was evil, she would be the one to know, and it touched her that he trusted in her judgment enough to question his own.

“Why do you suppose we are so convinced that she’s yours?” she asked, genuinely flummoxed at the knowledge they seemed to innately share.  His dark brows slashed downwards, and a muscle ticked in the hollow of his lean jaw.  “I mean, we don’t remember how it happened.  How can it even be possible?”

Spike drew his hand away from his coffee, fisting it on the tabletop.  “I just know.  She’s mine.  I feel it.”  From beneath his lashes, his blue eye glittered and she knew he was looking at her from the corner of his eye, as if giving her his full attention would somehow turn her ephemeral.  “You believe that, don’t ya, Slayer?  That she’s mine?”

“Oh, yeah.  It’s one of the few things I know for certain right now.  She’s yours and mine together.”  Spike nodded, exhaling a pent up breath.  She eyed him narrowly.  “You do realize that means she’s magical, right?”

“Yah,” Spike’s tone was hushed and reflective.  Magic always had consequences.

“Some demon curse laid on us,” Buffy murmured resentfully, wondering if it was true.

“Or maybe a gift sent to us to protect,” Spike defended.  Buffy preferred his take on things, but her experiences were usually more bad than good.

“Maybe, but who’d give you something to protect?  You’re evil,” she pointed out, wondering why he flinched at the truth.  He usually boasted his evilness with a bombastic voice that could be heard for miles.  Why did his evilness in this particular venue make him seem repentant?

“That’s the million pound question, innit?”  He slouched in his seat a little, dropping one heavy booted foot on the shelf around the fire.

“I mean.  Evil generally isn’t the most reliable.  You could skip town any minute,” Buffy recognized fear in the tenor of her voice.  She wasn’t talking anymore about the unknown entity that saddled them with this responsibility.  She was talking with a mother’s fear.  He turned away from the fire and their eyes locked.  Her breath caught.  Spike’s eyes flickered from blue to amber with barely checked ferocity.

“I will never leave.  You’ll have to stake me first,” he vowed.  She nodded mutely, unable to express in words, how much his oath meant to her.  People left her.  They either walked away or died, but either way the result was always the same.  She fought alone, and she would die alone.  But he wasn’t making that vow to her, was he?  He was vowing to protect their child.  She was just the extra baggage.

They lapsed into silence, knowing more questions would only turn them in circles until they were inside out.  All that was left to them was to wait for everything to unfold.  The second shoe usually dropped right around when the shit hit the fan.

“A slayer’s life is short, Spike,” she confessed to her cocoa.  “It’s brutal and dangerous and it’s no life to bring a child into.  I might not be able to protect her.”

He reached across the table, his cool hand covering her warmer one.  His eyes flashed orange, but she couldn’t be sure if it was his demon or just the firelight reflecting in their sheen.  “We’ll protect her together, Buffy.  You and I.  If we work together, nothing can get passed us.  She’ll be the most guarded princess this kingdom has ever seen.”

His intensity should have been frightening, but she found only comfort in it.  This was the type of man she needed.  Not an absentee fairytale prince from another land, or a mundane peasant who could only offer her normalcy.  She needed a warrior like her.  Someone who could fight at her side for all the right reasons.  He was evil, sure.  But his loyalty was worth an elephant’s weight in gold.  He would fight and die for their child.  That’s what mattered the most.  That’s what mattered to her.

“Princess?  Exactly how much are you planning to spoil her?”

A leisurely smile spread across his face as he leaned back in his chair.  He kept his arm stretched over the table, their fingertips just barely touching.  “She’ll have the moon and the stars from me.  I expect she’ll get the sun and cloudless skies from you.”

“Yah.”  Buffy inched her hand forward a fraction, until their fingertips slotted together.  “I expect she will.”

Buffy picked up her spoon and finished her cocoa while Spike stared at her as if she was as hypnotizing as the fire.