Epilogue I

Title: Epilogue I

Rating: "Chiaroscuro" is mostly R and PG. However, some content may be considered NC-17.

Disclaimer: All characters are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, etc. Only the lame plots and dialogue herein are mine.

Thanks: To Kes and DorothyL for the beta.

Notes: Originally, most of these scenes were part of a plot I was pulling together for a sequel. It was to be about Buffy and Spike training a potential Slayer, but after watching Season 7 I have zero interest that storyline. (I may use some of the other bits I wrote in a sequel to Sweet Lethe.)

I stitched some things together, and although there's no real plot here, I hope I've managed a narrative.

I promised two epilogues, but when I got this one back from beta, I pulled out a snippet with Dawn and Joy. I was going to work it into a brief story I could post separately, but it's foolishly spent the weekend growing to 4,500 words, and it's not finished yet. So it looks like there will now be two epilogues after this one.

I'm alone in this house with a deranged, dangerous woman. There are demons loose on the street, possibly right outside our door. And I have no idea how to defuse this situation without me or someone I really care about getting hurt.

"Buffy," said Dawn in a desperate tone, "This really isn't a good time to go for a walk."

Buffy glared at her from across the room. "Dawn, are you trying to tell me I'm not allowed to go outside and play?"

Damn you, Spike and Tara, for going off and leaving me with the crazy pregnant lady! Dawn giggled nervously. "No, of course, not. Don't be silly. It's not like I can tell you what to do. I'm just saying that taking a walk at midnight when there are vampires around may not be a really good idea just now."

"Dawn, I have so much energy right now, I have to do something. If I stay in this house one more minute, I'm going to start screaming and throwing things. That's not a really good idea either, is it? And—about the vampires—I'm the Slayer, remember?"

"Pregnant Slayer," muttered Dawn under her breath.

Buffy almost snarled at this. "Yes—I'm pregnant. So what? I've killed lots of things since I've gotten pregnant."

Yeah, like my patience— "Yeah, but—"

"I went into the Hellmouth when I was pregnant."

"Yeah, but you're sort of more pregnant now than you were then."

"Dawn, I am Slayer, hear me roar. A little thing like a baby doesn't mean I don't still have my superstrength."

"But—"

"Also, I happen to know that you want that Evanescence CD and I haven't given you your allowance yet."

Dawn sighed, giving in at last. "Okay. You are the great all-powerful Slayer and you may go for a walk if you want, but if something awful happens and you get killed, you have to tell Spike because I'm just not doing that."

"Then get over here and tie my shoes for me," demanded Buffy, sticking out her sneaker-clad feet. "And help me out of this damn chair."

"You know what?" said Dawn, "Maybe I'd better go with you."

Dawn glanced sideways at Buffy as they walked down the street, then back at her feet to pick her way along. She wished she hadn't felt obligated to take part in this stupid expedition. On top of everything else, Buffy was sulking again. Even being stuck inside watching an episode of The Surreal Life would have been better entertainment than going for a walk after dark in this miserable town. Why didn't vampires ever try to take over really cool places?

Dawn used to think Sunnydale was dismal, but this place was downright depressing. It was impoverished as well as vampire-ridden, and even the congenitally foolish were unable to party after dark because they didn't have enough money to do more than buy some six-packs and get drunk at home. She and Buffy were alone on this gloomy street. Every once in a while a dog would bark from one of the poorly-tended back yards, but no one else was foolish enough to be out at this hour.

This sad little community wasn't like Sunnydale with its neat lawns and wide sidewalks; here you had to dodge around parked cars on the street and look out for cracks in the asphalt. Some of the potholes had been inadequately patched with gravel, but most of them loomed sullenly in the darkness, hoping to trap a car's wheel or a walker's heel. Sometimes Dawn and Buffy were forced to walk into the middle of the street to avoid trailing tree branches or junk left standing by the side of the road.

Still trailing resentfully behind her sister, Dawn turned a corner, and she and Buffy strolled down a street even darker and drearier than the one where they lived. Well, Dawn strolled; Buffy waddled.

Dawn watched her sister's rear end and found herself smiling reluctantly. She had to hand it to Joy. The kid wasn't even born yet, and she had done what almost nothing else had even come close to doing—interfered with the Slayer's sense of style.

To give her sister her due, Buffy had managed to stay chic and perky through most of her pregnancy. She had bought pretty maternity clothes, and the extra fullness to her face actually looked good on her. There even seemed to be an extra sheen to her hair, and Dawn swore it was thicker. But maybe Buffy had just found a really good conditioner. Dawn tossed her own glossy locks and made a mental note to check her sister's toiletries. It was hard to believe Buffy was too cranky to pass on a good hint about hair care, but you never knew.

Dawn also had to admit that until recently, Buffy had still moved gracefully, carrying the extra weight without apparent effort and even running easily when circumstances called for it. But this past month, she had slowed down a lot. And this past week—Dawn looked sideways again. "The baby's head dropped," was the scary statement Buffy had made the day she started moving like a duck.

Now, Buffy's right hand was pressed against the small of her back as she trudged along.

"How do you feel?" asked Dawn tentatively. That had become a very dangerous question lately.

Buffy grunted. "Like someone's foot is stuck between a couple of my ribs and her head is sitting on my bladder."

"Oh," said Dawn in an I'm-sorry-I-asked voice.

"This kid has got to go," said Buffy. "She's a week late already. There should be some way to deliver an eviction notice at this point."

"There is, but Dr. Wang said it's better to let her pick her own time. Besides, I understand babies are even more trouble out than in." Visions of diaper-changing danced through Dawn's head and made her shiver.

Buffy shook her head. "Hard to imagine at the moment. And I don't know why I'm seeing Dr. Wang anyway. It's not like she's ever delivered any baby Slayers before. I should be having this baby at home, maybe with some witches around, not with a doctor in a hospital."

Not that again. Spike will have a fit if she starts threatening not to go to the hospital. "Buffy, you know even Ginger said the hospital was good idea. She's the only witch you'd really trust to deliver Joy anyway, and she can't get here from England right now. Besides, all the medical tests say this is a normal human baby, so the best place for you is a normal human baby hospital."

"I'd rather have her at home. Where I feel like I can protect her better."

"Protect her how when you're in labor? I've seen movies and stuff, and it looked like something that would pretty much demand your full attention. And protect her from what?"

Buffy muttered something about nasty things that could come after a baby Slayer, but Dawn knew she was really thinking about their mother and how things had gone bad for their family once they started visiting hospitals. But saying that out loud wouldn't help, so she just let Buffy grump. She'd become an expert at letting Buffy grump over the past few weeks.

"I shouldn't have to go to a hospital just because Spike's decided to act like a sitcom dad," said the Slayer, winding down at last, "If he mentions my 'condition' one more time, he's going to find his own has changed. Besides, it's more natural to have a baby at home."

"It will hurt more too," said Dawn, annoyed and desperate enough to be brutally honest. "No painkillers."

Buffy turned. Her eyes were tinged with amber and her voice was deep and harsh. Dawn's stomach lurched as she listened to her sister's words. "Maybe I've decided to go all herbal and Earth-Mothery. Maybe I want to embrace the pain and have a primal birth experience."

Great. I'm alone in the dark with Psychotic!EarthMother!Slayer now. But doggedly, because this was still her sister and because Buffy really did need her, Dawn continued the argument. “And maybe you’d like to bite through the umbilical cord and barbecue your placenta, too. Buffy, we’ve been through this. We can keep you safer in the hospital. There will be lots of us there, and no one is going to let you or Joy out of our sight for a second."

Buffy stomped off into the darkness, and Dawn sighed as her sister growled. Then she froze as she heard another growl. The second one was behind her, and Buffy was still in front of her.

Dawn whipped around to find herself facing a vampire. Oh great. Lumberjack!Vampire. They sure grow them big out here. He was well over six feet tall, brawny, and in game face.

"Trust me," she told him, backing up slowly and fumbling in her pocket for a stake. "You don't want to do this." Why not? "I'm not alone," she babbled. She had the stake now, but it seemed awfully small and the vamp looked bigger than ever.

"No, she's not alone," said Buffy's voice from behind Dawn.

"I can see that. Three for the price of two." The vampire was grinning, looking at Buffy's belly.

"Then why don't you start with me," said Buffy, waddling forward slowly. "All the nice plumpness is over here. Hors d'oeuvres and main course all in one. Leave the skinny one for dessert." She hadn't even bothered to pull out her stake, Dawn noticed in horror.

Blinking in surprise at her calm tone, the vampire stalked towards the Slayer, his fluid movements in contrast to her awkwardness, his tall bulk looming over her diminutive, rounded form. "I don't think you get it—" he said.

"Oh, no, I've got it," said Buffy calmly. Her eyes shimmered bright gold as her hand came up to grab him by the front of his shirt. She yanked him towards her, and his eyes bulged out in shock as he stared into her game face. "In fact, I've got you." Her arm flung him to the right, slamming his head against a tree trunk. "Ooops, slipped—" she said, as he slid towards the ground.

He stared at her in astonishment, shaking his head and trying to scramble to his feet. But Buffy bent over with a grunt and grasped him again, this time by the arm. "I have another special offer today," she said. "Flying lessons!" Buffy's arm whipped around, and Dawn blinked, her eyes not fast enough to track the vamp's trajectory as he sailed through the air and slammed into the branches overhead. A moment later, she was coughing and wiping ashes from her hair and clothes.

"Hey!" said Buffy.

Dawn looked up to see her sister's smiling human face. This vision was so unexpected, it was more frightening than either the vampire or Buffy's merciless dispatch of the monster. "Hey," said Dawn in weak response. "Uh, can we go home? I don't think it's a good idea for you to be pitching vamps around right now."

"To the contrariness, Dawn." Buffy's hands were on the small of her back again, but now she was moving from side to side with more flexibility than she had shown in days. "Shoe-tying and vampire slaying are very different skills, as I quoddy erra demonstrated, or whatever that Latin saying is. And I think tossing that vamp just straightened out my back!"

Spike and Tara turned the corner into the dreary residential street and regarded their temporary residence with a satisfaction that the shabby rental house had done nothing to deserve.

"It's good to be home. That wasn't my favorite patrol ever," Tara told him, heading for the front walk. "I'm worn out from compensating for the higher altitude. I really need to research the effect of the lower oxygen levels on those spells. But, first, I want a shower and a good night's sleep."

"We got three more, though," said Spike, shouldering the crossbow he held and trying to savor the memory. It wasn't that Tara wasn't a good hunting partner, but killing things without Buffy at his side just didn't have the same zest. "And I couldn't have done it without your locator spells, pet. Those last two vamps were definitely out of the range of my senses." He rubbed the back of his neck, and his voice roughened in exasperation. "If only the bloody things didn't have so much territory to hide out in around here, we could clean this place up in a week and move on to a better town. Someplace closer to sea-level, with a nightlife that isn't conducted exclusively by the undead."

"Yeah," said Tara wistfully. "I think we're past due for a demon-killing stint in Paris or Rome—or London."

"That's the ticket," said Spike, but he tried to get the topic away from the British Isles, which could only lead to Tara fretting over her separation from Willow. "I haven't been to Europe since that mess in Prague a few years ago. There are lots of nasties to keep us busy on the Continent, and I wouldn't mind seeing Charles Bridge in the daylight—" He stopped.

"What's wrong?" Tara said, as he brushed past her to the front door. "Are they okay?"

He breathed in deeply. "They're both still here, but—" He moved quickly to unlock the front door, calling out in an anxious voice as the latch released, "Buffy? Dawn?"

A moment later, his arms were full of teenager, as Dawn clung to him and wailed, "I hate you!"

Much relieved by this response, he hugged her back and tried to make soothing noises. "I sensed that," he said. "At least, I sensed you weren't dancing with joy. Where's Buffy?"

"Upstairs. When we got back from our walk, she decided to get ready for bed." This was uttered in tragic tones suitable to the announcement of a death in the family.

"A walk? You let her go out?" Spike tried to detach Dawn from his neck, but she clung closer, wailing into his shoulder.

"Let her? She insisted on going out, then she killed a vamp, which made her happy for about thirty seconds, and now she's taking a shower. Spike, I can't stand this any more."

"A vamp?" He stared up the stairs. "In her condition? How is she?"

"How is she?" Dawn raged at him. "How should I know? I haven't seen her for almost five minutes. So far tonight, she's been grouchy, violent, happy, irrational, demonic, hyperactive, snarky, tired— She's got more moods than Snow White had dwarfs! I'm exhausted from trying to keep track of them, much less deal with them."

Spike sighed and tried again to peel her arms off his neck. "I'm sure you did all you could. It's all right, Bit, we won't leave you alone with the big, bad mama any more."

"No, you won't," said Dawn. Her voice still quivered, but she backed away from him at last. "Because I'd rather face a nest of vamps on my own. I'd rather go see Gigli. I'd rather close the Hellmouth again. I'd rather listen to Justin Guarini. I'd rather try to keep Anya calm next time she spots the Easter Bunny at a mall. I'd rather—"

"Got it, pet," Spike said in a firm voice that somehow managed to stem the tide.

Tara nodded towards the stairs. "Do you want me to—"

"No," said Spike, shoving Dawn towards her. "You take care of this one. I'll see to Buffy."

"Gee, thanks," said Tara, but the witch accepted the still-shaking Dawn into her arms, and Spike thought she looked a bit relieved.

He turned his back on them and headed up the stairs.

The water was hot and soothing, and that was good. Buffy leaned against the wall of the shower, letting the wetness slide over her, not moving under the warm cascade. Because she was suddenly too tired to move.

Tired and sore. Even though the dull pain at the small of her back had eased, most of the rest of her still ached. Her feet were swollen and tender, and she was really glad she couldn't see them or her legs right now. If they were anywhere near as puffy as her hands and arms, they wouldn't be a pretty sight. She'd tried to pull off her wedding ring that morning and discovered she couldn't get it past the joint of her finger. If she swelled up any more, there was a real danger she'd have to have that ring cut off, and the thought made her almost panicky with distress.

At least the internal acrobatics had diminished. Joy was quiet today; perhaps she was plotting her big move at last. But in spite of the baby's reduced activity levels, Buffy's hips were still extremely painful and felt all wrong. That wrongness was probably the right thing to be happening, though, because she'd read that the joints down there needed to loosen and widen to let the baby pass out of her body. Buffy shivered in spite of the heated torrent pouring over her back and down her legs. After all the changes she'd been through, from human to demon, from living to dead to back to life again, the thought of being torn apart as another creature emerged from her body was still horror-movie material. But everyone in the entire world got here that way. It's normal, Buffy, normal. Remember when "normal" was the thing you wanted most?

Vaguely, she realized she'd been standing still for a long time without soaping her body or washing her hair. If she didn't do those things soon, the hot water would run out and the shower would become a very unpleasant place. But her hands felt right pressed against the smooth blue tile of the shower stall, and something told her she didn't need to do anything right now. She should conserve her strength for having the baby. Everything else would be taken care of.

She hadn't consciously realized Spike was home until the door of the stall slid open and he stepped inside behind her. He was naked, and she looked around to see the water sluicing over the hard muscles of his arms and shoulders as he reached for her. She leaned against the wall again and relaxed into his touch. His hands, warm even in contrast with the soothing water, were strong and comforting. Gently, then more firmly, they began to massage the exact spot between her shoulder blades that was filled with the most tension.

"Don't worry, love," he murmured in her ear.

She wanted to tell him that she'd stopped worrying the moment she'd sensed him, even before she had realized that it was his presence that had reassured her. But she was too tired to answer.

"I'll take care of everything," he said, his hands marking a comforting path down her spine. "You just stay there."

The hands disappeared for a moment, but she realized what he was doing and tipped her head back, smiling. A clean, cool scent filled the shower, and a moment later, Spike's fingers were kneading the shampoo into her hair. He really was taking care of everything. Lather, rinse—no repeat, he too must have been worried that the hot water was running out. Now he was massaging the conditioner in, rinsing his hands in the water so as not to get soap in her eyes, and then marking a gentle path on her temples with his index fingers to relieve the tension there. Then it was time for him to take the shower head and rinse her clean and smooth. She sighed, letting the stress bleed away a little bit more with each soothing touch.

Now she let go of the tile. Leaning back against his bare chest and nestling her head just under his chin was more reassuring than holding on to that unresponsive wall. The wall was supportive in its way, but it wouldn't care if she slipped or slid to the floor. Spike would keep her from hurting herself or the baby, no matter what. He would make sure she didn't fall asleep here, under the thud of the water. She was almost tired enough to do that.

But then she felt so secure that she did doze for a second or two, before her eyelids fluttered open to the realization that her body was being carefully smoothed and stroked by the softness of a washcloth soaked in a cleansing gel. And beneath the suppleness of that gentle cloth, she could feel the hardness of Spike's hands as his fingers slipped over her arms, her stomach, her breasts—

Buffy began to rouse at this treatment, standing a bit straighter, her wet flesh moving slickly against him. The arm not holding the cloth was wrapped around her, under her breasts and over the swell of her stomach, as he shifted to hold her against his side. She felt him bend down to her, his lips hot against the back of her neck as the cloth he held moved down her back. The showerhead above them hiccupped, and she shivered as the water began to cool a trifle, making Spike's heat all the more attractive in contrast. Suddenly, she realized how aroused he was. His erect cock was pressed against her, rubbing against her hip and belly, and for the first time she felt wetness deep inside her, her body discovering needs of its own in response to his very obvious desire for her.

It always surprised her these days that she could still excite him. When she looked in the mirror now, she saw only a distorted, distended monster. She would let her eyes slide away from her reflection in shame and distaste. But then Spike would come into the room, she would see herself reflected in his eyes, and she'd forget that image in the mirror until she was alone again. She closed her eyes again and smiled.

I'm not alone now.

Suddenly, the flow of water stopped. Surprised, she opened her eyes to see Spike turning the faucet hard with his left hand, as he kept his right arm around her. He looked down and saw her bewilderment.

"Can't have you standing here until the water freezes, love," he said, and his lips bent to brush hers for the first time that evening. "Wait here."

He was gone only a moment, but she had already begun to shiver when he returned, a towel wrapped hastily around his waist and others in his hands. He wrapped her in a large beach towel, apparently the only one he could find that would fit around her. He quickly dried himself, and then pulled a chair in from the bedroom and made her sit down in front of the steamy mirror while he took another towel and dried her hair. He picked up her hair brush and began to remove the tangles gently.

He talked to her the whole time, telling her about the night's kill— "A sorry bunch, no skills except for hiding like mice in the wainscoting. Never would have found them without Tara—" Dawn— "I'm worried the Bit's still too scatty to make a proper babysitter—" and plans for the future— "Once Joy's a bit older, we need to see more of the world. I'd like her to pick up some languages, for one thing. You Americans are more bloody insular than the English—"

Breathing in the rich, damp air, idly wondering what the hell wainscoting was, Buffy watched him carefully in the slowly de-misting mirror. The beginnings of arousal that she had felt in the shower faded away, to be replaced by warm contentment. She didn't often let him pamper her to this extent, fearing that it could become too addictive. But tonight, she needed this.

Then Spike glanced into the mirror to check the straightness of the part in her hair. Buffy felt the corners of her mouth quirk upwards into an involuntary grin. There was no hesitation in his eyes. He acted as if having a reflection were the most normal thing in the world. As normal as making plans for a child's education or fussing over proper childcare. Or killing demons with the aid of a white witch. She met his azure gaze in the glass with a look of triumph.

He noticed, of course. “You're looking like a cat that's just lapped up some spilled cream, love,” he said. “What is it?”

She smiled even more warmly. “Just happy,” she murmured. “Who wouldn’t be, with her guy taking such good care of her?”

He put down the brush, still watching her in the mirror. “It’s more than that,” he said. “Something to do with the vamp you killed?”

“Yeah, something about the vamp that’s all gone now,” she murmured. She felt a flutter in her abdomen, as if Joy had somehow understood and echoed her feelings.

From the day Spike’s humanity had been restored, Buffy had never mentioned his phobia about mirrors. She suspected that it was almost totally unconscious and that he was unaware of how consistently he averted his eyes from every reflective surface. This was the first time she had ever seen him use a mirror without thinking about it. Afraid that mentioning what he had just done or even prolonging the moment would shatter it, she stood up and put her arms around him. After giving him a quick hug, she reached up to run a hand through his short curls. The light brown locks were almost dry already and they tried to wrap themselves around her fingers.

He pulled her close, and her head dropped on to his shoulder. He felt amazingly warm. “You’re exhausted, love,” he said. “Come to bed, and I’ll give you a back rub.”

Spike helped Buffy settle herself on the bed, propping her up with pillows as she lay on her side and found a position that was not too uncomfortable for her huge belly. He dropped the towel that he had wrapped around his waist to the floor and slid in between the sheets behind her, using his body to warm and to support her. She was doing better than when he had found her standing like a statue in the shower, but she was still too chilled and too tense. He began to rub the stress from the muscles at the back of her neck, slowly working his way down her back as she settled into the mattress. Then he reached around and gently stroked her abdomen. He felt the baby start to relax as well.

He buried his head in the softness at the nape of her neck. Her hair was still slightly damp and redolent with the gentle scent of her shampoo. The length of her body was pressed against his. She was warmer now. Warm and perfect. And perfectly intoxicating. And tired and sore and very, very pregnant. Take a deep breath, mate, and deal with your own problems after she's dozed off.

“Joy’s asleep,” he said, listening as the baby's heartbeat slowed. He could always tell whether Joy was resting or alert and kicking. And a very useful skill that is, too, when dealing with a cranky Slayer with a bun in the oven.

"Mmmmm." She nodded, and he knew she was grateful for his attentions to her and to the baby. She shifted slightly, rubbing her round, luscious ass—rounder and even more luscious than ever—against him, and his breathing grew shallower.

I'm only human after all. Well, human enough to justify copping a feel. One hand strayed up to her breast. “All right, love?” he asked.

“Mmmm,” she replied. Her breasts had been sore and swollen lately, but tonight he felt her body welcome the gentle stimulation of his fingers stroking first her nipples and aureoles, and then the soft skin on their undersides. Her head relaxed against the pillow, exposing the length of her neck. He let his lips slide down over her throat, then up to the soft flesh behind her ear. His breath tickled her just enough to make her give a sleepy giggle. After a time, his hand slipped back over her belly and then even lower.

Instead of rejecting these attentions, she sighed with pleasure. Not wild, searing passion by any means. Not tonight. But she was opening to his touch, and purring like a sleepy kitten. "This is nice," she muttered after a few minutes.

"Mmmm," he echoed. "It is nice. Here, 'where, like a pillow on a bed, a pregnant bank swelled up to rest.'"

"Typical," she said. "I use a lousy word like 'nice,' and you come up with that."

"Don't worry, pet. Yours was original. I stole mine. And the poet was describing a river bank, not your beautiful body." His free hand brushed the hair away from the back of her neck and he let his lips roam over the smooth skin of her shoulder.

"It's still pretty. Who did you steal it from?" She moved gently against the pressure of his other hand, the one that was firm under her belly. Her body was telling him where to deepen his touch.

"One of my oldest long-dead friends. You remember John Donne? It's called 'The Ecstasy.'" He was unable to resist moving even closer to her as he said the word. One hand and his mouth caressed the curve of her back. His cock rubbed against the backs of her thighs. At this rate, he wouldn't need to wait until she was asleep. He would come just from the friction of her skin against him.

"I like that name." She arched back ever so slightly, trying to respond to his touch without shifting the bulk of her gravid center. "What's the poem about? Besides the obvious."

"About souls. And bodies. Bodies that 'like sepulchral statues lay,' while their souls negotiated." She was still now, but not with the stillness of death. This was quiet contentment, something that he had once thought she could never achieve with him. He fought for control and restraint, desperate not to destroy the moment.

"Sounds all business-like. And what was the result of these negotiations?"

He tried to remember. "I think the poet decides that although souls may flow into one another, their owners still need their bodies to communicate. So that 'pure lovers' souls may descend to affections.'"

"'Descend to affections?' Like when I fell from heaven into your arms?" She snuggled back against him. "I like falling into your arms."

"Yeah." That was all he could choke out in response to her sleepy words, thrilled by them in spite of the effort it was costing him not to try to take her right now, regardless of her condition. "'To our bodies turn we then, so that weak men on love revealed may look.'" He felt weak enough. Weak enough to lean into her warmth again, rubbing himself against her ass again. "'Love's mysteries in souls do grow,'" he murmured into her ear, "'but yet the body is his book.' I love reading your book, Buffy, with my hands and my lips."

"If it makes you happy, you're passing my literacy test." She chuckled softly. "I haven’t felt this way in weeks. Relaxed and happy.”

“Me too,” he murmured, kissing her shoulder. Well, happy anyway. I can finish relaxing myself later.

“Really?” Her voice became teasing. Her hand reached behind her, and she touched his erect cock. “I don't know about your soul, but it seems to me that your body has some unresolved issues.” Her strong hand began to stroke him.

“Mmmm,” he responded in a slightly strangled voice.

She shifted her hips slightly.

Somehow, he managed to pull away instead of accepting the invitation with enthusiasm. “I don’t know, love,” he said uncertainly. “Are you sure? You’re so close to labor and you’ve been so uncomfortable--”

“Love will find a way,” she said in a voice that he knew meant she would listen to no excuses. And he had to admit that he'd never been happier to lose an argument with her.

Her hand guided him as he entered her from behind. She was wet and ready, and his cock slid into her easily. Too easily. That velvety warmth was too enticing. He clenched his teeth and breathed deeply, each intake of air a conscious effort as he tried to stay in control. His hand was still teasing her clit from the front as he began to move inside her, being careful not to thrust too hard or too deep. Her body welcomed and responded to each movement. But it took him a few minutes to realize that the more careful he was, the more her impatience grew.

“You’re very tentative tonight,” she said at last. "Not your usual style."

“I’m knocking at the nursery door,” he protested, annoyed that his attempts to control himself were being met with derision instead of gratitude. “I don’t want to wake the baby.”

She chuckled again, and let him continue his gentle lovemaking for a few more minutes. Once, she gasped and shivered in his arms. Then she gave a mischievous giggle, and he felt her powerful muscles squeeze him without warning. He growled and nearly climaxed, but pulled back instead. He began to thrust again, but this time his self-control was less. “Not playing fair, Slayer,” he muttered. He was deep in her now, surrounded by her. Drowning in her. Part of her. "Love these mixed souls does mix again, and makes both one."

“All’s fair in this game, isn’t it?” she said, and repeated her trick. This time he was ready and managed to hold still until she relaxed again. It had indeed become a game, which he inevitably lost. The third time, he shuddered and climaxed, his head dropping onto her shoulder as he tried to tell her what he felt, managing only a wordless murmur.

Is our game love or war, Slayer? he thought, as his body relaxed, curling around hers. Sometimes, I’m still not sure. A night like this, I’m trying to be all romantic and considerate, and it seems like you're enjoying it, but at the end of the day, will you let me take care of you without making a bloody power game of it? No, you’ve got to remind me that just because you can’t tie your own shoes or cross a room without waddling doesn’t mean you’re not in charge.

Oh, well. Keeps things interesting, doesn’t it?

It would serve her right if her little game had worked against her to ruin her own pleasure. “I hope that wasn’t too soon, love?” he asked, but got no response. He was about to ask again when he realized how much her heartbeat had slowed. Then she gave a gentle snore. At least she's resting. He snorted in laughter, and settled his arms about her as he prepared to sleep.

Spike woke as dawn was breaking. He realized that Buffy was stirring next to him, and he heard her give a murmur of distress. He could hear both her heartbeat and the baby’s speed up, and he began to stroke her belly gently, drawing circles to relax the muscles that were contracting beneath his fingers.

She relaxed again without gaining full consciousness, and he heard the baby’s heartbeat slow to a sleeping rate. He remained wakeful and watchful. She experienced several more mild contractions without waking fully. Then, when the sun was well up, he felt her entire body tense. She jerked awake with a gasp.

She slowed her breathing, and he rubbed her back until the contraction was over. “That was the strongest one I’ve ever felt,” she said when it was over. “If there are more, we should time them.”

“You’ve been having smaller ones all morning,” he said. “Twenty minutes, eighteen minutes, fifteen minutes, eleven minutes, and ten minutes. If you can, try to rest a little longer.”

She was very still for a moment, but then she struggled to sit up. “No, I think we’re going to have to leave soon. I want you and the others to have time to eat first and get ready. And we need to call Xander and Jonathan so they have time to drive up here.”

He sat up too. “Then don’t try to do too much, love. I’ll help you get dressed and get you something to drink. You probably shouldn’t try to eat.”

He savored her look of gratitude as she said, “You take such good care of me, William. I’m so fortunate to be going through this with you.”

“Spike, this is all your damn fault.”

Dawn braced herself to listen to an argument, and was surprised when once again Spike refused to be drawn into brangling by Buffy's complaints. “That’s right, love,” was all he said. “But just breathe during the contractions. You can curse me between them.”

“This is positively an only child,” announced Buffy provocatively.

“Whatever you say.”

“And I hope you don’t think we are ever having sex again!”

“Furthest thing from my mind. Breathe, love.”

Spike was sitting behind Buffy on the hospital bed, and she leaned back against him as the contraction ended. He stopped rubbing her back and instead drew circles on her swollen belly. The whole process seemed very bizarre, but he'd explained to Dawn earlier that he was trying to relieve some of the stress so that Buffy could relax a little before the next contraction.

Buffy hadn't looked very relaxed at any point during the past half-hour, and the others in the room were looking progressively more like frightened deer after each one of her irrational outbursts. Spike, however, remained completely calm, even encouraging her to look at the mountains outside the window and try to focus her mind on something besides the pain. Unfortunately, this suggestion had met with derision and bad language that Dawn was more used to hearing from Spike than her sister.

“Do you think that really hurts as much as it looks?” Jonathan spoke from the farthest corner of the room in a stage whisper.

“It’s got to,” replied Xander. “I mean, just think of how big a baby’s head is, and how small the hole is that it’s got to come out of.”

Jonathan shuddered dramatically.

Buffy was still leaning forward, but now she peered up angrily through disheveled locks of honey colored hair. “Tara,” she said in a frighteningly level tone, “take those two and get them out of here. Now. Or I won’t be responsible for the consequences.”

Tara didn’t hesitate. “Come on, guys, time for us to hit the cafeteria.” She grasped Jonathan and Xander by their elbows and hustled them out of the room.

"And if Willow calls again and asks how I'm doing, I want to talk to her," added Buffy. "If I hear any more of this perky cheerleader 'she's doing fine' shit, I'm ripping someone's head off."

Dawn, who had been perkiness personified whenever she'd dared to open her mouth, raised a hand to her throat and began planning an immediate change of strategy.

Spike cast her a reassuring glance, but before he could say anything, a nurse came in. “So how’s the little mother?” she ask perkily.

“Did you really say that?” snarled Buffy. “I hope not. Because if you call me 'the little mother' again, bad things will happen to you.” Then she was leaning forward, gasping again, and Spike was rubbing her back.

“She’s in a lot of pain,” said Dawn quickly.

“Well, we can get the doctor in here and see if she’s far enough along to approve some medication,” said the nurse, still relentlessly pleasant.

“I think it’s too late for that,” said Buffy. “The baby is coming now.” Her face was still creased with pain, but she suddenly seemed more in command of herself.

“Oh, I don’t think so, honey,” said the nurse, with what seemed to Dawn suicidal cheerfulness. “I know that the contractions can seem very intense, especially when it’s your first, but you haven’t been here very long, and you were barely dilated when you came in.”

“Buffy has a really high threshold for pain,” said Dawn. “If she says she’s ready, she’s ready.”

The nurse appeared not to hear her. “Why don’t I try to find the doctor so he can do an exam? I think he’s with another patient right now, but he should be able to be here in about fifteen minutes.”

“You stupid bint, she just said the baby’s coming,” said Spike, carefully settling Buffy down onto the pillows as he stood up. “Get the doctor now!”

Dawn gasped and felt something clench in her chest. If Spike, who had somehow managed to be a rock through this whole thing, started losing his temper—

“No, Spike,” said Buffy. She was now oddly calm, as if she and Spike had switched emotional circuits. She looked at the nurse. “Go ahead and tell the doctor to come whenever he can fit me into his schedule.”

Spike began sputtering objections as the nurse left the room, but Buffy shook her head. “I don’t want her near me,” she said in a voice that made Dawn revise her opinions again. She hasn't gotten rational. She's just calm because she's finally gone completely over the edge.

“Never mind that stupid cow." Judging by Spike's tone, he was thinking the same thing. "Love, if you think the baby is coming, you need a doctor.”

“I don’t think, I know." Buffy struggled to sit up straighter. "And I don’t need a doctor. You catch the baby, Spike.”

“What?” yelled Dawn.

“He’s read every book available on what to do in an emergency.” Buffy was propping herself up on her hands, trying to keep her ragged breath calm. She looked up at Spike though a tangle of eyelashes and blond curls matted with sweat. “There’s no time to argue. Besides, William, I want your hands to be the first thing to touch her.”

Dawn looked into Buffy's eyes and saw that they were tinged with yellow. She kept staring at those eyes as Spike, apparently abandoning any notion of further argument, grabbed up a handful of clean towels and lifted the sheet that covered Buffy's legs. Dawn saw him swallow hard.

“What is it?” she asked, terrified.

“I can see the top of the Joy’s head,” he said. “No time to run for a doctor even if she'd let us. Bit, get behind Buffy and support her. There’s no time to move the back of the bed up either, and it will be easier for her if she’s sitting. And don’t hold her hand—she’ll break your fingers. Slayer, love, try not to push with the next contraction. Just let her come.”

The contraction was already starting, and Buffy nodded, apparently unable to speak. Dawn wriggled behind her sister and took hold of her shoulders. The only thing keeping her sane was the fact that Spike wasn't panicking. I wonder if "don't push" is standard medical advice or if Spike's worried that Buffy’s Slayer strength will propel the baby out of the womb at dangerous speed. She couldn’t decide if the image this invoked was more horrifying or absurd.

Dawn looked at Spike and realized he was sweating almost as hard as Buffy. Back when he was a vamp, I never thought I'd see him sweat. And certainly not under these circumstances. But she still recognized the old Spike in his mingled curses and reassurance. “Bloody pig-headed woman. . . She’s coming, love. You’re doing fine. Just hold on until the contraction is over. . . She’s got to turn me into a midwife, as if I didn’t have to change enough already to please her. . . Easy does it, love. Relax now.” Dawn wondered exactly what he was doing, but didn't have the courage to look.

Buffy collapsed back against Dawn as the contraction ended. Spike looked like a man facing the unimaginable.

“The head is out, love. The next one should do it.”

Buffy nodded. “I can tell,” she gasped. Her body tensed again.

Three voices called out together. “Don’t push!” yelled Spike. Buffy screamed wordlessly. And the baby cried.

Dawn watched in frozen amazement as Spike wrapped the tiny, incredibly noisy bundle in one of the towels. Buffy struggled to sit upright, staring at the red, furious face.

Dawn spoke first. “Aren’t you supposed to rub her feet or slap her bottom or something?” she said.

“That’s to start them breathing,” said Spike. “I think this one’s got the hang of it already.”

Buffy reached out her arms. They shook badly, and she pulled them back. Spike put the baby on her stomach, so that she was able to touch her child. She stroked a minuscule ear with one finger. “Hello, Joy,” she said. Joy howled back.

While Dawn stared openmouthed at the alien creature who had just hurtled into their lives, three nurses and two doctors burst into the room.

“What’s going on?” demanded one of the doctors.

“You’re the bloody obstetrician, you should be telling me,” said Spike. “But as a layman, I would take an uneducated guess this lady just had a baby.”

Suddenly, the room was very full of equipment and medical professionals. The baby was whisked away from Buffy and onto a small elevated examining table. Spike suffered a horrible moment of indecision, torn between staying by Buffy’s side while the doctors examined her and supervising the pediatrician’s care of Joy. But Dawn clasped Buffy’s hand and communicated a silent promise to stay by her sister’s side, freeing him to follow the baby.

He watched with jealous anxiety while the doctor weighed, measured, and washed Joy. The pediatrician, a tall, lanky woman in her thirties, smiled at him reassuringly. “Delivered her yourself?” she asked.

He nodded.

“You and her mom do good work. Amazing lungs.” The howls had still not let up.

Spike smiled. “They’ll come in handy in this family. She’ll be able to keep up her end of the arguments.”

His eyes followed the pediatrician’s hands as she took a tiny sample of blood from one of Joy’s heels. Amazingly enough, the volume of screaming actually increased in response to this indignity. The doctor then picked up a syringe and turned to explain to Spike, “Vitamins.”

He nodded. “I know.” He clenched his jaw. He was glad he'd read up on the procedures involved. Because if he hadn't known why these things were being done to Joy, not even the good-will he sensed in the doctor would have prevented him from snatching his daughter away from her. He breathed deeply, forcing himself to let the woman do her job.

“A well-educated dad. If you’re interested, her Apgar is 10. A perfect score.”

“Thanks, but I didn’t need a test to tell me she was perfect.” He regretted the harsh note in his voice, but the doctor just smiled again and said words he really did need to hear.

“I’m all done here. Time for this little one to visit her mom.”

Buffy fought to control her breathing and stop trembling from the incredible adrenaline rush that had accompanied the baby's birth. She barely noticed the indignities associated with getting rid of the afterbirth and the subsequent examination by the rather peevish doctor. Before she had time to become annoyed by the necessary medical attentions, they were over, and she was tucked into a clean gown with a clean sheet over her legs. More importantly, by the time the pediatrician gave her the baby, her arms had stopped shaking enough to wrap themselves securely around the little bundle of blankets and writhing limbs. Joy was still crying, with a few intermittent hiccups, as if she were intent on proving that her lungs and heart functioned normally. Buffy smiled at the thought, remembering Spike’s fears when he first learned of her pregnancy. She glanced up, saw him staring at Joy, and wondered if she looked as happy as he did. He reached out to touch the baby, and stopped, staring at his hand.

She followed his gaze and realized that both his hands were still covered in bloody fluids from the delivery. His smile didn't change, but he gave an apologetic shrug as he turned away to clean up at the sink by the wall.

Buffy felt dizzy for a moment, in a way that had nothing to do with the physical stress of the delivery. She had seen Spike smiling with his family's blood on his hands once before. At last Buffy understood an image from one of her dreams that had puzzled her even after the battle over the Hellmouth. She pulled Joy closer to her and whispered in the baby’s ear. “I should have remembered,” she told her daughter. “Blood is life. And our lives were safe in his hands. That vision of mine was never an evil omen.”

A few minutes later, the horde of medical personnel seemed to be diminishing slightly. Tara, Xander, and Jonathan took advantage of the reduction in the size of the crowd to slip back into the room. Tara came to sit by Buffy’s side, admiring the baby with obvious sincerity. Xander and Jonathan seemed less certain.

“Is she supposed to be that color?” asked Xander hesitantly. “She looks like she has a rash or something.”

“And she’s kind of wrinkly,” said Jonathan.

“The redness will fade,” said the pediatrician in a matter-of-fact way. “And your skin would seem a little wrinkly too if you’d been in a bath for the past nine months.” She left, followed by the last of the nurses.

“She’s beautiful,” said Dawn. “But I can’t believe she’s so small. Is this the usual size?”

“She seemed plenty big when she was on the way out,” said Buffy. “You know, that was the most amazing thing. Having her was like being in a battle, as hard as the hardest battle I've ever fought. But I didn't have to destroy anything to win.” She looked at Spike and added softly, "It's not often I get to win by creating something instead of destroying it."

Dawn felt a huge grin spread over her face. This crazy family of hers had gotten through yet another ordeal in—she looked at Buffy---well, "in one piece" might not be the best phrase this time. Not that Buffy had split in two, precisely. She had produced a brand new individual, something even more miraculous. And—Dawn checked again, just to be sure—the baby had vague blue eyes instead of glaring yellow ones, and the wrinkles on her forehead were all perfectly normal ones, from crying so much. Joy really was a beautiful, human baby, even if she was a bit on the red-faced and screaming side. And Buffy was just fine, the doctor had said there were no complications, making it easier for Dawn to thrust away the memories of all those stupid novels she'd read where mothers died in childbirth. And Spike—

Spike was staring down at the baby that Buffy had just placed in his arms. Dawn grinned even harder. Spike's life had been invaded by yet another high-maintenance female. Dawn knew he was thinking that he would have to spend years and years catering to Joy, loving her, and spoiling her. No matter how difficult or whiny or wild the little girl turned out to be, Spike would have to be there for her. He would have to be unfailingly patient and caring and forgiving. It was now his legal and moral responsibility to monitor the baby's every movement and to ensure her health and happiness.

No wonder he looked ecstatic.

Tara leaned over to touch the baby's cheek with one finger, and Spike passed Joy over to her with muttered instructions about supporting her head. Tara just smiled at him indulgently and rocked the child. A miniature fist emerged from the blanket and waved in the air, as if Joy were reaching out to greet Tara.

"Hey," said Dawn. "Don't aunts get a turn?"

Tara came around the bed and handed Joy over to Dawn. The squirming body was incredibly tiny and light, so small it seemed impossible that it could hold a human soul. She stared down, half-expecting Joy to glare back up at her, alert and impudent. But instead of a bright, penetrating stare, Joy's gaze was unfocused, and her blue eyes seemed cloudy and vague. To Dawn's surprise, the baby's eyes shut entirely, and she quivered slightly in her aunt's arms before falling still.

"What's wrong with her?" asked Dawn in a panic.

"Nothing." Spike had stepped around the bed, and now he bent to take the baby back. "She fell asleep."

"Just like that?" asked Dawn.

"She had a very busy morning. And it's not like she needs to put on her jammies and brush her teeth before going to bed," said Buffy, laughing.

"Yeah, especially considering she's got no teeth to brush yet," said Xander, who was peering over Spike's shoulder. "Uh, man, do you think an honorary uncle can—"

Cautiously, with a possessive air and a severe glare, Spike handed Joy over. “Make sure you support her head,” he said.

“Got it,” said Xander. “Buffy already gave me the lecture.” He gazed down at the tiny, crumpled face. Dawn stood up to stand beside him. Joy was sleeping with an intensity that few adults gave to any of their waking activities.

"The no teeth is probably a good thing," said Jonathan from Xander's other side.

Everyone stared at him.

"I mean, no teeth means no fangs yet either, right?"

"Jonathan," said Dawn carefully, "Shut up."

"It's all right," said Buffy, putting her arms out to take her baby back. "We know that there will be special challenges to raising Joy. But Spike and Dawn and I will manage." She looked up. "With a little help from our friends."

Suddenly, Joy woke and began to squall again, moving her head from side to side irritably.

“Oh! I think she’s hungry,” said Buffy. She looked up at them all, her expression a little bewildered. “I hate to interrupt the bonding moment, but would you mind going so that I can feed her?”

“You want us to go just so you can give her a bottle?” said Xander, still looking a bit put-out over having to give back the baby. Then he realized the implications. “You’re not going to give her a bottle, are you?”

“No,” said Buffy. “Which is why I would like everyone but Spike to leave now.”

Buffy watched as Dawn and her friends hustled out of the room at a remarkably quick pace. Spike shut the door behind them, grinning at their reactions.

Buffy wasn't quite as amused. She looked at Joy and swallowed hard. “I’m not sure I’m up to yet another new experience today,” she said. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to do this.”

“It’s not something you take the SATs for, love,” said Spike. He stood watching her as she opened the front of the hospital gown and offered the baby her breast.

Joy fussed and turned her head away. She felt like a stranger, and Buffy was suddenly lost and worried. “She doesn’t seem to know what to do either.”

“Both you ladies are just too tense,” said Spike. He climbed onto the bed, and settled himself next to and slightly behind Buffy. He rubbed her back as he had done when she was in labor, then her neck. “Relax a bit. Here, lean on me.” She settled back against his shoulder. As the tension eased from her body, the baby also calmed down. In Joy’s case, this meant that her screams were reduced to a low whimper. Spike put his arms around Buffy so that he could include both her and the baby in his embrace. Gently, he laid a hand next to Buffy’s breast and began to stroke the baby’s cheek with one finger. Joy’s mouth turned towards his finger, found Buffy’s nipple instead, and latched on with surprising force.

Buffy stared at her nursing child in amazed delight, and then turned a similar expression on Spike. “How did you know how to do that? And why does this seem so natural to you when it has me completely wigged out?”

He shrugged. “I read some of it in one of the baby books, but the attitude is something I’ve always known. I started out as a Victorian, love. They may have had a lot of hang-ups about sex, in fact, they practically invented the notion of hang-ups. But when I was a lad, there was only one practical way to feed a baby this size, and this is it. The fancy ladies may have farmed the job out to someone else, but it wasn’t much of a secret how the thing was done. There was no mystery about it. It didn’t even get confused with sex back then, which is where most of the problems you modern women have come from.”

“We modern women?” asked Buffy. “You’ve gotten awfully old-fashioned all of a sudden.”

“I’m a dad now, with a beautiful daughter. I’m already starting to fossilize.”

“And I thought you were strict with Dawn. This poor thing is going to have a very restricted adolescence.”

“Count on it.”

She leaned against him and felt herself begin to relax after the excitement of the day. The tug on her breast elicited a strange sensation of peace. She remembered reading that there were hormones that were released only when a woman nursed, and she knew now that must be true. This serenity was like nothing she had ever experienced before.

“This is so strange,” said Buffy finally. “It’s so normal. With our past, you would expect something creepy and weird would be going on. Like I should be feeding her with blood.”

“You already did that,” said Spike, pulling aside the hospital blanket covering Joy to reveal the stub of the umbilical cord. “For nine months. Just like every other mother. Now it’s time for this.”

This is going to make a really good memory, thought Buffy. But somehow, it seemed as if the moment already lived in her mind. Again, she remembered a vision, this time one of a child's hand, like a tiny starfish, pressed against her breast. In her dreams after the night she and Spike had conceived Joy, there had been this same sensation of blissful warmth and this same feeling of belonging.

It was hard getting to this place, but it's worth it. Not knowing how she was sure it was the right moment, she gently used her little finger to unlatch the baby from her breast and shifted Joy to the other side. This time, Joy knew exactly what to do, taking the nipple into her mouth with enthusiasm. It was very simple and felt perfectly right. But I can't kid myself it's going to be like this all the time. I have a feeling that life's going to be so hectic from now on that I'll long for the good old days when I only had a Hellmouth and Apocalypses to worry about.

"Jonathan had a point," she said, settling back more comfortably against Spike and tucking her head in under his chin. "We don't know when to expect her to start showing the fangs or the wrinklies."

"It will be all right," said Spike with assurance. "We'll take care of her and teach her what she needs to know. We'll be all right, as long as those pillocks at the Council keep away from us."

Buffy felt him tense at the thought and she sat up a bit straighter. "I don't want them interfering either. And letting them take charge of her education the way they wanted to do is just out of the question. But maybe we should at least talk with them sometimes, or let Giles pass on any information they may dig up. It's not as if we're going to be able to find a book at Barnes and Noble called What to Expect When You're Raising a Slayer."

"No one," said Spike in a harsh and even tone, "is going to tell me how to raise my daughter."

Not even me? thought Buffy. But she shelved the argument for later. There would be plenty of time to fight that battle when she wasn't feeling quite so perfectly happy and content. She smiled into Joy's hazy blue eyes. My child. No, our child. I'll keep reminding him of that, and we'll work it out, just like we worked out all our arguments about Dawn. Because it's really all about how much we love Joy and each other. So we'll cope. Without killing each other.

She snuggled back against him again, watching Joy's eyes close as the baby finished nursing and drifted off to sleep. The heavy roun