Title:  Epilogue II, Women's Work

Author:  Miss Murchison

Rating:  "Chiaroscuro" is mostly R and PG.  However, some content of the overall story may be considered NC-17.  This epilogue is probably R, but only because I repeated a bad word several times in an attempt to get a laugh.  (Yes, I'm ashamed of myself.)  There are also references to breastfeeding, so if that bothers you, please don't read.

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

Thanks:  To Kes for the beta.

Notes:   I originally promised two epilogues, but when I got the first one back from beta, I pulled out a snippet with Dawn and Joy.  Then this suggestion about hamsters came up.  So there is one more after this.

        “It’s colic,” said Tara.

        “What’s colic?” asked Dawn.

        “It’s the thing that makes babies cry.”

        Buffy and Dawn stared at Tara blankly.  “What thing?”

        “Well, some people say it’s like indigestion and other people say that they need to cry to develop their lungs.”

        Buffy looked down at the baby in her arms.  Joy was red-faced and screaming.  Joy had been red-faced and screaming for some time.  And, if the child’s past behavior were any clue to future events, Joy would be red-faced and screaming for several hours to come.  “The doctor says she’s perfectly healthy,” said the Slayer.  “And I have a hard time believing her lungs aren’t fully developed.”

        Tara frowned.  “I guess maybe colic is just a word to say that some babies cry and no one knows why.”

        “I’m sorry, Tara, but I don’t think this colic thing is a terribly useful concept,” said Dawn.

        The three of them stood in the center of the living room staring in consternation at the squirming bundle.  Before their tired brains could formulate any new ideas for dealing with the situation, the front door opened and Spike came in, stomping icy sludge off his boots.

        “What happened to you?” asked Buffy.

        His appearance begged for the question.  His hair was standing on end, there was a streak of dirt on one cheek, his coat was filthy and torn, and when he removed it, they saw that his jeans were covered with mud and one pants leg had been ripped from knee to ankle.

        "Vamp," he said with unaccustomed brevity as he tossed his boots into one corner of the tiny entranceway and dropped his coat in another.

        "A vampire?  It looks more like you tangled with a mud demon," said Tara. 

        "Must have slid on the ice fifty times before I managed to stake the bugger," grumbled Spike. "And I still haven't found the nest of whatever's siring all these vamps and then tossing them out on their own.  I couldn't risk trying to grab this one to question first, because I'd be sure to slide on the bleeding ice again and he'd either get me or get away.  The only reason my arse isn't in pain right now is because it's frozen solid—"  he glared at them.  "Never mind."

        "Hmm," said Tara in a serious tone. "To defrost, or not to defrost?"

        "Do your accelerated healing powers extend to sore bottoms?" asked Dawn, smirking a bit.

        "Fortunately, yes," said Spike, and then added when Joy wailed still louder.  "Not fond of your aunts' sense of humor, pet?  Can't say it appeals to me either."

        The baby stopped, stared at him for a long moment, took another breath, and resumed screaming.  At this, Spike started laughing.

        "Not helping, Spike," said Buffy between clenched teeth.  She was irrationally annoyed that he was in a good mood in spite of his frustrating patrol, his injuries, and the noisy scene he'd found waiting at home.

        He didn't look up into Buffy's face or stop smiling.  “Just let me clean up, love, and I’ll take her for a while.”  Spike touched the baby’s cheek gently with one finger before heading for the bathroom.

        Buffy found it immensely irritating that Spike didn’t seem disturbed by the howls.  But Joy’s crying never bothered him.  Well, almost never.  Buffy remembered how agitated and nervous he had gotten when the baby had a slight cold and her wails became punctuated by coughs.  And he had almost snatched Joy away from the nurse when the baby bawled from the violation and pain of her vaccination shot.  Otherwise, Spike had always treated Joy’s crying as a simple fact of life.

        The women heard the bathroom door shut and looked back at the tiny creature who had become the focal point of their household, if not their very existence. 

        “Isn’t there anything else we can try?” asked Dawn a few minutes later.  She had just handed the baby back to her sister after walking her up and down the living room.

        “I don’t think it’s safe to use magic,” said Tara, who had taken the shift before Dawn’s.  “This isn’t a magical problem.”

        Buffy shook her head.  “No.  I talked to the doctors and the nurses at her last check-up, and they said some babies just cry more than others.  They said I should give her what she needs, and put her in her crib, and she’d calm down.  But we’ve tried everything, and she still won’t calm down.  She just keeps screaming, even if I leave her alone in the crib for a half-hour.”

        “Maybe that works with some babies, but that doesn’t mean it will work with Joy,” said Tara.  “I remember my mother saying how different I was from my brother and my cousins.”

        “Yeah,” said Dawn.  “Janice’s niece slept all the time, but Travis told me his little brother cried for like six solid months.”

        “Six months?” said Buffy.  “Joy’s not even three months old yet.”

        They listened to the wails and tried not to imagine them continuing for several more months.

        “Let me try feeding her again,” said Buffy desperately, although her body rebelled at the idea.  She had been taking care of Joy all day while the others were out, holding the baby almost constantly and feeding her often.  Buffy just didn't want to touch anyone or to be touched anymore.  The thought of nursing was almost repulsive.

        Spike came out of the bathroom dressed in clean jeans and a blue shirt.  His hair was still damp, and he was barefoot.  He wandered into the living room and shook his head as Buffy sat down on the couch and reached under her shirt to unhook her nursing bra.

        “She’s not hungry,” said Spike.  “Listen to her.”

        Buffy listened.  He was right.  This was nothing like the way the baby cried when she woke up desperately hungry.  It wasn’t the way she cried when she was scared by something, either.  And it bore no resemblance to the incredibly loud and high-pitched scream of pain which had followed her vaccination shot.  Now, Buffy felt stupid and useless as a mother.  She couldn’t even figure out what was upsetting Joy.

        “She’s pissed off,” said Spike with certainty.

        “What can she be pissed off about?” demanded Buffy, almost in tears.  “She’s a baby.”

        “Maybe that’s it,” said Dawn.  “Maybe she wants to do things and she’s frustrated that she can’t.  Just imagine how awful it must be to want to walk and talk and not be able to.  And she doesn't even know that someday she'll learn that stuff.”

        Dawn’s words rang frighteningly true to Buffy.  That was exactly how she would feel if she were trapped in a baby’s body.  This is just great, she thought.  I’m in charge of the care and feeding of an infant control freak.  And what am I supposed to do to make her feel better?

        “Give her to me,” said Spike.   Without waiting for a response, he took the baby into his arms and started stripping off her cotton sleeper.

        “She’s not wet or dirty,” said Buffy wearily.  “I just checked.”

        “Wasn’t about to change her, love.”  He dropped the sleeper on the coffee table and unbuttoned his own shirt with one hand, holding the baby in the crook of his other arm.  He tossed a pillow on the recliner by the television set and tossed the others a glance, daring them to laugh at his need for cushioning in his nether regions.  He settled himself down carefully, with Joy, now clad only in her diaper, on his bare chest.  The baby’s sobs subsided slightly. Spike reached for the television remote, speaking calmly the whole time.

        “I know life seems a bitch right now, pet, but it will get better.  You’ll get bigger and stronger, and there’ll be things we can do together.  Do you see what this is, on the telly?  It’s football.  The bloody Americans call it soccer, but, you and me, we’re going to use the right name.  And someday you’ll play.  You’ll have to know the rules, though, not like the rest of the Summers women who don’t know a corner kick from a penalty shot.  I’m going to explain the offside rule to you right now.”

        Buffy and Dawn stared as Spike went on with his side of the conversation, while Joy’s contribution continued to be an intermittent, hiccupping wailing.  Either the sound of Spike’s heartbeat or the relentless drone of his voice had had at least a slight soothing effect on the baby, judging by the reduced volume of her sobs.

        “D’you see that stupid git over there, Joy?  He’s the sorry excuse for a defender they’ve got out there losing me the few quid I bet on this game with old Ripper.  Now, if one of those other poofters in the green kit loses the ball while he’s moving towards the net and there’s no defender . . . ”

        “Get some rest, Buffy,” said Dawn after a few minutes of this.

        “But—”

        “Look at them.  He’ll sit there all night with her, if necessary.  You know that.  And he doesn’t even mind.  I’m going to go to my room, put my headphones on, and listen to some music until my nerves settle down.  You get some rest.  Or do something for yourself.  Have a cup of tea, or take a long bath, or something.  You look worse right now than after you helped close the Hellmouth.”

        "Thanks, Dawn," said Buffy, resentful of this description.  "I can always count on you to make me feel better."

        “Buffy, you should do what Dawn says,” said Tara.  “You need to rest.  You’ve had to deal with this by yourself all day long.”  She looked at her watch.  “I have to go to work.  Try to relax a little.  If Joy’s still crying when I come back, I’ll rock her again.  In the meantime, she’ll be fine with Spike.”

        “Thanks,” muttered Buffy ungratefully.  But Dawn and Tara were right. Spike was normally incredibly restless to the point of recklessness, but when one of the women in his life made a demand, he could become the most patient man imaginable.  As much as Buffy hated to admit it, she was just too anxious and frustrated to deal with Joy any more.  Right now, the baby was better off with him.

Buffy went into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door.  She was hungry, but the continuous crying from the next room made her stomach roil.  She shut the door again and leaned against the counter, breathing deeply.

        I’ve fought countless agents of evil, including a hell god and a Hellmouth.  I’ve been dead and come back to life.  I brought my lover back from the undead.  But that tiny baby in there is going to defeat me.  She thought this over and shook her head. Why do I see my own child as the enemy when all I want is to make her happy?  If I didn’t care about her, I’d let her cry until she collapsed into sleep.

        Perhaps what I want is a real enemy.  Buffy snatched a jacket off a peg by the door and went out into the night.

        As the kitchen door slammed shut behind her, Buffy stopped on the threshold, staring in astonishment. 

It was more than just the cold outside, although that always took her by surprise.  In California, she had been used to cool evenings, and she hadn’t expected it would be so difficult to adjust to the bitter winter cold of this northern city.  Neither had she expected to have difficulty coping with life in a large city; she had once lived in Los Angeles, after all.

But the cold here was more extreme than she had imagined, and the grubbiness of the dark, old streets and the dilapidated, cramped houses brought down her spirits in a way she had never anticipated.  Added to this, the bustling crowds added an extra level of stress to simple activities like shopping, which were hard enough with a crying baby in tow.

She had retreated, little by little, from many of the ordinary demands of daily life, letting the others handle small errands outside the house while she tended single-mindedly to Joy.  Today, she had heard the others talk about the ice storm, but she hadn’t bothered even to glance outside the window.  She had assumed that they had been speaking of a particularly slippery form of snow.  Now she understood what they had really meant. 

The rain that had fallen earlier in the evening had frozen as it landed, coating every surface with treacherous ice that was gorgeous to behold.  The shabby city street had been transformed.  Every straggly bush and pathetic, leafless tree was coated with shimmering frost.

        Buffy stepped forward carefully, and felt her foot slide over the wooden porch step, finding no purchase at all.  She grasped the banister, gasping when her flesh almost froze to it and wishing she had remembered to wear gloves.  She reached the path safely, but soon realized that the scraggly grass verge offered a much safer walking surface than the slick concrete.

Buffy felt the frozen blades of grass crunch beneath her feet as she walked along, carefully picking her way around fallen tree branches.  At least the streetlamps were mostly working, their yellow light refracting the thousands of crystals of ice, making the landscape glow eerily.

Grimly, Buffy contemplated her life.  She had no paid employment; even if she hadn’t been nursing Joy, it was clearly impossible to leave the child in day care or with a relative stranger.  Spike was working various jobs, Tara was working at a small museum, and Dawn was attending high school.  But Buffy’s world had constricted to tending the needs of one tiny, wailing infant.  Joy’s feeding demands had been so erratic that she hadn’t even helped Spike hunt since the baby’s birth.

And that’s not the only thing you haven’t helped Spike with recently. 

But I didn't know it would be like this.  I didn't know that I would wind up holding a baby almost 24-7, and nursing her what seems like 50 times a day.  And I didn't know that I'd feel like I didn't own my own body any more.  No one told me that after Joy finally fell asleep and I could put her down, I wouldn't even want Spike to hug me.  That all I'd want was to feel like my body belonged to me again, just me.

So far, he had been patient with her reluctance.  I’m the one who can’t handle it, she thought.  I’m the one who dreams of the way things used to be.  And yet, it's hard to imagine a life without Joy in it any more either.

Even going on patrol with Spike seemed a distant memory.  And it probably would remain so.  It had been a difficult decision, but after Joy's birth they had talked and decided that both parents should not put themselves at risk at the same time. 

        She wandered into a small park and towards a tiny playground.  Swings, a slide, and a jungle gym.  Joy was still too small to enjoy any of this.  Someday, maybe.  It was hard to imagine a someday where Joy wouldn't be crying and demanding to be held most of the time.

Buffy's mind cast back to other nights, warmer ones, when she and Spike would go on the hunt together.  They'd prowled the streets, usually knowing themselves the most dangerous thing there, the top of the Sunnydale food chain.  Once she'd learned to use all her Slayer senses, they'd moved in tandem, like the predators they were.  After they'd found their prey, they would rejoice in the kill together, setting aside human reason for a time and letting instinct rule them.  Even before they'd reached that synergy, there had been glorious moments.  She remembered one evening, back when Spike was still a vampire, when they had sat on swings like these together, kissing and laughing.  They had already made love once that night, and afterwards, after getting into another fight they had—

Once I was a Slayer, a superhero.  I fought and killed things, and my friends looked up to me, and I had lots of really, really great sex with a guy I loved.  Now, I'm just a mom.  And I don't seem to be doing a very good job at that.  How did this happen to me?

Well, Buffy, the really great sex probably had something to do with it—

Her thoughts were interrupted by a thunderous crack, as a huge black and silver shape hurtled down towards her.  Buffy jumped quickly to the side, skidding and almost falling as she dodged the ice-coated branch that had crashed to the ground, torn away from a majestic old oak by the weight of frozen water that covered it.

"Note to self," said Buffy out loud.  "Don't walk under any more trees until this stuff melts."

"Note to pretty little girls out after dark," said a voice behind her.  "Don't walk near the nasty monsters."

Buffy stepped around the branch, careful to stand on the wood chips of the playground instead of the much slicker surface of the nearby sidewalk.  "I was wondering when you'd come out and play," she said calmly.

"Play?" hissed the dark figure that emerged from behind the jungle gym.  "If you think I'm here to play, little girl, you're sadly mistaken."

        "Oh, please," said Buffy, rolling her eyes.

        This apparently was not the reaction the creature expected.  "You dare to mock me?" she demanded.  "Do you have any idea how much danger you're in, child?"

        "You want me to be scared?"  Buffy shook her head in disbelief.  "With that dialogue?  Did you steal it from a Vincent Price movie, or what?  And look at that outfit!  Are you going to a casting call for a movie about the life of Vampira?  Or did I miss the news that they were making another Addams Family movie and Angelica Huston wasn't available?"

        "I am not—"  The vamp looked down at her clothes in chagrin.  "I'm not even wearing high heels!"

        "Yeah, I get it. You're wearing the Morticia Addams sportswear collection.  Not quite as restrictive, but still enough trailing black lace to outfit an entire funeral."

        The vamp's expression had gone from snarling menace to comical indignation.  "Well, at least I have some sense of style!  Not to mention good grooming.  When was the last time you washed your hair?"

        Buffy was about to retort when she realized she actually couldn't remember.  "Not really interested in styling tips from your kind," she snarled, too annoyed to come up with a more clever response.

        “My kind?"  The vampire hissed, obviously trying to regain some sense of Creature of the Night chic after their snarking contest.  "Do you honestly think you know what I am?”

        “Sure I do.  You’re the thing that’s making all the vamps in this city.”  Buffy enjoyed the expression of surprise on the creature’s face.  She smiled ironically.  “How’s that going for you, by the way?  A little rough lately?  Got that stale, flat, and unprofitable feeling?”  As she spoke, Buffy glanced around, making sure of her ground.  She quickly noted not only the obstacles in the playground, but also wherever there was a patch of grass or wood chips that would allow her firmer footing.

        The vamp frowned, still unafraid but suspicious and confused.  “What do you know about it, little girl?”

        “I know that something’s killing all the vamps you’ve been siring.  Hard to be Queen of the Damned when the ranks of the undead keep thinning out, isn’t it?  The whole royalty thing loses its savor when there are no cowering minions.”

        The vamp was clearly angered by Buffy’s flippant tone.  “Something is attacking my children,” she muttered in involuntary admission.

        Instead of being pleased to confirm that she'd found the vamp Spike had been hunting, Buffy was suddenly, unreasonably, outraged.  “Your children!  How dare you call them that, you refugee from an Anne Rice Fan Club convention!  What do you know about being a mother!  You know someone’s killing the creatures you made, but have you taken any steps to protect them, showed up to help even one of them with a fight?”  Buffy took a deep breath, and managed to moderate her tone.  “I don’t think so.”

        The vampire was staring at Buffy as if wondering if she was a puzzle to be solved or just a madwoman to be devoured.  But she seemed to enjoy the sound of her own voice enough to want to explain. “You act as if you know how it works, little girl.  But you really don’t understand.  Why should I risk myself for them?  I can always make more if they’re too foolish to survive on their own.”  The creature stepped forward now, more confident.  “And if you’re trying to convince me that you’re this hunter that's been staking my fledglings, you’re not succeeding.  I’m not as blind as you think me.  I’ve been studying this supposed nemesis of mine from afar, and one thing I’m sure of is that it’s male.  It’s certainly not a little girl.”  The vamp showed her true face.  “And he’s not here to protect you.  Perhaps I’ll even make you into something that will help me fight him.”

        Buffy smiled.  “I don’t think so,” she said, noting with some satisfaction the vampire’s consternation when she failed to flinch at the threat.  “Because, you want to know something about this nemesis of yours?”  She spared a moment for a mental giggle, imagining Spike’s reaction at being called a “nemesis.”  Then she moved smoothly into her own game face. “I’m the thing that made him.”  She spun around and landed a kick to the vamp’s groin, knocking the creature several feet backwards.  “I think you’re the one who doesn’t understand how this works.”

        The vampire rose to her feet quickly, clearly shocked and momentarily off-balance, but recovering quickly.  She was old and strong.  This wouldn’t be an easy kill.  That was all right. Buffy wasn’t in the mood for “easy” tonight.

        Buffy watched the vampire move in and held her own ground as best she could.  There were too many patches of ice around to risk quick moves or huge leaps, and although she was being cautious, she felt her feet almost slip out from under her several times.  Her opponent was taller, with greater reach, so she let the vamp come near, then moved even closer.  This gained her more than the element of surprise.  At close quarters, she could deal sharp, quick blows with fists and feet while her enemy lacked the space to connect with her longer limbs.

        It was far from the most graceful battle Buffy had ever fought.  Both combatants slipped more than once, and when Buffy landed on her bottom and had to scramble to her feet, she spared a moment's regret that she hadn't shown Spike more sympathy earlier in the evening.  Soon, she was breathing hard, and the vampire's pale face was showing signs of strain.  And Buffy had found no opportunity to drive the small stake in her hand into the monster's chest.

        After a particularly inelegant grapple, the vampire went down but managed to wriggle clumsily away, leaving an annoyed and tiring Buffy with only a fistful of black lace.  The vampire was now too frightened to whine about the damage to her clothing, and she started to inch towards the jungle gym, obviously having decided that escape was her best option.

        "Sorry," said Buffy, gritting her teeth with determination.  "But there will be no slipping off into the darkness tonight, Morticia!"  The vampire gaped at her, several feet beyond Buffy's reach, her arms outspread as she tried to regain her balance, one foot almost sliding out from under her, her flight halted momentarily.

Dropping the stake, Buffy snatched up the branch that had fallen at her feet earlier.  It was incredibly heavy, an enormous icicle with a wooden core.  She wielded it easily, swinging it around and stabbing the vampire through the chest with the huge weapon.

        The vampire stopped, transfixed by the makeshift spear that had impaled her.  Her expression of horror and dismay changed slowly to amazement and hope as she realized she was not turning to dust.  She looked up, but her smile quivered and faded when she saw Buffy’s expression.

        Buffy, grimly confident, held fast to the end of the branch, even as its fierce coating of ice burned her hands.  She waited patiently for the taste of her kill, which she now knew to be inevitably hers.

        It took a few seconds longer than it would have in a fully human body, but eventually the warmth of the stolen blood that fueled the monster’s heart melted the ice surrounding the tip of the branch.  Before the vampire had time to puzzle out the reason for the delay, her heart felt the touch of once-living wood.

        Buffy dropped the branch as ashes scattered over the glittering landscape.  Slipping back into her human face, she rubbed her chilled palms together.  “I wonder if that’s what they mean when they say, ‘Cold hands, warm heart?’” she asked the winter’s night.

        Buffy opened the kitchen door and sighed.  Some of the most obnoxious noises ever created by humans were emanating from the living room.  Quickly, she trod across cracked linoleum and shabby brown carpet to the CD player.  After reducing the Sex Pistols to an almost-tolerable volume, she turned to stare at Spike.

        He was still sprawled in the recliner, but now his head was flung back, his mouth had dropped open, and his eyes were closed.  Even in sleep, his arms were wrapped around Joy protectively, one strong hand against the baby's back.  The baby was curled up on his chest, her head tucked under his chin, one tiny fist holding onto the folds of his shirt so hard the tips of her fingers were white.  She was sound asleep, and Buffy swore she was smiling.  Someone had tossed an old blanket over father and daughter, and now Buffy pulled it back up from where it had slipped down around Spike's waist, tucking it in carefully around the two of them.

        "Fuck this and fuck that, fuck it all and fuck the fucking brat," bawled a voice from the CD player behind her.  Spike and Joy sighed in their sleep and smiled more widely.

Buffy made a mental note not to put off her planned conversation with Spike about Lyrics Suitable for a Child's Ears for much longer.

        Her Slayer senses told her that Tara wasn't home and that Dawn was asleep.  Buffy wondered how her sister could sleep through the din until she cracked the door of Dawn's bedroom open and saw that the teenager had fallen asleep with her own headphones over her ears.  Buffy hoped her hearing wouldn't suffer too much from Joy's noisy infancy.

        Buffy headed for the kitchen, opened the refrigerator door, and this time her eyes lit up at the sight of lots of empty calories stacked on the shelves.  She was hungrier than she had been in days.

        A few minutes later, she dropped her sandwich plate into the sink, polished off the last of a brownie, looked down at her clothes, and grimaced.  She wasn't nearly as dirty as Spike had been when he came home, but she wasn't up to her usual grooming standards either.  Not even her post-baby grooming standards, which didn't have nearly the emphasis on carefully applied makeup or well-coiffed hair that she had once considered necessary.  She rinsed the plate hastily and headed for the bathroom.

        "I've seen you in the mirror when the story began and I fell in love with you," insisted a Sex Pistol as she passed by the living room.  However, she avoided the mirror as she stripped off her clothes and ran the hot water.  She planned to take full advantage of this unexpected reprieve.  First, she'd take a shower to get rid of the worst of the dirt, and then a bath to relax.  If Joy didn't wake up. 

As she lined up toiletries, she spared a moment to use her Slayer senses to check on the two in the living room.  Both Spike and Joy were still sound asleep, and the CD appeared to be on random play, because Johnny Rotten was insisting for the second time since Buffy had gotten home that he was a lazy sod.  She wondered who on earth he thought would contradict him.

        Blocking out first the obnoxious lyrics and then the rest of the world, she stepped into the shower.

        A half-hour later, she ran some more hot water to warm the bath she was soaking in.  She stretched her arms out over her head, letting the soapy water run over her as she gave a happy sigh.  She settled her head back against the towel she had folded up against the back of the tub and closed her eyes.   She was almost perfectly relaxed.  Just a few more minutes and the last of the stress would be gone—

        She heard Spike and Joy wake up.

        Joy seemed happy for once.

        Spike did not.  “Bloody hell!” he announced, and Buffy heard the recliner slam into an upright position.  The Sex Pistols stopped in mid-rant.  Joy squealed with what sounded suspiciously like laughter.

        Buffy knew exactly what had happened, even before her heightened senses caught a whiff of the source of Spike’s annoyance.  She sank down in the water again, and was surprised to find she felt no guilt for not jumping up and running to the rescue.  The situation didn’t require a mother, or a Chosen One, or even skilled labor, although every time Spike faced this particular chore he complained more than he did about having to stop an Apocalypse.

         Although he must have sensed her presence in the house, he didn't call out for help, and she heard him move into the bedroom and grab the necessary items off the changing table.  Muttered curses marked his progress.  The situation was apparently too nasty to be deal with by normal means, and he proceeded, gurgling baby still in arms, to the kitchen.  Faucets were turned on, and objects were being shoved about unceremoniously.  There was a thud as water hit plastic, the sound dulling as the container filled up.  Joy was about to have a bath.

        Absent-mindedly rubbing a loofah over her legs and arms, Buffy listened to the noises from the kitchen.    

There was a howl of dismay that marked Joy’s entrance into the tub, a squeal of pleasure as the baby decided she liked the wet warmth of it after all, a yell of anger that meant she had been prevented from drinking the bathwater, a burble of delight that said she had managed to splash her father in the eye, and, finally, a wail of protest that indicated she was being lifted out of the bath.  And, in the background, Buffy could hear Spike, although she could not make out his words.  His voice was mostly an even murmur, with occasional profane outbursts as he was splashed or kicked.

        Buffy’s ears were alert for the particular cry that meant, “I’m starving,” but it didn’t come.  She sank deeper into her bath, relaxing deeply.  Spike could handle everything except that one particular demand; her baby was safe and well tended, if still remarkably noisy.

Buffy was surprised to realize how easily she was interpreting Joy's reactions.  Maybe I can understand her, after all.  Maybe I was trying too hard and not listening enough. 

        Leisurely, Buffy finished her bath and dried her hair, taking the time to primp a bit.  She smiled happily as she polished her nails and applied skin cream.  She didn't bother with makeup, but when she was done, she still thought she looked better than she had in ages.  The Slayer Beauty Treatment:  First, kill one vamp . . .

        Finally, she opened the bathroom door and went down the hall to peek into the kitchen.  It was deserted, but there was ample evidence of recent activity.  There were puddles of water on the floor by the sink, the baby's bath tub was lying on the counter with an inch of water still in it, and a pile of soiled clothing huddled in a corner.

        Buffy tossed the clothes in the washer, mopped up the floor, and drained the tub.  As she went down the hall to the bedroom, she was surprised to realize she was still smiling instead of allowing her stomach to clench in irritation at having to deal with the mess.  She leaned on the doorframe and regarded her husband and child. 

        They were on the bed, Spike leaning over the baby, who was lying on her back, looking pink and clean and ready to star in a diaper commercial.  Because diaper commercials always showed babies in a pristine, poop-free state.  Buffy resentfully imagined those TV infants, who never seemed to have any actual need of the products they advertised.

        Spike grinned up at Buffy.  His eyes narrowed slightly in appreciation of her appearance—in spite of the fact that she was wearing sweatpants and an old t-shirt.  She squirmed a little with pleasure, knowing it was the package inside the clothes he approved of.  He didn't ask where she'd been or what she'd done.  Buffy could tell by the faint gleam of gold in those blue eyes that he knew she'd had a rich kill. 

He didn't mention it.  For now, he just grinned at her.  “Watch this,” he said, and rolled the baby over on to her stomach.

        At that, Buffy protested.  “She hates lying on her belly,” she said.  “She’ll just scream and hit the mattress with her fist until she rolls herself over again.”  Even though the doctor assured me she’s far too young to be able to do that yet.

        “Just watch,” he said again.

        Instead of anger or frustration, Joy’s face wrinkled in concentration.  Slowly, she lifted herself up on all fours and rocked her body back and forth a few times.  Finally, with an immense effort, she rolled herself over onto her back, chortling with pride in her accomplishment.

        “Wow!” said Buffy appreciatively.  She’s not supposed to be able to do that yet, either.

        Spike rolled the baby back onto her stomach, and Joy rose on all fours again.  Oh, no, thought Buffy, this means that crawling is not far behind.  She's going to be self-mobile.  And how do you child-proof a house from a baby Slayer?

        “You’re bloody amazing, pet,” said the baby's father, clearly undeterred by the practical implications.

        Buffy looked at his face, and her mood softened again.  We'll manage, she thought.  Somehow.  And I'm going to try to enjoy it, the way he does, instead of stressing over every moment.

        Joy rolled over onto her back and gave an exhausted sigh.  Then she looked up at Buffy and locked her gaze to her mother’s.  “Uh, uh, uh,” she commented in a loud grunt that threatened to become a cry if nothing was done about it.  She tossed her head from side to side in a clear signal.

        Buffy’s body reacted instinctively.  Her breasts suddenly felt full, and her need to feed her child was as great as the infant’s need to nurse.  She grinned at Joy.  “Hungry, are you?” she asked.  She pulled her shirt off, piled some pillows up at the head of the bed, and settled herself against them in a cross-legged position before reaching out to pick up the baby.

        Joy latched onto a nipple, sucking greedily.  Buffy felt the milk begin to flow immediately, and the rush of emotion that accompanied it was almost overwhelming.  She had been so frustrated by the baby’s crying over the past few days that she had forgotten how good and right this could feel.  She looked down at the small, fat hand pressed against her breast and shuddered as her body moved into a state of amazing relaxation.  Her thoughts were detached and peaceful as she felt Spike settle himself beside her against the pillows.

        Buffy looked up and saw Spike smiling down at the baby.  His hand gently caressed those light golden curls.  He seemed perfectly content to sit and watch Buffy and the baby now, as he had been content earlier to hold the child while she cried.  Buffy moved slightly to lean against his shoulder, bringing the three of them even closer together. 

After a few minutes, Joy moved slightly, just as Buffy realized that one breast had been almost completely emptied of milk.  The baby released that breast as Buffy moved to switch Joy to the crook of her other arm.  The baby resumed nursing without a moment of discontent, mother and child perfectly in sync.  Buffy smiled up at Spike.  If she had a regret at this moment, it was that she could not share this amazing feeling of serenity and oneness with him.

        Joy was now in a position to see Spike, and she looked up at him, an adoring expression in her deep blue eyes.  Without removing her mouth from Buffy’s breast and without ceasing to nurse, she thrust out one plump leg. 

        Spike laughed and took the proffered foot into his hand, rubbing the soft sole with his thumb.  “She doesn’t want me to be left out,” he said.

        “We can’t leave you out,” said Buffy.  “You’re essential.”

        She dropped her head back onto his shoulder and felt him plant a kiss on her hair.  They lay there quietly until Joy stopped nursing and her breathing began to slow.  Buffy put the baby on her shoulder and rubbed her back gently for a few minutes.  Then Spike got off the bed, took Joy from her mother, and carried his daughter into the small alcove off the bedroom that he had walled off to make room for a few pieces of baby furniture.  Buffy heard the gentle movements that meant he was laying Joy down in her crib and pulling a blanket over her.  He stepped back into the bedroom and shut the door to the alcove slowly and carefully.  He hadn’t bothered to turn on the baby monitor; both Buffy and Spike could sense the child’s heartbeat from the next room and would know in a moment if anything were truly amiss with Joy.

        Spike turned away from the door, and his eyes met Buffy’s.  She smiled with a happy anticipation that she had not felt for days.  She squirmed down on the pillows to lie flat on the bed, sending him an unspoken invitation.

        He said nothing either, but he climbed onto the bed, leaning over her, his eyes roaming her body.  One finger of each hand crooked into the waistband of her sweatpants, and he pulled them off, stepping back to the foot of the bed for a moment.  She quivered with the excitement she saw reflected in his face as he admired her.  And now it was her turn to admire him, as he stripped off his shirt and jeans before climbing onto the bed on all fours, leaning over her with an expression so full of desire that the pleasant lassitude she had felt just a few moments before became a distant memory.   Now, every nerve in her body was on the alert.

        Still without words, he kissed her mouth and her neck, his lips moving slowly down her body.  She grasped his shoulders and moaned with the shock of pleasure as his mouth came down over her breast.  She felt a quiver go through him as he tasted her milk—warm, and sweet, and life-giving.  He raised his head, and his eyes glowed amber in the light from the bedside table.  Oh yeah, Buffy thought happily, there is still more to my existence than just being a mom.

        Later that night, Buffy was roused by the sound of Joy’s crying.  It wasn’t a wail of hunger or pain or discomfort.  This howl clearly said, “I will not be left alone in this crib for one moment longer.”  Buffy sighed.  She knew that once the baby was picked up, she would demand to be rocked or held indefinitely before going back to sleep.

        Buffy started to sit up, but she realized that Spike had already pushed open the door to the baby’s alcove.  A moment later, he came back with Joy and laid her down on the bed.

        The baby settled down immediately, rolling close to Buffy and making satisfied grunting noises. 

        Although she could barely keep her eyes open, Buffy felt compelled to protest.  “We shouldn’t let her in bed with us.  The books say it’s not safe, and the doctor says it creates bad sleep habits.”

        “Bollocks,” muttered Spike, curling up on the other side of the baby and promptly going back to sleep himself. 

Buffy stared at her child guiltily in the dim light that crept in from the street lamps outside.  All the books, magazines, television shows, and medical personnel she had consulted said that this was wrong.  But every instinct in the Slayer’s body told her that there could be no happier or safer place for this child than here, nestled in the protective circle formed by her parents’ bodies.  Besides, she thought rebelliously, no one in this family has normal sleep habits.  Well, face it, girl.  No one in this family is normal.   Buffy closed her eyes.  She could hear the reassuring thud of three heartbeats.  She let the sound comfort her and lull her to sleep.

Several times during the night, Buffy was roused to near wakefulness by some activity in or around the house.  Each time, her Slayer instincts recognized that the movements were no threat.  Down the hall, Dawn stirred once; Tara came home safely and went to bed; there was some kind of small animal outside a few hours afterwards; and later Joy sniffled briefly in her sleep as if from a bad dream.  That time, Buffy felt Spike’s hand reach out to rub the baby’s back and soothe her into slumber.  Buffy smiled and slept again herself.

When dawn woke her fully, Buffy felt truly rested for the first time in weeks.  The big bed was warm and comforting.  She could feel the heat of Spike’s breath against her cheek.  And the tug of Joy’s mouth against her breast.

Buffy looked down at the baby, who had begun to nurse without waiting for her mother to wake.  “It didn’t occur to you to ask permission?” the Slayer said.

Joy lifted her head for a moment, giving Buffy a wide toothless grin that seemed to acknowledge the hilarity of her mother’s comment.  Then she returned to her breakfast.

Buffy gently stroked the top of the child’s head.  “I’m on to you, you know.  You think you have me fooled, what with these feathery blonde curls and that innocent expression and all those other cute baby wiles.  You think you've convinced Mommy that everything is going to be just fine and that you won’t cause any more trouble.  Well, I know better.  Okay, we worked out a few things out last night, but don’t think I didn’t notice that you got your way about the sleeping arrangements!  And I’m not fooling myself that everything’s going to go smoothly from now on.  I’m betting you’ll be making trouble again before lunchtime.” 

Buffy’s finger trailed along the incredible softness of the baby’s arm.  “And we have such a long way to go together.  The terrible twos are coming, but I don’t see how they can be any worse than the terrible two months.  And you’ll get bigger, and I’m going to have to let you go off places on your own, and I have no idea how I’ll handle that.  I might turn into one of those crazy home-schooling people.  And then you’ll be a teenager, and I know that's going to make Dawn’s high school career look like an episode of Seventh Heaven.”

Joy was still nursing intently, as if refusing to acknowledge these indictments.  Buffy heard a chuckle and looked up to see Spike smiling at them, his eyes alight with happiness and mischief.

Buffy looked back at the baby.  “Like I said, you’re not getting away with anything, Joy.  Because, in spite of that innocent baby exterior, I know just what you are, and I’ve got your number.  I know just how much trouble you’re going to cause me, and just how far you’re planning on pushing yourself into my heart so that I’ll actually enjoy doing whatever outrageous thing you want next.  Because I’ve dealt with your kind before.  You, my little bundle of joy, are—”  Buffy looked up at Spike again before uttering the final accusation— “You're your father’s daughter.”

Epilogue III

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