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Something tugged at the edge of his consciousness. Sleep had found him easily enough, but she seemed to run from him now.
It took a moment for his brain to register the crying from his dreams as a part of the waking world -- a world he was fast being pulled into by an unknown source.
He found her head hung over the toilet, sitting on their tiled floor, hugging the rim. The short front hairs of her layered cut clung to her sweaty forehead and neck. Her french braid was as ragged as her breathing.
Before he could speak, she pushed herself up on her knees and threw up. When it was done, she burst into fresh tears. "Christina." She didn't reply, didn't hear him, but weakly flushed the toilet. Sniffling, she lay her head on the seat and saw him.
"Angel?" She cried again. Quickly, he was at her side, pulling her against his chest. "I don't know," she tried to speak through her tears, "I don't know what's going on with me. And its so awful, I can't --" Christina felt the familiar stirrings in her stomach. She pushed off her husband and dry-heaved over the bowl. Angel came up behind her and rubbed her back. He waved his hand over the flush mechanism as his wife cried harder than before.
Carefully, Angel pulled her into his arms, slowly rocking back and forth. When he felt her head move against his chest he stopped, realizing his mistake. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean --"
"It's all right," she whispered, tired. "Lay me down, please." He started to rise, with Christina in his arms. "No, here, on the floor, please." Angel shifted the bathroom mat before laying her on it.
For a moment they sat and lay, unmoving, Christina curled in a fetal position, Angel, half reclined, stroking her forehead. "Do you want water," he asked, still trying to soothe her with his touch.
Angel returned to find her in a tighter ball. Gently he coaxed her into a seated position, himself her back rest. After gargling the foul taste from her mouth, Angel slowly fed her unsalted saltines (the oxymoron that was its name occurring to them both) and made Christina drink the rest of the water.
It was almost two hours before Christina could hold anything down. A half-hour later she was asleep in their bed while Angel made an appointment for her with his doctor. Christina's doctor -- really a friend who specialized in OB-GYN work, though a licensed general practitioner -- was on vacation with her family. Outside of their social relationship, the woman only saw her for checkups.
Generally, Slayers didn't need much more care than that.
Generally, Slayers didn't throw up half the night into the early morning.
When Angel climbed in next to his wife's peaceful form, the LCD on the opposite wall read 6:25 am. The heavy deep blue velvet drapes were already closed against the sun. They were a remnant of his vampiric past, covering the nearly floor-length windows. So long as his body clock didn't kick in, he could pretend it was still the middle of the night. He could pretend that his wife, a supernaturally healthy woman, didn't need help walking from the bathroom to their bed.
"Angel?"
His eyes flashed open, looking about himself until remembering where he was. Sleepily, he rubbed his scruffy face. "Dr. Morgan. How is she? How's Christina?"
"We've got her settled in a room. She's asleep."
"Good." Angel rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. "So, what's wrong with her?'
Dr. Morgan tapped his clipboard. "Let's take a walk."
Instantly, Angel was on his feet. "Whatever it is tell me."
"No," Dr. Morgan said with a little laugh, "Its not bad at all. Just looked like you could use some more waking up."
Angel ran a hand through his hair. "I guess getting a cup of kava won't hurt."
The two men stood by the coffee kiosk. Angel scowled into the black stuff. "Fifty years and a new name, you'd think they'd finally get it right," he mumbled.
"Your wife has a stomach virus, normally I would suggest --"
"That's it?" Angel cut the doctor. "But that's so strange, she's never had a stomach virus."
"Angel, if I can finish?"
"Sorry."
"As I was saying, ordinarily I'd tell you to take Christina home, ply her with saltines and ginger ale and maybe an aspirin if she started running a fever. However, with your wife's special condition, we're keeping her under observation." Dr. Morgan could see the question in the lines of Angel's body.
"Your wife is pregnant. You're going to be a father, Angel," he explained calmly. "Undoubtedly, part of Christina's illness was due, in fact, to morning sickness...," Dr. Morgan went on. Angel wasn't listening.
"I'm going to be a father," he said, strangely reserved.
Dr. Morgan smiled at him. "Yes Angel, if everything goes well -- which it will -- you will be a father."
He grasped the man's shoulders. "Edmond, I'm going to have a baby! I'm going to be a daddy," Angel crowed.
"Technically, Christina's the one having the bairn, but yes," he hadn't stopped smiling, "you're going to be a da." This was the kind of news he enjoyed giving. No matter how many times he did it, the response was often the same. Edmond Morgan, Ph.D., avowed lifelong bachelor, never tired of sharing in new parents' joy.
"So, I guess this means you don't want to hear about your pregnancy termination opt--"
"No!" Shock and fear and confusion coursed through Angel. "Yes. I mean, ah, uh, what I meant was we're going to keep it."
"That's what I figured you meant." Dr. Morgan glanced at his watch. "The sedatives I gave your wife should be wearing off about now. She might well be sleeping still, but you can go see her."
"Does she know?"
"Considering that she's been asleep for most of the time you've been here, that'd be a no. Anyway, thought you'd like to tell her."
When Christina awoke, she didn't remember her blood dreams, didn't remember the Chronos demon nor the pale stranger hiding in the shadows. When Christina awoke she knew two things; Angel was there, stroking the back of her hand with his thumb and she was thirsty.
Angel helped her sit up and drink. "How do you feel?"
"Less tired," her voice was rough from disuse, "still weak." Out of habit she reached for her silver chain with its cross and pewter cat pendants. "When can I go home, Angel?"
"Tomorrow."
Christina whined. "I know how much you hate hospitals, imza, beloved." She had been one of the most meticulous and careful Slayers he'd ever known. Anything that meant a long hospital stay was anathema. The demon that put her there would have hell -- no pun intended -- to pay when she got out.
"But there's something else. What aren't you telling me, lover?"
"It's good news, I promise," Angel said with a grin.
Christina growled. "As Cordelia used to say, stall much?"
He kissed her forehead, "We," kissed her nose, "are," then her lips, "pregnant."
"We're what?" She looked up at him, confused. "We're pregnant? W-wait, you mean I'm pregnant?"
"Hmm," Angel murmured, playing with her curls. "I wonder what the child of a former Slayer and one of the most feared vampires --"
"Formerly feared," she corrected.
"-- most feared former," he corrected her, "vampire --"
"--formerly most feared, former vampire --"
"All right! All right, I think we get the point, cause we just staked it to death." Christina couldn't repress a chuckle. "So what kind of kid do you think we'll have?"
"A long suffering one.
"Wait, so what was all that throwing up about?" Angel took her hand and told her. "You're kidding me, a stomach virus?" Christina flopped on the bed, disgusted with her immune system. "Hey, will this affect the baby?"
"Dr. Morgan said you should both be fine, just wants keep you overnight for observation. You know doctors, paranoid bunch."
Christina whined again. "Can't they just monitor me online?"
He shook his head no.
The next two hours were spent trying to make Christina forget where she was. Eventually, Angel had to leave, he had a previous appointment with a client. He'd come back tonight, she didn't mind did she?
"I'll see you," she yawned, "tonight then."
Angel kissed his wife's -- the mother of his child -- forehead. When her breathing evened out, he left. So what if he was late, his clients would understand if they wanted to or not.
The man went directly to the nurses station looking for Christina. (There were bots that did that kind of thing, but most people preferred a human touch.) Well, not really looking for her, but for whomever Angel had just left.
Room 724. The golden light of the dying sun streamed through her window, all the way to the door, making the girl glow. The cross on her chest flashed in his eyes as she breathed.
"Sir," he turned swiftly at the orderly's voice, "you can go in if you want."
He didn't like it here with so many people about. "No, that's all right." The orderly nodded and walked away.
" 'Ello, Step-Mum."