Title: One Good Day
Author: Ariane
Rating: R
Credits: All characters appear to belong to Joss W. & Mutant Enemy,
poems © J.L. Stanley, Sonnets CIX. & CXXXVI. - William Shakespeare
Summary: Buffy/Spike Season Six Post "Hells Bells". Spike tries to
figure out just where he fits in Buffy's life. Buffy's life takes a
strange turn.
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Distribution:
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others just ask :-)

One Good Day

Unraveled and bewildered, should I not believe
your eyes as they catch mine so deeply
binding me so far inside of you

this loom of words, warped and knotted
my thoughts tumbling into your depths
can't speak or breathe before those

who would destroy me, tangled, captured
so careful not to think of you, of your eyes
or touch, your caress or love unbound

not to feel your face placed gently against mine
these woven threads, I know I'm in a dream
unraveling toward air and sky

but cannot escape this shattering wind,
these bonds burning into wordless despair,
free me now, let me find the end of this love


Part One - Obsession


He saw her face before him, glowing, innocent with love, her love for
him flowing out of every pore.

"She can't hide what's in her eyes. Why does she hurt? Why is she
jealous? Must be more than shagging. But she says no; says it was
just sex; says it made things simpler for her, but she doesn't want
that anymore. So what is this complex place she wants to dive into?"
he thought grimly.

He'd dropped the other girl off, just blew her off; he wasn't really
interested in another dumb, semi-evil love. He'd always thought it
was the Slayer's dark side that drew him to her. But remembering her
standing before him, glowing with a soft smile, he realized that it
was the goodness inside of her that drew him to her. It was that, and
her brave face, despite her terrible uncertain fate, that entranced
him.

Before, he'd wanted to destroy this innocence in her... wanted to
break her of the illusion of her goodness. He thought that if only he
could make her see the world through vampire, demon eyes, she'd
understand him and love him. But instead, she'd made him see the
world through her eyes. He was afraid of that goodness in her and
what it invoked in him.

She said she didn't want to use him anymore and had called him
William when she conveyed that bit of devastating news. She could see
William in him and perhaps it was William who responded, loving her,
wanting to be good for her, refusing to let the demon inside of him
hurt her, when he realized it was possible. Yet it wasn't just the
infliction of physical pain that he'd resisted. It just killed him
now to see the emotional pain in her eyes that he'd caused. He'd
never do it again, if he could help it.

When she asked him if he'd take the girl back to his crypt, that look
of pain in her eyes was more than he could bear. He didn't want to
hurt her anymore. He just didn't want to live with the way it made
him feel. He could feel her pain. Why could he feel her pain? Dru had
left him because she'd told him she was tired of feeling and sensing
the Slayer all around him. The Slayer haunted him, she'd complained.
Why, he wondered? Why me? Why her and me? And this whole thing with
the bloody chip turning him into a lap dog. But when he found the
chip didn't work with her, why didn't he just kill her? Have his `one
good day' with her? Instead they'd fallen violently into each other's
arms, merged fiercely, completely.

He found that he was mourning for his lost self, for William. He'd
always joked cruelly about the person he'd been before Dru turned
him. Joked about his weakness and softness that had caused him so
much pain when he was human. Didn't want to remember. But Buffy made
him remember. Made him want to look again inside himself for lost
fragments of William and his tender soul. Maybe that was what he
feared so desperately. Good and evil, love and hate, back and forth,
the endless whirlwind of his emotions.

She'd told him that it hurt to see him with someone else. Spoke
those very words "it hurts". And he thanked her for those words; it
had been his last desperate attempt to invoke a sign of love from
her. He had it now, but for what end? What good would it do him to
know she cared for him, loved him, but essentially was too disgusted
with him, too ashamed of him to stand up and be with him and be by
his side. She didn't want to hurt him anymore.


* * * * *


He had to do something… just couldn't go on like this anymore. He
felt so lost, stuck between two worlds, and not accepted by either, a
lone traveler, beyond lonely. As he sat in the darkness of his crypt,
he realized that he'd never felt so lonely before. He'd always had
Dru, then Harmony and then this madness with the Slayer. His choice
to love her had completely isolated him from his previous reality.
Couldn't go to his old world since too many bridges were burned
there. Couldn't be in her world. She didn't want him there. She
didn't want him.

"She doesn't want me." He spoke out loud in the empty crypt. "Why am
I here?" For the first time since his realization that he loved her,
he paused in his headlong, single-minded pursuit . For once, he
completely lost hope.

"Never gonna happen, her and me," he thought. "Never again."

The pain was so relentless, so black; he thought he might just
dissolve in the agony of it all. It was so cruel to have had such a
hope and then to lose it. Because he still believed that what was
between them was real, so real, so important in some strange way, and
he felt helpless to control it. As Dru had said, the Slayer was all
around him, all over him, and that was even before, many months
before he came back to Sunnydale and realized that he loved her.

What was this love? Was it a last final curse upon him? He remembered
Angel's words, right after he'd lost his soul again and turned back
into Angelus.

"To kill this girl... you have to love her."

Is that what he was doing? Couldn't kill her physically, but was
killing her inside and tormenting her with his love, his passion,
taking her places, that she could never fully return from. Killing
her with his love. Was this love he felt? Or was it obsession or
possession? Had someone cast a spell upon him? Of all the possible
beings in the universe for him to love, why her?

"I'm just bloody lost."

He felt completely paralyzed, frozen so deeply in his heart, he
wondered if she'd even care if he disappeared one day and just never
returned. The problem was he couldn't leave. He no longer had the
will to leave. The thought of not knowing if she were alive or dead,
if she'd met her ultimate fate, not knowing that she still existed
and still breathed in this world was completely unbearable to him.
What if she needed him for one moment, just one moment, and called
for him and he wasn't there? He couldn't leave. He had no will. He'd
never leave her.

But he would leave her alone. He'd become invisible to her: avoid
her, never speak to her, just watch from afar, or get news of her
second hand. That would be enough. But now, while the pain was still
so sharp, he'd go into hiding completely. He'd hibernate for a few
months in his crypt... lock himself up somewhere deep in his crypt,
or better yet in some hidden crevasse in the tunnels.

He trudged around his crypt, gathering up the supplies he'd need, and
then he headed down to the tunnels. Deep under Sunnydale, he found a
small natural cave leading out of one of the half collapsed tunnels.
It ran steeply down into the earth and ended in a large sized
limestone cave covered with stalactites and stalagmites. He found a
naturally occurring platform and began to build his new home.


* * * * *


It was peaceful and quiet in the cave, and except for a small
subterranean stream that surfaced in one corner of the cave into a
small pool, there was no sound. No demons howling, no slayers
slaying, no killing, no one hating him, no one loving him. Only
peace, and silence in his cave. And he began to sleep again deeply
during the day, and only emerge from his cave at night to get
supplies. He bought his blood from a butcher across town. He avoided
all places where he might be recognized. And he began to think about
William. One night he brought a book of poetry he'd found in a
trashcan. That was the beginning of his book collection. He'd spend
the nights reading and the days sleeping, night and day merging into
one long womb of darkness inside his cave.

After living this way for several months, he began to lurk in
shadows, eavesdropping on conversations among the undead for news of
the slayer. And this is what he heard: the slayer had become
extremely violent. She didn't just patrol for a few hours each night,
but patrolled all night from dusk to dawn, relentlessly killing any
demon or vampire who had the bad luck to encounter her. No one got
away if she had them in her sights. From dusk to dawn, she'd roam the
whole city, not just the cemeteries: every decrepit warehouse,
vampire nest, demon hideout. She'd scour them all.

Some whispered that she'd almost died a few times, put herself up
alone against terrible odds, and then fought with such fierceness and
brutality that those who had watched her from the shadows wondered if
perhaps she wasn't actually a demon after all. He'd overheard one of
her human acquaintances gossiping about how changed she'd become.
Cold as ice. Threw out Willow. Didn't resist when Social Services
sent Dawn to live with her father. Lived alone in her dead mother's
house on Revello Drive. Never spoke to anyone, human or demon. Was
completely and utterly alone. Like him.

Somehow he didn't feel any satisfaction knowing what she'd become.
Dark like him now. Strange, it was what he'd told her he always
wanted, but knowing what she'd become left him with a deep hollow
feeling. He felt guilt, felt sorry. He'd done this to her. He knew
somewhere deep inside him that what had happened to her was partially
his fault and that he'd have to do something to make amends and
finally free her of his curse.

Somehow he'd have to make her see that she was right about him, that
he was evil and bad, a thing; make her realize that she'd made the
right choice when she rejected him. Make her feel good again, let her
choose the light rather than his darkness. Let her finally do the
thing that she was chosen to do - slay the vampire and know it was
the right choice. But he knew she'd never do it as long as he had the
chip in his head, as long as she saw him as neutered, defenseless,
and chained. He had to get it out. Somehow, somewhere someone would
know how to get rid of this bloody curse once and for all.


* * * * *
TBC

Part Two - Love

CXXXVI.

If thy soul check thee that I come so near,
Swear to thy blind soul that I was thy 'Will,'
And will, thy soul knows, is admitted there;
Thus far for love my love-suit, sweet, fulfil.
'Will' will fulfil the treasure of thy love,
Ay, fill it full with wills, and my will one.
In things of great receipt with ease we prove
Among a number one is reckon'd none:
Then in the number let me pass untold,
Though in thy stores' account I one must be;
For nothing hold me, so it please thee hold
That nothing me, a something sweet to thee:
Make but my name thy love, and love that still,
And then thou lovest me, for my name is 'Will.'



He left Sunnydale and vowed to himself not to return until the chip
was gone. And finally, in a dark corner of a backwater town on the
edges of a dying civilization, he found the one who could do it for
him. Had it done. The price he paid was unspeakable, but he'd done
it. And one dark night, he came back to Sunnydale and took up
residence in his crypt again. He didn't try to avoid the slayer. He
began to frequent places where he knew she sometimes went. He'd wait
for her in the cemetery, but she never came.

After a week of unsuccessfully trying to `accidentally' run into her,
he decided more direct action was needed. And so, one night, he went
to her house. The house was dark. The lawn and garden were overgrown
and gone to seed. Several of the downstairs windows were broken and
crudely boarded up from the inside. He broke into the back door and
walked into the kitchen. He almost tripped on the mess of boxes and
trash piled haphazardly on the floor.

"What the hell has happened here?" he thought worriedly, and the fear
began to rise inside him.

"She's dead," he thought.

He crept up the stairs, slipped down the hallway and stood silently
outside her bedroom door. She wasn't dead, he could smell her scent,
hear the pulse of her blood. He opened the door and was stunned to
see her sprawled on her stomach across the top of her bed.

She was filthy from fighting, her baggy clothes were in tatters, and
it appeared that she probably hadn't changed them for several days.
Her room was littered with dirty clothes, shoes and hangers strewn
across the floor. Books and magazines piled around her bed. The room
was dusty and thick with the smell of sorrow. He leant over and
briefly placed his forehead against the soft skin of her neck and
then he slowly, gently rolled her over onto her back. She was burning
up and he noticed, with deep shock, by the shape of her body, she was
about five months pregnant.

He sat down on the floor next to her bed and took her hand in his. It
was hot and dirty and her fingernails were chipped and broken. He
held her hand against his face and wept. He'd been a stupid, selfish
fool. All his dramatic plans for a final confrontation, his plans for
forcing her to finally end his suffering, fell apart at the sight of
her suffering and her need. And however impossible it might be, he
knew without a doubt, that the child she was carrying was his. He saw
her standing before him at Anya's and Xander's ill fated wedding. He
remembered her glow, her exquisite beauty flowing out toward him, her
pain and confusion. She must have known then.

He shook himself out of his self-pity and made a quick decision. It
didn't matter what she thought of him, his pride was nothing beside
her immediate need for a real friend, a true friend. He went into the
bathroom and drew a cool bath for her. He came back into the bedroom
and carefully undressed her. She was barely conscious in her fever
and exhaustion. She didn't recognize him. Just submitted to his
ministrations. He placed her gently in the tub and began to wash her
body and hair. Her body was covered with scars, many barely healed.
She flinched in pain as he tenderly rubbed the cloth over the worst
of her wounds; he washed and rinsed her hair.

He lifted her from the tub and held her as she sat slumped over on
the edge. She began to shiver with her fever. He wrapped her up in a
warm towel and carried her into Dawn's bedroom. Dawn's room was very
tidy, the bed made with clean sheets. He found one of Dawn's warm
nightgowns for her, dressed her and then placed her into the bed. He
found a warm comforter in the closet and tucked her in tightly. Her
skin was cool from the bath, but she suddenly broke out in a cold
sweat and was mumbling in a low voice. He couldn't understand a word
she spoke; her lips were parched and dry.

He was almost afraid to leave her alone. Didn't know what she'd do in
her delirium. But the thought crossed his mind that she might
actually be dying. He had no idea how long she'd been lying in that
state on her bed. He ran downstairs and, with some difficulty,
located a clean glass and a straw. He emptied several ice trays out
of the refrigerator into a large bowl, and then carried everything
upstairs. He sat on the bed beside her and slowly made her drink the
cool liquid. She resisted him at first but eventually she drank three
full glasses. She could barely open her eyes, he was sure she didn't
know who he was. After she drank, she sighed deeply and he could see
her body stretching comfortably into the warm bed.

She slipped one of her hands from under the covers and stretched it
out blindly toward him. He gave her his hand and sat down on the bed
beside her. She squeezed his hand and he saw the faintest of smiles
cross her face. She pulled on his hand, forcing him to lean closer to
her. She was trying to speak; he bent down until his face was almost
touching hers. She whispered the words again and this time he heard.

"William. My love."

"Yes I'm here," he said, and lay down beside her.

He cradled her head against his chest. She turned and nuzzled her
face against the rough material of his cotton shirt. He unbuttoned
his shirt and pulled it back so she could place her face against his
cool bare skin. She gave his chest a soft kiss and shivered.

Shivering this time, he thought, he hoped, not with fever but perhaps
of happiness. She relaxed into his arms and fell into a deep sleep.


* * * * *


He slept with her for a while but was abruptly awakened by some
raucous yelling outside the house. He slipped out of the bed, careful
not to wake her. He ran downstairs and looked out of one of the
living room windows. Several young vampires, drunk, he thought, by
the looks of them, were yelling obscenities and threats outside of
Buffy's house. All their evil words were aimed at her, about her, and
thinking of her lying helpless in the bed upstairs, his rage
overwhelmed him. He morphed into his game face and swung open the
front door.

"May I help you?" He said in an icy, deadly voice.

The young vamps paused for moment, taken back a bit by the sound of
his voice, but he was hidden in the darkness of the doorway and they
couldn't see his face. They began their taunts again.

Spike flew out of the doorway and staked three of the young vampires
before the others realized what had happened. A deathly silence fell
upon the group as Spike stood in their midst.

"If I ever catch any one of you within one mile of this house, you're
dust. Spread the news. You'll have to come through me to reach the
Slayer."

He stared around him at the cowering vamps, his yellow eyes flashing
murderously.

"Now get out of here," he roared, and staked another two.

The others fled in terror.

He walked back toward the house. It really was a mess. He noticed
graffiti scrawled across the garage and someone had hacked away at
one of the beautiful oak trees that stood in the yard. He felt his
anger escalate at the sight of so much destruction. He had the
strange sensation of the recognition of evil from the outside. He
went back into the house with a new sense of determination. He went
upstairs to check on Buffy and found her still sleeping peacefully.
He went back down to the kitchen and began to tidy up the mess; it
took him two hours to get it clean. He warmed up a can of soup, found
some crackers, took them upstairs and placed them on a small table
next to her bed.

"Buffy, love. Buffy wake up. I've brought you something to eat."

She rolled over on her side, opened her eyes and saw him patiently
sitting next to her bed. She recognized him at once. Her face flushed
deep red and she immediately pulled more of the blankets over her
stomach. She shut her eyes, trying to stop the tears that began to
flow freely down her cheeks. Her shoulders shook with the effort to
stop their flow, as he gently stroked her hair, her face, and her
tears with his hand.

"Don't cry love, I'm here. Everything's going to be fine now," he
said, his voice quiet and firm.


* * * * *


"Why are you here?" she whispered, when she was finally able to
speak. "Don't need you here. Don't need anyone. You shouldn't be
here."

"Don't care what you want, Slayer. Only care about what you need. You
need me."

"Don't need anyone, anything. Why didn't you stay gone?" she said
emptily. She tried to frown, but it didn't match the hunger which
shown out in her eyes.

"She never could hide her emotions," he thought. "Everything's there
in her eyes."

"Well maybe you don't want me, and you don't need me, but what about
this little one?" he asked.

He slipped his hand under the covers and placed it upon her stomach.
She flinched away from his touch.

"Can't see that you're taking good care of him," he said. "I know
what's happened to you, what you're trying to do to yourself, where
you're trying to go. And you know what?"

"What?" she whispered, turning her face away from him.

"I'm not going to let you do it."

"Why do you care?"

"Because it's mine, isn't it, Buffy?"

He pulled the covers off her completely and quickly slipped into the
bed beside her. He pulled her close into his arms.

"And because I love you. I'm never going to leave you again. No
matter what you say or do."

He kissed her wet lashes, her nose, caught her lips with his and
tenderly, gently relinquished his heart back to her for better or for
worse.


* * * * *


That night as he sat watching over her, her fever broke. He gave her
a sponge bath and changed her wet sheets and nightgown and tucked her
back into bed. He watched her eat all of the soup and made her drink
several more glasses of water. When he started to leave the room she
called out to him.

"Where are you going?"

"Just going to sleep on the couch downstairs. You need to sleep."

"Don't go. Please?" she asked.

He came back to the bed and gazed down at her.

"I lied," she said.

"I know."

"You always know, don't you?"

"Prince of knowing, love."

"Come back," she stretched out her arms.

He slowly disrobed, neatly folding his clothes and placing them on
top of the dresser. He climbed under the covers with her and trailed
his hands gently over her body, over the soft swell of her stomach,
up to the ripe fullness of her breasts. She moaned softly at the
coolness of his hands, the smooth strength of his hands caressing
her, claiming her, protecting her. She snuggled deeply into his arms
and surrendered to his love.


* * * * *


The next morning when she opened her eyes, she saw him with his head
propped up on his hand staring down at her.

"Did you sleep well?" He smiled.

"What am I doing in Dawn's room?" she asked.

"Well your room has a strong resemblance to a demon's lair. Thought
you'd be cozier in here," he laughed.

"I thought it was a dream."

"Was a dream, love. Everything before last night, everything before
was just a dark dream, but it's all over now. You're awake. With me."

He kissed her nose.

She succumbed to a large yawn and as she stretched out her arms and
legs, she felt the warmth of her blood coursing through her.
Something was different today, she realized. She didn't feel numb.
She felt a sudden jerking motion in her stomach.

"What's that!" she yelped. Clasping her stomach, she felt it move
beneath her hands. "Oh my god!"

"What's wrong?" he asked worriedly.

She laughed and took his hand and placed it over her stomach. He felt
something try to kick his hand away. He pulled his hand back quickly.

"Bloody hell," he exclaimed, "what's wrong? Should I call a doctor?"

She started to laugh a bit hysterically.

"Buffy!" he cried, "Are you alright, love?"

"It's the baby, William. Your baby. Quite a fighter." She smiled at
him.

His concern was replaced by a look of awe. He placed his lips against
the soft skin of her stomach and said "Hello in there, would you calm
down a bit?" He was rewarded with a small fist pushing up from within
her and bumping his nose.

He pulled his head back and laughed, "Bleeding tyke is just like his
mum, always punching and kicking me at the most inopportune moments."


* * * * *


They fell into a comfortable routine. Spike would sleep part of the
day and awake to spend the afternoon with her. Slowly, inch by inch,
they repaired and restored the house and garden back to what it used
to be before he left.

They never spoke about where he'd been or where she'd allowed herself
to fall. They just focused their energy on creating a home for
themselves and their child. He refused to let her go out on patrol
anymore. He took over those duties for her, but he never stayed out
too long.

"You know just because I'm a bit bigger than before and have
company," she patted her stomach, "doesn't mean I'm not still strong
and dangerous," she said wistfully as she kissed Spike goodbye one
night as he left for patrol. "I could come with you and watch, give
you pointers."

"Already heard all your pointers, pet. Afraid I just might stake you
if you give me another one."

He always felt a nagging worry when he left her alone. Sometimes he'd
invite Clem over to sit with her while he was gone. Clem taught her
the intricacies of kitten poker, but she refused to play for kittens.
Instead she made him play for the ever growing collection of stuffed
animals that Spike would occasionally bring home. Clem was
particularly fond of a green frog and she'd often catch him cheating
just to win it back from her.

As the months passed and the time neared for the baby's arrival,
Spike stopped going out at all at night.

"Need to be here with you, just in case, you know, something
unexpected happens."

She was getting quite grouchy.

"Pregnant here, been expecting something to happen for months. Now go
out and get me some chocolate!"

Two nights later she woke up screaming. He jumped out of the bed
ready to fight whoever was threatening her.

She stopped screaming as the pain subsided and opened her eyes and
saw him standing in a fighting stance next to the bed.

"Why are you just standing there?" she yelled. "It's coming! Get me
to the hospital!"

He drove cautiously, slowly to the hospital,

"Get moving, faster!" she yelled and as another contraction swept
over her, she punched his arm.

"Ow!" he yelled. "You're quite the bitch tonight. It's not my
bleeding fault, you know."

"You haven't seen anything yet, and yes, it `bloody' well is your
fault!" she moaned.

Spike stood nervously in the hospital corridor talking to the
admittance nurse as another nurse wheeled Buffy into the delivery
room.

"How are you doing?" the nurse asked him with a gentle smile. "Is she
giving you a hard time?"

"Me, ah…well I'm doing fine, I guess, but she's turned into an
absolute beast. Er…is that normal?"

"Absolutely." She laughed and patted him on the shoulder. "You're
looking a little pale Can I get you some juice? Perhaps you'd like to
sit down. Not going to faint on me are you?"


* * * * *

TBC

Part Three - Birth


I am ready
to be born
into sunlight
a bloody birth
of light pulling
fire from its heart
a birth as wet
and deep
as a midnight ocean
a birth as hard as living


* * * * *


They wouldn't let him into the delivery room with her. Said he
appeared to be ill and they were afraid he'd pass something onto the
baby. He argued with them, but it was futile and he almost morphed
into his demon face and then thought better of it. It would only make
things worse for her.

"Tell her I'm just outside. Right? If she needs me…"

For ten hours he paced the floor anxiously waiting for some news. He
finally threw himself down on a chair in the waiting room and tried
to sleep. It was impossible.


* * * * *


She'd never felt such pain. Her hands gripped the metal bars of the
bed which slowly bent beneath her strength. The nurses stood in shock
as she twisted the bars like butter beneath her hands. She screamed
and her anguished voice reached Spike as he sat numb and lost in the
hospital waiting room. He jumped to his feet at the sound of her
voice and followed her screams to their source. He swung open the
door to the delivery room and was stunned at the sight before him.
She'd destroyed the bed railings and was crouching on the floor. Two
nurses were huddled in a corner of the room, conferring worriedly
with each other.

"Make it stop!" she screamed.

He rushed to her side, picked her off the floor and tried to place
her back onto the bed. She struggled against his grasp.

"Oh please, Spike! Make it stop!"

He cradled her in his arms, he tried to sooth her, calm her down. He
gave the nurses a pleading look.

"What's wrong?" he cried.

"We're not sure. We've called the doctor. He should be here soon.

"Can't you give her something for the pain?"

"No, no we have to wait. It might hurt the baby. You have to leave
now. You shouldn't be in here with her."

The nurse avoided his eyes.

"I'm not going anywhere," he shouted.

"I must ask you to leave. If you don't I'll have to call security."

One of the nurses reached for the phone and started to dial.

"Spike," Buffy moaned, "Spike get me out of here. They're trying to
kill me. I know it. Kill me and our baby. Oh god… please!"

She let out another heartrending scream.

He overheard the nurse speaking to the security guard over the phone
and made a quick decision.

He bundled her in a blanket, swept her up in his arms and ran out of
the delivery room. He heard the nurses shouting behind him.

"I knew you'd come," Buffy mumbled. "You'd save us."

Spike turned down a side corridor, descended some stairs and found
his way into the basement of the hospital. He knew the way out from
there…he snuck into the hospital several times to raid the blood bank
in his wilder, pre-Buffy days. He found the small room which had an
outlet down into the sewers and tunnels beneath the city.

Their progress through the tunnels was slow because every few minutes
they'd have to pause while Buffy had a contraction. She was not quite
coherent at this point. But oddly enough, she's stopped screaming
about `the pain'. When the contractions began, she'd pull on Spike's
jacket and he'd stop and let her get into a comfortable position to
ride them out.

"Soon," she said hoarsely.

"Soon, what?" he asked fearfully.

"It's coming."

Spike paused at a junction in the tunnel. If he went left he could
get to Revello drive, but it was still about fifteen minutes away. If
he went right, he could get her to the little cave that he'd camped
in so many months before.

He turned right.

Surprisingly, the cave had not been disturbed since he'd left it that
day to find Buffy. He hadn't been back since then. He set her down on
the edge of the sleeping platform and gathered up the piles of
blankets, took them out into the main part of the tunnel and gave
them a good shake. He made up a bed for her, placing the sheet she
was wrapped in on top of the old blankets and covering her with the
blanket from the hospital. He found and lit several candles.

It appeared that her labor had paused.

She asked for water and he scooped some water from the small pool in
the corner of the cave and let her drink from his hands.

"What happened?" he asked.

"Demon Nurses," she replied. "Tried to kill me. Tied me down."

She held up her wrists and showed him the dark red welts on her
wrists which he hadn't noticed before in his anxiety for her safety.

"I need to get you back home, love," he said. "Can't have the baby
here."

He gazed around the cave and thought to himself that it might not be
a bad idea for her to have the baby here. The cave was warm and
easily protected, unlike the house at Revello Drive. If someone were
indeed after her or the child then this little cave was probably the
safest place they could be. Only, he worried if there might be
complications. And what did he know about child birth? Not much. Not
a single thing, in fact. All he knew about was death.

He knelt beside her as her labor began again in earnest.

"I don't know what to do."

He stroked her damp hair away from her face.

Another half hour passed and nothing seemed to be happening.

"Buffy…I shouldn't have brought you here…what was I thinking?" he
whispered.

She opened her eyes and squeezed his hand.

"I'm afraid."

"Me too, love. Let me take you back."

"No…" she moaned.

"What is it? Why isn't the baby coming?"

"I'm afraid," she said again.

"What are you afraid of love? Pain? You can take it. You're the
Slayer. My strong, brave Slayer."

He leant over and pressed his lips against her forehead.

"Don't be afraid."

"The world. So terrible. So evil. Sadness. I can't protect…" She
grimaced as another contraction swept through her body.

"It's too late now. You can't go back. You just have to move forward
love. Let her be born. Let her free."

Buffy gave a small cry and tried to change positions. He helped her
to find the exact position that her body naturally sought in order to
bring forth the small being inside of her.

"Let her be free. Not your choice anymore. Let her have her life."

And with a great cry, Buffy finally delivered her daughter into the
loving hands of a vampire.

At the moment of birth, as Spike held the small being in his hands,
he felt a profound sense of completion as if his whole existence
culminated in this single point of time. He felt an intense wave of
energy pass between him and his daughter. And as he looked at her in
the flickering candlelight, she opened her eyes and he swore that she
gave him a little smile.

"Welcome, little love," he said softly.


* * * * *


Several hours later, mother and daughter were cleaned up and snuggled
warmly together and reveling in the sweet symbiosis of nourishment
and love.

Spike built a small fire just outside the entrance of cave where he
burned all traces of the birth. He made Buffy some tea and with a
rapt gaze, sat on the edge of the bed and observed his daughter
drinking greedily from her mother's breast.

"A bleeding miracle. I never knew."

He picked up his daughter's small hand and stroked the tiny fingers.

"Absolutely perfect. Like her mum."

"What shall we name her, Spike?"

He searched through a pile of dusty books next to the bed and found
the one he wanted.

He opened it and began to read aloud:

CIX.

O, never say that I was false of heart,
Though absence seem'd my flame to qualify.
As easy might I from myself depart
As from my soul, which in thy breast doth lie:
That is my home of love: if I have ranged,
Like him that travels I return again,
Just to the time, not with the time exchanged,
So that myself bring water for my stain.
Never believe, though in my nature reign'd
All frailties that besiege all kinds of blood,
That it could so preposterously be stain'd,
To leave for nothing all thy sum of good;
For nothing this wide universe I call,
Save thou, my rose; in it thou art my all

He closed the book.

"My little rose," he said. "I'd like to name her Rose. William would
understand."


* * * * *

TBC

Part Four - Eternity


What's freedom for? To know eternity.
- T. Roethke



"Don't say anything about his hands, OK?"

Rose stood on the front porch of the house on Revello drive and gave
her boyfriend explicit instructions on how to behave with her parents.

"Why?" Chris asked. He was beginning to wonder if his girlfriend
wasn't just a bit crazy.

"Ah, well…they're very cold…just a little condition he has."

She tried to think of something that would prepare Chris for what he
was about to encounter.

"But remember…cold hands…warm heart. He's really very kind, once you
get to know him."

Chris shuddered. He looked at the woman standing next to him. The
most beautiful woman, the most infuriating woman he'd ever known. He
couldn't believe that he was the first man she'd ever introduced to
her parents. She must love him. Really love him.

Rose gave a quick knock on the door and then let herself in. She
motioned for Chris to follow her.

"I'm home!" she called into the house.

Buffy ran out from the kitchen.

"Rose!"

She swept Rose into her arms and gave her a hug.

"Ow! Mom! Not so tight!" Rose gasped from her mother's strong embrace.

"Oops! Sorry…forgot my own strength…" Buffy's voice trailed off as
she saw Chris standing by the door.

"Who's this?" she smiled.

"This is Chris. The man I love."

Chris blushed. He came further into the room and shook Buffy's hand.

"Very happy to meet you at last, Mrs. Summers."

Chris smiled down at Buffy. She was so tiny to have such a powerful
handshake. She appeared to be very young to be Rose's mother, but as
he took a second look, he noticed that there were streaks of grey
running through her dark blonde hair.

"Where's dad?" Rose asked.

"He's downstairs working on another of his projects."

Rose laughed. She turned to Chris.

"Dad's always got some scheme going."

She went over to the basement door, opened it and called down the
stairs.

"Dad! I'm home. And I have a big surprise for you!"

Spike walked slowly up the steps. He saw his daughter standing in the
doorway. She was beaming. He sprinted to the top of the stairs.

"My little love!" he cried and embraced her. "What's all this noise…
and why do you look so blooming happy?"

"Look, Dad."

She pointed to Chris standing nervously in the living room. She took
her father by the hand and led him over to Chris.

"Chris, this is my father, William."

Chris held out his hand. Spike hesitated for a moment. He looked at
his daughter. She was gazing intently at the young man. She was
glowing, innocent with love for this young man. Spike felt a shock of
recognition at the look on her face, in her eyes.

"Just like her mum," he thought, "on Xander's wedding day so many
years ago.

He sighed deeply and reluctantly held out his hand.

"Here we go," he thought.

He caught Chris' eyes and held them as their hands touched.

Chris didn't flinch at the icy coldness of Spike's touch. He just
smiled.

"We have a lot in common, sir."

"How's that?" Spike growled and chanted to himself, "He's not a
vampire, not a demon, not a warlock, not a…"

"Ah…we both love your daughter."


* * * * *


Chris and Rose drove slowly up Highway One on their way back to San
Francisco.

"Why didn't you tell them?" he asked.

"Tell them what?"

"You know. About the baby."

"Saving it for next time. Besides, I think Dad guessed."

"Rose, is there something else you want to tell me about your Dad?"

She laughed and rubbed her stomach.

"Let's just say he has a deep appreciation for living things."

"He's so pale. Is your dad a…"

"Did I ever tell you that I was born in a cave?" she said, quickly
changing the subject.

She caressed the back of his neck with her hand.

"It's why I like the dark, the night so much, I guess."

She gave him a passionate look.

"A cave? Oh dear god…"

He pulled over to the side of the road and stopped the engine.
Because he just had to kiss her. And he needed both hands.

"Love you Rose."


* * * * *


That night, after they'd said goodbye to Rose and Chris and given
them their blessing, Spike and Buffy were nestled under the covers in
their large king-size bed. Spike had insisted on getting the huge
bed, because when they made love in their old narrow bed, it always
seemed that they ended up on the floor and he thought Buffy was
getting a little too old to be thrashing around on the hard wood as
he made passionate love to her. He wouldn't have dreamed of telling
her that, of course, because she would have insisted that she was
still as young as ever, and accuse him of all sorts of things of
which he was absolutely not guilty. Like not loving her, or wanting
her as much now that she was older. He wanted her, loved her more
than ever. Every day with her was another miracle.

"Spike," she asked, "What are you thinking?"

"Thinking `bout all my days. My days with you."

"All good days?"

"Well, let's say interesting" he laughed. "So many days. Each one a
bloody revelation."

"Like when we smashed that old house down? Our first time?"

"I believe that was the first through twentieth time," he laughed.

"Or when Rose was born."

"Yes, that was the second best day."

"Not first? What was the first?"

"The day you said to me, `William, my love.' The day I finally knew
you loved me. That's the day. That was my `one good day'.

"But what about today? And tomorrow? It's not over yet. More good
days to come."

"Buffy, my love. Whatever happens in this world, it'll never be over
between the two of us. I suspect that we'll just have to put up with
a bleeding eternity of brilliant days."

He moaned as he felt her hands sweeping over his skin, down his
chest, caressing him in all the places he loved. She knew his body so
well.

"Brilliant…brilliance…I'll show you…" she murmured against his skin.

* * * * *

"OK!" He panted, exhausted after hours of extremely intense and
erotic lovemaking.

What she could do to him with her hands, mouth, her whole body…it was
just a bleeding crime.

"I was wrong! Today!" he cried. "Today is the best bloody day!"

"See. I told you so," she said smugly. "Just wait `til tomorrow."

"Oh, dear god…"

* * * * *

Let seed be grass, and grass turn into hay:
I'm martyr to a motion not my own;
What's freedom for? To know eternity.
I swear she cast a shadow white as stone.
But who would count eternity in days?
These old bones live to learn her wanton ways:
(I measure time by how a body sways).

"I Knew A Woman," by Theodore Roethke


FINIS