Chapter Four: The bough breaks, the cradle falls

The weather got hotter, and Buffy was surprised, because her previous experience of England had been autumn, when the air was cold and clear and the leaves were brilliant orange, yellow and crimson, everything was scented with woodsmoke and the rain came down cold and often.

And now it was hot, really hot, nothing compared to California, of course, but Buffy was sure as hell uncomfortable. She was barely sleeping as it was, and that made her irritable, and on top of that there was no cool air anywhere, because nowhere in Britain had any air conditioning, and when she’d suggested to Spike that he maybe install some in just a few rooms, he’d laughed and told her it was a waste of money, because summer in Britain was usually just three days when it didn’t rain.

Added to which was the annoying fact that Spike had decided sun was bad for the baby, so if Buffy ever tried to sunbathe, he threw a towel over her or hoiked her back indoors. She protested that she was wearing high factor suncream, but he wouldn’t listen. He was pale and he wanted her to be, too.

She spent a lot of time with Chocolat, but as the baby got bigger it got harder for Buffy to move around a lot, and after a while she gave in and just mooched around indoors, where at least there was always a toilet nearby. She found the library - huge, musty, ancient, full of first editions, and she knew Giles would completely adore it - and started reading the classics she’d never got around to before.

Spike spent a lot of time on the estate, and for someone who professed not to know a lot about agriculture he always had a lot to talk about when he came back in. Buffy liked to curl up with him and hear him tell her about the sheep, or the horses, or the big harvest of barley they were going to get this year, before he got bored of farm talk and started kissing her instead.

But even that lost its thrall after a while. Buffy was sure it must be hormonal, just like she’d got so incredibly horny a few months ago, but now she could hardly bear him to touch her, not that way. She wanted cuddles and gentle massages, not rampant fucking. Spike was hurt the first few times, until she pointed out that it must be like trying to get passionate with a whale, and she could hardly move, and anyway, sexual activity just made the baby kick and she wasn’t sure if that was a good sign. After all, at this late stage it was supposed to have run out of room to kick.

She woke up one morning to hear the dark growl of an engine and a door slamming. Spike was already up and gone, as he was so many mornings, and she thought she heard his voice outside.

She heaved herself out of bed and plodded over to the window to peek out at the driveway below. There was Spike, still in his biker boots although he’d got blue jeans on now, and a green t-shirt, no duster, standing with his hands on his hips.

And there was Glory, wearing a dress that was hardly there at all, posing against her Aston Martin, flicking her curls at Spike and flashing a lipsticked smile.

“Ooh, I’m so thin, and I’ve got a bad perm and I found a crappy shade of red lipstick,” Buffy mimicked. “Trashy cow.”

Someone cleared their throat behind Buffy and she turned guiltily to see Jones standing there, her face as blank as it always was when she was around her mistress.

“My lady,” she gave a little nod that was as close to a curtsey as she’d get. “Lady Gloria is here.”

“So I see. Uh, is she staying?” Buffy asked reluctantly.

“For several weeks.”

In several weeks Buffy would have had the baby. She didn’t want Glory around for that.

“Oh,” she said. “Well, then, get a room ready for her, I guess.”

“A suite has been prepared,” Jones said, and Buffy didn’t miss the emphasis on ‘suite’. When her own mother came to visit, she got a room, but when Spike’s trashy stepsister came, she got a suite. Right.

“Uh, I’ll be down in a bit,” Buffy said, and Jones turned to go, without offering to help Buffy at all. Buffy stuck her tongue out at the woman and waddled into her bathroom, but when she pulled the light cord, nothing happened. Great, the bulb had gone.

Well, at least she had Spike’s bathroom as a backup. It was still so much of a luxury to Buffy to not have to share her bathroom with her sister and mother - but to have her own, and not share it with her husband?

A little thrill ran through Buffy as she thought the word. She still couldn’t quite get used to thinking of Spike as her husband. And nor could she get her head around being a wife. She didn’t feel like a wife. She felt like a, well, like an elephant.

“I swear that ultrasound was broken,” she said as she stepped out of the shower. “I’m having triplets at least.”

She got dried and dressed and put a little bit of makeup on, styled her hair a little, and before she went picked up the phone and called Jones’s number. “The lightbulb in my bathroom is broken,” she said, “could I get someone to fix it, please?”

“Yes, my lady,” Jones said, “I’ll get is done straight away.”

There were advantages to having servants, Buffy thought as she went downstairs.

It was late in the morning and the breakfast that had been put out in the dining room had long since been cleared away. Buffy went out to the Victorian conservatory, big enough to hold her entire Sunnydale house, and asked Davis to bring her the day’s papers and some fruit and croissants for breakfast. He did, although it took longer than when Spike was with her, and she settled down to read the colour supplements. A breeze blew in from the open French windows and the blind overhead created some shade for Buffy to hide under, in amongst the ferns and yuccas and exotic blooms of the conservatory.

“Hey there, Mommy,” came a voice from the doorway, shattering the peace and calm, and Buffy rolled her eyes.

“Glory,” she said in her brightest, friendliest voice. “I hear you’re staying with us.”

“You don’t mind, do you?” Glory said, coming into view and perching her pert little backside on one of the soft, cushioned basket chairs opposite Buffy’s loveseat. “I thought I’d come and see the bambino being born.”

“He’ll probably be born in the hospital,” Buffy said.

“A he, is it?”

“Well, no - I don’t know. But I think Spike wants a boy, so...”

“So you’re thinking masculine thoughts. I heard that if you eat salt, that makes it a boy.”

What a pile of crap. “Salt makes my ankles swell,” Buffy said, and Glory looked down at them.

“Better cut it out, then. Don’t want them getting any puffier.”

Buffy narrowed her eyes. She’d thought her ankles were looking fine.

“So,” she said brightly, “we missed you at the wedding.” For target practice.

“Well, Daddy had some important business to tend to.”

Daddy, ugh.

“More important than his son’s wedding?”

“Well, you know, an earl has a lot of responsibility.” Glory picked up Buffy’s glass and sniffed at the orange juice. She made a face and picked up the nearby phone to ask the cook for some coffee. “One day Spike’s gonna have that responsibility.”

“I think he can handle it.”

“Oh, sure he can. But you know Spike. He can only handle one thing at a time.”

You’ve obviously never been to bed with him, Buffy thought. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you know. Looking after the estate, or looking after his family. And you know the estate has to come first.”

“What are you getting at?”

Glory smiled. “One day he’ll get bored of his fat wife and screaming baby and abandon you for his birthright.”

Buffy tried to keep her cal, especially as Davis chose that moment to enter with a pot of coffee that smelled heavenly. “Isn’t his birthright to have a family?”

“No, sweetie baby, that’s just his duty. You,” Glory said, “are just his duty. He’s only doing you to keep your baby. After it’s born, he’ll probably divorce you.”

“Get out,” Buffy said, pointing to the door.

“You didn’t think he’d really let an American be the next countess, did you?”

“The current one is!”

“My mother has class,” Glory said, her expression starting to look a little snarky.

“Your mother would get thrown out of a trailer-park for looking too trashy.”

“Don’t you insult my mother-”

“Don’t you insult me! Get out of my house,” Buffy said, and it occurred to her that she seemed to be saying this a lot lately. She pushed herself to her feet. “Go on, get out.”

“Or you’ll what?” Glory said, winding herself sinuously to her feet - or rather, her toes, since she was teetering on massive heels, far above Buffy.

“I’ll call Spike,” Buffy said, and she knew that was lame.

“Spike won’t come,” Glory said smugly. “I saw him go up to the top field this morning, while you were still wallowing in bed. He won’t even have phone signal up there.”

“Then I guess I’ll have to kick you out myself,” Buffy said.

“Can you even lift your foot without falling over? ‘Cos seriously, your centre of gravity has got to be-”

Buffy slapped Glory hard on her cheek.

“Ow! You little bitch!”

Glory slapped Buffy back and she clutched at the arm of the loveseat for balance. She knew this was stupid, but she was so damn angry with this cheap flashy whore coming in here like she was more important than Buffy, slamming her family, her husband, her authority-

She forced herself to calm down. She was not in any position to get into a fight with anyone.

“Will you just please leave,” she said through clenched teeth.

Glory folded her arms. “Make me.”

Buffy reached to pick up the phone to call for Davis and get him to take Glory away, or call Spike, or something, but Glory slammed it down.

“Running for help? You know, he’s only going to help you until the baby’s born. And then, well, you never know. Maybe he’ll get sick of the both of you, especially when he finds out it’s not his.”

Buffy stared at her. She was completely insane.

“Oh, I know all about your little romantic tryst with your ex-boyfriend,” Glory went on. “The army captain? I saw a picture. Now he is cute. Shame he’s married now. Oh well, marriages are easy enough to break up. Not like I haven’t done it before.”

“Get out,” Buffy said.

“What, so I don’t go telling Spike your baby is actually Riley Finn’s?”

“It’s not Riley’s. I haven’t slept with him in nearly two years. We broke up ages ago,” Buffy said, and tried to sound calm. She failed.

“But you still took a holiday with him last year,” Glory said, her eyes flashing. “Somewhere in Europe, uh, Berlin or Vienna...”

“Prague,” Buffy said, “and it wasn’t a holiday, he was protecting me - you know, I’m not going to talk about this with you, you’re just a cheap tacky slut-”

“Take that back!” Glory shrieked.

“No! You can’t just come here uninvited and start insulting my family and my baby - who can only be Spike’s, because unlike some people not so far from me, I don’t sleep around-”

“Like anyone’d have you, you’re so hideously fat-”

“I’m not fat, I’m pregnant-”

“With someone else’s kid,” Glory yelled, and Buffy snapped, and punched her hard in the nose.

There was a sharp click of breaking bone.

Glory reeled backwards, shocked, blood covering her chin, and Buffy stared at her, not quite able to believe what she’d just done.

“I-” she began, but Glory swung at her, catching the side of Buffy’s face with her long fake red nails, scratching her, and Buffy tried to push her away but Glory caught her arms and gave her an almighty shove and Buffy hit the loveseat and lost her balance, landing on the floor with a hard thump, and then pain slammed through her and she looked down to see blood all over the floor, and screamed so loud half the household came running.

Chapter Five: Death or Glory

Spike paced up and down the hospital corridors, his face so pale it made his hair look darker, heavy boots thudding on the linoleum floors, nails digging into his palms. A door opened and he whirled around, but it was just a couple of nurses with piles of clipboards, heading towards the lift.

He turned away, heard the lift doors open then close, and then a voice said, “Hey there, Precious,” and he reached out without looking and grabbed Glory by the neck, slamming her against the wall.

“I should bloody kill you right here, right now,” he snarled, his face inches from hers, “eviscerate you and wrap your cheap, slimy guts around your scrawny little neck.”

“Hey, look, I’ve said I’m sorry,” Glory said, “but she did start it.”

“I don’t give a fuck who started it,” Spike rammed her back against the wall just a little harder, “you could have bloody killed her, and the baby. She could be dying in there,” he said, determined not to cry, “and they won’t sodding tell me anything.”

“She’s very healthy,” Glory said tentatively.

“Yeah, well, maybe she was until you fucking picked a fight with her,” Spike slammed his fist into her broken nose, and he heard a satisfying crack as the reset bones split apart again. “Now get out of here, don’t stop for help, I’m sure your plastic surgeon can fix that up nicely, and if you ever come near me or Buffy or the baby,” he closed his eyes and prayed there still was a baby, “ever again, I’ll fucking kill you.”

“You sound just like Buffy,” Glory whispered.

“Good for me,” Spike said, and shoved her to the floor. “Go on, fuck off.”

Glory scrambled away, into the lift, and Spike slid down the wall, head in hands, trying really hard not to cry. No one would tell him anything, they’d just rushed her away from him, out of sight, and told him to wait and be patient. How the hell could he be patient? She was bleeding, lots of bright red blood, and her eyes were closed, and the doctors kept yelling unfamiliar words to each other, medical words that sounded bad, and he was so sodding frightened...

“Mr. Dashwood?” someone asked, and Spike, as he had the rest of his life, didn’t bother to correct him. He looked up, and it was a doctor, the front of his white coat stained with blood.

“What? Is she okay? The baby-?”

“The baby’s heartbeat is a little fast,” the doctor said, “but it is strong. The bleeding has stopped - there was a minor placenta abruptio, but-”

“What does that mean? Is that bad?”

“It can be. But in your wife’s case,” the doctor added hurriedly, “it’s unlikely it will cause much harm. The placenta partially detached from the wall of the uterus, which is what caused the bleeding, but the damage was minor. Mrs. Dashwood is a strong, healthy woman. There shouldn’t be any complications.”

Spike let out a long breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding.

“So - they’ll both be okay?”

The doctor smiled. “They’ll both be fine.”

“Can I see her?”

“She’s sleeping now,” the doctor said, and then saw Spike’s face and added kindly, “but you can go and sit with her if you like, just so long as you promise not to disturb her. She’ll need a lot of rest.”

Spike barely heard the end of that as he dashed into Buffy’s room and saw her hooked up to a drip. Her face was pale, her lips white, her skin waxy. She looked very small and fragile, and he had to curb his first impulse, to rush over and throw his arms around her.

Instead he took a seat by her bed and touched her fingers gently.

“Buffy?”

She slept on.

“Buffy, love, they told me what happened. If it’s any consolation, you gave Glory a terrific broken nose. I smashed it up a little bit more for you, I know you’d want that. Soon as you’re back up to strength we’ll make a voodoo doll of her together, eh?”

Her lashes made shadows on her cheeks - or were they dark circles under her eyes?

“I haven’t been spending enough time with you, pet. Truth is, I don’t know what I’m doing up in the fields, either. Next couple of weeks, it’s just you and me, eh, love?”

He ran his hand over the large bump of her stomach under the blankets. Something stirred and he realised it was the baby kicking again. He smiled tiredly.

“See the kid’s getting on okay. Take more than a catfight to bring her down, I guess. Like mother, like daughter.”

Buffy’s eyelids fluttered. “Daughter?”

Spike looked up in surprise. “You’re awake - I’m sorry, love, I’m supposed to let you rest-”

She gave him a weary smile. “I’m sort of bored with resting.”

“Well, you’re gonna get a whole lot more bored with it, pet, ‘cos that’s all you’re gonna do from now until this kid makes itself known.”

She rolled her eyes. “You said you wanted a daughter?”

“Daughter, son, don’t care really. No, actually, a daughter. Little girl just like you.”

“What if she looks like you?”

“Then she’ll be an ugly bugger, but I’ll still love her.”

Buffy felt for his hand. “What happened to Glory?”

He squeezed her fingers angrily. “I re-broke her nose and threatened her with death if she ever came back.”

“No, really.”

“Yes, really. She could have done you some serious damage, love. I mean, I knew she was a psycho bitch, but I never thought... God, Buffy, if anything happened to you-”

“It didn’t.”

“It nearly did.” He touched the three long scratches down her face, the skin around them bright pink.

“Hey, now we match.”

“They’ll fade,” Spike said firmly. “They’ll go, and you’ll be fine.”

“They said I have to stay in here overnight,” Buffy said glumly.

“I’ll stay too.”

“You don’t have to-”

“Yeah,” Spike said, “I do. I’m not leaving you here all on your own.”

“And when we get home?” Buffy looked up at him. “And you go out to work all day and I’m sitting in bed, resting some more?”

“I’ll stay with you.”

“You can’t. Besides, we’d drive each other crazy.”

“Then-” Spike looked at a loss. “Well, your mum will be coming back over soon, and the little bit - or maybe Red and her girlfriend could come back up.”

“Willow?” Buffy thought about it. “I guess... Yeah, that might be cool... If Giles lets them loose from the museum.”

“He will if I have anything to do with it,” Spike said.

“Glory!” Ethan looked shocked as she walked in, looking sullen, bruises on her exposed neck and a plaster across her broken nose. “What happened?”

“That vicious little bitch broke my nose,” Glory threw herself at an eighteenth century chair.

“Buffy? How - why?”

“I was trying to get her out,” Glory said, “and she just flew at me. It was completely unprovoked.”

“Completely?” Ethan raised an eyebrow.

“Well, mostly.” Glory gave a catlike smile. “Anyway, I didn’t deserve this.”

“And your neck?”

“That was your son, threatening me.”

“She’s a bad influence.”

“Oh, please, he’s always threatening people-”

“She’s a bad influence,” Ethan said more firmly. “We have to try harder.”

“Well I thought she might have miscarried,” Glory sighed,” but she appears to be revoltingly healthy.”

Ethan drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair. “Did you mention Finn?”

“To her, not to him.”

“We need to step this up.”

Glory smiled.

Willow and Tara were waiting on the steps of Spellingdon Hall when Spike drove the Range Rover right up to the front door.

“Buffy,” Willow cried, “how are you feeling?”

“Okay,” Buffy lied. She was horribly tired, all she wanted to do was sleep. But she summoned a smile for her friends and let Spike help her up the steps into the house. Davis was there and he bowed to her, and Jones was hovering in the background, looking vaguely anxious. She pushed forward a wheelchair and Buffy laughed. “Spike, what is this?”

“You’re supposed to be resting, love, I don’t want you walking all over the place-”

“I won’t.”

“You bloody will, I know you. And look, pet,” he wheeled her over to where a section of the wooden panelling had been removed and an ornate iron grill took its place, “I got the elevator working.”

“I thought they were ‘lifts’ in this country?”

“Something this grand has to be called an elevator,” Spike grinned, opening the iron door and pushing her inside. The walls were panelled with oak, there was an Art Deco light in the centre, and velvet seats around the edges.

“Very cushy.”

Willow and Tara hopped in after them, and Spike hit a button. The elevator creaked a little, but it made its way up to the first floor without any major disasters. Nevertheless, Buffy found herself holding Spike’s hand all the way up.

“When was the last time this was used?”

“Oh, I dunno. 1920-something.”

“Oh, God. I think I prefer the stairs.”

They proceeded along the wide corridors, but Buffy soon realised they weren’t going in the right direction.

“Did you move our rooms, too?”

“No, love,” Spike was smirking, “just got something to show you.”

Willow and Tara were grinning. They knew what it was, but they wouldn’t tell Buffy, no matter how much she begged and pleaded.

Eventually, with Buffy sulking and pouting in the wheelchair, and Spike grinning widely, Willow and Tara pushed open a pair of double doors and Buffy entered a beautiful room, painted in pale pastel colours, with stars on the ceiling and fluffy animals dotted around. There was a dais on the far side, away from the muslined windows, and on it was a large crib with a lacy canopy. It was the most ornate thing she’d ever seen, and the most beautiful, and her eyes welled up.

“I’ve been fixing up the nursery, love,” Spike said as she looked around. “What d’you think?”

“It’s beautiful,” Buffy sobbed, and Willow and Tara tactfully withdrew.

“And through here,” he wheeled her over to another door, “is the nanny’s room, so she’ll always be on call. My old nanny has a niece who’s trained at Norland, I can get her up here in time for the birth. Highly recommended, keeping it in the family...”

But Buffy was frowning. “Nanny?”

“Well, yeah. Didn’t expect to have to come all the way out here yourself, did you?”

Buffy stared. “Where exactly are we?”

“South wing.”

“And our rooms are...”

“North bit of the main house.”

“The main house which is several acres across.”

“Yeah. Bit of a trek, especially in the middle of the night. Look, I know how you’ve been missing your sleep-”

“You want to put our baby in a nursery wing on the other side of the house with a total stranger?”

Spike suddenly detected her tone of voice. Ah. Maybe she wasn’t totally happy about it.

“It’s the way it’s always been done, pet,” he said, kneeling down in front of her. “She’s properly trained, Norland’s one of the best-”

“A nanny?” Buffy repeated, staring around. “Spike, I don’t want my baby being brought up by a stranger on the far side of a house that’s bigger than Sunnydale. Do you know how damaging it is for a child to be brought up without its parents?”

“Hey, it worked for me.”

“You hate your parents! You despise your father and he never sees you. Spike, he walked out of your wedding. I don’t want that with our children.”

If Spike noticed the plural, he ignored it. “So what do you want? Crib in our room? Waking up every half hour because the baby can’t sleep? Changing nappies yourself? Buffy, we have all these rooms-”

“But why do we have to use the ones that are so far away?”

“Because that’s how it’s always been done!”

“You’re doing this because of tradition?”

“Well, what the hell else am I supposed to do? I’ve never done this before. I’m sorry if I don’t have any great paternal instincts kicking in, but I don’t know what this is all about. Maybe you see something when you look on the ultrasound, but all I see is a blob. I don’t have hormones to hide behind. I don’t have instincts to help me out here. The only thing I know what to do is what people in my family have always done, and you know something else?” He gestured around the lovely room. “I did this for you. I was trying to help. Screw you if you don’t want it.”

And with that, he got up and walked out, and Buffy yelled after him, but the only people to come in were Willow and Tara.

Buffy put her head down and cried.

Worse was to come. Willow helped her into bed and Tara mixed up some aromatherapy oils to calm her down, and Buffy was just curling up to try and sleep some of it away when the phone rang.

“You want me to get it?” Willow asked.

Buffy nodded. “If it’s Jones tell her I still haven’t got my bathroom light fixed.”

Willow picked up the phone. “Hello? Er, Lady Buffy’s room.”

“It’s Lady Dashwood,” Buffy sniffed, half to herself. “I don’t get to be Lady Buffy, not ever.”

“Oh,” Willow said. “Buffy, it’s an outside call. It’s your sister.”

Buffy thought about talking to Dawn, and knew that in the state she was in, she’d just collapse into more tears. Talking to home made her so tearful these days.

“Can you ask her to call back later? Tell her I’m asleep. Or ill.”

Willow looked doubtful, but she nodded and said, “Hey, Dawnie. Buffy’s been having a rough day and she’s got to try and get some sleep, so how about you give her a call later, maybe? ...Oh. Well, I-” she glanced at Buffy. “I guess you should speak to her, then...”

Buffy looked up, puzzled, as Willow held out the phone and whispered, “She says it’s really important. About your mom.”

Oh, God, Mom. She’d been getting more of her migraines recently and Buffy hadn’t wanted to talk to her too much in case the phone radiowaves made it worse or something. Often Joyce had to go in a dark room and lie in silence all day until her head was better.

“Dawn?”

“Buffy,” Dawn sounded terribly relieved. “I have to talk to you.” Was her voice wobbling? “It’s Mom. She’s really sick.”

Buffy sat up. “How sick?”

“I don’t know what’s wrong with her. They keep using long words and I don’t understand. They took her in for scans and there’s something - I don’t know, like a tumour? She won’t tell me. Like she’s trying to protect me.”

Buffy felt hot and cold all over, all at the same time. “A tumour? Where?”

“In her head.” Dawn was sniffing hard, her voice squeaking as she tried not to cry. “Buffy, I’m scared.”

You’re not the only one, Buffy thought. “Listen, Dawn, is Mom there?”

“No, she’s at the hospital.”

“Where are you?”

“Xander’s.”

“Is he there? Can you pass him over?”

Xander came on the line, and she could tell from his tone of voice that he was desperately worried, even though his words were cheerful. “Hey, Buffster. How’s her Ladyship?”

“More like her LadyTitanic,” Buffy joked feebly. “I’m huge. Xander, what is all this about Mom?”

Xander gave a short sigh. “Those migraines she gets? Turns out they weren’t just headaches. Her doctor sent her for tests and it’s some sort of tumour. They’re trying to figure out how benign it is.”

“Benign?”

“Yeah, whether it’s cancerous or not. I’m pretty sure not,” he added quickly.

“And if it is?”

“Well, then they can operate to remove it. She’s gonna be okay, Buff. She’s gonna be fine.”

Buffy talked to him a bit more, then Dawn again, then she lay back on her pillows and closed her eyes, tears leaking out.

“Will?” she called. “You there?”

The bedroom door opened and Willow’s head came round. “You okay? Was it bad news?”

“My mom has a tumour. They’re going to operate on her.”

Willow looked appalled. She came in, Tara close behind, came over and hugged Buffy. “But I’m sure she’ll be fine,” she said. “Your mom seemed pretty healthy to me.”

Buffy clutched her friend’s hand. “But, but... what if she’s not?”

Clem found his lord and master sitting in the darkened conservatory, now clean of the blood Buffy had spilled everywhere, a bottle of bourbon in front of him, half of it gone. Spike sat there glaring into the dark garden, the rose maze planted by his great grandmother, the fountain commissioned by his great aunt, the Temple of Athena some potty relative had built up in the hills a couple of centuries ago.

All this was his, yet all he ever seemed to do to it was screw it up.

“Clem,” he said, making his estate manager jump, for he hadn’t realised he’d been seen, “you want all this?”

“All what? The house? The estate?”

“All of it. I don’t want it. I’m giving it away. All it’s ever done is mess things up.”

“Did you fight with Buffy again?”

Spike downed another shot. “She didn’t like the nursery.”

“I thought it was very pretty. Or was it too pretty? Maybe she was hoping for a boy.”

“Everyone’s sodding hoping for a boy. A glorious heir. You know Mum told me when Darla was born my dad didn’t speak to her for three days, because he’d wanted a boy so much. And then look what he got,” he spread his hands.

“You haven’t turned out so badly.”

“I knocked up an American teenager.”

“She’s twenty-two.”

“Thought you didn’t like her, Clem?”

“I was prepared to not like her. She’s grown on me.”

“Yeah? Well, everyone else hates her. The servants, Dad, bloody Glory...”

“Glory’s always been a problem.”

“Damn right she has. I never thought she’d stoop so low... You know she’s not allowed anywhere on the grounds now, right mate? Nowhere near Buffy or the house or anything. I don’t care what Dad says. She nearly killed Buffy.”

“I didn’t think it was that bad.”

“Yeah? I read up on that placenta abdominator or whatever it was called. You know it can kill either the mother or child, or both? The mortality rate’s about thirty percent.”

Clem looked shocked. “She really could have died?”

“Yeah. Because of an abdominal injury. Caused by Glory shit-stirring,” Spike suddenly grabbed his shot glass and aimed it at Aunt Rosemary’s ornamental fountain, where it fell, eventually, after smashing through two panes of conservatory glass.

There was silence for a while as the glass settled. Clem said nothing. Spike glared moodily at the dark garden.

“You think she’s asleep?”

Clem doubted that anyone was asleep after that crash, but he shrugged. “She could be.”

“I should go see her.”

He couldn’t think of anything to say to dissuade Spike.

“Be gentle.”

“Of course I’ll be sodding gentle. I’m not bloody Glory.”

Spike stomped back through the house, ignoring the servants who came running to see what the smash had been, and loped up the stairs two at a time to his room. He paused in the little sitting room outside, stood at the bottom of the stairs, listened carefully.

There was nothing. She was asleep.

He pushed open the doors and what he saw nearly broke his heart. Buffy had had the big crib moved into the room, just by the bed, and she was curled loosely under the covers with a big teddy bear in her arms. Her eyes were pink and her face was damp from crying.

He rushed over. “Buffy, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know it would hurt you like that. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Buffy, I’m sorry...”

Her eyes opened and her lashes were glistening wet. She must have been crying for hours and not stopped very long ago.

“Spike?”

“Yes, love.”

“My mom’s sick. She has a brain tumour.”

For a second Spike was relieved that she wasn’t crying so broken-heartedly over the nursery - of course, Buffy would just get on and do what she wanted, no crying, bugger him - and then he realised what she’d said, and he felt horribly cold all over.

“Will she be alright?”

Buffy shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know. I want to go there but I can’t, the airlines won’t take me and the doctors won’t let me and you want to keep me wrapped up in cotton wool and...” she dissolved into tears, and didn’t resist when Spike put his arms around her. “Spike, I’m so scared.”

“She’ll be fine, Buffy. I know she will,” Spike said, but he didn’t believe himself.

Chapter Six: Sex, lies, and webcams

They agreed on a compromise: a part time nanny would be employed, probably just during the daytime but also maybe a few nights so that Buffy and Spike could get some sleep. The crib would be in the next room and a baby monitor would be set up. Spike insisted on getting the best he could, and set up a webcam overlooking the baby’s crib. Buffy thought that was quite ridiculous, and told him so, but she was very pleased that he was trying so hard.

She eventually managed to get a number for Joyce at the hospital and spoke to her mother for a long time. Buffy was more concerned about the tumour than her own impending motherhood, but Joyce dismissed talk of headaches and biopsies and scans with questions about the baby.

Buffy chose not to tell her mother about Glory. She didn’t need to think about it. So Ethan hated her, and now Glory too... Ethan had just tried to buy her off, but Glory... Glory had gone further.

She was glad that Spike had CCTV set up around the house, an intercom on the gate, put someone in the gatehouse after a long absence, someone to check on everyone coming and going. He said that it was because so many people had tried to kill him before, but he didn’t look at Buffy when he said it, and she knew when he was bluffing. She loved him all the more for it.

Check-ups at the hospital got more and more frequent and Spike stayed with her all the time, driving more carefully than she’d ever known - or would ever have guessed - he could. Willow and Tara offered to make the drive, but Spike wouldn’t hear of it, taking Buffy out to the car and fastening her seatbelt himself.

“I’m not made of glass,” she told him.

“Yes, you are. Glass with an egg in it.”

“Bit more than an egg, now.”

“Sounds like a hangover cure,” Spike said.

“Well, the sight of me could scare anyone into sobriety.”

He leaned across the car and kissed her. “You’re as beautiful as you ever were.”

She smiled. “Liar.”

Spike still insisted she go everywhere in the wheelchair, which annoyed Buffy slightly, but secretly she was relieved. She severely doubted her legs could carry her weight for any more than the few steps from bed to wheelchair or wheelchair to bath. Spike had to bathe her, which he enjoyed immensely, because it took Buffy about an hour to get in and out of the bath by herself.

He pulled up in front of the house and came round to help her out of the high car, then up the steps into the house. Buffy had the feeling that if he could have lowered the house to ground level, he would. As it was, she was continually telling him she could manage the steps and didn’t need a ramp for the chair.

They went upstairs and he ran a bath for her and helped her in, but as Buffy was choosing bath salts the phone rang.

“Be right back,” Spike said, kissing her forehead, and went out through her dressing room to answer it. “Y’ello?”

“My lord,” it was Davis, “you have a visitor.”

“Well, whoever it is can wait. I’m busy.”

“It’s Lady Glory, sir.”

“Don’t let her in.”

“I’m afraid she is already in, sir. She jumped the fallen wall, in the top field?”

Spike nearly broke the handset. “She what?” he said, his voice low and measured.

“She came across country, sir. On her horse.”

Spike banged his head against the wall. “Where is she?”

“The green drawing room, sir.”

Spike slammed down the phone. He counted to ten. Then when could act a bit calmer, he went back to Buffy and said, “I have to just run out to the stables. Lucy’s cast herself.”

“What?”

“Fell over, pet. Just need to wait with her until the vet comes. You don’t mind, do you?”

She shook her head. “Of course not. I think it’s kinda sweet you’re so concerned about her.”

He kissed her briefly then strode through the bedroom to his own dressing room, withdrew his matching Heckler & Koch .45 pistols and stomped downstairs, into the green drawing room, and aimed both guns at Glory.

“Precious is in a bad mood,” she said, stretching a little. She was wearing a riding outfit so tight it could have been sprayed on: white breeches that clung to every curve, tall shiny black boots, a black hip-length coat and even a frilly white cravat, topped off with a little black satin covered hard hat over her blonde curls. She was tapping a riding crop suggestively against her thigh.

“You look fucking stupid,” said Spike, who usually rode his horses in the same outfit he did everything else. “Get out of my house before I shoot you.”

“Only came to see how you’re doing.”

“I’m doing great. You have until ten.”

“And Buffy?”

“That’s Lady Dashwood to you. Two. Three.”

“All right, how’s Lady Dashwood?”

“Barely recovered from your attack.”

“And the baby?”

“We don't know yet. Could be half dead. And if it is, then I’m going to have to kill you. Six. Seven.”

“Oh, hey Precious,” Glory pouted, “you wouldn’t do that. I’m your own flesh and blood.”

Spike stared at her. Delusional cow. “No, you’re not.”

“By law I am. Did you know that if you and Darla and Harmony all die, then I’m the earl’s heir?”

“What, did some of that home perm stuff get into your head? An earldom can only be inherited by a male heir. Although maybe that’s why your arse looks so lopsided, Glory, because it’s fake and you’re really a bloke.”

“Hey, that’s not nice-”

“No, well, neither am I. You seem to have forgotten, love, that I’m not a very nice person. There’s a reason I got called William the Bloody at school and it wasn’t my bloody awful poetry. Now unless I’m very much mistaken I have two high calibre guns here and they’re both aimed at you so unless you get your skanky little arse out of here before I reach the count of ten, I’ll shoot you. Eight. Nine.”

Glory didn’t move. Spike moved one pistol a little and shot the sofa directly to her left.

Then she moved.

“What, are you nuts? You could have killed me! God, Spike, you’re such a bad aim.”

“No, I was aiming for the sofa. And now,” he moved the gun, “I’m aiming at you. Ten.”

Fear showed in her face. “All right, I’m going. Sheesh, no need to get suicidal about it.”

Spike rolled his eyes in exasperation. “It’s homicidal, you complete dink. Go on, fuck off.”

Glory went, but not without popping over and pressing kissed fingers to his ear. “See you later, Precious.”

“Not if I see you first.”

As she left, Davis walked in. “Target practice, sir?”

“Yeah. Call the upholsterer.”

“I have him on speed dial, my lord.”

Spike sheathed the guns and went back up to Buffy, who was struggling to get out of the bath. “I heard a gunshot, what happened?”

He pulled her to her feet, wet and slippery against him. “Stupid bloody new maid cleaning the guns over the fireplace. One of them went off.”

“Was she hurt? Is everyone okay?”

“There’s a small hole in one of the uglier sofas, but I think it’ll survive.”

Buffy smiled. Spike was holding her very close. “Spike?”

“Mmm?”

“Remember how I said I thought I was going off sex?”

He made a face. “Yes?”

“Well, I think I’ve been off it long enough.”

He looked at her. “Really?”

She nodded. “If I’m not putting you off, that is.”

“Are you kidding, love?” He traced the healing scratches on her face. “I could shag you right up until the delivery room.”

“Don’t you think the doctors would be a little bit put off?”

“Where do they think babies come from in the first place?”

Buffy laughed. She’d been spending a lot of time lately with the girls, sitting watching movies when it was too hot to go outside, finding paints for Tara to make pictures of the landscape, internet surfing with Willow, who kept finding lots of babycare sites and forums and adorable little babyclothes to buy online. But Buffy didn’t want to buy too much, not just yet. Some superstition in her told her not to until the baby had come.

She looked up at her husband and felt a wave of love. God, look at him, so damn good looking. It’s not fair he’s as hot as that while I’m all bloated and swollen. Why on earth does he still want me?

Spike carried her out to the bedroom, laid her on the bed and dried her all over. Then he proceeded to get her quite wet all over, licking everywhere, tasting her skin, breathing in the scent that surrounded him at night, but he had to steel himself not to touch.

And now he touched. He kissed her swollen, sensitive breasts, her massive stomach and pushed-out bellybutton, her curvy thighs and eventually parted her legs and licked her right where he’d been wanting to for weeks. Buffy moaned and writhed.

“God, Spike, I want you...”

“Not as much as I want you, pet,” Spike said, lifting his head and getting to his feet. He had her lying on the edge of the bed while he stood between her legs. Now he raised her knees and slid deep into her, and Buffy let out a high gasp.

“Oh, that’s good, don’t stop, Spike, don’t stop...”

He grinned. “I don’t intend to.”

He made full use of her sudden return to form and made love to her over and over, until Buffy lay back, exhausted, and declared she’d never move again.

“So that’s how I get you to rest.”

“Not quite what the doctor ordered.”

“Well, no, but a whole lot more fun.”

She fell asleep spooned against him, and Spike held her close. “Love you, Summers,” he said, and she replied drowsily, “I know.”

“No, my lady, his orders were quite clear,” Davis said. “I’m afraid you’re to be taken off the grounds, and your horse too.”

Glory stamped her foot. “But I’m his sister,” she said.

“Stepsister, with all due respect,” Davis said, thinking that that wasn’t a lot of respect. “I’m afraid-”

“Oh, stop being so damn afraid,” Glory said. “I just brought a gift for the baby,” she opened her satchel and took out a teddy bear. “See? Isn’t that adorable?”

“Quite, my lady. I shall see that it is delivered.”

“Oh, but it can’t hurt to take it up there myself,” Glory wheedled. “I promise I won’t go anywhere near Lady Dashwood’s rooms. Just to the nursery. Is it where it always used to be?”

Davis opened his mouth to say no, then he nodded and said, “Yes, my lady. Ten minutes, and I shall be waiting back down here.”

Glory knew where it was, because Harmony had shown her around the house ages ago, and she made her way to the south wing as quickly as she could, looked around the slightly bare room, and frowned.

She caught a passing maid outside. “What happened to the nursery? It looks a bit bleak.”

“Oh, it’s not the nursery any more. The baby will have a room next to his lordship’s.”

Glory nodded, her eyes narrowed. “Uh-huh. I see. Well, then,” she waved the teddy bear, “I’ll have to take him there, won’t I?”

She strode off before the maid, who was new, could quite figure out who she was. One of her ladyship’s American friends, probably.

Glory found Spike and Buffy’s rooms, but even she wasn’t crazy enough to go in. She could hear lots of happy gasping noises coming from within, and rolled her eyes. Ugh. Must be like fucking a sealion.

She went to the room next door, which was prettily decorated with fluffy things and lots of toys and mobiles, and tucked her teddy bear down with all the rest, facing the crib. She reached in the gap in its back, and flicked on the little hidden transmitter inside. Then she fiddled with the webcam Spike had set up until she was happy.

Ah, perfect.

She took a notepad from her bag, wrote a little note and pinned it on the outside of the crib, facing the camera set up to the monitor in Buffy and Spike’s room. As an afterthought, she took off her riding jacket, removed her black and red bra, and dropped it in the baby’s crib, then fastened her jacket back over her bare breasts. Hell to ride a horse braless, but worth it later. Besides, it wasn’t a horse she was planning on riding.

Then she went downstairs, smiled at Davis, and allowed him to escort her and her horse off the grounds, chattering happily to him all the while.

Buffy slept soundly for the first time in weeks, and Spike lay awake looking at her. She was so beautiful, her hair falling softly over her shoulders, her hand up by her face, curled around the pillow. She was lovely. And she was his.

He stretched a little and glanced over at the baby monitor, which they’d left on to get used to the glow.

And then he looked properly.

And then he scrambled out of bed, pulled on his jeans, and raced next door.

Glory’s note said, “Not as invincible as you think, Precious. I need to talk to you about Buffy and the baby. It’s very important. Meet me at the Ten Bells tonight - I’ll be there all night.”

He crumpled the note in his fist and threw it out of the window, wanting to yell but afraid of waking Buffy. He didn’t want to see Glory - if he did, he might kill her, but, oh God, if she knew something... If it was about that day when she’d hurt Buffy, if something else had happened they didn’t know about, it could be damaging and he needed to know.

“Bollocks,” he said, going back into his room and pulling on his boots and a shirt. He pressed kissed fingers to Buffy’s hair, then left, walking out into the warm dark night.

Willow and Tara slept curled together in the middle of a deliciously large bed, both naked, in deference to the heat as much as each other. Outside the air was thick and heavy, the sun hadn’t been out much and Tara said a storm was coming.

“Wake me,” Willow said, “if there’s lightning.”

“Are you afraid of it?”

“No, I like to watch it.”

“I don’t like storms,” Tara confessed.

“Ah, baby, then I’ll watch and you can hide,” Willow pulled her girlfriend close, “right here.”

But it wasn’t the storm that woke either of them. It was the telephone.

“Oh God,” Willow said, “what if it’s Joyce?”

“I think that’s an internal ring,” Tara said. “We’d better answer.”

Willow reached over and picked up. “Hello?”

“Willow? It’s Buffy. I know it’s the middle of the night, but I have a problem. Could you come over?”

Willow rubbed sleep out of her eyes. “Isn’t Spike there? Or is this a, er, a girlie problem?”

“No, it’s - it’s something different. Can you come over?”

Willow said she would and replaced the receiver, frowning. “She wants me to go over.”

“It’s the middle of the night!”

“I know.” Willow pushed back the covers. “So it must be important.”

She grabbed her pyjamas and pulled them on. “Coming?”

“I suppose so,” Tara said, rather intrigued.

They made their way through the dark house, which was slightly spooky when it was so empty of light and people, and even spookier when the distant rumble of thunder shook through the ancient corridors. Willow felt for her girlfriend’s hand as they walked, and Tara held it tight.

Buffy was pacing her bedroom floor, and Spike was gone. Willow started to ask what was going on, when Buffy pointed to the computer monitor set up on the far side of the room. The lights on the computer gave off an eerie green glow.

“Is that it?” Willow asked. “You can’t sleep for the glow?”

“No,” Buffy said. “Look. It’s supposed to be showing the baby’s room but it’s not, and when I tried to check the connection it was showing something else in the, the loop or whatever. Giles said you’re really good with computers, can you fix it?”

Willow gave her a look of incredulity. This was what she’d been called out for in the middle of the night?

“I’m not crazy,” Buffy said. “It’s just I can’t sleep anyway and - and I don’t know where Spike’s gone, he’s not answering his cell, and there’s something wrong, I know it.”

“It’s okay,” Tara said. “Willow’ll figure it out. She’s really good with computers and stuff.”

Willow nodded reassuringly and sat down at the computer. She clicked through a few pages of code, frowning.

“There’s another device attached... I’m not sure how... Wait a sec...”

She got up and left the room, and Tara was left smiling awkwardly at Buffy.

“So, how’s it going?”

“Oh, great,” Buffy said. “My stepsister-in-law tried to kill me and my husband has gone missing. My mother is in hospital and my sixteen year old sister is all alone nine thousand miles away. All I need now is a miscarriage and everything will be great.”

“Oh,” Tara said.

“I’m sorry,” Buffy gave her a smile, “I’m sort of on edge. I tend to make things over dramatic.”

“It’s okay, you’re just worried,” Tara said, and Willow came back in. “What is it? Did you figure it out?”

Willow nodded, still frowning, looking vaguely puzzled. “There is another device, and I’m not sure how it’s connected - the signal is overriding the webcam... Hold on...”

She tapped a few keys, clicked the mouse a few times, and a picture flickered up on screen. “Oh, thank you-” Buffy began, and then she realised what the picture was. “Is that the Ten Bells?”

Willow and Tara looked at each other. “Uh, maybe we got into the wrong loop,” Willow said, and was about to close the window when Buffy’s hand shot out and grabbed her wrist.

“That’s Glory.”

“Oh, is that her?”

“She’s pretty,” Tara said doubtfully.

“She’s rank,” Buffy said, and Willow nodded.

“Really trashy. What, is that riding outfit sprayed on?”

“Well, yes,” Tara said meekly, “I guess she’s a bit unsubtle...”

“Is that Spike?” Willow said, and there was a fabulous lightning strike at exactly the same moment.

They watched Spike pick up a large tumbler of something highly potent and down it, Glory was clearly flirting, touching Spike’s sleeve, looking up at him adoringly.

Willow and Tara were frozen.

“She’s just messing around,” Buffy said. “She’s just doing it to piss me off, she’s...”

She stumbled backwards and grabbed the phone by her bed, and stabbed the redial button. On screen, they all watched as Spike ignored the ringing phone on the pub table and Glory picked it up.

“Hello?”

“Glory? Why do you have Spike’s phone?”

“Who is this?”

“You know who it is. I’m his wife. Remember?”

Glory smiled up at Spike, who was getting pissed and maudlin pretty quickly. He’d been careless enough to leave his phone out on the table when he went to the gents, and it had taken only a few seconds for Glory to switch his SIM card for hers. Her phone had been ringing silently all night for him, and he’d thought they were all Glory’s calls.

“Is there something I can do for you, sweetie?”

“You can hand me over to him. Right now.”

“I don’t think that’s going to be possible. He said he doesn’t want to speak to you. Baby,” she looked up at Spike, “I’m just gonna take this outside, where the signal’s better?”

He shrugged like he didn’t care.

“The hell you will,” Buffy yelled, but they could already see her leaving the view on the computer screen. “Willow, Tara, get me the number of that pub, I need to speak to Spike now.”

“I just told you, sweetie,” Glory said, background noise fading away and rain drumming heavily above her as she stood in the pub’s little vestibule, “he’s not interested. He’s spent all night telling me what a godawful screw you are. He fucked you tonight just to shut you up. You think he likes boning a whale?”

“Shut up,” Buffy said, tears coming to her eyes.

“He knows the baby’s not his anyway,” Glory went on blithely, “he doesn’t really care. As soon as it’s born he’s declaring it his legal heir and divorcing you.”

“Okay, you know what?” Buffy said. “As soon as I’ve had this baby I’m gonna come and kick your ass for talking so much bullshit. You’ve tried to split us up before and I don’t know what your game is but-”

“Did he try that little trick where he puts ice on the back of your neck?” Glory said, and Buffy shut up. “He discovered it in college. Man, we had some fun with that.”

She’s making it up, Buffy told herself, but Glory’s next question made her knees buckle and she collapsed onto the bed.

“Did he do the thing with the coffee and the ice cube? Wow, that was the best orgasm I have ever, ever had. The bit where he rubs the ice right down over your-”

“Shut up!” Buffy screamed.

“Oh, sweetie baby, didn’t he ever do that one on you? I guess after he figured out about Riley he sort of lost interest, huh? You haven’t been screwing that much lately. Even someone as horny as Spike can’t bring himself to put it in a goddamn elephant like you. Not that I mind, of course,” she purred, “it’s all to my advantage. You know, last week, while you were watching Steel Magnolias with your lesbian friends and telling each other that at least you don’t have diabetes, I was handcuffing your husband to the steering wheel in that big comfy car of his and screwing his brains out.”

“You’re lying-”

“Am I? Ask him what he was doing this afternoon? That gunshot? Well, you know how he likes to play rough-”

“You are talking so much crap-”

“So tell me how my bra ended up in your baby’s nursery?” Glory said, and Buffy covered the phone and said to Willow, “Go check. The nursery.”

“What for?” Buffy closed her eyes. “Lingerie.”

Willow frowned, but off she went, leaving Tara to sit and watch Spike getting drunker and drunker on the monitor. A few seconds later Willow was back, anxiously holding up a rather tacky stripper-type bra.

“You planted it there,” Buffy said, her voice low and almost steady.

“If that’s what you want to tell yourself,” Glory said, and sauntered back into the pub, unfastening her jacket as she did. She walked up to Spike, turned him round to be in full view of the camera she’d planted earlier, and ostentatiously dropped her phone in his glass.

Then she hooked an arm around his neck and kissed him and Spike, completely picked as a result of all the spiked drinks Glory had been feeding him, felt only a warm mouth on his and kissed her back. His hands slipped under her open jacket and Buffy caught a glimpse of bare breast before she finally got to the computer and pulled out the power cable.

For a few seconds, there was silence. Willow and Tara didn’t need to have listened to know what was going on.

“Willow,” Buffy said eventually, “did you bring a car?”

“No, but Spike lent us one of the estate cars to drive while we’re here...”

Buffy nodded. “Get your things and meet me at the car in five minutes. All your things.”

“What’s going on?” Tara asked nervously. “You want us to leave?”

“No, I want me to leave,” Buffy said. “I have to get out of here. I have to leave this house. I have to go. I have to get out. I have to leave.” She started looking around, her hands darting here and there. “I need clothes. Spare clothes. And the things for the baby-”

“You’re not going into labour are you?” Willow asked in shock.

“No! I just have to get out! We have to go. I have to go. Please, Will, Tara, help me?”

She grabbed their arms and her grip was horribly strong.

“We’ll help you,” Tara said, and Willow nodded, and then they both ran to their own room.

“I think she’s gone crazy,” Willow said as she pulled on some clothes and threw her pyjamas into her suitcase.

“I think she’s just in shock,” Tara said. “She’s just found out Spike’s cheating on her-”

“He was kissing her, that’s not like real cheating,” Willow said.

“You ever kiss another woman and I’ll consider it cheating,” Tara said with rare sharpness.

“I’m sorry, baby, I didn’t mean - I just mean, he was really drunk and, and it’s not like he’s sleeping with her, right?”

Tara looked worried.

“Right?” Willow repeated.

Tara couldn’t think of anything to say.

“Men are such bastards,” Willow said, and slammed her suitcase shut.

Spike realised what he was doing as soon as his hand went inside Glory’s jacket. Those were not Buffy’s breasts - wait, that wasn’t Buffy’s hair, or her hands or her lips of anything!

He shoved Glory away from him and stared in horror at her. Everyone else in the pub cheered and she executed a little bow.

Spike reached over the bar, grabbed the nearest bottle, and smashed it over Glory’s head.

The bar went silent as she slithered to the floor in a pool of blood and broken glass. The landlord picked up his phone and dialled for the police.

“So where are we going?” Willow asked as they bounced down the drive, Buffy holding onto herself and wincing. The car Spike had lent Willow was one of the ancient rusting Defenders and any suspension it had ever had had died years ago.

“How far are we from Yorkshire?”

“We’re in it. Aren’t we?”

Tara nodded. “But it’s a big place. Three counties.”

“Which one is Giles’s cottage in?”

“His shooting cottage? North Yorkshire.”

Tara got out a map and squinted at it in the darkness. There was no interior light in the car.

“I don’t think it’s all that far,” she said. “If you can get to the, uh, A1, then I think it’s not too far...”

“Good,” Buffy said, and gripped her seatbelt hard as they went over another pothole and she felt her whole body jar.

When they got onto a regular road it was easier, and the three girls fell silent, Tara dozing in the back of the car, Buffy staring straight ahead along the motorway, trying not to think about how foolish she’d been. All this time she’d thought Spike didn’t mind not having sex, and all this time he’d been screwing Glory. That vile little tramp! When she’d confronted Buffy in the conservatory, it wasn’t about family pride, it was about getting her lover back.

‘Precious,’ she thought, and one of the Shakespeare quotes she’d absorbed came back to her. ‘Wherefore speaks he this to her he hates?’

Oh God, I’ve been so stupid.

The storm was in full force, and Buffy’s depressed and shocked mind was starting to think they’d be on the road forever when suddenly Willow took a turning down a horribly muddy road and Buffy spied something familiar.

“This is it, we’re nearly there.”

Except that last time she’d been here was with Spike. The first time they’d slept together. And the second, and the third, fourth, fifth... Buffy had lost count. It had only been one night.

She pressed her hand to her huge belly. She wondered if it had been then they’d made the baby - oh, but no, it must have been later. In that tiny cottage by the loch in Scotland. They’d spent weeks doing very little but eat, sleep and make love. In fact, that was all they ever seemed to do. There was no connection. Who was she fooling? They knew nothing about each other. All she knew was that he had dreadful punky taste in music and he’d been shagging his stepsister.

“This is it,” she said as Willow stopped the car.

“This is it?” Tara said doubtfully. “It looks kinda... rustic.”

“It’s a little bit basic,” Buffy said, “but it’ll - oh, God!”

She gripped the car door and slithered down to the mud, the rain lashing her face.

“What?” Willow rushed around in alarm and Tara scrambled from the car. “Buffy, what is it?”

Buffy looked down. It was dark, and she was muddy, but she knew that the dark stain on her skirt was blood. “I think that was my first contraction,” she whispered.

Willow and Tara stared at each other in horror.

“Can I get inside?” Buffy pointed to the cottage, which was tantalisingly close. The girls pulled her to her feet and half carried her into the tiny stone building, which had a fireplace and a big stone sink, and a bed in one corner. Tara flicked on the stark, bare bulb, and they laid Buffy down on the bed. She was covered in mud and blood and neither of them were sure if it was rainwater that soaked her face, or sweat.

“You get everything in from the car,” Willow said to Tara, “I’ll call 911.”

“999,” Buffy corrected. “I don’t think it’s that bad. I mean, aren’t you supposed to be in labour for hours after your first contraction? My mom said with me it was a day and a half,” she said, and gave a little smile, hoping desperately that it’d be different with her. Just a couple of hours, a bit of pushing, and a nice healthy baby she could take away from Spike and never allow him to see. Just like she’d planned in the first place. Stupid men, getting in the way of all her plans-

“Damn,” Willow muttered.

“What?”

“I can’t get any signal on my phone. Does your have a different network?”

But Buffy’s phone didn’t work either, and when Tara slammed the door shut against the storm and handed hers over, it was dead.

“I don’t suppose this place has a phone line?” Willow asked without much hope.

“It doesn’t even have hot water,” Buffy said. “The toilet is in a hut outside.”

“Well, then I - I guess we should find some wood for that fire and heat up some water,” Tara said.

“What for?”

“I d-don’t know, in films they always get hot water when someone’s in labour.”

“And scissors,” Willow said.

“Oh God,” Buffy said, and grabbed hold of Willow’s hand as another contraction shot through her.

“Is she supposed to be bleeding like that?” Tara whispered to Willow as she folded Buffy’s bloody clothes in a pile by the sink.

“I don’t know. I’m not sure. I don’t know anything about having babies,” Willow whispered back.

“Me neither. Except you have to be really clean, because of all those infant deaths in Elizabethan London from midwives not washing their hands, remember?”

Willow nodded and managed a brief smile, remembering the essay.

“It’s kinda hard to keep clean with all the blood, though,” she said, glancing back at Buffy, who lay with her eyes closed, the sheets and blankets around her bright red and soaked through.

“Have you tried 999 again?”

Willow nodded. “I think the storm must have brought a transmitter down or something. I’m getting nothing here.”

“We could try to get her in the car and-“

Willow shook her head. “It’s nearly out of gas. We’d get down the drive and that’s it. We’re stuck here.”

“Willow?” Buffy said, clutching her friend’s sleeve, “what time is it?”

“It’s nearly four.”

“How long have I been in labour?”

“Um, about six hours.”

“That’s not so bad.” She closed her eyes again and gripped Willow’s hand hard. “I think that’s another one,” she whispered, and her whole body tensed and jerked and she cried out, tears leaking all over. “They’re getting closer, right?”

“Yeah,” Willow said, “closer.”

But they’d been getting closer for hours, and as the storm got fiercer, so did Buffy’s pain. She knew something was wrong, because she was bleeding so much and she was in more or less constant pain. It was getting so she could hardly tell when a contraction happened, because it was just a little more pain in a big world of Ow.

“Any luck with the phones?”

Willow shook her head. “We’ll keep trying.”

“It’s getting light,” Buffy said.

“Yep.”

“Why is it getting light?”

“Uh, because it’s morning?”

“But, but no baby...”

“Well, you said your mom was in labour for a day and a half,” Willow said.

“She didn’t... It was all gradual... When she had Dawn, I remember,” Buffy fought the wave of pain crushing her, “there was pain and then... she pushed and then...”

“I’m not sure you’re ready for the pushing,” Tara said.

“But, but it’s so close, they’re so close...”

Willow and Tara exchanged a look. They didn’t need to be medical experts to know something was very wrong.

“Oh God,” Buffy moaned, gripping Willow’s hand so hard something snapped, “oh...”

Willow bit down on her lip, determined not to cry out, and Tara grabbed her wrist, “Oh God, baby, is something broken?”

But Willow wasn’t paying attention to her hand. Buffy’s head was lolling to one side. Her eyes were closed. She wasn’t moving.

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