“Oh my God! I can’t believe you actually snuck this by me...” Buffy looked around at the women gathered in her mother’s living room. She’d had no idea whatsoever that a baby shower had been in the works for her (and the baby, of course), so when she walked through her front door after a rather long day at work she was surprised to see all of her friends, her mother, and her employer waiting for her.

“Buffy, you really didn’t think that we’d pass up a tradition like this, did you?” Joyce walked over and helped her daughter with her bag and coat and ushered her to a comfortable seat placed at the centre of the room. “Now sit down and put your feet up--I’ll go get you a cold drink, then we can start the fun.”

The young woman watched her mother disappear into the kitchen, then turned to those who were gathered around her: there was her boss, Pauline, and--of course--Willow, Tara, and Anya. “You guys all knew about this, and managed to keep it from me?” She turned to Anya in particular. “Especially you! You’re the worst when it comes to secrets. How did you manage?”

The ex-vengeance demon frowned and glared at Willow. “Hmph. Threats were made. Involving certain long-eared rodents.” She shivered, remembering the redheaded witch’s words of warning. Keeping secrets was easy when you ran the risk of being invaded by rabbits every time you had sex. Stupid, cruel witch. If only I still had some of my powers, she‘d think twice about threatening me... She shivered at the thought of rabbits hopping about on her pristine floors, their little noses twitching evilly as they taunted her with their mere presence.

Buffy’s eyes turned to her left, where an assortment of brightly wrapped presents, baskets and bags were stacked. She leaned over and, stretching, tried to peek into a bag that had baby rabbits on it. Definitely not from Anya, she mused.

“Buffy Summers! You keep your hands to yourself--absolutely no peeking until those gifts are ready to be opened!”

Really, you’d think her daughter was eight, the way she still acted around presents... Joyce handed her daughter a glass of juice and sat in a folding chair to her right. She picked up a small gift bag and handed it to the expectant mother. “Now, every gift has a number on it. As the party moves on, you get to pick numbers out of this bag--that will let you know which gifts to open. But first, let’s start with a game...”

***

Two hours, five games, and a couple of platefuls of hors-d’oeuvres later, Buffy sat back in the recliner and exhaled deeply. She’d received such a varied assortment of gifts, all wonderful in their own way. Willow and Tara had given her a baby monitor--the one with the pad that you put underneath the baby to monitor life signs; her boss had given her a basket of stuff, including a handmade blanket, some tiny sleepers and a rattle; and her mom and Giles had bought her a musical rocker. But it was Anya’s gift (and why was she surprised--really, why was she?) that had shocked the whole gathering. She had given Buffy a black and red see-through negligee with some aromatic massage oil (and some other ’toys’ that the Slayer had kept hidden in the wrapping). After the collective gasp and deafening silence, the ex-demon found herself obliged to explain her gift.

“Well, I don’t think it’s fair that everyone forgets about the mother at these silly get-togethers. I mean, just because she’ll have a baby it won’t mean that she won’t want any orgasms anymore. Really--she’ll need them more than ever. Orgasms are relaxing and pleasurable and will provide much needed down-time in between feeding and diaper changing.” She nodded and smiled to herself.

Buffy opened her mouth and shut it a few times before deciding on how to respond to Anya’s little speech. “You know what, Anya? In the weirdest and wackiest way possible, you’re probably right. It might not make any sense right now, but I’m sure that after the baby’s born I’ll appreciate the... gifts you got me.” Leaning over, she hugged the ex-demon. “Thank you.”

She’d opened the gifts from everyone who was present, and no one (save for her mother, from the look on her face) seemed to know who the last one was from. The fact that the gift didn’t have a number on it also piqued her interest--it was obviously meant to be opened last.

Anya, not being very good with suspense, broke the silence. “Well, don’t just sit there staring at it! Open it up--this excitement is causing strange feelings in my stomach and I don’t like it!”

Shaking her head, smirk on her lips, Buffy acquiesced to the request. On top of the box was a plain white envelope, much different than the assortment of colourful baby cards she’d received with her other gifts. No pastel colours, no flowers, no rattles or pacifiers. Just a standard white 8 x 11 envelope. She tore it open, only to find a note written on lined paper. Ok, whoever this is from isn’t into cutesy things...

Now, she’d come close to crying a few times over the course of the party, especially when she’d laid eyes on the blanket that Pauline had crocheted her, but this note broke her not-so-firm resolve.

She read and re-read the short note through tears, until she felt everyone’s eyes on her. Sniffling, she apologized before stuffing the note in her blouse pocket. “Sorry...” She looked at her mother, who only gave her a knowing smile. Of course she’s in on this... Turning back to the large box, she began to slowly unwrap it, trying to make this moment last as long as possible. She had no idea what the vampire had bought her--she’d looked at so many baby things in the newspapers...

Nothing could have prepared her for the sight that befell her when the wrapping was finally removed. A collective gasp went around the room at the sight of the brand new stroller that was contained in the box.

Willow was the first to speak up. “Oh, Buffy! Isn’t that the one that we were looking at when we went shopping a few months ago? The one where we were wondering who’d be crazy enough to pay...”

“Yeah.” The Slayer was in a daze as she sat back and stared at the box. Part of her wanted to refuse the gift--it was really too much, honestly. Who needed cup holders and all-terrain wheels, and three storage compartments... But the other part of her--the one who’d been staring at the stroller for months upon months--was doing backflips and whooping noises. “This is the one.”

Anya brusquely shattered the quiet moment. “Well, it’s nice to know that you have a man who’s willing to spend lots of money on you.” She stared back at all the weird looks she was getting. “What? It’s the truth. Xander spends lots of money on me, and it makes me happy...”

“Bu.. but how do you know who sent it?” Tara was confused. Did she miss something? She was usually on the ball, but Anya’s non-linear thought patterns often sped light years ahead of her own.

“Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it? She’s opened all our gifts, so it had to be someone who didn’t want to be here. There wasn’t a card--nothing cute like we girls spent valuable time and effort looking for, and the wrapping doesn’t have anything to do with babies. It almost looks like Christmas paper... Who else would this be from, but a man?” Were these people all stupid? Women shouldn’t have to be around for a millennium to figure this stuff out...

No one had an answer to the ex-demon’s rhetorical question. Once again, Anya was ten steps ahead of everyone. Her quirks made her come off as a ditz, but more often than not, she was more perceptive than the lot of them put together. They all sat back, sipping their drinks or examining the door prizes they’d won, happy that Buffy had someone who cared for her.

***

When all their guests had left, Buffy and Joyce sat at the kitchen table, chatting about the gifts that she’d received.

“You knew about the stroller, didn’t you?”

Joyce sighed. “Yes, I did. Spike actually gave me the money to go out and buy it for him--I don‘t think he‘s quite ready to be seen buying baby stuff yet. He wrapped it himself, though.”

Buffy giggled. “I kinda figured that out myself. I think he used up two rolls of tape--you’d think that 3M sponsored the present, or something. That and...” A bang, coming from upstairs, stopped her in mid-sentence. “Did you hear that?”

“That would be another present, one from Rupert and me.” Joyce winced at the language that was coming from upstairs. She’d made Spike promise to sneak in and be quiet, but that vow was now shot to hell.

“But didn’t you guys get me the swing?” Was that Spike, upstairs? No one, not even Giles, could swear a blue streak like him.

“That was a bit of a... side present, I guess you’d call it. Your other present, which was supposed to be a secret until later, is upstairs--either being put together or broken into little pieces, from the sound of it.”

Using the table for leverage, Buffy stood up. “Well, let’s go see what Mr. Pottymouth is up to. The sight alone of him putting something together is worth it.” She turned to her Mother, evil grin in place. “You don’t happen to have any film left on that disposable camera, do you?”

***

“Look, if you think this is so bloody funny, you can put the fu... stupid thing together...” Even in his piss-poor mood, Spike hadn’t forgotten his vow to try to curb the worst of his cursing before the baby’s arrival.

He threw a two-sided leaflet at the Slayer, who was sitting on the floor beside him laughing. “The English instructions are useless, as are the French and Spanish ones. Maybe if I could make out the Korean ones, I’d be able to get this bleeding thing put together before the bit’s born...”

Buffy took the paper in hand and looked it over. Not the easiest to follow, but after the whole dorm-room Ikea incident, they were a cinch. “Look, why don’t we just take everything apart, set it all out and try again. You guys always do this--guess it doesn’t matter if you were born yesterday or over a century ago--you just try to put stuff together and only use the instructions as a backup plan...” She wrenched the Allen key from his hand and begun to pull the screws out of the base. “You know, if we follow the instructions step by step, we’ll be done in an hour, tops.”

She then turned towards her mother, who was still standing in the doorway. “And you... I can’t believe you and Giles actually went out and bought a crib! I’m sure the one in LA would have done--you didn’t have to go out and spend lots of money on a new one.”

Spike sat back on his haunch and watched the young woman skilfully deconstruct his attempt at putting the crib together and nag her mother at the same time. Multitasking was definitely a woman’s strong point, he observed wryly.

“Honey, we wanted to get you a nice gift...”

“But the rocker was nice!”

“...and we didn’t trust a used crib. It may have looked sturdy, but who knows what it’s been through? For all you know, someone might have crazy-glued it together.” Joyce sighed, watching her daughter sort all the rungs and hardware into neat little piles--she’d never thought she’d add ‘well organized’ to Buffy’s attributes. “We just want what’s best for the baby--you can at least acknowledge that my first grandchild will be more spoiled than anyone else’s...”

Buffy chuckled as she opened the last of the plastic bags with her teeth. How the hell had Spike gotten so much done without the 1 1/2” screws? “I know, Mom. It’s just I feel weird that everyone’s spending so much money on stuff. I’m not going to turn any of it down, but I just feel awkward.” Addressing the vampire, she pointed to one of the piles of wooden lengths. “See those? Put them together like this (she pointed to a drawing on the instructions) with those screws over there...” She handed him the Allen key and turned her attention back to her Mother. “You know what I mean, though, don’t you?”

If Joyce had ever had any doubts as to her daughter’s ability to manage a household, this little scenario quashed them all. Watching Buffy take charge of a project and see it through in a logical, organized manner and getting her boyfriend to follow instructions (/*cough* orders *cough*) without a word, well... it made her feel proud. “Yes, I know exactly what you’re talking about, but you don’t have to worry. No one feels pressured into helping you--we’re doing it because we want to. Your job is to just sit back and let yourself get pampered. Oh, and oversee the assembly of furniture, obviously.”

“Well, someone’s got to make sure that the baby doesn’t have to crawl into the crib from underneath the mattress...”

Spike looked up from his corner of the room and scowled. “Look, ‘s not my fault the bloody things are more complicated than I thought. It’s supposed to be simple, innit? ‘Here, put these four sides together and put the baby in the middle’...” He continued to grumble as he screwed in the last set of bolts. “It’d also be nice if they provided some tools that were longer than an inch long. Who the hell’s supposed to be able to use this bloody thing, anyway? A five year-old?”

“Well, I think this is my cue to bow out for now. I’ll go down and make us some supper--how does chicken fettuccini sound?” No way was Joyce staying around long enough to get hooked into the assembly team--she’d done it often enough that she more than deserved a ‘get out of jail free’ card on this one. Heck, the Ikea incident at Buffy’s dorm should have absolved her of a lifetime of furniture assembly...

“Ooh! Yum! Yes, go and fix dinner--we’ll be ok on our own!”

Spike remained silent, still trying to figure out what the hell the crib company was thinking when the only tool they’d provided was a miniature wrench...

***

“It’s a nice crib, once it’s assembled correctly--isn’t it?” Buffy couldn’t help but throw in a little jab as she and Spike sat back in the baby’s room after having assembled her ‘surprise’ present.

“Hmph--you just watch it, Slayer. Might not be that good at putting together baby furniture, but I’ve never heard you complain about my massages...” Spike didn’t mind the teasing, but figured he had to fight back a little, at least--for image‘s sake. He helped Buffy scoot in between his legs, with her back to him. Letting his hands do their magic on the knots in her muscles, he asked her if she’d had a nice party.

“Oh, it was so much fun! Willow and Tara got me a baby monitor--one I hadn’t seen anywhere. I don’t know where they got it, but it’s really neat--it comes with a pad that you put under the baby’s sheets that monitors the breathing, or heartbeat or something. Anyway, if the baby stops breathing it lets you know. Um, what else... Oh yeah--Pauline gave me a bunch of different stuff, like clothes and a cute toy and this really nice blanket that she knitted or crocheted or something--it’s yellow, since we don’t know if the baby’s a girl or a boy. And she gave me a ton of bibs--she said something about needing as many as I can get my hands on. Mom agreed, and they began to exchange baby stories. And Anya...”

Spike felt Buffy’s back tense up before her head bent forward, slowly shaking from side to side. “I was so embarrassed. You should see what she bought. She actually got me some sexy lingerie, some massage oil and some ‘toys‘... I managed to leave the toys in the bag without anyone noticing, but I’d pulled out the garter belt before seeing what it was. Do you know what her reasoning was? She said that I’d need plenty of orgasms after the baby was born, to keep relaxed... I swear, sex is all that girl ever thinks about.”

“Makes sense to me, luv. I can’t imagine finding the time for the massage oil, but the kinky knickers? Think of it--you’ll have your body back like it was before,” he trailed a finger down along her side, skimming her breast, and nuzzled the side of her neck, “and I’m sure you’ll be feeling right sexy again.” He turned her around to face him, and pressed his lips against hers for a long, slow kiss. Breaking away, he waggled his eyebrows.

“And what’s this about toys, then?”

“Just call the bloody shot, will ya?”

“Oh, nonono--this is way too rich.”

Spike propped his elbows up on the table and rested his forehead in his hands. What was it with him and his big mouth? Why had he never, not in well over a century, ever learned to zip it when it counted? What the hell had prompted him to confide in the whelp, anyway? Maybe it’s because we’ve been on actual speaking terms since that night at Buffy’s, when he found out about us, or maybe it’s because we’ve been getting together for these billiard games, or hell--maybe it’s because he’s the only other bloke around. Ok, so there were lots of reasons, which was perhaps the reason why Xander’s mirth was so hard to swallow.

Xander was beside himself with glee--finally, something was off in the Buffy/Spike lovey-dovey-athon. He’d never seen anything like it before--sure, they bickered, but from what the vampire had been saying, theirs seemed to be a match made in heaven, with no drawbacks. Until now, that was...

“What’s the matter, Spikey? Feeling... stressed?” When the vampire looked up at him, scowl on his face, he decided that that was enough teasing. He’d had his fun, but Spike seemed to be taking his ribbing a bit too seriously. Stick in hand, he walked over to the table and hopped up onto the free stool. Taking a sip of his beer--damn, but hadn’t the vampire gotten him addicted to that Irish Ale--he put on a serious face.

“Look, I’m sorry about poking the angry bear--but you’ve gotta see it from my angle. You and Buffy--man, you guys are, like, made for each other. Everything’s always hunky dory--either you give in or she gives in, but you’re always... I don’t know, it’s like you guys are always perfect. Then I look at me and Anya and--don’t take me wrong, I love her more than anything--but she’s a high maintenance gal. She’s always begging me to buy her stuff, or pay all my attention to her--you know, I actually have to bribe her to let me out of the house for these guys nights out...” He sighed, realizing that he’d been babbling. “What I mean to say is that although I don’t want to see you guys hit any bumps, there’s some personal satisfaction at seeing your relationship finally take a more normal turn. Capisce?”

Although the whelp seemed to be more verbose than usual, Spike had hung onto every single word of his diatribe. He slowly blinked before taking a long swig of his Guinness. “Yeah, I kinda see where you’re coming at. Doesn’t make me feel any better, but I get your point.” He felt so weird having someone to talk to. Who had the vampire, in his century-plus of existence, to confide in? Angelus? Not bloody likely. Drusilla? Uh, no. Crazy women don’t make good sounding boards. Buffy? Yes, but this was about her, so he wasn’t going to talk to her about it.

So he had Xander. The boy-wonder whom he’d so often ridiculed--useless, really, compared to the others; so blatantly following Buffy because of some hopeless crush, like a puppy dog following its master. But he had his strengths--you couldn’t discount a strong heart and valiant effort. In battle, so many men of stout character had performed greater feats than the best swordsmen, or the sharpest marksmen. And now, he felt comfortable in saying that he had the whelp as a friend.

Which led him to the issue at hand. His sex life. Not something he’d ever shared with anyone, but recently there had been dry periods. Ok, more like intermittent oases in the Gobi desert. Sure, Buffy was pregnant--well, very pregnant--and that was a valid reason, no arguing with that. But up to a short while ago, she’d been just as into it as he was. He’d walk into the kitchen after patrolling and find himself with the Slayer wrapped around his waist, kissing him like he’d been off to war for years; they’d go to a movie, and she’d want to sit in the back row, just in case the urge befell her to lean over and... well, you know. But the surprise attacks lessened, the urges to be naughty became fewer and far between, and now it was mostly him and... himself.

“Uh, Spike? Anyone in there?” Xander had watched Spike’s eyes glaze over as his mind went bye-bye for a while. Yeah, he was mulling things over, but it was just plain creepy, with the lack of life signs and all.

The vampire shook his head. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

“Have you tried to talk to Buffy about this? I know it sounds dumb, but I’m sure you guys talk about things, right?”

“Dunno. Well, yeah, we talk about stuff, like the baby, and what she wants to do with her life, and that sort of stuff. Truth is, I’d feel like a prat bringing it up. ‘Pet, I know you’re tired, and your back hurts, and your ankles are swollen, but how ‘bout a roll in the hay?’ I don’t think it’d go over too well.” Spike’s attention was diverted for a moment as he motioned a barmaid over for refills and a basket of onion rings. When she had left, he muttered. “Can’t believe they got rid of that bloomin’ onion. Best thing the place had going for it, if you ask me.”

The brunette snickered. Nice try to steer the conversation, Deadboy... “Spike--it’s bothering you. I mean, look--you’re talking to me about it--that’s a sign that this... glitch... is really working one on you. When I say talk to Buffy, I don’t mean saying something like ‘hey I’m horny--give me some’, ‘cause I think that, honestly, you try that and it’s hellooo dustbuster. What I mean is just... I don’t know--it sounds gay, but just talk to her about it. Let her know that you’re frustrated. Maybe you can find other ways of dealing with it.”

The vampire’s brow went up. “Other ways? What, you mean find myself another bird or something? Don’t think Buffy’ll go for that, mate.”

“Uh, no. Other ‘birds’ are definitely out of the question. I meant... you know “other ways”...” Xander couldn’t bring himself to actually volunteer the information--he may be with Anya, but there’s no way he could be as upfront as she was when it came to talking sex.

Spike let out a frustrated sigh--he wasn’t in the mood for games. Imitating Xander’s quotation mark hand signal, he growled. “What the hell kind of “other ways”, Harris? I’m not in the mood for twenty questions.”

Shit. The young man leaned over and tried to keep his voice down. At least Spike had vampiric hearing, so he knew he could hear loud and clear. “I can’t believe I’m actually going to talk about this...” He paused and leaned back as their drinks and food arrived. “Thanks, Angie.” He pulled out some money and paid the barmaid. After all, Spike had taken care of the last round.

Munching on a ring, he leaned back in. “Look, I’m sure you’ve got a good imagination--I mean, you were with Drusilla for what, a hundred and twenty years? Don’t tell me you guys stuck to missionary sex, cause I won’t believe you.”

The vampire’s words were laced with sarcasm. “No, we didn’t stick to the missionary position. But I don’t think that Buffy’s either gonna be in the mood to try what we got into, nor is she in shape to try some of it.” Stupid wanker--what did he think he was, anyway?

“I’m not talking bondage, here. I’m talking...” His voice got lower, if possible. If anyone heard him, he’d probably just crawl under the table and die. “Uh. When Anya has her period, we don’t have sex. Doesn’t mean we don’t do anything, though. We get around the whole penetration bit.” He narrowed his eyes at the vampire’s look of unabashed hunger. “Not that you would care any with the period and all, but for us non-vamps, it’s kind of a messy deal, ok?”

Spike’s hands shot up. “Hey, didn’t say a word.” Great, talk of sex and blood. And a low prospect of getting any action when he went home... “Keep talking, though.” He popped an onion ring in his mouth and talked around it. “I’m dying to find out what your secret is...” A teasing smirk pulled the corner of his lips up.

“Just don’t tell anyone I told you any of this...”

“Don’t you think our birds talk about this kind of stuff all the time? I betcha the Slayer and the two witches know everything it takes to get you off, Harris. Anya isn’t exactly the buttoned lip kind of gal.”

Spike was right--why was he nervous about this? Anya’d probably been telling everyone about this stuff forever. Maybe it was because he didn’t know how the vampire would react to it. “Fine. You could try masturbating on her. I mean, she doesn’t have to do anything, but it’s better than doing it alone, or in the washroom...”

“You mean tossing off on her?” At Xander’s blushing nod, the vampire pursed his lips together. “Never thought of that, really. Be better than the alternative, that’s for sure. And you say Anya’s ok with that?”

“Yeah, it actually excites her, in some demented ‘only Anya’ way.” He was really, really talking to Spike about this. This was definitely a Hellmouth moment.

“Well, makes sense, in a way, dunnit? Tell me you wouldn’t like watching your bird get herself off?” This man-talk was kind of fun, Spike decided. Especially the ‘whelp-turns-a-deeper-shade-of-purple-as-we-go’ part of it. When it came to sex, Spike was definitely unabashed. “So, how do you do it, does she just lie there and you kneel beside her, or does she help?”

Xander’s face paled. Now he was the one who regretted opening his big mouth. “Why don’t you use your imagination, huh? I don’t think I need to go into details.” Please let him leave it at that...

So he no longer went around killing people. Somehow, this was much more pleasurable to the vampire at the moment. Trying his damnedest not to let his smirk show, the bleached blonde pressed the issue. “No, seriously. I just want to make sure that I do this right. And I can’t do that unless you let me know exactly how it is you ‘pull it off’”

The bleached wonder was having all too much fun at his expense. Here he was, genuinely trying to help--but dying of embarrassment along the way--and Spike’s jumping in his seat, gleeful as can be. “Look, we’ve got a game of pool that’s only halfway done. Why don‘t we work on pulling that off, huh?” There. He threw the towel in, gave up, whatever you want to call it. God knew how much Spike wanted to get out of him, but there’s only so much one poor guy can take.

He jumped off the barstool and took a swig of his beer. Before he was able to take a step away, his arm was held in the vampire’s iron clutch.

“Look, Harris. I really appreciate all this. I know it’s awkward for you, ‘specially with us not being best of buddies, but you did good. I’ve never had anyone to talk to before--of the male persuasion, mind you--so all this is a bit strange for me. But, for all it means, thanks.” He removed his hand from the brunette’s grip and stood there, not really knowing what to do.

Xander made that decision for him. Nodding, he smiled. “Actually, I’m with you on that. It’s good to have a non-Giles kind of guy to hang around with. And it’s no big. I guess we all have stuff we need to sort out, every now and then.” Turning back to the table, he looked at it for a few seconds.

“Green in the far corner pocket.”

Buffy sighed, leaning back into the couch’s soft pillows. “You know what? The Grinch really did know what he was talking about... at the end, I mean.”

Spike sat down beside her, setting his drink on the coffee table. “How do you mean?” He propped his arm up onto the couch’s back, fully relaxed after a more than extravagant meal. Joyce sure knew how to stuff her turkey--and the guests, as well.

“Well, I mean that bit about Christmas not being about presents and material things.” She nestled herself into the crook of the vampire’s arm, taking a sip of her eggnog. Weird stuff, but hey--it tasted good, so why think too hard about it?

“Ah. You mean ‘It came without ribbons! It came without tags! It came without packages, boxes or bags!’?”

“Yeah. That bit.” She turned her head to look up at him, the corner of her lips turned up into a wry smile. “And you know that way too well for someone who claims to have seen it for the first time a couple of days ago...”

The vampire had the sense to look abashed. Raising his hand to scratch the back of his head, he seemed to almost blush. “Yeah, well, about that. I might’ve seen it a few times before.”

Buffy scooted back to the other end of the couch, resting her back against the armrest and settling her feet on Spike’s lap. “So. How many times is ‘a few times’, anyway? Cause I’ve seen it every year since I can remember, and there’s no way in hell that I know it that well.”

He was cornered. Another chunk of the Big Bad chipped away, sent to oblivion. “Bloody hell. Alright. I’ve watched it every year since it first came out on the telly, ok?” The Slayer’s nod and mute assent were better than the gloating he expected. Guess she was just as stuffed as he was--maybe more, since she seemed to have eaten almost as much as he did, but her stomach no longer had the same capacity it used to.

He began to rub her feet, trying to massage the swelling away. Time to change the subject. “How are your feet, love? They any better?”

“No, not really. They will be, though, if I can keep them up high.” She stretched her legs and groaned. “And with Mom gone to Giles’, I don’t see myself tearing my butt off this couch for anything.”

A few moments of silence was spent before Buffy grew tired of the quiet. “So, how was your first Christmas in over a hundred years?”

Spike took a long sip of his eggnog (mixed with Captain Morgan’s Spiked Rum, of course), one hand still rubbing the young woman’s foot. “Hard to put into words without sounding like a poof, to be honest. I hardly expected anything--especially not the presents you lot gave me. I would’ve been happy just to come by and watch you open your own gifts.”

“But that wouldn’t have been any fun, now would it? I always prefer watching others open the gifts I get them over opening my own gifts--not that that isn’t any fun either.” Buffy took a deep breath and shifted into a more comfortable position. Her eyes kept darting over to the mantle and the cards that were displayed there. “Although I have to admit that I was surprised to see something from Dad. It’s the first time since Mom and I moved to Sunnydale that he actually remembered me at Christmas. Guess he finally got a secretary with a good head on her shoulders.”

It pained Spike to see how much the Slayer’s severed relationship with her father affected her. Sure, Joyce was a great mother--there was no doubt about that, but something was definitely missing in her life. He himself knew what it was like, not having both parents, and it crushed him to know what she was going through. And he’d put all his efforts to make sure that Buffy’s baby wouldn’t feel the same kind of emptiness in his or her life.

“Well, she’s got a good head on her shoulders if she’s the one who thought of the gift, that’s for sure. The nibblet’ll be able to afford Oxford with the money he’s putting into that school fund.”

“Hmm... Oxford, eh? You really think it’ll make it to Oxford?”

“Absolutely! Nothing’ll stop our bit...” Spike paused, his use of the word ‘our’ having surprised him. Before he could take it back, though, Buffy had pulled herself back into a sitting position and had slid over to his side.

“Our baby, Spike. Don’t feel like you shouldn’t say it. You’ve been a great daddy so far--nothing says you won’t be just as wonderful after the baby’s born. It might not be your flesh and blood, but that doesn’t always mean much, does it? Just look at Dad...” She pressed her finger to his lips to still the words that almost pored from them. “Hold on, just listen. Dad’s my flesh and blood and he hasn’t been anywhere near as close to me as Giles has. So bloodlines--they don’t mean everything, Spike. They just determine hair colour and whether you’re a good singer and if you like spicy food and stuff. The emotional bond--that’s determined by what’s in here” she thumped two fingers against his chest, where his heart lay “and I know that you’re a good man, and that you already love this baby. That’s all it needs to know, and to be shown.”

The vampire just sat there, not knowing what to say. He wanted to tell her that vampires weren’t meant to be good parents, that he didn’t have any good values to instil, that he sure as hell couldn’t shoot the shit about the good ol’ days... But he knew that she was right. He loved the baby as if it had been his own, and he’d die making sure that it--and its mother--were safe, that it was loved. It didn’t matter at the moment how he did that, but a warm feeling inside of him assured him that he didn’t have to worry. Things would be fine.

He leaned over and kissed his love on the forehead. “You really surprise me sometimes, love. Thanks, though.”

Buffy decided it was time for something a little lighter. “So, do you really like the presents you got?” She looked to the foot of the couch, at the small stack of gifts that the vampire had received. Each one had been worth their weight in gold, with the look on his face as he opened them.

Spike leaned over and picked up his presents. Chuckling, he picked up a small light blue book that Xander and Anya had bought him. Not only was he surprised that they’d thought of him, but the book’s matter of content floored him. “’The Worst-Case Scenario Survival Handbook: Parenting’...” Shaking his head, he opened the book. “This book’s a lark--have you actually looked at any of this? ‘How to recapitate a doll’, How to discipline an imaginary friend’... Downright ridiculous.” He had to add, however, “but bloody hilarious.”

From Willow, he’d received a small package of maple sugar candies. It had taken all his self-control not to finish the lot of them right then and there. “So, how did Red know about my sweet tooth, eh?”

The Slayer’s face took a look of innocence. “Oh, it may have been mentioned once or twice, when she was wigging over what to buy you. You should have seen her, Spike--she was so worried over your present, I thought she was going to pass out. She thought of the maple candies, though. Said she has some family up in Vermont or something.”

“Well, I’ll have to tell her it’s much appreciated.” He opened the packet and offered it to her. “You want another?”

Buffy’s nose turned up and she cringed. “Ugh. A world of no. One’s enough for the year--those things are way too sweet. I have no idea how you can sit there and eat a bunch of them.”

Spike took two and popped them in his mouth. Managing to mumble around the sugary mouthful, he shrugged. “They’re addictive, they are. Too sweet to pass up.” His eye gained a twinkle and he leaned in for a quick peck on her cheek. “Like you.”

The young woman rolled her eyes. “Ok, I’m taking those away before you make me gag here, buddy. The sugar’s getting to your brain.” She tore the pack from his grasp and tossed them onto the end table, before turning back to him. “Do you really like the shirt? Cause if you don’t, I can take it back.”

The vampire’s eyes grew large. “What? I don’t bloody think so! Don’t know what you’re worried about--it’s dark blue and it’s silk. What’s not to like about it? Actually, I can’t wait to see it on you.” He held it up in front of her, one eye squinting as he imagined her wearing nothing but the shirt. Great, now he was getting himself horny...

Buffy smiled, knowing her lover all too well. “We’ll just see about that... But how about we watch your movie first? I’ve never actually seen a James Bond movie with Sean Connery.”

Spike walked over to the DVD player, where he popped the movie in. “I still have a hard time believing that--he’s THE James Bond, luv! There is no other James Bond...”

They argued for a short while--Buffy in favour of Pierce Brosnan and Spike of Sean Connery, before the movie started. Shifting until she was more than comfy, Buffy snuggled against Spike. The combination of a warm fire, lots of home cooked food and a bit of rum had raised his temperature a little, and she found that comforting, in a strange way.

***

By the time the credits were rolling, Buffy was fast asleep. Spike was surprised that she’d lasted more than halfway through the movie--she’d been leaning quite heavily against him, not that he minded in the least. Trying not to wake her, he wiggled out from beneath her so he could retrieve the disc from the movie player. He pried himself away from the couch and carefully lay her back down, head resting against the armrest.

When he turned back towards the couch, movie in hand, the vampire saw that the Slayer was no longer asleep. She was quietly watching him, an odd look on her face.

“Ready for bed, love?” He dropped the movie onto the coffee table and began turning some of the lamps off.

When the vampire crouched down in front of her to pick her up, a strange feeling came over Buffy. Well, not strange, just a bit... neglected. Nestled in his strong arms, she turned her face to his and leaned in, placing her lips against his.

He nearly dropped her. If it hadn’t been for vampire reflexes and all that rot, Spike would have simply dumped the Slayer on the spot, out of sheer surprise. With her hands running through his hair, her lips attacking his, her tongue in his mouth--he didn’t know what to think. But he sure as heck wasn’t going to be the one to stop her.

Buffy didn’t know where this burst of passion had come from, but she knew better than to try and fight it. It had been a long time since she and Spike had really made love and she saw it as the cap on a wonderful day. And anyway--her mom wasn’t going to be home until much later, so...

“God, Buffy... please tell me I’m not dreaming this.” Spike had managed to get them both halfway up the stairs, but had to stop because of what the Slayer was doing to his neck. He began to wonder if he had a turtleneck, because there was no way he was coming out of this unmarked.

“No, Spike--you’re not dreaming. If you can ever get us to the bedroom, this is really gonna happen...”

***

Both blondes lay back, satisfied from the intimacy of their coupling. Sure--it hadn’t been anywhere near as... energetic... as their usual bouts, but it was contact that they’d both needed at the moment.

“You comfy, luv? Or do you need another pillow?”

Buffy’s eyes narrowed at the vampire’s verbal jab. So what if she was resting on half a dozen pillows? How else is a pregnant gal supposed to get comfortable? “Hey--you’re just lucky I’ve left you some room, there, buddy.”

Spike’s eyes gleamed as he dragged a fingertip down her belly. “Well, I could always lie underneath you--didn’t seem to mind it a few minutes ago...” He was well aware that it was probably going to be the last time they would have sex before the baby was born. As much as they’d both enjoyed it, the act had been awkward for Buffy, who had spent most of the time trying to find a comfortable position.

“Shyeah--I think I’m just going to spend the next few hours lying on my side with my pillows, Mr. Sex-on-the-Brain.” She smiled at him to let him know that there wasn’t any malice in her words. Tonight had been for him, sort of an extra Christmas gift. Sex was no longer natural or easy, but she’d wanted it for him--one last time before the baby came. She was relieved to find that, although sex had been such a large part of their relationship--they definitely gave Xander and Anya a run for their money, Spike hadn’t held her weakening libido against her. He’d definitely surprised her with some imaginative alternatives, which had turned out well for both of them, but he hadn’t pressured her into anything.

The Slayer shook herself from her thoughts and caught her vampire lover smiling at her belly. “Penny for your thoughts.” She ran her fingers through his hair, knowing that it was soothing to him as much as a massage was to her.

“Just thinkin’ about next Christmas--how different it will be with the bit. We’ll have to go out and buy toys and go visit Santa at the mall. It’ll be so... domestic.” It was all so strange to him, the new twists and turns his unlife was taking. Never in a million years would he have envisioned himself raising a tot with a Slayer. And especially not looking forward to things like Christmas and birthdays and bath times and kissing scraped knees. These were all things he’d lived through as a human, but hadn’t given a thought to (well, not a positive one) since becoming a demon.

Buffy wasn’t sure how to take Spike’s comment. Was he getting cold feet, or was the phrasing of his thoughts just odd? He hadn’t given her any indication that he wanted to back out to date... Her natural reaction was to keep her worries to herself, but what good did that do? They’d had a couple of arguments to date, and most of them had sprung from misunderstandings. She tried to keep her voice even, to keep any worry out of it. “And ‘domestic’--that’s ok?”

Damn the Slayer’s insecurities. “I wouldn’t trade it for the world, Buffy. I love you and I love the bit, both more than anyone. If I didn’t want to stick around I wouldn’t have--I would’ve hoofed it a long time ago. As strange as this sounds, I want to experience the diapers and the crying and all that rot--it’s something I desperately wanted as a human but hadn’t given a second thought to as a demon. But now that I’m back in a position to go through it, I’m finding myself more than eager.”

“I still say you should give writing a try. You always find the right words, Spike.” Buffy pulled herself over a few pillows and placed a kiss on his cheek. Falling back against the mountain of pillows, she groaned. “You know, I’m at the point where I really can’t wait for this baby to pop out. I can’t sleep, I can’t sit, I can’t stand... At least I’ll be able to move around easier when the baby’s out--although my boobs will just get bigger if I manage to breastfeed.” She slapped her hand over the vampire’s mouth before he could utter a retort. “And I don’t want to hear a word about my big boobs--they’ll be for the baby, not for some horny vampire...”

Chuckling, Spike turned to the bedside table and turned the lamp off. “Merry Christmas, Slayer.”

Spike growled as his feet were roughly knocked from their perch on the living room coffee table. “Christ, woman! You’ve already dusted the bloody thing twice!”

Buffy shook her head, but proceeded to vigorously wipe away at the table anyway. “Well, if you’d keep your feet on the floor--where they belong, might I add--I wouldn’t have to keep cleaning up after you.”

The vampire bit back an acerbic retort--no use pissing off a very pregnant Slayer. “Look, luv. Why don’t you just sit down and relax a bit? I’m sure the living room’s clean enough--you’ve been at it all morning.” Truth was, Spike was a bit worried about Buffy. She’d been tired, listless for well over a month, practically lacking the energy to climb the stairs to go to bed. But that morning something inside of her had snapped and she’d been scrubbing away at any and every surface she could still reach. Surely, she’d wear herself out...

“Well, that’s just the living room--have you seen the dining room? There are some finger marks in the cabinet’s glass, and the carpet needs a good vacuuming...”

That’s it... the bleached blonde thought to himself, as he went to stand up. Someone had to stop the whirling dervish before she hurt herself. “Ok, pet. I think that’s more than enough... ow!!”

Turning around, he looked up and saw Joyce standing behind him. He rubbed the back of his head where she’d hit him with the wooden spoon. “What the hell was that for?”

The older woman bent over beside him, resting her forearms on the back of the couch. In a quiet voice, she tried reasoning with him. “She’s not going to hurt herself. She’s nesting--it’s something that many pregnant women do right before they’re ready to give birth. It’s kind of a... boost of energy, I guess. Anyway, if she wants to clean the house from top to bottom, you’re going to sit there and keep your mouth shut. This is the first time I’ve seen her put so much effort into dusting without my having to threaten her.”

Spike couldn’t help but chuckle. It was odd seeing Buffy in such a domestic tizzy. He got up and decided to follow Joyce into the kitchen. She’d be much better company than the young blonde armed with a dust rag.

“Must be strange, for you, to go through all this...” Joyce kept most of her attention focussed on the lasagna she was preparing, but let Spike know that she was there if he wanted to talk. Which they still did often over a cup of hot chocolate, after Buffy was in bed.

The vampire hopped onto one of the barstools and rested his elbows on the counter. “Strange doesn’t even cover it, Joyce. The whole thing’s bloody out of this world. I’ve never even given tots a second thought, really--not even before I was turned. Well, not a positive second thought. Now Dru, she was the one who was...” He saw her back stiffen, her imagination obviously running a mile a minute. He’d shared a few of his stories with her, so she wasn’t ignorant of the kind of activities he and his sire were capable of. “Well, ‘s not the place for that anymore. But I never imagined I’d be in a situation where I was preparin’ to take care of a baby.”

He paused, taking a moment to breathe in the aroma of the onions and ground beef. Vampire diet be damned--he could bet that given the choice between a cup of blood and Joyce’s lasagna, he’d choose the latter. “When I was still human, we didn’t have all the gadgets you folks have nowadays. No monitors, no breast pumps, car seats... It’s all so bloody confusing having to wrap my mind around all of that rot.”

Sprinkling generous amounts of oregano on the cooking mixture, Joyce turned back towards him and gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “Spike--we’ve discussed this before. You’ve been around for more than a century--as weird as it always is, saying that. It just shows that you adapt well. You use the microwave, you’re the one who set up the DVD when we got it, you’ve managed to teach yourself to use my laptop...” She chuckled out loud at the deer-in-the-headlights look that the vampire gave her. “I don’t mind, just as long as you clear out the history when you’re done. It’s really best if I don’t know what it is that you’re using it for...”

If the vampire had enough blood in him, he knew he’d be blushing at her revelation. What the heck could he say to that? ‘Sorry I’ve been looking at porn on your computer?’ He just sat there, mouth agape, trying to find anything to say in response. However, Joyce spared him the trouble.

“I said I don’t mind, Spike--I really don’t. I remember what it was like when I was pregnant with Buffy. Not that you need to hear this from an old lady...”

“You’re a babe compared to me, Mum.”

“Oh, that‘s right--I keep forgetting that. But I remember that sex wasn’t exactly at the forefront of my mind. Actually, I doubt it would have been on my top twenty list... So don’t feel bad about it. Just mind that nothing pops up on me randomly. I can’t imagine what excuse I’d have to come up with if I was sitting with a prospective buyer and a marital aid window were to pop up.”

Spike was about to thank her when Buffy walked into the kitchen. She looked around and gave him a dirty look, prompting him to remove his elbows from the countertop. Hopefully this nesting thing wasn’t a week-long affair or he’d be moving back to the crypt...

“Mom--what are you doing?” She’d just cleaned the kitchen that morning, and now her mom had the gall to actually use it, getting it dirty in the meanwhile.

“I’m cooking dinner, dear--what does it look like?” Joyce bit her lip at the tone of voice her daughter had used with her. She repeated her mantra over and over again: It’s almost over, it’s almost over, it’s almost over...

“But I just cleaned this room! Now you have tomato sauce on the counter...”

Spike could sense an imminent battle brewing, with Joyce’s back gone ramrod straight and Buffy’s increasingly loud whine. If he let this go on, both women would say things they’d regret. Life in the Summers household--well, in any household--was Twilight-Zone weird when the vampire was the level-headed one. “Ok, pet. Your mum’s gotta keep us fed, now doesn’t she? Why don’t we go upstairs and make sure you’re all packed up for the hospital. Wouldn’t do anyone any good if you forgot something important, now would it?” He didn’t even give her any chance to respond as he tore the dust cloth from her grip, tossed it onto the counter and dragged her out of the room.

***

“Do you think I need to bring my conditioner?” Buffy called out from the bathroom, where she had the cupboard open to her perusal.

“Don’t know, luv. Really up to you, innit?”

Spike sat on the bed and pulled the baby bag onto his lap. He turned it upside down and dumped its contents out onto the bed. There wasn’t much in it--not like there would be in Buffy’s suitcase, once she fit the kitchen sink in there. He picked up one of the diapers--sure as hell didn’t have nappies like these, he thought as he noted the notch that was cut at the waist. He played with the side velcro strips, peeling them onto and off of the cartoon character--some fuzzy orange thing with a big nose. The diaper instigated a dual thought--first, that the baby would be tiny to actually fit into this piece of plastic; second--that something so big would have to come out of someone as small as his Buffy.

“How about lip gloss?”

Spike shook his head as he picked up a tiny sleeper. “Lip balm, they said. Don’t know why you’d need lip gloss...”

“But I’ve already got the lip balm in my makeup bag.”

“Then leave the lip gloss behind. You won’t be in a mind to think about lookin’ pretty when you’re in labour, pet.” The little outfit he was holding was beige and had Winnie the Pooh on it--now there was a character he recognized. Not like those Moppets or Muffets or whatever the hell those other things were... He brought his attention back to the grumbling blonde; hollering so she could hear him, he continued. “You’ll be ravishing, love--glowing. No need for false beauty.” Ok. Maybe he was laying it on thick, but she seemed to have accepted it since the grumbling had died down.

A pack of diapers, two outfits with matching hat, a couple of blankets and a soother--the baby’s bag was much, much lighter than its mummy’s...

The vampire turned his attention to Buffy’s suitcase. Two pairs of pyjamas, slippers, a nursing bra, a change of clothes to come home in, a pack of heavy-duty hygienic pads... and the pile kept growing. He grumbled when he saw the pads--waste of good blood, in his opinion; but then he’d never been on those kind of terms with the Slayer when she had had her period, so he had no way of knowing if she’d go for that kind of thing.

As he was putting everything back in the suitcase--who could guess how she’d react to an unmade suitcase in her present mood--Spike heard a sharp intake of breath, followed by an ‘oh!’ coming from the bathroom. A few things were knocked over before Buffy called out to him.

“Spike?”

If she asks me ‘vanilla bath gel or strawberry’, I swear I’ll snap... “What’s up?” The bleach blonde’s brow furrowed as he heard the Slayer turn on the sink faucet. What the heck was that girl up to?

“Eww... Can you come here, please?”

There was an eerie calm to her voice that had been absent all day. She’d been on pins and needles, edgy about the cleaning, nervous about everything else. Spike finished placing the pyjamas back at the top of the suitcase and walked over to the bathroom. When he found Buffy in her top and underwear, on the ground on all fours, scrubbing the floor, he nearly lost it.

“What the bloody hell are you doing on the floor? I thought you were done washing, luv--I don’t care what your mum says, this can’t be good for either you or the bit.” He knelt down beside her and paused for a moment. Something was off. Something smelled... strange. What was it that she was cleaning off the floor, anyway?

His eyes grew wide as they met hers. “Buffy?”

“Yup. My water just broke.”

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