“Pet, are you sure you don’t want me to take you to the hospital?” Spike continued to rub the Slayer’s lower back as she rested her head against the chair she was straddling. Although he’d never admit it out loud--probably get his love’s knickers in a knot--he was downright worried. He’d seen Buffy walk from a fight with broken ribs, sprained wrists--damn, he’d even given her a concussion once and she’d still managed to kick his ass.

But at the moment, the diminutive blonde sat backwards on the folding chair, because she’d wanted something solid on which to sit, trembling and moaning with every contraction that passed through her body. ’Back labour’, Joyce had said. Whatever that meant--he just knew that he’d never seen the Slayer in so much pain.

He was sure that if she’d just allow herself to be taken to the hospital that the staff there would find a way to help her through the pain. Heck, anything would be better than just gritting her teeth through the cramps that were racking her midsection.

The concern that Spike had shown all though her pregnancy--concern which Buffy had appreciated through the seven months or so that she’d been with the vampire--was now grating on her nerves. The pain she was feeling was like nothing she’d ever experienced before, and the last thing she needed was to have someone fawning over her like she was some sort of invalid. Her patience had reached its limits. “Spike! For the last time, I’m not going to the hospital until it’s totally necessary. If I’m going to be miserable, I might as well be miserable in my own home.” She paused, grimacing through yet another wave of pain, signalling to the vampire the beginning and end of the contraction, so he could record it with the others.

Fighting the urge to roll his eyes at Buffy’s stubbornness, Spike jotted the contraction’s time and duration down on the chart he was keeping. According to the prenatal class they’d attended, as well as all the books and internet sites the Slayer had consulted, timing contractions was an essential tool in assessing how far along in labour a pregnant woman was. His brow furrowed at the newest data scribbled on the sheet. He hadn’t been paying much attention to what he was recording, or else he might have noticed the pattern sooner--for the past forty minutes or so, the contractions had been about five minutes apart--give or take a few seconds--and lasted close to a minute each. The vampire bit his lip, dragging his mind back to the pre-natal class and all the literature he’d pored over.

Whether or not she was psychologically ready, Buffy’s body had decided for her.

“Sorry to rain on your parade, love, but I think we’ve reached that ‘totally necessary’ time...”

***

“Ugh. I can’t believe I went through all that pain and I’m only 2 centimetres dilated. What the hell’s it going to feel like when it gets time to actually deliver?! I‘ve still got, like, 8 centimetres to go...” Buffy caught Spike’s arm in a death grip and cast a panicked glance at him. “I can’t do this. It’s just too much. We‘ll just sneak out, and...”

Peeling the Slayer’s small fingers from his forearm before she made permanent dents, the vampire tried to soothe her. “Look, pet, that’s what they’ve got drugs for. Once they get you into a room, you just tell them to give you something for the pain. It’ll be much easier to handle once you’re in a drug-induced haze. Right now, though, you‘re doing really well. Your Slayer powers may not be doing anything for you, but Buffy Summers--the woman--is plenty strong.”

Spike couldn’t blame her mood, though. As soon as they’d arrived at the maternity ward, she’d been ushered towards a bathroom, and expected to provide a urine sample. After ten minutes, she’d stormed out of the small room grumbling something about contractions and contortionism. He hadn’t even considered asking her what she’d meant. Then, she’d been ushered into a large room with four beds--certainly not the private room either of them had expected--and had been asked to don a gown and lie down on one of the cots. She’d been in that room for about an hour, hooked up to two machines--one to monitor the baby’s heartbeat and one to register the severity and frequency of her contractions.

So there she’d lain, forced to sit still for what seemed like forever, while everyone who came in seemed to need to stick their fingers up where Spike figured they had no business. Of course, they were doctors and nurses, and it was their business to keep a close eye on her, but it still riled him to have so many people touching his Slayer.

“Calm down, Spike.” Buffy gave his hand a squeeze and offered the vampire a quick smirk. Although his possessive stares and stiff body language (well, at least he hadn’t growled yet) should have aggravated her, the young woman felt reassured that the man she was with would ensure that she be as comfortable as possible. “It‘s necessary, and you know it. And you better get used to it, because I have a feeling that this will be going on the whole time I’ll be in here.”

Not that she enjoyed being ‘handled’ by everyone--heck, she half expected the janitor and the lunch lady to come by and see for themselves just how far she was dilated--Buffy nonetheless appreciated the fact that her care was constant and thorough. When the doctor reappeared about half an hour later he checked her cervix once again.

When he was done examining her, he pulled the latex glove off and looked surprised. “Well, Miss Summers, you’ve reached 6 centimetres--a pretty good feat in only an hour, if I must say so. That’s a commendable goal to reach without any narcotics. I think it’s time to get the nurse to help you to one of the birthing rooms.” He smiled at her warmly, nodded uncertainly at Spike, and disappeared behind the curtain to check on the young woman in the bed across from them.

Brenda, the nurse who had been assigned to Buffy, began to remove all the straps that connected her to the monitors. “Are you ok to walk to the room, or do you want me to get you a wheelchair?”

Sliding off the bed, the young woman stood on her two legs. Pride swallowed, she decided to test her strength before automatically refusing the extra help. Testing out her balance, she figured she could make the short jaunt on her own. “Nope. I’m still good, as long as I don’t have any stairs to climb.”

Brenda couldn’t help but laugh at the blonde‘s sense of humour. There weren‘t many who still laughed at this point. “Don’t worry--it’s a nice, straight floor the whole way there. And you’re lucky tonight--you’ve got one of the bigger rooms.” She held out a hand to help the Slayer and cast a glance back at the other blonde. Sure, he looked dangerous as all hell with his leather coat, peroxide locks and scar--but the older woman could see a softness in his eyes whenever he looked at Buffy. She signalled for him to grab their bags and follow her to the room that would hopefully greet their baby.

***

Brenda had been right--the room was huge, much bigger than the one they’d been shown during the prenatal class’s tour of the ward a few weeks prior. There was a closet to which Spike was ushered, coats and suitcase in hand. Across from the bed--which Buffy hoped came with a detailed instruction manual--was a bassinet on wheels. And, for the significant other, there was a seat that folded out into a makeshift bed.

Now this was the private room they’d been expecting. She really had to thank Giles--once more--for his offer to splurge on this extra comfort.

Brenda signalled for Buffy to sit back on the bed, which had been raised to an upright position. “The buttons to operate the bed are right here on the side panels--they’re on both sides, in case you have to lie on one side or the other.” She pointed to each button as she explained it: “this one raises and lowers the whole bed, this one raises and lowers the head, in case you want to sleep or sit up as you’re doing right now. And this one here pages the nurses’ station where one of us will answer it, and you can just tell us what you need.”

Buffy nodded--it was all rather simple. Guess I won’t need that manual after all, she mused. She turned to the seat beside her, finding that Spike had joined her. Smiling at him, she held her hand out to him and smiled in a way she hoped hid her nervousness.

The Slayer was about to crack--it was only a matter of time. Spike could see through her pasted-on calm demeanour, her fake toothy grin and the death grip in which she held his hand. He squeezed back, pretending to be blind to her obvious panic.

“So, how are you pain-wise? Have you given any thought to what you might want to take, if anything?” The young woman was putting on a stoic face, but Brenda had seen it before. Hiding the pain out of some weird sort of pride. Why these women didn’t just go ahead and take everything available to dull the pain was beyond her.

Buffy looked at Spike, who raised his eyebrows in silent questioning. Turning back to her nurse, she pasted the fake grin back on. She was the Slayer--she should be able to go through with this unassisted. Women had done it for ages before the time of modern medicine, so why couldn‘t she? She would be strong. She could take a little pain.

“No, I‘m fine. I can handle it.”

***

“Oh God, please give me something--anything--to make the pain go away!”

If the pain had been bad before, it was now intolerable. Every time a contraction would occur, it felt like she was being stabbed in the back. Even with Spike‘s comforting touch, trying to massage where he could, her body would tense up and contort. Buffy couldn’t even imagine what it would be like if it got any worse. Her stoic plans now cast aside, she finally allowed herself to beg for help.

Spike watched as Brenda took Buffy’s hand. He knew that the Slayer still had a ways to go, from what the doctor and nurses were saying. Only 7 centimetres dilated--the quick progression from earlier had died down to a crawl. At this rate there were probably still many hours to go, with the pain bound to get worse.

Closing his eyes, he offered a quick word to the powers that be, thanking them that he’d been born a male.

It had taken half an hour longer than Brenda would have wagered, but the young woman had finally buckled. “Ok, dear. You’ve got a few options available to you right now. I’d suggest Demerol, which will take the edge off your pain. You’ll still feel something, but the pain won’t be as acute. That way, you’ve still got the choice of whether or not you want to have an epidural.” She gave Buffy’s hand a squeeze and offered her a reassuring smile. “So--what do you say? Do you want to give it a try?”

Teeth gritted as she endured another wave of extreme discomfort, Buffy managed to nod. Right now, she’d assent to leeches if they could help. She watched Brenda reach into her front pocket and pull out a clear vial and syringe. The thought that her capitulation was taken for granted insulted her for all of five seconds, before the next contraction hit. Hell, the nurse went through this on a daily basis--of course she would know the routine better than the delivering women themselves.

When prompted, she rolled onto her side, baring her hip for the needle. Goddamn! Couldn’t they come up with medication that could be administered in a less painful way?! But relief was almost immediate, having subsided a bit even by the time Spike had managed to help her roll onto her back.

The drug had the exact effect that had been explained to her. She still felt the contractions, but they were dulled to the point of no longer being painful. Leaning back against the raised bed head, she smiled and relaxed. “Oh, wow. Now this is labour...”

Only Spike caught Brenda’s ‘until it wears off’ as she walked out the door. He did not look forward to being in the Slayer’s presence when the drug wore off--the pain was bound to be twice as bad by then. Maybe he could get Joyce to take over for him at that point. Buffy would surely have a moral objection to ripping her mother’s arm off.

Then again, maybe not, depending on the pain...

As if on cue, Joyce--accompanied by an almost comically anxious Giles--entered the room. One look at Buffy’s blissful state had her smiling knowingly. “Ah. Finally gave in to the drugs, did you?”

Slowly, the Slayer turned her head towards the door. “Mom, Giles! Come in--everything’s just hunky dory! The nurse just gave me some Demetriol--no, wait, some Dermatol, no... well, some drugs and I feel great!”

Giles’ eyebrows quirked up and he gave Spike a sideways glance. The vampire simply shrugged as if saying ’your guess is as good as mine’, before getting up and offering Joyce his chair.

“Thanks, but we aren’t staying in the room for very long. I’ve got a ton of phone calls to make--you should see the list Buffy gave me.” She held up a piece of paper covered in the Slayer’s scribblings. Turning to her daughter, she walked over and held her in a big hug. “Now, let me know if you need anything. Rupert and I will be in the waiting area--don’t hesitate to send someone if you want us here when the baby’s coming, but we won’t hold it against you if you‘d rather have fewer people in the room.”

Buffy bit back a few tears. “Thanks Mom. And thanks Giles. For being here for me--it means so much to know that I have people who care about me and the baby.” She also looked at Spike, making sure that he knew that she appreciated his presence as well.

***

In the end, Buffy had opted for an epidural. Actually, opted wouldn’t be the exact term. More like... begged and pleaded for. When the Demerol had begun to wear off--faster than the three hours it was supposed to last--she began to experience pain that eclipsed anything she’d gone through so far. Slayer honour thrown out the proverbial window, she had let the tears flow free, finally giving in to the one thing she vowed never to have.

Spike, the only one strong enough to hold her steady for the procedure, helped her sit on the edge of the bed and kept her in his arms as the anaesthesiologist inserted the small tube into her spine. Her head was nestled against his chest as he attempted to soothe her with comforting words. If he’d been thankful before--for being a man--he was doubly so now. Just the thought of having someone stick a tube in your spine with the purpose of lessening pain was beyond his comprehension.

These back labour cases were always the worst. The anaesthesiologist directed all his attention at the task at hand, but his job was made that much harder by the patient’s shaking. One wrong move--the needle inserted in the wrong space, the tube slid in too far--and she could become paralysed. He stood up and addressed the man holding Ms. Summers. “You’re going to have to hold her more steady than that, or I won’t be able to go through with this.”

All Buffy heard was ‘won’t be able’ before she bit her lip and forced herself to stop shaking. But it was so difficult, with the contractions becoming so intense she could hardly sit up. Spike looked her in the eye, communicating his actions just before his grip on her increased to an almost painful level. At this point, the thought of going through childbirth without the epidural frightened Buffy more than anything. She now understood what her boss had said about ‘walking in backwards’. If she ever had to go through this again--not that she expected to, ever--she would take that advice to heart.

“There. Everything’s in place. You should begin to feel the effects of the drug within the next ten to fifteen minutes. Then it should be smooth sailing from there on.” The anaesthesiologist smiled--the ‘won’t be able’ threat worked every time--and began to secure the tube in place with medical tape. He wished everyone good luck, then rushed off to his next assignment.

“Ten to fifteen minutes?” Buffy’s voice was still weak from the pain. “I can’t wait that long!”

“Buffy, love, you were able to wait an hour for the anaesthesiologist to show up. I’m sure you’ll be fine for another ten to fifteen.” Spike was proud of his Slayer. And so was the staff, gauging by their words of encouragement. All the nurses were assuring her that she was a trooper and that she was doing so much better than the majority of patients. Now, whether or not they were telling her that simply to keep her spirits up was a mystery to him. Either way, their words were helping.

***

“Well, you’ll be glad to know that it’s finally time to start pushing.” The nurse--Lea--smiled at Buffy, patted her knee and began to gather supplies for the birth. “I’ll insert a catheter so we can flush out your bladder, then we’ll begin the pushing. When the baby begins to crown, I’ll send for the doctor. Now, the average woman pushes for about an hour, but it can go anywhere from fifteen minutes to over two hours.” She winked, turning back to her patient. “So let’s hope that the baby’s as eager as you are for it to come out.”

Buffy’s pulse sped up. “Oh God...” It was time. The time--the one she’d been waiting for all these months, that she’d been praying for these past hours. She was no longer afraid of the pain, the epidural having pretty much numbed her from the waist down. All that mattered was that she was still able to feel enough to sense pressure from the baby’s head as it pressed downwards.

Lea returned to her side and began to adjust the bed for the birth. As the head of the bed was raised and the foot lowered, she began to explain how the delivery was going to take place. “Ok, now the easiest way for you to go through this is for both me and your partner to each hold up a leg. You can still hold on to them for leverage as you push, but it’s best if you don’t have the extra worry of holding them up as you’re concentrating on pushing--that’s enough of a job for you.” She took a spot to Buffy’s right, held her leg in a bent position and waited for Spike to do the same on her left. “Good. Now, when a contraction shows up on the monitor--or when you feel the baby pressing against you, that’s a sign that you have to push. What I’ll need you to do, is to grab your legs at the knees, pull them back and lift your chin to your collarbone. Then you hold your breath and push, counting to ten.”

Buffy nodded. That was lots to remember, but most of it made sense. When Lea gave her the first go ahead, she did as instructed and pushed. When she’d finished counting to ten, she let out her breath and dropped her head back onto the bed. That wasn’t *that* bad...

Thus began over an hour’s worth of pushing.

“You’re doing great, love. Only a few more pushes left. The doctor’s on his way.” There was a pause, as the vampire steadied his voice. “We saw the bit‘s head on that last push. It‘s got a shock of dark hair, pet. It‘s gonna be beautiful.” Spike had always been under the assumption that he’d felt rapture before: his first kill, the first time he’d bedded Dru, the two Slayers he’d slain. But nothing, ever, ever compared to this. He’d always worn his emotions on his sleeve, so it didn’t surprise him to feel his chest constrict and the prickling of tears in his eyes at the first sight of the baby.

Buffy almost lost the check she was holding on her own emotions when she looked into Spike’s eyes. There was so much emotion there, so much love directed at her. She wondered at the change the vampire had gone through in the past months--he’d gone from being the biggest thorn in her side to the love of her life. He had made her re-evaluate her whole view of evil and good...

The next contraction distracted her from her musings. Although she was beginning to tire, she hoped to God that the baby didn’t come before the doctor arrived.

“...7...8...9... Doctor Friedman!” Lea waited for Buffy to finish pushing, then pulled back from her position at the patient’s side to apprise the doctor of her condition. When she was done, she resumed her position to the young woman’s right.

“Hello, Buffy! Looks like you’ve been doing a bang-up job so far--the little one’s almost out. Let’s see if we can push it along, shall we?”

Both Buffy and Spike immediately felt at ease with the doctor. He was an affable older gentleman whose bedside manner spoke of experience and ease.

A tall man, he pulled up a stool and lowered it so he could comfortably help Buffy out. “Good girl, Buffy--you’re doing wonderfully. I need you to push again, on the count of three. One, two, three--and push..” He counted to ten, just as Lea had been doing for the past hour. “Now, the baby’s going to be a tight fit, and you might just feel a bit of a pulling sensation at the bottom of the vagina--that’s perfectly normal, and shouldn’t be more than a second degree tear. It’ll probably feel more like a light pinch, thanks to the epidural.”

Buffy pushed two more times before she heard a sharp intake of breath from her left, and the doctor’s assertion of ’just one more push’. She got to a count of five before she felt the baby’s head come out. Looking up at Spike she saw that he had tears in the corners of his eyes, as well as a smile a mile wide. She pushed again to get the baby’s shoulders out and finally let herself drop back onto the bed.

She was a mother. A mommy. To a healthy baby boy. She let out a breath that was half a laugh, half a sob as her son was placed on her stomach. “Hello, there. I’ve been waiting for so long to meet you...” She kissed him on the head, glad to hear the piercing cries that were coming from this tiny human’s lungs. As soon as he was taken away for cleaning and assessing, Spike leaned down and caught her in a tight caress.

“Oh God, love. He’s beautiful. Looks just like you.” The vampire was having a very hard time keeping his voice from breaking. It was bad enough that he was crying like a ponce without having to... Ah, hell. He didn’t care what he looked or sounded like. This was now the best moment in both his life and unlife and he was going to enjoy it as freely as he could.

Buffy pulled back and wiped the tears from her cheeks. She sniffed and laughed. “Go get Mom and Giles! Wait till she sees that she’s got a grandson...”

The two men sat side by side on the steps, sharing a first-ever comfortable silence. The moonless sky allowed them to view a mid-winter’s speckling of constellations--a vision that would hardly change in their lifetimes, however long they might be.

The younger of the two vamps broke the silence, patience never having been his strong point. “So... why are you here, again?” He took in another drag of his cigarette, never taking his eyes off the firmament.

Angel let out an exhausted sigh. “Cordy sent me.” More like she’d threatened to kick his ass if he didn’t pay the two blondes a visit--but he didn’t have to share that piece of information with the bleached blonde, now did he?

“That’s the bird with the visions, right? How’re those going, anyway?” Maybe if Spike steered the conversation, it wouldn’t go where he assumed his grandsire would take it.

Nice try, Spike, but I’ll play along--for now. “Yeah, that’s her. And the visions? Not going so well. Imagine being staked in the head.” Unable to hold back a chuckle, Angel added: “Of course, that’s not how she puts it. I think she once said it felt like she’d been forced to watch hours of last year’s fashion shows...”

Although he didn’t know Cordelia first hand, Spike had to smile. He admitted that she sounded just like Buffy had described her. In one of his most unguarded moments with Angel, he surprised himself with what he said next. “I’m glad you’re happy, mate.”

The younger vamp’s honest remark caught Angel off guard. Shaking out of his stupor, he tossed back a genuine ‘thanks’ before remembering part of the reason he was there. “How about you, Spike? Are you happy?” Do you make Buffy happy? That was the question he really wanted to find out, though.

This heart to heart was almost too much for the rebellious vampire, but he knew it eventually had to take place. No way would Angel just lie back and let him make an attempt at an honest life without questioning him or his incentives. Years, heck--maybe even months ago, this would have perturbed him, but now he understood the darker vamp’s motivation: Buffy. Anyone who knew and loved her would do anything to protect her, to make sure she was happy. And if that was the purpose of this ‘Spanish Inquisition’--minus the comfy chair, he thought to himself wryly as he fought to find a comfortable position on the wooden steps--then so be it. He’d put up with it.

The bleached blonde took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “That’s the question I’ve been asking myself, you know?” He got up off the stairs and began to pace the length of the bottom step. “Was always an outcast, even before Dru turned me. William was a right wanker--the bloody biggest joke to the crowd I hung around with. The constant butt of their jokes, held in their lowest esteem...”

Angel nodded. “Ah. So that would explain the...” He jabbed his closed fist in the air, in an upwards and downwards motion.

“The spikes? Yeah... Be another century before I even consider feeling bad about that one.” Spike cast a quick glance towards the house. “Not that I’ll ever share that tidbit with the Slayer, though.” He took his seat back on the steps before resuming his train of thought. “Anyway, then I got stuck with you lot. No need to tell you how poorly I fit in with your little family. Even Dru, on those days where she more lucid than not, seemed to look at me with more pity than love.”

His hand trembled as it brought the cigarette up to his lips. “You know how it feels to have the love of your life look at you with pity? Like she doesn’t know if she regrets ever giving you life? Bloody hard to be looked at like that, mate. Especially when the look’s aimed at you for over a century.”

For the first time since he’d met his grandchilde, Angel actually felt sympathy for him. “Can’t say that I do, Spike.” And it was the truth. Even after the Gypsies had cursed him, Darla had been by his side, as if the soul was more of an infirmity that could be tolerated--maybe even cured.

It had been more of a rhetorical question, but Spike appreciated the other vamp’s answer nonetheless. He nodded, but didn’t have a reply. So he continued, for a lack of something better to say. “Then I get stuck here in Sunnyhell and my unlife takes a nosedive. First, the Slayer is damn near invincible what with her family and friends, then we have the joy of experiencing Angelus once again, Dru leaves me, I nearly get caught by GI Joe for God knows what ends... Didn’t think it could get worse, but then I’m offered the job of patrolling for a pregnant Slayer.”

His eyes were steeled against the firmament, and even with his heightened vision Angel couldn’t see them well enough to make out his thoughts.

“That should have been the absolute worst moment of my unlife, you know? William the Bloody, descendant of the line of Aurelius, helping a bloody Slayer--master vampire can’t get much more pathetic than that, can he? But every day after I accepted, every day I spent with the Slayer and her superfriends, I realized that it was just the opposite. For some truly fucked-up reason, it ended up being the best decision I’ve ever made. For the first time ever, I’m accepted--’course, the Scoobies aren’t much more than a bunch of misfits, but it’s probably why I fit in, innit?”

“And Buffy?”

“You’ve loved her, mate. I don’t think I need to explain that, do I?” Spike paused and, noting the other vampire’s silence--a hint that an explanation was indeed requested, tried to organize his thoughts. “Fine, then. Doesn’t look like I’ve got any other option but to prattle on until you’re satisfied.”

Truth was the bleached blonde was happy to have this opportunity to sort out the myriad thoughts that were spinning around in his head. And Angel, despite being a brooding ponce (well, in Spike’s mind, anyway), was the best sounding board he could get. The older vamp had been where Spike was, part of the Scoobies, in love with the Slayer--no one would understand as well as him.

“Why do I love her? I love her because she accepts me as an equal. No more being anyone‘s bitch, ’cept for love--that won‘t ever change. She challenges me to be a better person without being some nonce--I can still do good and come home and trash talk Harris to his face. ‘Course, she doesn‘t like that, but she doesn‘t hold it against me. She‘s beautiful, she‘s tough and she turns me on like no one else ever has--not even Dru.” The vampire added quietly. “I thought I loved Dru all that time, but I had nothing to compare true love with, you know? Now I figure it must’ve been some sort of infatuation or something, cause it wasn’t anywhere near as real as what I feel for Buffy.”

Angel nodded in agreement. He knew exactly what Spike was saying--he’d gone through it a few years previous. Buffy had been his saving grace, the person who managed to make him believe in himself--who gave him his self-worth back. But now he figured it was time to steer the conversation over to a lighter subject. “So how are Buffy and the baby doing, anyway?” He had to admit it was strange to see the younger vampire’s face take on a proud glow, eyes shining with emotion, mouth stretched from ear to ear with a stupid grin. To tell the truth, he had expected this reaction but it was so different to actually witness it with his own eyes.

“They’re both doing really well. There was a bit of a rough spot right after the bit was born--he didn’t catch on to breastfeeding well--wouldn’t latch on, or something--and Buffy took it pretty hard. Guess she kind of blamed herself, I suppose. But Joyce went out and bought her a pump--a right good electric one, not one of those manual ones that gives you cramps in your hands and... What?!” Spike looked up to find his grandsire staring at him wide-eyed and biting back a grin.

“You do realize that you’re talking about breast pumps with the same enthusiasm that the average man discusses his car’s engine, right?”

Shaking his head, Spike let out a chuckle. “Fuck off, ponce. It’s just that... Remember back when you were still alive? What happened when women weren’t able to get their babies to feed? The tots died, that’s what. Now, all the mothers have to do is go out and buy themselves a pump--or, failing that, some powdered formula--and the baby lives. A century ago, we would have been talkin’ about the baby’s funeral, not about how much bigger he’s getting every day. It‘s just... Hell, it‘s just that after 120 years of bathing in people‘s blood, it‘s a nice change to appreciate life.”

There was nothing the older vampire could say to that. He was just glad that Spike of all people had been one to realize the beauty of life. Of course, that thought led to the reason for which he was really speaking to his grandchilde...

“Spike, I didn’t come here just to see how you and Buffy are coping.”

Here it comes... “I gathered as much. If you cared that much you would’ve been here harassing me during the pregnancy.”

Now Angel remembered why he kept his distance from the younger vampire. “Funny. Really. Now shut up so I can actually go through with this without balking.” He pulled a small velvet sac from his coat pocket and offered it to Spike. “This is for you. It was Cordy’s idea...”

Spike opened the sac as his grandsire spoke, only half listening. He emptied its contents out into his hand and nearly choked. “Bloody hell...”

“...’cause it sure as hell wasn’t my idea. But she figured that it might come in handy now that the baby’s here.” When no sound came from the other vampire, Angel waved a hand in front of his face. “Spike?”

Nothing could have prepared him for the gift that he’d just received. Spike opened his mouth to say something--one of a million questions--but was interrupted by a sound from the kitchen door.

“Angel! How long have you been here?” Buffy had been wondering where her better half was, as it was his turn to take care of the baby. She never would have imagined seeing him sitting on the back steps with the one person he claimed to hate more than anyone. Deciding to be social, she stepped out onto the porch, still carrying the baby.

The older vampire got up and dusted his pants off before walking over to the Slayer. “Just a short while.” He kissed her on the cheek, pulling back to awkwardly examine the child. “How are you holding up?”

The young woman smiled and shifted the baby from one arm to the other. It was a good thing she still had her slayer strength, because carrying eight wiggling pounds was hard enough as it was. “I’m doing great. Christopher’s a wonderful little boy.” She positioned the baby to face Angel before holding him at arm‘s length. “Here. Take him.”

Spike couldn’t help but laugh out loud at the look on his grandsire’s face. He looked like he’d been asked to go shopping for shoes with his girlfriend. “Come on, peaches. It’s just a baby. They don’t sting, spray acid, or cast spells and if you keep your fingers away from their mouths they don’t bite.”

Awkwardly, the vampire took the tot in his arms and held him, looking at him curiously. The baby was, of course, tiny. Its skin was wrinkled and flaking, its eyes unfocused... funny enough, though, he’d never expected babies to be so funny looking. A hiccup, coming from the small form in his arms, shook him from his reverie.

“Here, mate.” Spike reached over and took Christopher from Angel. “That’s a sign that the bit’s hungry. Best to feed him before he starts to cry or it’ll be too late and he‘ll be whinging all night.” He walked towards the door and signalled for the other vampire to follow him. “Come on. If you’re lucky enough, I’ll show you how to change a nappy...”

The last thing that was heard before the door closed behind them was Angel’s protests and Buffy’s laughter.

***

Six years later...

Buffy opened the screen door and stuck her head out, shielding her eyes from the strong noon hour sun. “Lunch, guys! And I’m not calling out twice today--you guys can have cold fish sticks for all I care!” When neither acknowledged her call, she shook her head at the two best friends playing out in the sandbox. Retreating back into the kitchen she covered both plates with foil paper and put them back in the oven to keep them warm. They never come in until the second call, anyway.

The call for lunch registered at the back of Christopher’s mind, but he pushed it aside. After all, lunch--even fish sticks, his favourite--came a distant second to building sand castles. He was good at it, even he knew that. His dad had mentioned something about him being an engineer--whatever that meant. What the heck did building castles have to do with engines, anyway?

“Pass the small shovel, ok?” He pointed the instrument out to his playmate and caught it when it was tossed his way. His “thanks” was muttered under his breath as his attention was already directed back to the castle’s moat. This time, he’d manage to get the bridge to stay up...

Mouth slightly agape, tongue caught between his teeth, the six year-old was the picture of concentration. Something he hadn’t picked up from his mother, or so everyone said. Now all he needed to do was put a little more sand... right there...

“Yes! Finally!” The young boy pulled his hands back and grinned with self-satisfaction. Dusting the sand off his hands he looked over to the castle’s other side, which was being worked on by his friend. What the? Oh, not again... “Hey! You’re supposed to be working on the castle, not lying down!”

Now, the impatience he did get from his mom. Even he could figure that one out.

Pushing himself up to a sitting position, the other brushed himself off. “I know, I know. I just got distracted...” Taking the butter knife that they had pilfered from the utensil drawer, he began to cut out crenels on the turret closest to him.

Both looked up when the second lunch call was hollered. Christopher didn’t even budge, but his companion got up, trying to rid all creases and crevices of sand.

“Come on, bit. You know Mum doesn’t call three times.” Spike looked down at the castle’s other side--the one worked on by the young boy--and shook his head bemusedly. When it came to imagination and the execution of his designs, Christopher was a tough act to follow.

All of a sudden, the backyard was filled with the squeals and giggles of a six year-old as he was grabbed by his ankle and turned upside down in an effort to shake all the sand off of him. “Stop! Stop! I gotta pee!” Squirming out of his dad’s grasp, he landed on the lawn with a solid thump.

Spike helped the youngster up to his feet before shooing him towards the house. “You go on and wash up; I’ll be in in a sec.” He turned his gaze to the castle, wondering at how quickly it had been built back up from the ruins of the previous one, which had been decimated by a good rainstorm a few days back. Christopher had been upset, but had cheered up at the prospect of having the chance to build a better one.

He was jolted from his reverie by a hand slipping into his. “Food’s gonna get cold, you know. Even your blood’s getting all weird. You know how gross it gets when it starts clumping.”

The vampire looked down at the love of his life, pulling her closer to him. He kissed the top of her head, breathing in the scent of her shampoo. Even after all these years, she still made the effort to find apple scented shampoo because it was his favourite. “S’ok, luv. It’s worth it. Over a century stuck in the dark--you can’t expect me not to bask in the sun whenever I get the chance to.”

“Spike--Angel gave you the gem back six years ago. You‘ve had hundreds of days in the sun.” Buffy couldn’t help but chuckle as she slipped her hands in the vampire‘s back pockets, looking up at his face. “Guess we found out that you don’t freckle, though.” She’d never given any thought to whether vampires would tan or not, and she honestly didn‘t expect to have a chance to ever find out. Although he didn’t seem to be as pale as when they’d first met, Spike’s skin was far from being as dark as it should have been with all the time he spent in the sun with Christopher.

The young woman was pulled from her reverie by a quick, but passionate, kiss. “Let’s go make sure that the bit hasn’t started in on my fish sticks, as horrid as those things are.”

Buffy couldn‘t help but laugh out loud. “Yeah, right. You know, if it wasn‘t for you, Captain Highliner would have to find himself a new job.”

The sound of friendly teasing followed the two blondes as they made their way up to the house that had been left to them four years ago. Joyce and Giles had moved to England, both content that Buffy and Spike--and Christopher, of course--would be fine without them.

Faith had been released on early parole and had joined Angel Investigations. She was making an earnest attempt at setting herself straight and in the meanwhile had accepted full Slayer responsibilities. Half her time was spent in Sunnydale, half in LA. Because of this, Buffy had been free to go back to College and had earned herself a degree in Landscaping--much to the amusement of Xander and Willow.

She had argued that it was nice to help things thrive instead of killing them, for once. No one could argue with that.

As they approached the porch, Spike grabbed Buffy by the waist. “You do remember that Christopher’s staying over at Jason’s tonight, don’t you?”

The former Slayer smiled--she knew full well where this was going. “Oh, he is? Guess that gives us a free night to enjoy all those Star Trek reruns before turning in early.” She let out a scream as she was tickled mercilessly to the ground. “Ok! Ok! I give!”

When she was finally standing, Buffy brushed the grass off her pants. Snaking her arm around his waist--and giving the vampire‘s ass a pat on the way--she poked him in the ribs. “This time, though, let’s avoid the sandbox. I was picking sand out of my hair for weeks after that night...”

Author’s Note: Well, that’s all, folks. I really hope you enjoyed reading this story as much as I did writing it (and pretty much living it, too.) I’d like to thank my beta Melissa once again for her help with the first twenty-two chapters. And for the twenty-third and the epilogue a great big thanks to VamptasticA, who lent a hand at the last minute so I could finally get this over and done with.

Next up is a very, very long story that I actually started writing before this one--started in 2002! I’ll begin posting what I have already finished, and in the meanwhile write the last of it. It’s called Dark Prophecy and we find Spike and Buffy (4th season) being sent to England to help the Council of Watchers avert yet another apocalypse. A fun romp that I hope you’ll follow and enjoy.

And last of all, thanks to everyone who reviewed. It always means so much to a writer to know that our efforts are appreciated.