It was too hot under the blanket so she threw it off of her side and turned around, swinging her feet out of bed. The fan was blowing and the window was cracked. They'd gotten the cold front around this time last night but Buffy hadn't bothered to shut the windows yet.

Her hand traveled down her leg to finger the ugly gash that was just starting to scab over.

"Don't worry at it." The order was muffled and she smiled knowing it was because he had the sheets and blanket pulled all the way up to his nose.

"I wasn't."

"I believe you, Pinocchio." He sat up and pulled her closer to him beneath his side of the bedcovers. "Can't sleep?"

"Can I ever?" she muttered under her breath.

"God, you're warm. Can't we close the windows yet? It's bloody December."

She could tell from the way he was speaking that Spike was already falling back to sleep. Wiggling out from under the comforter he'd tried to trap her beneath, she moved to the bench seat under the bedroom window. The gash on her leg itched a bit, like someone blowing on her skin from a few inches away. She shivered as she looked out the window, fingering the healing cut and remembering how this all started in the first place.

"It's not even November anymore, Buffy. Explain to me how this is a Thanksgiving dinner."

"You're starting to remind me of when we were little, Dawn. Always asking 'why, why, why'." Buffy was bustling around the small kitchen trying to wipe down the counters, assemble the sugar snap pea and sesame salad, and keep an eye on the pies in the oven. Most of the real food had been left in Spike's capable hands over in Xander's kitchen. "Anyway, it's the only time we could all manage to get together this year. It's only December seventh."

"Oh. It's only Pearl Harbor Day!"

"Well, be thankful you don't have to hide from Japanese planes when you're supposed to be touring a retired U.S. air craft carrier." She reached out for her glass of wine on the counter behind her. "Besides, if you're gonna be a brat about my holiday dinner... I won't let you have anymore wine!"

"Did I say anything? I didn't say anything."

Dawn was eighteen this year and Buffy remembered their mom letting her have her first glass of wine the Thanksgiving after she turned eighteen. Still grabbing for her wine glass, but a little too focused on the memory, Buffy fumbled and knocked it to the floor.

"Damn it!" At least the set of glasses had been like eight dollars at the big box store. She had extra in the hall closet (that also doubled as a pantry). "Dawn, could you grab me the broom?"

"Oh my god, Buffy! You're bleeding." Dawn pointed to a gash in the back of her leg caused by a piece of the glass bouncing back after it hit the floor.

"That's what I get for wearing a skirt."

"It won't require many stitches, Miss Summers. Just a few quick questions while the nurse gets my sutures prepped."

"Sure," she smiled nervously at the urgent care doctor on the rolling stool in front of her. Spike was massaging her shoulders gently, trying to get her to relax.

"How long have you been diabetic?"

"Ten years this last September."

"And, well controlled all ten years?"

"Heh, how well do you really expect a thirteen-year-old to… Not too bad. Mostly controlled. Yeah. See, I'm on a pump now." She held up the little gadget in her lap. She was starting to ramble again, like she usually did when she was nervous.

"That's very good. Do you ever have any... I guess you might call them phantom pains, in your feet?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, I have sore feet. I walk a lot - I don't drive. And I danced for like eight years when I was a kid. So... yeah?"

"I think I'd like to refer you to a colleague of mine over in Neurology. I'm a little surprised your Endo hasn't suggested it yet. I'll have nurse Amy get you the number."

"They said no jewelry or makeup." Buffy stood in front of the full-length mirror leaning up against the bedroom wall next to her closet. Spike squeezed her hip as he walked by on his way out of the shower. She was wearing only a pair of loose pants, her pump and her bra.

"Don't need it anyway, you." He tossed his towel into the hamper and pulled a clean black tee shirt on. He was getting ready for work.

Six months ago Buffy had completed her degree and got a job at the local children's hospital. As a social worker, she counseled families about chronic illness and other debilitating diagnoses. After that, Spike had pleaded, nagged, and cajoled in order to get a management position on the day shift. She had been happy about it every day until today.

"I wish you could come with me," she mumbled – more to herself than to him. But he heard her anyway.

"Make Dawn go along. What else important she got going on?"

"She's got school – you know that!"

"So, hold her out for the day. 'S just sposed to be a study day 'for finals. She'll love you for it." He finished pulling his boots on and made his way across the room to her. She kept her back to him, still examining herself in the mirror. He rested his arms across her shoulders and leaned his head down to kiss her cheek. "Wish I could go with you, but I can't. Don' want you to be alone, though."

"It's fine," she smiled at his reflection in the mirror. "I'll be fine."

The nurse walked into the room carrying a laptop and a urine collection cup. She handed the cup off to Buffy and smiled with sympathy. "I'm guessing you know the drill with that?"

"Yep."

"Quick question before you head to the restroom." Buffy nodded automatically. There was always just one more quick question. "Are you pregnant, Miss Summers?"

"Nope," she answered – again, automatically.

"No chance you could be?" the nurse pressed. "Do you have a partner?"

"Yeah. I'm on the pill, so…" She shifted in her seat nervously. She hadn't ever considered the fact that she might fall into that .2% that got pregnant anyway.

"That's fine. We'll just run a quick pregnancy test anyway. Just to be safe. The CAT scan could be harmful to a fetus. EMG should be fine, though, and we'll have your test results back by the time the doctor is done with that. We just want to be sure."

"Of course," Buffy said as she nodded tensely at the very efficient nurse.

"Ok. Let's get that sample and then you can get changed into the gown. No makeup, perfumes, or lotions today, right?"

Spike walked through the kitchen door a little after eight that evening. Buffy was snuggled under her mom's favorite afghan on the sofa, eating veggie chips out of the bag, and surfing through the Netflix queue.

"Hello?" he called into the living room on his way to the fridge to grab a beer.

"Hi."

"Talked to Dawn." She'd gone over to the café after school like she usually did. "Poor sot had to sit through a whole day of study guide tutorials. You went to the doc alone."

"Yeah." She paused her search through the television shows available, briefly, to read a description before moving on.

"You okay?" he pressed when she didn't offer anything else. He was headed back to the living room with his beer and took a seat on the edge of the coffee table instead of next to her on the sofa. This way he was blocking her view of the television, pretty much demanding her attention, in not so many words.

"Yeah. I'm in veg-mode. I am veg-ing. TV, cozy blanket, oh, and I even have veggie chips. Total veg-mode."

"Yeah… and?" Spike prodded, fishing for more information about the neurologist visit.

"And they wanna do another test. Couldn't do it today for some reason. EMG showed that I have some pretty advanced neuropathy." Spike dropped his shoulders and reached for her hand. It was sweet, but she didn't want pity at the moment – especially not from him. She shifted so he couldn't reach her hand easily, and he let his drop. "It's not any worse than they expected for an ten year long diabetic. They were just surprised I hadn't needed to do anything about the symptoms yet."

"So, what do you do about it?"

"Be careful. Don't walk around barefoot anymore. They said at this point that the pain can start getting really bad."

"I thought that nuero-whatever… thought that just meant you'd lose feeling in your toes or some such." He was bouncing his knee nervously. There was no way she was unloading everything on him right now.

"Me too. Apparently it's a lot of pain also. Anyway, I think there's some kind of meds I can take to help with that. I haven't decided yet."

"Why not? You need another pill to feel better, why not? I say let's head to the pharmacy tomorrow with a prescription. You need it. We'll get it."

"It's not that easy. There are side effects that…" She really didn't think she had the energy to get into this with him right now. She had hardly assimilated it herself.

"Is it like a narcotic? You worried you won't be able to do your work." God, he was desperate to find a way to talk her into the medicine. He wanted her to be okay.

"Not exactly." She tried hard to explain to him what the doctor had told her, without bringing up the other part.

The medication was a neuroinhibitor. It had been developed for treating epilepsy. It would work to turn off the pain by blocking the nerve signals being sent from the damaged nerves in her extremities to the pain centers in her brain. But it wouldn't stop with just the damaged nerves in her feet. Being a neuroinhibitor, it would interfere with all nerve signals happening in her brain. They warned her of decreased ability to process information, trouble with short-term memory, slowed physical reaction times – lots of little things that she worried could add up to big problems down the line. But it would help immensely with the pain.

"I just need some time to think about my options, okay?" She could see the muscles in his jaw clenching and unclenching in worry and frustration. There was a problem, and there was a solution. And he wanted to fix it. "Spike, please?"

"Yeah, okay. 'S smart to think it over." He moved from the coffee table to the empty spot on the sofa next to her. "Com'ere, Pet." Still tense and trying not to show her, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. They sat and watched some mindless show together in silence for another hour, then he took her to bed.

Buffy sat on the bench beneath the bedroom window and looked back at the bed where she had left Spike. No matter what she decided, she was going to have to tell him soon. But this wasn't supposed to happen. How could she possibly navigate this? She wasn't equipped.

He was into the café bloody early today. First one in, point of fact. Turned on the lights, the coffee machines, the satellite radio. Counted out and opened both tills in the restaurant and the one behind the bar, then decided to make hi'self a cup of coffee. Spike would look forward to many more of these before his shift was over.

Sleep. He'd not gotten much of that in the last week or more. First was the Christmas gift he'd determined to buy for his girl. Then there was the trip to the urgent care and so on. It had piled on after that and he'd just lie there and fret, or worse, he'd sleep restless and keep Buffy awake in the process. Managed to drop off out of sheer exhaustion last night, only to wake when he reached for her and she wasn't there. She was tense too, these days, he knew. But no amount of worry would turn back the time, the damage she was feeling the effects of now. They'd just have to learn to get through it. God knows he could learn to adapt when it came to one of his girls. Never could turn his back when someone of the fairer sex was concerned. For better or worse, that.

God of Wine started playin' over the speakers and he stood as he heard the back door open and shut, announcing his co-opener, Fred. He moved back to the coffee pot and poured a fresh cup for her. "Mornin', Doll."

"Morning, Spike." She leaned up on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek as he handed off the steaming cup of java. "No one understands my coffee addiction quite like you. Nineties station?" she asked as she stowed her bag and coat below the counter. "I approve."

"'Course you do." There was something that'd always drawn him to Fred. Never woulda worked between them, but if he was still allowed one silly crush after two years with the love of his life, it would be Fred. She was from Texas, and shy until she found the chink in your armor – then there was no being rid of her. Smarter than you'd first give her credit for. She was funny, sweet, and strong, too. Didn't let anybody get away with giving her shite. In some way, though he'd never admit to it, Spike admired her.

They worked together quietly until the first few customers had come and gone before she cornered him on his way back from a table of chatty holiday shoppers. The women were the only patrons in the café and they were well taken care of, and focused on their meal for the moment.

"So, what is it?" she asked coyly, cleaning off the steam wand of the espresso maker.

"Pardon?"

"You've said a total of 'bout ten words since the first four top got here – about two hours ago – and nine of 'em were about the music. Last one was 'pardon'. Normally you'd'a said how fantastic a boss slash server slash DJ you are 'bout four times at least by now. You got somethin' on your mind. So, what is it?" Through the whole tirade she remained focused on her cleaning. Now the door opened up to let in more diners. She scooped up a handful of menus and caught him in her 'I-mean-business' gaze. "Hold that thought." She ordered. "How're y'all this morning?"

"Bloody hell."

After that, the crowd picked up and Spike was able to justify avoiding Fred's interrogation for a few hours. He was actually happy to see Angel for once when the forehead came in leading his little kiddie in behind him. The kid'd keep Fred busy for a time, and there were some questions he needed to pose to his current boss and pseudo-rival.

Once the two of them made it through the doors, Conner walked straight up to Spike and slammed his little hand into the larger one in an un-rehearsed show of solidarity. The six year old then ran off in search of the cup of hot chocolate Fred was inevitably preparing for him.

"Your tyke's got good taste in friends. Despite his old man's social inadequacies."

"Afternoon to you, too," Angel sighed, hardly phased by Spike's insults at this point. "You gonna have a few to go over P&L's today?"

"When you're ready."

They waited for the afternoon wait staff to finish showing up before Spike followed Angel back to the office. When the financials had been reviewed and notes had been made, Spike turned and quietly shut the office door.

Angel leaned back in his desk chair and raised his brows silently in question.

"When you and Buffy were together," he began, trying not to let an edge slip back into his voice. Knew he should be over their shared past by now. It'd been seven years, after all.

"No!" Angel shouted, interrupting him. "We are not having this argument, Spike."

"Not where I was going, mate, but thanks ever so for having faith in me." He waited a beat for Angel to realize there wasn't a fight coming.

"Still… not my favorite subject of all time. And forgive me for not jumping at the chance of discussing it with her current… whatever you are."

"You finished?" Angel nodded with a heavy sigh. Spike took a deep breath and then dove in. "When you were together, was soon after her dad left, yeah?" He ploughed on without giving Angel a chance to answer. "And I know the whole sickness thing was a complication, but did you two ever talk about… a future, or something?" He was quiet a few moments before Angel realized he was expected to answer now.

"Uh, yeah… she'd graduate and go to college, I'd finish school. Didn't ever get much further than that." He thought a second before speaking again. "You mean a future together?"

"For the sake of argument."

"Uh. Huh… She was fifteen when we met, Spike. She wasn't thinking about any future, and even though I should have been, neither was I. You know neither of us was exactly in a stable place back then, right? We probably never should have even…" He stopped to take in a deep breath of his own and scrubbed his face with his hands. "Why do you even care?"

"And she was worried over how the health thing affected the both of you?"

"Why? What's wrong? I swear to God, Spike – if she's getting worse and you're gonna bail 'cause of it… So help me! You pathetic ass!"

"Oh, get off your moral high 'n mighty!" Spike shouted back. "Not running away from this one. Not now. Not tomorrow. Not ever. So get it through your thick forehead, you won't be needed to hang 'round waiting to pick up the pieces." He began pacing the small room in agitation.

"Okay… How about we both calm down and just say what we're saying. If you hurt her, I will kill you. Now it's your turn."

He spun 'round and stared daggers at Angel before speaking as clearly as he could through clenched teeth. "I bought a sodding ring, you fucking wally."

"Oh."

"Yeah, oh." He took another deep breath and sat dawn at once on a stack of old milk crates in one corner of the tiny office. "So… she going to embarrass the shite outta me if I ask her? I thought… if anyone knew how she'd react it'd be sodding you."

"I don't know," Angel answered, still stunned by Spikes bombshell news.

"Bollocks."

She'd seen them all over town today. Every time she turned around there was a mother and a baby, there was a pregnant girl. And then, to top everything off, she'd ran into Angel, Connor, and Cordy on her way home. He'd given her this strange look. Happy. Almost gloating. But that was so unlike Angel that she'd brushed it off.

She remembered Cordelia Chase from high school. Mainly the school 'it girl', Cordy had a talent for saying the perfect things to make everyone else miserable. But she'd had a brief brush with humanity for a little while during junior year when she'd started dating Xander, and she, Buffy, and Willow had been something like friends.

Buffy couldn't imagine what had happened to Cordy to cause such a change, but you could hardly call her the same person today. She was a PA at a local law office in town, and she was also a public advocate for victims of violence and assault. Every time Buffy ran into her in town, she either had Connor with her or she wouldn't shut up about him. Who knew she'd turn out to be such a decent person?

"Where were you all day long? I called," Spike questioned as soon as she came through the front door.

He looked pretty ridiculous standing at the stove, covered in flour, whisking something in a skillet that smelled like brown gravy, his free hand waving in her direction in a gesture of exasperation. She thought about not laughing out loud, but let herself anyway.

"Oi! What's funny?" Spike asked, voice raised now.

"You are, Suzie Homemaker." Buffy shrugged out of her coat and walked over to peer into the oven. Meatloaf. "The on call Social Worker needed to trade weekends. Christmas shopping for her kid or something. Sorry. I thought I told you."

"Well, you didn't. And ya very lucky to've made it home before that came outta the oven. Lemme tell you, Goldilocks, there'd be hell to pay."

"Where's Dawn?" They usually had movie nights on Saturday or Sunday nights, but Buffy didn't see her sister's ratty overnight duffle anywhere. She kicked off her shoes and made for the living room.

"Stop! Not one step further, now." Buffy turned around to see the almost hurt look settle into Spike's face. "You were still sleepin' when I left. So... I miss you a little. And I'm sorta of tied to the stove, like. Can't chase you down for a kiss just now."

She obliged briefly before moving to the couch to snuggle with Andrew while they waited on dinner to finish.

They sat at the small dinner service in the kitchen and ate their meal mainly in silence. Spike told her that Dawnie had offered to babysit Angel's boy this evening so he could take his girl out to dinner. Angel and Cordy'd been together a few years now - since around the same time Buffy had started dating Spike - and Buffy wondered what they were still waiting for.

"What were you just thinkin' bout, Love?"

"Hmm." Buffy quit pushing her last lump of mashed potatoes around her plate and finally set her fork down. "I was just wondering why they haven't gotten married yet."

"The Niblet and the tyke? S'not exactly legal, is it?"

"Shut up." She stood and moved into the kitchen with their plates. "I don't know what's holding them back. Angel found a great girl who loves his great kid. And I'm pretty sure she loves him too. Just... great."

"Maybe it's you," Spike whispered after a few moments of quiet.

"That's stupid. The best thing he ever did for himself was to dump me." She didn't want to sound bitter - and she wasn't. Not that they had ended things. But the family Angel got to have now...

She hadn't seen him move from the table, but Spike was standing in front of her now. Close. Space invaders kinda close.

"I got the better out of that decision."

"Why? Cause you're with a girl who'd probably never wanna get pregnant? No rugrats to take care of. Well... unless you count Dawn."

"Now, wait just a tick!" He grabbed her wrist, keeping her from making a clean exit.

She shouldn't have said it, probably wouldn't have said it. Except for the Moms-R-Us convention that was apparently in town this week. If only she hadn't said anything. But now...

"You gonna talk to me 'bout this?" He'd softened his voice along with his hold on her wrist. "S'more than just prince brooding that's got you rattled, init?"

She shook off his hand, now that he was calming down, and turned to look out of the kitchen window.

"Can I ask you something?" she questioned softly.

"Of course ya can."

"You ever think about things... us? A future."

"I agonize over it."

"I'm being serious. Please don't joke."

"Not joking. I lay 'wake nights. Pet,..." He sounded concerned as he brushed the hair off the back of her neck, trying to coax her into facing him again. She wouldn't do it.

"You... Before we met. D'you ever think you'd want kids one day?"

There was an uncomfortable silence for a moment before he spoke, answering her with an unsteady voice.

"I, uh... Once or twice. Well it was usually more an afterthought, wasn't it? I mean, I'm not lyin' about who I was before we met. I was that guy. You know." She could hear him shuffling his feet before he finally decided he'd rather be sitting for this conversation. Good instincts. "But, well, my priority back then was Dru. Still is, but that's just one part of my life, Love. Priorities change."

"You see yourself having kids? With me?"

"Yeah." There was a big exhale of breath when he said it, like it was a relief. Buffy felt herself deflate.

"Tell me you love me," she ordered as she turned around to face him again.

"I love you. You know I do."

She took several steps closer, watching him watch her, and it made her sad.

"Tell me you want me."

"I always want you. In point of -"

"Shut up."

They lay in bed, his arm around his girl, pulling her tightly against him. But no matter how close they got, felt to him like she was pulling away. It was eerie. Made him think of his talk with Dru this afternoon.

"Hey there, my beautiful girl."

"What's wrong? Miss Edith has been crying all day."

That bloody doll. "Sorry she's been sad, Kitten. But what about you, Love?" Sometimes, when he talked to his little sis, he could notice his accent changing. Softening. Not always, but definitely today. It was an unconscious thing. Wished he could do it with Buffy too. But some things would always be just for Drusilla.

"She wails and wails your name, Spike. Poor William, she cries!"

He could hear a nurse in the background telling her gently to settle down. "I want us to be a family again, my William. Come back to me."

"Dru. You know I'll come and visit whenever you like." And he'd been able to more now with his better schedule. "But I've made a home here, Darling."

"Naughty! You needn't make up stories. I already know why you're not coming. Poor boy!"

"Not this again, Drusilla. Please."

"She tells you things you think you want to hear, but you don't. She will break your heart, that Slayer. She's a slayer of hearts."

Getting out of bed and heading to the loo, he hoped she was wrong. But Dru had a way of predicting things that didn't make a bloody bit of sense until after the fact. Had made him nervous all night, when ya got right down. Until, that is, when she asked if he wanted her. One thing he knew always would be engrained in his very marrow - wanting her.

He stooped by his pile of discarded clothes on his way back to bed and fished the trinket outta his jeans pocket. With it circling his little fingertip, he crawled back beneath the covers. "Mmm," he hummed in her ear. "You're warm, Love."

"Mhmm."

"What're you dreamin' about?"

"You know, I used to dress Dawnie in my dolls clothes when she was a baby no matter how loud she cried. And she wailed and wailed. But when she got older, I dunno, two or three – by then I'd decided I was done with babies."

"Huh, I bet. Thought she was a whinny teenager. Imagine those little baby melodramas." He was trying to play it cool, but secretly he was dying a little. Had his girl just quoted Dru? Her living doll wailing and wailing?

"Then, I was diagnosed at thirteen and one of the things that my doctors always made very clear, was that I would likely never have children of my own."

"Oh... Darlin'." What a time for her to bring that up. No wonder she'd been sore about Angel and Cordy, and the family they had pieced together.

"No. You don't understand. They made it very clear that I was just as likely as any young girl to get pregnant. Just that I shouldn't. I've known since I was a kid that I would never get to be a mother." She was quiet for a moment, waiting for him to speak, though he had not the slightest idea what to say. Instead he soothingly ran his fingertips up and down her spine, waiting for her to continue. "Maybe we should just... I dunno..."

"I've memorized this tune, Love. Know we're right together. Know you still want me. Doesn't matter what you say."

"I don't feel very right."

"You're not foolin' me." He turned her to face him, then.

"What do you even mean?" She had her petulant look on now. Not so much pouting, but like she was giving up - letting something go.

And he'd be damned if they were to be casualties of whatever this was.

"Well, you're not a quitter."

"Watch me. Do you have any idea what it's like to be a woman and know that the thing your body is specifically designed to do, you expressly shouldn't do?" Again, he was silent. "Maybe that's why I've never been any good at relationships. I push people out. I can't connect with anyone."

"I seem to remember a certain amount of connecting."

"Oh, please. You wanted me because I'm unattainable."

"You think that's all we are?"

"Please, let's not go over the past."

"Oh, no, no. Let's hold on here. I've hummed along to your pity-ditty, and I think I should have the mic for a bit." Spike raised his voice as he raised himself out of bed and began pacing the floor in only a pair of boxers.

"Fine. The stage is yours. Cheer me up," Buffy said, sitting up, a little less apathetic now.

"You're insufferable."

"Thank you. That really helped."

"I'm not trying to cheer you up."

"What are you trying to say?"

"I don't know. I'll know when I'm done saying it. Something pissed me off, and I just— Unattainable. That's it."

"Fine. I'm attainable. I'm an attain-a-thon. May I please just go to sleep?"

"You listen to me." His voice softened measurably as he knelt in front of her. "I've been alive a bit longer than you. I've seen things you couldn't imagine, and done things I prefer you didn't. I don't exactly have a reputation for being a thinker. I follow my blood, which doesn't exactly rush in the direction of my brain. So I make a lot of mistakes, a lot of wrong bloody calls." He stopped to take her hands in his and make sure she was looking at him. He almost drowned again in those soft emerald pools. "All of that and there's only one thing I've ever been sure of - you." She tried to turn her face away, but he wasn't letting her get away with it. He grabbed her chin with his right hand - the one wearing the ring – what he hoped she would be wearing once all of this was over. "Hey, look at me. I'm not asking you for anything. When I say, 'I love you', it's not because I want you or because I can't have you. It has nothing to do with me." He had to stop for a tick and catch his breath. In the space it took, she caught his hand away from her face and stared hard at the small white gold circle and sparkle 'round his fingertip. "I love what you are, what you do, how you try. I've seen your kindness and your strength. I've seen the best and the worst of you. And I understand with perfect clarity exactly what you are. You're a hell of a woman. You're the one, Buffy."

He took the ring off of his finger and reached for her left hand.

"No," she said, barely a whisper.

"No?" She nodded silently, refusing to look at him. "You mean no as in eventually?"

"You don't get it, do you? I'm a mess. I'm falling apart, or, at least, I feel like I am. I can never have a family with you. Not ever. Why do you still want me?"

"Because I want you, Pet. And you still want me, I know you do. And we'll figure out the rest." Finally, she let him take her hand. As he slipped the ring onto her finger and she realized it fit a bit too snuggly, tears began running down her cheeks unbidden. At first Spike thought they were tears of happiness – something she wasn't too comfortable showing. But after a moment he realized that wasn't the case. "Buffy?" Concern, and a little fear, filled his voice.

"I'm pregnant."

She didn't know what exactly she expected to happen when she said it out loud. But it wasn't anything like this. She watched his brows arch in a look of momentary surprise. After a few seconds of silence he nodded once and climbed back into the bed with her, reaching for her to pull her into his side.

"Come here, Love." He wrapped his arms around her, cradling her head in his hands and he felt her let go a deep breath, then another, shakier almost-sob.

"I can't… We can't…" He stroked her hair as she broke off speaking completely. They were both very much in uncharted territory here.

"We'll figure it out, Pet. You an' me. Together."

~Fin

This is the final story in my "Who-Are-You" series. It's very personal to me, as all of the previous related 'ficlets' have been. As some of you might guess (It's pretty obvious and a lot of authors end up doing it whether they choose to or not) I've put a lot of myself into the AU Buffy. Her problems are very literally my problems. I was diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes fifteen years ago this past September. For most of my adolescence and even into my early twenties I felt like wasn't truly a part of the family, friends, the overall society that I was living in. I felt my disease set me apart. I tried to hide it. I tried to ignore it - to my own detriment. Then I met someone who made me feel 'normal'. And I am extremely lucky to have him in my life - though I put up walls against that relationship at first, too. Four years ago I was diagnosed with DPN or Diabetic Peripheral Neuropathy. The medications used to manage the condition are harmful to a developing fetus. It is an agonizing decision to have to make - to want a family of your own, and know that the best decision is to hold back, for an indeterminate time until the disease is cured, or 'till "we can afford to adopt". But medical advances are being made at a staggering pace. So I have to believe what Spike says - We'll figure it out. One way or another.

Thank you for reading this series. I had a blast writing it. All story titles - except "Three Sundays" and "The Gang Throws Buffy a Party" - were inspired by music.

1. Who Are You Really? by Mikky Ekko2. "Where will you be wakin' up tomorrow mornin'?" from Miss Jackson by Panic! At The Disco
3. Three Sundays from a Mad Men episode of the same title. Season 2, episode 4.
4. The Gang Throws Buffy a Party from an It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia episode, Charlie Kelly: King of The Rats. Season 6, episode 10.
5. Dog Days by Florence + The Machine
6. Intro by The XX
7. Can't Go Back Now by The Weepies

Much of this ficlet was also inspired by the songs "Rush" and "When You've Got Trouble" by Liz Longley. Check her out on spottify.

Hope you've enjoyed it!~Yve