Baby Steps

by lwbush

The sequel to

Baby Steps

The Much Requested Sequel to "Accidents Will Happen"

By Lori Bush

EMAIL: lwbush@charter.net

DISCLAIMER: Buffy, Xander and the gang belong to Joss Whedon and his cohorts. I'm trying real hard to stake a claim on a small piece of Xander, however. If only I owned it all - *sigh*. Then I could pay someone to make a Xander t-shirt and sell it. And if it were worth suing me, I could then even afford to buy it, but I can't, so don't.

PAIRING: B/X (duh – see what it's the sequel to?)

SUMMARY: Baby makes three…

RATING: PG

SPOILERS: The previous story – "Accidents Will Happen."

AUTHOR'S NOTES: So many asked in such a charming fashion. A few asked more bluntly. However you asked, here it is. Thanks again to Shawn (Ozmandayus), who gave me the go-ahead on this. And to the Bella's – you know who you are. *G*

BTW – I never experienced natural childbirth, so if the details aren't quite right – sue me. No, then again, don't. Please.

~**~

OH God. Ohgod. Ohgodohgodohgod.

"Xander?" I look up to see Buffy coming out of the bathroom, makeup kit in her hand. She strolls over and tucks it in the tote bag she's already prepared. Just watching her walk, strangely graceful although her movements are heavy and awkward due to the pregnancy, calms me somewhat. She raises an eyebrow at the sight of me sitting on the side of the bed in nothing but my boxers. "Honey? You might want to put a little something more on before we leave. I have a feeling you'll be more comfotabl – ohhhgh!"

The moan interrupts her, and she grabs the dresser as her knees buckle slightly because of the pain. My calm evaporates. Ohgodohgodohgodohgod.

"The pains are getting closer together, Xan. Unless you get dressed and drive me to the hospital, we may be having this baby here in the comfort of our own little bed. And I'm not sure you're ready to handle that."

Her wry reminder of the reason for my panic manages to dispel it long enough for me to recognize that she's right. I grope blindly on the floor, coming up with yesterday's slightly dirty khakis and somewhat dirtier sweater. I pick up the socks that are there, but one whiff tells me clean ones are probably a good idea. Clean socks. I have to stand up.

The labor pain has passed, and she's all business again. "Did you call Mom? Giles? Willow?"

I stare at her without comprehension. Of course I didn't. I've been sitting on the side of the bed, dealing with the fact that Buffy just awakened me from the early stages of a very sound sleep and told me I'm about to have a baby. Now. Oh, God, not now. I almost fall over trying to put both my socks on at once, standing up. We're going to have a baby now, and I don't even have shoes on. Dull panic reasserts itself.

"I'll take that as a no," she mutters, and I can tell she's trying not to laugh. "You can call them from the hospital. I remember seeing phones in the birthing rooms during the tour."

How dare she laugh? She just has to – oh God, another contraction - she's in pain, and I'm here worrying about MY part in all this. Keys – where the hell are my keys? At any other time, I'd revel in the loving amusement in her eyes, but my part in this is to get her to the hospital, preferably before the baby decides to make its grand entrance, and I swore I'd never let her down. After searching all the usual hiding places, I find my keys in the pocket of the pants I have on. I think I'm finally starting to wake up a little. Now if I can just get over the mind-numbing fear and shock…

Okay, I managed to start the car, get it to the curb and put her bag in. It's a good thing she climbed in without my help – I was close to taking off without Buffy entirely. After all the trips we've made to the hospital in the last few months for Lamaze and the tour and all (not to mention all the times I've been there with either her or other members of the Scooby Gang under less pleasant circumstances), the car can just about drive itself. I put my mind in neutral, and I recall how far we've come.

After our laughable "first date," she started taking my weekly proposals more seriously. She still didn't say "yes" right off, but I could see she was considering it. We're now to the point where she's wearing a ring, but no date has been set. Major progress there.

She took the last semester off school, but her extra-curricular project has been to pressure me into taking night classes at the Community College in engineering. She even talked to my boss, who said he'd help pay, since it would be to his benefit, so long as I agreed to keep working for him. The SAT scores aren't an issue for night school, and I'm considering it pretty seriously. So, maybe I won't be the "stupid one" anymore. She always hits me when I say that out loud. I don't want a real heavy schedule, though, since I still want to patrol with her, and there'll be the baby to consider.

The baby. I hear her release her breath, hard, which means she just ended another contraction. I hate that this hurts her, and that it's only going to get worse before it's over. She reads my mind, I think, because she reaches over to squeeze my hand. "Maybe it'll be a short labor – easy," she suggests.

"This is the Hellmouth – easy doesn't exist here," I answer, worried. I haven't told her about the nightmares yet.

"Xander, the hospital," she cries out, and I manage to swing into the driveway without squealing the tires too much. I pull up to the Emergency entrance, and look over to see her clutching her stomach. "You trying to *scare* this kid into being born fast?" she asks me, breathless.

"Sorry," I answer, in a tone of voice that says I haven't even considered what I did as needing an apology. It was just a sharp turn, after all. I grab her bag from the back seat and run around the car quickly enough to open her door and help hoist her out. Rising from a seated position is more challenging for her lately. She puts her hand on her back and stretches a bit. Then a pain hits her again, and I have to hold her because her knees are buckling like before. "Let's get you inside," I fuss.

It's one in the morning, but I have a feeling the skinny girl at the desk would look just as weary and hollow-eyed at noon. It appears to be a lifestyle choice for her. "Baby," I babble. "We're having one." After a moment, my mouth and brain begin working together. "We're pre-registered. Summers-Harris."

"How far apart are the pains?" she asks, in a "would-you-like-fries-with-that" tone of voice.

"Eight minutes," Buffy answers her. I hadn't even realized she was timing them.

"Sit down, I'll call you a wheelchair." I turn and help Buffy to the line of ugly vinyl chairs and settle her in for what I hope will only be a moment. "Mr. Summers?" the lifeless voice calls.

"It's Summers-Harris. She's Summers, I'm Harris."

"Whatever. I need the mother's first name."

"Buffy." I see the girl's eyebrow rise slightly. It's the largest emotional response I've seen out of her so far. I've met warmer vampires. Come to think of it, night shift, hospital Emergency Room – it'd be a perfect job for one of them. Take your breaks in the blood bank. Naw – any vamp at an all-you-can-eat like this would weigh more than her. "Buffy Anne Summers," I repeat, trying to focus back on the task at hand.

"Insurance card." She holds out her hand, and after a brief shuffle through my wallet, I score, and hand it over. As I'm waiting a large black man, as cheerful as the girl is dreary, bursts through the double door pushing a wheelchair.

"Mrs. Harris," he almost bellows at Buffy, grinning like an idiot.

"He's Harris, she's Summers," the bored clerk corrects him as she hands me back my card. She would remember *that*. I like hearing Buffy called by my name. She looks at me for the first time, and I swear she almost smiles. That had to hurt. "You can go back with them, Mr. Harris."

The Happy Giant has Buffy in the wheelchair, and is going through the doors. I scramble to catch up. "This your first?" the guy asks her. At her nod, he grinned even wider. "I can usually pick 'em," he told her with assurance. "The first time dads all have this haunted look." He sees me beside him, scowling, and he pokes me with his elbow. "No offence." Without waiting for an answer, he goes on. "Although it really doesn't get any easier after the first. I have five, I should know. My wife says it gets easier for *her*." His laughter bellows through the halls, and I smile weakly. I could never survive doing this five times – this time is hard enough. He takes a sharp turn with the chair, and we're in a homey looking bedroom, with a big oak double bed, a matching entertainment armoire and a rocking chair. It has nice soft lighting and rich wallpaper.

Buffy and I told Joyce about these rooms after we'd had the tour, and she was awed. "I gave birth to both you and Dawn in a sterile white box with all the warmth of a Frigidaire," she announced jealously. "Things sure have changed."

The big guy helps Buffy stand, and she clutches her bag. "I'm gonna go in the bathroom and change," she informs me. He wishes her luck and wheels away.

Whoa – is that a recliner in the corner? Nice. There's even a wooden cradle. Not that we'll be here very long – the OB/GYN said they usually release healthy moms and kids after about twelve hours. Joyce said she had to stay in the hospital for three days after Buffy was born. Typical administrative logic – make the rooms more comfortable, then allow us almost no time to enjoy them.

Buffy emerges from the bathroom in this huge cotton nightgown the hospital had set out. It's better than your standard hospital gown in that it doesn't wrap and tie, leaving large parts of a body flapping in the wind, but outside of that, it lacks any sort of charm. "Cute, huh?" she asks, forlornly.

I move over and put my arms around her. "You'd be cute in a grocery sack." I hold her away from me and pretend to be eyeing the gown critically. "Correction, you *are* cute in a grocery sack." Before she can swat me, I see her tense up, and I pull her back to my chest and hold her until the contraction passes. I help her over to the bed, since her legs are shaking, and tuck her gently in. "Rest," I say, smoothing the soft blonde hair back. "I think we're going to be here a while." The TV remote is sitting on the bedside table, and I hand it to Buffy. "Not that there's much on at this hour," I offer, "but it might help ease our minds." She props the pillows up against the headboard and begins channel surfing.

I'm checking out the recliner. Man, this thing is *great*! We may have to buy one of these chairs. I push back and the footrest comes out, and I notice the chair's positioned so I have a good view of the TV in the armoire. Buffy's stopped at some cooking show that looks like a combination of "Yan Can Cook" and WWF. Weird. I close my eyes for a moment.

"There could be complications, you know. The conception being tainted with demon blood as it was." My eyes fly open at the sound of Giles clipped British accent. When'd *he* get here? I fold the chair back down and climb out. Willow's with him.

"Can we do a spell of some sort to make sure?" my best friend asks him.

"We'll just count fingers and toes and arms and heads, first." Somehow, I find that less than comforting.

I'm about to say something, but I hear a moan from behind me. Buffy's writhing on the bed in pain, and the doctor rushes in, followed by – the skinny girl from the desk? I didn't think she was a nurse. "Xander," Buffy cries.

I'm at her side in an instant. "Breathe, baby," I coach her. "Remember the pattern." She begins to puff and blow obediently, and then she moans again. She's sweating and panting, just like the ladies in the Lamaze videos.

"We're at full dilation," the skinny girl announces without emotion. Buffy squeezes my hand hard enough to hurt, but her pain is greater, so I bite my lip. "I think the baby's crowning," the dull voice goes on.

"Oooohh, Xander," Buffy screams in my ear.

"Push, Buffy," Giles calls out helpfully.

"There seems to be a lot of blood," Willow observes in that mousy voice she uses when she's scared and is trying to be brave. I silently sympathize, since the amount of blood in the videos weirded me out at first, too. I look down at where the action is, and realize it's Willow, not the girl from the desk. I see Giles' glasses over the doctor's mask.

"Push, Buffy," Giles orders her again. She makes a face, giving it all she's got, and then screams. "We have it!" Giles announces triumphantly.

"Oh my Goddess!" Willow moans, horrified. I look down, and Giles is holding this small green monster. It looks at me, and it has the face of the Master. Then it morphs into the Mayor, post-ascension. I'm about to scream when my eyes fly open, and I grunt instead.

Buffy's looking at me. "You were having that nightmare again." It isn't a question.

I take a moment to do inventory. I'm in the recliner, Buffy's in the bed. Still pregnant. Nobody else is here. Whew. I fold up the chair and go perch on the edge of the bed beside her. "How'd you know I've been having them?" I ask, taking her hand.

"I know you better than you think," she says, brushing my hair back lovingly. "It's going to be fine," she goes on forcefully. "Women have babies every day."

"Not women I love." I want desperately to tell her about the nightmare, but I know this isn't the time. I don't want her to have the mental pictures I have – of her taking the demon-baby into her arms and cooing and loving it. Or the other ending I see sometimes, where it kills us all and goes on to destroy Sunnydale. I know it's just a dream, it's just – I want this all to be over. Soon.

"I called Mom and Giles and Willow while you were sleeping," she goes on, oblivious to my thoughts, thank goodness. "They should be here real soon."

"Aw, Buffy, I'm sorry. That was one of my jobs. I don't know why I'm here – I'm totally useless. What if you'd really needed something, and I was over there fast asleep?"

She grinned and held up something on a cord. "I have my handy-dandy call button. Instant nurse." She laid the thing back at her side. "She came in to get me settled right after you fell asleep. They've called Dr. Choi, and he'll be here in a while. They seem to think I'll be in labor for a long time, but I sure hope they're wrong. I mean, my water broke already."

I'm back in worried mode. "It did? When? Why didn't you wake me?"

"What, so you could collect a sample for the baby book? What could you have done? Besides, it just happened before you woke up. I was about to call the nurse – the bed's all soggy." She presses the little red button, and before long an angel of mercy appears. She's big and buxom and unnaturally redheaded, and not the skinny desk girl in my dream. Good. Once Buffy explains the problem, she bustles out, coming back with clean sheets and a dry gown, which my Slayer girl takes into the bathroom again. I'm fascinated by the swift methodical way this woman changes the bed, and I don't even notice that Willow and Joyce are here until my best friend speaks.

"So, did we miss it all? Where's Buffy?"

I jump, but calm quickly and go over to hug them both. "She's in the bathroom changing. Her water broke." We've been told that friends can stay in the room until hard labor begins. "Sorry to get you guys up in the middle of the night."

"Most of the exciting things that happen in Sunnydale happen in the middle of the night," Willow says, shrugging. "I let Tara go back to sleep, though."

Joyce has a funny smile on her face. "I left Dawn a note. She'll call when she wakes up, I'm sure." She sighs. "My first grandbaby."

"Well, don't plan on it being your last," Buffy says as she comes out in another one of those tent-sized gowns. My eyebrow shoots up, and she winks at me. "Although I may not want to repeat this process *real soon*, I do plan to eventually." All my bad feelings are gone and I'm soaring. Buffy wants to have my babies – more of them. She groans, and I realize that we have to get through this one, first.

"Buffy, are you alright?" Giles stammers, and I get my first look at her Watcher. His hair is all messy, and it looks like he has his tee-shirt on backwards. Giles is wearing a *tee-shirt*? Will wonders never cease? I think he looks more rumpled and alarmed than even I did.

She's leaning on my arm now. "The pains are getting a bit stronger," she admits in a strained voice. I help her back to the bed and tuck her into the clean sheets.

Giles is pale and fretful. I cast a glance at Joyce, and then over to him pointedly. She gets it. "Rupert," she says sweetly, "I really need a cup of coffee. Would you come with me and help me find one?" They leave, but he keeps glancing back like we're going to disappear if he doesn't keep an eye out for us.

Willow manages to hold her laughter until they're pretty much out of earshot. "Poor guy," she gasps through her mirth. "He can handle vampires, the Master, Balthazar – but the idea of a child being born is too much for him."

Buffy laughed too. "We may have just sealed his fate as a eternal bachelor." I see her tense again. The pains are definitely getting closer together.

"So, if it's a girl, what are you gonna call her, Xand?" Willow asks, baiting me with her new favorite torture.

"It's a boy. We haven't picked a girl's name because I know it's gonna be a boy." Buffy wouldn't look at the sonogram, and I said I didn't have to. I knew what we were having. "Alexander William Rupert Summers Harris. 'Ash' for short." The 'Rupert' was self-explanatory, and 'William' was to honor both Willow and Spike, but except for his birth certificate, his name would be Alexander Summers Harris. Hence the nickname.

"Poor gal," Willow teased. "Not only will she have a boy's name, but it's gonna be longer than she is, at first." I stick out my tongue, and she responds in kind. Suddenly Buffy moans, and it's much louder and more pained than before. "I'd better go get the nurse," Willow said, hurrying out of the room.

"Not…gonna…be…long…" Buffy bites out. I take her hand, and she grabs onto me like a drowning woman going down for the third time. I forgot to start the CD she wanted playing during the birth, but somehow I have a feeling she couldn't care less at this point. The OB/GYN, Dr. Choi, and the redheaded nurse hurry in.

"Well, Buffy, you surprised us. First time mothers usually have longer labors." Dr. Choi is about forty, with a wide Oriental face, a crew cut and a nice smile. I haven't decided if the idea that he gets paid for looking at the most intimate parts of numerous women makes me envy him, or view him as a pervert beyond even myself during my sophomore year in high school. It's probably just a job to him, anyway. It better be – he's looked at Buffy, too.

"We have nine centimeters dilation, doctor," the nurse calls out from somewhere near Buffy's feet. The fact that this isn't following my dream script is comforting.

Dr. Choi is studying Buffy's chart. "No episiotomy, no drugs," he looks up. "You appear to be a strong woman, Buffy. You should do fine. I'll do all I can to make this easy for you, but it's really up to the little one." She nods, and then a pain hits and she squeezes my hand, hard.

"Take it easy, babe," I mutter in her ear. "Slayer strength, remember?" She looks apologetic.

"We're at full dilation, doctor," Nurse Buxom announces, "and we appear to have a breech presentation." Buffy moans again, but not from a labor pain. We were warned that this could happen, and that breech births were more difficult.

The doctor jumps into motion. "We'll try and turn it first. Hannah, call the operating team and put them on stand-by. Buffy, this may be a bit uncomfortable." He looks up from his place at the foot of the bad, and she nods, bracing herself. I can see my Slayer tense, and bite her lip as the doctor tries to manipulate the baby into the proper position. Then Buffy gasps, and I can tell it's a contraction. "Don't push!" Dr. Choi shouts, somewhat panicked.

"I – I – I," the doctor stands, and eyes her sympathetically. "I *have* to," Buffy finishes, tears in her eyes.

"It's okay, this kid wants to be out, badly. We're still going to try for the natural delivery, but if things start to look dicey, we're going to do an emergency C-section. You're both okay with that, right?" We'd had to sign papers to that effect when we pre-registered, but they said it didn't happen often. We both nodded. Just our luck.

Buffy began to tense again. "Okay," Dr. Choi told her, "now PUSH!" She squeezed my hand, her face contorted with the effort. Finally she released her breath and loosened her grip on my bruised fingers. "Good," came the muffled voice from between her legs, "Next time, I want you to push even *harder*." I saw her despair, and was about to encourage her when her face tightened again. "Here we go," Choi announced unnecessarily. "PUSH. HARD."

Her face was all screwed up. I could see tears in the corners of her eyes. She was gripping my hand with all her might. "We've…" Dr. Choi hesitated, and Buffy squeezed harder, "got it!" Then I heard a cracking sound, and my world went black.

I wake up lying on my back and staring at the ceiling. I seemed to be on a bed of some kind. My right hand feels heavy, and hurts when I tried to move it, so I moan.

"Xander?" I hear Buffy call tiredly. "Willow, go see if he's awake."

"Wha?" I said fuzzily. "Where am I?" My head clears slightly. "Baby? Is the baby okay?" I struggle to sit up, and feel Wills beside me, supporting my back. "Why am I on a stretcher?"

"The baby is fine. You're a little worse for wear," Joyce told me. I looked down at my hand – it was in a cast.

"Do you want some of the pain medicine, honey? I can call the nurse." Buffy sounds relieved that I'm awake, and a little worried.

My hand is throbbing, but it helps me focus. "Naw. What's going on?"

"I sort of forgot about the Slayer strength thing." Buffy hangs her head.

Willow giggles. "The nurse said that new dads pass out all the time, but not usually from pain because the mom broke their hand."

"Well, it's a good thing I already asked for a leave of absence at work to spend some time with the baby," I offered. "The baby? Where is he?"

Joyce walks over to the cradle, and picks up a blanket wrapped bundle. "Um, Xander, you might want to prepare yourself," Giles says, nervously. Oh, God – the nightmare. I'm shaking as Joyce places the bundle in my arms.

The face looks human enough. That's good. I'm afraid to unwrap the blanket, though. Finally, slowly, I do. Everything's fine. He looks beautiful. He looks human. He looks… Willow walks over and unfastens the diaper. He looks – like a girl. "Oh, man."

"Nope," Willow answers smugly. "Not now, and never will be."

I stand, and walk over to Buffy's bedside. I can see everyone watching me, wondering what I'm going to do or say. I put the baby in her arms, and sit down, wrapping my arms around them both. "She's perfect."

We just sit there, loving each other, loving our daughter, oblivious to the rest of the world for a few minutes. Then the baby cries, and the mood is broken.

"Alexis," Buffy says, apropos nothing. I'm still holding her close, while the baby is squirming and rooting at her breast. At my questioning look, she explains. "We can call her Alexis Summers Harris."

"You could still use 'Ash' as a nickname," Willow says, doubtfully.

"Nope," I say, fully satisfied with this compromise, "We'll call her Lexxie. I like that."

"So do I," Buffy grinned. "Now if you don't mind, Lexxie would like her first meal, and I'm not ready to do this with an audience yet. You stay," she says, catching me as I go to follow the others. I sit beside the bed, watching my child suckle happily - the pain in my hand, my desire for a son, all totally forgotten.

Life is good. I don't say it enough, but thank You, God.

~**~

The End