Friday's Child

Chapter One

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Summary: Sunnydale is the perfect Southern California town. Beautiful beaches, picturesque streets, and virtually no crime. Everything is perfect, and everyone is happy. Mostly everyone, that is. Only Dawn and Ben seem to realize that something is wrong. In the midst of all of this, Buffy is curled up happily in her bed with her honey. And Spike wakes up in his crypt with a baby and a soul, neither of which he remembers anything about. Sequel to Thursday's Child.

…

The tropical sunlight was bright and warm on Buffy's face. Bright and warm. Mmmm. Bright and warm was very much of the good. Her eyes shot open and she bolted out of the bed towards the window. Bright and warm was most definitely not of the good. Not when you had a flammable boyfriend and a sun sensitive baby girl.

She closed the partially open curtain, shutting out the beautiful Entebbe sunshine and leaving herself in darkness. There was just enough ambient light to see that they were both still asleep. She'd been between Spike and the sun, and Thursday's bassinet was set up next to his side of the bed. It would have been easier to have her on Buffy's side, but getting his soul had only increased Spike's need to have the baby as close as possible.

Except, of course, for when he needed to be alone. He was willing to cry in front of both of them, but not to scream and rage and hurt himself. It was never anything serious, but whenever she came back from enjoying the tropical rainforest climate, she found faint bruises and mostly healed cuts. His own soul was hitting him a lot harder than Thursday's had.

She'd tried calling Ben for advice, but he hadn't answered. Probably on twelve-hour shifts at the hospital again. Even though they'd locked Glory away, the hospital came first. Buffy approved of that, but it left her without any idea of what she was supposed to do. She'd tried talking to her mom, but everyone back in Sunnydale had been weirdly cheerful and vague on the phone. Maybe they just didn't want to get into anything serious with the uber long distanceness of the call?

All she really could do was respect Spike's privacy when he needed it. So, during the five days they'd been there, she'd gone out a few hours every day to explore the city and do touristy things with Thursday, the baby carefully shielded from the sun to avoid nasty sunburns. She had to admit, even while being distracted by worry, the National Botanical Gardens and the Uganda Wildlife Centre had both been pretty amazing. Though it had been much of the weird, seeing wild monkeys hanging out free in the trees of the zoo area of the Centre.

A soft whimper from the bed caught her attention. Spike was twitching slightly, his pained expression visible even in the dimness. The nightmares had started up again. She padded silently back to the bed and snuggled in beside him, feathering light kisses across his face until he woke up.

"Hey, there," she said softly, smiling reassuringly as his eyes fluttered open. Such pretty eyes, with long, dark lashes and shadows hidden in the blue depths.

"Sorry for wakin' you," he murmured, voice rough with sleep.

"Wasn't you. I apparently left the curtain open," she admitted with a grimace. "Which nets me the worst girlfriend and mommy award of the year."

Spike winced, guilt and dismay splashed across his features. "Oh god, that was me, love. Lookin' out at the stars like a bloody woolgathering idiot," he muttered as he sat up to check on Thursday.

Buffy pulled him back against her. "The baby's fine," she said soothingly. She wondered for a moment if he'd left the curtain open because of some kind of death wish, but dismissed the thought. The sun wouldn't have killed Thursday, but it would have hurt her. He would never have done that on purpose, no matter how suicidal he felt. "You would have gone dusty before it even got to her."

He looked at her with haunted eyes and scooted away from her so there was no physical contact between them. Buffy knew he was thinking of all of the children – including babies – that he had helped Drusilla catch and eat. His own preference had always been older teens and young women, but Dru had liked kids, and back then, for him, food had been food. It hadn't mattered what age it was, as long as it wasn't too old.

She wanted to wrap her arms around him, to stroke his hair and kiss away the pain, but she couldn't. Not yet. He'd only pull away again, feeling like he was too dirty for her to touch. She needed to distract him first. What could she…? Oh, right.

She reached down into her purse – glad she'd left it right next to the bed – and dug out the digital camera she'd brought along. Riley had given it to her for their first and only Valentine's Day together. It was a high end model, which meant he had either paid out the nose for it, or had taken it from the Initiative. Either way, she felt a sort of vindictive thrill at using it on this trip when it had been meant to document the "perfect, loving, normal" life she was supposed to have had with Riley.

"I took some pictures, yesterday," she said, getting as close as she could to Spike without touching him. She turned the camera on and brought up the display so she could show him the pictures. She scrolled to one full of colorful birds. "Thursday slept a lot, and didn't really notice anything even when she was awake, but she liked the birds. They made noises."

She wished Spike could have been there. He would have loved Thursday's squeal of delight and Buffy getting a case of the baby-stupids. She'd grinned down at their daughter, her voice going squeaky as she said, What's going chirpy-chirpy? Is it da birdies? Does baby hear the pretty birdies? Yes, she does!

"Damn Angel and his tendency to break things," she muttered. The Gem of Amara would have been really nice to have.

Spike looked up from the picture to gaze at her and shrugged uncomfortably. "I don't think he actually means to break things," he said quietly. "He just… does. Poor sod."

There was a faraway look in his eyes, as if he was thinking of some of the things Angel had broken. Drusilla, Buffy, Spike himself…. Angel, Angelus, whatever name or personality he was wearing, he wormed his way into people, then left them behind, broken and abandoned.

Buffy cautiously slid her arm around Spike, who leaned into her instead of pulling away. He was thinking about the past, but not about any of the people he'd killed. That was definitely an improvement. He let her kiss him, which was even more of an improvement.

He liked it rough, liked it when she used her full slayer strength with him, but he also liked gentle. That was what she gave him, gentle and sweet, to prove to him that she thought he deserved it. That she loved him, and thought he deserved that too. She didn't say the words. Words could lie. She told him with the honesty of her touch, her skin against his a wordless poem proclaiming exactly how she felt.

Afterwards, he fell asleep, too tired to stay awake and cuddle like he usually did. Or, well, the stay awake part, anyway. He hugged her in his sleep and pressed his face against the side of her neck. She tilted her head just right, and blunt human teeth bit down just shy of actual pain. The things you have to get used to when dating a vampire, she thought fondly as she stroked his hair. Blood in the fridge, no daytime dates, and sleep hickeys.

She drifted off to sleep with him and into troubled dreams. A marionette version of Willow being directed by a dark cloud as she played with hand puppets that looked like Giles, her mom, and her friends. Dawn huddled in fear on a giant Lego version of Sunnydale while the Lego people walked around with mechanical precision. Tara, bound and gagged while Buffy herself stood over her with a shining green key. The lonely, angry wail of a baby that turned into a cry she recognized as one of hunger….

Buffy woke up with a sigh and untangled herself from Spike to feed the baby. At least she didn't interrupt the sex this time, she thought as Thursday latched on. She gazed down at her daughter as she nursed, the warm feelings of love and hormones washing away the dread from her dream.

…

...

It felt odd, it did, driving without the radio on. But Buffy and the sprog were both asleep, and Spike didn't want his music keeping them awake. He idly wondered if that was a soul thing, but decided it was just a him thing. If he actually gave a toss about someone, he did at least try to be considerate. Didn't always succeed, but he at least tried.

God, it was all so confusing. He had known some of what to expect, but his own soul hadn't been the same as Thursday's. Remembering the things he had done had been horrifying and sickening, but there had been a distance. The shared soul was innocent and had had nothing at all to do with those actions. And it hadn't quite fit right, adding another layer between him and the horror. His own soul, though? It fit just right, and it wasn't exactly innocent. He may not have known what she was on about, but he'd said yes to Dru turning him. Every death, every atrocious act, had stemmed from that ignorant agreement.

The sprog's soul may not have fully prepared him, but it had been a road map of sorts. He already knew that wallowing in guilt was pointless and ultimately selfish, but at the same time, he needed to let himself feel and process that guilt and the pain associated with it. He was working on it. He should have had at least another week in Uganda, getting used to his soul and recovering from the trials, but instead, he was driving the DeSoto from LAX to Sunnydale while Buffy slept in the passenger seat and Thursday did the same in her car seat in the back.

He'd been the one to insist on it, even though he really didn't feel up to interacting with anyone else, not even Joyce and the Bit. He'd have to pretend he was fine, and, honestly, he wasn't. Not yet anyway. Buffy had been having troubling dreams, though, ones that coincided with Thursday waking up wailing in terror. Something was up, and it was a hell of a lot more important than his personal issues.

He glanced over at Buffy. So many different aspects to her. Warrior, nurturer, world-weary woman, wide-eyed little innocent of a girl, and wantonly passionate lover. She could be a selfish bitch one moment and utterly selfless the next. She could be deeply understanding and kind about things while still being the same person who once taunted him with her blood while he was noticeably suffering from starvation. She wasn't a perfect shining thing. She was better than that. She was wonderfully, gloriously real, warts and halo and all.

Always going to be by your side, Slayer, he thought, turning his attention fully back to the road as the neared the Welcome to Sunnydale sign. He just barely fought the urge to at least clip the bloody thing with his car. No matter what, I'll always have your back.

Then they were in Sunnydale, and everything froze and shattered into a million jagged pieces.

…

...

Blackness. Tumbling. Wrenching. Falling, falling, falling. Soft bed. Warmth. Where…?

Buffy jerked awake, disoriented and feeling like something was deeply, horribly wrong. Then things settled and she realized she was snuggled up in bed with her sweetie. Everything was alright as long as he was there.

"You okay?" he asked sleepily before nuzzling her neck.

"I'm fine," she said.

And it was true, for the most part. Something still didn't feel quite right, but there was no reason to burden Riley with it. He'd been up late into the night hunting demons for Willow, after all. Hmmm. Maybe Willow would know why she was feeling out of sorts? Willow knew everything. With that comforting thought, Buffy drifted back to sleep, held firmly in Riley's safe and loving arms.