Chapter Nine:
Xander was really starting to abuse the inhale-exhale strategy, to the point that it stopped working for his benefit. He hissed and leaned his head back against the couch, running his hands all over his super-hard stomach. He squeezed his eyes shut as the cramps got stronger, and to his dismay, the only workable way to decrease them was to go to the bathroom. Again. His life lately was nothing but trips to the bathroom every five minutes; he couldn't even sit through the Late Night with Conan O'Brien. But that wasn't really just because of the cramps.
"Xander, you don't look so good," Mrs. Summers said as she walked in with a tray laden of juice and two glasses.
"I haven't been catching up on my beauty sleep lately." He wiggled to get in a more comfortable sitting position. "A six-month coma ought to be enough."
Mrs. Summers set the tray on the serving table and hurried to sit by his side. "Your blood pressure might be high again."
"No, it's the contractions," he said with a wince. "They're getting stronger and more frequent."
All week he'd managed to put on a brave face and hide the pain from Mrs. Summers by putting into practice what he'd learned from the childbirth tapes. But right now the pain was unbearable, and his brain cells weren't functioning at all. It was as if everything he'd learned had just vanished out of his memory. Mrs. Summers held his hands and helped him crouch on the floor in a squatting position. He grunted throughout the contraction.
"Is it better now?" Mrs. Summers asked, rubbing his back as she crouched next to him.
He nodded through an exhale. "Yeah."
Beads of sweat gathered in his forehead and slid down his cheeks to his jaw line, dripping to his clenching fists on the floor. He felt pinches of pain in his lower stomach that began to spread upward, changing into hard, intense pain. He groaned loudly and felt Mrs. Summers pulling him up to his feet, holding his hand and making him walk around the living room. The pain eased somewhat and he was able to breathe again.
He shot Mrs. Summers a grateful smile that she didn't see. She was looking ahead, lost in thought.
"What is it?" he asked.
She looked at him questioningly.
"You've got your I-have-something face on. I've noticed it for a while but I've been too busy trying to breathe to ask. What's the what?"
"I've been thinking…"
His grunt of pain interrupted her, and they were back to crouching on the floor. Through his inhales and exhales, he heard her continue. "After the baby is born, why don't you move in?"
He blinked, feeling the pain diminishing. He shook his head. "Mrs. Summers, I've overstayed my welcome…"
"Not at all," Mrs. Summers protested.
"You're just saying that. I've been a big burden these past six months. You wouldn't want to be saddled with an unemployed high school graduate and a baby. Shit!" He clenched his teeth and dug his nails in his palm as the stabbing pain started again.
"I'd love to have you both here." Mrs. Summers helped him up to his feet again. "Look, you told me you can't go back home with the baby. And with Buffy off to college, it gets really lonely around here."
"I, uh… uh…" He jumped out of his skin when the baby kicked hard and then something popped. He blinked, feeling fluid leaking into his pants.
Mrs. Summers frowned at him when he stopped walking all of a sudden. "More painful?"
"No, it's… guh!" He felt the fluid sliding down his thighs. "I think I'm going through a my-waters-broke moment." He snapped into panic-mode right away. "The baby is coming!"
"Shhh," Mrs. Summers said soothingly. "Relax. Let's get you upstairs."
Waves of panic coursed through him despite Mrs. Summers' calm and soothing tone. "But what if the baby slides out onto the stairs?"
Mrs. Summers laughed softly. "Sweetheart, it'll take time before the baby comes. You know that."
Xander flushed in embarrassment. He'd read so many books about this, and yet when the moment came he'd allowed the lies of TV shows to get to him. He'd probably still have a couple of days, maybe less, before the baby arrived.
He let Mrs. Summers guide him up the stairs, grimacing at the irritating feeling of wetness all over his thighs and legs. He blushed at the thought of leaving trails of water behind him. Thankfully, this whole pregnancy thing was going to be over soon. He couldn't wait to be normal again. In the meantime, he was just so uncomfortable that he wanted to explode. Between the dampness on his thighs and legs and the sweat on his forehead and neck, he wasn't sure how he was going to go through more days like this.
His heart began beating faster when he saw his bed; fear and excitement meshed together, creating an overwhelming feeling that ran down to his swollen feet. He wished it was time already. He wished it was over.
Mrs. Summers rushed to his closet and got him a new clean pair of maternity pants. "Let me help you put these on."
He shook his head hard. "No! I'll do it myself."
"Xander." She gave him a look.
He wiped the sweat from his forehead. "Could you get me some ice? I feel so hot."
She nodded, handed him the pants and walked out of the room. Xander looked down and wondered why he had to wear them. Wouldn't it be better to stay pants-less now that the baby was coming? Women at the hospital wore hospital gowns, which Mrs. Summers didn't have. He hoped she wouldn't suggest he'd wear a nightie. Blood rushed to his cheeks as he pictured himself in a pink nightie with a fluffy collar. Why, God, why must all the embarrassing Hellmouthy stuff happen to him? He wouldn't have minded having Buffy's hearing everyone's thoughts experience or Willow's vampire-double-visit dilemma. He was notgoing to wear a nightie!
Mrs. Summers walked into the room with a glass filled with ice cubes. "You didn't take off your pants," she said in confusion.
He accepted the glass from her hand and flushed. "I… uh…"
"They're wet," she said. "Take them off and wear the new pair."
"But, water breaking?"
She rolled her eyes, which looked so weird on her. "Sweetie, you're going to have a natural birth and that will take some time before the baby arrives. Just wear this, lie down and relax."
"Just like that?" Xander glanced at the clean, dry pants with hesitation, rubbing his wet thighs against each other. "I, uh, don't have to wear something embarrassing? Like a pad?"
Mrs. Summers smiled and shook her head.
Cheeks still burning, he looked between her and the pants. "Okay, could you, um…?"
Mrs. Summers laughed and turned around, leaving. "Xander, I'm gonna see everything soon."
He ducked his head, glad that she'd left and didn't insist on helping him change his pants.
"So, Halloween was a bust?" Xander said to the phone, leaning back against the pillows and sucking on an ice cube.
"Not exactly," Willow said. "You should have seen the tiny demon, Xander. You would have loved it."
He winced when he bit hard on the cube and looked down at the rest of the ice melting in the small plate next to him on the bed. He'd spent Halloween getting through contractions and avoiding the trick-or-treaters who had knocked on their door for candy. The last thing he needed was naughty kids pointing and mocking. He didn't dwell on the fact that his friends were having a blast at a fraternity Halloween party, because even if his eggo wasn't preggo, he wouldn't have been invited due to his townie-ness. Now he thought he'd jinxed their party with his pity thoughts, but he wasn't going to tell Willow that.
"How did it feel?" Willow said in sneaky glee.
"The answer is still no," he answered without taking a breath.
"C'mon, Xander, just tell me!"
"No!" On second thought, he'd probably tell her about jinxing Halloween. He didn't feel like talking about water-breaking and labor right now, especially when his ice had turned into water. He placed the plate on the nightstand and squirmed when the cramps started.
"Were you scared?"
"Still am," he said with a pained hiss. He started performing the Lamaze breathing exercise for the fourth time since Willow called. This time, Willow didn't offer to be his partner.
"Oooh, weren't you excited?"
"Yeah, so excited, I had to clean my specs in excitement," he said wryly, but deep inside he was excited. But mostly terrified shitless.
"We'll swing by tomorrow after Professor Walsh's lecture," Willow said. "Hopefully, when it really happens we'll be there for you."
"Yeah. Great," he said, blinking at Mrs. Summers, who walked into his room in her robe with a sleeping bag and a couple of pillows. "All right, Will, see you tomorrow."
"Take care," she said and put down the phone.
He shut the phone and pushed himself up on his elbows, looking at Mrs. Summers setting the sleeping bag on the floor next to his bed. "You don't have to sleep here," he said, feeling uncomfortable.
"You'll need someone around to help you get through the contractions. They'll get more painful as the time approaches."
He dropped back against the pillows. "Don't tell anyone if I turn on the boo-hoos." He was surprised to find himself feeling calmer. Calling Willow had helped ease his anxiety. He just hoped that it would all be over before the next night.
His chest tightened when Mrs. Summers stood next to his bed with an eager expression on her face. "Why don't you let me measure your dilation?"
He couldn't see his face, but he knew there was no difference between it and a ripe tomato. "I'm all tucked in," he said weakly, pulling his covers up to his neck.
Mrs. Summers shook her head in disappointment. "You don't need to prolong this. You can't have the baby without my help."
Watching her walk out of the room, he breathed a sigh of relief. But then his heart sped up and his cheeks felt warmer when he pictured Mrs. Summers inserting a finger inside his vagina. He pulled up the covers to hide his burning face. The thought alone made him want to pass out. What would he do when it was time for delivery?
God, he was in hell. He was definitely in hell. His arms were over his head clutching the pillows tightly, his feet rubbed against the mattress, his breath was caught in his throat – he was in so much pain he couldn't think straight. His head started lolling on the pillow as a fresh dose of cramps shot inside him. He tried to go for the Lamaze, but his brain cells couldn't connect the word with the action.
He screamed in agony.
He vaguely heard a flustered movement, and then Mrs. Summers's head popped from the floor. Her hair was tangled and messy and her pupils were small; she'd slept for an hour while he had suffered throughout. He'd been hoping he'd have the baby before she woke up, so he'd held in his cries of pain. Right now, it was too hard to keep them in.
Mrs. Summers jumped to her feet. "It's time," she announced, looking him over.
"If it's not," he said through clenched teeth, "then I'll pass on dropping a baby and just kill myself." He cried out in pain when the cramps got stronger. "Sweet mother of… shit! SHIT!"
Mrs. Summers' hand was on his sweaty head in an instant. "Don't panic. Breathe. Breathe. That's it. Try to relax. I'm gonna go downstairs and get everything we need. I won't be long."
He watched her race toward the door and pushed himself upward, groaning as the contractions became even stronger. Those positive natural birthing articles Mrs. Summers had made him read were a bunch of hooey. This was not rewarding at all. His stomach felt like it was twisting into knots and ripping at his insides.
He breathed in and out and tried to think of something other than labor: Buffy and Willow listening to a boring lecture at college, Giles having sex with Olivia, Mrs. Summers warming some water for the delivery – oh God, oh God!
Don't panic!He tried to break the cycle of fear by rising to his feet with difficulty. He padded across the room, not knowing what to do, and stopped midway to lean forward as another shot of cramps electrified him. With one hand on his aching lower back, he straightened himself and took a long, trembling breath.
He looked back at his bed, eying the footboard pensively, that scene from The Good Earthtriggering his mind. A sudden, new shot of pain soared through him and he screamed. His hands clutched the dresser and he leaned forward, breathing hard and sweating like a pig.
"What are you doing up?" Mrs. Summers exclaimed.
He turned to look at her, dragging in a deep breath. She placed a bowl of water by the foot of the bed and a couple of towels next to it along with a plastic sheet, rushed to his side and then walked him back to the bed.
"Take off your pants. I'll go get the medical tools, and when I get back I'll measure your dilation. From the looks of it, it's probably six or seven centimeters open."
He squeezed his eyes shut and steadied himself by holding on the footboard with one hand. The twinges of pain returned to his lower back and he began massaging it with his other hand. Opening his eyes, he didn't see Mrs. Summers in the room. He was completely alone. Swallowing thickly, he limped with a wince toward the open door and pushed it shut, his heart almost stopping at the spooky creaking sound it made. Hesitating for a second, he moved toward the dresser, opened the drawer and took the key. He walked back toward the door and locked it.
He stared at the key in the lock for a moment and then reached with his hands toward the waistline and pulled down his pants, creating a pool around his ankles. Stepping out of them, he walked toward the bed and turned his back to it, parting his legs so that the bowl of warm water was between them. He moved his hands back to clutch the footboard's railings and then squatted, whimpering as another dose of stabbing pain shot though him.
He heard Mrs. Summers attempt to open the door. More unsuccessful attempts followed before a rain of knocks pounded on the door. "Xander, did you lock the door?"
The contractions started again, and Xander screamed in pain.
"Xander! Open the door now!"
He grunted at the end of the contraction. His swollen feet gave out and he almost fell over, but his hands tightened their hold on the footboard and he pulled himself up.
"Xander, you can't do this on your own. It's not safe! Open the door!"
He breathed hard through another contraction, releasing a long, drawn-out moan when it hit harder than the previous ones.
"I'm gonna get the extra key!"
Hanging his head in exhaustion, he felt tremors of pain reverberate through his body. He grunted when the pain started again, but this wasn't just any pain, this was torture. He screamed at the top of his lungs, louder than he had before, feeling himself growing nauseous. He shook so hard through the contraction, his mouth and eyes watering, and then a hot flush of vomit rose in his throat and he threw up.
His hands were numb from holding on to the footboard, preventing him from falling over on his own vomit. He trembled all over, panting heavily as he looked down at the mess that stained the carpet. Despair washed over him and then he was nauseous again; it was coming once more, he couldn't stop it, the icky salty taste was back and he was salivating like crazy. It was like his insides were coming out of his mouth.
He was in deep shit.
His heart raced in his chest, his eyes had gone dry from opening them wide for so long and his body hurt so much from crouching for what seemed like forever. The stench of vomit made him extremely dizzy.
Oh, God. He couldn't do it. He couldn't do it. What the hell was he thinking locking himself in his room? He couldn't do this alone.
The terrible sound of the fumbling key on the other side of the door made his heart skip a beat. He looked up and saw his key in the lock. Mrs. Summers' attempts to unlock the door were useless with his key in there.
"Crap!" Mrs. Summers snapped in frustration. "I can't get the key in!"
Everything went black for a second and then Xander was back. What the hell? Was he going to black out?
"Xander, do you hear me?" Mrs. Summers called from outside.
He swallowed and looked around him frantically, scared out of his mind.
"Xander!"
"I can't! I can't!" he cried out in fear. "I'm gonna faint!"
"Don't, Xander. Just push!" Mrs. Summers' voice grew desperate. "I'm gonna… crap! I can't call 911! Listen, listen, I'm gonna call Buffy and Mr. Giles!" There was a pause. "Just breathe and relax, Xander. Everything is gonna be okay."
Breathe. Breathe. He was so scared and in so much pain he'd forgotten how to breathe. He was desperate for the pain to end and would do anything to stop it. His legs were almost ready to give out, unable to hold him up any longer. He'd fall on the bowl of water, but… but what if the baby's head was already out at this point?
It couldn't be. It wouldn't come out if he didn't push. Mrs. Summers said he should push.
He pushed.
He clenched his teeth and pushed again.
Push. Push. Push.
He blacked out again for a second, followed quickly by throwing up. He panted and swallowed the foul taste in his mouth. This time it felt good to throw up.
Mrs. Summers knocked on the door a couple of times. "I'll try to find something to break the door. Don't worry. I'm here."
But she wasn't. She was on the other side of the door. He was completely alone.He took a couple of long breaths and looked down at his body. Key words: his body. He had complete control over it. He could bring the baby out on his own. He could survive this.
He felt sudden power in his trembling legs and numb hands, his mind cleared out, uncluttered and focused. He was in full control.
When the contraction started, he pushed.
He could feel the baby working its way out of him, but wasn't sure if the head was out yet. Another snap of contraction, and he pushed. The baby slid slightly. He paused and felt the movement inside him, which brought a tiny smile to his lips. Contraction started and he pushed, the baby sliding down even more, and just like that he was at one with the baby, working together through this.
They could do this together. With that thought, he felt his emotions ease and his body regain much of its strength. He felt the tissues stretch and open, the intensity, the baby crowning, all going well and smoothly. He closed his eyes and went with the flow, pushing when he felt the urge and letting his instincts guide him through the process.
The sudden pounding on the door disturbed the serenity. The headache, the nausea, the horrible pain, they were all back at once, and he dropped on one knee. He freaked out and tried to get up on his foot unsuccessfully. He could feel his genitals in the warm water and feared the baby's head was under the water as well.
With all the strength he could muster, he lifted himself up on both feet and pushed again. Shit, he was supposed to push during the contraction. Mrs. Summers was yelling something from outside and his ultimate wish at this second was for her to shut up.
He wanted to be back to the tranquility he was in before. But it felt impossible at this stage. The contractions were fiercely painful and he missed pushing a couple of times due to the pain. Shit! Shit! Shit!
His head was throbbing hard and tears of frustration welled in his eyes. He took a long, deep breath and as the next contraction hit, he pushed. Yes, he was back in control. Just block out any other sounds. Focus on this. Focus on the baby.
Contraction. Push.
Contraction. Push.
Contraction. Push.
He could feel it. The baby was moving. The baby was coming out. He pushed again, and he could feel the head between his thighs. He separated his thighs further to give the baby more room. He pushed again, suddenly feeling too exhausted. He was about to collapse, but held himself up firmly. He had to be strong for the baby.
He pushed, and the baby popped out of him, sliding down into the water. He gasped for breath and looked down, and a shot of fear attacked him as he saw his baby swimming in a pool of blood.
So much blood. So much water. The baby was drowning in the water. He fell to his knees, bringing down his numb hands to…
His eyes snapped open, and a strangled gasp rose from his throat. Completely in panic-mode, he bolted upright and jerked his head from left to right, looking around his bedroom. He blinked, his chest rising and falling as he breathed heavily, and after a moment of puzzlement he realized he was in bed. He looked down at the orange sleeves of his ducky pajamas, and his hands flew to touch his stomach. It was soft and flabby, like it hadn't been in months.
The room appeared clean and tidy, even though he could smell the faint stench of vomit. Suddenly, he felt lightheaded and dizzy, so he lay down on the pillows with a soft groan, his body feeling drained and weak.
Mrs. Summers walked into the room toward the nightstand, stopping midway when she noticed he was awake. "Are you all right?" she asked.
"The baby?" he said right away.
"He's in Buffy's room."
He stared at her speechless for a second, and then felt a touch of a smile on his lips. The news fell on him like a thunderbolt. A boy. He had a son—that sounded too grown up to be real. . All this time it felt like he'd been in a play, but now, knowing the gender of the baby made it all real.
Despite his smile, Mrs. Summers' face remained passive. He felt all his happiness and excitement drain out of him, leaving him uncomfortable and uncertain. He remembered the bowl of water stained with blood, his son's arms flailing as he sank into the water. "Is he…?"
"He's fine," Mrs. Summers said, walking toward the nightstand. He noticed a couple of sewing needles and a needle threader, which Mrs. Summers placed inside the box. "I had to sew you back up," she explained when she noticed his look of confusion.
He blushed fiercely, lowering his gaze to the duckies in his pajamas. His chest tightened in discomfort and embarrassment and stayed that way even after Mrs. Summers left the room. He tried distracting himself by touching his stomach again. Was it really all over? The vitamin pills, the backache, the sleepless nights, everything? He pressed his hand down, feeling somewhat… droopy? He could not believe he was mourning it, after all the pain and torture he'd gone through. All the zapping contractions must have done something to his brain.
He heard someone come into his room. Looking up, he saw Buffy. She was smiling and, carrying a bundle wrapped in a blanket.
Heart beating faster, he pushed himself up, his breath caught in his throat. Oh, God. Oh, God.
Buffy stopped by his bed and leaned closer to him, showing him his son. "Look, baby boy, it's daddy."
"Oh, God." He stared, open-mouthed, at the tiny head that peeked out from the blanket. Reaching out, he carefully took the baby into his arms, holding him awkwardly. He felt slightly disappointed because the baby didn't look adorable at all: his eyes were swollen, his nose was flattened, and his ears were squashed. But then, he opened his tiny eyes and black orbs looked up at him. Xander grinned widely and had the urge to kiss the puffy forehead but feared he'd squash it.
Buffy sat next to him and cooed to the baby. "Yes, this is daddy. Here's hoping you're gonna grow up to be foolishly brave like him. Minus the foolish part," she said pointedly.
Xander bit his lip and looked at Buffy. "Your mom is angry with me."
"Can you blame her? What you did was incredibly stupid. You could have killed yourself or your son."
Xander looked down at the baby and thought about Mrs. Summers' cold expression. She was looking forward to this: taking classes, reading books, watching tapes, all so that she could be there for him and help him through this. All her hard work had gone to waste.
"Are you okay?" Buffy asked, concerned.
He sighed. "I've got a bad case of guilt."
"It'll fade," she said. "Guilt is my thing. I worry and guilt my brain about stuff normal people get over in five minutes."
Xander smiled. "Yeah, you're a guilt freak."
She raised a hand. "Guilty as charged."
He turned his smile toward the baby, captivated by the way his son's eyes were fixed on him. At this moment, he felt a rush of emotions. He was really, really happy. Happy the pregnancy was over. Happy to have his kid in his arms healthy and perfect. But especially happy with himself and what he'd accomplished.
"Buffy, I did this."
Buffy smiled proudly. "Yeah, you did."
"This is… this is the best thing I did in my entire life."
"I'd rank bringing me back to life high on that list, but yeah, this is probably the best." She nudged his shoulder. "You're pretty good at that. Bringing people to life."
He was about to joke that it was probably his power to bring life to people's lives, but then he got distracted by the cuteness of his son yawning.
Buffy tickled the baby's nose gently. "He looks just like you. It's a tiny, tiny Xander."
Xander couldn't see the likeness, but he supposed he shouldn't voice his opinion. The baby was too puffy to look like anybody.
"Mazel tov!"
Xander and Buffy snapped their heads up to see Willow trot into the room with a sunny smile.
"The what?" Xander asked with a laugh.
"Congratulations," she said, sitting next to him and gushing and cooing at the baby.
He smiled down at the poor baby who was probably terrified at the three giant faces that twisted into funny expressions. Though he didn't look scared. The baby just gazed up in what Xander assumed was confusion. He probably only saw blurry colors; Xander had read a while ago that newborns' visual system would take some time to develop.
The sound of a camera snapping startled the three of them. Mrs. Summers lowered the camera and smiled. "This should be the first picture in the baby album."
Xander tried for a bright smile but it was mostly apologetic.
Mrs. Summers' warm smile, though, made him feel relieved.
"Honey, I'm home!"
Xander walked into the house, carrying two pizza boxes and headed toward the living room. Mrs. Summers was sitting on the couch in front of the TV with a magazine in her hands. But the person he wanted to see wasn't anywhere to be seen.
Mrs. Summers smiled at the way his eyes searched all over the living room. "Sam is sound asleep and all tucked in." She patted the audio monitor on the serving table.
"Thank you," he said politely, disliking the overwhelming feeling of disappointment that overtook him. All his efforts not to turn into one of those clichéd parents whose happiness wasn't complete without the sight of their precious little ones seemed to be doomed to failure. And it wasn't like Sam was old enough to do exciting, fun things like toss a ball or mess up words; all he did was yawn and stare, and yet when he did that, there would be a silly fluttering feeling in Xander's stomach that he would never confess to anyone.
Holding in his sigh of dissatisfaction, he placed the pizza boxes next to the monitor. He tried to listen carefully for any sound, hoping Sam was awake.
"How's work?" Mrs. Summers asked, distracting him from listening.
He took off his cap with a sigh. "Let's see: lots of weather talk, was taunted by college stuck-ups, was harassed by an old lady, heard lots of have-a-nice-day's, got yelled at for being late even though I was given the wrong address, and none of these people tipped."
"At least we got to have dinner." Mrs. Summers pointed at the pizza boxes. "Working as a pizza delivery boy has its advantages."
He had an inward fight over whether he should sit next to her or keep standing up. He had a severe case of reek and it wouldn't be fair if the woman who housed him with cheap rent passed out due to his stenchy state. "I talked with my parents," he said, choosing to remain on his feet.
Mrs. Summers nodded attentively.
"Mom completely freaked out about the baby and dad asked about the whore." He brushed his damp hair back. "But at least they know."
"Did you tell them you're living here?"
"They didn't ask, but they clearly figured out I wasn't gonna mooch off of them. Besides, I'm eighteen. I can do whatever I want."
He swallowed at the look she gave him. After all these months, he still couldn't cope with that look or its smile version. He shuffled his feet in discomfort. "Uh, I'm gonna go up and change into something that doesn't smell of cheese and sweat."
She nodded. "All right. I'll set the table, and…" She looked at his empty hands. "Where's your cushion? Did you forget it in the car?"
His cheeks scorched with embarrassment. "I, uh, didn't take it with me to work."
"Again?" Mrs. Summers exclaimed. "But, sweetie, with your hemorrhoid…"
He smacked his hands over his ears. "I get it! Stop talking!" Still blushing, he lowered his hands. "I can take the pain but notthe humiliation, okay?"
She shook her head, and he wondered if mothers all over the world just enjoyed embarrassing their children or were stupid enough to be unaware that having the 'roids was a bullying magnet.
He had been naïve to believe that the suffering would be over once the baby came out. He'd been constipated for a few days after the delivery which led to hemorrhoids, hair loss, numerous stretch marks on his thighs and lower stomach, and most embarrassingly, he had to wear pads because of the bleeding. He'd drawn the line on wearing panties to hold them in place and bought lots of Speedos instead. At least he wasn't breastfeeding the baby.
As he turned around and headed for the stairs, Mrs. Summers called after him, "Hurry up. The Daily Showwill be on in a few."
The last thing he needed after a long night of driving from house to house was to watch another late night show. He'd watched a ton of them in the wide-load days, but after Sam popped out of him, he couldn't take it anymore. Unfortunately, the damage was already done. Mrs. Summers believed that he liked everything she did and there was no use of telling her that they were mostly stupid pregnancy cravings – which she would never believe because there was no such thing as TV show cravings. His need for acceptance and approval hit a new low when he'd pretended to enjoy watching The View .
He did like watching Oprah, which was probably his feminine side speaking. After all, the hole was still there and would probably remain there for the rest of his life, unless Anyanka was killed. But if she got killed, that would mean Sam might disappear, so Xander would live with a vagina to keep his son alive. That meant that if he'd decided to turn gay and sleep with men, he'd probably be in deep trouble again. The scary thought though, was that both men and women could knock him up. He'd got his own version of Angel's curse. No more happy for Xander. Although he had the option of going on the pill.
He stopped in his tracks when he caught a shadow of someone inside his bedroom. His heart hammered in his chest at the thought of someone alone in the room with Sam. He reached for the stake in his belt and walked slowly toward the door, careful not to make a sound.
He peered inside to get a glimpse of the intruder, and to his surprise and relief it was no one but his fearless leader.
Buffy seemed to have sensed his presence because she spun around, assuming a matching fighting stance. Her gaze fell to the stake in his hand. "What? You thought I was a vampire?"
He did. And he realized how stupid that was, because for vampires to walk in, they had to get an invite. And he was not implying that Mrs. Summers was stupid enough to invite one in, especially after he'd mentally accused her of being stupid enough to be unaware of the embarrassment of going to work with a hemorrhoid cushion. Speaking of which, there it was, resting on his bed.
He walked toward the nightstand, swiftly pushing the cushion to the other side before Buffy saw it, and turned off the baby monitor. "I thought you were a burglar."
Buffy looked at his stake again.
"What? This is the only weapon I have." He put the stake on the nightstand and walked toward the crib. "What are you doing here?"
"Came to give Baby Scooby a visit."
He peered down at Sam and pushed the pillow on his right side to force his head to stare at the ceiling. Sam liked to sleep with his head leaning to the right, and now his head was flat on one side. He had to make it impossible for Sam to lean his head to the right, hoping his head shape would go back to normal.
He noticed Buffy staring at him. "What?"
She pointed at him with an impressed smile. "You look like you know what you're doing."
"I do know what I'm doing. Does your mom even know you're here?"
She crossed her arms over her chest. "Of course she does. Did you think I snuck into myhouse through the window? That was so 1997."
Xander gave her a look. "I think you walked straight to my bedroom while your poor mother was in the kitchen."
Buffy shrugged. "She was in the bathroom."
He took off his pizza delivery shirt and tossed it to bed. He rubbed his thighs against each other, feeling uncomfortable down there. He'd been wearing the same pad all night; better change into a clean one right now. He turned to Buffy, trying not to blush. "Now get out. I'm changing my clothes."
Buffy nodded and glanced at his clock on the wall. "It's midnight. I should go out and slay."
"And say hi to your mom before you leave."
Buffy held in an amused laugh.
"I'm a parent now. This automatically turns me into a mature responsible man," Xander said sarcastically. "Besides, she probably heard your voice when the monitor was on."
"Fine." She walked toward the crib and leaned to kiss Sam on the forehead.
Xander peeked through the window at the pavement. Months ago, Angel had been standing out there waiting for her. The sight of him had sent Xander bonkers, wallowing in self-pity and jealousy. Angel was gone now and Buffy had to go out every night to fight alone.
"Buffy," he said quickly before she left the room.
She looked back at him, her hand on the doorknob, and the hallway light brightened the darkness of the room. Instead of irritating him, it made him smile. "Happy slaying."
Buffy smiled back. "Wish me monsters."
"I'll keep it in my prayers."
She closed the door behind her and the room fell into darkness.
He pulled down his bright red pants and walked to the closet to grab clean pajamas. At the bottom of the closet, he caught the plastic package of Kotex and wondered if he needed to take one to the bathroom. What if Buffy came up again and saw him walking into the bathroom with the Kotex in his arms?
She'd probably be embarrassed and they would never speak of it again, or she'd probably be cool about and act like she didn't see it. Nonetheless, he was blessed to have friends who embraced what he was now and didn't treat him as anyone but dear old Xander. He was half- man half-woman now, kinda like Ranma 1/2 (except without the whole cold and hot water thing).
It was unique.
He was unique. Yay for uniqueness.
He heard the front door creak shut and looked out of the window. Buffy crossed the yard, then stopped. She turned around and smiled up at him. He waved with a grin. She waved back and left.
He turned on the monitor and went to the bathroom. He had to hurry before the pizza got cold.
The End
