Thursday's Child

Chapter Twenty-Six

Author's Note: Some scenes and dialogue taken from the episode Checkpoint

…

Giles stared blankly at the book in front of him. We know what your slayer has been up to. We are on our way. Those words, spoken over the phone this morning, circled through his mind. They did not bode well. The Council had ignored his requests for information, then had summarily summoned him back to England to essentially say they knew nothing. Now this. An impending visit from the Council. A coming invasion of privacy that he had yet to inform Buffy of.

He looked across the table at her. Like most of the others, she was busily researching the key. The only full exceptions were Anya – who was manning the cash register – and Spike, who was sitting with his feet propped up on the research table, knitting what appeared to be a baby blanket. It was an appalling breach in etiquette, but at this stage of things, they had all silently agreed to let the temporarily souled vampire do whatever the bloody hell he pleased.

Those were the full exceptions. The partial one…. Well, that was himself. He guiltily pushed away the book on nameless primordial evils and resumed reading one of the tomes he had… "acquired" during his trip to England. What he'd discovered so far was most definitely not a comfort. Slayers who lived past their eighteenth birthdays tended to experience a sort of… sexual awakening. They either slept with multiple human partners or found someone with supernatural strength and endurance.

He glanced at Buffy again and at the vampire by her side, his lips compressing in a tight line. Confirmation of their relationship had come not from Buffy, but from Angel roughly two weeks ago. Despite that, slamming the door in his face after icily assuring him that everything was well in hand had been deeply satisfying.

Bloody pillock, trying to throw his weight around. As if we hadn't already thoroughly researched something as peculiar as Spike's current condition. The child was just a child, brought about by a ritual intended as nothing more than a means of procreation. There were no dark portents or malfeasance involved. The identity of the "mother" may have been less than ideal, but that was hardly the child's fault. It had a soul, which made it no more likely to fall to evil than the average superpowered being.

Giles sighed internally and stared down at the book. Given the information it contained, he had to reluctantly agree with Buffy's choice in paramours. With the chip in place, Spike was relatively harmless. He had also endeavored towards good even before the soul had begun affecting him. Giles wasn't exactly happy, but he would be accepting. Perhaps that acceptance would help the vampire to continue on the straight and narrow path once the child had been born. Only time would tell.

…

...

Research had never been Buffy's strong suit, but she was finding it particularly hard today. Shouldn't have worn a bra today, she thought, fighting not to tug and fuss with the offending garment. It was one of the larger ones she'd bought recently, but it was still uncomfortable.

The herbs Tara had given her really did work, and now her breasts were swollen and tender and she had actually started producing milk. She still needed to do the stimulation, and Spike was still helping her, which had made her feel self-conscious at first, like she should have thought it was weird and wrong somehow. Both Ben – who had been strangely twitchy and distracted lately – and Tara had assured her that it was actually a good thing, since her breast milk was full of all kinds of good things that the baby needed. The fact that Spike was drinking it to help her make more was no weirder than people drinking cow milk. Really.

Perfectly normal. And also incredibly intimate. It made her feel protective and motherly. Ben had said something about oxytocin. Whatever it was, it was powerful. If Angel showed up again, she was pretty sure she'd hurt him a hell of a lot more than she had before, and it had very little to do with the instincts from the ritual.

She glanced over at Spike. He was the other reason she was having a hard time focusing on research, and not just because of the urge to hold and cuddle him. He should have been at home, resting – especially since it was daytime – but he'd insisted on coming, using a comforter thrown over himself for protection from the sun on the way to the sewer entrance near her house. He was moving slower these days, and probably would have caught on fire with his usual thin, ratty blanket.

He'd grumbled something about being "bloody useless" but could at least be there as moral support for Dawn. The girl was sitting on the other side of him, focused intently on the book in front of her. She was actually pretty good at the whole research thing. It had to be hard on her, though. Constantly being reminded that she wasn't what she had always thought she was.

Buffy could sort of relate. It had to be like when she'd found out she was the Slayer, though not quite. I've always been human, and still am. Dawn wasn't, until the monks made her one.

Buffy's thoughts were interrupted by seven people arriving all together, five men and two women. One of the men was upsettingly familiar. Quentin Travers. This is so very not of the good, she thought with a sinking feeling. She wanted to hide Spike and Dawn away, but that would only draw more attention to them.

And speaking of attention…. One of the women was staring at Spike, her gaze traveling along his bare legs to the edge of the kilt as if hoping his feet-propped-up position would make it slide down and reveal the goodies. Those are my goodies, bitch, she thought, eyes narrowing.

Theoretically, the Council was supposed to be her support system. They were supposed to be there for her, to give her the knowledge and guidance she needed to survive as long as she could. Despite that, Buffy really didn't want them there, and not just because of the woman who couldn't keep her eyes to herself.

So far, all of her interactions with the Council had led to them nearly killing her. Being killed was so not on her agenda right now. Neither was letting them hurt Dawn, Spike, or the baby. She didn't know why they were suddenly here, but she wasn't going to let them run roughshod over the people she loved. She'd do whatever she could to protect them.

…

...

Bloody hell, Spike thought in irritation. Dropped a stitch. He fixed the problem, all the while keeping a surreptitious eye on the Watchers. The head honcho of the lot began wandering the store, sneering as if the place were literally full of crap instead of just figuratively. His scent and heartbeat indicated a man who was confident and full of himself. His fawning underlings had much the same feel to them, only somewhat muted.

The she-watcher with the roving eye – taking her cue from her boss – inspected a shelf, looking at a two-foot-tall statue in distaste. Couldn't quite put his finger on it, but something about the bird made his skin crawl. She picked up the statue and headed towards the man in charge.

"This statue's removal from Burma is a criminal offence," she said as she handed it over. "And when triggered, it has the power to melt human eyeballs."

"Weirdly specific, innit?" Spike muttered.

Why would there be a statue specifically for melting human eyeballs? Seemed a bit fishy and made up, that. 'Course, could have just been a lack of correct information. From what he'd been told, these council wankers thought he was two-hundred and had attributed some of Angelus's atrocities to him during that eighty or so years that he hadn't actually existed. God knew he'd done more than his fair share of vile, horrible things – that he'd no doubt be right proud of again after the sprog was born – but he'd never really been into all of that artistry crap Angelus had always been on about.

God, the whole soul thing was confusing. He was both looking forward to and dreading it being gone. The feelings of sick horror and guilt over his own memories? Not exactly pleasant, though talking with Ben had been helping. On the other hand, he felt more… complete than he ever had, even when alive. Like the demon brought out somethin' missing in me….

"Oh come on," Xander scoffed, pulling Spike out of his existential musings. "Who hasn't woken up with a yen for a bit of eyeball meltage? If I'd had something like that in high school, there would have been a lot of jocks in need of seeing eye dogs."

The invaders from across the pond all looked at the boy like he'd taken a crap on a picture of the Queen. Added a bit more humor to the comment, and Spike found himself smiling slightly, despite the situation. Boring, stiff bunch of sods, weren't they? And they were making Buffy unhappy. Bloody wankers.

One of said wankers strode to the middle of the store. "Magic Box shoppers!" he called out loudly. "We're going to have to ask you to leave. The store is closing early today."

While he made his announcement, the other watchers who weren't the boss began taking away the things customers had already picked out and shooing them out the door. Anya watched from the checkout counter with a horrified dismay that Spike would have found funny if he didn't actually like the girl.

"Wh-what are you doing?" the ex-vengeance demon cried out in alarm. "Giles, stop them!" She looked from Giles to the door. "Customers, please bring back your money!"

"What is the meaning of this, Travers?" Giles demanded once all of the customers were gone.

"You were informed that we were coming," Travers said blandly.

The look of absolute betrayal on the Slayer's face was a devastating stab to his unbeating heart, even if it wasn't aimed at him. He carefully set the knitting aside and pulled his feet off the table – hiding a wince because it was bloody difficult to give off an aura of menace if everyone knew your back and feet hurt like a wicked bitch – before standing up to shoot a narrow-eyed glare at Giles.

"You knew these wankers were coming, and you didn't tell Buffy?"

Never could trust a father figure type, could you? They always betrayed and abandoned you in the end, after trying to shape you into what they wanted you to be. Not gonna be that way with us, Thursday, he thought. You're mine, and I'm gonna do right by you.

Giles answered his glare with a withering look before focusing on Buffy. "They only rang this morning and neglected to mention they were already in town. They arrived before I had an opportunity to speak with you."

"It's alright Giles," Buffy said, lightly tugging at Spike to get him to sit back down.

Since she seemed to believe her watcher, he grudgingly did too. It did seem like the sort of dick move they'd make. He sank back down into the chair, wishing it wasn't so bloody uncomfortable. Buffy scooted her own chair closer and slid her hand under his sweater, kneading the small of his back.

The more active of the two female watchers was looking at him again. He didn't like that look. It was the repressed Englishwoman version of "you're a nummy treat I would like to slowly devour." He didn't understand his reaction to it. Normally, he'd flirt with the bint, lead her on a bit. Before the bloody chip and the soul, he would have seduced her. Had her follow him into a dark, quiet place before eating her.

Huh. That seemed to be part of it, now he thought on it. He wasn't comfortable thinking of her as prey. Sodding soul made her an actual person, even though he didn't know her. He frowned. That wasn't all of it, though. The thought of feeding on her felt almost like… cheating. Something he'd never felt when he was with Dru.

She had been his everything, but she hadn't been a food source. He'd been taking his regular dose of slayer straight from the tap lately. The thought of drinking blood from another girl just didn't sit right with him at the moment. Not when he was having trouble thinking of humans as just food.

More of them were looking at him now, including Travers. He was radiating that special sort of disgusted disapproval that made one come across as severely constipated. "We discovered information concerning the Dagon Sphere and the creature it's meant to repel. However, some rather disturbing things about the slayer's recent questionable activities have also come to light," the man said. "We feel a review is necessary to determine if she can be trusted with the information we have."

"Questionable active-"

Buffy broke off her incredulous repetition midword as one of the watchers calmly opened up a briefcase and pulled out a crossbow. He proceeded to load and point it at Spike while the others – except for Travers – pulled crosses from their pockets. Bloody hell, Spike thought, tensing. He couldn't fight the sods, and he couldn't even properly scarper, either. He'd gone from sea cow to beached whale on the ungainliness scale, which was not exactly conducive to making a fast getaway.

Bugger.

…

...

Buffy held absolutely still, the crossbow pointed at Spike both stirring her protective instincts – the ones from the ritual and the ones that were just her wanting to protect someone she loved – and holding them in check. Travers smiled like a snake getting ready to eat a bird. Buffy had never wanted to hit anyone as much as she wanted to hit him right now.

He's in his sixties, and he's human. Hitting him would be very bad, she told herself grimly. Besides, it would probably lead to Spike being pincushioned and then fitting in an ashtray. Her instincts howled at her. Kill, kill, kill. Destroy them all before they do something to the baby. She kept her gaze locked on the crossbow. It grounded her while also making things worse.

When Travers spoke, his words were aimed at Giles rather than her. "We've heard that the slayer's… pet has been rendered harmless to humans, but there's no need to take chances, is there?" He sighed and shook his head. "Really, Giles, I had expected better of you. Not only did you fail to stop the slayer's behavior, you actively helped her with it. You covered your tracks well, but your colleague, Mr. Wyndam-Pryce, was rather ham-handed in his own research into the So'voriku fertility ritual, which led us to yours."

Buffy stared at him, stunned. Mr. Wyndam-Pryce? That… that was Wesley wasn't it? How the hell had Wesley found out about the ritual? Angel, she realized. Angel had to have told him. Except… how had Angel found out about the ritual? Her eyes met Willow's on the other side of the research table. She didn't know the specifics, but the redhead's guilty look gave her the gist of it.

I should have known, she thought in disgusted anger. There was no way Angel would have just walked away. He had gone behind her back to her friends. Again. And her friends had kept it from her. Again. Well, maybe not all of them. She didn't think Tara had had anything to do with Willow spilling the beans, and Xander looked kind of clueless at the moment.

"What exactly is it you believe Buffy has done?" Giles asked, a sliver of the steel he kept so carefully velvetted coming through.

"The slayer is cohabitating with a vampire after using the So'voriku ritual to use the creature as a means of procreation," one of the cross-wielding watchers said in disgust.

Buffy slowly and deliberately stood up. The crossbowman's trigger finger twitched, but he didn't fire. How dare the council just show up like this and pass judgement on something they had just decided she had done? She casually picked up two books, then threw them in rapid succession, the first intercepting the bolt and the second knocking the crossbow from the man's hand.

Buffy was on him before anyone had time to react, twisting his arm behind his back and slamming his head down on the table between Willow and Tara. Both witches squeaked in surprise before scooting away.

"Giles, control your slayer!" Travers snapped.

"Sorry, old chap, but I don't actually work for you," Giles said mildly. "You fired me, remember?"

Buffy was only barely paying attention. They kept calling her the slayer, but it was like they thought she was just a nameless and unimportant weapon. Just a thing. And a disposable one at that. The man whimpered in pain as she put a little more pressure on his head. It would be so easy to crush it. Part of her wanted to. He had threatened her baby.

"Slayer."

The word brought her back to herself. When they'd been enemies, Spike had mocked her numerous times – he still did a bit, though it was teasing now – but he also respected her as a warrior. When he called her slayer, it was a title, not a label. She was the Slayer. Chosen One, the. She met Spike's eyes, sending wordless thanks for the reminder of who she was.

He nodded very slightly, then flicked a glance towards Dawn and raised a brow at her. She could almost hear his voice in her head. Still gotta get the info on the little bit, yeah? Buffy gave her own little nod before easing up on the watcher. She helped him upright, but kept his arm behind his back.

"Okay, listen up," she said, focusing on Travers. "We're not doing this. No review, no poking your noses into my personal life, and no withholding information."

"Now see here," one of the men spluttered in indignation. "This, this is intolera-"

Buffy didn't even look at him. She kept her gaze fixed on Travers as she tightened her grip on his minion's arm. The man's scream cut off the squawking of his fellow minion.

"No interruptions," she said coldly. "I want to make something perfectly clear. I. Don't. Need. You. I kicked you and your Council out of my life back in high school, and you know what? I'm still the Slayer. I don't need you to be what I am, but without me? You're just a bunch of academics twiddling your thumbs with nothing to do. I'm the Slayer. I'm not your tool. You exist to make my job easier. If anything, that makes you my tools."

She released the crossbowman and let her gaze sweep over them all before returning to Travers. She seemed to have gotten their attention at least. "This is how things are going to be. If you have a problem with it, then you can go home and find another job. Giles will be reinstated as my official watcher with his salary restored –"

"Retroactively," Giles said, trying to hide it behind a cough.

"Retroactively," Buffy added. He deserved the pay. Her eyes narrowed. Deserved the pay. "I will be getting a salary, too. Equal to that of an active field watcher." The interrupter looked like he wanted to say something. Didn't like her terms, huh? He'd hate this. "You will also set up a college fund for Dawn and my kid. And if you ever threaten my daughter again, I'll go to England and raze your precious Council headquarters to the ground. Do I make myself clear?"

"This is outrageous!"

Travers held up his hand for quiet before Buffy could react. He studied her for a long moment before slowly nodding. "Your terms are acceptable."

Relief and satisfaction flooded through Buffy. One battle down. Things were looking up.

…

...

Glory smiled, smug and confident as her minions scurried off. Good old Benjie had messed up, and now she knew that the key was a person. She already knew that the slayer was connected to it in some way. Her little toadies just had to find someone new in the girl's circle, and she would finally have her key. Things were definitely looking up.