Thursday's Child
Chapter Twenty-Nine
…
Spike huddled against the headboard, one arm pressed tightly against his middle while the other carefully cradled a sweater-wrapped bundle against his chest. It was all wrinkly and horrible looking and the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. She'd settled some since Dru had given her over – his no doubt familiar presence a comfort – but she was still fussy. Poor little thing was hungry. He could relate. Didn't matter if you'd just eaten, getting sliced open stem to stern by your crazy ex tended to leave a fella a wee bit peckish.
He slowly shifted positions until he was sure he could move his arm without his insides leaking out through Dru's haphazard stitching. He wasn't chained to the bed anymore, but until he'd healed some, there was no point in even trying to get away. He gave himself a moment to settle, then he ran his finger along the wound before gently sliding it into Thursday's mouth. His blood wouldn't offer any nourishment at all, but if she needed human blood like he suspected, it would at least taste good. She latched onto his finger, quieting further and gazing at him in an unfocused way like he was the center of the universe.
His eyes drifted closed as he breathed in her scent. Vampire and slayer, plus a hint of Buffy and a bit of him, all overlaid with the warm sweetness of infant. It made him want to cuddle and pet her, to trail kisses along her wrinkled little face and all her tiny little fingers and toes. To sink his fangs into her and drain away the blood. She'd just be a mouthful or two, but it would be warm and alive, and she was just vampire enough that he was certain it wouldn't set off the chip.
Give her more of his blood at just the right time, and he could keep her like this forever. The perfect little cuddly who would always love him best. He'd stay everything to her, and she would never leave him. He nuzzled her temple, taking in another deep breath of her scent, and he suddenly realized just what the hell he had been thinking. He was once again a soulless, evil vampire with possible abandonment issues, but that was cracked even by his standards. Hell, even Dru had never tried to turn a bloody newborn.
As if drawn by his thoughts, Dru came to him, the bed dipping slightly with her weight as she settled onto it. She snuggled against him after shoving the drained corpse of the young woman away to roll to the floor as if she were no more than an empty food cartoon. And really, that was all she was. He looked down at her and felt nothing, other than the regret that there wasn't another one lying about to snack on. Well, that and strangely disoriented by it all.
As recently as five minutes ago, she'd been a person to him. A sentient being who had had thoughts and feelings that had actually mattered, who had been murdered and then… violated by having her blood stolen. And now… now he just stared at her, confused by how foreign those thoughts seemed.
He shivered and cuddled Thursday closer, almost wishing he could stuff her back inside. Dru had given her back right quick, but he'd still been attacked and his sprog snatched away. He shivered again at the memory. Dru going at him with the knife, the sudden feeling of… loss as soul and sprog were yanked out of him in a glowy purple ball that had dissolved away at contact with the outside world. He felt strange and lightheaded and sort of empty.
"We'll find a cow," Dru said as she began lightly petting his head. "Eat the calf, and keep the cow for the little dolly. Once she's a proper little girl, we'll make her family, won't we, my pretty Spike? You, me, Angel, Darla, and our little one. All together."
Despite what she seemed to think, the thought of a family reunion was no more appealing now than it had been with the soul affecting him. If he could coax her into giving up the idea of being a happy family with Angel and Darla, though... He let himself imagine it, falling back into the familiar pattern of subsuming his own needs and desires to Dru's whims while they raised Thursday together. Let her age to five or so before making her a full vampire.
Part of him longed for it, to go back to what he was used to, being Dru's devoted knight. But… he'd never been one for lingering in the past, and that's what Dru was. His past. If she'd come back for him sooner, maybe things would have been different, but he'd finally moved on. There was Buffy and Thursday, who – despite his bit of lunacy earlier – he really didn't want to become any more of a vampire than she already was, especially not while still a child.
Buffy was his present. His dancing, shining girl, with her energy and passion and multiple facets. Sometimes she didn't quite get things, but she was bright. She liked to banter and babbled when she was nervous, but she liked quiet moments, too. Actions meant more to her than words, but she'd signed up for a poetry class before she even knew he had an interest of his own in it.
Oh god, poetry…. One more bucket added to the ocean of loss he was barely holding back. He inhaled deeply, reassuring himself with Thursday's scent. She was still there. She wasn't really gone. She was in his arms, and she was safe. Hungry and fussy, but safe. And… he could still sort of feel her soul. It wasn't influencing him anymore, wasn't mostly plugging up the holes that kept him from writing anything more than crap, but he was aware of it. He didn't think he'd ever forget the feel of his daughter's sweet, innocent little soul.
Dru was saying something, but it was getting harder to focus and he'd started shaking slightly at some point. Feels almost like when the sprog would be drainin' me, he thought fuzzily. He vaguely wondered if the ritual was confused by Thursday not being where she was supposed to be. Put her back an' everythin's right as rain again.
He was drawn from his muzzy thoughts by a loud sound somewhere in the house and a familiar scent. He tried to move, to get up and head for the door, but everything sort of grayed out for a moment. When he came back to himself, the door had been flung open, and Buffy was there, wild and glorious, with stake in hand.
…
...
Buffy flung open the door that Tara had indicated, stake in hand and ready for action. She'd planned to go in there and launch herself at Drusilla, hopefully dusting the crazy ho right away. What she saw in the bedroom, though, held her still for a moment as she took it all in. Drusilla cuddled up with a half-naked Spike, who was holding something against his chest.
The baby…. The baby had been born without her there, and Spike was with Drusilla. She'd done her best to do what the dream had said, but she was going to lose Spike and the baby anyway? Hurt and jealousy flooded through her, and she took a step back, bumping into Tara.
"Oh god," the other woman gasped, staring past Buffy into the room. "Wh-what did she do to him? His aura's in shreds."
Buffy looked back in confusion. She couldn't see auras, but with a second look, she realized she'd jumped to conclusions. She wasn't seeing a snugglefest between two reunited lovers. Yeah, Dru was cuddling Spike, but he was just sort of there, looking dazed and… well, not there. She wasn't sure if vampires could go into shock, but he was doing a pretty good imitation of it if not.
Guilt stabbed at her over her assumption and the fact that she was just now noticing that he'd been cut open and barely stitched back together. She took a step forward into the room – clutching tighter at her stake in determination – just as awareness seeped back into Spike's eyes. They brightened at the sight of her, the emotions flickering through their depths too many to count. They all boiled down to, thank God you came, love.
With a shriek of rage, Dru was up off the bed and practically flying at her. The unearthly sound along with the way her dress fluttered behind her and the strange, out of sync way she moved all combined to make her seem like something other than a vampire. She was a living – unliving – embodiment of insanity, innocence, and utter depravity.
Buffy pushed Tara out of the way and backpedaled, luring the vampiress out into the main room. She didn't want to put Spike or the baby in danger by fighting in the bedroom. Plus, it seemed kind of insensitive to try to kill Spike's ex right there in front of him. She knew how much Dru had meant to him.
"Check on them!" she called out to Tara once the doorway was free. The witch gave her a nod and darted into the room.
It was almost like fighting Spike, more of a dance than a battle. Both had an unpredictable rhythm, but Spike always flowed while Dru had random jolts of odd, jerky movement. She darted this way and that, twirling and twisting, almost as if she knew every blow before it was sent her way. Through it all, she was oddly graceful, and Buffy found herself almost mesmerized by it.
Had Kendra felt like that when she'd fought Drusilla? She hadn't exactly given the other slayer's body a thorough examination, but there hadn't seemed to be any wounds other than the slash along her throat. It was like she hadn't even fought back.
She couldn't think about that. She had to focus. She suddenly found herself staring into the madwoman's eyes as she murmured something. What was she…? What was going on? Buffy blinked and shook her head as the world sort of… tilted for a moment.
"Buffy, dear, are you alright?" her mom asked, looking at her in concern.
What was her mother doing there? She was supposed to be in the hospital, getting an operation to take care of the unruptured aneurysm thingy. She should be resting, not hanging out in an abandoned mansion.
"My poor girl," her mother said sympathetically, reaching out for her. "You look so confused."
"Buffy!"
She jerked back at the sound of Tara's voice calling her name, Dru's nails only managing to graze her instead of slitting her throat. What the hell had just happened? Buffy stared at her opponent, shaken and disturbed. Dru hissed at her and lunged, a move that the slayer only barely dodged.
I need to end this, Buffy thought grimly, frantically searching for some way to get the upper hand. She couldn't let whatever that had been happen again. There. A lit oil lamp. She darted towards it, grabbed it, and flung it at Drusilla before the contained flame could do more than warm her hand. The glass shattered on impact with the other woman, then fell to the floor in a crash of breaking glass.
The vampire shrieked in pain and horror as her dress caught on fire, followed by the puddle of flaming oil on the floor between the two of them. She turned and fled, leaving Buffy to either fight through the flames to follow or to go back and get the others out.
With a curse, Buffy turned towards the bedroom. Tara was standing in the doorway, supporting Spike. He was holding the baby, who was loudly crying. Probably hungry, she thought, feeling dazed and worn out from everything that had happened that night. Despite that, she hurried over to them, gently taking the sweater-wrapped bundle from Spike.
Oh god, she's so tiny, Buffy thought, staring at the infant in wonder and fear. She'd struggled not to break Riley at times. How was she supposed to take care of something so tiny and fragile? Was she real? She couldn't be real, could she?
"Getting' a bit warm in here, Slayer," Spike pointed out weakly.
She looked up at him, then past him into the bedroom as she remembered something that had barely registered before. There was a dead woman in the room. Had Dru turned her? It didn't really matter, she supposed, heart aching for the woman and her loved ones. Either way, the fire would take care of things.
Spike followed her gaze, his eyes widening. "I… she was already dead," he blurted out, sounding upset and defensive.
Huh? Buffy looked at him in confusion for a moment, wondering what the hell he was talking about. She was already dead? What did that…? Understanding hit at the same time that he seemed to realize she never would have even suspected him if he hadn't said anything. Oh god, he'd fed off of that poor girl's corpse.
She didn't know how to feel. How was she supposed to feel? No soul. He was soulless again, and there hadn't been anyone to tell him it was wrong, though he had obviously realized she'd be upset by it. He hadn't killed the woman, but…. Revulsion and confusion roiled through her. She couldn't deal with this right now. Her friends were in danger, and she needed to get the baby fed and to the hospital to make sure she was okay. And they had to get out of the mansion. The fire was spreading and the smoke would be getting thick soon.
"We need to get out of here," she said, more harshly than she'd intended.
Spike flinched at the tone of her voice, his expressive eyes showing hurt and the clear thought that he'd fucked things up. She wasn't sure that he had, but she couldn't say that. Her thoughts and feelings were too jumbled. There was just too much going on. There wasn't time to stop and tell him that she needed to figure things out.
So, without a word, she put her free arm around him and helped Tara get him out of the burning house.
…
...
Tara watched Spike and Buffy as they all made their way towards the hospital, focusing on them to keep from thinking about Willow. If she thought about Willow, she'd curl into a shaking ball of worry and fear, and that wouldn't help anyone. All she could do was hope they would all be okay and do her best to help.
She didn't know all that had happened to him, but at least the damage to Spike's aura seemed to be repairing itself now that he was near Buffy. She wondered if it had something to do with the ritual. Magic could get strange if things went off the expected path, and that woman cutting the baby out was definitely not how things had been meant to happen. The fact that Buffy's part of the ritual was still fully active and normal was probably stabilizing the part still affecting Spike.
Tears pricked at Tara's eyes. Spike had done what he had to for him and the baby to survive. Buffy would realize that, wouldn't she? Love was too precious to just throw away without giving it a chance.
Does Willow know how much I love her? she wondered in misery. She would see her again, she had to. And when she did, she'd make sure Willow knew she was loved and cherished, no matter what mistakes she'd made. Until then, she'd be strong, and she wouldn't cry until she had Willow held tightly in her embrace.
Her resolve held until they got to the hospital and found Xander in the waiting room with Dawn and Ben. Xander's left wrist was in a brace, and a bandage was wound around his head. Willow. Where was Willow? Xander's her best friend. Why isn't she out here with him? Oh god, she had to be hurt. Or… or….
Xander spotted them at that moment and walked over, smiling tightly. He looked exhausted, hurt, and worried. There was grief in his eyes, but not the kind that said someone was dead. Willow wasn't dead. Oh, thank God, she wasn't dead.
"Xander," Buffy said, her voice choked with emotion. She got Spike settled in one of the waiting room chairs with the baby before flinging her arms around her friend. "Oh god, Xander, I'm so sorry. Willow and Giles, are, are they…." She let him go, trailing off as he looked away.
"Um… Giles, uh, has a concussion," he finally said. Tara's sense of relief was suddenly swamped by dread. "Willow…." His voice broke on her name, and he had to pause a moment to compose himself. "She did what she could to keep us safe, and, um… Glory didn't like that much…. Um, I'm not really sure what happened, but Glory grabbed Willow, and…."
"And what?" Tara asked hoarsely. "Wh-what happened to Willow? Where is she!"
Xander swallowed hard and answered. "Her… her arm got ripped off. The left one, at the elbow. I think I must have blacked out for a little bit then, because next thing I know, Glory was gone and Ben was there. If he hadn't…. He saved Willow's life."
Tara's knees suddenly felt like they were made of jello. Buffy was saying something, but she couldn't tell what it was. She didn't really care. Oh god, Willow. Tara's jello-knees wouldn't support her anymore, and she sank to the ground. Her poor, sweet Willow. She was alive, and that was all that really mattered. She was the same person even part of her arm gone, but...
She's got to be in so much pain, Tara thought numbly. Someone knelt beside her and hesitantly touched her shoulder. She sobbed and leaned against the Slayer for comfort.
…
...
Ben's hands were shaking slightly as he checked over the newborn. Glory had done a lot of horrible things, but this time…. This time, he had actually known the people she was hurting. Thank God he'd been able to wrest control back when he had. He'd gotten a tourniquet on Willow that had probably saved her life, and had treated Xander's relatively minor injuries while they waited for the ambulance.
So far, no one had questioned his "miraculous" arrival, but the vampire in the examination room with him was watching him intently. At least Buffy wasn't there to ask any uncomfortable questions. She'd left the room a few minutes earlier when Dawn had come in to tell her that Joyce was out of surgery. The slayer had been subdued and distracted, alternately watching the baby like a hawk and staring at Spike in confusion.
"She seems to be fine," he said, wrapping her up snuggly now that he was done. "Vitals are on the low side of normal, but that might be due to being half vampire."
Spike practically snatched the baby from him, seeming both anxious and suspicious. Had he started putting things together, or was it psychological effects from what had basically been a brutal, non-consensual C-section? The procedure could be pretty traumatic even when done by a professional in the hospital.
Probably both, he thought, watching as Spike paced with the baby, dribbling blood into her mouth from the last of the transfusion bags Ben had snagged for him. Nearly three bags and being properly stitched up had gone a long way towards the healing process, something that had seemed to add to Buffy's confusion.
"How much do you know?" Ben asked.
Spike turned to look at him, head tilted slightly and eyes narrowed. "Know? Not a lot. Just that your scent was all over the room I got locked in, and you just happened to appear once Glory was gone. You've some kind of connection with her, and I doubt it's just bein' roommates.
"You probably just imagined my scent. Hormones can do some crazy thi-" He trailed off at the look Spike gave him. It very clearly said, I was pregnant, you git, not brain damaged. Ben sighed and rubbed his face before laughing bitterly. "Yeah, it's a bit more than that. Nothing that can really be done about it, though."
"Maybe, maybe not," Spike said, an odd look in his eyes. "Why don't you give me the particulars, and we can decide from there, yeah?"
He studied the vampire thoughtfully. Even though Spike would remember, there really wasn't anything he could do about it. His friends wouldn't even remember if he told them. Still… it would be nice to talk to someone about it all. Maybe then he wouldn't feel so alone. He sighed, and began to talk.
