A Woman's Work – XLVIII
'Pray God you can cope
I stand outside this woman's work,
This woman's world.
Ooh, it's hard on the man,
Now his part is over.
Now starts the craft of the father.'
This Woman's Work by Kate Bush
In that one moment, blind terror was not an option; and yet it was the reality that both Buffy and Dawn were entertaining. The sisters stood rooted to their respective spots; Dawn visibly shaking and wet through, and Buffy pale and over faced by feelings of utter inadequacy.
The pounding on the door continued but neither of the Summers women moved an inch. Their eyes locked, green with blue, and for a while both held their breath. It was only when a ripple of pain threaded from the base of Dawn's back across the front of her abdomen that she moved; her hand slid to her stomach, and surprise registered across her features as to how mild that first discomfort had been. It was over in less than fifteen seconds and Dawn was left open mouthed to face the realisation that her contractions had begun. In that one moment, the reality of how much her life was about to change finally collided with her.
Shaking herself free of her fear, Buffy leapt into action. She shot forward and one arm immediately snaked around Dawn's waist as she led her sister back to the couch, not caring that Giles would likely be mortified that his cushions were in jeopardy.
"Everything's gonna be fine, Dawnie," Buffy soothed, smoothing Dawn's hair back from her face and affixing her sister with a smile that came easier than she had anticipated. Dawn nodded dumbly in response and settled back against the couch.
As the hammering on the front door became impossible to ignore, Buffy crossed the room and debated throwing it wide open in order to begin landing punches upon whatever creature stood beyond it. However, she instead peered through the peephole, gasping as she took in the sight of a somewhat charred Spike clutching a blanket to his chest.
"Open the bloody door, Slayer!" Spike yelped, assaulting the wooden panel once again with both fists.
"Is that Spike?" Dawn pressed, her expression growing hopeful as she peered over at Buffy. Her teeth worried her bottom lip, and Buffy could almost see the fear that radiated off her sister in waves. Buffy's fingers worked at the lock rapidly and she threw the door open in order to usher Spike inside.
"Get in!" hissed Buffy, burying her fingers into the vampire's shoulder and literally hauling him over the threshold. Spike stumbled into the lounge, allowing the blanket to fall from his grip as he turned back to stare at the front door, which Buffy was already securing behind him.
"What the bloody hell is going on out there?" Spike demanded, his eyes sweeping Buffy's face in a frantic manner for any trace of an answer. Buffy simply shrugged, moving to the window that overlooked the courtyard without so much as uttering a word to Spike.
Masses of people were beginning to file into the space, their eyes bearing the same glassy appearance, and their faces all turned in the direction of Giles' door. They moved almost as one entity; an eerie sight to behold.
"Oh, that's right, Slayer, just ignore the bloke who ran three miles in the blistering sunlight and then fought his way through the Children of the Corn wannabes out there," Spike snapped, throwing his arms down wide at his sides and indicating the burns that riddled the visible parts of his skin. "Look at me! I feel like a flaming rotisserie ham."
"Shut up, Spike!" Buffy yelled, rounding on the vampire without warning; her fingers curled into tight fists at her sides and her breath came in sharp gasps. She directed a discrete glance at Dawn, inclining her head, and dared to hope that Spike would comprehend the subtle hint.
"What's that, love?" demanded Spike, his expression communicating his bemusement. He frowned at Buffy and directed a quick glance at Dawn, who was rocking on the edge of the sofa with her arms encircled around her belly as tendrils of pain began to lick at her abdomen once again.
"My waters broke," whispered Dawn, her voice shaking and her bottom lip trembling. Buffy could tell that she was desperately attempting to hold herself together and coming close to failing at the task.
"We'll get you a new one," Spike replied almost testily, his eyes returning to Buffy's face. Suddenly, Spike froze as realisation struck him where he stood like a bolt of lightening.
In a painstakingly slow action, he turned on his heel to regard Dawn. His mouth fell open and for just a moment he seemed to be struggling for breath; an impossible feat for a vampire who had no necessity for such bodily functions. Buffy found herself feeling almost sorry for the apparently shell-shocked vampire.
"Oh God," Spike stuttered finally, "but... you can't... it's too early... I'm not ready..."
Buffy and Dawn glared at the vampire, silencing his pitiful and pointless protests with a similarly venomous looks. Spike gulped down a breath, and then wisely chose to close his mouth.
"We need to get Dawn out of here," Buffy instructed, running to the far window and peering out to survey the street. She saw only more figures ambling towards the apartment building and her heart stilled in her chest.
Spike shook his head, his complexion even more pallid than usual as he replied, "No way that's happening. Those things are everywhere. Group of them ambushed us at work..."
"What?" Buffy demanded, planting her hands on her hips as she glared at Spike. He nodded in confirmation. He shot a glance at Dawn, who appeared too preoccupied with releasing slow, measured breathes to be eavesdropping, before he whispered, "Worked the graveyard shift at Willy's. He let me crash on the floor of the basement. Woke up to a fight upstairs and by the time I got there... well, Willy was in a bad way."
"Willy's dead?" said Buffy, her eyes widening at the idea. Willy the snitch had long been a part of her life in Sunnydale, whether as a useful informant or a pain in her ass. However, the Slayer had come to look upon the weasel-like man with a degree of affection in recent years, and thus the very idea that he had now been lost brought a slight lump to her throat. Buffy had always assumed that, like a cockroach, Willy was capable of sniffing out trouble before it descended and hiding from it underneath the nearest rock. Apparently, her assumptions were off.
"Hey, no time for the waterworks," Spike chided gently, his eyes returning to Dawn who seemed to be settling back against the cushions once again, "the little weasel's gonna be just fine. I patched him up and here I am. Now… the telephone?"
"Dead, like the cell phones," Buffy responded flatly, running one hand through her hair, "I was in the middle of a call to Giles..."
"Giles?" Spike demanded, alarm bells clearly ringing, "what did he want?"
Buffy shook her head, shrugging as she lied, "Nothing important."
"Guys..." Dawn murmured, attempting to draw the attentions of her sister and boyfriend, both of whom appeared to have momentarily forgotten her presence.
"You need something, sweetie?" Buffy pressed, crossing the room and dropping down at Dawn's side instantly. She reached forwards and brushed tendrils of dark hair from her sister's forehead, wordlessly noting the terror she found reflected in her eyes.
"What are we gonna do?" Dawn inquired, her voice small and bearing undertones of panic. "What are those things? And what do they want?"
"We don't know right now," Buffy replied, rubbing comforting circles at the base of Dawn's back and managing to muster a reassuring smile. "Right now, we're going to make you comfortable."
Dawn nodded, her gaze ticking to Spike, who seemed to be rocking on the balls of his feet as he surveyed Dawn's stomach. The fear upon his face would have been comical at any other time, but Buffy recognised her need for the vampire to prove at least some assistance.
"Right, Spike?" Buffy demanded, injecting emphasis into her tone as she glared at the dumbstruck vampire. Buffy quirked a brow; an unspoken but deadly threat, and Spike appeared to recover himself enough to find his voice.
"Right, pet," he gulped, "exactly right."
x-x-x
Dawn squeezed her eyes tight closed, willing herself to breathe through the pain that rocked her body. Instead of the calm, measured breaths that the birthing DVD had encouraged, Dawn found herself sucking in air raggedly in a manner she was certain was doing little to ease her discomfort. With each contraction that hit, the mound of her belly grew taught, and a sensation unlike any other she had experienced before wound its way around her pelvis, and pierced deep into the recesses of her back.
In the moments when relief came, Dawn sagged against the bed, panting and curling her fingers around the sheets. Every logical thought she still possessed urged her to get off the bed and allow gravity to aid her, but for the life of her Dawn could not summon the strength or resolve to do so. Her knees felt unbearably weak, whether as an after effect of the pain she suffered or her own fear Dawn had no clue.
For several hours, the contractions had come every ten minutes, until the worst yet had hit Dawn like a speeding truck on the freeway. There had barely been five minutes grace since the previous pain, and Dawn had realised that her labour was beginning to progress whether she was prepared for the event or not.
The first time she had cried out, she had recognised the concern and sorrow in her sister's eyes, knowing that if Buffy could have endured every last twinge on her behalf, she would have. So for her sister's benefit, Dawn attempted to plaster a smile upon her sweat drenched face, and dug her fingernails into her own palm to distract herself. The charade was near impossible to maintain as Dawn's flushed cheeks and hunched figure betrayed her time and time again. After a further hour of pacing Giles' lounge, leaning on Spike for support, the Slayer and the vampire had hefted Dawn between them into Giles' bedroom. Dawn had practically collapsed onto the bed, unconcerned for her dignity as Spike and Buffy worked her sodden jeans off and replaced them with a pair of Giles' sweatpants. Buffy had retreated then for a while, resolving to allow Spike and her sister a degree of privacy; however, she had found herself unable to stay away as each moan or squeak that Dawn uttered drew her to the threshold of the room. Finally, Buffy approached the bed and committed herself to the rather pointless task of stroking the crown of Dawn's head. Her sister uttered no protests however, and so Buffy continued in her task even as her mind worked to find a way out of their current predicament.
Every moment brought Dawn closer to the brink of utter exhaustion, but perhaps more alarming to the girl by far was the thought that each contraction brought her one step closer to motherhood. The question of whether or not Dawn was ready for such a task was now well and truly irrelevant, and Spike watched from the corner of the room with the weight of the world upon his shoulders. To him, childbirth was akin to a cruel and unusual punishment; he was powerless to do anything much beyond slip ice chips between Dawn's lips, and dig the flat of his hand into her back when the pain began to niggle there. The realisation that he could do nothing to alleviate Dawn's suffering gnawed at him, and created a new hole of self-loathing in his already moth-eaten soul. Spike assumed that this was how most prospective fathers felt, more like a spectator than truly a partner in the supposed miracle they were assured they were a part of. So far, Spike failed to see the beauty in the experience; as far as he was concerned, birth was bloody, sweaty, and brought unbearable agony to all in the vicinity.
When Dawn's muted moans finally became too much to bear, Spike pushed himself out of his chair, and strode into the lounge, cradling his head in his hands. The sounds of Buffy whispering comfort to Dawn prickled at his conscience all the more, but Spike could not bring himself to return to the bedroom. Entering the kitchen, he filled the kettle with water and placed it on the gas burner to boil. A minute later, footsteps behind him alerted him to Buffy's presence, which was confirmed when a sharp slap landed across his head.
"Ow!" Spike whined, rounding on Buffy with narrowed eyes and gritted teeth.
"That's nothing compared to what I'll do if you don't get your ass back in there," Buffy hissed, her eyes wild and her expression furious. Spike swallowed but stood his ground, indicating the now whistling kettle with his thumb.
"Boiling water and getting towels," he sniffed defensively, "being useful and all that."
Buffy glared at the vampire as though every last ounce of her willpower was being utilised to prevent her from strangling him.
"Spike, do you even know why you're boiling water?" she demanded quietly, arching a brow as Spike faltered and then shook his head, crestfallen. "Didn't think so."
"I just..." Spike began, raking his fingers through his hair and groaning as he shot a desperate glance at the closed bedroom door, from behind which he could hear Dawn's soft whimpers. "I need to do something. It's bloody killing me watching her go through that."
"Be there," Buffy bit back, all traces of sympathy reserved clearly for her sister, and not the person whom she held responsible for her pain. "Whatever you're feeling, magnify it by one hundred and that's what Dawnie is going through right now. You want to be useful? Then get in there, hold her hand, tell her she's beautiful, and stop being so... bloody selfish."
Spike cocked his head, staring at Buffy as though she had lost her mind.
"Bloody?" he queried, amusement twitching the corners of his lips upward into a smirk. Buffy shook her head in exasperation and swatted at the vampire, although there was no real force behind the blow.
"You rub off on people," she defended, rolling her eyes as she added, "don't let it go to your head. It doesn't mean I like you or anything."
Spike nodded and, with a sheepish smile of apology, nudged the kettle off the stove and onto the counter. He directed a glance to the window, outside of which the residents of Sunnydale still lingered. Any attempts at escape had been abandoned now in favour of caring for Dawn, but Spike was aware that soon they would be forced to address the glaring issue awaiting them beyond the front door.
Spike's expression sobered and he nodded towards the window, watching as Buffy shifted in discomfort from one foot to the other.
"What do we do?" Spike queried, sounding so lost and afraid that Buffy's own heart skipped a beat as the fear she had been reigning in so desperately for the last few hours managed to overwhelm her momentarily. Swallowing, Buffy shook her head.
"I don't know," she murmured, her eyes ticking back to the bedroom door as Dawn let out a wail that almost brought tears to her eyes. The situation seemed desperate and without resolve; all means of communication to the outside were cut off; the exits were barred by Giles' former neighbours who, although they made no move to attack, were ominous enough in their very presence; and, Dawn would give birth imminently, one month early, and surrounded only by a formerly bloodthirsty vampire, and her clueless sister.
For once, Buffy the Vampire Slayer had no answers for the predicament that had befallen them.
