Chapter Five: The Beginning of the Endeavor

"Is it just me, or is this a vivid flashback from like . . . less than two weeks ago?" Xander grunted, lugging the gargantuan moving box through the unyieldingly small front door. "First we move Willow out. Then back in again. Wouldn't it saved a lot of wear and tear on all of our backs if she didn't keep habitat-hopping?"

"I know it puts a lot of unneeded stress on me with directing people where to put boxes and so on and so forth," remarked Anya, sitting indolently on the couch, flipping through a magazine while Buffy, Dawn, Xander and Spike struggled with the never-ending inundation of Willow's baggage.

Xander wiped the sweat from his brow, making a face at the ex-demon. "Right Anya, you're the model of grace under pressure. A world of thank you for your eternally beneficial presence."

Anya looked up from her Cosmo and cocked an eyebrow. "I sense sarcasm in your voice intonation, Xander. Glibness doesn't sit well with me, it results in significantly less orgasms for you."

Xander widened his eyes defeatedly. "Yes'm," he replied weakly. "The Xan-Man is living glib-free." Leaning over to nearest male, which happened to be Spike, he whispered conspiratorially, "She always gets away with that! It's like her secret weapon, she's got me all under her thumb. I threw away my Heidi Klum poster----my Heidi no less, because she threatened withdrawal of sex for a week. That's cutting it where it hurts."

Spike stared at Xander with a cursory mixture of disgust and indifference. "Funny . . . we must have skipped over the part of the conversation where I indicated that I cared." Turning back to Buffy, he sighed, flexing his weary arms. He did have superhuman strength, but the heavy weight of all the boxes was beginning to get to him. "Explain to me once more why Red is moving in again?"

"Spike!" Buffy implored him with her eyes for politeness. "Willow's moving in because she's our friend and she's in no state to be alone right now!"

"But what about her folks? I thought she was living with them in the first place."

Buffy shrugged her shoulders, a sense of bewilderment overcoming her the way it always did when she thought about Willow's parents. 'Willow's parents' wasn't even the proper term, they did nothing to show this to be true. They had always been strangers to Buffy and Xander, strangers to even their own daughter. Willow was used to being ignored by her parents, but now she was in a position where she couldn't afford to be ignored. She needed family, and Buffy was more family to her than anyone in the world. "Mr. and Mrs. Rosenburg are . . . they're not very understanding of the whole situation."

"'Situation' referring to their gay Wiccan daughter being magically knocked up by her best friend's undead boyfriend?"

Buffy smiled and patted Spike lovingly. "Way to paraphrase, honey."

"Buffy, I'm taking your room, right?" Willow appeared from the kitchen with a pile of clothes in her arms. Buffy tore her adoring gaze from Spike and dropped her mouth with protest, stalking up to her best friend hurriedly.

"Willow what are you doing?" she screeched. "W-with the . . . lifting of things? You're overworking yourself!" She reached out and swept the clothes from Willow's arms, leaving Willow with her arms outstretched in confusion.

"Overworking myself? Buffy, it's cotton and polyester, not a 20 pound anvil." She swiped a few of the clothes back to show that she was still a woman of sturdy independence, but Buffy resolutely tugged on the clothes.

"You shouldn't be doing anything in your condition," Buffy persisted. Willow frowned at that, not liking the fact that she was now defined by her "condition". "You should be resting . . . Dawn!" Sharply turning to her sister, she commanded, "Go get Willow a cup of tea!" 'Tea' was fast becoming a standard task for Dawn when Willow was around, and Dawn was not pleased with the constant reminders of her new assignment. Huffing and goose-stepping, Dawn stomped to the kitchen with a scowl.

"Buffy, stop making a big fuss out of me," Willow pleaded, not wanting to be painted as a helpless invalid. "I can take care of myself!"

"But you're totally fuss-worthy, Wills," Buffy assured her, busying herself with clothes and boxes. Slowing down, she smiled at Willow radiantly. "You're the mother of my child! Ergo, you equals big ol' major fuss. So sit down on the couch while Dawn makes up your tea and I'll get you settled. I'm fixing you up the master bedroom."

Willow and Spike both straightened in opposition. "Buffy, no!" Willow objected. "I'm just one person and the master bedroom is so big!" Internally, her heart stung slightly with pain when she thought of the days when this didn't seem so true. These were days when another girl, smiling and soft in her glitter monkey pajamas, resided there as well. The room didn't seem small then, it seemed instead too big; for it was impossible to contain the immense amount of joy and love that this girl brought in only one room. Willow didn't needed to be reminded of these days. She didn't want to have to sleep in the same bed she and Tara had spent night after blissful night in, only to now reach over to the side and feel nothing but cold, unforgiving air.

"Yeah, Buffy, maybe we should think this through," Spike said hesitantly, unwilling to let the largest room in the house go to someone else. He had spent a long enough time pining away for it, ever since he moved into casa Summers. Buffy was firm in her resolution to keep her room her room, as if moving into the more spacious, less troublesomely cramped area (mostly due to Buffy's inability to let adolescent relics go; she seemed convinced that somehow, her Ace of Base poster, her troll doll collection, and Dorothy Hamill memorabilia still remained culturally relevant) would desecrate the sanctity of her mother's former room. Spike said he understood and lived with it, but lately, he had been yearning even more for Joyce's old roomy master suite; specifically Joyce's old roomy queen-size bed. Buffy's confining full-sized bed wasn't cutting it and besides, Buffy had the nasty habit of being a late-night kicker. "Willow's too small a bitlet to full up that room all by her lonesome. I say that we should think in terms of room economy, feng shui and that sort. That place is made for two people, who knows what kind of bad energy we could be invoking if we don't respect the wishes of the room-----"

Buffy administered the evil eye to her beloved. "Any more talk, Spike, and you won't have a room to respect the wishes of. Got it?"

Spike hardened and curled his lip sulkily. Damned woman. He was becoming as whipped as Harris. "Got it," he replied, but glowered at Xander when he gave Spike a kindred-spirit-see-what-I-mean kind of look. No way would he ever want sympathy from the whelp.

Willow twitched uncomfortably, knowing full well that her presence was bringing trouble into paradise. "Well, umm . . . I guess I'll just go upstairs then and get settled . . ."

Buffy turned and brightened, grabbing Willow's hand and briskly leading her up the stairs. "Oh I almost forgot! I have a surprise for you! In the attic! It's for your pregnancy." Suddenly, she stopped on the stairs and turned around, beaming with maternal joy. "I mean . . . our pregnancy." Emitting a wild giggle, she tugged on Willow's hand and started galloping up the stairs like a schoolgirl. Willow listlessly trudged behind her, finding nothing funny about that at all. She didn't want to share a pregnancy; as far as she was concerned, Buffy could have the whole thing.

Up in the attic, Buffy was rummaging through old boxes, her blonde head emerging from them as she threw old parachute-like garments at Willow. "And then there's . . . well it's another peasant top." She held up the blue embroidered top with a frown. "I guess, my mom was big into those. But at least I'm glad I kept all of her maternity clothes, I knew they would come in handy one day." She paused and reflected on how she secretly hoped that she would be the one to make use of them one day, and for a moment she gazed at her best friend with the seed of envy and resentment. But guilt soon overcame her, and she shook her head briefly, holding the shirt back up. "Anyway . . ." she chirped with forced cheeriness. "What do you think?"

Willow eyed the shirt uncertainly, as well as the pile of flower power clothes that surrounded her. "It's great Buffy, but . . . well I'm not even showing yet . . . and it's not 1968."

"But Willow! The whole bohemian style is really coming back! A-and you're all 'Earth Mother-y', someone like you could really pull it off!"

Willow conceded a small smile, but still maintained a somber expression. "The clothes are great Buffy, it's just . . . I don't know if I'm ready for all of this yet."

Buffy dropped the suede tunic she was holding and cocked her head, puzzled. "Ready for what, Wills?"

"This. Maternity clothes. I mean, it hasn't even hit me that I'm . . . maternal now. And I know you're excited, and I know that you want to delve into the whole mother thing but . . . I don't know Buffy, I just don't feel the same."

This was news to Buffy. She had been blind with ecstasy at the idea of having a child---well okay, her best friend having her child----that she had never considered that Willow felt different. She couldn't understand why anyone wouldn't find only the most extreme form of joy in this. "Willow, what's wrong?" she asked with real concern, covering one of Willow's hands with one of her own.

Willow shrugged, obviously uncomfortable. She began speaking in her usual, roundabout way. "I-it's nothing, it's just . . . this is your dream Buffy, not mine."

Buffy stared at Willow, immediately even more guilty. How could Buffy ever look at her best friend with envy in her eyes? Willow didn't even want this pregnancy, she was only carrying through this whole ordeal for Buffy's sake. "Oh Willow---" she began.

"No, not Buffy it's okay. I understand how much you want this. I'm glad you want this. You should want this. You have Spike to share something like this with, and I'm glad I can give it to you. But . . . I-I don't. I don't have anyone to start a family or to share a child with. And this, now . . . it reminds me of that. Even if I wanted a baby for myself, there's no one there t-to . . ." her voice broke slightly as tears glazed over her shining eyes, and she fingered a heart-shaped pendant at her neck, a gift that Tara had given her long ago. Buffy softened when she saw Willow's tears and scooted over to catch her in a hug.

Gripping her tightly, she blinked back her own tears as she whispered into Willow's neck, "You have us, Willow. You have us to share it with." Willow heard it and relaxed slightly, comforted somehow by the words. And though she was happy to have comforted her best friend, Buffy couldn't help but notice how slightly selfish she felt. With her stomach against Willow's she felt a pang of pain when she realized hers was empty and Willow's was not. Like Willow, she suddenly didn't want to share. She wanted to know the pleasure of feeling new weight inside her. She did want it all to herself.