CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Spike clips the newly risen vampire with an uppercut to the jaw, sending the fledgling flailing backwards against a waist-high tombstone.
"You may not be thinking this now, but I'm about to do you a favor, mate." Spike says, picking up the vampire by his collar, only to slam him back on the tombstone. "You're new to the game, given the football jersey your family thought you would want to be buried in." The fledgling snarls and claws at Spike, who promptly reprimands him with a punch to his nose. "Let me tell you a little story. Give you a little glimpse at what the future holds for you." Spike drags his struggling opponent into direct moonlight and tosses him against the ivied wall of a nearby crypt.
"I'm certain that you awoke hungry, with blood being the first thing on your mind after 'My God! How do I get out of here?' Well, guess what? It's going to be the first and only thing on your mind for a long time." Spike punches the vampire again. "And you'll go anywhere to find it. Strip malls, boat shows, family reunions, concerts with festival seating." He head-butts the vampire. "Any place where there's warm, gorgeous blood flowing through the bodies of warm people who may or may not be so gorgeous." Spike releases his hold on his prey, suddenly in the mood for a bit of sparring. "It's all fun and games for a while. You'll feel like every day is a friggin' tea party and you're the maddest hatter of all," Spike tells him, dancing, awaiting the first punch. "But then, one day, it happens."
The vampire, recovering some of the sense Spike has so mercilessly knocked out of him, charges at his attacker. Spike deflects the vampire's advance with a flourish of his black leather duster as though expecting to hear "Ole!" shouted from an invisible crowd. Spike grabs the vampire by the back of his jersey and hurls him to the ground.
"You meet a girl who challenges you in every way. She's wily, cunning, a warrior princess without the lesbian overtones. When you meet her, she lays down the gauntlet wordlessly. It's kill or be killed, she says to you with her khol-lined eyes and mascara'ed lashes. And she's not kidding. And neither are you. In your mind, she's as good as eulogized and buried." The vampire rushes at him again, but Spike trips him with a quick acting calf, landing the vampire on his back. Standing over his victim, he says, "There's only one problem. Well, there are lots of problems which, if detailed, would require flow charts and an annotated bibliography. So let me give you the short version. Not only is she a singular force to be reckoned with, but she's got all these chums to back her up. And though, individually, each one is about as imposing as a crossing guard at an elementary school..." The vampire tries to rise and Spike deftly pens him with the crush of his boot. "together they form a force that almost matches the girl's. So not only do you have the girl twitching her stuff in your face, all the time saying, 'Ha ha ha ha ha, you can't catch me!', but you also have these miscreants making damn well certain you don't get near her."
Spike lifts his boot and then bends to recover the vampire in his grasp. He aims his gaze right into the vampire's searching gold eye gawk. "But then, one day, after a harmless shag with that bint who will occasionally let you have a poke at her, you wake up. And suddenly the girl is all you can think about. And now you can't kill her. And it's not because she's gotten tougher or that the mouth breathers who protect her have sprouted bollocks. No, you can't kill her because you love her." He hoists the vampire into the air, only to drop him onto the hard ground.
The vampire lies groaning, unable to move or even lift a finger. Spike looks up at the sky. The red strobe of a passing jetliner hurries its way through a crowd of twinkling stars. It's such a clear night and the moon is so full that the whole cemetery is bathed in a soft white as though draped in the fine mesh of the material used to make fairies' wings.
"You love her with all your being," Spike continues, swallowing hard as he looks up at the night sky. "You love her so much that you can't stand to see her hurt. So you find yourself an ally to her cause, going shoulder to shoulder with her whole team against a whirly bird of a god who thought the girl's kid sister might help her get back to where she once belonged. But all along, even though you virtually pant her name when you talk to her and there's a visible shift in your trousers whenever she's around, she's completely oblivious to how you feel. Because, in her mind, you can't feel. You're a vampire. You can't love. You can't hope. You can't hope that she'll love you as ferociously as you love her. When she looks at you, she still thinks of your heart as place for her stake. Not a place for your love for her. But as long as she looks at you that way, you want her to kill you and make it quick. And hopefully, before the dust settles, she will realize that she has done something wrong."
The vampire begins to stir and Spike returns his attention to the battle. "Wrong? Did I say wrong?" He kicks the vampire in the jaw. "She never does anything wrong. She knew it was wrong to have feelings for me, but she did anyway. I knew that the night we had that Winnie and Kevin kiss on the back stoop."
"Winnie and Kevin from The Wonder Years?" the vampire asks.
"Yeah, those two. Were you a fan?"
"In re-runs."
Spike nods. "Good show. Anyway, we kissed, then a few days later we shagged and God…the minute I was inside of her, that was a minute too quick. I wish I could have stretched that moment into hours, days even. And do you know why? Because I was feeling her and she was feeling me and whatever passion I had for her, she gave back ten fold. I knew then that she loved me, even if she wasn't prepared to tell me just then. But I was the one to know that everything was wrong. I left her. I came back because every waking moment was about her until there were only waking moments. She almost died. She told me she loved me. We moved in together. I share a nice flat with her and her sister now. And now she's pregnant. And I'm the Daddy."
The vampire chuckles. "Yeah, right."
Spike takes the vampire by the collar again and slams him against the cold marble of a body-length tombstone. He shoves his stake against the vampire's Adam's apple and growls, "Of course, my story isn't typical." And he lifts the stake, plunging it into the vampire's heart.
As the vampire's ashes scatter and as the final howl dissipates into the air, the moon shines a light on the inscription. My sorrow is such that my life dwindles from day to day without your tender caress. When we meet again, out hearts will be fire once more.
He sees the words and it's as though he's seeing them for the first time, or he's reading them in a different context. The dust skitters across the lettering, settling into some of the grooves. He wipes away the vampire's remains with his hand and traces the words tender caress and almost feels it.
"All for you, sweetheart," he murmurs to himself. He looks down at the cold stone and it's as though he is looking into a reflecting pool, with his lover's sweet face staring back up at him. "If that's wrong, then it will just have to be wrong. But I don't think it is. I don't see how helping the woman I love could be wrong. You worry sometimes your love for me won't be enough to stop me from doing something evil, but I think it will always be enough, as long as we're together."
"And we're done with the hip-huggers," Buffy says defeatedly, sending her offending pants across the room with a flick of her wrist. "You know what that means," she says to Spike as she delves into the dark recesses of her closet. She emerges shortly afterward with a pair of navy blue trousers. "The evils of the elastic waistband."
"Awww…" Spike says. He is stretched out on their bed, under the thin veil of the sheet, his hands behind his head. They've just made love and for an hour afterward she lay quietly in his arms sleeping while he was awake, staring at the fullness of her breasts and the bulge of her belly. She is always lovely when cloaked in slumber, but now, with all the curves enhancing her body, she is so enticing he can't take his eyes off her, even when his lids are nearly slamming shut from exhaustion. Since that time, he has been watching Buffy try on article after article from her closet. There are two piles on the floor: clothes that no longer fit and clothes that look ridiculous on a pregnant woman.
"At least Dawn has stopped borrowing my new clothes," Buffy says pouting as she stretches the waistband, staring at the unfathomably large garment in her hands.
"Let's face it. Your girlfriend is a pig,"
"No, I'm the pig, remember?" he says. "I think you're adorable.
"Don't try to patronize me with that 'there's more of me to love' crap because I don't believe that for a second."
"Well, it's true."
"Please. The day stretch marks are sexy is the day that Lara Flynn Boyle models for Lane Bryant."
Spike leaps from the bed and grabs Buffy, slamming her down on the bed. It occurs so quickly that as her back meets the mattress, she's wondering how she got there. He maneuvers his naked body on top of hers, pressing his hardened muscle against the cotton of her panties, stretched tight over her still moist curls. He scrapes the tip over the elastic gathers fitted around the tops of her thighs. "Does this feel like a man reacting to the sight of his girlfriend looking grossly unattractive?"
"No," she says breathlessly, caught up in the intensity of his eyes.
He lowers his head to hers and indulges her in a kiss. His hands move down the concave belly until his fingers grasp the waistband of her panties.
"Honey," she says, breaking the kiss, "We can't…start---oh!---this now. I have to go---Jesus Christ!---to work."
His head is now bobbing against her breast as he takes her nipple, made ultra-sensitive by her current condition, into his mouth and sucks it ardently. He pauses briefly to assure her, "I'll make it fast."
"But I have to be there in, like---oh!---ten minutes!"
"That's all I need," he replies.
He lifts her knees, her legs forming twin arches on either side of him. He slides her panties down just enough to settle into her heat. His hands are now appreciating the deep tendrils of pink just above her hips where the skin is beginning to stretch as he begins to pound into her. She lies before him, her arms stretched towards the bedposts, her eyes closed. She tweaks her own nipple between her finger and thumb and Spike takes that as a hint. He positions his mouth so that his lips completely encircle the rosy areola. His tongue licks at the toughening peak and Buffy's mouth comes open to a howl of pleasure.
Sensing that he is about to lose control, he moves her closer to her own climax by adjusting the angle of his thrusts. He can't stifle the proud grin that springs out on his face when her inner muscles begin to quiver around him.
With a hoarse cry, he falls on top of her torso as she convulses and sends a wild sigh into the air.
She ties the ribbon of her lips into a satisfied smile as she lies there, rifling through her lover's hair with her fingers. "God, you're a monster."
He lifts his head at her comment, a sudden darkness encroaching on the afterglow. "What?" he asks sharply.
Her eyes fly open wide. "Oh, honey, I didn't mean---
He slips out of her and crawls limply as an injured animal to his side of the bed, curling up on his side.
She touches his shoulder. "Spike, I just meant that sexually, you know, you're a---
"Right," he hisses into his pillow.
She lies there for a few minutes, caught in the quandary of needing to clarify her words and needing to get ready for work.
Finally, she rises from the bed and makes her way back over to the closet, carrying her damp panties in her hand. Steadying herself on the edge of the bed, she slips them on and then bends to retrieve her pants. She reaches into the closet to get her work shirt.
Shimmying into her glittery halter-top, she pulls the fabric as far as it will go over her stomach and then puts on her pants. "You know, at least now since I've gotten bigger, so have the tips I've been getting. I think people are feeling sorry for me," she says, hoping that a change in subject will distract him from his suddenly sour mood.
"Hhhmp," comes his muffled reply.
She takes the tip purse from the top of the bureau, making sure there aren't a few stray dollar bills she has overlooked before she snaps the purse to her belt. Lately she's been walking away with $300 plus a night. She has started a fund at the bank, a savings account for the baby. She will need it because she plans to take a month off after the baby is born and she will work up until her due date. She has no choice.
About to leave, she looks at her lover, who has buried his face in the crook of his arm.
"Spike," she says, "My next appointment is on Tuesday."
"What of it?"
"Well, I wanted to know if you would come with me. Dr. Hemphill said that she might be able to tell the sex of the baby by this time."
"Are you sure you want a monster going along for your monthly prod and probe?"
Her shoulders sag. "I'm sure that I want the father of my baby to be with me."
He continues to lie there in silence as the minutes tick by.
Seeing that the digits on the right hand side of the clock have now flipped to 02 and she's going to be oh so late for work, she breathes out a defeated sigh and turns to go. "Fine then."
When she is out in the hallway, she hears him call her name and she stops.
"What time is the appointment?"
"5:00 pm."
"It's still light out then."
"You can wear your cloak."
"But the reception area---
"I'll ask the secretary to have the shades drawn. I'll tell her that you have an allergy to sunlight."
"So you really want me to go with you?"
"Absolutely."
There are a few minutes of uncertain quiet from within the bedroom. Finally he says, "Then I'll go."
"OK, I'm beginning to think that the whole Vietnam War thing was wrong from the beginning, but the United States just kinda backed into it and then couldn't pull out," Dawn says over books strewn on the kitchen table.
"Yeah, you're right," Travis says. "But I think Mr. Jarman's essay question is going to ask for a little bit more than that."
"This really sucks because you know Mr. Jarman was all into the hippie scene in the sixties. I mean, you can almost smell the patchouli when he talks about his years protesting everything. And that's what they did in the sixties. They just hated everything, but they talked about love and the common man and working for a better consciousness and blah blah blah. Anyways, Spike was at Woodstock. He said it was muddy and smelly and too crowded." She won't tell Travis the more interesting story about how Spike bit a flower child and watched his hand move for three days.
"Really? How old is Spike?" Travis asks.
Dawn realizes that she may have given away too much just now. "Oh. Old. Boyfriend of older sister old. Actually, I think he may have been a baby at Woodstock. A baby with a good memory. He was in his carriage. He remembers hearing Jimi Hendrix playing the Star Spangled Banner as his mother breast fed him."
"His mother was one of those earth mother types who feeds her baby until he has wisdom teeth, I guess."
"You got it," Dawn laughs. "Anyway. Getting back to the Vietnam War…"
There are voices on the other side of the door now. Cheerful, happy voices. Buffy and Spike emerge from the hallway, still chatting about the doctor visit. Buffy slings a bucket of chicken at her side. She is wearing a white tee shirt and black Adidas sweats. Spike is wearing his "monk's" cloak and strips it off the minute he enters the apartment.
They are both startled to see Travis there.
"Oh hey," Buffy says.
"Hey," Dawn and Travis answer together.
"You guys studying?" Buffy asks as Spike nervously tosses his cloak over the coat rack.
"We were," Dawn says.
"Well, it's time for a study break. We've brought food. Travis, would you like to stay for dinner? We've got plenty and because I didn't make it, it's perfectly safe."
Dawn whips her head around at her boyfriend hopefully. He can only answer yes after that.
"Uh, sure," Travis says. "I just have to call home."
"Telephone's right over there," Buffy motions.
"That's OK, I got my cell phone." He rises from the table and excuses himself to make the call out in the hallway.
Spike makes sure he has left the apartment before he says in a nasally whine, meaning to parrot Travis, "That's OK. I got my cell phone."
Buffy takes the chicken out of the box and puts it onto a platter so that it appears she has actually done something to make the meal. Licking her fingers, she warns Spike, "Be nice!"
"Yes, please, Spike," Dawn says. "Don't start anything with him tonight."
"Now when have I ever started anything with Wuss n' Boots?"
"Like, every time he's over!" Dawn retorts.
"I always make myself scarce when he's about."
"You always make yourself scary when he's around, you mean."
"All right, that's enough!" Buffy yells above their juvenility. "Listen, this is Travis' first dinner with us, so let's try to make a good impression, OK? Let's show him that we're nice, normal people who have a warm and welcoming home. Now Spike, will you be eating with us or should I heat up some blood for you?"
Out in the hall, Travis listens to the phone ring once, twice, all the time hoping and praying, "Please don't let Mom pick up…please don't let Mom pick up…please don't--- But then a feminine voice answers and his heart goes into a free fall. "Hey, Mom. Dawn wants me to stay over for dinner. Is that OK?"
There is a lengthy sigh on the other end. "Well, I guess, Travis. I just hope that your father comes home with a huge craving for Cornish Game Hen. I've got six of them roasting in the oven now."
Travis swallows. "You can wrap one up for me. I'll eat it when I get home."
"No, no. That's all right. You…you can use tonight to lay the groundwork for what you have been chosen to do for us."
"Yeah," he replies hoarsely.
Dinner is over. Now, drowsy from the feast, they are lounging around the table like sated Romans after Saturnalia.
Buffy pats her humming stomach and leans back in her chair, still salivating for the last bit of fried poultry sweating grease onto her mother's blue Fiestaware platter.
"So, how's your mother?" Buffy asks.
"She's fine," Travis answers. "She's very busy now with the lily show and all. She's big into her garden club. I don't see much of her at this time of year."
"And your Dad?" Buffy asks.
"Well, he's always at work. He works about eighty hour weeks. But it makes Mom happy. Not that he's at work so much, but that they're back here."
"They're back here?" Buffy asks,
"Well, Mom grew up here. She loves Sunnydale. And when Dad had a chance to come here, she was, like, yay! Go Sunnydale! Who would want to come back here?"
Buffy laughs a "you had to be there laugh" that is joined by Spike's chortle. She fixes her gaze with her lover's and for a moment they are so locked in each other's eyes it appears they are gone away to another place. Then Buffy puts Spike's hand on her stomach and his eyes register a secret, covetous smile that Travis brutally understands.
"Is that the baby kicking?" Travis asks.
"Yeah," Buffy answers drowsily. "He always gets active after his Mommy has overindulged. Or at night when his Mommy's trying to sleep."
"So you know it's going to be a boy?" Travis asks.
Again, there is that unspoken conversation between Buffy and Spike, delivered only in a glance.
"It didn't show on the scan today," Buffy says. "But it doesn't matter. We don't have a nursery for the baby, so there are no walls to decorate in feminine or masculine colors. We think we'd rather wait anyway to see what he is when we see him for the first time. But I just have the feeling that he's a boy."
"I do too," Spike says, kissing Buffy on her forehead.
"May I?" Travis asks.
"Sure. I don't think of this as being my stomach anymore as it is a baby with my skin stretched over it."
Travis places his hand against the drum skin tightness of Buffy's belly. There is a stirring under his palm, a little pulsation that he doesn't know how to deal with.
He can only say, "Wow."
"You and me both," Buffy says. "Even now. That's my baby." She looks at Spike. "That's our baby."
Travis feels the child inside the mother. He hears the words poured into his head, remembrances of heated sermons from the pulpit of his church, the minister delivering the promise of the child who will come from the demon and the Slayer who will draw together the crevice defining Earth and Hell.
"I'm going to be an aunt!" Dawn declares gleefully.
"I've got to go," Travis says, getting to his feet.
"Why?" Dawn asks.
"Because…" He looks at Dawn. He looks at Spike and Buffy. He doesn't have to look at the… "I have to go."
He runs from the apartment until he can't run anymore. At the bottom of the hill, when he reaches the line separating the have not's and the have too much of Sunnydale, he vomits up his chicken dinner on a parked BMW. He hugs the hood of the vehicle as he says to himself, "I won't hurt Dawn. I won't hurt Dawn."