Chapter Nine: Heat

            For Buffy, it was wonderful.  Hours and hours of uninterrupted, deeply soft, dreamless sleep.  It was pure bliss.  Buffy knew that if there was a heaven, it would be lined with eiderdowns and there would be no alarm clocks or crying babies.

            Eventually she woke up, cocooned in softness and warmth, her head heavy, and she probably would have drifted off again if she hadn't tried to move her leg and realised there was a heavy cast around her ankle.

            She opened her eyes.  Darkness.  Warmth, and... Smoke?

            Panicked, she sniffed again.  Not fire smoke, cigarette smoke.  And leather.  And...

            "Spike?"

            The mattress shifted, and she realised he was sitting beside her, on top of the covers, fully clothed, chainsmoking.

            "Morning, pet."

            "It's still dark."

            "It's still morning."

            "Where - what the hell is going on?"

            He laughed softly.  "Good question.  Who's William?"

            Fear clutched at her.  Please God, she was dreaming and this was just her worst nightmare, not reality.

            "That's your name."

            "And also the name of a baby living at your house who you've been going around telling people is my son.  But it's a funny thing, love," he lit another cigarette from the one he was still smoking, "I could've sworn you said he was dead."

            Buffy closed her eyes, trying to breathe deeply but getting lungfuls of nicotine instead. "God, smoke much," she coughed.

            "My room," Spike said petulantly.

            "You sound like a teenager."

            "Do you have any idea how hard it is to find a smoking room in California?"

            So they were still in California, then.  That was something.  "This is a hotel?"

            "You can check out any time you like," Spike quoted bitterly, "but you can never leave.  Literally," he nudged her leg with his boot, through the duvet.  "More bed rest for you, Summers."

            "You want to tell me what happened?  Or do I have to work it out?"  Buffy pulled herself into a sitting position, wincing as she moved her ankle.  Then she realised she was only wearing her underwear - tatty knickers and a nursing bra that had gone grey in the wash - and hurriedly pulled the duvet up under her arms.

            Spike laughed.  "Nothing I haven't seen before."

            Buffy thought about the nursing bra.  "Sure about that?"

            "What's the scar on your stomach?"

            "C-section."

            "Did it hurt?"

            "Thought I was going to die."

            "Good.  Why'd you tell me he was dead?"

            Buffy closed her eyes.  Good question.  She didn't really know.

            "Because I wanted to hurt you," she said, the best explanation she could think of.

            "You nearly bloody killed me.  You know this is the first time I've been sober in six months?"

            "And there's me wondering why I didn't want you to be involved with my son."

            "My son," Spike said fiercely.

            "I thought you thought he was Riley's."

            "Captain Cardboard?  Does he even have a penis?"

            "Yes, a reasonably large one," Buffy said, wondering when the conversation had got so surreal.

            "And the last time you slept with him was...?"

            "Over two years ago."

            "So why would I think-"

            "Glory seemed pretty adamant you did."

            "Glory," Spike said, "is on the waiting list for the seventh circle of hell.  After I beat the shit out of her I sent her back to her 'daddy' and put a surveillance team on her.  If she does one more thing to piss me off, such as breathe a little bit more than I'd like, I am going to go back home and wrap her slimy irrigated yellow guts around her neck."

            Buffy was silent for a bit, digesting this.  "Boy, I'm glad I didn't just eat."

            "Are you hungry?"

            "Not for the rest of my life."

            Spike was silent a bit.  "She told me about the camera," he said.

            "Did you beat it out of her?"

            "Yeah," Spike blew out a cloud of smoke contentedly.

            "Can I go beat it out of her?"

            He glanced at her, and he was smiling slightly.

            "Why am I here?" Buffy asked.

            "By the time they'd finished packaging you up at the hospital it was too late to take you home.  Dawn needs her sleep."

            "God, but I need to call her-"

            "I already did.  How do you think I knew about Will?"

            Buffy stilled, because that was a name only she and Dawn called the baby.  "I need to see him-"

            "He'll be fine, love, your sister's a grown-up."

            "He needs feeding."

            "She has plenty."

            "I'll need to take him to the nursery-"

            "It's covered, pet.  Your friend Xander's going to do it.  The little bit and I sorted it all out.  Go back to sleep."

            "Go back to sleep?  Spike, I don't know what the word 'responsibility' means to you, but I can't leave a sixteen-year-old in charge of a baby all night."

            "She's seventeen."

            Shit.  It was easy to forget.  Dawn's last birthday had been embarrassingly low-key.  There weren't exactly spare funds for birthday parties.

            "I still can't do it.  What if-?"

            "She'll be bloody fine," Spike snapped.  "Do you think you're the only person in the world with responsibilities?"

            "Oh, yes, I know just how seriously you take your respons-"

            "I still know about them," Spike said.  "There are other people in the world with other problems, Buffy.  It's not just you.  I know you've had a hard time of it lately but-"

            "You have no idea," Buffy hissed.

            "No?  I've no idea what it's like to lose a parent, have I?  None whatsoever.  Not when I'm old enough to know how to deal with it.  And have a loving, supporting network of friends to help me through the tough times.  You know, the day after my mother died I failed an exam and my dad confiscated my cricket bat as punishment?"

            "My heart bleeds for you."

            "You don't know what a hard time is, Buffy.  I have bled for you.  I gave up everything for you, and this baby, who you didn't even let me know was alive."

            "What would you have done?  Taken him away to be the next Viscount Spellingdon?"

            "I don't give a fuck about that," Spike yelled, "and you sodding know it."

            "Oh, so I broke your heart?  Well, I'm sorry, Spike, but I still remember seeing you and Glory-" she couldn't stop seeing it "-canoodling like a bloody Benny Hill sketch-"

            "She set that up-"

            "And you were trying so hard to resist."

            "She spiked my drinks!"

            "I can't believe you were dumb enough to leave Glory alone with your drinks.  Spike, why were you even there?  Answer me that.  Was the whole 'Get off my property' thing just a sham to put poor bloated Buffy off the scent?"

            "If you think I'd ever touch that girl except to hurt her-"

            "I saw you touching her!"

            "I was really drunk!"

            "And whose fault's that?  Spike, just admit it, you were-"

            At that Spike snapped, grabbing Buffy and slamming her back against the headboard.  "I was what?" he yelled.  "You think I was shagging her?  She'd just spent all evening telling me you'd been shagging Riley and getting me drunk enough to believe her.  So I kissed her once - as soon as I realised what a disgusting bint she was I knew she wasn't you and I stopped."

            "Spike, get off me."

            "I did not sleep with her."

            "Fine," Buffy shoved at him, "just get off me!"

            "Say it."

            "Say what?  You're a-" Buffy started, but got cut off by Spike's mouth fastening to hers.  She might have resisted, but it had been so damn long since anyone kissed her - since anyone even touched her more than in passing - and Spike's taste of bourbon and cigarettes was intoxicating.  She knew she should be disgusted on every count, but God, he kissed good.

            "There's been no one but you," Spike said, holding her face in his hands.  "Since I met you.  Can't even think of anyone else."

            "Then it was nice of you to pop by and share that sentiment with me," Buffy said, succeeding in shoving him off her, but following him immediately, ignoring her heavy ankle as she swung over to straddle him.  Yes, she knew she should be mad at him, but did he have to look so good and taste so good and feel so good?  Her blood was up now.  Buffy wanted action.

            "You bloody lied to me," he started unfastening her bra, and Buffy pulled on his t-shirt, pushing away his duster.

            "You kissed someone else.  You know you sent me into early labour?"

            "How the hell was that my fault?"

            "I was in shock."

            "You over-reacted.  Would it have killed you to stick around and sodding talk to me?"  He ran his hands over her bare breasts.  They were fuller than before, heavier.  Better.

            "Well, you know maybe it would.  Since the woman you were snogging did actually try to kill me once already-"

            "She did not-"

            "Are you defending her?"

            Spike rolled Buffy onto her back again and kneeled up between her legs to take off his shirt and t-shirt.  She ran her hands over his body, leaner than before, so touchable it was untrue, and pulled him back down to her.  Her heart was pounding.

            "Are you defending telling me my son was dead?"

            "You-" God, he was kissing her neck, his mouth was hot, he felt so damn good, "-hurt me," his fingers on her nipples, teasing and playing with them, "and you-" now he was licking her breasts, her stomach, "-bloody-" his fingers were pushing her knickers away, "-know it don't stop-"

            Spike ran his tongue along the scar at the base of her stomach, pulled her knickers away and delved his hand into the heat between her legs.  Buffy moaned helplessly and pulled and pushed at his jeans, trying to get to the zip.  But she couldn't reach far enough, and eventually Spike rolled away from her, shoved the rest of his clothes to the floor, and came back all hot and naked and hard.

            His hands were all over her, rolling her nipples between his fingers, pulling her uninjured leg around his waist and dipping his fingers into the hot well of wetness that bubbled against his stomach, playing with her, stroking her, making Buffy gasp and writhe as she reached for him and found him big and stiff and ready for her.  God, all she wanted was to get him inside her, feel him moving against her, hard and slick and practiced and right.

            "Spike, do you have a-"

            He nodded and reached over for his duster, pulling a pack of condoms from the pocket.  "Learned to be safe," he said, and Buffy remembered why she hated him.  He was talking like Will had been an accident, a mistake.  Well, maybe he'd been unplanned but-

            "Jesus Christ," Buffy gasped as Spike drove into her, as big and hard as she remembered, maybe more so, pushing into her all the way, dropping his head and biting at her collarbone, making her cry out incoherently.

            He started moving, and Buffy moved with him, their dance achingly familiar, hot, heaving, and for a small eternity the only sound was their bodies sliding together, their breathing, the rustle of the shoved-aside bedclothes.

            Then Spike muttered, "Oh God, Buffy," and she broke, lifted her hips higher, trying to take him deeper, and dug her fingernails into his back.

            "Spike, harder, harder - oh God, deeper, oh - oh!"

            He drove into her so fast Buffy could barely breathe, her body slick with sweat, sliding against him, and she clutched at him and screamed and moaned and then her body shook with mind-numbing pleasure and she shrieked out her orgasm.

            Spike looked down at her, her body convulsing, her lips swollen and parted, and he bit her lower lip.  She gave a little moan and lay still, tousled and abandoned, and his mind vanished into soul-sucking joy, and he came too, shoving himself hard into her one last time then falling hard against her, completely spent.

            When he could move he rolled away and disposed of the condom - shows how much she trusts you, Spike - then came back to her.  God, she was beautiful.  He gathered her in close and kissed her mouth, but she barely responded.  She was asleep.

            Spike watched Buffy sleep, holding her close, and eventually his head grew heavy, his eyes grew dim, and he fell asleep with his body wrapped around hers.

            "Are you sure this is the right place?" Xander stared out through the rain at the expensive hotel.

            "That's what he said.  I'm pretty sure that's what he said."

            He frowned.  "Well, okay... I'm gonna have to double park here, Dawn, I'll circle the block and come back for you, okay?  Just wait for me under the canopy," he pointed to the entrance of the hotel.

            "Okay."

            She clambered out of the car, grabbed William's strolled and set it up deftly, through long practice.  She clicked his car seat into place - she was so glad she'd persuaded Buffy to get one like this - and fastened the clear rain shield over the lot.

            Then she crossed the road, getting thoroughly soaked as she did, and had to open the hotel door for herself, since the doorman barely looked at her.

            Inside, everyone turned up their noses at the bedraggled teenager with the baby.  Dawn ignored them and went to the front desk, where she had to wait before she got anyone's attention.

            The receptionist looked as if she never, ever got caught in the rain.  She was totally immaculate and her eyes travelled over Dawn's dishevelled appearance before asking doubtfully, "Can I help you?"

            "I'm here to see Sp - uh, Wil - Lord Dashwood," Dawn said eventually.

            "Lord Dashwood?"

            "Spellingdon.  Viscount Spellingdon."  She scrunched up her face.  "About 5'10", bleach blond hair, lots of leather.  Major hottie."

            "And you are?"

            "Dawn Summers.  His sister-in-law," she said emphatically.

            "Ah, Miss Summers," the receptionist gave her a sudden smile.  "Yes, he's expecting you.  You can go right on up."

            "I can?"

            "Yes.  Just ride the elevator to the top floor.  It's the only door up there."

            Rather doubtfully, Dawn pushed the stroller over to the elevator and waited with a very well-dressed couple, who gave her such snooty looks it took all her self control not to yell, "What, so you don't ever get caught in the rain?  And for your information, yes, I'm seventeen, but no, this is not my baby!  His mommy is a grown-up and his daddy is a lord!  So back off!"

            But instead she ignored them and just enjoyed their confusion when she pressed the button for the top floor.  Evidently it was the best place to have a room.

            When she got out she was faced with a small lobby where there was, indeed, only one door.  She squared her shoulders and knocked.

            Spike answered quickly, looking as dishevelled as she did.  He was wearing just his jeans and looked like he'd just got out of bed.  His usual platinum curls had dark roots - it suited him better, Dawn thought, trying to keep her eyes off his naked torso.

            "Hey, bit," he said, giving her a smile, and Dawn blushed and smiled back.  "Come in," he stepped back, and she pushed the stroller into the most luxurious room she'd ever seen.  There were sofas and tables and artistically placed lamps, and big windows offering a view over half of Sunnydale.  In the corner was a spiral staircase leading to a landing with several doors leading off it.

            "Is this a hotel room, or an apartment?" Dawn asked in awe.

            "Bit of both."  Spike willed his eyes away from the contents of the stroller, still hidden behind the rain hood.  "So... er, how've you been?"

            "Oh, you know, exhausted and humiliated."

            He raised his eyebrows.

            "People see a teenager with a baby and they assume..."

            "Ah."

            "Which is a joke, 'cos I haven't even dated anyone since before Mom died."

            Spike did not take the opportunity to point out to her that it took longer to make a baby than that, but nodded instead.  "Used to get the same kind of looks when I took Harm out," he said.  "You ever feel like just yelling at them, 'Hey, the kid's not mine!'?"

            Dawn nodded enthusiastically as she took the rain hood off and folded it away.  "Yes!  God, all the time.  I nearly did yell at this couple in the elevator-" she broke off as the phone in her pocket chirruped.  "Oh.  That's Xander.  I'm gonna be late for school."  She paused shyly and looked up at Spike.  "Is Buffy okay?  I mean, can I-"

            Spike nodded and gestured to the stairs.  "First door," he said, "but don't you dare wake her."

            Dawn went up and carefully opened the door.  Inside was a huge bedroom with a gigantic bed in the centre.  The covers were tousled enough for her to see that Buffy had a cast on her ankle, and was wearing nothing under the duvet.

            She came back down, trying not to smile.  "So let me guess, you two were with the talking all night?"

            Spike smirked.  "Thing with Buffy is you have to know the right language," he said cryptically, and Dawn rolled her eyes.

            "Be nice to her.  And don't wake Will, or he'll never get back to sleep.  I mean, ever."  She kissed her fingers and touched them to the baby's head.  "Bye," she said, and was gone.

            Spike closed the door behind her, carefully putting the Do Not Disturb sign up, and leaned against the smooth wood, his eyes closed.  So far he'd not even dared to look at the baby yet.  What if it really looked like Riley?  Poncy bugger.  Or what if it was just really ugly?  Deformed or something?

            What if he looked at the baby and just felt nothing?

            The kid was still asleep, wearing a little yellow hat and a blue coat, with tiny little mittens and little trainers.  He was pretty cute, Spike thought objectively.  Such tiny little features.  Delicate eyebrows and a mouth shaped like a perfect cupid's bow.

            Thoughtfully, he went over to a door on the far wall and pressed a button.  A small elevator was revealed, used by the room service staff, and he gently, gingerly, pulled the stroller into it.  It opened on the landing above, and he pushed the stroller into the main bedroom, positioning it to face the bed so if the baby woke up, he'd be able to see Buffy.

            Or would that make no difference?  Was he too young to recognise people?  Spike didn't even know what age they started talking.  He had taken Harmony out once or twice when she was a toddler, but by then she was walking and talking, after a fashion.  He'd steered well clear of all the baby stuff.

            He sat down on the floor in front of the pram and propped his chin on his hands to look at the kid properly.  No, so far he was still just a baby.

            And then he opened his eyes.

            Spike sucked in a breath, because William had the bluest eyes he'd ever seen, and they were fixed right on his daddy.  Blue on blue, they stared it out, and William didn't even seem to need to blink.  Spike was breathless.  This was his son.

            Then William gave an unexpected little laugh and waved his arms, and one of his mittens fell off.  Spike picked it up and replaced it over the tiny, tiny little fingers, tucked it firmly in place, and tentatively stroked the baby's face.

            He laughed again, and Spike broke into a smile.

            "Hey, kid," he said.  "How's my boy?"

            William grinned.

            "Yeah?  Buffy treating you all right?"

            "What did you expect?" came a voice behind him, and Spike turned around so fast he fell over.  Buffy rolled on her side and laughed, watching him pick himself up, and William gurgled delightedly.

            "Yeah, that's right, your daddy's a clown.  How long have you been awake?" he added to Buffy.

            "Long enough.  Quite the bond you've got going there."

            "Yeah, well," Spike looked back at the baby, "he's..."

            "Yes," Buffy smiled softly, "he is."

            "So seriously, Summers, how do you get anything done all day?  Don't you just want to sit there and talk to him?"

            "Well, he's not much of a conversationalist."

            "He has really blue eyes."

            "Most babies do."

            "But his are gonna stay blue," he said.  "I bet all the girl babies fancy the nappy off him."

            Buffy laughed in delight.  "You wanna hold him?" she asked generously.

            Spike wavered.  "I, uh, I don't know how..."

            She smiled.  "Well you could start by taking his hat and gloves and shoes off.  He doesn't like to be too hot and it is warm in here."

            "I can turn down the heating-"

            "No, no it's fine."  Buffy didn't add that as an economy measure she wasn't using the heating system at home much, and she and Dawn tended to congregate around the kitchen table in the evenings, taking heat from the oven as it cooled.  Dawn liked to joke they were like impoverished Victorians.  Buffy wasn't so sure that was funny.

            Spike took off the baby's shoes, mittens and hat, placing them very neatly on the floor, and then unfastened the straps holding him in the seat.

            "Put one hand behind his back and the other-" Buffy began, then stopped when she saw that Spike had done it already and was holding his son with such an expression of pride that Buffy forgot how to breathe for a moment.

            "My mum said when I was a baby I wouldn't go to anyone else," he said softly.  "Only her.  If my dad came near I just screamed at him."

            "Things haven't changed much, then."

            "Guess not.  But Will's not like that."

            Buffy smiled.  "We had this social worker who came by to check up in him and as soon as he saw her he started crying.  I just couldn't figure out what was wrong.  I think she thought I was abusing him or something because he just would not stop screaming.  It was only when she left and he shut up that I realised it was just because he didn't like her."

            Spike laughed.  "Smart kid."

            "He knows who he likes."

            Spike looked at her.  "So he likes me?"

            "I guess he does."

            Right on cue, William started fussing, waving his arms and whimpering.

            "Or maybe not..."

            Buffy pulled herself to sit upright and held out her arms.  "Hand him over," she said with a roll of her eyes, but the baby didn't quiet.  He started pulling at the duvet over her breasts.

            Buffy looked up.  "Did Dawn say whether she'd fed him?"

            Spike looked blank.  "I, er-"

            "Well, he knows when he's hungry."  She pushed down the duvet and offered William her breast.  He took it eagerly, sucking happily.

            Spike stared.  He wasn't sure if what he was seeing was erotic or a turn-off.

            No.  It was beautiful.  The whole thing was - the tiny baby, feeding so happily, so naturally, and Buffy, the look on her face as she held him.  Never mind her dark roots and pasty skin, she was beautiful to him.  She always would be.

            "Does it hurt?" he asked, and she looked up.

            "Not really.  Feels a little odd, but you get used to it."

            "Is it-" Spike began, then stopped, embarrassed.

            "Like when you do it?  A world of no," Buffy laughed.  "I'm not Jocasta."

            Spike raised his eyebrows.  "You read Oedipus?"

            "Had to do something while you were out being lord of the manor."

            He dropped his eyes, scuffed his toe on the edge of the bed.  "Yeah.  Guess so."

            He was trying to think of a way to bring up last night without sounding like an idiot or a pervert, but Buffy interrupted his thoughts.  "Can you hand me that bag?"

            He looked where she was pointing and got a large canvas bag out from under the stroller.  "I asked Dawn to bring you some clothes," he said, not an entire wardrobe."

            "It's all Will's," Buffy said.  "What happened to my clothes?"

            "Laundry," Spike said.  "Don't look at me like that, I couldn't let you sleep in them.  They were wet and dirty from where you fell."

            "Sure," Buffy said, but she didn't seem angry.  Nursing William seemed to turn her into a placid earth mother.  With her free hand, she opened the bag and looked through it.

            "That's all for him?" Spike asked in amazement.

            "Yep."

            "But he's so small..."

            She laughed.  "He has an entire room at home."  She smiled as she found what she was looking for.  "Can I use your bath?"

            "You're not supposed to get your cast wet-"

            "For Will," she said, shifting him to the other breast.  "He'll need a bath."

            "Oh.  Right."  This was totally foreign to Spike.  "Sure.  Want me to run it?"

            She shrugged.  "A couple of inches, body-temperature."

            When he came back the baby had finished feeding, and Buffy was sitting there looking puzzled.

            "You all right there, pet?"

            "Do I have crutches, or do I have to hobble?"

            "You're not supposed to put any weight on it at all."  Spike held out his arms.  "I'll carry you."

            "No, you will not."

            "What, you're going to fly?"

            "I'll hop."

            "You will not hop."

            "I can hop if I want."

            Spike considered the sight of her hopping across the room totally naked, and he smiled.  "Sure, pet.  You hop.  I'll watch."

            Buffy opened her mouth, realised what he was saying, and narrowed her eyes.  Earth mother had left the building.

            "Can I get some clothes?"

            He grinned and handed her a bathrobe.  "That do you?"

            She wrinkled her nose and told him to turn away.

            Spike rolled his eyes.  "I've seen you naked before, pet.  In fact, I saw you naked last night."  How tactful, he cursed himself.

            "Yes.  Well.  Maybe that wasn't such a good idea."

            Her eyes were down, but he was looking straight at her.

            "You want to tell me why?"

            "No."

            "Okay, let me rephrase that: Tell me why."

            Buffy sighed.  "I was angry, and confused, and-"

            "Horny."

            "I - well, okay, yes.  Hadn't had sex in six months.  Couldn't really, even if I'd had the time or the inclination."

            "Me neither," Spike said, and she cocked an eyebrow at him.

            "Couldn't?"

            He made a face.  "Too drunk."

            "How appealing.  Look, Spike, I don't know what you think is going to happen but-"

            "But what, Buffy?  I want to see my son.  And you can't stop me.  And you know that."

            Buffy closed her eyes.  Damn him, he was right.