30!?

January 18, 2011

"I'm going to be 30." Buffy said to herself as she stood looking at her nude body in the long head-to-toe mirror behind the bathroom door.

It didn't seem like all that long ago, she'd been sixteen and destined to die.

Actually did die.

Several times.

And yet here she was, alive and well, critiquing her older and wiser self in the mirror.

Her body wasn't that of a teenager anymore, she'd filled out a bit, not in fat but lean muscle over the years.

She was still small and petite, her hair still full and blonde, though she did spot a grey occasionally, which was quickly yanked out.

There were stretch marks on her stomach, ones most people probably wouldn't notice, but she did. Battle scars from three to term pregnancies.

There were actual battle scars as well, none overly intrusive, but small reminders of the wounds that tried and failed to kill her.

Among them were the scarring from being shot in the stomach by her own father, though mentally healed, the physical had never fully disappeared, and certainly not the vampire bite her spouse had left on her neck, though that one was reopened on occasion.

Being a slayer had afforded her some pretty resilient skin, but the toll still had to be paid for some injuries.

"30." She repeated, realizing she'd made it a full double her expected life expectancy.

Most slayers called at 15 or 16 didn't live for more than a few months, even fewer ever made it out of their teens, fewer still to 20, and here she was about to hit the big 3-0.

A slayer always, first and foremost, but now also a wife and a mother of three.

Her eyes pulled away from her breasts, which to her seemed to sit just a bit lower that they used to, moving instead to the stick on the counter.

Protection hadn't exactly been at the forefront of either her or Angel's mind when his dog-form curse had been released about a month ago, leading to more than a few opportunities for fertilization to occur.

Despite the opening, the blue 'negative' reading on the display came as a mix of relief and disappointment.

Letting out a breathe she hadn't realized she'd been holding, she swiped the pregnancy test into the waste basket, then turned her eyes back to the mirror.

'Do I want another one?' She thought, touching her stomach, easily picturing it swollen with child again.

It drove her mad to be pregnant, to be stuck on the sidelines.

But it was a sort of addictive madness.

She shook her head, dispelling the idea.

The test said no, she wasn't, and that was ok too.

Tomorrow was her party, one she knew nothing about per say but at the same time knew everyone was planning.

Not being pregnant meant she wouldn't have to avoid any fruity cocktails or champagne or spiked punch, all of which seemed to appear now at these big gatherings with her friends and family.

Her eyes scanned the woman in the mirror, and despite her body being different, it wasn't in a bad way.

It was more mature, still lean and strong and firm, but it was also well used and well loved.

It was older, but it was hers.

The bathroom door opening made her step back a few feet, to keep from being whacked by the wooden panel, her husband stepped in while looking down at confusion at his phone, "Hey babe, the screen it doing this weird flicker thing again..."

When his eyes moved up off the malfunctioning device and found his wife undressed, the phone immediately left his mind, his lips pulling up into a wolfish hungry smile, "Well, well, well, what have we here?" There was absolutely no attempt to hide his interest, those dark eyes scanning every nook and cranny.

Buffy shook her head, "You know you could knock." She turned away, moving towards the shower and feeling a bit annoyed he'd barged in on her 'me' time.

"It wasn't locked." He countered, still smirking as he checked her out.

She supposed it was her fault for not locking the door, but she figured he'd be busy with the kids and would have some much needed time to herself.

"Stop glaring at me like a I'm a big-mac, and lock it on your way out." She huffed out, annoyed at him.

Instead of turning to leave, he reached behind him and twisted the lock button with him still inside, then dropped his forgotten phone onto the counter, "Pretty sure I don't look at food like this, but you are making me hungry."

Buffy rolled her eyes, turning on the water and thinking that man could think of nothing but sex if she wasn't wearing clothes...or even if she was... "I'm showering, go away."

At his crestfallen expression, she added, "Or if you were really insisting, you could scrub my back?"

He shed his clothes in a second, and as he slipped under the hot spray with her, she though her body was about to get well loved again.

...

Date Night?

February 14, 2011

Angel landed hard on the ground, his head spinning from the prior blow.

One of these days, their date night was going to go as planned.

"You had to insist on a patrol 'before' dinner." Angel muttered, picking himself up off the ground and shaking the birdies away from his head.

"You're just hangry." His wife shot back, relieved if he was complaining he wasn't damaged too badly. Ducking a swing from her demonic opponent, she popping back up with a quick one two punch to the monster's gut, then a spin kick to the head to knock it backwards.

Angel caught the demon that his wife sent sprawling towards him with his sword, skewing it. "Am not." He grumbled out, as he kicked the dead demon off his weapon, but it was a lie, he was hangry alright.

Breakfast was a long, long time ago, and lunch hadn't happened since they'd been researching and leading slayer teams against the spike in Hellmouth activity.

He'd hoped they'd be able to grab a bite now after hunting down source of said activity, but no dice.

Saving the world was more important than feeding his gut, even if his stomach didn't agree.

"Is it just me, or do all these events happen when we plan dates?" She questioned, looking around and making sure all the threats were eliminated.

All she'd wanted for that day was to have a date night, then it all went to hell for a while...and even after they got it all settled again, there apparently were some stragglers. Or maybe just some randos fired up by the other demons.

He shrugged, "Often enough to reason its more than coincidence, which makes me wonder if we subconsciously pick days that coincide with Hellmouth BS."

"Are you saying we do this to ourselves on purpose without knowing it?" She questioned, pulling a tissue out of her pocket to dab at the blood flowing from a cut on her husband's forehead.

"Ow, that stings." He tried to move away, but his wife's iron grip kept him in place, "Don't be a baby." She scolded, rolling her eyes at him.

She tries to treat his superficial wounds, he whines and acts like she's killing him. Mortal wounds however, he'd try to get up and walk it off.

Males.

"Can we go now?" He asked, wanting his wife to stop fussing at his cut, it was barely even bleeding now. He'd had worse, a lot worse.

"We're not walking into a restaurant with half your face covered in blood, so shut up and let me clean it up."

He sighed, remembering next time to not get bashed in the head, it only led to a delay in getting back to their scheduled plans, which was finally getting dinner someplace that wasn't the AI cafe.

...

March 17, 2011

"Why don't you celebrate St. Patrick's day?" His wife was asking him, "You are Irish."

Angel glanced up from his book, one of the ones Buffy refers as his 'foreign mysteries' as they were usually not in English, "I've said it to you before, St. Patrick was credited in bringing Christianity to Ireland, which wasn't exactly something a vampire would celebrate. And even without that aspect, traditional celebrations were more focused on feasts and traditional music and attending mass. The first parade wasn't even in Ireland, but in New York in 1762. As for dying Guinness green... just don't."

Buffy rolled her eyes, "I'm not asking why you didn't celebrate 200 years ago, I'm asking why you don't now."

He shrugged, "I don't need to. Just because I was born Irish doesn't mean I need to flaunt it or make a fool of myself wearing corny hats and shirts."

His wife grabbed something out of a bag and tossed it to him, "Like this one?"

He caught the bright green item and gave her a bland look as he unfolded a t-shirt, reading 'kiss me I'm Irish' written in white and orange on the front, complete with a few shamrocks.

"Not wearing it." He said, handing it back to her.

"Yes you are." Buffy countered, "The kids are super excited for the parade today and they picked out this shirt for you and they have 'our daddy is Irish' shirts and I know you're not going to disappoint them." She said it sweetly, but with a note of threat.

He frowned, "Traitor."

...

Easter

April 24, 2011

"I'm worried."

Angel slid an eye open, more than ready to be asleep after such a long day of food and family and friends and more food, and maybe a tad too much wine. "'Bout what?" He mumbled into his pillow?

His wife rolled over against him, resting her chin on his chest. "What do you mean about what?" She asked with the start of exasperation, "We had a huge Easter Sunday dinner with all our friends and family, like every slayer and watcher and nothing...no Apocalypses, no demons...I mean if you exclude Lorne and Spike and...OK there were a good amount of demons, but not the evil ones...everyone was happy and there weren't any fights...well, except for the usual squabbling...and..."

Angel pulled his wife up and pressed his lips to hers, successfully ending the ramble.

After a few long moments, she broke it off and punched him in the arm, "Jerk. That's just a really, really nice non-verbal way of using your mouth and tongue to say shut up."

He snorted, he'd barely felt the half-hearted punch, letting her pull away, though not very far. The minute she rolled onto her side he spooned up behind her, wrapping an arm around her waist and drawing her flush against him, "Or maybe Ranting Buffy is a turn on?"

It was her turn to snort, "Nice try." It had been a tiring day of cooking and hosting and serving and laughing and smiling and then cleaning and sorting and arranging the cafeteria back to normal configuration, despite the help from everyone, the day had managed to drain her.

He smirked and kissed the back of her neck, knowing he was getting the 'not tonight' look, even if he couldn't see her face, "Stop worrying so much when we have a normal day."

She frowned a little, "I'm a slayer, you're a living vampire...we run a demon hunting school...we don't normal...normal is not normal... "

"We normal more than you realize." He smiled, thinking of earlier in the day, watching the kids look for Easter eggs and how they tore into the Easter baskets with the same enthusiasm as a present from under the tree.

She smiled too, honing in on what he was thinking, then another thought crossed her mind, "I still don't like it, too much quiet...it's like miracle grow for the Hellmouth stuff"

"Good."

Buffy pulled away so she could turn to face her spouse, not that he was all that visible in the darkness of their bedroom, "Good?" She questioned, pondering his sanity.

He studied her face a moment, his vampric-powered vision giving him day-like clarity in the dark room, "Yeah good, we have the advantage here, we know something will come up, it always does, but when it does, we'll be rested and ready for it."

She smirked at that, "Are you're saying we'll be bored and need the adrenaline rush?"

"Am I wrong?" He questioned back.

"Usually, but not about that." She teased, snuggling back down against him.

He hadn't said anything she didn't already know, but she liked to hear the reminder out loud. Chaos was was status quo, enjoy the pockets of normal in between.

...

Topaz

May 8, 2011

'Where is it!?' Buffy muttered under her breath, tearing though her jewelry box again, horrified that of all the days for her mother's day necklace to be missing it was today.

Suddenly she stopped looking as a thought crossed her mind. Her spouse had been conspicuously absent all morning, and she was now putting two and two together.

Deciding to see how this played out, she forwent further searches and decided to return to her regularly scheduled daily tasks.

And if for some reason Angel and the missing necklace weren't connected, well she'd think of something.

...

'I knew it!' The slayer though some hours later, as her spouse draped her no longer missing necklace around her neck, his warm hands gently brushing her long blond hair away so he could fasten the latch.

"Let-me-see" She said as one word, taking the pendent into her hands and lifting it so she could see the the addition.

It was the same silver heart shaped Claddagh he'd given her years ago, but with a new stone. The hands holding a hollow crowned heart, hanging from the crowned heart a gemstone for each of her children's birth months. A green emerald for May, Katie, a purple amethyst for Feb, Liam, and now a yellow topaz for Nov, Joan.

"Sorry I didn't warn you I was borrowing it." Angel apologized into her ear, still behind her, now finished latching the chain, his arms were busy wrapping around her waist to pull her flush against him.

"Didn't even notice it was gone." She lied, leaning against him.

"Sure you didn't." He said quietly, smirking at her failure to lie to him, he'd gone upstairs to change earlier, he'd seen the mess on her bureau, knew she'd been looking for it.

She turned in his arms, facing him, "You know I only take it off so it doesn't get lost, right?" She asked, wondering if he really knew how much she loved this piece of jewelry.

"I know." He leaned down, pressing his lips to hers.

After a few minutes of smoochies, she ran her hand over his shirt, feeling for the necklace she put on him years ago, the old silver cross he had given to her.

"Still there." He confirmed as her fingers traced the object still under his shirt. "Out of sight of tiny hands and protected from being caught on, but always close to my heart."

She smiled, "I need to try that too."

...

Summer BBQ

June 19, 2011

"Giles? Where did Angel go?" Buffy asked, finding her adopted father by the grill instead of her husband.

The watcher turned from his post by the burgers and gestured towards the garage, "Connor requested his presence."

Nodding, Buffy went to investigate.

Going though the back door and entering the garage, she found it devoid of anything alive, just the GTX and SUV parked side by side. However, she could hear her spouse and step-son's voices from the other side of the garage doors. Though the row of small windows along the double doors, she could see Angel and Connor deep in conversation, the men looking down at something too low for her to see from her vantage point. Walking closer, she peered out the window and looked down, seeing what looked like a junk-yard reject parked the driveway.

Exiting the garage into the house, she walked around to the from door and stepped outside, to see what was going on.

"What's with the rust bucket?" Buffy asked, coming to stand by the conversing men.

Connor looked to his step-mom like she'd slapped him, "Mom! That's not a rust bucket! Its a 71 Plymouth GTX!"

Buffy's brows pulled down, "Isn't that what you have?" She asked her husband, not missing the fact Connor sounded just like his father as he exasperated about the car.

"No, mines a 67." Angel informed her, "Connor was asking if I wanted to help him restore it."

"Restore?" Buffy questioned, looking at the holes and scuffs and dents and cracked glass, "Might need to involve Willow...and a time machine."

They both started in on blah, blah this and blah, blah that on how restoring a car was a work of art and magic couldn't compare yadda yadda...

"Yeah, whatever, just not here, there isn't room in this garage for another car." Buffy made sure she added as she decided this was boring and she should get back to the rest of the family out back enjoying the father's day BBQ...

Angel shook his head, "I love her but when it comes to cars, she just doesn't understand..."

Connor snickered, "I think it might be a girl thing."

Angel shook his head, "Not necessarily, but it is defiantly not a Buffy thing."

...

Firework

July 4th 2011

Katie screamed.

It was immediately drowned out by the monstrous booming from the above explosion, then the resonating echo that was felt more than heard.

The sky filled with smoke as the colored flashes flared then faded to smoldering debris, slowly drifting back to earth in the gentle breeze.

"I love fireworks!" Liam exclaimed, jumping up and down as he watched the mini explosions going off far above their heads.

It was obvious the two older kids were having a blast, however little Joan was hiding under the folds of the blanket on her father's lap, cowering from the loud noises that hurt her ears. She wasn't quiet crying, but not far from it.

Angel cupped his hands over the sides of her head from under the sheet, over her ears, helping to smother some of the noise.

Buffy shifted positions, pulling the huddling 20 month old onto her lap as she scooted onto Angel's, making it easier for both parents to shield the toddler.

The blond sat back against her spouse, watching with a smile as her Irish twins as they jumped and cheered and yelled in tandem with the fireworks.

She squeezed her baby into her arms tighter, suddenly grateful being needed like this, and came to the realization that yes, she did want one more.

Her hazel green eyes turned up to her husband, watching his face as he watched the older kids, 'Yeah, one more.'

...

Hot

August 1, 2011

"Have I told you lately how much I love you?" Buffy asked, as she leaned against the hard white coolness that was under her cheek. The feeling of cold breath rushing over her hot skin was intoxicating.

Cold fingers running down her shirt, rushing over her breasts, swirling around her taunting nipples.

Icy relief from her overheating body.

"Should I leave you two alone?" Angel asked from the doorway, having caught the words as he passed her wife's door and stopped short, wondered who his wife was talking to as it sure as hell wasn't him.

The blonde jumped, startled at being caught, abruptly her cheeks tinted red as she quickly pulled away from her cold pleasure and was buttoning her blouse back up. "Um... Hi? Love you more?"

Angel stood there with his arms crossed over his broad chest, face expressionless.

Buffy sighed, "Ok, fine, you caught me, but it's not like I'm having an affair with the air conditioner, you can't be jealous of an inanimate object." She objected, finishing readjusting her clothes and moving over towards her actual lover.

His expression said otherwise.

"Oh come on!" She whined, "It's like 110 in the shade and this office is on the top floor and is like all windows!"

He was like a statue.

Was he toying with her or was he seriously jealous of a machine?

She really didn't know.

The guy shared his head with a demon, rational wasn't always his thing.

She said pointing a finger at him when his dark stare moved towards the air conditioner humming across the room, "So help me Angel, if ANYTHING happens to that AC, we're going to have a problem!"

His eyes drifted back to her, they scanned her up and down then drifted back to the AC, remaining eerily silent.

"Are we really going to fight over this?" She asked, feeling this whole thing was ridiculous. She was only cooling off! Not getting off! 'Ok so maybe if felt a tiny bit like it...sorta...'

"Depends." He said quietly, the first thing he'd said since his initial question.

"Depends on what?" She asked, taking the bait.

He took a step into the room, pulling the door tightly shut behind him as he did, and flicking the lock to engage.

'Oh kay...kinda creepy, in a kinda sexy way....'

He advanced then, moving forwards as she moved back, keeping herself between her fuming husband and her guilty pleasurer.

"Ok, lets not get irrational." She said, holding up her hands in warning.

If that AC went out the window, someone on the sidewalk could die. It had it almost happen to them when he'd been a dog.

Her back was right in front of it when his hand shot out, grabbing the knob behind her and twisting it.

The cool air on her back turned down right frigid, causing a chill to run up her spine.

The whole time her eyes were glued to his face, trying to read the stone like expression.

'Rational or crazy? Why can't I read him?'

His hands moved to her buttons, fingers carefully unlatching each, one at a time.

'Well he's rational enough to know if he rips my clothes he's getting a stake up the ass.'

Then her shirt was off, and the cold was making her skin prickly, especially the area around her nipples.

She thought he was going to take her there, but he didn't move.

"Go ahead." He said as she was starting to worry he was, in fact, nuts.

"Go ahead and what?" She asked, confused and getting cold.

He looked at her a moment, her eyes, she was sure he hadn't actually looked at her puckery cleavage yet, which was also worrying.

When she thought he wasn't going to answer, he said, "Resume what you were doing when I walked by."

"Angel, no." She shook her head, "I'm not 'fondling' the AC in front of you."

By then, she was getting uncomfortably cold, "Are we done this game? I'm not enjoying it. Besides." She took a step towards him, now looking for an escape from the icy air and knowing he'd be warm, "Why would I want to fondle that thing if I have you?"

A smirk teased at the corner of his lip, finally a crack in the stone.

Figuring out his game, she teased, "Are you going to warm me up now or not?"

He stepped into her arms, and despite being uncomfortably warm earlier, this was a good kind of hot.

...

September 6, 2011

Angel hated computers.

With a growl, he pushed the infernal machine aside, but not quite hard enough to send it flying off the desk.

He'd gotten an earful once from Buffy, and Willow and about a half dozen IT slayers about breaking the stupid computer once before.

Data this, hard drive that, blah blah expensive.

He didn't care.

Useful devices, he supposed, they'd managed to categorize most of the demons, the weapons, demonic objects, notable places... pretty much everything that could be found in a book but searchable by just typing it into a search bar.

Quick and convenient and millions of pages worth of information right on one screen.

Giles hadn't bought into it either, though the Watcher seemed more adapt than himself.

'Least Giles was born in a time where electricity and circuits already existed.' He thought, rubbing his forehead as he tired to dispel the frustration.

Of course he had lived though, well been undead, while all that technology was being born and been around first hand for the continuous evolution of computer science, but it had never been of much interest to him.

He preferred the simple things in life.

And in his former unlife, the simple things had been finding creative and entertaining ways to eat folks.

And post soul, he'd just tried to hide from the world.

Until destiny dropped him into a crash course with a certain slayer.

In his opinion, plain old paper and pencil were the number one.

Reading, drawing, taking notes...pen and paper.

No fancy tech needing electricity and specialty inkless pens.

At least the typewriter had made sense to him, then they went and added all kinds of confusing clicky stuff.

All he'd wanted was to print out a slayer roster.

It was still months away, but the holidays would be coming up quick, he'd wanted to get a slayer headcount and get started on the cross coverage schedules.

The girls training at Angel Investigations were by no means locked into staying, they could request leave at any time, and there would be a rush of such requests rolling in as the young woman returned home to their families to celebrate special occasions and holiday festivities.

There were far less new slayers arriving these days. The spell to activate the potentials woke all that were physically able to receive the slayer calling. It didn't trigger any very young girls or babies, as far as they knew. And most had been contacted and warned that the monsters of the world could sense them...and there would be no opting out of being eaten.

For six years AI had been training all the willing slayers, but every year the new recruits were diminishing. The advanced classes were still full, often operating at capacity and there didn't seem to be any lull in demonic cases from LAPD or the root 'helping the helpless' hotlines.

They had lost slayers, but as far as anyone could tell, no new slayers had been called since Willow's spell.

Every year there were less slayers in the world.

It wasn't spoken aloud much, but the core Scoobie team did wonder if they somehow broke the calling chain.

Would there one day only be the one slayer again?

Or would the whole calling line end once this current generation of Slayers passed on?

It wasn't for him to know right now, they might not know for 50 years, if at all. He could very well die before then.

Getting up and shoving his computer chair back under his desk, he headed out of the office, giving up on the infernal machine for now and deciding to find lunch instead.

He needed a distraction.

...

The End, for now.