Disclaimer: I don't own or profit from BtVS.
The Dawning
Chapter Eight
Buffy glanced out the small window over the kitchen sink, noting the sun's position, creeping ever closer to the purple mountain horizon.
Time was a funny thing. When you needed it, you never had it. It slipped through your fingers faster than shit through a goose. But when you waited for it to go on, yearned for it to pass, it stretched on for light years, never seeming to pull taut, never seeming to reach the breaking point.
Had it only been a few days since her and Spike's knock-down, drag-out brawl in the cemetery? Only days since she had broken down in the den and confessed her love of Spike to Xander?
Faith's appearance seemed to have stretched time, sinking Buffy into a deep, dark, endless well of hopelessness. It forced Buffy to take stock, to look around and wonder at the life she had made for herself.
Friends who didn't recognize her. A mother who accepted reckless behavior as the norm. A lover who no longer loved, but longed to hurt.
Buffy didn't blame her friends for not recognizing her. Since the beginning of her pregnancy with Dawn, Buffy had pulled away, creating her own harbor in the shit-storm of her life. As a result, her friends did the same. Xander found shelter with Anya, and Willow found solace in Tara. They had created their own islands unto themselves and thrived.
It was a little harder to forgive her mother. Joyce and Buffy weren't on speaking terms at the moment. Embarrassment and awkwardness lingered between them, knowledge that the mother/daughter bond could be weakened.
It was a lesson Buffy took to heart. She tickled Dawn's bare feet, feeling love surge in her chest. Carefully, she slipped socks and shoes on her tiny feet. The infant scowled at her covered toes, but Buffy quickly distracted her with a raspberry on her tummy. Dawn gurgled and the surge of love in Buffy's chest grew hot and bright until it felt almost too painful to contain.
Turning away, she gathered up extra diapers and stuffed them in the tan canvas bag she'd bought on the shopping trip to the baby store. Spike had been so uncertain as he followed Joyce and Buffy through the store while they shopped for baby items. Had that only been a few months ago? He'd been so certain that he had nothing to offer other than his credit card. His way, he told her, of contributing to the welfare of their child.
Their child.
How could it be that Dawn was only two and half weeks old? Time playing tricks again. Because if Buffy sat down and thought about it ––something she was loath to do ––then it had only been weeks ago that she'd laid down in Spike's arms in his uptown loft, her belly full of their baby, her very being infused with feelings of safety and dare she say––love?
Only scant weeks ago, she had been happy and content. Before the Initiative came and blew it all to hell.
Two and half weeks since the conscience she had successfully bound, gagged, and thrown into the darkest, dankest part of her brain had broken free and reminded her of her duty.
Stupid fucking conscience.
Stupid fucking duty.
It took Faith's fucked-up-ness to jar duty's death grip on Buffy, giving her the strength to crack down on her over-developed superego running as free and crazy as a naked frat boy in a sorority house, and lock it back up where it belonged.
She couldn't go back to where she'd been with Spike only a few short weeks ago, but she could no longer go down the self-righteous path she'd chosen.
Buffy swung the baby bag over her shoulder and picked up Dawn from her bouncer, fluttering tiny kisses over her face. Dawn gurgled happily, and Buffy returned the smile before protectively tucking her daughter against her chest.
Coming face-to-face with Faith had taught Buffy an important lesson. You'd think it'd be about forgiveness and acceptance, but fuck that. Buffy was pissed at Faith. The other Slayer was a selfish, maladjusted nut-case who had a penchant for taking things that weren't hers, namely boyfriends.
But she wasn't evil. And she wasn't lost.
The lesson Buffy learned was that she couldn't change a person. No force on Earth could make someone into something they didn't want to be. All Buffy could do was recognize when someone wanted to change and make a concerted, positive effort to support them.
By the nature of her Calling, Buffy was both judge and executioner. She decided who lived and died and then carried out the sentence. That nature had led her to condemn, more than pardon, those who made mistakes.
It was a huge flaw, and Buffy wanted to change that about herself, because Buffy was adult enough to understand something that she hadn't when she was younger. She wasn't perfect. Her Calling hadn't somehow imbued her with some sort of mystical attribute to know the absolute difference between right and wrong. She made mistakes. But thankfully she was human, and because she was human, she could learn.
By sending Faith to L.A. instead of England, Buffy showed Faith that she recognized her as someone who wanted to change and supported her. Now all Buffy had to do was try to do the same in all her relationships.
Hopefully it wasn't too little too late.
Buffy turned into Restfield Cemetery, Dawn cradled in her arms.
8888
Buffy knocked on the solid iron door, the hollow thumping loud in the empty graveyard. When no one answered, she pounded again, louder.
Finally, she could feel rustling inside the crypt before the door swung open with a loud creak. From the shadows, yellow eyes glowed. They blinked, and all she could see was blue. Spike stared at her, then down at Dawn nestled in her arms. There was a moment of silence where Buffy felt a shot of unease.
"Wait." The door closed in her face, and Buffy blinked. Of all the scenarios she had run through, Spike shutting the door on her and Dawn hadn't been one of them.
Before she could turn on her heel to stomp away, the door opened and instead of shadows, the crypt was flooded with candlelight.
Oh, well. Of course he'd want to make sure we could see.
Wordlessly, Spike opened the door further, shifting to the side to avoid the spill of sunlight. She slid inside, blinking to adjust to the low light after he closed the door. They stared at each other until tension strung so tightly between them that Buffy thought she'd snapped like over-chewed bubble gum.
"Well, do you want to hold her?" Buffy lightly bounced Dawn in her arms, fighting to keep her face impassive as she offered up her daughter to Spike.
Our daughter, she reminded herself. Although her slayer instincts were screaming for her to take her child and run as fast and far as she could, her rational side knew without any doubt that Spike would never hurt Dawn.
Spike blinked again, as if he was trying to wake up from a dream. He cleared his throat before speaking. "Uh, yeah." He didn't sound certain. He reached for her, thought better of it, and dropped his hands to wipe them clean on his jeans. Reaching for her again, he jerked back, decided that the quick wipe on his pants wasn't good enough and about-faced to wash up in the sink, using a handful of antibacterial dish soap.
Buffy found his uncertainty endearing, and more than a little heartbreaking. Had she done this to him, or would he have acted with the same hesitation if offered to hold Dawn from the very beginning? She thought he might have. His nervousness was that of a new father being presented his baby for the first time and had nothing to do with him being a vampire.
Finally, his hands clean and dry, Spike approached, his face a study of cautious concern. That concern melted away to awe-filled wonder as he scooped his daughter out of Buffy's arms. Buffy stood transfixed at the sight, her heart swelling until it crowded her throat. Choking back tears, she fussed around, showing Spike how to support Dawn's head.
She needn't worry. Spike took to holding his baby as if he were a natural, falling into the odd, shuffling step that all new parents seemed to perfect in the first few hours of parenthood to soothe their child. A dormant instinct triggered by picking up a newborn and holding it to your chest.
Stepping back, Buffy watched them together, and the swelling in her chest turned to a tidal wave of regret. Until that very moment, she hadn't realized how much she had longed to see Spike hold their baby. How much she desired the sense of connectedness shared between two people when holding their child for the first time. Connectedness fractured because of fear. Because of the nature of who they were.
She wondered if they could ever be a family. If she and Spike could ever cross the distance separating them. If the dream of a white picket fence was even possible for them.
Buffy glanced around the crypt, noting details she hadn't during her first visit. The corners were dusty with cobwebs, the floor caked in dirt. Somehow Spike had cobbled together electricity, as evidenced by the old television and microwave tucked away in the corner, but most of his belongings looked like they came from the dump.
Seeing father and daughter were completely enamored with each other, Buffy wandered over to a ratty, mustard yellow Barcalounger. Wrinkling her nose, she dusted it off before sitting gingerly on the edge. Tucking her hands between her knees, she looked up to see Spike watching his daughter suck her tiny thumb.
"She's perfect, yeah?" he whispered as if afraid to disturb the tiny bundle resting on his chest.
Looking at them, Buffy thought she'd never seen a more perfect sight than father and daughter together.
"She is. We did a good job."
He flashed her a dazzling smile, and for just a moment, their animosity disappeared as they basked in the glory of their child. Despite all the anger and bitterness between them, they could absolutely agree that their child was the most perfect, wonderful, glorious person in their lives.
They had absolutely done a good job.
The moment between them was lost. Spike looked away to gaze adoringly at his daughter, and Buffy cleared her throat.
"What happened to your apartment? Did you give it up?"
"Still got it." Spike smoothed a hand over Dawn's back. She had her knees tucked up on his chest, her bottom sticking out in what Joyce affectionately declared to be the frog-butt position.
"You going to be moving back there anytime soon?"
"What's it to you?" With his chin sky high and his shoulders back, Spike looked downright aggressive, even with his baby daughter in his arms. He reminded her of the vampire who had spent a considerable amount of effort trying to kill her once upon a time. No longer did she see the lover he used to be. She couldn't help but acknowledge that she had been the one to cause his regression.
She hadn't supported him, the changes he made to be in their lives, but honestly, she was so very afraid. All anyone saw when they looked at her was a stone cold bitch, never realizing how much she lived in fear. Fear she'd be forced to stake Spike for feeding. Fear that something undefinable was stalking her daughter. Fear that no one would protect Dawn if something happened to Buffy.
Spike would never love her again. She knew that with the same certainty there'd be another apocalypse in May. But if she was patient – okay, to be honest, patient was a stretch – but if she worked on being less bitchy, then maybe she could recover the vampire Spike had been before she screwed the pooch, and give Dawn the daddy she deserved. A daddy who didn't have a soul, but was heroic and honorable in his own way.
A daddy who'd overlook the hatred he had for her mother, with a willingness to protect Dawn no matter what.
Buffy looked around the crypt pointedly, using her bitchiness for a good cause for once. "This isn't really the best place for a baby."
The first step in reclaiming Daddy Spike was getting him to live like a man again. That meant getting him back in his apartment and not this dingy crypt, unfit for even for the bones buried there.
Spike winged a dark brow at her. "There goin' to be more visits in the future, then?"
She folded her fingers together between her knees, holding herself together as she calmly met his gaze. "Yeah, Spike. There's going to be more visits. You belong in Dawn's life."
Wow. Saying the words out loud, while looking him in the eye, it released the pressure growing in her chest for the last few weeks. Like there had been a balloon in there, slowly expanding, pushing painfully against her heart and lungs until she could barely breathe. But with her words came a prick, deflating the balloon until she could breathe again.
"Is that so? And what's brought on this miraculous change of attitude from the almighty Slayer?"
Her entire body went rigid, her lips compressing in a thin line. Showing a little patience and understanding didn't mean she had to let herself be shit on. The one thing Spike couldn't stand was a weak female. He had a penchant for strong women. Something she needed to remember if she wanted to win this battle. Although straddling the line between strong and bitchy was going to be a difficult learning experience for her.
Standing up from the chair, she crossed her arms over her chest. "If you don't want visitation with Dawn then we can leave."
Dawn cooed as Spike drew her closer to his chest, eyes flashing. "Didn't say that. Just questionin' your change of heart."
Buffy winced at the mention of heart. Despite what she confessed to Xander, she was in no way ready for Spike to know how she felt about him. It was a moot point.
Lessons learned had taught her to guard her heart. Especially from something so catastrophic as admitting her love for Spike. Because while she knew he adored Dawn, she could never truly believe he could love her. The last few weeks had proven how unlovable she was. Most of the time she didn't even like herself; how could she expect another to do so?
Besides, while she supported Spike's struggle to be good, she was practical enough to know the deck was stacked against him without a soul. A soul gave him a connection to humanity he just couldn't bridge without one.
Spike might know that murder was wrong, but he didn't truly care and that was the real problem.
The death of innocents didn't bother him. He could easily tear out the throat of a hapless woman and feel not a hint of remorse. The only regret he'd feel is if his actions affected him in some way. She couldn't live like that. How could she possibly give her heart to someone who didn't feel an ounce of compassion?
She might love Spike, but that didn't make it right.
"Well, don't," she snapped.
"Oh, that's right. No one questions the Slayer, isn't that right? Your word being law an' all."
"Do you really want to get into this, Spike? Or do you want to enjoy your time with Dawn?"
He glanced down at the infant, his scowl losing some of its venom.
"You treatin' her right, Slayer?"
Buffy's brow crumpled. Had Spike somehow picked up on her self-doubt? It seemed as though she questioned every little thing she did for Dawn. Was the rash on her bottom because she hadn't changed her diapers quickly enough? Was she crying because she wasn't getting enough milk? Were her socks too tight around her little ankles? Was she too cold or warm during the night? Did Buffy play with her enough? Was exhaustion going to cause her to make a mistake one night and leave Dawn motherless?
"What do you mean?"
"Just want to make sure you're not punishin' her."
Her jaw sagged. "How could you say that?"
"I'm not sayin' you'd do it on purpose. Your motherin' instincts sure put me in my place lickety-split. I just don't want you to…you know…subconsciously hate her because of me."
Shocked to the core of her very being, Buffy dropped her eyes, focusing on how gently Spike cradled Dawn to his chest, hands curled protectively around the infant.
She turned away, training her eyes on the play of light through the dusty stained glass window high in the crypt eaves.
"I would never do that," she whispered.
Part of her expected Spike to see her hurt and rush to comfort her like he had in the past, but an apology wasn't forthcoming and his accusation hung heavily between them.
"I love Dawn with all my heart. I'd protect her from anything, even myself."
"Then we agree on somethin'."
Buffy turned to face him. "Do we?"
"I love her too, Buffy." He held up his hand to ward her off before she could speak. "Know you think it's impossible for me to love, but believe this. I'd protect her from anything."
"Even me?" She needed them to be clear on this point. If she ever became a threat to Dawn, she expected Spike to put her down.
"Even you."
"Then why don't you understand my need to protect her from you?" No matter how sympathetic Spike's plight might seem to her mother and Giles, and even Xander, Spike was still a master vampire who could now kill unfettered. He might be fighting his evil nature, but that nature was still evil. A demon whispered sweetly evil nothings in his ear. It would take a great man to ignore that kind of insistent gnawing at his mind to do evil.
Only time would tell if Spike would eventually give in.
Spike's mouth firmed. He palmed Dawn's tiny skull, fingers feathering over her fine, dark hair. It unsettled her, seeing his large, strong hand that had killed thousands, easily snuffing the life out of infants, touching Dawn with reverence.
"I do understand. And if I ever become a threat to Dawn, I certainly know you'll do me in without a shred of regret." His closed expression effectively ended their conversation.
Buffy lifted her face up to the window. "There'd be regret," she whispered, failing to remember how exceptional vampire hearing was. "But it wouldn't stop me."
Spike began to softly sing a lullaby. Something about early mornings and maidens. Buffy listened with half an ear while she went back to watching the dying light filter through the colored glass.
8888
Buffy sat in the Barcalounger, staring up at the dust motes floating through the meager waning light streaming through the grimy stained-glass window. On the other side of the crypt, Spike paced with Dawn, alternatively singing to her and praising her.
If Spike could be believed, their daughter was a perfect, perfect princess who was the cleverest, brightest, and most beautiful in all the land.
Buffy kept her face averted and tried not to laugh. Who would have thought the Big Bad would be such a marshmallow?
Eventually, Dawn began to whine, snuffling against Spike's chest.
"She's hungry," Buffy informed.
"Got a bottle in here?" Spike poked at the tan diaper bag Buffy left on the sarcophagus. It was stuffed to the brim with bits and bobs he couldn't make heads or tails of. Why in the world was there another pair of baby shoes in there? Did the dozy bint think the infant would somehow lose the ones she was currently wearing?
Buffy cleared her throat, a blush painting the edge of her cheeks, making Spike hungry. He tightened his grip on Dawn, ignoring his demon's insistent cravings.
"I…uh…nurse."
"Oh." No force on earth could have stopped his eyes from dropping to her well-endowed chest. He remembered fondling that magnificent chest only weeks ago, eagerly looking forward to when Dawn would be born and the changes to come. "You off then?"
Buffy frowned, her nose crinkling in a way he used to find adorable. "I don't want to carry her through the graveyard when she's fussing. Like a siren call for predators."
Spike's entire body snapped taut. "Right." No predator in its right mind better fuck with his little girl. Spike'd rip the nasty bugger limb from limb and pike the bastard's head in front of his door as a warning.
Buffy settled herself back in the lounger, undoing the buttons of her blouse. "Could you bring her to me?" she asked without looking up at him.
Spike froze, eyes locked on her nimble fingers. She glanced up at him, and he jerked out of his daze. "Uh, yeah. Okay." He strode over to her, reluctantly releasing his daughter to her care. When Buffy pulled her blouse to the side, her spun around, marching to the other side of the crypt. He shook out a cigarette, popping it in his mouth, and opening his lighter with a snap of his wrist.
"No smoking around Dawn."
Spike shot her a dirty look, but Buffy's head was bowed over Dawn's curly, dark-haired one. She cradled Dawn to her chest, and if the quiet sucking noises were any indication, the babe was enjoying a right fine meal.
"Right. Sorry." Spike snapped the lighter shut, carefully putting away his cigarette.
"You might as well quit now that you'll be seeing Dawn on a regular basis."
"Why?" Spike sneered. "Not like she's going to be living with me. Not like we are going to be playing family back at the loft. Can smoke where I like, long as it's not during visitation." Spike spat out the word like it was dirty, causing Buffy to grimace.
Spike inwardly smirked, placing another tally mark on the board he kept in his head of all the ways he intended to punish Buffy for hurting him. He didn't know what got her to change her tune, to suddenly decide he got to have rights over his child that should have never been taken away in the first place, but he would damn sure not grovel at her feet in gratitude.
He knew she thought she was being benevolent, letting him have his limited visitation with his daughter, playing the wounded martyr role she excelled at, but he knew the truth. Buffy was a right bitch, and throwing him some pathetic little bone wasn't going to change that.
"You could go back to the loft. Like I said before, this isn't a place for a baby."
He noticed she said nothing about her. About how he got the flat in the first place so he could be a man instead of a monster for her. Sure he wanted a safe place for his daughter to play, but his original intent was to create a space Buffy would approve of. A place she'd feel comfortable creating a life, together, the three of them.
"Maybe, but a crypt's where dead things like me belong. Like I said. You put me in my place good and proper, Slayer. Not going to pretend to be a man when I'm not."
He watched her beautiful profile as her lips tightened, and he knew he'd hit his mark. He lodged another mental tally mark on his board and tried not to grin.
"That why you got chains over your bed, Spike? Playing vampire games?"
"Jealous, Slayer," he purred, delighted beyond measure. Delight that dimmed when she finally turned her face toward him. Her expression was cold as stone, her eyes taking a dead sheen he'd never seen before.
"Not those kind of games, Spike." Her muscles tensed, her grip on Dawn tightening until the infant whined in protest. Her eyes darted toward her bag, making him realize she had more than baby shite in there. No doubt a stake was hidden among the many pockets.
His entire body tightened with barely contained fury. He breathed in deep through his nose, holding back the demon screaming for blood, screaming deep inside the hollow where his soul used to be.
"I told you once, and I won't tell you again. I'm not feeding. I won't be feeding. Dawn is too important to me. More important than the hunger. The agony. The wretched unending craving." She held his eyes, her expression unforgiving. "More important than you'd ever be to me, even on my knees as I am."
For the barest instant, Buffy's expression shattered and for the first time since he'd heard her sobbing behind the closed door as she locked him out of the house, he saw the heartbreak she carried. She hid it away so quickly, Spike almost doubted he saw it. After all, the bitch was nearly heartless. If it wasn't for the open affection she showed Dawn, Spike would be tempted to say she was stone cold.
She turned away, staring down at Dawn. Losing her penetrating gaze allowed him to finish. "I'll not feed. That's my vow to Dawn."
Silence surrounded them. Outside he could hear the hooting of an owl, and he didn't need his internal clock to know dusk had fallen.
"What happens when she's dead?"
Spike staggered as if suffering a physical blow. "What?" he gasped. If he were human, the blood would have drained from his face. As it was, he felt a little lightheaded.
Buffy lifted her head, spearing him with those stern green eyes of hers. Sometimes when he looked into her eyes, he had to wonder how she could deny her supernatural origins in an attempt for normal. It was so clear to him how extraordinary she was. How special. How could no one else see it?
"Surely you've thought about it?"
"Thought about what?"
"That someday she'll die. And even if you don't care, I'll die too. Soon, I expect."
"Fuck!" Spike grabbed his brow, covering his eyes with his palm. "Don't say such rot."
"Well, it's true." She almost sounded bored. Or resigned. Uncaring that her words were like a stake to his heart. "After all, we're only human. You're not. Immortal and all."
Spike didn't reply and she continued, sounding almost thoughtful. "We're going to die. And you'll be left alone. What will happen then?"
He let his hand slide off his face, wiping all expression from his face when he did. When he met her gaze, his eyes were blazing.
"You're a cruel woman, Buffy Summers."
She frowned, sadness making her look decades older than she was. "I don't mean to be, but it doesn't make it any less true."
Her words were hard, but true, and he knew it. He didn't like it, but it didn't make them any less real.
"You'll look after her when I'm gone, won't you, Spike? You'll see her safe when I can't?"
Everything Spike felt for Buffy, beneath all the hate and bitterness, surged to the forefront. He crossed the crypt in long strides to kneel at her feet. He looked up at her, sitting primly in his ratty, unworthy chair, holding their child close to her heart, and he knew he still loved her. Oh, he'd never tell her that. Never again. He'd learned his lesson good and proper. But that didn't mean he had to lie to himself.
"'Til the end of the world, luv."
She reached out, trailing her warm fingers down his cold cheek, and it was all he could do not to lean into her touch.
"Then what?" she whispered.
Spike thought of Buffy moldering in her grave, and his sweet bit no longer drawing breath. Life after that was inconceivable.
"Nothing, I expect. Nothing to live for after that."
She held his gaze for a long moment, before nodding solemnly. "No, with Dawn gone, there'd be nothing left to live for."
Her fingertips slid off the point of his chin, as she turned back to their daughter. Without her penetrating gaze, Spike felt some pressure release from his chest. He knew in that moment, no matter what, he'd protect Dawn with everything that he was. Because like Buffy said, without her there was nothing. If something ever happened to Dawn, it would destroy Buffy. Destroy them both.
Conversely, if something ever happened to Buffy, Dawn would be motherless, and watching how tenderly Buffy held their daughter, Spike knew he could never let that happen.
So Spike stayed on his knees, silently promising to watch over them until the end of the world.