Previously: Cordelia is in hospital; Angel’s had another Aurelian vampire show up in response to his call; Willow’s planning something and Buffy’s trying to figure out how to tell Spike something. This starts Christmas Eve.
Book Two. Chapter 33. Unending lightning.
the moment of a miracle is unending lightning ...
Dylan Thomas, On the Marriage of a Virgin.
I think miracles exist in part as gifts and in part as clues
that there is something beyond the flat world we see.
Peggy Noonan
Just hours after dark, the same day Lawson had shown up, Angel heard from Jenner, another one of Darla’s; and strangely enough, Rebecca and Toussaint. The last two he’d long since forgotten about, but apparently they, like Lawson, felt the call to be something of an order. Jenner was closest, already in New York and he’d be arriving in Los Angeles sometime during the night. Toussaint and Rebecca were coming in from Miami, but wouldn’t be arriving until later.
But they were coming. Feeling a bit better now that numbers were on his side, Angel relaxed and allowed the remaining minions free rein to hunt. The holidays were always a good time to find careless humans to feed on.
Wesley was becoming a permanent fixture in Cordelia’s ICU ward, so much so that her doctors jokingly referred to him as “the husband”. He was sitting with her again on Christmas Eve, so that Xander and Anya could have some time to themselves. And so that none of the others had to spend time away, especially Spike.
Buffy’s mysterious illness hadn’t eased at all, in fact, looked to be getting worse. She was having trouble eating anything and the constant vomiting wasn’t helping. Poor girl looked terrible and he thought perhaps she was starting to loose weight. Weight she could ill afford to loose.
Wesley shook his thoughts free of Buffy when Cordelia shifted restlessly. Although the doctors were slowly weaning her off the drugs that were keeping her comatose, Cordelia’s responses were still non-existent to outside stimuli. Wesley was beginning to fear that Cordelia might not ever recover. And when he’d expressed those fears to Giles, the elder man had just peered over his glasses and simply said, “perhaps she might be. . . . well, she would be at peace then.”
From that moment on, Wesley wasn’t sure what outcome would be preferable. An alive yet broken Cordelia or a dead and at peace one. Good god what a thing to contemplate.
When his concerns had leached into his conversation with Gunn, there had been no hesitation in the other’s voice. He simply asked “are you with his ex?”
And when Wesley had answered in the affirmative, Gunn’s response had been “we’ll be there day after Christmas.”
And that had been the end of that. Conversation over. Wesley couldn’t dissuade them from coming, so sometime tomorrow, Gunn and Fred would be arriving in Sunnydale.
For nearly two days she’d wracked her brains, trying to come up with some way of telling Spike why she’d been throwing up. His worry over her had grown the longer she kept vomiting and she’d started hiding from him, avoiding him as much as she could which was next to impossible because they shared a bed. Buffy knew it was silly, but she had to keep biting her tongue. Buffy wanted him to know, she needed very much to tell him, but she was also determined to wait until Christmas.
Coming up with various ways to spring her Christmas present on him and discarding every single one, Buffy was now at a complete loss. They were out patrolling and really there was no reason except that Angelus and Drusilla were out there. It was after midnight, she could just blurt it out. And how lame is that? Buffy looked over at Spike, who was just as lost in thought as she was. The duster swirled around his feet as they walked through the silent cemetery. Slipping her arm through his, Buffy smiled up at him.
He cocked his head to the side, gazing down at her. “You all right pet?”
“Yup.” She smiled as an idea came to her suddenly. “Its after midnight. Wanna head home and celebrate Christmas?”
Spike pretended to consider this. “Dunno, sunshine. Shouldn’t we be out here protecting everyone from the sinister creatures of the night?”
Buffy pouted just a little. “I think we can call it a night.”
He swung her around in his arms, so that they were facing each other. His arms circled round her waist and he stared down at her in the cool night air. The moon illuminated her features making her look ethereal in his eyes. His gaze roved over her features, drinking in her countenance. One of his thumbs brushed across her soft cheek. The look in his eyes changed the longer he looked at her.
Buffy started to speak, but his thumb brushing over her lips held her silent. His voice, when he spoke was soft and low, his words warming her through. “And in life's noisiest hour, there whispers still the ceaseless love of thee, the heart's self-solace and soliloquy. You mould my hopes, you fashion me within, and to the leading love-throb in the heart thro' all my being, thro' my pulse's beat,” he paused, whispering softly, “though it beats not.“ and he paused once more, searching for the rest of the words, “you lie in all my many thoughts, like light, like the fair light of dawn, or summer eve on rippling stream, or cloud-reflecting lake, and looking to the Heaven, that bends above you, how oft I bless the lot that made me love you.”
When he was finished, Buffy had tears in her eyes, but still he wouldn’t let her speak. Tugging her close, Spike whispered into her ear, “let’s go home love.”
I should have decided on this sooner. This is perfect. And it won’t take long. And I can so do this without even blinking. If Jonathan could do this – Hah! Willow paced around the confines of her bedroom, the grimoire that she’d taken from Giles’ in her hands.
Okie dokie. So now I need to concentrate and alter this just a bit. Change that wording. . . . leaning over her desk, Willow crossed out a few lines of the incantation, replacing them with others that better fit her intentions. Not wanting to be the center of everything – not like Jonathan. Just want everything the way it should be. She didn’t care about being in the limelight, if anything, she didn’t want that at all, so that called for the changes.
Her excitement bubbled over, causing her to almost bounce with every step. Okay, Willow, this isn’t good and you can’t afford to make mistakes. So calm down. Folding her legs beneath her, Willow sunk down on the floor, forcing her mind to blankness. Focusing on a soothing calming mantra, Willow prepared herself for the ritual.
Anya watched Xander get ready for bed, a yawn stretching her features wide. “I really don’t understand why you are still insisting on going to the hospital tomorrow. Its not like Cordelia knows you’re there.”
“That’s not the point Ahn. Someone needs to sit with her, talk to her and protect her in case Angel and his fangy bunch decide to visit.” Xander looked at her over his shoulder, frustration on his features. Do we have to argue now?
She made a snorting noise somewhere in the back of her throat that totally skeeved him. “Please Xander. You can’t possibly believe that. You wouldn’t stand a chance against Angel and you know it. If you got hurt then we’d have to worry about you and then there would be no snuggling or orgasms for a very long time.” Anya paused, then said, “besides, that’s why the bot is there.”
“Way to make me feel useless.” Shaking his head Xander got up to leave the room. “I’m gonna watch some tv.”
Shocked almost speechless, Anya made some protesting noises, but Xander just waved her off and headed for the living room. Slumping back down on the bed, Anya muttered to herself, “can’t speak the truth anymore. He never wants to hear it any way.”
Grumbling some more, Anya rolled over onto her side facing the wall. “Stupid man.” Thinking to herself, she fought the tears that were threatening. Instead, Anya concentrated on all the things she and the other girls had to do in the morning.
Tara and Oz were both still up when they got home putting the final touches on the Christmas tree and piling presents underneath.
Buffy stopped short, her mouth agape as she looked at everything. “Wow.”
The lights were all out, except for the tree and Tara was sitting on the floor, giving Connor a bottle while Oz rested on the couch.
“Look at you, all earth mothery.”
Tara blushed, ducking her head, when Spike added, “pretty as a picture.”
“He just woke up crying, figured might as well feed him.” Connor tugged on the strands of her hair, begging for attention. “Hey little man, don’t pull so hard.”
“Oh yeah, that’s such a bad habit.” Buffy commiserated with her as she came further into the living room. “Where’s Dawnie?”
“She went upstairs a little while ago. Said she was tired.” Tara hid a yawn, but Buffy saw it.
“So not the only one there.” Glancing at the clock, which read one fifteen, Buffy said, “maybe its time all of us started dreaming of sugar plums.”
Spike locked the front door, motioning to all of them, “go on, I’ll wait up for St. Nick.”
Oz signaled his agreement, slowly getting to his feet, nursing his injuries. Waving his goodnights, he headed for the basement and Tara’s room.
“You sure?” Tara’s voice broke the hushed silence and Spike shook his head. “G’on Glinda, ‘ve got some things I need to see to.”
Handing Connor to Buffy, Tara got to her feet, wished them both a Merry Christmas and followed Oz.
Spike watched Buffy for long moments, not saying a word. She yawned and he knelt down in front of her, one hand resting on her shoulder. “Go on up kitten. Take the sprog with you. I’ll be up shortly.”
Leaning into his touch, Buffy murmured a question against his neck and Spike just kissed her forehead in answer. “I’m sure kitten. Go, be up in a few ticks.”
Getting gracefully to his feet, Spike took the baby and helped her up. Pulling her toward the stairs, Spike whispered, “be up before you know it, love.”
“Okay.” Without much more prodding Buffy lifted the almost sleeping infant to her shoulder and ascended the stairs.
Spike waited a few minutes, his ears pricked to listen for anyone sneaking around, then, when he heard nothing out of the ordinary, he headed for the back door. He’d bought presents for his girls, even Glinda and even broken down and purchased something for his two fellow Brits. The trick had been hiding it all from Buffy’s over-inquisitive nature.
His girl was a snoop. And Dawn was just as bad.
At first he’d hidden everything in the DeSoto’s trunk, but when he caught her sneaking out with his keys, he knew that wasn’t safe enough. He’d stashed most of it at Rupert’s putting the bigger items in the shed. Giles would bring over the rest in the morning, but he needed to get the stuff out of the shed.
It didn’t take him long to move the gifts. Most of what he’d gotten was small and still at the Watcher’s. Tossing the gifts on top of the fairly decent-sized pile and placing one out of sight behind the couch, Spike made one more circuit of the house, securing all the doors and windows, finally making his way up the stairs.
Buffy hadn’t wasted any time once she was in the bedroom. Laying Connor down in his crib, Buffy brushed a kiss on the back of his head and quickly stripped off her clothes. She thought about putting on one of her old nightgowns and discarded that idea. Slipping into the barely-there all lace nightie that she knew Spike loved, Buffy sat down on the bed, pen and paper in hand.
Quickly she wrote down some things, then stopped. Is this the best way to do it? Thinking hard, she crossed out what she had just written, then realized she needed a new piece of paper. Taking a new one, Buffy thought for a moment, then wrote down something furiously, not crossing out anything. She hesitated when she got to the end, took a deep breath and finished what she was writing. Buffy hoped this would be enough. Not because she didn’t want him to know, she did. Oh god, I wanna tell him. She just didn’t know how else to tell him. Looking down at the paper, she wrote one more thing down and figured that would be enough. It had to be. She couldn’t think of any other clever way to tell him.
Sighing once, Buffy realized she was being cowardly about this. She just really didn’t know how else to tell him. Praying that it would be enough, Buffy switched off the main light and climbed back into the bed. The bedside light was still on and she put the piece of paper on his pillow. Laying down with her back to the door, she whispered a tiny wish that he wouldn’t be upset with her when he read it.
Thankfully she didn’t have all that long to wait, because she hadn’t been laying down long enough to fall asleep when he came into the room humming softly. She tried not to tense up, knowing he would pick up on it, instead she let her hand drift down to cover her belly, waiting.
By the rustling movements behind her and the dip on the bed, she could guess what he was doing. Boots first. The sound of metallic snaps was followed by the thumps signaling their removal. Then the almost silent sound of his shirt being removed and the dull thump of it hitting the wall by the bathroom. His weight disappeared from the bed and she could hear the snap and snick of leather and steel as he undid his belt. His jeans were off and the bed dipped once more under his weight.
Spike laid down on the bed, his head disturbing the paper she’d left for him. He grumbled something low that she strained to catch but couldn’t because she was very intent on breathing steadily. “What the bleedin’ hell. . . “
His voice trailed off into silence and he didn’t even breathe. He was silent for so long, it seemed endless but really wasn’t nearly that long because she only inhaled twice. Spike moved closer to her, his hand on her hip, his fingers curling around the smooth muscles of her hip. He spoke her name into her ear and she felt him move again. His left hand flexed on her hip, then moved to cover hers, which was still covering her belly.
Linking his fingers with hers, Spike gently forced her onto her back. “Look at me sweetheart.”
Slowly, Buffy rolled back, opening her eyes as she did. He was propped up on his elbow, leaning over her, staring down into her eyes.
She was in bed when he got up the stairs, the bedside lamp throwing shadows over her still form. Without realizing it, he knew she was still awake, but he decided against ragging her about it. Buffy still wasn’t feeling well, and he’d been cutting her slack for the last couple of days because of it, but if she didn’t get over it soon, he was going to push the issue and make her go to the doctor.
Sitting down on the bed, he unsnapped and unlaced his boots, then drew his shirt off and tossed it at the bathroom door. The boots were under the table and Spike stood to shuck off his jeans, stepping out of them and leaving them on the floor. He laid down on the bed, and instead of soft cottony pillow beneath his cheek there was crackly paper.
“What the bleedin’ hell. . . . “
He stopped speaking when he saw what it was in his hand. It was a list, in Buffy’s handwriting, of all those potentials that Rupert mentioned when he’d gotten back from his last trip to London. Names of the girls and dates. Approximate date of death and then the dates of their first born. Spike’s eyes slid to the bottom of the page.
There were new names on the list.
Darla Witherspoon. The date of her first turning, then dusting, her return from wherever she’d been, and then the date of Connor’s birth.
And then, at the very bottom was a new set of names.
Buffy Anne Summers, died May 2001, resurrected August 2001.
Then next to that two more words: son/daughter followed by a question mark.
And finally, a few more words. Fathered by William the Bloody, also known as Spike.
He stared down at the paper in his hands, unable to think, unable to breathe. He watched as the paper drifted to the floor, his mind whirling with thousands of different thoughts. He rolled over, propping his head on his right hand, placing his left hand on the curve of her hip. His fingers flexed gently, tightening his grip on her at the same instant her name breathed from his lips into her ear.
Her hand was cupped around her still flat belly and he slid his bigger hand over hers, meshing their fingers together. Spike tugged her closer, pushing her gently onto her back, as he whispered “look at me sweetheart.”
A soft, tentative smile broke out on her face, but it didn’t reach her eyes. They were filled with tearful uncertainty, questions teeming in the depths of her night-darkened eyes. Spike squeezed the fingers that were still laying on her belly and he gazed steadily down at her. He opened his mouth to speak, then stopped. His eyes roamed over her face, and he watched, fascinated, when a single tear pooled in the grassy-green depths.
“Buffy. . . .” His voice rolled through her, the deep husky tones sending shivers down her spine and settling in her belly. Her eyes started to drift closed, just drinking in the intoxicating rhythm of her name.
“Buffy?”
A thousand questions in that one word, a hundred million or more, and yet they all centered on the same thing. He needed an answer, needed to know and so, too, did she.
The smile that lit her face drew fire from his touch, from the look in his eyes. It was fierce and primal and went beyond anything they had ever touched upon before. She was mesmerized by that fire and she willingly surrendered to it.
“Yeah?” Her arm hooked under the one his head was leaning on and she slid closer to him, their faces bare inches apart. The world shrunk to just them, to the space between and she eyed him coyly.
“When?” He leaned further over her, his body shielding them both from the outside, craving the heat and shelter he found only within her. His warmth was stoked higher by her response and Spike itched to kiss her, but he needed to know. . . . everything.
“August.” She averted her eyes, shying from the profound emotions swirling in his cerulean eyes. His eyes had always had an intoxicating power over her, from the very first. His eyes told secrets, held promises that she hadn’t always been willing to understand. . . and now, his eyes held her world.
Another softly worded question caught her attention. “You sure?”
This time her eyes held the hint of a smile. “Very sure.” She paused, the fingers on both hands brushing over his skin. “I got a test and went to the. . . Dr. Thomas confirmed it.”
He hesitated, absorbing the enormous news she’d just imparted to him. Spike was in shock, he supposed, he couldn’t complete a thought, couldn’t actually formulate words. “Buffy. . . . “
“Are you okay?” The question was absurd, coming from her and he chuckled slightly.
“Yeah. ‘M bloody fine. Question is, how’re you?” He dropped further down on the bed and she automatically fitted her body to his.
“I’m okay.” Her arm was trapped between his arm and his head and Buffy brought it up to play with the curls just behind his ear. His fingers disengaged from the hand on her belly to rub little circles over her lace covered skin. His touch was electrifying, sending sparks through her muscles.
“Spike. . . .are you okay with this?” Buffy’s eyes searched his, trying to find . . . . trying to gauge his emotions. His thumb brushed over her lower lip, halting her words.
“Kitten. . . . “ His hand brushed down the length of her torso, once more resting over her belly. His fingers nudged her hand away, then splayed over her, covering her from hip to hip. “Here yeah?”
“Yeah.” She had no idea what he was doing or thinking. He stared at the spot, his eyes hidden from hers. Tentatively she laid her hand over his. She opened her mouth to speak, to ask him once more if he was all right, when his voice broke the still night.
“Buffy . . . This. . . “ His voice broke and she realized he was fighting tears. “Never thought, not in a hundred years, there’d be more ‘en jus’ the life Dru gave me. Never. . . . stopped hopin’ after a bit, jus’ gave up. And then,” he paused again trying to gain more control, “then there was you. Threw me for a loop you did. Turned me upside down. Made me want things again. Gave me m’dreams back. I love you Buffy. With all that I am. Man. Monster. Every last part of me.”
He moved then, lifting his eyes to hers. Tears filled those ocean blue depths, but before she could speak, his voice raw with emotions she’d never heard, he started speaking. “Now. . . . now you’ve given me the world. You. . . This is my baby in your belly. . . . mine.”
His voice broke and a tear dropped down upon her breast. “‘ve got the family William always wanted. My woman. . . My children.”
He shook his head. “I love you.” Another tear fell and Spike leaned closer to her, his lips brushing hers. Buffy smiled, arching into his touch.
“Spike. I love you too.” She kissed him back. “So you are happy about this.”
A chuckle broke through his lips. “Yeah, sunshine, ’m happy. Question is, are you?”
This time a blinding smile crossed her features, reaching her eyes. “Ahuh. Color me happy Buffy.”
His arms lifted her up as he rolled onto his back. Settling her over his body, Spike grinned. “Happy Christmas, love.”
Buffy fitted her legs on either side of his hips. “Same to you.”
Spike pulled her head down, kissing her hungrily. “Kitten. . . . this is okay, right?”
“Yeah. Oh yeah. . . . “ Her hands tightened around his biceps, holding on tightly as he nudged his erection against her. Buffy settled on him, inching back so that his cock was nestled up against her butt. “Spike. . . I need you.”
“Need you too, sunshine. So bloody much.” His hands gripped her hips, lifting her slightly. Buffy let go of his left arm, her hand circling his erection, positioning him at her entrance. Leaving her hand there, Buffy felt it as her pussy engulfed him, liquid fire spreading through her body. She writhed a bit, adjusting to his size and he groaned, bucking his hips up. “Fuckin’ hell. . . so tight. . . “
He thrust hard again as she ground down on his cock, sinking down so their groins were touching. “Spike. . . need more. . “
He twitched his hips and she was rolling, her back landing on the mattress and he thrust hard in the same motion, driving her up against the headboard. Spike’s arms landed on either side of her head, his weight resting on his palms. His eyes held a hint of mischief and he quipped, “hello cutie.”
Buffy slid her legs up, her knees just under his arms, changing the angle of his entry, so that he was scraping against that soft spot within her on every thrust. Her breath came in short gasps, his name slipping from her. Spike drove into her, grunting against her neck. Buffy had to put her arms over her head, bracing herself against the headboard, matching his rhythms.
“Oh god. . . . oh. . . . Spike!” Buffy shrieked out his name as her first orgasm ripped through her. Spike shifted, bringing one of Buffy’s legs up over his arm without breaking his rhythm. His mouth sucked on the pulse points of her jugular, cool against the heat of her but instead of soothing her, it just set off more tremors.
Spike felt her nails dig into his back and sides, raising blood to the surface of his skin, and he vamped, letting his fangs score the mating marks, while she gripped him tighter. He was gasping for air that he didn’t need, his chest heaving with the effort. “Love you. . . oh god woman, I do. . . . f’rever.”
He rolled his hips, pistoning into her hard, his pubic bone hitting her clit and he could feel his balls tightening, drawing up. He was impossibly hard, and the cords in his neck stood out as he refrained from biting into her. Spike lifted his head away from her neck and growled out his frustration. Her name was a prayer on his lips as he fought his own nature.
A warm hand cupped his cheek, then pulled him back down to her, guiding him to her veins. “Its okay, please. . . . I need you too.” She whispered against his mouth before she rubbed her tongue over his fangs.
“Buffy. . . . “ he almost whined her name into her mouth, struggling not to slice open her tongue. “Shouldn’t. . . not now.”
“Yes now. Especially now.” Buffy cupped her hands around his face, holding him still between her legs. “Spike. . . . we need this connection. I need it. I want you to feel what I’m feeling. Right now.”
He dropped his head, letting her lips brush across his brow ridges, his breath gusting heavily across the tops of her breasts. He was quiet, his hips moving slowly, languidly thrusting into her as she tightened all her muscles around him. He growled low in his chest, the words harsh and guttural, swimming with emotion. “Are you sure, sunshine?”
“Oh god, Spike, I’ve never been more sure. . . Please.” Buffy stared into his amber eyes, willing him to make that final move. “Please. . . Spike. . . “
He slid out of game face, his blue eyes staring hard into hers. “I love you kitten, don’t wanna hurt you.”
“You won’t. Not now, not ever.” Buffy leaned up, her tongue dancing across his lips.
Searching her eyes one last time, Spike deepened the kiss, his tongue mating with hers. Buffy arched up into him, her arms and legs holding onto him. She broke away from his kiss watching as he morphed back into game face. His teeth nipped at her lip, far too gently to break the skin and then he nestled his face into her neck. Once more scraping his fangs against her skin, Spike growled softly, then as he surged into her, he broke the skin over her veins.
Her life’s blood flowed over his tongue, pooling in his mouth, her essence filling him. She tasted better, sweeter, stronger, heavier. . . . headier. His head was spinning, swirling with the emotional tempest inside her, his ears ringing and he swore his heart thumped once with joy. She tasted of heaven, of starshine and dewdrops, of soft lilting lullabies and ocean deep awe. He groaned into her skin, tasting the salty sweet sweat mingling with her coppery blood. Another pull of her blood into his mouth and there it was, just a shadow of a taste, but it was there. . . . the mingling of them both, the promise of a future he’d never dreamed he would have. . .
Their child.
Okay, I'm kind of nervous about this one. . . so be kind, leave a note, let me know what you think