A few days later…

Spike stood in the doorway of the cheerful nursery watching as Buffy straightened already perfect bedding and fluffed already fluffy pillows. She re-arranged the baby powder and baby oil on the changing table, then moved them back to their original spots. Nerves. The babies were due soon, very soon – like today if the new doc was to be believed.

Spike stepped in and made his way up to her back in silence. She didn’t jump or start when he wrapped his arms around her, one across her collarbone and the other over her beautifully swollen belly. Instead, she leaned back against him, laying her own hands over his, and sighing contentedly.

“It’ll be alright, luv,” he assured her.

“I know,” Buffy agreed.

“Doc says they’re perfectly healthy.”

“I know,” she said again.

“And so are you.”

“I know,” she agreed again.

“There’s nothin’ to be worried…” Spike stopped cold. His hand that was on her abdomen felt something new. Not a kick – he’d felt that before – this was different. This was …

“Bloody hell, woman! You’re in labor!” he exclaimed, pulling his hands away and spinning her around to face him at the same time. “What the bloody hell are ya doin’ standing about? We gotta go! Call the doc! Get to the hospital! C’mon – get your stuff and I’ll get the car!”

Spike began frantically pulling her by the hand, tugging her out of the room and into the hallway.

“Spike,” Buffy objected, pulling back against him ineffectually.

“Hurry up! The bits are comin’!” he admonished her, never releasing her hand – his eyes wide with panic. “Bloody hell! The bits are comin’!”

“Spike, they aren’t…”

“Why didn’t ya tell me? Why are we still ‘ere? Should I call the ambulance? Can you walk? Should I carry ya?” he continued as he dragged her in his wake.

“Spike!” Buffy finally yelled as she yanked her hand from his grasp. “They aren’t coming right this minute! That can barely even be called a ‘contraction’ – it’s more like a … cramp. On top of which, my water hasn’t even…”

Suddenly a warm flood of liquid stained Buffy’s sweat pants.

“…broken,” she finished, looking down with dismay.

When she looked back up, Spike was standing in front of her frozen, dumbfounded, his mouth hung open, his eyes wide with panic.

“Ummm … maybe we should go now,” she suggested meekly.

Spike didn’t move, didn’t breathe, didn’t speak. He just stared at her, gape-mouthed.

“Spike? Car? Can you get the car?” Buffy wondered as she reached a hand out to him and touched his shoulder.

Her touch seemed to bring him out of his stupor. “Car! Ya! Got it!” he confirmed wildly before turning and sprinting down the hall to the stairs. In a moment he was gone, leaving Buffy standing alone. She sighed and headed for the bathroom to clean up, but Spike met her before she’d taken three steps.

“Can you walk? Should I carry ya? What do ya need? What do I do?” he asked frantically.

“I’m fine, Spike. Go get the car and calm down. I’ll just change…”

“We aren’t goin’ to the club, Buffy! Are you daft? Don’t need t’ get gussied up,” he admonished. “Bloody fuck! The bits are comin’!”

“Spike – I’m clued in to the sitch here. I got the memo. I’m the one with the grossness in my pants, and again I say they aren’t coming this minute. I have time to change.” Buffy took hold of both of his shoulders and made him focus on her. “Go tell Joan to come up here and help me, and you go get the car. We’ll be there in a minute, ok? Can you do that?”

“Get Joan, get the car. Got it,” Spike confirmed. “Bloody hell … the bits are comin’!”

Buffy laughed and let go of his shoulders. “Go on now – Joan and car,” she instructed. He nodded sharply and turned away – in the next instant he was gone again.

“‘Big Bad’ my ass,” Buffy muttered as she headed into the bathroom to clean up and change. "'Big Freaking Baby' more like..."

**~**

In the bathroom, Buffy struggled to get the wet sweatpants down her legs and off. They clung to her like demonic spandex, and the bulge in her stomach wasn’t helping any in her effort to slide them down.

Buffy was on the verge of getting a knife or some scissors and cutting them off when Joan appeared in the doorway.

“Thank God,” Buffy groaned. “Can you help me get these off?”

“Yes, I am certain that I am capable of that task,” Joan replied, but she didn’t move further into the room.

Buffy sighed. “Will you please help me get these off now?” Buffy amended her question.

“Yes.” Joan smiled brightly and stepped into the room to help Buffy peel her soaked pants and underwear off.

“I should rinse these out,” Joan suggested, putting them in the bathtub and turning on the water. “Otherwise the amniotic fluid and urine will stain them.”

Buffy scowled. “Are you telling me I peed my pants … again!?”

Joan nodded enthusiastically. “It is not unusual for gestating humans to release urine as the fetus presses on the bladder.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Don’t ever get pregnant, Joan,” Buffy advised. “All sorts of gross stuff happens to you. No one ever talks about the weeks-long hurl-fest, peeing your pants, the hemorrhoids, constipation, heartburn, and killer gas. They don’t mention the frantic need for Ben & Jerry’s ice cream at all hours of the day and night, or that you can’t sleep on your stomach or back anymore, or see your swollen feet that won’t fit into your shoes, or pick anything up off the floor. And, if one more stranger comes up to me, puts their hand on my stomach, and asks me when I'm due, I’m gonna go postal on their ass.

“Oh, nooo,” Buffy continued sarcastically as she ran some water in the sink and dampened a washcloth. “It’s all la-te-da, how ‘wonderful it is to feel your babies growing inside you’ and ‘what a miracle it is to create life’.  What a load of crap that is,” Buffy groused as she began cleaning herself up. “Pregnancy sucks.”

Joan considered this for a moment before replying, “I cannot become pregnant; I was not equipped with a uterus or ovaries. My motherboard is located where those reproductive organs would be on a human female.”

Buffy snorted a laugh. “Trade ya.”

“I do not believe that would be possible…” Joan began, but Buffy waved her hand dismissively.

“Sarcasm,” Joan realized, nodding. “I am still collecting data on sarcastic rejoinders and identifying satirical voice tonality.”

Buffy nodded as she continued washing herself off.

“You'll need to guard yourself and our babies against infection now that the protective barrier of the amniotic sac has been breached,” Joan advised. “Use a maxi pad, not a tampon, to keep the amniotic fluid from wetting your clothes, and keep your vaginal area clean. When you go to the bathroom, be especially careful to wipe from front to back. And sexual intercourse is strictly off-limits.”

Buffy rolled her eyes and laughed. “Oh, glad you told me that last part. I was just thinking how I’d like to ravish Spike right now,” she joked. “Oh yeah, nothing like having your insides goo out all over you to make you feel like a sex-bomb.”

“Then I am pleased that I told you, as well,” Joan replied proudly, again missing Buffy’s sarcastic voice tonality. “I have done extensive research on the birthing process. If you would like, I could deliver the fetuses for you. It would save a great deal in doctor and hospital costs and not require you to leave the comfort of our home.”

“Oh. Ummm,” Buffy stammered, looking up at Joan sheepishly. “Well … that sounds really good, but … we’ve sort of already made arrangements with the doctor and hospital. I would hate to … disappoint them by not showing up.”

Joan nodded. “That is reasonable. Am I to understand that you are no longer frightened of hospitals? Spike was previously quite concerned about your reaction to them.”

Buffy shrugged. “I’m not … un-frightened of them. I’m just … less frightened of hospitals than I am of popping babies out on the bathroom floor,” she admitted.

“Oh. I would not allow the fetuses to fall onto the unsanitary floor,” Joan assured her. “I have excellent hand-eye coordination, am extremely swift, and have an extraordinarily strong grip.”

“I know you wouldn’t. It’s just … we told the doctor we’d be there, so it would be rude to not show up.”

“Yes. If you gave your word, then you must keep it,” Joan agreed. “I would like to be of some assistance to you in this process. I am to be Aunt Joan,” she informed Buffy, clearly pleased with her new title.

“I believe the role of aunt is undervalued in today’s society. I will teach them important algorithms and problem-solving techniques that will help them lead successful and satisfying lives. They will confide secrets to me about topics they would be embarrassed to relate to their parents, and I will keep their confidences to myself. When they have difficulties, I will offer them several appropriate courses of action that will be helpful to them, and when they feel sad, I will purchase them inappropriately lavish gifts.”

Buffy gave her friend a smile. “You’ll be the best aunt ever,” Buffy assured her. “And I do need your help in the delivery room. It’ll be your job to pick Spike up off the floor if he passes out. Also, make sure he doesn’t freak out about anything and do something stupid. In other words, you are in charge of keeping Spike calm, cool, and collected.”

“Do you believe that is a feasible goal?” Joan wondered, worried.

Buffy laughed and shook her head. “Probably not. Tell you what, you just hold my hand – forget trying to control Spike.”

Buffy finished cleaning up and tossed the washcloth back in the sink. “If you’ll grab me some clean clothes to put on, I think we better go. Spike’s probably on the verge of giving birth himself … as in having a cow waiting for us.”

Joan tilted her head, her brows furrowed in confusion. “Spike is giving birth to a cow? I did not observe Spike’s abdomen swollen as yours is, nor any unusual craving for Ben & Jerry’s ice cream. When did he have intercourse with a cow?”

“A while back. Her name was ‘Harmony’,” Buffy revealed with a chuckle.

“Why were we not invited? I am not certain I approve of Spike having intercourse with a cow without us.”

Buffy bit her lip to keep from laughing as she put her arm around Joan’s shoulders. The mother-to-be began guiding the aunt-to-be toward the bedroom so she could get some clean clothes to put on for the trip to the hospital. “Ok, let’s talk about sarcasm and metaphors …”

**~**

“Get. Me. Drugs!” Buffy insisted through clenched teeth a few hours later.

“You were very clear and adamant on this topic. Only three days ago you told me you did not, under any circumstances, want to use drugs,” Joan reminded Buffy. “You agreed that natural childbirth is better for the children and the mother – of which you are one: the mother.”

Buffy looked to Spike, who was standing on the other side of her bed. He nodded his agreement with Joan. “Said you were the Slayer, you didn’t need any soddin’ drugs … high pain threshold and whatall. Said even if you said you wanted them in the heat o’ the moment, we should ignore you…”

Buffy reached up and grabbed the front of Spike’s shirt. She twisted the fabric in her hand and yanked his face down near hers. “Get. Me. Drugs. NOW,” she demanded in a dangerous growl. “Or I will stake you where you stand … right after I shove a basketball up your nose and pull it out your ass. And don’t think I can’t do it, buster.”

Spike held his hands up in immediate surrender. “I’ll get the doc,” he assured her as he tried to pry her fingers loose from his shirt.

“Don’t get the doctor, get the fucking drugs!” Buffy insisted just as another contraction racked her body. She screamed out and grasped her stomach with both hands, releasing Spike.

Spike was gone in a second to find a nurse or doctor and, more importantly the drugs, as instructed. He wasn’t sure why he was even in the room with Buffy during this. Men weren’t meant to be in the room during this bit. He’d done his manly-duty nine months ago, by God, now it was her turn.

Men, he was quite certain, were meant to pace the halls outside the delivery room waiting for news of the birth. Then, when the news came, they handed out cigars to everyone and went to look at the baby, or babies, through the nursery glass. The hands-on involvement of the man did not extend to this part of the mission.  He knew this because he’d seen it on TV numerous times. What wanker had decided that men should be there for the actual birth he had no idea. He’d like to meet the git, though … and rip his fool head off. Probably them bleedin' heart, flower-power, love-in hippies from the sixties, he decided as he strode down the hall to the nurse's station. That's what too much LSD'll do to your brain.

Spike returned with a man Buffy vaguely remembered talking to earlier – one she sent away saying she didn’t need any of his drugs.

“Changed your mind, huh?” the middle-aged doctor asked as he came in, a nurse trailing behind him and Spike behind them both.

Buffy just glared at him as she tried to get her breath back from the last contraction.

“Don’t feel too badly, young lady,” the doctor cajoled Buffy as he readied the local anesthetic. “Most don’t last this long. The contractions are getting closer … won’t be long now, I expect.”

“Maybe I should … errr … go check on … uhhh … cigars,” Spike suggested, edging toward the door.

“Don’t you dare leave,” Buffy snarled as the anesthesiologist leaned her forward and deadened an area on her lower spine with a local to get ready for the epidural.

“Right,” Spike agreed at once. “Wouldn’t dream of it, luv. Wouldn’t miss this for the bloody world. Nope … not a chance.”

“Wimp,” Buffy muttered as the doctor began readying the larger needle that actually administered the pain-relieving drugs.

“Bloody hell … what’re you gonna do with that?” Spike wondered, looking at the giant needle. He was starting to feel a little queasy at the sight. He had to lean on the wall and look away as the elephant-needle was inserted into Buffy’s lower back.

Buffy gritted her teeth and rolled her eyes. “You are unbelievable. How did you get to be part of the ‘Scourge of Europe’, anyway?”

“Wasn’t with bloody needles, I can tell ya that,” Spike replied sharply, looking at the wall.

The doctor gave them both a strange look, but finished up his work in short order. “You should be more comfortable now.”

“Let me check your dilation,” the nurse requested as she helped Buffy lay back on the bed again.

Buffy sighed and huffed out a breath as she put her feet in the stirrups. She’d never had so many people casually looking at her hoo-hah as she had in the last couple of hours. It seemed like everyone from the janitor on up had looked up her hospital gown. Her privates had suddenly become the most public part of her anatomy. It had been disturbing the first hundred times, but she'd slowly accepted it. She no longer had a vagina – she had a birth canal. Apparently that made it some sort of wonder of the world, like the Panama Canal, and everyone wanted to see it.

“I’ll tell Dr. Andersen that you’re at eight centimeters, not quite time to push, so just breathe through them,” the nurse advised.

Buffy nodded and closed her eyes as she felt another contraction starting. “You better come over here and get the full 3-D, surround-sound experience, Mr. Pratt, because this is not happening again. Ever,” Buffy informed him as she grabbed onto Joan’s hand when the contraction strengthened in earnest.

When Spike didn’t move from his place near the wall, well out of the way of needles, stakes, and basketballs, Buffy demanded, “Get the hell over here, Spike! NOW!”

“Bugger.”

**~**

There were screams. There were tears. There were curses. There was sweat and other bodily fluids that Spike had no name for, there was some gooey stuff he had never even seen before. There were whimpers. There were cries of defeat and triumph. There was blood – Slayer blood.  Lots of blood. It was a vampire’s wet dream come true. A delectable fantasy come to life. So why did Spike’s demon go scampering off, leaving the man, the poet alone to face it? Bloody git.

Buffy’s flushed and exhausted face looked up at Spike and she smiled. After all that, she smiled and beckoned him even nearer. “William Wesley Pratt, Junior,” she announced, lowering her eyes to the lump of bloody, goo-covered flesh in her arms. “Meet your father. He can be a wimp, but I think I’ll keep him.”

Buffy looked back up at Spike, that smile still there, her eyes glittering with joy. Whether the joy was because the ordeal of pushing the gooey, bloody basketballs out was over, or some other reason, Spike dared not guess.

“Say hello to your son, William,” Buffy instructed when Spike only stared at the bundle in her arms.

“Junior,” Spike murmured, reaching a tentative finger out to touch the wrinkled, purplish face of his son. “Looks like ‘is sister beat ‘im up in there,” he observed.

Buffy laughed. “Yeah, well … like mother like daughter I guess.”

Just then the nurse came back with their first-born, now cleaned up and wrapped in a pink blanket. A little pink cap was on her head covering a mat of dark hair, tiny gloves on her hands, and booties on her feet.

“Could you hold her for us while I get your son and wife cleaned up, Dad?” the nurse asked Spike.

Spike looked at the woman blankly for several long moments, before it occurred to him that she might be talking to him.

“Me? I … uhhh … shouldn’t she be behind glass now? Ya know … tucked away safe and sound? Away from germs and whatall?” Spike balked.

The nurse laughed. “She’s perfectly healthy and you'll be taking her home soon – can't keep them behind glass forever,” she observed as she transferred the small bundle to Spike’s arms.

“Wait! … I'm not properly trained or licensed ... No … I can’t … I mean …” Spike stammered as he instinctively curled his arms around the little, pink bundle the nurse was pressing against his chest.

“First time, huh? It’s okay. Just cradle her gently, support her head … there … that’s it. You’ve got it,” the nurse encouraged as she showed Spike how to hold his daughter.

Spike held his breath, afraid at once of dropping her and crushing her, as he gazed down on the stranger in his arms. The baby cooed and looked up at him with giant blue eyes the color of a moonlit sky. He could see himself and Buffy in her, and suddenly it wasn’t a stranger in his arms any longer. It was his daughter. His baby. His life.

Spike’s heart swelled to bursting with the love that suddenly welled up from somewhere unknown and previously untapped. Unconditional love. Unfailing love. Undeniable love. Unending love. He’d never felt anything like it in all his one-hundred-plus years. It filled him from head to toe with a joy he never knew existed before, more even than his love for Buffy, something he would’ve thought impossible only a minute ago.

Spike bent his head down, silent tears misting his gaze, and dropped a gentle kiss on the baby’s forehead, breathing in the scent of her – the mingled scent of Buffy and himself.

“My heart expands, 'tis grown a bulge in it, inspired by your beauty, effulgent,” he murmured against his daughter’s soft skin, his voice thick with emotion.

“What?” Buffy asked, looking up at him as the nurse removed the bloodied sheet and gown and began to replace them with clean ones.

Spike looked up, shimmering eyes wide and panicked. Had he said that out loud? “Uhhh … nothing, just an old … nursery rhyme,” he excused, blinking back his emotions.

Buffy looked at him suspiciously, but let it go as another nurse came in with a clipboard. “Can I get the babies’ names for the record?” she asked Buffy.

“Joyce-Anne Dawn Elizabeth Pratt and William Wesley Pratt, Junior,” Buffy replied, speaking slowly so the nurse could write it all down.

Spike looked up at her, surprised by the addition of ‘Anne’ to the girl’s name.

Buffy gave him the loving, adoring smile for which he lived as she added, “They’re family names.”

The bulge in Spike’s heart exploded into a million droplets of rainbow-colored joy. He was filled with that effulgence of which he’d spoken; a radiance that had been redefined, brightening a thousandfold in the last few moments.

Spike watched his wife take his son – all clad in blue – from the nurse and could no longer contain the tears that welled up from that same unknown spring of love deep inside him. He’d died so many years ago, but Buffy made him feel like it wasn’t so. She gave him his life back … and so much more, more than he had ever dared to dream.

He was sure one day his Slayer would actually bring him back to life with her love, make his heart beat in his chest, his cold blood boil and flow in his veins. If anyone could do it, it was Buffy, of that he was certain.

As he looked back down at his daughter, lying contentedly in his arms, and then back up at his wife and son, it occurred to Spike that Buffy had brought him back to life in every way that really mattered: heart and soul.

**~**