A few days later…

Joan practically danced through the front door, humming ‘Unchained Melody’ softly to herself. She turned around to the slow beat of the tune, swaying gently, before hanging her purse on one of the many coat hooks near the door.

“I guess that means you had a good time on your first official date,” Buffy observed, standing up from the couch in the living room to face her twin.

Joan was absolutely radiant as she beamed at Buffy. “Yes! It was one of the most pleasant evenings in my memory banks.”

“Where did you and India go?” Buffy wondered as Joan came over and they both sat back down on the couch.

“Green Pastures,” Joan gushed. “It was divine! I would very much like to speak with the unit of humans that restored that epochal Victorian dwelling and transformed it into an establishment of fine cuisine. High-quality craftsmanship was employed prodigiously throughout the entire structure.”

“Uhhhh … right. And did the … eating thing work out okay?” Buffy wondered.

“Yes. Transforming a section of the inflatable bladder that propels air for speaking into a vesicle for containing liquids and solids worked perfectly,” Joan assured her. “I was capable of consuming approximately four and three-quarters cups of human sustenance before requiring a vessel within which to regurgitate and eject the slurry of chewed, but undigested…”

Buffy winced and held her hands up. “TMI!!”

Joan stopped talking and looked at Buffy with confusion. “What part of my honest and meticulous answer do you find disquieting?”

Buffy cleared her throat. “Everything after, ‘yes,’” Buffy told her, trying to shake off the willies Joan’s answer had conjured in her.

“So,” Buffy continued conspiratorially, getting her wiggins under control. “Did you kiss her?”

Joan’s smile returned. “Yes! Several times. It created a very enjoyable sensation in all my pleasure receptors.”

“Aaand, what did she think of … the flavor?” Buffy wondered.

“I believe India was fond of my flavor. She said she would like to know the type of lip gloss I use,” Joan revealed conspiratorially.

Buffy smiled at her doppelganger. “Annd… anything beyond the kissage?” she asked in the same conspiratorial tone.

“No, but I believe there is mutual attraction and need for further exploration and mutual stimulation of our pleasure centers. She is cooking a special meal Saturday and I have been invited for dinner at her residence. I am eager to see where that scenario will lead.”

“Sounds promising,” Buffy agreed, reaching over to squeeze one of Joan’s hands supportively. “You remember how to handle the … other flavor, right?” she asked her friend.

Joan nodded. “All my circuits are at one hundred percent functionality and my memory is fully accessible.”

“Right, but why don’t you repeat it one more time for me…” Buffy suggested.

“I am to say that I had a hysterectomy and was left with inadequate vaginal lubrication. I must therefore use commercially available lubricants for comfort,” Joan parroted the cover story that Buffy had concocted for why the Bot’s nether-regions tasted like, well, lubricant.

Buffy nodded. “Right. Good. Perfect.

“Oh, Joan,” Buffy gushed, hugging her friend’s neck. “I’m so happy and excited for you.”

“I am equally jovial at the possibilities,” Joan burbled, hugging Buffy back.

When Buffy released her, Joan turned serious. “I must admit to feeling unscrupulous relating this falsehood to India. Have you and Spike not both said many times, if you had only been honest with each other that many unpleasant events may have been avoided?”

Buffy sighed. “Yes, but … Joan, honey, I don’t think it would be a good idea to tell India you’re a Bot. It’s just not something that people hear every day. It’s not like telling her you’re a Hare Krishna or … or … that you come from a family of rouges and thieves. It’s more like telling her that vampires and demons are real and you’re a Slayer … only, like … doubled ‘cos you’re a Bot and a Slayer.”

“Deceiving India makes my sentient drive whirr and oscillate unpredictably. It’s disquieting.”

“But, you’ve deceived her all this time,” Buffy pointed out.

“It is one thing to allow someone to jump to conclusions and not correct them; it is another to perpetrate a deliberate act of dishonesty,” Joan countered. “She assumed I was human; I did not correct her. If she had assumed I was a sentient android, I would not have contradicted her.

“In addition, I was unaware that the relationship between myself and India would change. If I had had that foresight, I may have chosen to correct her assumption at our first meeting.”

Buffy sighed. “Trust me on this, honey. It’s better this way … I just want to see you get a chance for something … normal. Or as normal as we can get, anyway,” Buffy admonished her friend.

Joan’s shoulders slumped but she nodded. “It is a strain on my internal systems. It is against the doctrine of my pre-installed characteristics to be deceitful.”

“I know,” Buffy agreed, hugging her friend again. “Trust me, it’s for the best.”

**~**

Saturday night, India’s house…

“The meal was satisfying, flavorful, and nutritious. In addition, I found the beverage to be light and refreshing,” Joan gushed as she and India finished the last of their wine after eating the dinner that the dark-haired beauty had prepared.

“Thanks, I’m glad you liked it. It’s an old family recipe,” India replied sincerely.

“I have never encountered Chicken Enchilada Pasta previously. It was unique and quite appetizing.”

India grinned across the small table at her friend. “It’s what happens when an Italian gets drunk and marries a Tejano,” she laughed.

“Your mother was inebriated when she married your father?” Joan asked seriously.

India’s grin widened. “No, my dad was. Mom liquored him up and took him to the chapel. She said it was the only way she could find to get him into bed – he was a good Catholic boy. She fixed that problem pretty quickly. I’m not sure he ever went to church again after discovering sex.”

“That is a very amusing anecdote,” Joan replied, smiling back at her friend.

“Sooo…” India began, a bit of hesitation in her voice. “Do you … go to church?”

“No, I …” Joan began earnestly, but then paused a moment. “You are using the story of your father paradoxically to determine if I participate in sexual intercourse,” Joan realized. “Yes. I quite enjoy the pleasure of sexual encounters.”

Joan paused again, realizing that now would be the time to slip in the information about her … flavor. The false information. Her drives began to whirr uncomfortably and she felt the contentment that had been with her all evening with India fade.  It was against her very nature to lie, and to lie to someone she cared about deeply was even more profane to her internal systems.

On the other hand, she didn’t want to lose this chance with India. What if Buffy was right? What if she lost not only a chance at ‘more’, but also lost India as a friend in the process?  But could she truly be a friend if there was such an important secret dividing them?

Joan’s sentient drive felt painfully fragmented. She felt like she was being torn apart from the inside as she struggled with the contradictory directives. Buffy and Spike were quite clear: do not tell India the full truth, but Joan’s own compass, her ingrained character, as well as her learned experiences were telling her something else. Which path should she follow? Both held the possibility for disaster. If she told India now, the disaster would be immediate; if she didn’t tell and India found out later, then the disaster would be delayed, but could be even worse for all concerned.

But what if India never found out? Was that possible? But what if she did find out later and her heart and trust were shattered? Could Joan take the risk of causing her friend that much pain? The answer, of course, was ‘no’. Even if it meant losing her now, Joan had to be honest with India before things went any further. It was the only humanitarian thing, the only fair thing to do. Regardless of the risk, the possibility that she’d lose any chance of a romantic relationship with India, she had to tell her the truth – at least about being an android. The truth about being a Slayer came with its own set of secretive regulations and conventions that couldn’t be breached, regardless of feelings.

“Soooo,” India began, letting her voice trail off as she leaned forward and laid a hand over Joan’s where it rested on the table.

Joan’s green eyes met India’s extraordinary violet ones and they locked gazes for several long, mesmerizing moments.

Joan opened her mouth, but then hesitated, Buffy’s admonishment ringing in her auditory canal. She again thought she should tell India the lie, but … after a few moments hesitation, she realized she couldn’t do it. “I … I feel I must tell you something about myself that you may find … disconcerting.”

India sat back in her chair and furrowed her brow. “You’re married.”

Joan smiled and shook her head. “No. I am also not a Hare Krishna.”

“Oh, well … that’s a giant worry lifted, not being a Hare Krishna …” India teased.

Joan recognized the sarcasm in India’s voice and smiled, but her smile faded after a moment. “It may be easier to show you … for you to fully understand.”

Joan lifted her shirt and pressed down on the two specific places on her access panel that released the latch. Her stomach opened up to reveal blinking lights and wires. She looked back up at India, whose face was awash with … concern? Confusion? Shock? Bewilderment? All of the above?

“I am a self-aware, self-contained, sentient android,” Joan announced as India stared at the lights and wires in silence, her jaw hanging open.

Joan waited … a few moments, a minute, two minutes for India to say something – anything – but the dark-haired woman seemed incapable of speech.  Joan felt the now familiar sting of dampness well in her eyes. Buffy had been right; this had been a horrible mistake. Joan quickly closed her access panel and dropped her shirt, then stood up stiffly from the table.

“Thank you for the meal. I have found the time with you to be extremely enjoyable. I am sorry that I am not what you … believed me to be. I did not intend to deceive or mislead you.”

When Joan moved and spoke, India finally looked up into her eyes, but she still seemed incapable of speech, completely flummoxed.

Joan waited only another moment before she turned sharply and strode toward the door, the tears that had gathered in her eyes now rolling down her cheeks. Outside, she turned toward home and began to run back to the house she shared with Buffy and Spike, her vision blurred as her sentient drive fragmented painfully.

Why did Buffy think Joan could have anything ‘normal’? She was not normal, she would never be normal. No one would ever be able to accept her … Abbey-Normal-ness. It was unreasonable to believe anyone but Spike and Buffy could accept her; she should’ve never allowed herself to entertain the delusion that any other human could care for her.

Joan flung the front door open, not bothering to close it, and collapsed onto the floor of the foyer, unable to stop the tears flowing down her face. 

“Joan!?” Buffy exclaimed as she came in from the kitchen to see who it was. “What happened?”

Buffy dropped down onto the floor next to her twin. “What happened? Are you alright? What’s wrong?” the Slayer continued to ask, lifting the Bot’s face up. When her eyes met Joan’s, she could clearly see the heartbreak reflected in them.

Buffy sagged with realization and pulled Joan into a hug. “You told her, didn’t you?”

Joan wrapped her arms around Buffy and sobbed against her shoulder, nodding her head, unable to speak.

Buffy sighed and tried to comfort her friend. “I’m sorry … I …” Buffy almost said, ‘I told you so,’ but bit it back. “…I’m so sorry, honey.”

“I am not capable of being normal. I am a freak: a highly unusual being, brought about by a unique and very rare combination of circumstances. There is nothing normal about me,” Joan cried against her friend.

“No, there’s not,” came a soft voice from the open doorway behind the women.

Buffy looked up to see India there, looking quite upset with tears staining her cheeks as well.

Joan tried to stifle her tears at the sound of her friend’s … or ex-friend’s voice, sniffing and wiping her cheeks furiously.

“Joan, I … I’m sorry…” India began gently, stepping inside near the two blondes. The dark-haired woman knelt down next to them just as Joan sat back away from Buffy and pulled a stoic façade over her features. Buffy slid back, leaving Joan and India face-to-face.

“It is not your fault. I should have been more forthcoming earlier. I do not blame you for not desiring to be … friends with someone such as myself.”

“No … it’s not …” India began.

“It is not necessary to placate me. I … I am a robot. I … will simply … delete you from my files,” Joan interrupted her stiffly. “I believe the comparable human equivalent would be … forgetting.”

Even with her dark complexion, India’s face turned ashen. “You … you’d do that? You’d … erase me? Just like that?”

“It seems the prudent thing to do,” Joan replied stiffly. “It would be irrational to allow this painful self-deception to continue. I am not normal. It was illogical to allow myself to continue to…”

“No,” India interrupted her firmly, her voice growing adamant. “You aren’t normal. You’re … you’re a … robot … an … what did you call it? A … self-aware … something? Fine. You have …. a secret. Everybody has secrets! I … know I sort-of blanked back there, but, it’s not like I get told something like this every day. It’s precisely because you aren’t normal that I lo… I … I …”

Joan furrowed her brow in confusion. “You … are not repulsed by my … secret?”

India shook her head, blinking back more tears from her glimmering, violet eyes. “You’re … perfect, Joan.”

“I do not believe that to be possible. Perfection is, by its very nature impossible…”

“Trust me. You’re fucking perfect,” India insisted, interrupting Joan’s babbling.

Joan frowned in consternation, but she dropped the argument. “You wish to remain my … friend?” she continued, hesitantly.

India shook her head again, no.

Joan’s frown deepened. She shook her head in mimicry of India as she tried to process this seemingly contradictory input.

“I don’t want to be your friend, or not just your friend,” India explained softly when Joan remained silent and confused. “I … I … I love you. I want … to be your lover.”

Buffy’s squeak of joy drew the attention of the two other women, who had forgotten she was even there. “Oh! Ummm … sorry … don’t mind me. I was just … leaving,”

Buffy stammered as she flashed a bright smile at them and got up off the floor.

When India and Joan still didn’t move or say anything else, Buffy waved an insistent hand at them, inviting them to continue. “Go ahead! Kiss already!”

Joan and India smiled and looked back at each other.  Their eyes met and held for a long moment before their mouths, again drawn by that invisible force, came together in a gentle kiss. Their salty tears mingled with the other flavors on their lips, making the coupling bittersweet, but the emotions running between them tempered the bitter with a dusting of love and affection.

**~**

Several weeks later… (babies are about 18 months old)

Spike sat on the floor of the living room with the babies as Big Bird sang about the ‘letter A’. Will and Jade laughed and tried to mimic the song, but mostly what came out was a garbled mish-mash of nonsensical words and sounds.

“No worries,” Spike assured them as their attempts at ‘A’ failed. “‘A’ is over-rated. Poofs have names that start with ‘A’. We’ll just drop that bloody letter from the alphabet and start with ‘B’.”

“You guys gonna be ok while I’m shopping?” Buffy asked as she came downstairs.

“Reckon we’ll survive an hour or two, luv,” Spike replied, looking up at her innocently.

Buffy bent down and gave both of their quickly-growing babies kisses atop their heads, burying her nose in their copious curls. They’d really need their first haircut, but she couldn’t bring herself to part with one single curl from their heads.

With one last kiss for Spike, Buffy headed out to go grocery shopping in her very own car. Well … her very own car that had been a Sunnydale Police cruiser in a past life. Spike had removed the identifying markings, the lights, the radio and other ‘police related’ gear from the car, repainted it, and did a little magic of his own with the VIN tags. After greasing a couple of palms, he had a title and registration, 100% free and clear for Buffy. Joan had taken the driver’s test using Buffy’s birth certificate, so Buffy even had a valid, if unearned and undeserved, driver’s license.

Spike waited a few beats, waited for her footsteps to clear the porch, before announcing, “Right, enough o’ this bollocks. Back to ‘Passions’.”

Jade and Will both cheered gleefully from their place on the floor next to their dad as he clicked the channel back over to the off-beat soap opera.

“Right … now, where was I ‘fore your mum came through?” he mused as the twins turned bright eyes to the new show. “Oh yeah, okay … Tabitha, if you couldn’t tell by the bloody predictable name, is a centuries-old witch…”

“Itch!” Will exclaimed brightly, laughing and clapping his hands, his alert, blue eyes flicking between his father and the TV.

“Witch, too right,” Spike agreed giving his genius son an approving smile. “Timmy was her doll-brought-to-life sidekick, but he died again … though, I don’t reckon he’ll stay dead long.

“Besides the witch…” Spike continued.

“Itch!” Jade interrupted, repeating her brother’s mispronunciation, her green eyes sparkling with delight. Both twins giggled and clapped gleefully at the new word.

“Right,” Spike agreed again, reaching out and tousling Jade’s curls. “Besides the witch, ya got Theresa, Ethan, and Gwen. Now, them three are in a bloody tragic love-triangle, and this bloke here…” Spike pointed the half-naked man on the screen, “…this is Miquel…”

“Wow!” Buffy exclaimed from right behind the couch Spike was leaning against as he sat on the floor with the toddlers. “Big Bird sure has changed since I watched Sesame Street … yesterday. Who knew he was so buff under all those feathers!”

“Buffy!” Spike exclaimed, fumbling with the remote to change the TV back to the educational channel. “Didn’t hear ya come back in, luv…”

“Obviously,” Buffy chided.

“Was just … errr … Sesame Street was on commercial, so thought I’d flip around, yeah? Too many commercials aren’t good for the bits, ya know.”

Buffy cocked a brow at him. “Sesame Street is on public television. There are no commercials,” she reminded her husband.

“You sure ‘bout that, luv?” Spike asked, standing up from his position on the floor. “‘Cos there was this little red demon on there an’ he started talking about ‘Today Sesame Street was brought to you by…’ so I flipped it ‘fore he could sell our bits a bunch of unhealthy crisps and whatall.”

“Spiiike,” Buffy drawled, rolling her eyes.

“Ya know, not sure this program is all that good for the bits, anyway. What with all them demons and monsters on there. I reckon that’s enough t’ scar bitty-ones for life,” Spike continued seriously, walking around the couch to where Buffy stood.

“They’re not demons, they’re puppets,” Buffy argued.

“Never heard o’ demon-puppets? Quite the menace, they are … and bloody frightening to boot.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Now you’re just making stuff up,” she accused.

“Scout’s honour,” Spike retorted, holding up two fingers in a pledge.

“So, you’re saying I should go slay Big Bird and the Cookie Monster?”

 Spike shrugged. “At least Bert and Ernie … now they’re bloody frightenin’.”

Buffy smiled as Spike got near and drew her into a hug.  “What do I need t’ do to be forgiven?” he wondered as he nibbled her lips gently.

“Mmmm,” she moaned, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling his mouth against hers harder.

Spike responded in kind, sweeping his tongue over her lips then pressing inside her hot mouth, tasting and teasing her. He pulled her body against his tightly, lowering his hands to the globes of her ass and pulling her sex hard against his growing erection.

Buffy’s knees weakened and she clung to her husband’s neck desperately as his hips began swiveling slowly against hers, his hands holding her prisoner against him. When the kiss finally broke, Buffy’s chest was heaving, she was gasping for air, and her eyes were more than a little glazed. After a few moments, when Spike felt her get her equilibrium back, he released the hold he had on her ass and let her stand on her own again.

“What … were we … talking about?” she gasped out, fanning her face with one hand.

Spike gave her his sexiest smirk and let his eyes roam over her body lecherously. “How bloody sexy you are.”

Buffy furrowed her brow as her breathing came under control. “We were?”

“Mmhmm,” Spike confirmed, nodding.

Buffy’s confused look deepened and she shook her head a moment to clear it. “Oh, uhhhh … ok,” she agreed after a moment. “What did I come back in for …?” she mused mostly to herself as she started looking around.

“Oh, the list!” she remembered, heading back to the kitchen where the grocery list hung on a bulletin board. “Uhhh … ok, see you guys later…” she called back over her shoulder, still sounding a bit dazed, as she headed back out.

Clearly pleased with himself, Spike hurried around the couch and grabbed the remote. His finger had just begun to press the ‘back’ button to catch the last half-minute of ‘Passions’ when his wife’s stern voice cut the air, “You’re good, but you’re not that good. Leave it on Sesame Street, smarty pants.”

Spike's eyes went wide as saucers as he quickly clicked the ‘back’ button again. The TV flipped back and forth between the two shows in the blink of an eye, finally settling back on Sesame Street.

He gave her his most innocent look. “No idea what you’re talkin’ about, luv. Was just … adjustin’ the volume.”

Buffy nodded. “I know you were, cos ‘Passions’ is over now …” she pointed out, looking at the clock.

“Awww, bugger!”

Buffy laughed as she sashayed back outside. She wouldn’t tell him that she had it recorded on the VCR upstairs until later … perhaps much, much later.

**~**

A few weeks later, about three months after the collapse of Sunnydale…

Buffy turned over in bed and reached for Spike, but his spot on the bed was empty. She blinked her eyes open groggily and looked at the clock: three a.m. She groaned and flopped onto her back, letting her eyes fall closed again.

“Spike?” she called quietly, knowing he could hear her if he was in the nursery or almost anywhere on the second floor. “Is everything okay?”

She waited but didn’t hear any reply, not even through the baby-monitor by the bed.

She moaned and pushed herself up, tossing the covers off, and got out of bed. After pulling on her robe, she checked the babies – they were sleeping, Spike wasn’t in there. She padded down the stairs in the dark. None of the lights were on downstairs, but Spike didn’t need lights. He might be getting a snack in the kitchen … but no, he wasn’t there, either.

Buffy frowned and looked out the window, only then finding him standing on the back porch, looking out at the yard.

She pulled open the back door and walked up behind him. “Is something wrong?” she asked in a whisper.

Spike jumped and spun around like he’d been shot. “Bloody hell!” he growled in a stage whisper, keeping his voice low but angry. “Don’t be sneakin’ up on people, Slayer! Bloody dangerous, that is.”

“I wasn’t sneaking … and you’re a vampire! How could you not hear, sense, or smell me?” Buffy pointed out, keeping her voice low to match his.

Spike huffed out a disgusted breath and turned back to the yard. “Was … distracted.”

“With what?” Buffy wondered, stepping up beside him and gazing into the darkness of their backyard. Even with the moonlight, she couldn’t see anything under the giant oak canopy back there.

Spike shook his head. “Not rightly sure,” he admitted, continually scanning the yard with his eyes.

He started walking down the porch towards the side of the house, his full attention on the inky blackness beyond the banister. Buffy followed silently, trying to hear, see, or sense whatever it was that had him on edge.

When they turned the corner of the house Buffy felt it. “Vampire,” she whispered, trying in vain to see the source of the new, non-Spike, tinglies down her spine.

Spike stopped and looked at her, his eyes questioning. “You feel it, then?”

She nodded. “It’s strong … not a fledge, an old vamp.”

Spike nodded, pursed his lips, and turned his full attention back to the night. “Dru.”

**~**