July 24th, 2015


Fic: Morning After, PG13, Buffy/Spike

Morning After
By Barb C.

Characters/Pairing: Buffy/Spike
Rating: PG13
Setting: Post-Gift AU
Notes: Barbverse. Immediately after "In A Yellow Wood/Lesser of Two Evils" and immediately before "Mightier Than The Sword." Written for the sb_fag_ends prompt "The cold light of day." Shameless, shameless fluff. (But I have to write a much more serious ficlet about Buffy talking to Willow that takes place after Buffy gets out of bed, so perhaps I may be forgiven.)

It was past noon when Buffy woke, clawing her way out of a dream where she trudged across the blistering red sands of Wolfram & Hart's pocket dimension, while small, spiny demons pursued her, cheeping "Mama! Mama!" Spike tightened his arm around her middle as she stirred, pulling her closer with a predatory rumble of content. She could just lie here, right? Safe and warm and comfortable, letting Spike's not-a-purr lull her back to sleep, and forget all about the impossible little clump of cells busily multiplying away in her belly?

Well, not impossible. But extremely unlikely. The doctors at the Gregson Clinic had been very clear about that, when they'd examined the newly-living-and-breathing Spike a year and a half ago. Lacking a soul, the revivifying properties of the Mohra blood had left him very much a vampire, albeit one with a (very slow) pulse. And she was still (mostly) human. What really was impossible was not thinking about the weird little blob on Doctor Sparrow's evil ultrasound machine, or about what Spike's demon side had looked like in Pylea...or what her demon side had looked like in Pylea, or – "Spike," she whispered. "Wake up. We have to talk."

Spike's nose burrowed deeper into the crook of her neck. "Decided to kill me after all?" he mumbled.

He didn't sound terribly concerned about his immanent demise, and Buffy wasn't sure if that was reassuring or irritating. "No." She rolled over within the circle of his embrace and poked him in the ribs. "About Lizard Baby."

Immediately, Spike's eyes flew open and he propped himself up on one elbow, all enthusiasm. "Ah, I've been thinking about that! I reckon we can move all the rubbish from my office over to the crypt and make the office into a nursery. That'll leave your old room free for Dawn for the next few years, and if we've got another one on the way by the time she moves out – " At her deer-in-the-headlights look, he reined himself in, looking as penitent as he was capable of. "Sorry, love. Getting ahead of myself. 'Course we'll want to talk about names first."

Buffy groaned. "Spike... look, I was a little manic last night, and – "

Worried blue eyes searched her face. "Ah. You... uh... haven't changed your mind, have you? About keeping her?"

She stilled, studying him in turn. "What if I said I had?"

He flinched as though she'd hit him, and the fact that he tried to hide it somehow made it worse. "I'd get hammered and smash something up. You'd break my heart, love, but it wouldn't be the first time. Nor the last, if that's what you're worried about."

A brief shudder went through her – I was terrified, you dope. You want this so badly... "I haven't changed my mind." His chest, which had been motionless as stone beneath her hand, rose and fell in a sudden hitching breath of relief. "I... I don't know if we'll ever get a chance to do this again, you know? Maybe it's a one-time thing. But we don't know nearly enough about what's happening in here." She dropped a hand to her stomach, where Lizard Baby gestated blissfully unaware of his-hers-its mother's angst, and her fingers clenched. "We've got to face the possibility that this isn't... normal." Before Spike could respond, she rushed on, "And I don't just mean not human! We have no idea what normal even is for us! If this is because of some weird prophecy or curse or – Cordelia's had what, three demon pregnancies? And none of them ended well! What if it inherits all the demony parts from both of us, and really is a lizard baby?"

Spike sucked his cheeks in, suppressing a smile. "You rather fancied me with scales, as I recall. But this isn't Pylea, pet. I don't think that's likely."

"Nothing about this is likely!" Two weeks ago everything had been normal. Or as normal as it got for a vampire slayer living in wedded bliss with a nominally-reformed, magically-revivified vampire. And then White Pill Week had arrived, but nothing else had. It hadn't been that unusual for Buffy to skip a period back when she was in college. It happened to female athletes all the time, the magazines had assured her. Just a normal consequence of ultra-low body fat. But over the last two years she'd made peace with the demands of Slayer appetite, and on the pills she'd been as regular as clockwork. She'd been concerned more for Spike (who looked forward to White Pill Week all month) than for herself. Sure, she'd been a little tired lately, but what else was new, and maybe her breasts were a little tender, but so what, and it was totally impossible, so why was she even buying the kit?

And then she'd been sitting in the bathroom, staring at an impossible pink line. And shortly thereafter, zapped into a Wolfram & Hart prison dimension with a dozen of her alternate-universe selves. But hey, that part was just another average day in Sunnydale.

"The boffins at the Clinic told us there was an outside chance. Which is why you were on those bloody pills, for all the good they did." Spike couldn't quite keep the note of smug satisfaction out of his voice, as though he'd singlehandedly defeated the forces of the contraceptive industry. "You're not the only one who's been cogitating during this whole affair. I never got a chance to ask before that Mears bastard spirited you and the mite off to durance vile – how far along are you, Slayer?"

What had Sparrow said? "About six weeks. I think."

"Well, then, two questions: One, what did we do six weeks ago that we'd never done before, and two, how do vampires generally make more vampires?"

For a minute Buffy's mind blanked, and then — Oh. The weekend vacation to Tijuana. The fight with the nest of vampires. The exhilarating post-fight sex. Spike's fangs grazing her shoulder – an accident, because he never, but never bit her for real. But an accident that sent a startling bolt of hurts-so-good pleasure through her, leading to... her cheeks heated at the memory. A random sentence from the stack of reports on Spike's one-of-a-kind physiology which Fred Burkle had tried to translate for them flashed through her mind: ...biological analogs of most vampire physical functions... "We... um."

"We did indeed. No prophecies. No curses. Just nature taking its course. Heartbeat or no, I'm still a vampire. We can fuck each other's brains out, but I can only get you up the duff if I bite you while we're doing it." Spike's barely-suppressed grin had progressed from smug to downright insufferable, and he sounded not just jubilant, but... relieved? "Should have sussed it out earlier, really."

It struck her that maybe his ebullient mood wasn't just soulless cluelessness or callousness. She took his hand. "You were worried?"

Embarrassed, he ducked his head. When he spoke again his voice was low and rough and earnest, almost pleading. "Never wanted to bite you before, did I? Least, not since I stopped wanting to kill you. Not like – " he stopped himself. "Some other tossers with fangs. And then all of a sudden I did. Won't lie, it rattled me a bit. Felt like it was different this time, but what if I was fooling myself? What if I couldn't stop with just a taste? I fretted over it a good bit, until you dropped your little bombshell, and I put two and two together. Not about killing at all, not between you and me. Not anymore."

Buffy gripped his fingers hard, and blinked against the tears welling up. Stupid hormones. "Spike, I never thought you wanted –" She took a deep breath. "But we need to call Giles and research this anyway. Wolfram & Hart's pet Mengele had a creepy magical ultrasound, and I saw the screen, and it...it had a tail."

He broke into a laugh, and before she could smack him, "Love... that's perfectly normal at six weeks. I looked it up on the internet while you were in the shower last night." He considered for a moment. "Much more likely she's going to end up with fangs."

"It – oh." Buffy subsided into the blankets, scowling. "I knew that. Just being cautious."

Spike rolled over, panther-lithe, and sat up. "Ring up the Watcher, and the Clinic too while you're at it, if it'll set your mind at rest. I'll let 'em poke and prod me some more. But tonight I'm going down to Willy's and celebrate. Get hammered. Smash something up."

"Hmf. Better make it a good night, because it's the last time you'll be doing that for a good long while. Even if this is an ordinary human baby, there's so much – can we afford it? What about slaying? And college? My God, we have to start saving for college right now!"

That gave him pause, but only for a moment. No suppressing the grin this time; it broke over his face as wide and brilliant as sunrise. "Best night of my life."


comment count unavailable Rants Talk to me

Fic: Morituri Te, PG, Spike, OCs

Morituri Te
by Barb C.

Characters/Pairings: Spike, Evie (OC)/Alex (OC)
Rating: PG
Setting: Post-Gift AU
Notes: Barbverse. Takes place c. 2037, a bit after "They Also Serve." Evie contemplates a change.

"That's the last one," Alex said, plunking another box down on the leaning tower of cardboard teetering beside the crypt door. He leaned against the doorpost and shoved the unruly brown curls from his brow in feigned weariness. "Shit, Evie, are you sure you need all this crap? We've only got a one-bedroom apartment." He reached into the top box and pulled out an ancient iPod. "This hasn't worked since the Clinton administration. The first one."

"Hey!" Evie snatched at the iPod, and Alex swung it overhead, grinning. He wasn't that tall, and she put some vamp muscle into a leap and grabbed it out of his hand. "That's got sentimental value. I stole it from the first guy I killed." She wrapped the earbud cord around it and stuffed it back into the box.

Alex blinked. "Seriously?"

For a guy whose mom was the Slayer and whose dad was one of the most infamous vampires of the last century, he could be fucking naive at times. Evie rolled her eyes. "No, dipshit. I was turned in 1998, and they weren't even invented yet." She glanced around the crypt – except for them, it was deserted. The other employees had moved out ages ago, and since Alex's older brother had taken over Bloody Vengeance Inc. and moved the main office to that warehouse down at the docks, there wasn't much reason for anyone to come here any more.

"Man, I remember when Dad used to bring us down here to keep an eye on us when Mom was out slaying." Alex looked around, a little wistful. Candlelight flickered across the scatter of old chairs and filing cabinets, and the big marble sarcophagus which had served as the receptionist's desk. "We used to play hide and seek in the pile of coffins downstairs and drive Clem crazy. Think someone else is gonna move in once you're out of here?"

"Nah. Who lives in crypts anymore? I was just trying to save on rent." It was kind of a shame. The new office was all professional and shit, but it didn't have the atmosphere the crypt did. Fledges these days didn't have any sense of fucking history. She sat down on the sarcophagus, caught his eye and grinned. "Means we can come here and make out in peace."

He grinned back. Fucking dimples, making her melt. "Hey, making out in cemeteries is an old family tradition."

They were getting a good start on it when Evie heard the footsteps, crunching along the gravel path towards the crypt. Alex looked up almost at the same instant, nostrils dilating, and she felt muscles tense beneath that teddy bear exterior. His senses were almost as sharp as hers. Heartbeat, but too slow for a human. So it was probably Alex's brother and her boss, but why the hell would Bill be coming here? She was reaching for the taser in her back pocket – screw swords and axes, this was the twenty-first century – when the crypt door creaked open and she caught the scent. "Hey, El Jefe! What are you doing here? Thought you were busy sitting on your lazy retired ass!"

Alex's eyes lit up. "Dad!" he exclaimed, jumping to his feet. "I thought you wouldn't be home for – whoa, what happened to you? Piss off Mom?"

"You two are a regular Burns and Allen, you are." Spike limped into the crypt like he had a few broken ribs yet to heal. He must have been in one hell of a fight recently; half-healed claw-marks scored his cheek, and when he shrugged out of his beat-up old leather jacket, yellowing bruises mottled his forearms. He accepted a filial hug from Alex with a minimum of wincing, crossed to one of the less-dusty chairs, and collapsed into it with a grunt of exhaustion. It struck Evie all of a sudden how old he looked: the grey in his hair, the lines in his face, the little belly he'd started to acquire in the last few years. Damned good for his age, yeah, but...

Of course, if Spike were still an immortal undead hottie, Alex wouldn't exist.

Spike fired up a cigarette, indifferent to her existential pondering. "Christ, I'm knackered. Alex, lad, take that pile of shite out to the truck. I need a quick word in private with the woman who's leading you astray. Business. Won't be a minute."

With a look that said he was burning up with curiosity, Alex complied, hoisting a couple of boxes and dawdling out of the crypt as slowly as possible. Evie eyed Spike with equal curiosity. As soon as Alex was out of sight, he pulled a small glass vial from the inner pocket of his jacket and tossed it at her. "There. Don't say I never got you anything."

Evie, startled, almost fumbled it. Hoo-fuckin-ray for vamp reflexes. She turned the vial over in her fingers, perplexed. The wine-red fluid within rolled sluggishly against the glass. Blood, obviously, but why – oh. Oh. She shot a glance at Spike; he was fiddling with his lighter. "This – this is it?"

"That's it." Spike took a drag on his cigarette. "What? Told you I'd find some."

Evie stared at the vial. It didn't look like much. Certainly not like eternity tied up in a pretty pink bow. Her palms were sweating. She'd better be damned careful not to drop the thing; Mohra blood cost a freaking fortune. "I didn't think you were serious! Shit, Spike, I can't afford to pay you for this. I just – where the fuck did you even find a Mohra demon? Sam Lawson had to go to fucking Siberia or something."

Spike smirked at her and exhaled a long plume of smoke. "Got my methods, Watson."

Her eyes narrowed. "You just wanted to prove you could take one down too, didn't you?"

"I may be retired, but a chap's got to keep his hand in. As for payment..." He shrugged. "If you come through it alive, you and that layabout son of mine can provide me with another grandchild or so one of these years."

If. If she cracked that vial and swallowed it down. She'd heard the stories a million times – how Mohra blood had made Angel human, and made Spike... whatever Spike was. And how of all the other vampires who'd gotten the same treatment had ended up mindless, soulless hunks of meat. Except, for some reason, Sam Lawson, but then, he'd always been a freak, just like Spike.

Spike's eyes glittered in the candlelight, still as clear and piercing a blue as ever. "Second thoughts? Best have 'em now, 'cause there's no coming back."

Evie scrunched her eyes shut. "Dammit. I'm not like you. Not a fucking hero. I don't make grand fucking gestures for love!" For a second her voice cracked, and she hated herself. "I look at Alex and... and I don't want him to get old all by himself. Did you ever hear of anything so fucking stupid?"

The corner of Spike's mouth ticked up. "Might have, once or twice. Look, pet, it's your choice. Chuck that thing into the sewers if you like. Hunt up a witch and see if she can call your soul back, so it'll just make you safely human. Or down it now and take your chances." He took a last drag and got to his feet. "I'd best be getting home; Slayer's waiting."

She closed her fingers around the vial. Even if it worked... "It's just so fucking permanent, you know?"

Those wintery eyes softened. "It is that. So be bloody well sure you want this. That's the real reason I had the will to keep body and demon together when that devil's brew sent ten thousand volts through me. I wanted it. Life. More'n anything else, whether I realized it or not. That simple." At Evie's frown, "Yeah, it was a grand gesture for love, but why the hell d'you think I fell for the woman I fell for?" He contemplated the ember glowing at the end of his cigarette, dropped it, crushed it into the flagstones beneath the sole of one boot. "She made me feel alive."

Evie took a deep breath. "Spike – don't shit me. Was it worth it?"

His brow wrinkled in thought. "It'll change you. You'll think it won't at first – you're still a vamp, yeah? No soul to burden you. But it's different, being alive. Knowing every minute, every day, is ticking towards your last. That you're... finite, and your legacy's in what you'll leave behind when you go. Was it worth it?" He cocked an eyebrow. Grinned. Dimples, just like his son. "Fuck, yes."

He slung his jacket over one shoulder and headed for the door, a hint of his old swagger in his step. "If you'll take advice from me, though, whatever you do, talk to the boy first."

"Yeah. Okay. I'll do that." She looked out between the bars grating the nearest window. Alex was coming back up the path, moonlight silvering his shoulders. His father met him just outside the threshold, and the two of them exchanged a few words before Spike swung off down the path, heading for Revello Drive.

"What was that about?" Alex asked. "And don't tell me business, because – "

She cut him off with a hug, vamp-strong, head buried against his chest. "Hey," he said softly.

Evie looked up. She'd always thought Alex didn't look much like either of his parents, but from the right angle, yeah, they were both there. A legacy in blood and bone. Not the only kind Buffy and Spike had left, but the only one she was interested in right now. "Alex. We gotta talk."


comment count unavailable Rants Talk to me