Title: To Be Born Again
Summary: Buffy has been brought back from the dead twice already, but the third time’s the charm.
Timeline: Post-Not Fade Away.
Word Count: 500
Author’s Note: First off, thank you to enigmaticblues for keeping this amazing community going! I have a confession – I was this close to not posting something today. This close! I have two other stories I’d worked on and then discarded in the past month. *shakes fist at WIPs* Then some scans of Sarah Michelle Gellar in People Magazine inspired me last night and voila! I hope you enjoy my humble offering (it truly is ever so humble in light of all the grand fic plans I’d had and hope to still write). This is unbeta’d so all mistakes are mine.
Rebirth: a new or second birth; a spiritual regeneration.
“So you’re back,” Buffy said, sitting on the couch with her hands pressed in-between her knees. “Convenient timing. Showing up at my most pathetic.”
“I didn’t plan it this way.”
“You never plan anything, Spike,” she spat, standing. “You just… ” Hand covering her mouth, she rushed into the bathroom and slammed the door shut.
Stomach flip-flopping inside out, she dry heaved into the sink, her knuckles gripping the counter top.
“Buffy!” Spike’s fist banged against the door.
“Go away,” she sobbed. “Just… go.” Staring at the pink plus sign on the applicator, she whispered, “I don’t want you here.”
“Leave me alone!” The vase Giles gave her for her birthday shattered on the wall next to his head. “God, can’t you take a hint. I want you gone.”
“Go ahead. Do your worst. I’ll still be here when you’re done with your little whiny tantrum.”
“You’re not a part of my life anymore. You stopped being a part of it when you didn’t tell me you were alive again.”
“Shut up! Why do you care anyways? You’re not the father. You could never-”
She threw the heavy porcelain bowl of fruit next. She didn’t miss.
“What do you want? Forgiveness? Sure, I forgive you. Whatever.”
“That’s not why I’m here.”
“Why are you here?”
“I… I needed to see you.”
“So you’ve seen me. Done. You can go now.”
“Buffy, is it so hard to believe that I needed time away from you to know what I was missing? I want to be a part of your life. Please.”
“I can help you. I can help with the baby.”
“I don’t need your help.”
“You don’t have to do this alone. I can-”
“No. I don’t need your help because I’m giving it away.”
“Why won’t you go?” she cried, lying curled on her side on the bed.
He lay behind her, rubbing her lower back. She pushed her face into her pillow, her wet cheeks staining the linens with tears. Her hands lay slack atop her swollen belly.
“You should hate me,” she whispered. “For what I did. What I said. Everything.”
“I could never hate you.”
“You used to hate me.”
“I’ve forgotten how. Must be getting dotty in my old age, yeah.”
“I hate me,” she said, wincing at the internal kick against her ribs. “Sometimes it’s all I can feel.”
She fell back with a gasp, sweat pouring down her temples.
“Buffy, love, do you want to hold her?”
“It’s a girl?”
“Yeah, here she is.” The baby cried, upset at being jostled. “Think she misses her mum.”
Arms too weak to move somehow reached out and then she was in her arms, warm and small and wrinkled pink.
“Oh,” she breathed, staring at the perfection of tiny lashes on smooth round cheeks. “Hello, you.”
“She’s beautiful, just like her mum,” Spike said, pushing back wet strands of hair from her forehead.
Smile awed, eyes tear-filled, she could only nod.
If you’d like more schmoop, check out “His Girls”
Originally psoted at http://seasonal-spuffy.livejournal.com/371287.html