Ouroboros (2/3)
February 2013
London
In retrospect, it was a testament to how far they’d come together that the thought that she’d been cheating on him had never once crossed his mind.
The Council had been completely unable to find any explanation for Buffy’s pregnancy, either prophetic or medical. For Spike, it didn’t matter. The existence of their Miracle Baby had become a fact of life, no more or less disturbing than anything else they’d dealt with over the years. Spike suspected that a few bets were lost among some of the Council members when the amniocentesis determined that he was the genetic father of the baby, but he hadn’t been surprised. There’d never been any doubt in his mind on that account.
“Buffy?” he called, pocketing his keys and dropping the bag of takeout on the counter. Their flat was cold and dark, but her scent hung heavy in the air. Wherever she was, she hadn’t been gone long. Leaving the food on the counter, he followed his nose to the small crawlspace that led onto the roof.
How in the world she had managed to fit through there he would never know. Her pregnancy seemed to have made her more limber rather than less, although as yet the only outward sign of her condition was her softly rounded belly. He spotted her over by the edge of the roof, gazing blindly down into the street below. She didn’t look up as he came over.
“Hey, Spike.”
Reaching over, he tried and failed to pull closed the coat that hung open over her shoulders. In a few more weeks, this one wouldn’t be able to button around her. “You should cover up,” he murmured. “It’s cold out here.”
She smoothed her shirt over her stomach and pulled the coat a little more tightly around her. “I’m too hot,” she complained. “Did you feel how hot it was in the apartment?”
Over the last few months, it seemed as if Buffy’s internal thermostat had switched into overdrive. She was always too warm, and had taken to walking around their poorly-insulated flat in a tank top and opening up the windows to let in the winter air. It didn’t bother him, so he shrugged his shoulders and let her do whatever she was comfortable with. If anything, the extra heat made cuddling up to her even more enticing. He’d taken to thinking of her as his own private pot-bellied stove. Not that he would ever tell her that, of course.
“I’ve got dinner,” he said, sliding his arms around her waist and leaning his cheek on the top of her head. “You want to come in?”
She settled back against him with a sigh, her attention once more on the traffic below them. “In a minute,” she said. “It’s nice out here.”
He hummed in agreement and ran his hands gently over the swell of her belly. He couldn’t get enough of listening to the pulse of her body. Her blood seemed to sing as it raced through her veins, her heart solid and steady. Every gurgle and rumble reminded him of the ice cracking away from a tree at the end of winter, leaving it soft and green with life. And underneath it all was the thready rush of a second heartbeat, quicksilver fast and terrifying in its enormity.
“How’s she doing?”
Buffy reached one hand up to rub at her belly in a subconscious gesture. He didn’t think she was even aware of how often she did that. “Oh, she’s fine. I’m just carrying her around like a backpack, only backward. I hear the hard part’s later.”
Spike rumbled out a laugh. “What, you mean when she’ll actually start moving around on her own? Yeah, I’ve heard that happens.” Buffy stiffened in his arms, and he looked down in alarm. “Hey, what’s the matter?”
She sniffled and wiped her nose on the arm of her coat. “Oh, nothing,” she croaked. “I’m just completely terrified, that’s all.”
He drew her more closely against him. “I’ve been out of the loop. Is there a new apocalypse on the horizon?”
She shook her head. “It’s not that. Apocalypses, demons, vampires, you name it – I can handle those. But there was this thing on the news tonight about how the polar ice caps are disappearing much faster than they expected.”
He squinted at her. “What now?”
“I know!” She threw up her hands. “Polar ice caps. And there are floods and earthquakes and pollution, and people are at war and gas prices are at an all-time high and apparently we’re killing the planet and it all sucks and we’re all going to die.” She raised her teary face to him. “And I don’t know why, but it just got me all upset. What are we doing, bringing a baby into such a sucky place?”
He stared at her. “Buffy. We live in a world where creatures of darkness are trying to kill us and eat our brains on a weekly basis. And you’re worried about…global warming?”
She nodded, teary again. With a herculean effort, he swallowed the laugh that threatened to erupt and dropped a kiss on the tip of her nose.
“I wouldn’t worry about it,” he said seriously. “With our luck, Angel will become perfectly happy again, lose his soul, and reawaken the Ghost of Acathla to suck us all into hell, and then we won’t have to think about the polar ice caps any more.”
“Really?” she asked hopefully. “You aren’t just saying that to make me feel better?”
He did laugh at that one, tickling her belly until she giggled and slapped his hands away.
“Stop it,” she muttered. “I know I’m being all crazy and hormonal. You don’t have to rub it in.”
“Nah,” he said, taking her in his arms again. “You’re just being a good mum.”
“I’m trying,” she mumbled into his chest. “I’m just playing everything by ear. The problem is that my ears are telling me fifty different things at once, and I don’t know which is right. Does that make sense?”
He nodded. “Perfectly.”
She huffed at him. “It’s easy for you. You just have to watch me be insane and talk me off the ledge.”
“But that’s what I’m good at,” he said, stroking his fingers through her hair, working out the tangles. “After all, I’ve had lots of practice at it.” He smirked at her outraged look.
“Yeah,” she said dryly. “You’re Mr. Together. I’d like to remind you of when you threw out my brand new breast pump – which was a gift, thank you very much – because you thought the brand name was a Fyarl curse word.”
“Yeah, well.” He coughed. “You can never be too careful. And I’ve grown since then.”
“It was last week!”
He distracted her with a long kiss, nibbling at her lips until she relaxed against him with a happy sigh. She wrapped her arm around his waist under his coat and lightly scratched at his stomach, looking out at the night sky.
“What was your father like?”
He frowned at her. “My father?” She nodded, attention focused somewhere off in the distance. “He died when I was – fifteen? No, sixteen. Didn’t really get a chance to know him well.”
“Hmmm,” she hummed. “Were they in love? Your parents?”
He shrugged, tightening his arms around her. “It was different in those times, love. He was kind to her, and he took care of her. I think that was as good as you could expect back then.” He peered down at her curiously. “Why are you asking?”
She turned her face up to him and smiled softly. “Oh, nothing. I just think that you’re going to be a really good daddy, and I wanted to know where you got it from.”
A bug must have flown into his eye. Spike blinked rapidly against the sudden sting and leaned his head down to rest on top of hers. As the cold wind blew, they stood together on the rooftop and watched the stars.
Originally posted at http://seasonal-spuffy.livejournal.com/215910.html
