Title: Life Could Ever Grant Me
Author: Emelye
Pairing: Spike/Xander
Rating: Mature
Summary: Sequel to The Resolute Urgency Of Now, and Such A Part Of You.
Disclaimer: Not mine, all theirs.
Warnings: None.
A/N: Artwork by the lovely![[profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
katekat1010
Though the previous summer had been unusually active and the fall was filled with various demons uprooted from their natural environs, the winter hadn’t seen the large increase in activity they’d feared and the lengthening days were dwindling the numbers of Hellmouth related difficulties to boredom inspiring levels.
Which irritated Xander, because while he’d been sidelined from slaying for the past six months, he wasn’t exempt from Giles’ obsessive need to catalogue and reorganize. And while he personally felt that, as a man, lower ligament pain should have earned him a pass on the book dust extravaganza, Spike was quick to point out that his mates were all females of the feminist persuasion and that argument wasn’t likely to carry any weight.
Unlike himself, who was finding it increasingly difficult to move in a way that didn’t suggest waddling.
“Xander! You’re showing!” Anya scolded, arms akimbo. Xander paused in the doorway of the shop as she marched forward and without preamble, lifted up his tenting tee-shirt.
His hands quickly slapped hers away. “Anya! What the hell?”
She relaxed. “Good. No stretch marks. Yet. I told you to come to me before you started showing, I’ve got things that will help.”
Xander thought back to the previous two sleepless nights as his joints rearranged themselves and he discovered he was no longer physically able to lie on his stomach to alleviate the pressure on his hips. “I’m all ears,” he told her. Spike’s hand was at the small of his back guiding him needlessly into the store, or so Xander thought until he tripped over an uneven floorboard and stumbled, balance thrown by his additional weight. Spike easily caught his arm and prevented him from falling.
Okay, so the protectiveness had benefits, he had to admit. He’d thought he’d been clumsy before, but this was a whole new ballgame. He was very big with the physical comedy these days—it was like his shoes now came with their own banana peels.
“You all right, love?” Spike asked.
“Yes,” he replied, embarrassed, awkwardly taking a seat at the table as he batted Spike’s attempts to help away.
Anya brought over a tray of jars and began removing the lids, giving each one a whiff, presumably to test for freshness. He’d seen her do it a hundred times, but this time he found himself paying extra close attention to her responses, knowing that the ingredients she was testing were going to be used for spells on him.
“Right,” she said, apparently satisfied. “So this,” she gestured to a small jar, “is a cream for your skin. Put this on your torso twice a day and you’ll have nothing to worry about from stretch marks or sagging, unattractive flesh.”
Xander swallowed and restrained himself from glancing over at Spike.
“Are you getting breasts yet?” She asked clinically. Xander blinked in horror. “I am not having this conversation,” he muttered.
The truth was, he might have been getting a little puffy around the chestal region, but since he had decided he wasn’t going to talk about it, think about it, or allow mirrors anywhere near his unclothed torso until it was once again indistinguishable from it’s previous state, he wasn’t prepared to let Anya pull him from his comfortable state of denial.
It felt vain and stupid to be so anxious about the way he looked, but honestly, as much as he’d always thought Spike outclassed him physically, it was nothing compared to the shock of washing his own, distorted and foreign shape in the shower now while watching Spike undress three feet away. He and Spike were bonded for life and then some and he was worried enough about holding his interest for the next ten years with a normal body. If he looked like some kind of dried-up, combo package of all the worst features of a middle-aged woman, minus the funbags and plus a manly need to shave? The thought frankly made him shudder. And if Spike hadn’t figured out what he might be in for yet, he didn’t need Anya encouraging him to freak out any sooner.
“Hey, you want to look like a manatee, that’s you’re choice. Personally, I always wondered if the extra rolls of flesh couldn’t be employed sexually—”
“ANYA!” Xander interrupted in horror. “For the love of money, do not finish that
thought!”
Anya frowned then sighed. “Whatever. I can tell this is a sensitive topic. Look—when I was human before, people didn’t live as long. It wasn’t unusual for girls as young as twelve to get married and start popping out babies with their father’s business associates. It was actually quite practical from a fiscal standpoint—”
“Is there a point to this?” Xander interrupted, trying to stave off a migraine without letting on he was trying to stave off a migraine because that would involve Concern and touching and Xander felt disgusting enough without his perfect, ageless vampire rubbing it in, literally or figuratively.
“Yes, Xander, my point is, marriage was all girls had for security. If you were twelve and married to a man who was possibly going to die of old age when he hit his forties, you were going to remarry or watch your children starve. Which is why I invented this—”
Anya plopped a very large book down in front of him and he coughed in the resulting cloud of dust.
“It’s a fairly complex spell,” she proclaimed proudly. “You enchant a container and cast the spell on yourself. When you begin lactating, the milk automatically collects in the container, and even stays in stasis so it’s fresh whenever you need to use it.”
Xander stared uncomprehendingly at the page.
“It means you won’t grow breasts, Xander,” she explained slowly.
Xander let that sink in. “You mean I’m going to look normal after all this?”
“Remarriage was a competitive business back then. If you didn’t have high breasts, smooth skin and a vagina tight enough to whistle kulning songs, forget it.”
Xander couldn’t help crushing her in his arms.
Anya patted his back awkwardly. “I’m quite sure Spike still finds you attractive Xander,” she reassured him. “But if not,” she added airily, “You’ll be back to normal soon and I’m sure he’s a very skilled liar.”
Xander laughed weakly and pulled away as Spike protested, “I never lie to Xander. Except for once or twice,” he amended, “an’ not about anything of any importance.”
Xander ignored Spike’s attempt to make light of his insecurity and swept the jar off the table into his hand. “Thanks An,” he said, and without waiting to see if Spike was following, he left the shop. Giles would have to manage without him for one afternoon.
Xander stood at the bathroom sink and looked down at his body, then up in the mirror, seeing the reflection but not recognizing it.
The face was familiar, but flushed. The nose, red and irritated. He needed a haircut. It was curlier than normal and he could barely get a comb through it dry anymore. He’d lost some of his tan working inside the last six months. His shoulders were sallow looking and freckled.
For the first three months, as his stomach grew, it was easy to pass it off as bloating from bad Mexican food or too many hours in front of the TV and not enough running through cemeteries at night. In the second trimester, there was so much to be done with the contractors and the doctors’ visits it was easy enough to ignore the differences now too large to pass off as a lifestyle change. Spike spent less time at home and their hours being what they were, well, Spike hadn’t said anything when Xander started wearing a tee-shirt to bed.
Anya’s lotion stared up at him from its place beside the sink.
He remembered coming home with something approaching dread and relief the day she gave it to him. He hadn’t let Spike touch him in a month—could barely meet his eyes if he seemed interested in anything other than the latest developments in the conversion of the garage or Xander’s projects for the nursery. He didn’t want to make the adjustments to their sex life the doctor assured him would carry them well into the third trimester. He wanted to be the lover he’d always been. He didn’t want Spike making concessions for a freak he didn’t sign on to fuck. His blue balls may have damned his pride, but the thing gazing back in the mirror just couldn’t be him anymore.
He’d clung to that jar like a promise he’d once again be the man that he sometimes almost thought was worthy of the faith Spike had in him.
The first day, he took a deep breath, made sure no one was looking, and only lifted up his shirt enough to rub a thick palm-full of the stuff into his stomach, back and hips with business-like efficiency.
A hot tear escaped the corner of his eye as he stared angrily at his reflection. That was two months ago. And there wasn’t a mark on his body save for one—near the small of his back—that no matter how he struggled, he just couldn’t reach any longer. Small and jagged and red, it sat there above the swell of his ass, near the curve of his spine—a reminder that he’d been used, been touched, been altered into something else that neither man nor woman would want to claim as their own. He could maybe see that prominent stomach being attractive on a woman in a certain light—had a momentary vision of Anya round and lovely—but with his broad shoulders and penis still slightly visible beneath his gut—he had a hard time picturing himself as anything other than a sideshow attraction.
“Freak,” he accused his reflection angrily, slamming the glass jar on the counter in frustration.
“Miracle,” came Spike’s voice at his back, a harsh, insistent whisper.
Xander jumped, and turned, ever mindful of his changed center of gravity as he avoided bumping the sink and looked around frantically for his shirt.
“Jesus! Would you announce yourself or something?” He bitched, snatching the shirt from the back of the toilet and half pulling it over his head before he realized it was inside out and struggled to get it off again with an angry huff.
Spike grabbed his arm before he could manage the task and his despair overflowed into a sob he couldn’t have contained if his life depended on it. Spike chucked the shirt forcefully into the hamper by the door and pulled Xander into his arms. The angle Xander was required to bend into to allow Spike to hold him made him cry harder. Wordlessly, Spike reached around him to scoop a dab of the lotion from the jar. Xander’s lip trembled violently as Spike firmly and lovingly rubbed it into the small of his back.
Xander screwed his eyes shut and rested his forehead on Spike’s shoulder. “God, how can you stand to t—touch me?” he bawled.
Spike’s arms came up around his shoulders, holding him tightly. “Oh, Christ, Xander. Beautiful, you are.”
“I’m disgusting…” he protested.
“No,” Spike insisted with a strong shake of Xander’s shoulders as he was pushed away. Spike forced Xander’s chin up until their eyes met. “Beautiful.”
Xander looked away, hiccupping as he tried to stop crying. “How can you even—”
Spike smiled, and lifted his hand to Xander’s face, thumb wiping his tears away. “—Like an angel, Xan. Not a man or woman but something so full of good and light and life Xander. That’s you. Xan—” he said, and Xander saw his throat close against the press of tears. “—sometimes when you’re in me I can feel your heart beating in me, and your heat and everything an—and it’s like for a moment, you’re so full of life you make me live too, Xander. Like you’re so alive it’s just bursting out of you, all the time, bringing everything around you to life.”
Xander’s eyes widened in wonder as Spike’s hand came down and reverently caressed his stomach. “S’right, this,” he said, eyes following the patterns he traced on Xander’s skin. “Makes perfect sense. All that life in you an’ now a little bit running over into the world. No one else it could have been. Just you, love. My angel. Just you.” Spike raised his head and blue, blue eyes filled his field of vision. “And you’re so beautiful Xander.”
Xander couldn’t stop himself taking Spike’s mouth if he tried, pulling at his cotton clad shoulders before reaching down and pulling up the hem of his tee-shirt, needing to feel skin, reassurance, all the while kissing, kissing, kissing like he wanted to climb inside for a while and just bask in this love he’d somehow missed for months.
“Oh, God, I want you. Please…” he begged.
“Xan,” Spike broke off kissing for a moment, eyes wild and clothes in disarray, “are you sure? The doctor said—”
“Fuck the doctor,” Xander carefully annunciated. “I need this.” He backed them out of the bathroom and across the hall to their bedroom. Spike continued shucking his jeans along the way and Xander was hurriedly negotiating the logistics of his own clothes until Spike took matters into his own hands and pantsed him handily before turning his head slightly to accommodate Xander’s stomach and enthusiastically slurped at the drooling head of his cock, teeth gently teasing his frenulum.
Xander moaned as his vision began to grey with the sudden rush of blood to his prick. “Spike,” he warned, “M’going down in a minute.”
Spike smirked up at him while steadying his lover with strong hands on his muscular thighs. “Don’t hear me protesting.”
“Bed, Spike. The bed.” He motioned, grabbing the lube off the dresser as he passed before slapping it into Spike’s palm.
“Love, are you sure you want—” Spike began before taking in Xander’s impressive glare. “Right, then!” Spike carefully helped Xander onto his knees, making sure he was steady before placing a healthy smack on his ass. “Hold on to the bed post, then,” he purred. “It’s going to be a bumpy ride.”
Xander was standing in a dry riverbed. A cool wind tossed red dust into his eyes but he didn’t dare blink. There was no moon and the landscape before him was red and flat save for one enormous rock rising in spires from the earth. It looked like a sinister church and the sight of it filled him with inexplicable dread and despair.
Thunder echoed in the distance and a sound of rushing water growing louder and louder…
Xander opened his eyes in the dark of his bedroom. Spike slept beside him despite the red display of the alarm clock reading 2:30. He took a deep breath and another, trying to loosen the tight feeling in his chest, the fear and feeling of certain doom.
Xander gave a short bark of laughter and shook his head at himself. Only he would spend years fighting actual demons only to have an anxiety attack in his own bed.
“Xan?” Spike asked groggily. “S’matter?”
“Just a bad dream. Go back to sleep.”
Spike snuffled a little and rolled over, once again still as the dead. Xander smiled and pulled the blankets up over his shoulders to trap the borrowed heat before swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and levering himself up to sit.
He felt a strong cramp in his lower back. Guess the enchiladas are coming back to haunt me. He thought. Xander made his way to the bathroom. As he walked, his stomach and back continued to cramp. I told Spike Señor Taco imported Montezuma’s revenge for authenticity, but did he listen?
As he stood in the doorway in the midst of another cramp, suddenly, something tightened.
It wasn’t the Mexican food. “Oh, shit,” Xander said, feelingly. He made his way back to Spike as quickly as he could, trying not to trip on anything in the dark. Then Xander took his life in his hands and tried to shake Spike awake.
“Spike,” he hissed. “Wake up!”
“Mmm? Wha—whasamatter?” he mumbled sleepily, rising onto his elbows. Xander gave a sigh of relief that Spike hadn’t woken up fighting.
“This is it,” he announced. “The main event. Get your pants on.”
Spike blinked up at him irritably. “What are you—”
“I’m in labor. Let’s go!”
Spike’s eyes widened as he forced himself into a state of alertness. “Right. Right! Um, yeah, so, where’re my jeans?”
“On the floor by the dresser.”
“Right, pet, thanks,” Spike replied, absently. “Alvaro!” he shouted, pulling on his pants. Xander pulled a tee-shirt from the chest of drawers and tossed it to Spike who shrugged it on without missing a beat. “ALVARO!” he yelled.
Alvaro’s footsteps thundered up the stairs before he skidded to a halt in their bedroom doorway. “Yes, Master?” he asked, obviously alarmed.
“We’re going to the hospital. Get Xan and his bag to the car. I’ll call the doctor and wake Mother.”
“Yes, Master,” he replied obediently.
Spike paused in his search for his boot beneath the bed, turned on his heel and snatched a trembling, shallow kiss from Xander before Alvaro could spirit him away to the car. “Be down in a mo, love,” he said, with that far-away look where odes were written and bloody mayhem plotted.
Xander smiled, letting Spike’s excitement suffuse his nerves with enthusiasm, and allowed Alvaro to drag him off.
In point of fact, Spike was terrified beyond reckoning. And so, it was with some surprise, he found himself increasingly reliant on his soul and prior incarnation to inform his choices.
Most of his acquaintance of the past fifty years would likely have expected him to be belligerent if he thought his consort to be in danger, edgy and short tempered if he were nervous and an all around bother in the situation—ill informed in the practice of modern medicine and a poor thinker for far reaching courses of action. A nuisance of the first water.
And Spike, purely demon and desperately repressing his human memories and inclinations, would have been.
But the soul was a force not to be dismissed lightly. And poet gentleman or no, William was not about to let the demon hold the whip hand over him when Xander was in distress.
Which wasn’t to say that the soul wasn’t comfortably ensconced within Spike. The soul and the demon rubbed along tolerably well together, the demon already more or less accustomed to the stronger than average human instincts and memories of the host. In fact, the soul was satisfied to remain in repose most of the time, quite in admiration of the demon’s passion and devotion to Xander.
But Xander didn’t need that kind of passion in their birth preparation courses, and when he felt the demon grow restless amidst the other human couples in their discussions of birth plans and due dates, he gladly stepped forward to ask thoughtful questions and take the notes his dearest love was neglecting, enthusiastic for his role in the proceedings and delighted to contribute.
They finished at the top of their class. Or would have, had there been marks, which he thought there ought to have been, but still, a pat on the shoulder from the nurse was quite good enough when all was said and done.
“You’re going all souly on me, right now, aren’t you,” Xander observed as Spike calmly handed Xander’s insurance forms to the nurse on duty.
Spike shrugged. “You’d rather I took a nip off an orderly to speed the process along?”
Xander rolled his eyes. “Point taken. Ponce away.”
“Oi!”
Xander was still laughing at him as they wheeled him to his room. Spike entered first, checking to see that their accommodations were in order.
They had indeed secured one of the larger suites intended to encompass labor, delivery and recovery, though obviously they would be required elsewhere for the delivery. Spike dimmed the lights to a more soothing level as he entered. The north facing windows were equipped with heavy curtains, he noted approvingly.
“What, no turndown service? Mint on the pillow?” Xander quipped behind him.
Spike glared half-heartedly at him. “Just making sure everything is as it should be. No CD player,” he noted.
“Ask the nurse.”
“I specifically requested—”
“And they told you at the classes they only had two and if someone else was using one of them we might be out of luck. Just get Buffy to bring the one from the training room when she gets here.”
Spike huffed in irritation but removed his phone from his pocket anyway and dialed.
Twenty minutes later, they had a CD player. Xander was gowned and reclining in the bed while Spike attentively massaged his hands.
“I thought the music was supposed to relax me.”
“This is relaxing, ain’t it?” he said, punctuating his statement with a particularly deep dig into Xander’s palm.
Xander moaned. “This is relaxing. The Pixies, not so much.”
Before Spike could formulate a defense, the door opened and the nurse entered with a clip board, stethoscope around her neck. She briefly checked the monitors before conferring, “Contractions still coming regularly?” Xander nodded.
“Don’t that mean we should be doing this soon?” Spike asked.
The nurse nodded. “The surgeon on call was just finishing a delivery when you checked in. As soon as the room is cleared, we’ll prep you. Dr. Stevenson made sure we knew you have top priority,” she added with a wry smile for Xander. Spike frowned, ready to snap at the vapid cow treating their situation so lightly but Xander thanked her and she was gone before he’d managed half a retort.
“Don’t see why they’re so bloody relaxed about this,” he muttered angrily. Xander’s hand closed over his, effectively ending the massage.
“I’m scared, Spike.”
Xander was staring intently at the gnarled cotton blanket on his lap and Spike let out a reflexive breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. “Me too,” he admitted, tightening his grip on Xander’s hand.
“Me too.”
Jessica had been woken from a sound sleep by the call from Anne. She dialed Rupert’s number and predictably got Ethan who assured her he’d pass on the message that the boys had gone to the hospital. She elbowed Tony in the ribs and called Joyce who had not, in fact, gotten the message from Ethan but would reliably let the others know. Jessica put the coffee on while Tony swore up and down looking for a clean shirt.
“Suppose you’re going to want to feed them all,” he grumbled, patting down his hair and taking a mug from the dish drainer. Jessica smiled over the top of her mug. “It’s not like Xander’s going to be able to.”
Tony snorted into his coffee. “Boy’d probably give it a try if that vampire didn’t have sense enough to stop him.”
They arrived at the waiting room at ten past six in the morning with two boxes of doughnuts, a large bag of bagels, cream cheese and a couple insulated carafes of coffee. Rupert was there already, Ethan flipping through a magazine he wasn’t reading and watching him pace the floor. Joyce and Buffy trailed them by seconds, Anya, Willow and her friend a little while later. Anne was the last to arrive, looking slightly bewildered as usual. Jessica passed her a cup of coffee.
“How long?” Anne asked.
“They’re just taking him into surgery now,” Rupert told her, taking a sip from the cup Jessica handed him and wincing at the strength. “It will likely be an hour or so before we know anything more.”
Anne nodded bravely as Ethan gave up his seat to her. “Sod this. Bloody useless, sitting around here,” he complained.
Tony agreed enthusiastically. “Got some m-80s in the pickup,” he offered.
“Firecrackers?” Ethan scoffed.
Got any better ideas, Tony’s answering look asked.
Ethan appeared thoughtful. “Lead the way.”
Xander stared at the straps affixed to the arms of the t-shaped bed.
“Are we crucifying someone?” he asked, nervously, as the nurse assisted him off the gurney.
“It’s to keep you still during the c-section,” she explained.
“Thought that’s what the spinal was for,” Spike commented as Xander was bent forward and his vertebrae swabbed for said procedure.
“Yes,” she explained patiently, “But he’ll only be numb from the middle of his back down. If he moves his arms he could still disrupt the surgeon.”
“How about if I promise to hold really still?” Xander asked, wincing as the anesthesiologist’s needle pierced his spine. Spike shuffled out of the way of an attendant, trying not to slip in the ridiculous booties they made him wear.
“Could hold him down for you, if you like,” Spike offered.
The nurse smiled. “And while you’re holding him down, who’s going to cut the umbilical cord or hold your son while the sutures are closed?”
Spike paled even further under the florescent lights and sent Xander a panicked glance. Xander sighed bravely. “It’s okay Spike. It’s not a big deal,” he told him. And may God forgive me for that lie, he thought.
It was a remarkably mundane experience at first. Lying there, immobilized, unable to see below his waist for the blue surgical curtain. After the first few moments of virtually no sensation or noise while the surgeon made his incision and Spike nearly wringing off his hand, Xander was almost bored. In fact,
“Spike, could you maybe watch and tell me what’s going on? I mean, if it doesn’t bother you?” he qualified, unsure how his lover would respond to his naked viscera.
Spike blinked in surprise. “Yeah, love, sure. D’you want pictures or—”
“No!” he interrupted. “No pictures, just, play-by-play.” Xander half smiled. “Seems like one of us should be there when he makes his big entrance.”
Spike bounced up from his stool to stand beside the curtain and swallowed hard. “S’a lot of blood,” he commented. Spike’s stomach growled.
“Seriously?” Xander hissed.
Spike shrugged desperately. “Sorry! I didn’t eat last night, a’right? Oh, bloody hell, that’s—that’s…what is that?” He asked the nurse.
“That’s your baby,” she replied as Xander felt an odd pressure and lightening sensation.
“Can you see him?” Xander asked, craning his neck around.
Spike nodded. “He’s—the doctor’s pulling him out now, Xan, oh!” He broke off, with a sharp intake of breath. There was a flurry of excitement at the end of the bed.
“There he is,” the nurse said as attendants rushed around, preparing and providing instruments to the surgeon.
“I can’t see,” Xander complained. The nurse held the infant higher, and Xander had his first glimpse of his son, pale and gunky.
“He’s not crying,” Spike said, concerned.
“He’s got a strong pulse and we haven’t cut the cord yet, let’s just get that airway cleared and warm him up, all right?”
Spike nodded helplessly and Xander tried to slow his heart rate.
“Xan, he’s beautiful, he is,” Spike told him taking the sheers from the nurse and solemnly cutting the cord. Xander nodded, still agitated. There was a suctioning noise and suddenly the quiet room was filled with a piercing wail.
“There you are, daddy,” the nurse pronounced happily as another attendant briskly cleaned and swaddled the squalling infant before placing it in Spike’s arms. “Your healthy baby boy.”
Time crawled to a stop as Spike cradled their son. Tears coursed down his cheeks as he held out the tiny bundle to Xander. “He’s perfect, Xander. Looks just like you.”
Xander looked with wonder down into his son’s face, blinking sleepily up at him. “He has your eyes.”
Spike waved him off. “All babies have blue eyes. That mouth though—s’all yours, innit?” he pointed out excitedly.
Xander grinned. “All ours. He’s all us,” he murmured wonderingly.
A slowly turning ceiling fan ruffled the papers on the mahogany roll-top desk. The heavy scritch of Henri De Sauveterre’s fountain pen did not waver in it’s task as he shifted a heavy glass paperweight to settle their movements as he completed his correspondence. The door opened.
“The child has been born,” said Manon, staring distractedly out past the gallery doors.
Henri’s pen paused over an “i” not yet dotted. A drop of ink fell to the page beneath his hand, saturating the velum.
He resumed his letter.
“Send the Behemoth.”
Chapter Six
Author: Emelye
Pairing: Spike/Xander
Rating: Mature
Summary: Sequel to The Resolute Urgency Of Now, and Such A Part Of You.
Disclaimer: Not mine, all theirs.
Warnings: None.
A/N: Artwork by the lovely
katekat1010Though the previous summer had been unusually active and the fall was filled with various demons uprooted from their natural environs, the winter hadn’t seen the large increase in activity they’d feared and the lengthening days were dwindling the numbers of Hellmouth related difficulties to boredom inspiring levels.
Which irritated Xander, because while he’d been sidelined from slaying for the past six months, he wasn’t exempt from Giles’ obsessive need to catalogue and reorganize. And while he personally felt that, as a man, lower ligament pain should have earned him a pass on the book dust extravaganza, Spike was quick to point out that his mates were all females of the feminist persuasion and that argument wasn’t likely to carry any weight.
Unlike himself, who was finding it increasingly difficult to move in a way that didn’t suggest waddling.
“Xander! You’re showing!” Anya scolded, arms akimbo. Xander paused in the doorway of the shop as she marched forward and without preamble, lifted up his tenting tee-shirt.
His hands quickly slapped hers away. “Anya! What the hell?”
She relaxed. “Good. No stretch marks. Yet. I told you to come to me before you started showing, I’ve got things that will help.”
Xander thought back to the previous two sleepless nights as his joints rearranged themselves and he discovered he was no longer physically able to lie on his stomach to alleviate the pressure on his hips. “I’m all ears,” he told her. Spike’s hand was at the small of his back guiding him needlessly into the store, or so Xander thought until he tripped over an uneven floorboard and stumbled, balance thrown by his additional weight. Spike easily caught his arm and prevented him from falling.
Okay, so the protectiveness had benefits, he had to admit. He’d thought he’d been clumsy before, but this was a whole new ballgame. He was very big with the physical comedy these days—it was like his shoes now came with their own banana peels.
“You all right, love?” Spike asked.
“Yes,” he replied, embarrassed, awkwardly taking a seat at the table as he batted Spike’s attempts to help away.
Anya brought over a tray of jars and began removing the lids, giving each one a whiff, presumably to test for freshness. He’d seen her do it a hundred times, but this time he found himself paying extra close attention to her responses, knowing that the ingredients she was testing were going to be used for spells on him.
“Right,” she said, apparently satisfied. “So this,” she gestured to a small jar, “is a cream for your skin. Put this on your torso twice a day and you’ll have nothing to worry about from stretch marks or sagging, unattractive flesh.”
Xander swallowed and restrained himself from glancing over at Spike.
“Are you getting breasts yet?” She asked clinically. Xander blinked in horror. “I am not having this conversation,” he muttered.
The truth was, he might have been getting a little puffy around the chestal region, but since he had decided he wasn’t going to talk about it, think about it, or allow mirrors anywhere near his unclothed torso until it was once again indistinguishable from it’s previous state, he wasn’t prepared to let Anya pull him from his comfortable state of denial.
It felt vain and stupid to be so anxious about the way he looked, but honestly, as much as he’d always thought Spike outclassed him physically, it was nothing compared to the shock of washing his own, distorted and foreign shape in the shower now while watching Spike undress three feet away. He and Spike were bonded for life and then some and he was worried enough about holding his interest for the next ten years with a normal body. If he looked like some kind of dried-up, combo package of all the worst features of a middle-aged woman, minus the funbags and plus a manly need to shave? The thought frankly made him shudder. And if Spike hadn’t figured out what he might be in for yet, he didn’t need Anya encouraging him to freak out any sooner.
“Hey, you want to look like a manatee, that’s you’re choice. Personally, I always wondered if the extra rolls of flesh couldn’t be employed sexually—”
“ANYA!” Xander interrupted in horror. “For the love of money, do not finish that
thought!”
Anya frowned then sighed. “Whatever. I can tell this is a sensitive topic. Look—when I was human before, people didn’t live as long. It wasn’t unusual for girls as young as twelve to get married and start popping out babies with their father’s business associates. It was actually quite practical from a fiscal standpoint—”
“Is there a point to this?” Xander interrupted, trying to stave off a migraine without letting on he was trying to stave off a migraine because that would involve Concern and touching and Xander felt disgusting enough without his perfect, ageless vampire rubbing it in, literally or figuratively.
“Yes, Xander, my point is, marriage was all girls had for security. If you were twelve and married to a man who was possibly going to die of old age when he hit his forties, you were going to remarry or watch your children starve. Which is why I invented this—”
Anya plopped a very large book down in front of him and he coughed in the resulting cloud of dust.
“It’s a fairly complex spell,” she proclaimed proudly. “You enchant a container and cast the spell on yourself. When you begin lactating, the milk automatically collects in the container, and even stays in stasis so it’s fresh whenever you need to use it.”
Xander stared uncomprehendingly at the page.
“It means you won’t grow breasts, Xander,” she explained slowly.
Xander let that sink in. “You mean I’m going to look normal after all this?”
“Remarriage was a competitive business back then. If you didn’t have high breasts, smooth skin and a vagina tight enough to whistle kulning songs, forget it.”
Xander couldn’t help crushing her in his arms.
Anya patted his back awkwardly. “I’m quite sure Spike still finds you attractive Xander,” she reassured him. “But if not,” she added airily, “You’ll be back to normal soon and I’m sure he’s a very skilled liar.”
Xander laughed weakly and pulled away as Spike protested, “I never lie to Xander. Except for once or twice,” he amended, “an’ not about anything of any importance.”
Xander ignored Spike’s attempt to make light of his insecurity and swept the jar off the table into his hand. “Thanks An,” he said, and without waiting to see if Spike was following, he left the shop. Giles would have to manage without him for one afternoon.
Xander stood at the bathroom sink and looked down at his body, then up in the mirror, seeing the reflection but not recognizing it.
The face was familiar, but flushed. The nose, red and irritated. He needed a haircut. It was curlier than normal and he could barely get a comb through it dry anymore. He’d lost some of his tan working inside the last six months. His shoulders were sallow looking and freckled.
For the first three months, as his stomach grew, it was easy to pass it off as bloating from bad Mexican food or too many hours in front of the TV and not enough running through cemeteries at night. In the second trimester, there was so much to be done with the contractors and the doctors’ visits it was easy enough to ignore the differences now too large to pass off as a lifestyle change. Spike spent less time at home and their hours being what they were, well, Spike hadn’t said anything when Xander started wearing a tee-shirt to bed.
Anya’s lotion stared up at him from its place beside the sink.
He remembered coming home with something approaching dread and relief the day she gave it to him. He hadn’t let Spike touch him in a month—could barely meet his eyes if he seemed interested in anything other than the latest developments in the conversion of the garage or Xander’s projects for the nursery. He didn’t want to make the adjustments to their sex life the doctor assured him would carry them well into the third trimester. He wanted to be the lover he’d always been. He didn’t want Spike making concessions for a freak he didn’t sign on to fuck. His blue balls may have damned his pride, but the thing gazing back in the mirror just couldn’t be him anymore.
He’d clung to that jar like a promise he’d once again be the man that he sometimes almost thought was worthy of the faith Spike had in him.
The first day, he took a deep breath, made sure no one was looking, and only lifted up his shirt enough to rub a thick palm-full of the stuff into his stomach, back and hips with business-like efficiency.
A hot tear escaped the corner of his eye as he stared angrily at his reflection. That was two months ago. And there wasn’t a mark on his body save for one—near the small of his back—that no matter how he struggled, he just couldn’t reach any longer. Small and jagged and red, it sat there above the swell of his ass, near the curve of his spine—a reminder that he’d been used, been touched, been altered into something else that neither man nor woman would want to claim as their own. He could maybe see that prominent stomach being attractive on a woman in a certain light—had a momentary vision of Anya round and lovely—but with his broad shoulders and penis still slightly visible beneath his gut—he had a hard time picturing himself as anything other than a sideshow attraction.
“Freak,” he accused his reflection angrily, slamming the glass jar on the counter in frustration.
“Miracle,” came Spike’s voice at his back, a harsh, insistent whisper.
Xander jumped, and turned, ever mindful of his changed center of gravity as he avoided bumping the sink and looked around frantically for his shirt.
“Jesus! Would you announce yourself or something?” He bitched, snatching the shirt from the back of the toilet and half pulling it over his head before he realized it was inside out and struggled to get it off again with an angry huff.
Spike grabbed his arm before he could manage the task and his despair overflowed into a sob he couldn’t have contained if his life depended on it. Spike chucked the shirt forcefully into the hamper by the door and pulled Xander into his arms. The angle Xander was required to bend into to allow Spike to hold him made him cry harder. Wordlessly, Spike reached around him to scoop a dab of the lotion from the jar. Xander’s lip trembled violently as Spike firmly and lovingly rubbed it into the small of his back.
Xander screwed his eyes shut and rested his forehead on Spike’s shoulder. “God, how can you stand to t—touch me?” he bawled.
Spike’s arms came up around his shoulders, holding him tightly. “Oh, Christ, Xander. Beautiful, you are.”
“I’m disgusting…” he protested.
“No,” Spike insisted with a strong shake of Xander’s shoulders as he was pushed away. Spike forced Xander’s chin up until their eyes met. “Beautiful.”
Xander looked away, hiccupping as he tried to stop crying. “How can you even—”
Spike smiled, and lifted his hand to Xander’s face, thumb wiping his tears away. “—Like an angel, Xan. Not a man or woman but something so full of good and light and life Xander. That’s you. Xan—” he said, and Xander saw his throat close against the press of tears. “—sometimes when you’re in me I can feel your heart beating in me, and your heat and everything an—and it’s like for a moment, you’re so full of life you make me live too, Xander. Like you’re so alive it’s just bursting out of you, all the time, bringing everything around you to life.”
Xander’s eyes widened in wonder as Spike’s hand came down and reverently caressed his stomach. “S’right, this,” he said, eyes following the patterns he traced on Xander’s skin. “Makes perfect sense. All that life in you an’ now a little bit running over into the world. No one else it could have been. Just you, love. My angel. Just you.” Spike raised his head and blue, blue eyes filled his field of vision. “And you’re so beautiful Xander.”
Xander couldn’t stop himself taking Spike’s mouth if he tried, pulling at his cotton clad shoulders before reaching down and pulling up the hem of his tee-shirt, needing to feel skin, reassurance, all the while kissing, kissing, kissing like he wanted to climb inside for a while and just bask in this love he’d somehow missed for months.
“Oh, God, I want you. Please…” he begged.
“Xan,” Spike broke off kissing for a moment, eyes wild and clothes in disarray, “are you sure? The doctor said—”
“Fuck the doctor,” Xander carefully annunciated. “I need this.” He backed them out of the bathroom and across the hall to their bedroom. Spike continued shucking his jeans along the way and Xander was hurriedly negotiating the logistics of his own clothes until Spike took matters into his own hands and pantsed him handily before turning his head slightly to accommodate Xander’s stomach and enthusiastically slurped at the drooling head of his cock, teeth gently teasing his frenulum.
Xander moaned as his vision began to grey with the sudden rush of blood to his prick. “Spike,” he warned, “M’going down in a minute.”
Spike smirked up at him while steadying his lover with strong hands on his muscular thighs. “Don’t hear me protesting.”
“Bed, Spike. The bed.” He motioned, grabbing the lube off the dresser as he passed before slapping it into Spike’s palm.
“Love, are you sure you want—” Spike began before taking in Xander’s impressive glare. “Right, then!” Spike carefully helped Xander onto his knees, making sure he was steady before placing a healthy smack on his ass. “Hold on to the bed post, then,” he purred. “It’s going to be a bumpy ride.”
Xander was standing in a dry riverbed. A cool wind tossed red dust into his eyes but he didn’t dare blink. There was no moon and the landscape before him was red and flat save for one enormous rock rising in spires from the earth. It looked like a sinister church and the sight of it filled him with inexplicable dread and despair.
Thunder echoed in the distance and a sound of rushing water growing louder and louder…
Xander opened his eyes in the dark of his bedroom. Spike slept beside him despite the red display of the alarm clock reading 2:30. He took a deep breath and another, trying to loosen the tight feeling in his chest, the fear and feeling of certain doom.
Xander gave a short bark of laughter and shook his head at himself. Only he would spend years fighting actual demons only to have an anxiety attack in his own bed.
“Xan?” Spike asked groggily. “S’matter?”
“Just a bad dream. Go back to sleep.”
Spike snuffled a little and rolled over, once again still as the dead. Xander smiled and pulled the blankets up over his shoulders to trap the borrowed heat before swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and levering himself up to sit.
He felt a strong cramp in his lower back. Guess the enchiladas are coming back to haunt me. He thought. Xander made his way to the bathroom. As he walked, his stomach and back continued to cramp. I told Spike Señor Taco imported Montezuma’s revenge for authenticity, but did he listen?
As he stood in the doorway in the midst of another cramp, suddenly, something tightened.
It wasn’t the Mexican food. “Oh, shit,” Xander said, feelingly. He made his way back to Spike as quickly as he could, trying not to trip on anything in the dark. Then Xander took his life in his hands and tried to shake Spike awake.
“Spike,” he hissed. “Wake up!”
“Mmm? Wha—whasamatter?” he mumbled sleepily, rising onto his elbows. Xander gave a sigh of relief that Spike hadn’t woken up fighting.
“This is it,” he announced. “The main event. Get your pants on.”
Spike blinked up at him irritably. “What are you—”
“I’m in labor. Let’s go!”
Spike’s eyes widened as he forced himself into a state of alertness. “Right. Right! Um, yeah, so, where’re my jeans?”
“On the floor by the dresser.”
“Right, pet, thanks,” Spike replied, absently. “Alvaro!” he shouted, pulling on his pants. Xander pulled a tee-shirt from the chest of drawers and tossed it to Spike who shrugged it on without missing a beat. “ALVARO!” he yelled.
Alvaro’s footsteps thundered up the stairs before he skidded to a halt in their bedroom doorway. “Yes, Master?” he asked, obviously alarmed.
“We’re going to the hospital. Get Xan and his bag to the car. I’ll call the doctor and wake Mother.”
“Yes, Master,” he replied obediently.
Spike paused in his search for his boot beneath the bed, turned on his heel and snatched a trembling, shallow kiss from Xander before Alvaro could spirit him away to the car. “Be down in a mo, love,” he said, with that far-away look where odes were written and bloody mayhem plotted.
Xander smiled, letting Spike’s excitement suffuse his nerves with enthusiasm, and allowed Alvaro to drag him off.
In point of fact, Spike was terrified beyond reckoning. And so, it was with some surprise, he found himself increasingly reliant on his soul and prior incarnation to inform his choices.
Most of his acquaintance of the past fifty years would likely have expected him to be belligerent if he thought his consort to be in danger, edgy and short tempered if he were nervous and an all around bother in the situation—ill informed in the practice of modern medicine and a poor thinker for far reaching courses of action. A nuisance of the first water.
And Spike, purely demon and desperately repressing his human memories and inclinations, would have been.
But the soul was a force not to be dismissed lightly. And poet gentleman or no, William was not about to let the demon hold the whip hand over him when Xander was in distress.
Which wasn’t to say that the soul wasn’t comfortably ensconced within Spike. The soul and the demon rubbed along tolerably well together, the demon already more or less accustomed to the stronger than average human instincts and memories of the host. In fact, the soul was satisfied to remain in repose most of the time, quite in admiration of the demon’s passion and devotion to Xander.
But Xander didn’t need that kind of passion in their birth preparation courses, and when he felt the demon grow restless amidst the other human couples in their discussions of birth plans and due dates, he gladly stepped forward to ask thoughtful questions and take the notes his dearest love was neglecting, enthusiastic for his role in the proceedings and delighted to contribute.
They finished at the top of their class. Or would have, had there been marks, which he thought there ought to have been, but still, a pat on the shoulder from the nurse was quite good enough when all was said and done.
“You’re going all souly on me, right now, aren’t you,” Xander observed as Spike calmly handed Xander’s insurance forms to the nurse on duty.
Spike shrugged. “You’d rather I took a nip off an orderly to speed the process along?”
Xander rolled his eyes. “Point taken. Ponce away.”
“Oi!”
Xander was still laughing at him as they wheeled him to his room. Spike entered first, checking to see that their accommodations were in order.
They had indeed secured one of the larger suites intended to encompass labor, delivery and recovery, though obviously they would be required elsewhere for the delivery. Spike dimmed the lights to a more soothing level as he entered. The north facing windows were equipped with heavy curtains, he noted approvingly.
“What, no turndown service? Mint on the pillow?” Xander quipped behind him.
Spike glared half-heartedly at him. “Just making sure everything is as it should be. No CD player,” he noted.
“Ask the nurse.”
“I specifically requested—”
“And they told you at the classes they only had two and if someone else was using one of them we might be out of luck. Just get Buffy to bring the one from the training room when she gets here.”
Spike huffed in irritation but removed his phone from his pocket anyway and dialed.
Twenty minutes later, they had a CD player. Xander was gowned and reclining in the bed while Spike attentively massaged his hands.
“I thought the music was supposed to relax me.”
“This is relaxing, ain’t it?” he said, punctuating his statement with a particularly deep dig into Xander’s palm.
Xander moaned. “This is relaxing. The Pixies, not so much.”
Before Spike could formulate a defense, the door opened and the nurse entered with a clip board, stethoscope around her neck. She briefly checked the monitors before conferring, “Contractions still coming regularly?” Xander nodded.
“Don’t that mean we should be doing this soon?” Spike asked.
The nurse nodded. “The surgeon on call was just finishing a delivery when you checked in. As soon as the room is cleared, we’ll prep you. Dr. Stevenson made sure we knew you have top priority,” she added with a wry smile for Xander. Spike frowned, ready to snap at the vapid cow treating their situation so lightly but Xander thanked her and she was gone before he’d managed half a retort.
“Don’t see why they’re so bloody relaxed about this,” he muttered angrily. Xander’s hand closed over his, effectively ending the massage.
“I’m scared, Spike.”
Xander was staring intently at the gnarled cotton blanket on his lap and Spike let out a reflexive breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. “Me too,” he admitted, tightening his grip on Xander’s hand.
“Me too.”
Jessica had been woken from a sound sleep by the call from Anne. She dialed Rupert’s number and predictably got Ethan who assured her he’d pass on the message that the boys had gone to the hospital. She elbowed Tony in the ribs and called Joyce who had not, in fact, gotten the message from Ethan but would reliably let the others know. Jessica put the coffee on while Tony swore up and down looking for a clean shirt.
“Suppose you’re going to want to feed them all,” he grumbled, patting down his hair and taking a mug from the dish drainer. Jessica smiled over the top of her mug. “It’s not like Xander’s going to be able to.”
Tony snorted into his coffee. “Boy’d probably give it a try if that vampire didn’t have sense enough to stop him.”
They arrived at the waiting room at ten past six in the morning with two boxes of doughnuts, a large bag of bagels, cream cheese and a couple insulated carafes of coffee. Rupert was there already, Ethan flipping through a magazine he wasn’t reading and watching him pace the floor. Joyce and Buffy trailed them by seconds, Anya, Willow and her friend a little while later. Anne was the last to arrive, looking slightly bewildered as usual. Jessica passed her a cup of coffee.
“How long?” Anne asked.
“They’re just taking him into surgery now,” Rupert told her, taking a sip from the cup Jessica handed him and wincing at the strength. “It will likely be an hour or so before we know anything more.”
Anne nodded bravely as Ethan gave up his seat to her. “Sod this. Bloody useless, sitting around here,” he complained.
Tony agreed enthusiastically. “Got some m-80s in the pickup,” he offered.
“Firecrackers?” Ethan scoffed.
Got any better ideas, Tony’s answering look asked.
Ethan appeared thoughtful. “Lead the way.”
Xander stared at the straps affixed to the arms of the t-shaped bed.
“Are we crucifying someone?” he asked, nervously, as the nurse assisted him off the gurney.
“It’s to keep you still during the c-section,” she explained.
“Thought that’s what the spinal was for,” Spike commented as Xander was bent forward and his vertebrae swabbed for said procedure.
“Yes,” she explained patiently, “But he’ll only be numb from the middle of his back down. If he moves his arms he could still disrupt the surgeon.”
“How about if I promise to hold really still?” Xander asked, wincing as the anesthesiologist’s needle pierced his spine. Spike shuffled out of the way of an attendant, trying not to slip in the ridiculous booties they made him wear.
“Could hold him down for you, if you like,” Spike offered.
The nurse smiled. “And while you’re holding him down, who’s going to cut the umbilical cord or hold your son while the sutures are closed?”
Spike paled even further under the florescent lights and sent Xander a panicked glance. Xander sighed bravely. “It’s okay Spike. It’s not a big deal,” he told him. And may God forgive me for that lie, he thought.
It was a remarkably mundane experience at first. Lying there, immobilized, unable to see below his waist for the blue surgical curtain. After the first few moments of virtually no sensation or noise while the surgeon made his incision and Spike nearly wringing off his hand, Xander was almost bored. In fact,
“Spike, could you maybe watch and tell me what’s going on? I mean, if it doesn’t bother you?” he qualified, unsure how his lover would respond to his naked viscera.
Spike blinked in surprise. “Yeah, love, sure. D’you want pictures or—”
“No!” he interrupted. “No pictures, just, play-by-play.” Xander half smiled. “Seems like one of us should be there when he makes his big entrance.”
Spike bounced up from his stool to stand beside the curtain and swallowed hard. “S’a lot of blood,” he commented. Spike’s stomach growled.
“Seriously?” Xander hissed.
Spike shrugged desperately. “Sorry! I didn’t eat last night, a’right? Oh, bloody hell, that’s—that’s…what is that?” He asked the nurse.
“That’s your baby,” she replied as Xander felt an odd pressure and lightening sensation.
“Can you see him?” Xander asked, craning his neck around.
Spike nodded. “He’s—the doctor’s pulling him out now, Xan, oh!” He broke off, with a sharp intake of breath. There was a flurry of excitement at the end of the bed.
“There he is,” the nurse said as attendants rushed around, preparing and providing instruments to the surgeon.
“I can’t see,” Xander complained. The nurse held the infant higher, and Xander had his first glimpse of his son, pale and gunky.
“He’s not crying,” Spike said, concerned.
“He’s got a strong pulse and we haven’t cut the cord yet, let’s just get that airway cleared and warm him up, all right?”
Spike nodded helplessly and Xander tried to slow his heart rate.
“Xan, he’s beautiful, he is,” Spike told him taking the sheers from the nurse and solemnly cutting the cord. Xander nodded, still agitated. There was a suctioning noise and suddenly the quiet room was filled with a piercing wail.
“There you are, daddy,” the nurse pronounced happily as another attendant briskly cleaned and swaddled the squalling infant before placing it in Spike’s arms. “Your healthy baby boy.”
Time crawled to a stop as Spike cradled their son. Tears coursed down his cheeks as he held out the tiny bundle to Xander. “He’s perfect, Xander. Looks just like you.”
Xander looked with wonder down into his son’s face, blinking sleepily up at him. “He has your eyes.”
Spike waved him off. “All babies have blue eyes. That mouth though—s’all yours, innit?” he pointed out excitedly.
Xander grinned. “All ours. He’s all us,” he murmured wonderingly.
A slowly turning ceiling fan ruffled the papers on the mahogany roll-top desk. The heavy scritch of Henri De Sauveterre’s fountain pen did not waver in it’s task as he shifted a heavy glass paperweight to settle their movements as he completed his correspondence. The door opened.
“The child has been born,” said Manon, staring distractedly out past the gallery doors.
Henri’s pen paused over an “i” not yet dotted. A drop of ink fell to the page beneath his hand, saturating the velum.
He resumed his letter.
“Send the Behemoth.”
Chapter Six
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I'm taken aback!!
Speechless!!
Poor Xander at the beginning and you described the feelings and emotions and the suspence in such a wonderful way. I'm very impressed. Thank you1
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Spike shrugged. “You’d rather I took a nip off an orderly to speed the process along?”
Xander rolled his eyes. “Point taken. Ponce away.”
There were bits that made me LMFAO, and bits that made my heart crack - Xander's vulnerability was definitely a big part of that. And the birth of their son - OMG, this is worse than when I cried at their wedding!!
Totally awesome, all of it. Thank you so much!
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From: (Anonymous)
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awwwwwwwww. They had a baby!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
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“Remarriage was a competitive business back then. If you didn’t have high breasts, smooth skin and a vagina tight enough to whistle kulning songs, forget it.”
ROTF!
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Glad I have your attention!
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TJ again
SEEE?????????? I'm going nuts waiting for the new chapter!!!!!!!!!!
Now that the ranting is out of my system, take your time. It'll be smashing when it gets here.
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Re: TJ again
Okay, baby gets named in the next chapter, never fear. The Behemoth is Biblical, Tony keeps illegal fireworks in his truck because my father has a great fondness for BlackCats and his characterization is in no small part based on him, and while yes, some might find the Pixies relaxing, Xander would have probably preferred something more generically soothing.
Whew! Now back to writing the chapter... ;-)
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Re: TJ again
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Behemoth?? I don't think it is the goth band so mythical monster then??
Lovely piece of writing my dear, very well done. *hugs*
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And no, he isn't sending them a goth band. ;-)
Thank you very much for reading!
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