CXXXVI.

If thy soul check thee that I come so near,
Swear to thy blind soul that I was thy 'Will,'
And will, thy soul knows, is admitted there;
Thus far for love my love-suit, sweet, fulfil.
'Will' will fulfil the treasure of thy love,
Ay, fill it full with wills, and my will one.
In things of great receipt with ease we prove
Among a number one is reckon'd none:
Then in the number let me pass untold,
Though in thy stores' account I one must be;
For nothing hold me, so it please thee hold
That nothing me, a something sweet to thee:
Make but my name thy love, and love that still,
And then thou lovest me, for my name is 'Will.'

He left Sunnydale and vowed to himself not to return until the chip was gone.  And finally, in a dark corner of a backwater town on the edges of a dying civilization, he found the one who could do it for him. Had it done. The price he paid was unspeakable, but he'd done it. And one dark night, he came back to Sunnydale and took up residence in his crypt again. He didn't try to avoid the slayer. He began to frequent places where he knew she sometimes went. He'd wait for her in the cemetery, but she never came.

After a week of unsuccessfully trying to 'accidentally' run into her, he decided more direct action was needed. And so, one night, he went to her house. The house was dark. The lawn and garden were overgrown and gone to seed. Several of the downstairs windows were broken and crudely boarded up from the inside. He broke into the back door and walked into the kitchen. He almost tripped on the mess of boxes and trash piled haphazardly on the floor.

"What the hell has happened here?" he thought worriedly, and the fear began to rise inside him.

"She's dead," he thought.

He crept up the stairs, slipped down the hallway and stood silently outside her bedroom door. She wasn't dead, he could smell her scent, hear the pulse of her blood. He opened the door and was stunned to see her sprawled on her stomach across the top of her bed.

She was filthy from fighting, her baggy clothes were in tatters, and it appeared that she probably hadn't changed them for several days. Her room was littered with dirty clothes, shoes and hangers strewn across the floor. Books and magazines piled around her bed. The room was dusty and thick with the smell of sorrow. He leant over and briefly placed his forehead against the soft skin of her neck and then he slowly, gently rolled her over onto her back. She was burning up and he noticed, with deep shock, by the shape of her body, she was about five months pregnant.

He sat down on the floor next to her bed and took her hand in his. It was hot and dirty and her fingernails were chipped and broken. He held her hand against his face and wept. He'd been a stupid, selfish fool. All his dramatic plans for a final confrontation, his plans for forcing her to finally end his suffering, fell apart at the sight of her suffering and her need. And however impossible it might be, he knew without a doubt, that the child she was carrying was his. He saw her standing before him at Anya's and Xander's ill fated wedding. He remembered her glow, her exquisite beauty flowing out toward him, her pain and confusion. She must have known then.

He shook himself out of his self-pity and made a quick decision. It didn't matter what she thought of him, his pride was nothing beside her immediate need for a real friend, a true friend. He went into the bathroom and drew a cool bath for her. He came back into the bedroom and carefully undressed her. She was barely conscious in her fever and exhaustion. She didn't recognize him. Just submitted to his ministrations. He placed her gently in the tub and began to wash her body and hair. Her body was covered with scars, many barely healed. She flinched in pain as he tenderly rubbed the cloth over the worst of her wounds; he washed and rinsed her hair.

He lifted her from the tub and held her as she sat slumped over on the edge. She began to shiver with her fever. He wrapped her up in a warm towel and carried her into Dawn's bedroom. Dawn's room was very tidy, the bed made with clean sheets. He found one of Dawn's warm nightgowns for her, dressed her and then placed her into the bed. He found a warm comforter in the closet and tucked her in tightly. Her skin was cool from the bath, but she suddenly broke out in a cold sweat and was mumbling in a low voice. He couldn't understand a word she spoke; her lips were parched and dry.

He was almost afraid to leave her alone. Didn't know what she'd do in her delirium. But the thought crossed his mind that she might actually be dying. He had no idea how long she'd been lying in that state on her bed. He ran downstairs and, with some difficulty, located a clean glass and a straw. He emptied several ice trays out of the refrigerator into a large bowl, and then carried everything upstairs. He sat on the bed beside her and slowly made her drink the cool liquid. She resisted him at first but eventually she drank three full glasses. She could barely open her eyes, he was sure she didn't know who he was. After she drank, she sighed deeply and he could see her body stretching comfortably into the warm bed.

She slipped one of her hands from under the covers and stretched it out blindly toward him. He gave her his hand and sat down on the bed beside her. She squeezed his hand and he saw the faintest of smiles cross her face. She pulled on his hand, forcing him to lean closer to her. She was trying to speak; he bent down until his face was almost touching hers. She whispered the words again and this time he heard.

"William. My love."

"Yes I'm here," he said, and lay down beside her.

He cradled her head against his chest. She turned and nuzzled her face against the rough material of his cotton shirt. He unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it back so she could place her face against his cool bare skin. She gave his chest a soft kiss and shivered.

Shivering this time, he thought, he hoped, not with fever but perhaps of happiness. She relaxed into his arms and fell into a deep sleep.
 

* * * * *
 

He slept with her for a while but was abruptly awakened by some raucous yelling outside the house. He slipped out of the bed, careful not to wake her.  He ran downstairs and looked out of one of the living room windows. Several young vampires, drunk, he thought, by the looks of them, were yelling obscenities and threats outside of Buffy's house. All their evil words were aimed at her, about her, and thinking of her lying helpless in the bed upstairs, his rage overwhelmed him. He morphed into his game face and swung open the front door.

"May I help you?" He said in an icy, deadly voice.

The young vamps paused for moment, taken back a bit by the sound of his voice, but he was hidden in the darkness of the doorway and they couldn't see his face. They began their taunts again.

Spike flew out of the doorway and staked three of the young vampires before the others realized what had happened. A deathly silence fell upon the group as Spike stood in their midst.

"If I ever catch any one of you within one mile of this house, you're dust. Spread the news. You'll have to come through me to reach the Slayer."

He stared around him at the cowering vamps, his yellow eyes flashing murderously.

"Now get out of here," he roared, and staked another two.

The others fled in terror.

He walked back toward the house. It really was a mess. He noticed graffiti scrawled across the garage and someone had hacked away at one of the beautiful oak trees that stood in the yard. He felt his anger escalate at the sight of so much destruction. He had the strange sensation of the recognition of evil from the outside. He went back into the house with a new sense of determination. He went upstairs to check on Buffy and found her still sleeping peacefully. He went back down to the kitchen and began to tidy up the mess; it took him two hours to get it clean. He warmed up a can of soup, found some crackers, took them upstairs and placed them on a small table next to her bed.

"Buffy, love. Buffy wake up. I've brought you something to eat."

She rolled over on her side, opened her eyes and saw him patiently sitting next to her bed. She recognized him at once. Her face flushed deep red and she immediately pulled more of the blankets over her stomach. She shut her eyes, trying to stop the tears that began to flow freely down her cheeks. Her shoulders shook with the effort to stop their flow, as he gently stroked her hair, her face, and her tears with his hand.

"Don't cry love, I'm here. Everything's going to be fine now," he said, his voice quiet and firm.
 

* * * * *
 

"Why are you here?" she whispered, when she was finally able to speak. "Don't need you here. Don't need anyone. You shouldn't be here."

"Don't care what you want, Slayer. Only care about what you need. You need me."

"Don't need anyone, anything. Why didn't you stay gone?" she said emptily. She tried to frown, but it didn't match the hunger which shown out in her eyes.

"She never could hide her emotions," he thought. "Everything's there in her eyes."

"Well maybe you don't want me, and you don't need me, but what about this little one?" he asked.

He slipped his hand under the covers and placed it upon her stomach. She flinched away from his touch.

"Can't see that you're taking good care of him," he said. "I know what's happened to you, what you're trying to do to yourself, where you're trying to go. And you know what?"

"What?" she whispered, turning her face away from him.

"I'm not going to let you do it."

"Why do you care?"

"Because it's mine, isn't it, Buffy?"

He pulled the covers off her completely and quickly slipped into the bed beside her. He pulled her close into his arms.

"And because I love you. I'm never going to leave you again. No matter what you say or do."

He kissed her wet lashes, her nose, caught her lips with his and tenderly, gently relinquished his heart back to her for better or for worse.
 

* * * * *
 

That night as he sat watching over her, her fever broke. He gave her a sponge bath and changed her wet sheets and nightgown and tucked her back into bed. He watched her eat all of the soup and made her drink several more glasses of water. When he started to leave the room she called out to him.

"Where are you going?"

"Just going to sleep on the couch downstairs. You need to sleep."

"Don't go. Please?" she asked.

He came back to the bed and gazed down at her.

"I lied," she said.

"I know."

"You always know, don't you?"

"Prince of knowing, love."

"Come back," she stretched out her arms.

He slowly disrobed, neatly folding his clothes and placing them on top of the dresser. He climbed under the covers with her and trailed his hands gently over her body, over the soft swell of her stomach, up to the ripe fullness of her breasts. She moaned softly at the coolness of his hands, the smooth strength of his hands caressing her, claiming her, protecting her. She snuggled deeply into his arms and surrendered to his love.
 

* * * * *
 

The next morning when she opened her eyes, she saw him with his head propped up on his hand staring down at her.

"Did you sleep well?" He smiled.

"What am I doing in Dawn's room?" she asked.

"Well your room has a strong resemblance to a demon's lair. Thought you'd be cozier in here," he laughed.

"I thought it was a dream."

"Was a dream, love. Everything before last night, everything before was just a dark dream, but it's all over now. You're awake. With me."

He kissed her nose.

She succumbed to a large yawn and as she stretched out her arms and legs, she felt the warmth of her blood coursing through her. Something was different today, she realized. She didn't feel numb. She felt a sudden jerking motion in her stomach.

"What's that!" she yelped. Clasping her stomach, she felt it move beneath her hands. "Oh my god!"

"What's wrong?" he asked worriedly.

She laughed and took his hand and placed it over her stomach. He felt something try to kick his hand away. He pulled his hand back quickly.

"Bloody hell," he exclaimed, "what's wrong? Should I call a doctor?"

She started to laugh a bit hysterically.

"Buffy!" he cried, "Are you alright, love?"

"It's the baby, William. Your baby. Quite a fighter." She smiled at him.

His concern was replaced by a look of awe. He placed his lips against the soft skin of her stomach and said "Hello in there, would you calm down a bit?" He was rewarded with a small fist pushing up from within her and bumping his nose.

He pulled his head back and laughed, "Bleeding tyke is just like his mum, always punching and kicking me at the most inopportune moments."
 

* * * * *
 

They fell into a comfortable routine. Spike would sleep part of the day and awake to spend the afternoon with her. Slowly, inch by inch, they repaired and restored the house and garden back to what it used to be before he left.

They never spoke about where he'd been or where she'd allowed herself to fall. They just focused their energy on creating a home for themselves and their child. He refused to let her go out on patrol anymore. He took over those duties for her, but he never stayed out too long.

"You know just because I'm a bit bigger than before and have company," she patted her stomach, "doesn't mean I'm not still strong and dangerous," she said wistfully as she kissed Spike goodbye one night as he left for patrol. "I could come with you and watch, give you pointers."

"Already heard all your pointers, pet. Afraid I just might stake you if you give me another one."

He always felt a nagging worry when he left her alone. Sometimes he'd invite Clem over to sit with her while he was gone. Clem taught her the intricacies of kitten poker, but she refused to play for kittens. Instead she made him play for the ever growing collection of stuffed animals that Spike would occasionally bring home. Clem was particularly fond of a green frog and she'd often catch him cheating just to win it back from her.

As the months passed and the time neared for the baby's arrival, Spike stopped going out at all at night.

"Need to be here with you, just in case, you know, something unexpected happens."

She was getting quite grouchy.

"Pregnant here, been expecting something to happen for months. Now go out and get me some chocolate!"

Two nights later she woke up screaming. He jumped out of the bed ready to fight whoever was threatening her.

She stopped screaming as the pain subsided and opened her eyes and saw him standing in a fighting stance next to the bed.

"Why are you just standing there?" she yelled. "It's coming! Get me to the hospital!"

He drove cautiously, slowly to the hospital,

"Get moving, faster!" she yelled and as another contraction swept over her, she punched his arm.

"Ow!" he yelled. "You're quite the bitch tonight. It's not my bleeding fault, you know."

"You haven't seen anything yet, and yes, it 'bloody' well is your fault!" she moaned.

Spike stood nervously in the hospital corridor talking to the admittance nurse as another nurse wheeled Buffy into the delivery room.

"How are you doing?" the nurse asked him with a gentle smile. "Is she giving you a hard time?"

"Me, ah...well I'm doing fine, I guess, but she's turned into an absolute beast. Er...is that normal?"

"Absolutely." She laughed and patted him on the shoulder. "You're looking a little pale Can I get you some juice? Perhaps you'd like to sit down. Not going to faint on me are you?"