Days in the Sun
September 9th, 2012 - England (1)
Curious, Lisa looked over her birth certificate once more as she walked, oblivious to the loud chatting of her peers all around her. It was the first time she saw the document, and two words had caught up her attention immediately. London, England. She had never set foot outside of California, but apparently, she had been born overseas. Peculiar, to say the least. Dutifully, she folded the piece of paper again, slid it back in the envelope and directed her steps toward the school office, which had requested the certificate. The secretary made a few comments as she photocopied the piece of paper, about how she had always wanted to visit Europe and especially London, and Lisa left the office with a muffled ‘me too’.
Because she had to stop by her locker, she was barely in time for homeroom, and sat down without the usual greetings she normally shared with her friends. Opening her Social Studies book, she found a map of the world and absently traced the form of England on the page with her finger. Until an hour ago, it had never been more than a name, a distant place where her uncle Giles lived, where she knew her father had once breathed. Frowning, she wondered how she knew that. When had she been told that, exactly? Or was it bits of overheard information she had gathered and created sense from?
“You’re looking downright gloomy, girl,” her friend Maggie said as she leaned over Lisa’s shoulder. “What’s going on?”
“Not gloomy,” Lisa replied as she closed the book. “Just thinking.”
“Thinking about what?”
Shrugging, Lisa turned in her chair to see her friend. “I was born in England.”
No reaction. Maggie simply looked at her as if she was stating the obvious.
“I didn’t know until today,” she insisted.
Maggie snickered. “Have you ever listened to your father talk? He didn’t pick up that accent in California. Not so surprising that you would have been born there too; it’s probably where your parents met. Didn’t you ever ask them?”
The bell ringing prevented Lisa from admitting that no, she had never asked them. Never felt like it was necessary. Her mom was a Vampire Slayer, her dad a Vampire, and how they had met had always seemed obvious to her. They must have started as enemies, fought, then she just knew that her Dad must have fallen in love with her mom first, like in this story he used to read to her when she was a kid, and then love had changed him from a Big Bad vamp to a wonderful husband and father.
Apparently, if a trip to England had been part of the equation, it might have been a bit more complicated.
All day long, she went from class to class and thought about it. Wondered how they had met. How they had ended – started? – in London. In what circumstances she had been born there. Whether Will had been born there too. Why they lived in Sunnydale now. She couldn’t wait to get home and get answers.
Snuggling with Spike on the couch, Buffy barely paid attention to what was happening on the TV. Instead, she focused on his arm around her waist and his thumb drawing light circles where it had sneaked under the cotton of her t-shirt, or on the so light, so easy to miss purr that she felt against her back rather than heard.
Dinner was simmering on the stove. The kids were upstairs and supposedly doing their homework; and being here with her love, with nothing to do or think of after a too long day, was incredibly soothing. She wished she had been able to purr too. Or growl when the peace was broken. Instead, she smiled at her evidently pensive eldest where she sat on the floor in front of them and asked her what was going on.
“Was I really born in London?” Lisa asked, large blue eyes filled with wonder.
In a flash, it all came back to Buffy. Spike’s and her captivity, her pregnancy, their escape, a sweet child choosing to be born in an old and dusty house, the quiet months that had followed… The arm around her waist tightened, and she instinctively knew Spike’s thoughts had followed the same path as hers.
“Yes you were, luv,” he answered. “How did you find out?”
“The birth certificate,” Buffy answered for their child, and Lisa nodded.
“Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
A question Buffy had no answer for, and she suspected, as the silence lasted until Lisa began fidgeting, that neither did Spike.
“It honestly never crossed my mind,” she finally replied, smiling apologetically. “It didn’t seem very important. Is it important for you?”
Lisa seemed to think about that for a few seconds, and finally nodded slowly.
“Yes, it is important. I don’t know why but… it just is. So, why was I born there? And what about Will?”
Buffy had talked about this with Spike before, about whether to tell their children how they had been brought together, about the Prophecy. They had agreed that the Prophecy was probably too much to tell them until they were adults. But the rest wasn’t as clear.
“Will was born here,” Spike answered quietly. “And you… Well, your mum and I fell in love while we were staying in England for a while. We were there long enough for you to come into the world there.”
The teen leaned forward a little, obviously captivated by what she was hearing.
“What were you both doing in England?”
“The Council sent us there for a while.”
Inwardly, Buffy could only admire the easiness of her love’s answer. And he wasn’t even lying. Not saying the whole truth, but not lying.
“Could we visit some day?”
That question was a bit trickier. Spike hated flying, and Buffy knew that quite well. He was afraid, and she couldn’t blame him with the stray bits of lights and glass concourses. She had questioned that fear once, compared it to the risks he took when he drove. He had been very convincing in demonstrating that it was completely different. Driving a car he had sun proofed himself was light-years from traveling in a plane with other people who could open the windows shutters at any moment. He had braved the ordeal when coming back to California, but made it clear that he wasn’t in any rush to try the experience again.
“Maybe you could visit your uncle Giles next summer,” Buffy suggested at last. “We’d have to see if it’s alright with him, but he could show you London.”
Spike’s answer was a kiss pressed to the top of her head; Lisa’s a bright smile.
“Of course I’ll be happy to have her here, Buffy. The house is large enough for all of you to come, if you wish.”
Buffy turned to him, not saying a word but the question was plain on her face; and Spike suppressed the sigh he felt coming forth. He would have liked to say yes, it would have been nice for the five of them to take a little trip together, but London felt a little excessive. Something closer would have worked just as well for him. Something that didn’t involve planes.
He didn’t answer, yet Buffy seemed to understand, smiling at him even as she declined her Watcher’s offer. Some more talk, early planning even though they had time until the next summer and Lisa’s little trip, and the phone was down and his Slayer in his arms.
It had all started in London. In London he had lived and died, been reborn and slaughtered, told Buffy he loved her and been loved by her. But here, in Sunnydale, on the Hellmouth, she had finally told him she loved him too, had married him, spent more than ten years with him, so little time for him, and yet so much for her. Here, he had found happiness and never wanted to let it go again.
The characters and names used in these stories do not belong to me. All copyrights remain with Fox and Mutant Enemy. No profit is made from this fanfiction.