Days in the Sun
June 21st, 2007 – Tiny
Tiny fingers wrapped around his index, and Spike took an involuntary breath. He remembered the exact moment when Lisa had first done this, what seemed like an eternity ago in that old, dusty London house. He remembered when Will had first done it too, in this same room, mere minutes after he had been born. And he knew he would always remember this instant, his youngest daughter’s small fist curled around his finger, her baby blue eyes blinking lazily, her tiny mouth opening in a mewling yawn.
Joyce Anne Summers. They had chosen her name only hours before. Or rather, he had suggested it, and Buffy had shed a tear and agreed after a nice hug. Maybe, one day, he’d tell her what the double name meant to him exactly. Maybe. In any case, almost as soon as they had agreed on her name, Joyce Anne had decided to be born, as if she had only been waiting for them to choose.
Third time around, they should have been used to it by now, shouldn’t they? Yet, it had been as scary, as exciting, and as wonderful as the other times. The midwife had arrived too late for the main event; and Spike couldn’t help being glad about it. Just the two of them was how it had been before, how it should be now and for always. The two of them, and the lives they had created together.
He had cleaned his daughter while the midwife had taken care of Buffy; now the woman was gone, and he was back in the bed with their child cradled between them and Buffy asleep with a small smile on her lips.
Quietly, oh so quietly, he sang an old lullaby to the newborn, welcoming her into the world and into their lives, promising her all the love they had to offer and more.
Tiny footsteps distracted him, and he raised his head to see Lisa walk in, her nightgown almost touching the floor. She held a teddy bear against her and rubbed her eyes with her free hand.
“Daddy? Is baby here?”
“Yes luv, she’s here,” he murmured. “Do you want to see her?”
Lisa nodded and came closer, climbing on the bed with Spike’s help. She peered over Spike at the tiny bundle for a long time, and then announced with utter seriousness:
“She’s small. She needs to eat more vegetables.”
Spike chuckled and leaned up to kiss her forehead.
“She’ll grow up, baby. Just like you did.”
Too fast, he wanted to add. Too soon, they’d grow up, go to school, have friends, boyfriends and girlfriends, have a first job, go to college, become adult, leave the house, live their own lives. Too fast, he would be alone.
He pushed the thought away, and concentrated on his three ladies, immensely content when, by morning, William had joined them and found a spot in the now crowded bed to return to sleep for a little longer.
Even as he tried to push the idea away, he knew that one day, they would be gone. The only comforting thought was that, even then, he would still have the memories of tiny fingers curled around his.
Buffy awoke to the mewling protests of her new baby daughter. Old reflexes took over, and without a second thought, she unbuttoned the shirt Spike had slipped on her late in the night – one of his shirts; he knew all too well how much she liked wearing them. A simple shift and the hungry child was cradled to her breast; a bit of discovery, a little fumbling, and Joyce Anne – Joy, Buffy had already decided she would nickname her – was feeding.
Only then did she become aware of the extra bodies in the bed. Spike was there, of course, eyes shut but more than likely awake. By his side, her cheek against his chest, which explained why he wasn’t moving, Lisa was asleep. Between them, his feet against Buffy’s legs and his head pillowed against Spike’s thigh, their little boy was also sleeping.
Buffy had no clue when Will and his sister had walked in, but it was certainly very nice. To have all of the family here, cuddled together to welcome Joy… More than fitting.
Carefully, she reached out to caress Spike’s cheek, and his eyes opened lazily.
“Morning, luv,” he practically purred, smiling. “Feeling alright?”
She took a second to make a quick inventory of her body. Sore, yes, but not overly so. Slayer healing was the most wonderful thing.
“Fine,” she murmured. “How about you?”
His smile widened, and it was answer enough.
She had suspected it would come, but even so, she had no warning before tiny fangs pierced her flesh, and she couldn’t repress a gasp. The pain was minimal, but always a surprise.
“Back to bottles, then, are we?” Spike commented too quietly for her to hear any expression in his voice.
“Apparently,” she replied with a soft smile, wondering what he was thinking.
The pump was ready, as were the bottles, and there was, of course, blood in the fridge. Buffy remembered the first time she had seen Lisa vamp out, how scared she had been, how determined not to let her feed on anything more than milk. Not even seven years had passed, but many things had changed. The idea that her child would have a few mouthfuls of blood every day in addition to her milk wasn’t as strange – as frightening – as it had once been.
Already, Joy was asleep again. As carefully as she could, Buffy slid closer to Spike, mindful not to wake anyone. With the baby cradled to her chest, she tucked her head under his chin and drifted into sweet dreams to the soothing murmur of his purr.
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.