Chapter 12: November 2005
“I wonder how Spike is doing,” Wesley said, thinking out loud. Nika cast him an amused look over the kitchen table. He was actually relaxing for once, reading a new adventure novel while Nika read her mail. She had laughed the first time she’d seen him with a non-research book. He never read quite what she would expect him to—usually mass-market paperbacks with spies and gadgets, or murder mysteries.
Her reserved ex-Watcher read blow-em-up books; Spike read poetry. It seemed an oxymoron, but Nika had long since realized that they were two sides of the same coin, her guys.
“You sound like a mother hen,” she said. Wesley looked up sharply, trying to see whether she was teasing him. He could never tell any more. He’d so often been on the sharp side of someone’s tongue, it was hard to know whether such joking was meant in good fun or not. Slowly, but surely, he was coming to be comfortable with Nika and Spike’s good-natured snarking, but it was taking some time.
He smiled slightly, some of her humor reflecting in his eyes as well. “I suppose, but—”
“You worry,” she finished for him. Nika gave him her special smile, the one reserved only for Wesley, though he hardly knew it yet. “We all worry about each other Wesley; it’s what families do.” She went back to her mail, saying as she did so, “I’m sure Spike’s fine. From the letter Buffy sent him, she’s hardly planning on harming him.”
There was another long silence as they went back to their reading, the smells of the stew and fresh bread Nika had made filtering through the kitchen. It was a comfortable, domesticated scene, and if Wesley thought about it too hard, he could hardly believe that he was here.
Nika let slip a curse that had Wesley blinking and looking up. Even if he didn’t speak Welsh, he would have known what she was saying just from her tone of voice. “Love?”
She looked up, surprised at the endearment, and not fully aware that she had spoken aloud. When she realized that she had, a light flush lit her cheeks. “Sorry, Wesley.”
“Has something disturbed you?” he pressed.
Nika sighed. “Nain is coming to visit over Christmas.”
Wesley might have understood her outburst if it had been his parents. He hadn’t spoken to them since last Christmas, and was still debating over whether or not to call this year. On the other hand, he’d been under the impression that Nika and her grandmother got along quite well. “I thought you two were close.”
She repeated her sigh. “We are. It’s just that she has certain expectations which I haven’t yet fulfilled, and she’ll ask me why I haven’t.” Nika gave him a weak smile. “I’m the last, you see. Nain doesn’t have any other children or grandchildren, and she’s waiting for me to remarry and have babies.”
“I see,” Wesley said carefully, because he did. It wasn’t just his utter failure as a Watcher that disappointed his father; it was also his failure to marry an appropriate woman and carry on the family name. Of course, by the time he’d been of an age to attempt such a feat, he was of no mind to do things the way his father had. Nor had he any intention of forcing his progeny into the Council, whatever their surname. “Do you want children?”
This time her smile was infinitely sad. “Yes. Ever since I was very little, I had three goals in life: to be a midwife like nain, to marry, and to have children. It might be silly and old-fashioned, but that’s what I wanted. I managed the first two, but Danny and I wanted to wait for a few years before starting a family. When we tried to get pregnant, nothing happened.”
Nika got up, moving around briskly, as though to dispel the memories. “We went to specialists, human and demon, and they all told us the same thing. Danny couldn’t. Something to do with being a half-breed, you know?”
“So you couldn’t have children,” Wesley murmured, feeling a pang of sympathy.
“No, we couldn’t,” she replied, stirring the stew and checking on the bread, finally turning to look Wesley in the eye. “And since about a year after he died, nain‘s been asking when I was going to start dating again. She’s kind enough, but I know what she wants from me. To be honest, I’d love to give it to her, for both our sakes.”
Wesley stared at her. He wanted to ask if she’d ever consider a failed Watcher as husband and father material. Sitting in this kitchen, as he had so many times in the past, he almost believed it possible. Almost. “Would you—” He stopped, unwilling to put himself more at risk than he was already.
Nika looked at him with a searching gaze, her normally gentle eyes piercing. “Would I what, cariad?”
He shook his head, and she came to stand next to his chair, looking down into his troubled eyes. “What is it, Wesley?”
“I—I just thought we might—go out.”
The hesitancy in his voice told Nika everything she needed to know. She could see both the longing and the fear. “Who was she, Wesley?”
“Who was who?” he asked hoarsely.
“Who was the woman who convinced you that you couldn’t win? Who rejected you?” Nika stroked his face with a gentle hand, feeling the stubble like soft sandpaper. “Who made you think that I would say no?”
Wesley swallowed, hypnotized by her words and her gaze. “You and Spike—”
“Spike, as you will notice, is out with Buffy, and will forever be pining after her.” She ran a gentle hand through his hair. “Spike and I are like very close friends, or siblings. I always wanted a brother, you know. Though that idea throws a certain ‘ick-factor’ on our brief affair, as Dawn might say. My feelings for you are on a different plane entirely.” Nika sighed. “What was her name, Wesley? Let us once and for all exorcise this ghost you insist upon haunting you.”
He blinked. “Her name—her name was Fred. I—She’s with Gunn. After what happened, with Connor, she told me not to come back to the hotel.”
Nika kissed him. It was the first time their lips had touched, the first time she had so openly declared her affection for him. Taking Spike’s words to heart, she had decided that she would not wait on Wesley. When she pulled back from the kiss, she said quietly, but so intensely he could not doubt her, “She was daft. I choose you, Wesley. Just you.”
At her words, Wesley could feel long-open wounds healing. She salved his heart with her declaration. No one had ever chosen him before; even the Council, making the decision to appoint him as Faith’s Watcher, had bowed to his high marks and his father’s pressure. No one had ever marked him as their own—except perhaps Virginia, and she had not realized the cost. She had left because of it.
Nika not only knew, she had already paid the price.
Something inside him cracked open, broke, released. For a spectacular moment he felt utterly free. He felt special. Wesley had never really felt special before.
He guided her face back down to his, taking his time. There was no hurry—she had chosen him. Wesley thought she tasted both sweet and bitter, and he could feel both her urgency and her patience. Her motto and its meaning flitted through his mind, and he understood that they had all the time in the world, and no time at all. This woman played for keeps, because it was the only way she knew.
And she had chosen him.
The buzzer on the oven went off, finally bringing them back to reality. Nika pulled back, resting her forehead against his ever-so-briefly as she went to pull the bread out of the oven. “Are you still hungry?” she teased, a light in her eyes.
Wesley smiled in turn, and his stomach growled, answering her question. They both laughed, and Nika suddenly looked shy. “Are you—I mean, if you don’t want—”
“You’re what I want,” he replied quietly. Wesley wasn’t sure if he was jumping in too quickly or not, but he went ahead anyway. “I’ve been in love with you since that night we delivered the baby.”
Nika glared at him, going from sweet to angry in no time flat. “And you didn’t say anything!”
“I wasn’t sure you felt the same way,” he explained, defensiveness creeping in. “I thought—you and Spike…”
Nika rolled her eyes. “I know you knew better than that,” she replied. “Besides which, you could have died—”
She broke off, busying herself at the stove, and Wesley asked tentatively, “Are you certain you’re okay with this, Danika? I know that what I do is dangerous…”
“What you do makes a difference,” she said quietly. “What I do makes a difference too. I won’t tell you that I don’t worry, that I’m not scared nearly to death of losing you too, but I will not let that fear stop me from going forward. I fell in love with you, and part of you is your job.”
“It’s what I’m good at,” he explained.
Nika turned to smile at him, her eyes joyful and sad all at the same time. “No, Wesley. You’re good at a great many things. But this is what makes you happy, and I have no business denying you that.” She placed a plate of freshly baked bread on the table, pausing to touch his shoulder. “Please promise you will not take any chances that are unnecessary. I understand the necessary ones, but…”
“Do you think I’m anxious to leave you?” he replied, standing and pulling her into his arms. Wesley stood there for a moment, relishing the feel of her body pressed against his, her head buried in his shoulder, her arms around his waist. “Are you sure this is what you want?” Wesley asked wistfully after a few moments. “You could have anyone.”
“Which is why I want you,” she replied stubbornly. “Now, you need to eat.” Nika grinned up at him. “If things go well, you’ll need your energy later.”
~~~~~
“You’re what?” Spike asked, feeling as though he were choking on the words. “Who is he?” He thought he should have known. The demon in him had sensed the changes, but he’d refused to name them, lest by naming it he made it real. Buffy’s implications were obvious. Whoever the father was, he’d left her on her own. Wanker.
Buffy raised an eyebrow, looking amused at the shadow of jealousy that flared in his blue eyes. She felt a thrill of joy as she realized that not only was it jealousy, but anger—anger that this unknown man had gotten her pregnant and left. “I’m not going to give you his name just so you can go rip his throat out.”
He didn’t bother to deny that the impulse had been there. “Why are you tellin’ me this?”
“I don’t know, Spike,” Buffy admitted. “I just wanted you to know.”
Spike stood abruptly, and she was suddenly frightened that he was going to run off again—leave and never come back. This time, she would have no reason for searching him out. “Let’s walk.”
Buffy didn’t ask. She simply stood in one fluid motion and followed him out of the café. There was the flare of his lighter, and she could smell smoke as Spike lit a cigarette with practiced ease. Strolling along the street, Buffy had to keep biting her tongue. She wanted to beg, to demand, cajole and coax him into sharing his thoughts.
It was pointless, wrong even. She had lost any rights to him that night in the alley.
“Are you okay?” he asked eventually. His words floated out into the noise of L.A. after dark, and she could almost see them hanging in the light from the streetlamp.
“Huh?”
“Are you okay?” Spike repeated patiently. “Seein’ the doc, gettin’ all those pregnant-lady vitamins, all that.”
Buffy frowned. How the hell did he know what a pregnant woman needed? “Spike, what do you know about being pregnant?” she asked, careful to keep all emotion out of her tone.
Apparently, she wasn’t as successful as she might have liked to be, since she could see his lips quirk upward. “Nika’s a midwife. ‘ve picked up a bit, livin’ with her.”
“Oh.” Buffy desperately wanted to know what his relationship with this Nika person entailed, but again, she hadn’t the right. She was having another man’s baby.
“We’re not ‘together,'” Spike said softly, reading her mind, the expression on her face, the stiffness of her posture. “Just friends, is all. Like me an’ Dawn.”
“Oh,” Buffy said again, feeling incredibly lame for being unable to come up with something more interesting to say. “I’m so sorry, Spike,” she whispered, suddenly drowning in regret. She couldn’t seem to come up with anything else, circling around the night she’d hurt him like the moon around the earth. “God, I’m so sorry.”
She stood in the circle of the streetlight, and Spike turned to see her rigid form. Her eyes were wide and filled with tears. He was reminded suddenly, forcibly, of the night he’d come to kill her, shotgun in hand. It seemed that this night was a distant echo of that one.
Except that three years separated his humiliation in an alley and her tearful eyes this time, instead of mere hours. That, and he didn’t need a weapon to kill her anymore.
Spike didn’t allow himself to think about what he was doing. He’d gotten much better at comforting humans the past few years, gotten himself back into the habit of touching shoulders, speaking words with as much tact as truth. Now, ignoring the voice in his head that told him this was a bad idea, reminded him of where it would eventually lead, Spike took Buffy in his arms, allowing her to bury her face in his shoulder.
With her cradled gently in his embrace, her scent overwhelming his senses, Spike had no words for how he was feeling. Like he’d come home, maybe. Relieved. Angry that he was here again. Hopeful. Hopeless. When he felt her crying stop, Spike pulled back from her. “You alright, pet?”
It was perhaps the most innocuous of his nicknames for people. Spike used “pet” the way women from the south used “hon.” He wasn’t quite sure that Buffy got that, however.
She sniffled and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. She still didn’t carry around essentials like tissues, though she could be trusted not to leave the house without a stake. “Yeah, I think so. I’m sorry about that, Spike. It’s these hormones, I think. I didn’t want to cry on your shoulder.”
This time he took her assertion the way she meant it. Of course, Buffy never meant to break down in front of anyone. He wondered if she’d shown as much of herself to her friends and Watcher as she had to him. “‘s alright, really. What are you goin’ to do?”
Buffy knew what he was asking, and thought that it was odd. Out of all the people she knew, all the people she had told her secret, he was the first to ask that question, other than Dawn. Everyone else had assumed she would get rid of the baby, or they had advised her to do so. Even Giles, though she could hear the anguish and gravity in his voice, had wondered aloud if it wouldn’t be better to “take care of things now.”
Oh, of course, they had all pledged to support her once she told them she was keeping the baby. The Scoobies were nothing if not loyal to their own. But the unspoken question had been there: how could she hope to care for a baby when she was the Slayer, and barely able to take care of herself?
Spike was still watching her with that stolid, wary expression that gave no hint as to his feelings on the matter. He might have been a statue for all the movement he made. “I’m keeping the baby,” she replied, “but I don’t know if it will work out. I’m the Slayer, Spike. I might not even be alive in a couple years. Sometimes I wonder if having a baby wouldn’t be irresponsible.”
Nika’s face when she talked about having a child sprang to mind. “If this is what you want, luv, then you should do it. May not get another chance, an’ you’ve got friends to help.”
“Not like I used to,” she murmured, sighing. “Seriously, though, I had no plans on getting your shirt soggy. I mean, here I was going to give you a nice apology, a short update, and then leave you to your regularly scheduled unlife.”
Spike regarded her seriously. He had never been more unsure of what he wanted. “Is that what you wanted, Slayer? To come here and then leave again?”
“I have no clue.” Buffy went to lean against the building, out of the light so that darkness mostly hid her face and form. “What do you want?”
“No soddin’ clue.” After a moment of silence, Spike added, “I can’t leave Wes to his own devices though. We’re partners.”
“I understand,” Buffy said, and she really did. Of course, there was a huge part of her that wanted Spike to go down on one knee and declare himself her willing slave, but that voice was largely silent these days. Maybe she was growing up after all.
Spike went on. “I can’t go back to what we were.” It was a flat statement, no room for argument or debate. Buffy had no intention of arguing, however. The last few weeks, thinking about what had gone on between the two of them, she had come to the conclusion that if Spike hadn’t left, somebody would have ended up dead or dusted. He had been right to leave.
She hadn’t the strength to say it.
“I can’t either,” she replied. “I don’t—I’m not saying we ‘go back’ to anything.”
“Then what?”
“What do you want?”
Spike laughed, and there was real humor in the sound. “You. I wanted to get over you, but never made it.”
“Me neither,” Buffy confessed, feeling an attack of honesty coming on. “I mean, I told myself it didn’t matter, that you didn’t matter, but it was a lie.”
Spike smiled slightly, looking over at her through the darkness. “So where does that leave us, luv? I’m here in L.A., an’ I’m not leavin’. You’re there in Sunnydale, an’ you’re not leavin’. What’s the point of even startin’ somethin’ we can’t finish?”
“I don’t know,” Buffy replied, sighing. “I just—I don’t know, Spike. And to be perfectly honest, I’m feeling kinda anti-man right now.”
Now he did laugh, and it was a sound Buffy didn’t think she’d ever heard from him. It was free and easy and oh, so natural. She wished she were the one that had released it. “Good thing for you ‘m not a man, strictly speakin’.” Spike grinned at her, and then offered his arm. “Why don’t you walk home with me? You can meet Nika and Wes all proper-like.” It was the reason he’d chosen this particular café, though he’d hardly dared hope that their meeting would go so well.
She smiled in return, almost shyly. “I’d like that. Dawn’s told me so much about them, and I don’t feel that I hardly know Wesley anymore. I just wasn’t sure you’d actually want me to know where you lived.”
Spike’s smile softened, and he bent slightly to kiss her on the forehead in a kind of benediction. “Think I can trust you not to barge in at all hours,” he murmured.
They walked next to each other, and this time Buffy found the silence easy. “What happened to your leg?” she asked after a while, feeling his hitching gait through the hand she’d placed on his arm.
“Chip. When I got it out, I mean.” His eyes darkened with remembered days, wondering if he’d ever be able to really walk again. “Was a lot worse, once.”
“Then I’m glad it’s better,” Buffy replied.
Spike hesitated, wanting to ask the question, but not knowing if he wanted to hear the answer. “Why’d you change your mind, Buffy? Why write that letter at all?”
Her grip tightened on his arm, as though to reassure herself that he was still there, that he wasn’t running away. Everyone ran away. “Do you remember when I first came back, and I had all those nightmares?” she asked, a wistful note in her voice. At his nod, she continued. “You were the only one I could stand to be around. I told myself that it was wrong, that I should have wanted to be with my friends, but it wasn’t. Wrong, I mean.”
“‘m not sure I understand,” he said when she stopped.
Buffy smiled. “I don’t know that I understand. I just—if I hadn’t been uber-Bitch, you wouldn’t have left.”
Spike read between the lines, and he knew what she was saying. Everyone left, except Spike. He might have stayed, if she hadn’t chased him off. Spike just couldn’t believe that she was actually saying it, saying that she hadn’t wanted him to leave. “Uber-Bitch, huh?”
Rolling her eyes, Buffy shot him a look. “And no comments. I can admit it.”
They were on a residential street now, the small, neat houses lined up on a well-lit street. Buffy had forgotten places like this existed in L.A. Spike was looking thoughtful. “Dunno if this is a good idea,” he said suddenly, pausing. At first he had wondered if it wasn’t a bad plan because he had an inkling that they might be interrupting something between Nika and Wesley. Now, he was wondering because there was a black convertible parked in Nika’s driveway, and he was fairly certain he knew whose car it was.
“That’s Angel’s car,” Buffy said, confirming his suspicions. She looked over at Spike. “It’s up to you,” she said softly. “We don’t have to go in if you don’t want to.”
“What are you going to tell him if we do go in?” Spike asked, a challenge in his voice. He was suddenly touchy again, and Buffy knew she could make or break their fledgling connection with the wrong response.
She shrugged. “First of all, it’s none of his business where I am or what I’m doing. I’m not seeing Angel anymore. Second, I was out having a cup of coffee with you. That’s what I’m going to tell him.”
It wasn’t everything he’d hoped for, but it was enough for Spike. It was more than she’d ever told her friends. “Alright. Let’s make sure he’s not givin’ Wesley a hard time then.”
Spike walked through the door, Buffy just behind him, to see Angel seated awkwardly on the couch. Wesley was standing in a corner of the room, as far away from the other occupants as he could get, and Nika was looking annoyed and uncomfortable. “What’s goin’ on, Wesley?” Spike asked, addressing the one person he was worried for. Angel wouldn’t harm Nika, and she hadn’t the emotional scars from the other vampire that Wesley did.
“Angel came to say hello,” the ex-Watcher replied, his voice dull.
“Well, isn’t that nice?” Spike smirked.
Angel’s eye had caught Buffy. “Buffy? What are you doing here?”
“I was out with Spike,” she said, not bothering to qualify their night out with any kind of explanation. “What’s going on, Angel?”
He looked even more uncomfortable, if that were possible. “I just wanted to talk to Wes. Be sure he was—you know.”
It was obvious to everyone in the room that whatever attempts at reconciliation had been made, they were over. With the presence of Spike and Buffy, all privacy was gone, and Angel was unwilling to make a public apology, not in front of Spike. “Maybe we could talk some other time,” Angel suggested.
“If you’d like,” Wesley replied, managing to sound indifferent to the idea.
If Angel was taken aback by the man’s coolness, he gave no sign. “Buffy? Do you want a ride back to the hotel?”
“No, I think I’ll hang here for a while,” Buffy replied, sounding breezy and terribly unconcerned. Spike had to work to hide a smile; when the Slayer sounded that much like a dumb blonde, her brain was typically working over-time.
The big vampire hesitated, then nodded, mumbling a general good-bye before heading out the door. Wesley turned and looked at Nika as soon as he’d gone. “What did you do?”
“I bribed him,” she replied, unrepentant. “I’m sorry, Wesley, but I told you, I don’t want to lose you. If I can do anything to keep you safe, I will. This time, keeping you safe meant bribing Angel. Deal with it.”
Spike was sensing tension in the room, and he started to back off towards the kitchen, motioning Buffy to come along with him. “Oh, it’s quite alright, Spike,” Wesley said irritably. “You needn’t leave. I’m just going—”
“Where?” Nika asked. “Wesley—”
“Stop!” Spike didn’t often give orders. Even when he was in control, he wasn’t much on giving orders, preferring instead to let the chips fall where they might. Fists, fangs, and sod all else. But this situation was a little different. “Nika, what exactly did you do?”
“I anchored Angel’s soul in return for him not coming after Wesley,” she replied, still not sorry. “I was going to tell him, but we got—busy.”
Spike could just imagine. “You really have a problem with that, Watcher?”
“No, of course not, it’s just…” The man trailed off, coming over to sit down on the couch. Spike could see the self-righteousness drain out of him. “It’s not Nika I’m upset with,” he mumbled into his hands. “Angel interrupted us.”
Spike could understand that feeling all too well. “Then we’ll let you get back to it,” he said. “I just thought I’d show Buffy my place.” This was all said with a studied non-chalance that had the Slayer hiding a smile. That, and the thought of Wesley having a moment with anyone. She still remembered the horribly starched young Watcher who had screwed things up so badly. This Wesley, on the other hand, was slightly rumpled, stubbled, and could probably give Spike a run for his money on the attractiveness scale.
He was older, and more scarred, and obviously had just had old wounds reopened by Angel’s presence. And the way Nika was looking at him, it was apparent that she was exactly what he needed right now. “It was good to see both of you again,” she said, a little uncertainly.
Wesley glanced up at her, and Nika’s eyes met hers for a moment. There was a flash of understanding, woman-to-woman, and Buffy nodded in response to the unspoken question. “You ought to come over sometime for dinner,” Nika suggested softly. “It would be nice for all of us to reconnect.”
“Sure, next time I’m in L.A.” Buffy turned and followed Spike into the kitchen, looking back to see that Nika was now sitting next to Wesley on the couch, pulling him into her arms. She was taking care of him.
“‘s down here,” Spike explained, flipping the stairwell light on, waiting for Buffy to precede him down the stairs.
Whatever Buffy had expected, this wasn’t it. That seemed to be the theme of the evening. Nothing was as she had thought. “This is nice, Spike.” She tried to keep the surprise out of her tone, and apparently was successful, because he simply smiled.
“Nicer than the crypt for sure,” he agreed. Spike hesitated. “If you want to stay, couch folds out.”
Buffy wasn’t sure that was a good idea. Was it moving to fast? Did it matter that whatever she might have said to him, she still wanted him? Standing in this basement apartment, with its neat décor and decent furnishings, she wondered if she’d ever really known him at all. Had Spike always been capable of this—living in an actual house, making friends, becoming a part of something? It drove home how much she might have missed out on.
“Can we talk?” she asked, suddenly uncertain. “I mean, can you just tell me what you’ve been doing? What demon did you fight last week? Do you like living here? Are you—” she faltered. “Are you happy?”
“Happy as I can be,” Spike replied, answering her last question first. “An’ we can talk, about whatever you like.”
Buffy swallowed. “Then I want to talk about you.” Taking a tentative step closer, she whispered, “I want to know who you are, because I’m not sure I recognize the man in front of me.”
“That’s because I’m a vampire,” he replied, trying for humor.
She shook her head. “No, that’s what I thought too. That’s why I don’t recognize the man that’s with me now.”
“I know I’m a monster, but you treat me like a man, and that’s—” The words seemed to echo in the silence they had created.
Spike sank down onto the couch, waiting until Buffy sat down next to him. “It took me a few weeks to find a doctor who’d take the chip out,” he began, telling her everything. And they talked all night.