Epilogue
Alone in the cemetery, a man stood in the light rain, seemingly oblivious to the moisture seeping into his platinum hair. Eyes the color of the sky in summer looked down at the hard granite tombstone. One, long stemmed white rose dangled loosely in his hand.
With a sigh, he knelt and pulled out the few weeds that had dared spring up through the grass covering her. He then traced one long finger over the ornate lettering, before kissing the rose and laying it along the top of the stone. A smile curved his lips when he heard the soft footsteps behind him. Turning his head, he watched the dark haired girl come up behind him.
“Hey.” she said softly, resting her hand on his leather clad shoulder.
“Hello, luv.” he returned, standing to wrap and arm around her slender waist. She sighed, hugging him back, and resting her cheek against his chest.
“I miss her.” she whispered, feeling the sting of sadness that always hovered just under the surface. She smiled when she felt his light kiss on the top of her head.
“Me too.” Spike felt a tear slide down his cheek, as he pictured her in his head. Kind and beautiful, she touched everything around her with her essence.
“Why do you come here by yourself? I would come. So would mum.” She asked, looking up at him.
“Just like a little quiet time with her sometimes, li’l bit.” He told her, gazing down into the pure azure eyes of his daughter. He reached up to brush the rain away from her cheeks, awe filling him once again that such a beautiful creature was his.
It was six months after the trial and mutiny of the Watcher’s Council, that Buffy had found out that she was pregnant. It had thrown them all into a tailspin, since vampires weren’t supposed to be able to have children. Giles had retreated to his books, finding a prophesy almost immediately. Apparently, two children borne of vampires would band together and unite the demon and human worlds for good. The second child confused the hell out of them, until the day that Angel showed up, holding his son Connor.
Fear had then taken over Spike, when the circumstances around Connor’s birth had been revealed. The fact that Darla had been resurrected and revamped was the least of the staggering news. The worst part was when Angel revealed that she’d dusted herself to deliver, since her undead body didn’t know what to do. Taking the baby had been out of the question, since a protective barrier had developed around her stomach.
Giles immediately called the Watcher’s Council, and Philip, the new Council head, had been more than happy to help. He had contacted the monks once more, and asked if they knew of a spell that could either allow Buffy to have a natural birth, or eliminate the barrier so the baby could be taken surgically. Meanwhile, Joyce and Spike dealt with the demands of a pregnant Slayer Vampire. Spike found out that he would rather cope with a thousand apocalypses, than one, tiny, pregnant, hormonal undead vampire Slayer.
His fear increased everyday as her due date approached. He wanted this baby, the proof of his love for Buffy. But, he didn’t know how he would live without the woman who had changed his life.
Philip had come through, calling with the spell just as Buffy’s labor started. Willow and Giles recited the spell to lift the barrier so the tiny, red faced girl could be delivered by C-section. And in the waning hours between night and day, their daughter let out her first hoarse wails into the air. Tears of joy filled all the eyes in the room, as the demon doctor handed Buffy the squalling infant. Joyce was beside herself with happiness, having believed that her chances of being a grandmother were gone. She looked on from the side of the bed as Buffy snuggled onto Spike’s chest, her fully human child cradled in her arms. Spike held tightly to his two girls, Joyce’s joy surpassed only by the parents on the bed. In reverence to the time of day that she was born, they named her Dawn.
“Mum’s wondering where you are.” Dawn said, looking back at the headstone.
“S’that why she sent you and not Rupert?” he asked, chuckling. She nodded, her own smile spreading wide across her face.
“Yeah. She knows you and Grandpa and your oh so stoic British mannerisms. He would have brought a flask so that the two of you could drink a toast to Gram. Then, mum would find you both here, after sundown, snookered off your arses.” One dark brow shot up at her use of the curse word, but he didn’t scold her. He knew she was right. Giles had been devastated when Joyce had passed five years before.
And, more often then not, he and Spike would get together and talk about her over a pint. Or two.
Luckily, Dawn and the children of the other Scoobies had helped. All of them. Joyce had been the mother that Xander and Willow had never had. And she had replaced Spike’s dear old mum as well. It saddened him to realize that he had buried two mothers, each before their time. His own mother had died from consumption the year before he was turned. He knew that they were in a better place, watching them.
“Do you think she’s watching us?” Dawn asked, raising her eyes towards the sky. Spike smiled that her words mirrored his own thoughts. He tightened his arm around her shoulders, and followed her gaze.
“Yeah. And, if I know Joyce, she’s telling us exactly what we’re doing wrong.” They both laughed at that, allowing the image of the bright, happy woman to dispel the last of their sadness.
“Come on, mum’s having a fit. Angel and Cordelia are due in with wonder dork any time now.” Spike snorted at that as he let her pull him away from the grave.
“How the two of you are supposed to unite the demons and humans when you can’t stand to be in the same room together is beyond me.”
“He’s just such a dork.” She whined, feeling the blush that her father would notice creep up her cheeks.
“Uh, huh. Me thinks the lady doth protest too much.” He told her with a knowing look. She rolled her eyes, then a mischievous smile brightened her face. Pushing his arm off her shoulders, she took off at a run.
“Race you home!” she called over her shoulder. Spike gave her a brief head start, then took off with a laugh.
“When will you and your mother learn that neither of you can beat me?” he called after her, closing the distance. Waving a mental goodbye to his mother-in-law, Spike set an easy pace behind his daughter. Her laughter taunted him as they raced through the rain drenched day, the image of the woman they both loved watching them from her grave. She turned her head and shared a smile with the dark haired woman in a Victorian dress next to her. As they watched the race, their figures faded, until all that was left was the slight smell of vanilla and roses.
~*THE END*~