16. The night we went to Shane’s condo
Before either Spike or I could answer Shane’s questions, the manager of the Indian restaurant, a lean middle-aged man with a balding head, tentatively poked his head out from the kitchen. I could tell he was trying to sound unafraid and confident because his words were slow and measured. “I’m afraid we’re closing the restaurant early.”
Spike slipped back into his human face. “Right.”
The man nodded his head. “Thank you for understanding.” He motioned with his arm behind him, and the nervous-looking hostess peeked at them. “Avani has your food to go.”
They were still cooking even while we were destroying their restaurant? That was dedication. “Oh, no. That’s okay,” I said with an apologetic tone in my voice.
“No, no. We insist.” The manager nudged Avani forward. She silently held up two bags to me while the manager explained, “These are the two orders of curry, and this is the tikka marsala and some naan.”
“Thank you.” Guess I was trying Indian food after all. I looped my hands in the plastic handles as Spike reached for his wallet.
The manager caught Spike’s move and shook his head. “No, sir. On the house.”
“But why?” I asked, tilting my head in curiosity.
The man looked me right in the eye, his dark eyes serious. “Because the vetala keep coming back and disrupting my business and many businesses in our city. That one that you. . .” He trailed off as some emotion overtook him. He brought his hand to his mouth until he could say, “He killed my sister. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” I said with solemnity.
A less than five-minute drive later, Spike and I were climbing the blue-carpeted steps to Shane’s condo. Spike’s cousin hadn’t said a word during our brief exchange with the restaurant manager, but he’d accepted the food from me, and he’d slowed his vehicle for us to follow him as he drove out of the parking lot.
Shane unlocked the door and entered his home, setting the bags of food to the side and turning to us. He gave Spike a hard look. “I can tell that we’re related, but bloody hell, man, I have to ask you to stay on the other side of that threshold. I have – ”
A young girl’s voice sang out, “Hey, Dad! You’re home! I need help with my essay for – ” The girl, who appeared to be about ten-years-old, peered into the dimly-lit foyer. With one hand, she swept her dark curls off her forehead and blinked green eyes at Spike and me. “Hey, that guy looks just like you! Is he like your long-lost brother or something?”
Shane gritted his teeth, an expression so familiar that goosebumps popped up on my arms. “Charlotte, I need you to go to your room right now. Close the door and stay there.”
Her eyes blazed in defiance. “But – ”
She glanced at me, and I smiled. “It’s okay. We’re not here to do anything to you or your dad. But he’s right. You probably should go just for now.”
Charlotte studied me and then Spike, probably trying to determine if her father was going to be okay with us. Then, she said, “Okay. I’ll be nearby if you need me.”
“Thanks, Char.” Shane pulled his daughter in for a hug.
When she bounded away, her wise-beyond-her-years talk replaced by child-like energy, Shane tried to invite me further inside, but I shook my head. “I’m worried about leaving Spike alone. More of them could have followed us here, and I. . .” How did I explain how I couldn’t lose Spike? How my heart would be smashed if he were killed while I was trying to explain our situation to his relative? “They could dust him.”
Spike didn’t say a word, not even to protest that he could handle himself; I knew he was waiting for Shane’s response.
Shane was silent for what felt like forever but was probably only a handful of seconds. “Is that what you call what you did to those vampires?”
I nodded and bit my lip. The healing wound on my thigh protested all the standing, but I hid the pain.
He continued, “And you think more will follow you here?”
“Yes. Spike and I. . . we’re going to stay until my friend sends reinforcements. Norfolk seems to have a very big vampire problem or at least one that’s been following us around since we got here. There are more people. . . women like me who can help. We just didn’t have anyone assigned here before.”
“I knew about the mysterious deaths. It’s been all over the news for the last few months, so the problem predated your arrival,” Shane admitted. “I-I’m surprised but not surprised at the same time. Are all Slayers women?”
I nodded. “And girls. I was fifteen when I was called. . . when I became a Slayer. There used to be only one Slayer at a time, but now, there are many all over the world.”
“Fifteen? That’s. . . Charlotte’s eleven.”
“I was young, but slaying makes you grow up fast.” I suddenly realized what he was worried about. “Oh, no. We. . . well, there won’t be more since my colleagues and I. . . well, suffice it to say, your daughter won’t be a Slayer.”
Shane breathed a sigh of relief. Then, seeing that I wasn’t moving away from Spike, Shane regarded the vampire behind me. “So, your name isn’t William? It’s Spike? And you’re a vampire.” The last words were a statement and not a question. “And your girlfriend. . . wife? She’s a. . . ?”
“Vampire Slayer,” Spike said softly.
Shane relaxed a fraction and seemed to be trying to put all the pieces together. “Why are you together? It seems like she should be trying to kill you. Though judging from the fight I just witnessed, you’re on her side – killing other vampires?”
“It’s a long story, but the short of it is that I fell in love with her.” Well, that was the simplest summary of our complicated romance I’d ever heard.
“He’s very different than most vampires,” I added. I yearned to touch him, but I didn’t move. “We’ve been through a lot. Maybe more than you can imagine, and we’re,” I smiled over my shoulder at him, and he cocked his head sweetly at me, “we’re settled. Happy.”
“What? You both hold down nine-to-five jobs and pay a mortgage? Drive a sedan? Kill vampires on your nights off?” Shane smirked and half-joked. Then, a dreamy expression crossed over his face. “Though as a lover of literature, I can appreciate the beautiful irony of a romance between mortal enemies.”
I grinned. Maybe Spike wasn’t the only one in the family with the ability to be succinct. “Uh huh.”
“Something like that, mate,” Spike agreed, leaning against the door frame. “I wouldn’t trade anything for what we have. It’s not perfect, but it’s perfect for me.” My heart melted a little.
Shane crossed his arms and emulated Spike’s leaning – only against the small front table. I couldn’t get over how even the smallest mannerisms were similar. “So obviously, you didn’t find me on ancestry.com, and you’re here for a reason other than connecting with distant relatives.”
“Right,” Spike agreed.
“So why are you here? I mean, I’m just an English professor at a modest-sized public university in a town with not even a quarter of a million people. I’m not fighting vampires or – and this is me assuming – other evil forces in the world. I’m just trying to raise my daughter and have a quiet life.”
“And we want you to continue having that life,” I reassured him. “We’re not here to pull you into something as big as fighting supernatural forces. It seems like you have enough on your plate raising your daughter alone. I know what that’s like. My mom was a single parent.”
“You have to do all the worrying of both parents and hope nothing slips through the cracks.” Shane’s eyes misted over. “Charlotte’s mum had cancer. She passed two years ago. She. . . we had what you have.”
“I’m so sorry.” I briefly touched his shoulder with compassion. Because he looked so much like Spike, it was easy to feel for him even though I barely knew him.
Shane shook his head like he was trying to shrug off the emotions. “You said there is a Slayer in Baltimore?”
“And one in DC,” I said. “Why?”
“Well,” he sighed, “I guess you two should come inside and shut the door. It’s going to be at least three or four hours until someone gets here even if they left shortly after you texted your friend. No use standing in the doorway the whole time.” He paused, seemingly to emphasize his next words, “But only if you tell me the truth about why you’re here. The unedited version.”
With those words, Spike stepped inside and slipped his hand in mine. A weight lifted off my shoulders. “Thanks, mate.”
“We will tell you anything you’d like to know.” I squeezed Spike’s hand, and he returned the gesture. My stomach growled, informing me of the need for nutrients. “As long as we can have some of that Indian food while we talk.”
17. The night we got stuck in the Baltimore airport again
“S’pose it was a long shot anyway, pet.” Spike took a swig of his beer.
Spike and I were stuck in the Baltimore airport again – this time because of storms over New Orleans. The only bar open late was Obrycki’s, and we both decided we needed a drink. Since we lived in New Orleans, I’d learned to at least fake a passing enjoyment of alcohol because it was such an ingrained part of the culture there, so I was sipping a citrus cosmopolitan.
“I guess you’re right.” I stared at the wood grain on the bar where I was leaning, my legs swinging free. Sucked being short at a bar sometimes. “Which part do you think made him say no? The first set of vampires we dusted in front of him while demolishing his favorite Indian restaurant or the second set that waited outside his home for us?” The arrival of Kathleen, the DC Slayer, had ferreted more vampires out of hiding, and Spike and I had joined her in a second impromptu slayage fest.
Spike took another drink. “Nope. I think it was the fact that his hundred-and-fifty-something-year-old cousin showed up on his doorstep after lying about caring a fig about family trees or some such rot.”
“Maybe it was a combo of things?” I suggested without much gusto, taking a taste of my cocktail. I wrinkled my nose a little. At least, it was fruity.
Spike’s fingers ran over the small of my back to my hip, and he leaned over and kissed my temple. “You’re still cute when you do that.”
I leaned into his touch. “Thanks.” My despondency at a mission failed was heavy in my tone.
“Don’t be so sad, love. We still have each other,” he said, obviously trying to fix it.
Fingering the damp cocktail napkin underneath my glass, my eyes welled with tears. “Yeah.”
“Oh, with the enthusiasm,” he teased, still trying to lighten my mood.
“I wanted this with you.” I closed my eyes and willed the tears to slip back into my skull. It was a major fail as one lone drop escaped. “So much. And I think I got my hopes up.”
Spike grabbed hold of my stool and pulled me closer so our thighs were touching. He hugged me close and I laid my head against him. “I know you did, love. I wanted it, too.” He sighed and shifted a little, so I knew he had something else to say, some insecurity that was coming up for him, probably because we’d just rehashed our history to Shane. So, I wasn’t completely surprised when he asked, “Seeing Shane with his daughter. . . do you wish that you were with someone who– ”
“No! God, no. I’m with you.” I ran my hand possessively over his leg. “I didn’t always know it, but it’s always been you that I was meant to be with. Just had to get through all the other. . . stuff to figure it out.” I tilted my head up to him. “I love you for so many reasons but most of all. . .” I trailed off and thought for a moment. “You want me for me, right?”
He lifted an eyebrow at me. “I do.”
“Well, I want you for you.” I pulled his head down just slightly with my free hand and kissed him.
Right about that time, his cell rang, interrupting our tenderness. I couldn’t see who was calling, but Spike sat up straight and answered, “’Lo?”
I emulated Spike’s movement and watched his face, searching for a hint of who could be calling him in the middle of the night. Spike, usually the most expressive person I knew, was giving me nothing as he stared straight ahead and listened without making a sound. Then, he glanced at me and said, “She’s here.” He held the phone away from his ear. “Shane wants to talk with you.”
“O-okay.” I accepted the phone from Spike. “Hello?”
Shane’s voice was calm and clear – as calm as he sounded when he told us that he did not feel comfortable being our sperm donor. “I wanted to talk with just you. Do you. . . can you move away from my cousin?” I made a confused face at Spike. Then, Shane said, “I remember what you said about vampire hearing.” He’d been listening.
I made eye contact with Spike, and he stroked my cheek to give me permission. “All right.” I hopped off the stool and took a big swig of my cosmo, making a rather large face right after and turning toward the exit as Spike chuckled. It wasn’t enough to get me drunk, but I was able to focus on the warm sensation of the alcohol sliding down my throat. It felt good. “Give me a minute.”
Ambling toward a row of empty seats outside of the bar, I stepped over a man who was sleeping on the floor with a magazine over his face, passed the bathrooms where a tired-looking mother and daughter were hurrying out, and aimed for the only other open amenity – the coffee shop just beyond a pair of closed souvenir and snack stores.
When I believed that I was far enough away, I paused close to the wall by the mounted box that held the AED machine and said, “Okay. He can’t hear us.”
Shane launched into an opening that he’d probably been thinking about, “Thank you for appeasing me. I realize it’s only been twenty-four hours, but I’ve been doing a lot of thinking during those hours. It seems my daughter also listened in on our whole conversation despite me explicitly telling her to stay in her room.”
“You’re raising a strong young lady,” I said approvingly.
“Let’s hope so. Lord knows I don’t know what I’m doing half the time, and who knows what I’m going to do when she starts her menstrual cycle or wants to date.” Shane’s laugh was soft and low.
I found myself reassuring him. “Just the fact that you can reference a girl having her period in casual conversation with someone you just met means that you’ll be just fine.”
“In any case, Charlie urged me to call you.” I liked the nicknames he had for his daughter: Char, Charlie, and once Lottie. “After you left, we both slept, and the next morning over breakfast, she asked me why I said no to your request. She doesn’t understand all the details of how babies are made, much less the process you described with fertility treatments, and I don’t even think she knew exactly what she was asking.” He took a breath. “But her question gave me pause. She knows me. I tend to have an initial emotional reaction and think through things later.”
I was having trouble following, partly because I was in desperate need of sleep and partly because I probably shouldn’t have had that last big swig of alcohol. I slid along the wall until I was sitting, my knees bent and my free arm tucked against my belly. Better. “Okay. So, did it make you to want to talk with me without Spike?”
“I think after I thought about everything you both told me, the one hang up I had with the whole thing was you.” His words were earnest and kind, but still, I was surprised.
“Me?” I frowned, trying to think what he could possibly be talking about and coming up empty. “What about me?”
He was silent for a moment, and I guessed maybe he’d gotten to the end of his organized thoughts. When I was about to check the phone to see if we’d gotten disconnected, he said, “William. . . Spike, while he’s a vampire, he’s also my family. I mean, you just have to look at us to know. I can hardly believe we’re distant cousins. The resemblance is so uncanny. Even Charlotte saw it straight away.”
“It is pretty striking,” I acknowledged.
“Yes. I actually called my grandmother who still lives overseas, and she verified that we do have a relative from the 1800s named William who disappeared at about my age.”
“What does this have to do with me?” I played with the outer seam of my jeans where it bunched around my knee, bending the denim back and forth.
He was quiet again. Then, “I’m a romantic at heart. Always have been. It’s part of the reason I chose my profession; it’s part of the reason I married my wife. But reality is somewhat different than romance as recent life experiences have taught me, and I, well, I want to know what your intentions are.”
I was a bit gob-smacked. “With Spike?” He made it sound like I was courting Spike and needed his blessing.
“Yes. Beauty and the beast is all fine for fairy tales and other literary stories, but in the real world, those types of relationships do not last, and if I chose to help you, I want to make certain that you both, but particularly you, are committed.”
I almost laughed, but then, I didn’t. Maybe it was related to how tired I was, but I didn’t react with the first thing that came to mind. Putting myself in Shane’s shoes, his concern made sense. He’d heard our unedited story. There were times that I was particularly horrible to Spike. I’d question me, too, even though the badness happened years ago now. The second thing that came to mind, I did blurt out. “Spike isn’t a beast or a monster.” Shane waited for me despite my next pause. “You want to know why I love him. . . why I’m committed to him?”
Shane’s reply was simple, “Yes. You are a beautiful, young woman. You could choose to go off and marry someone human, someone with the ability to give you children.”
I couldn’t fathom this. “I already tried that. I tried normal. I dated human guys. T-they never really worked out for me.” Did he not remember the part where I talked about the origins of the Slayers? “I am not exactly completely human myself. Spike and I. . . we’ve been through too much together for me to ever consider leaving him.”
“All right.”
Shane’s words were neutral, but I could tell what I said wasn’t what he wanted to hear, so I continued, “You know what? I was a monster, too. I did things when I was brought back from heaven. . . things that didn’t feel like me. But I still did them. I hurt the people I love; I hurt him. He saw through all that. He saw me. He didn’t know how to help me, but he believed in me.” I still remembered how his grip felt on my arm when he stopped me from committing suicide, when he forced me to see that I had to try to live. The memory stirred feelings of hopelessness from long ago, but I easily coaxed them back to sleep. “And I believed in him. He had so much good in him. . . before he was turned, and even at his worst, his goodness. . . it lingered. He went against his very nature to fight a force inside so powerful that. . . I don’t know anyone else that could or would do that. I see him beneath all his defenses, beyond any atrocities that he’s committed. I love him.”
“And if that other guy. . . what was his name? Angel? If he came back around with a soul that wasn’t going anywhere, that was permanent, what would you do?”
Shane’s question was seemingly innocuous, but tears filled my eyes anyway, and my chest ached with a sharp pain that overrode the thigh injury. I could picture the hurt in Spike’s eyes if I ever did that to him, if I chose Angel over him after everything we’d been through. So many memories with Spike flitted through my mind, but the one that surprisingly stood out the most was him smiling in our kitchen in New Orleans as we spent a whole day baking Christmas cookies to send to Dawn and the rest. If I did that to Spike, it would be like breaking me, too. My voice cracked and stumbled, and I not very effectively caught the tears with the fingertips of my left hand. “I could never. . . what you’re suggesting is. . .”
Shane’s tone softened considerably. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. . . I just – ”
I took a deep shaky breath. “It’s okay. I understand why you’re asking. We had a rocky start and well, a rocky middle, but we’ve had a long wonderful stretch now. Spike is my. . . he’s my everything.” I felt the sudden urge to be near him. “I-I’m going to bring the phone back now.” My legs were shaky as I braced myself against the wall and stood.
“Okay.”
Shane was then silent as I dazedly hurried across the airport concourse to the bar. Spike was still where I’d left him, and when he heard me coming, he spun on the bar stool. Seeing the expression on my face, he stood and opened his arms. I crashed into him and held him tight.
He stroked my hair and kissed the top of my head. “Hey, love, what’s wrong?” This was becoming a familiar question, but I was too emotional to do more than note it.
I lifted the cell without saying anything and without letting go of him. Spike accepted the phone, and I heard him talking with Shane but didn’t understand any of it. I just focused on the rumbling sound of Spike’s voice in his chest and reminded myself that we were fine. No matter what, we’d be fine.
When Spike finally hung up the phone, I noticed the bartender had come out of the kitchen, so I pulled back from Spike and ran my fingers through my hair in an attempt to appear outwardly presentable.
Spike shoved the phone in his jeans pocket and took both my hands in his larger ones. “Buffy, love, I don’t know what you said to him or what got you so upset, but he agreed.”
I blinked at him. “W-what?”
“He agreed to help us out on one condition.” Spike’s eyes were shining with hope, and in that moment, I realized how much he wanted a family, too.
“What’s that?” I asked, still wary.
“Charlie wants to know her brother or sister in some capacity. The manner of which we can figure out later.”
My mouth dropped open in shock.
He dragged me close to him and kissed me full on the lips until I was grinning like a fool, jumping up and down, and not caring at all what the bartender thought.
18. The day I bought the vitamins
“There are so many of them.” I stared at the lineup of bottles on my dresser. I couldn’t fathom how I was possibly supposed to take so many.
“Surely, it’s not so bad that you’re making that face! Let me see,” Willow commanded. We were in one of our now weekly Face Time calls. We started them up after she helped Spike and me out in Denver, and though we hadn’t talked much about the whole infertility thing since that time, I was making more of an effort to include my long ago best friend in my life.
I twisted my mouth to one side and regarded her with doubt. “I dunno. I think it might be a little much.”
“I can handle it, Buffy. Show.” Willow outmatched my twisty mouth with her Resolve face.
“I didn’t realize there were so many. The list didn’t seem this long before I went to GNC, but now that they’re all next to each other. . .”
“Show-sies!” Willow insisted emphatically.
“Okay. You asked for it.” I turned the phone slowly and dramatically toward the dresser.
Willow appropriately gasped. “Whoa!”
“Right?” I said with a small smile that Willow couldn’t see. I was pleased to have my overwhelmed-ness validated.
“Those are all vitamins?” There was a little awe in her voice.
“Uh huh.”
“What are they all for?”
“Well, all of them supposedly help improve egg quality, which they don’t absolutely think I need, but I figured it couldn’t hurt. What I read made it sound like taking them for three months prior to retrieval could make the best difference.” I chewed my bottom lip. “And the one that’s not on the list is acai berry. They’re doing a study on whether it can help egg quality, but I didn’t qualify for the study since I haven’t had a failed IVF cycle. Still, I read about it, and I’m taking it anyway. So not on the list, but I’m adding it.” I picked up one of the bottles to show her.
“Look at you, research gal.” I turned the phone back around to catch Willow’s ironic grin.
My own smile broadened, and I shrugged. “Yeah. If we have one shot, I want to make it count.” Then, I remembered something. “And oh! Did you know that most people are deficient in vitamin D?”
Willow guessed, “Because we spend all day inside? Or in the case of you, outside patrolling cemeteries when there is no sun?”
“Yep. So adding that, too.” I opened my dresser drawer and pulled out another few things I wanted to show Willow. “Want to see what fabulous present Spike got for me?” So, there was a little sarcasm in that question.
Willow wrinkled her nose in confusion. “Sure?”
I held up three large plastic pill containers – the biggest I’d ever seen – with letters for the days of the week on each compartment lid. “I’m like a hundred years old.”
Willow emitted a small snort of amusement. “It’ll keep you organized, right?”
“I guess so. It’ll help me remember what to take when. There’s too many to keep track of.” The list sort of made my head spin: Co-enzyme Q10, Myo-Inositol, L-Arginine, DHA, Vitamin E, Vitamin C, Melatonin, a prenatal, Vitamin D, acai berry, and if I wanted to, DHEA. Had to get my testosterone checked before I took that last one. And was it really smart to be ingesting things that I couldn’t even pronounce the names of and some of them multiple times a day?
Willow was thoughtful, “So, after you take the vitamins for three months, what then?”
“Well, I take them for two months. Then, I take estrogen for a month and an antibiotic in there somewhere along with the vitamins before I start stims.”
“Sounds complicated. What are stems? Like in a plant?”
I shook my head. “Nope. It’s s-t-i-m-s. Like stimulating your ovaries to produce as many follicles at once without ovulating. That’s when the shots start. You know, this whole IVF process is way more complicated than how it’s depicted in the movies.”
“I hear you. And is it depicted in movies?”
I tilted my head to one side to match Willow’s curious expression. She was right; if IVF was depicted, it was in a comedic or brief way. “Guess not.”
“Are you nervous about the shot part? ‘Cause that would wig me out.”
A shot seemed like small potatoes compared to stitching up my own wounds. Giving myself stitches without painkillers and without making a sound to alarm my mom when I was a teen was way harder. At least nowadays, Spike and I took care of each other’s injuries. Handily, said wounds were few and far between. So, the shots wigging me out? “A little?”
“Think Spike will help?”
“Unsure. I haven’t asked yet.” I really wasn’t sure how he’d feel about it.
I tossed the pill boxes next to the row of bottles and flopped on the bed I shared with Spike. He was hanging out at the bar, helping them with some sort of liquor inventory and team-bonding day. (The latter was something I’d been hearing him complain about all week.) Luckily, he’d be inside during the day and was working the night shift, so he wouldn’t burn to a crisp trying to get to his car to come home. “Did you know that there’s a whole vitamin cocktail for guys with sperm problems, too?”
“But Spike doesn’t have to take that because you’re not using his sperm.” Willow made a face. “I can’t believe I just said something in casual conversation about sperm and sperm quality. . . about Spike’s sperm and sperm quality. And lookie there, I said it twice.”
I laughed. “Trust me. I never thought I’d know anything about any of this either.”
“How is Spike feeling about using his cousin’s sperm?” Willow emitted a tired sigh. “Three times.”
“He’s okay with it, I think. Much better than using a donor. At least, he’s not freaking out right now about it. Having a genetic connection makes him feel better. And I can understand why. I think it’s complicated for him, but I think it’ll help him feel connected. Honestly, I’m glad for the connection, too. I love the idea that a potential child would really be Spike’s in a way. Speaking of connecting, Spike has reconnected some with his family. He and Shane have been talking a lot since our trip to Norfolk.”
Willow was quiet for a few seconds. “Guess Spike hasn’t had the best luck with his vampire family.” She fake-coughed. “Angel. Does that bring up stuff for you?”
My history with Angel felt so faded that I hardly thought about him unless someone else brought him up. “Not really. Other than to feel protective of Spike. Not to say that Spike didn’t do his fair share of bad stuff in his relationship with Angel. It’s just. . .”
“You love Spike. It’s different now.”
“Definitely.” I propped my pillow up and my arm behind my head. Then, I changed the subject, “Speaking of guys. How’s Oz?”
Willow blushed. She’d casually dated other women and a couple of men since Tara, but no one was special. Since she came back from that retreat with Oz, they’d been hanging out. . . a lot. “Good. It’s weird being around him so much. It’s like we picked up right back where we left off. . . with the good stuff, not the cheating/weird magic stuff. And it feels right. Is that how you felt when you got back together with Spike?”
Willow and I had never talked about how Spike and I had rekindled our relationship. We’d been in different parts of the world. . . literally. I smiled, remembering. “I dunno. Spike and I took it way slower than you and Oz. I mean, the physical was easy. But the communication was slower. You know me. Slow gal. Spike has the patience of Job.” I still marveled that he’d been so patient with me.
“Seems like taking it slow paid off though. And you had every right to want to go slow after Sunnydale. . . and him not telling you he was back for so long.”
I’d only found out that Spike was alive after the huge battle in Los Angeles and only because I’d gone to the city to check on the Slayers who’d been hurt in the fray. He’d even tried to hide from me in the large first aid tent. I still remembered the fear of rejection in his eyes when I’d found him and the feel of the solidness of his body in my arms. I loved him then but just couldn’t say it. I was still too broken. Turned out that we’d rather be with each other half-broken than not at all. What had Professor Walsh said all those years ago? You find the person whose brokenness balances out with your own. She had one thing right, I guess, but I preferred to think that now, Spike and I balanced each other in less dark ways, too.
Willow hesitated and then continued, “Oz and I are more with the fast at communicating and slow with the physical.”
I made an assumption, “But you want the physical?”
“I think so. Maybe. I mean, I love waking up with him, but it’s been so long since. . .” Willow trailed off. She meant sex with guys.
“Only way you’re gonna know is if you take the leap.” Pot, kettle, black, Buffy.
“I know. Maybe I should break out the Barry White?”
“No!” I said emphatically, remembering what she told me about senior year.
Willow giggled. “Okay. Barry White and lingerie?”
“That might do the trick,” I agreed, suddenly missing my friend. “Why can’t you live here? I could use a good cup of café au lait and beignets with my bestie.”
“I’ll come visit soon,” Willow promised. “But I need a mocha from your shop. Extra shots.” She waited a beat. “And not the hormonal-medical kind.”
I laughed again. “Deal.”
19. The night of food and relaxation
Spike was treating me to dinner at Jacques-Imo’s on Oak Street. The restaurant was extremely popular – so popular that people waited hours for a table every night, and the hours were only from five to 10:30 in the evening. The first time we went, we’d gone late due to the summer sunlight and knew it was a long shot about getting served. We’d ended up having cocktails/mocktails at the bar and then dusting some vampires who were targeting the wait staff at the end of the night. The restaurant owner, who only wore chef’s whites and brightly-patterned boxers, was extremely grateful, and though we still paid, now we never had to wait and always had a meal. There was something about skipping the line that always made me feel giddy and a little important.
Spike and I had already split the shrimp and alligator sausage cheesecake, which had melted in my mouth per usual, and our entrees had just arrived.
“So, you only take me here for special occasions. What’s the occasion tonight?” I’d wracked my brain to try to figure it out and come up empty. Spike was so thoughtful; he was always remembering little anniversaries and marking them for us.
“You don’t know?” he teased, cutting into the carpet bagger steak – extremely rare with extra cayenne in the hollandaise sauce.
Voices of other meal goers providing a blanket of noisy privacy over our conversation, I nudged his foot with mine under the table and smiled at him over my cocktail as I took a small sip. I’d been nursing the same drink all evening; it was watery and weak like I preferred it. “I don’t.” I made a small face, partly due to the alcohol and partly because I felt a twinge of guilt. “I should though, shouldn’t I?”
Spike took a bite of meat and chewed, watching me squirm. I flaked off a bit of my stuffed catfish. He waited a long time with that glint in his eye, so my bit of affection turned into a kick.
“Hey,” he said with soft amusement after he swallowed. “Can’t a fellow enjoy his steak before anxious Buffy comes out?”
“I’m not anxious.” I huffed. Two could play that game. I slid the bit of catfish between my lips and licked the sauce off the tines of my fork with leisurely slowness. At the same time, I slipped my sandal off and slid my foot up his leg to more sensitive places. He groaned and then reached for my hand.
“Pet.” He was serious. I dropped my foot down but left my leg tucked against his. His finger stroked over the back of my hand.
For some weird reason, my mind went back to my ill-fated date with Principal Wood in Sunnydale. Spike had retrieved me from the date to help Xander. I still recalled how lost and confused Spike had looked, an ill-fitting jacket covering his shoulders but nothing disguising the naked vulnerability in his eyes. So much had changed between then and now.
I gently squeezed his hand. “What is it?” Stupid sneaky note of worry.
“We’ve just been so caught up in the family planning thing for months.” He caught me backpedaling a little and tilted his head with no trace of the past in his bright eyes. He loved me. God, he really did. Why did that sometimes still surprise me? I knew it wasn’t because I didn’t believe he could love. Maybe it was that sometimes I still didn’t think I deserved to be loved like that. “And we needed a break. Well, I did at least.”
Letting out a breath of air, I relaxed and waved my fork in the air. “So, no particular anniversary that I forgot that you remember?”
He smiled. “No.”
“Phew.”
“You remember plenty.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. I could recall no such remembrance of important dates besides Spike’s birthday (human) and our officially designated anniversary (December 31). The designated anniversary was chosen because Spike liked the turn of the old year into the new one. He said it gave him hope, but I secretly thought he picked the date because there were fireworks. He loved watching fireworks, and now he could say the fireworks were for us. “Really?”
“Maybe not the traditional anniversaries. . .”
Releasing Spike’s hand, I ticked my list off on my fingers. “Not traditional like say, oh, the anniversary of our first real date? Or the anniversary of our first official-I’m-with-you-with-you kiss? Or the anniversary of the day we moved in together? Or the day we bought the car? Or – ”
Spike chuckled. “Well, those are mine to remember. You remember other things.”
I made a face to display my incredulity. “Like what?”
“You always keep my little stash of peppermints flush in the car.”
“Well, that’s for selfish, fresh-breathy reasons after you smoke,” I insisted.
Spike ignored my counterpoint and cut himself another bite of bright red steak, which he drenched in spicy sauce. After he finished chewing and swallowing, he said, “The refrigerator always has fresh blood from different creatures, so my taste buds aren’t bored.”
“Can’t have you emaciated.” I ate a bite of my fish. The stuffing was rich and delicious tonight.
Taking a sip of his Abita beer, he rolled his eyes. “You buy me that shampoo I always like and let me choose the station on the telly.”
I pointed the fork at him to punctuate my next points. “Only because I love how you smell right out of the shower, and you let me snuggle with you on the sofa while we watch TV.” Sometimes, we even fell asleep together on the comfortable cushions if we were really exhausted. Later, he’d carry me to bed, and I’d wake up the next morning curled up snug as a bug with him under our mountain of blankets, the air conditioning blasting an arctic wind around us.
“C’mon, love! Go with me here.”
I grinned around another bite of fish. “Yeah, well. You know I love you.”
He returned the expression of happiness. “I do at that.” He busied himself with cutting more meat. “I’m kicking the habit.” It took me a few seconds because he was abruptly referring to cigarettes.
“What? You are?” This took me completely by surprise. I couldn’t imagine this. Spike’s cigarettes were part of what made him. . . well, him. “Why?”
“Second hand smoke. Baby,” he stated simply.
“Oh! Well, that makes sense.” I smiled at him. “That reminds me.” I pulled my giant pill box thingie out of my handbag where it was wedged against my stake. I opened the compartment for the evening and dumped a handful of many-sized vitamins into my palm. Spike winked at me; he’d been teasing me about the pills and coming up with various nicknames for me. I held a finger up at him and popped the pills in my mouth. My “don’t even say it,” came out a little garbled. I took a swig of water. “Uch.”
When I turned back to my dinner date, about to say something about his lack of monikers, a small salmon-colored box sat next to my plate. I gave Spike a confused look. “What’s this?”
He just smiled and gave the box a little nudge. “Open it.”
My heart pounding a little, I slid the lid off and pulled out a small soft bag. I opened the flap on the bag and dumped a dainty silver necklace into my palm. The small heart pendant curved gently around a deep red garnet that glinted a little in the low candle light. “It’s beautiful. But why?” Spike never bought jewelry for me in the past, so this was special.
“For a lot of reasons, but the main one is that I want you to know how much I love you no matter what happens next in this journey of ours. I’m not going anywhere, Buffy.” My eyes brimmed, but I blinked away the tears as he touched my cheek. “You may not believe it, but I’ll be with you until you’re old and grey – if you still want me around.”
The corner of my mouth lifted and a tear escaped despite my best efforts. “I’m pretty sure I’ll still want you around.”
He kissed me briefly and brushed the tear away, and then he scooted his chair over in the limited space between our table and the next one to help me put the necklace on. “Your birth stone, right?”
“Yes. I love it. Thank you.” I touched the pendant, the metal smooth and cool under my fingertips. “I’m sorry that I’ve been such an emotional mess these last few – well, several months.”
“Seems to me that I’ve been right there with you on that,” he reassured me. “Besides, much rather you be all emotional with me than – ”
“Than closed off and distant and absolutely awful to you?”
His response was quick. “Oh, pet, that’s long ago, remember?” Then, he changed the subject completely to prove just how in the past it was. “So, want to try a bite of my steak, love?” He waved a bright red piece in my direction.
“Ew. Worlds of no. But I know that means you want to try my catfish.” I carved off a piece for him.
Then, we ate the rest of our meal until I was so stuffed, I didn’t know if I could move. Ah, the food of New Orleans filled me up the way no other food could.
As Spike led the way back into the humid evening, he asked, “What do you want to do now?”
“Park on the shady side of the Quarter and fight some vamps on the way to Café du Monde for dessert beignets and frozen café au laits?” I could use the exercise.
Spike lifted an eyebrow at me. “Which side is that? And won’t you be up all night, love?”
“Exactly to both.”
“You have to open tomorrow morning,” he reminded me.
He was right. I did. “You forget where I work. Caramel macchiatos are my specialty.”
“The vicious cycle of caffeine.”
“Hey. Gotta take advantage of it while I can. Going cold turkey very soon.”
“Weaning might be a better idea.” Spike pulled out his keys and unlocked the Civic.
“Why’s that? Can’t handle cranky-caffeine-less Buffy?” I crossed my arms.
“It’s not that. . .” He opened the car door for me, and I plopped in the passenger seat. He bent to kiss me deep and long, leaving me wanting more, before breaking away to tease in a different way, “Well, maybe it is.”
“Hey!” I protested through my grin.
20. The night of the missing meds
Crap. Crappity crap.
Rubbing my tired eyes, I counted again, going meticulously over the list of medications I’d written on a scrap of paper. First, I went over the list from the local pharmacist. Clomid, dexamethasone. Check and check. Empty bottle of doxycycline that I already took at the beginning of the month. Check. Estrace pills were in the bedroom next to my bed. Check. Then, I reviewed the meds from the pharmacy in south Miami. Gonal F, double trigger meds, and half the Ganirelix. Check, check, check, and check.
Finally, the medication from the pharmacy approved by the insurance. We’d easily met the lifetime max allowed for fertility meds and had to order the rest from the Florida pharmacy. The remainder of the needed Ganirelix and the vials of Menopur. Damn. Still missing a package of Menopur. Not that I understood what all the medication was for, but I knew that what I had was one less than what the nurse had ordered.
Crap.
My nurse at the Lone Tree clinic said I needed to order all the medication by a certain day right before stims started, or I’d not have them in time. I also had to balance this with the expiration on some of the medication and keep track of which had to be refrigerated and which didn’t.
Couple this stress with the stress of coordinating with the Fertility Institute of New Orleans, a local reproductive endocrinologist’s office (conveniently located in Metairie) that would communicate lab results to the clinic and the stress of preparing to leave town and finding coverage at work after Roger bailed on me, I was a ball of tension. Tears of frustration filled my eyes.
Grabbing my phone, I blinked away the tears and focused on texting Spike who was just starting his shift at the Spotted Cat. “Hey. Crystal just dropped me off after work. Sorting through the meds. What’d you do with the boxes they came in?” Spike had been home to sign for the medication.
Making sure my phone ringer was on, I poked my head out the back door to see if Spike had set the boxes on the porch. The trio of large boxes were stacked haphazardly atop one another.
Yahtzee.
Despite the muggy, warm air pressing its weight into my lungs, I scrambled through the cardboard and foam coolers, rifling through the packing materials. After a few minutes of searching, sweat already pouring down my back, I sighed in defeat. There were no extra meds hiding out in the boxes. Frowning, I snagged a few of the now squishy, tepid ice packs to tuck into the freezer. At least, there was one thing useful out here. I could use the pouches to keep the medication cold for travel. They’d fit perfectly in the small cooler I’d bought for the plane.
Retreating into the house, I stowed the packs in the refrigerator, closing my eyes to the blast of coldness. Then, I checked my phone.
Spike had texted. “Back porch.” Then, a second message read, “Why?”
Before I could reply, I spied the red sharps container meant for collecting the needles after use. Grabbing for the plastic container, I expertly opened the white top to check to see if the missing medication was inside. Nope.
My fingers ran through the piles of individually packaged needles and alcohol wipes that Spike had sorted by size on the kitchen table. Not there either.
Slumping down in one of the kitchen table chairs, I texted Spike again, my fingers flying over the keyboard, “I’m missing a set of Menopur. Gonna have to call the pharmacy tomorrow.” I sighed, feeling gross and sticky. Stupid humidity.
“Sorry, pet.”
My anxiety was now making me micro-manage-y Buffy, and I responded to his sympathy with a question. “Did you pay the clinic?” The clinic made clients pay for everything upfront and then get reimbursed by insurance later. They must have had people try to skip out on their bills or something. Luckily, the ladies in the business office subtracted the lifetime max that our insurance company paid. Even then, the bill was huge. Giles fronted us the money so that we didn’t have to use all of our savings at once. “And did you check on flights and Shane?”
Instead of texting a reply, Spike called me. “What’s going on, love?” he practically shouted over the noisy bar crowd. I could hear him shoveling ice into glasses and pictured him with his phone wedged against his ear as he multitasked. My shoulders loosened a little just imagining him.
“Nothing. You’re busy.” I hadn’t meant to interrupt his work.
The phone sounds shifted, and Spike spoke to a customer about opening a tab. His work voice was seriously sexy. Then, he asked, “Alex, can you finish these for me?”
“Sure thing,” Alex said, her tone seductive. Just hearing her voice had made me insanely jealous until I met her. She flirted with everyone, including me, and though she sounded like she was in her twenties, she was at least sixty years old and looked much older than her chronological age. Sometimes, if she was in the mood, she’d talk about her life. Her stories were a tad outlandish, kind of like tall tales or the movie Big Fish, but I bet she’d think the same thing if she knew about Slayers and vampires and other assorted things that go bump in the night. Alex also made the only cocktail that I actually enjoyed – the contents of which I could never remember or replicate even if I did remember.
The bar sounds faded, and I heard Spike pushing buttons. He’d moved to the cash register in the slightly quieter area of the bar. “Pet, you there?”
“Uh huh.”
“You’ve got to relax, love. The clinic has their money though I think it’s right unfair of them to ask for it all ahead of time. And let me handle the tickets and the sperm.” He said “sperm” so casually in his British accent that I couldn’t help but giggle. “You don’t need the what’s it medication straight away, do you? And what’s so funny?”
I tittered again and bit my lip. “No.”
“So you’ll call them up tomorrow, and they’ll fix their mistake. Still don’t know what’s so bloody funny.” He was teasing me.
“You said, ‘Sperm.’”
“Well, what do you want me to call it, pet? Cum? Baby batter? Jizz? Seed?” Spike kept going with the longest list of slang words I’d ever heard for sperm. As he continued, I laughed harder, so hard that my ribs began to ache. When he ran out of synonyms, he asked, “Better, love?”
One arm around my mid-section, I coughed a little as I tried to catch my breath. “Why. . . do you know. . . so many. . . words?” I gasped out.
“You don’t want to know,” he said in a tone that said I shouldn’t ask, but that only made me want to ask more.
“Oh, but I do. I really do. Want to know.”
He sighed. “Harmony.”
Spike hadn’t mentioned her in years. “How the heck did that come up?”
“She was trying to learn French,” he said matter-of-factly.
Huh? I tried to piece together the logic that was in Harmony’s brain and failed. “But how –”
“Don’t even ask,” he mock-growled. “Listen. I’ll take off a little early, come home, and help you with that bit of relaxation I’m prescribing.”
I could use any form of Spike relaxation. He’d been helping me with that a lot in the last month. He gave amazing massages – another well-honed skill but not one I wanted to know the origins of. “Let me help you with some French?”
The smirk was audible in his tone. “Of course. A brief lesson. Then, you’re going to get some sleep, and I’m coming to your first appointment tomorrow.”
“You are? But it’s in the morning.”
“So, I’ll sizzle and smoke a little getting in the door. It’ll be fine. Can’t promise I’ll make all the appointments, but for the first one, I’m coming, love. In it together, remember?”
“Together,” I assured him. “I love you.”
“Love you, too. Gonna get back to work now.”
“Okay. Bye. Thank you.”
“Welcome as ever, pet.”
I set the phone on the table, smiling at it as if Spike can see me even though we disconnected. What to do to set the mood and keep my head out of the list of IVF-related things that had to be done? Candles and a bubble bath ought to do the trick.