Chapter Nine: Home Sweet Home
As Katie headed up the front walk to George’s house, Spike heard a familiar ping. It took his tired brain a second to recognize that he’d gotten a text! Making sure the kitten was well balanced on his thigh, he hauled the baby bag from the backseat and dug through the contents to find his cell phone. Miracles of miracles, the bloody thing still had an intact screen and a charge.
Panic shot through his heart when he saw the message from Buffy. It was sent five minutes ago. “On my way home. Dropping off the troops off first. Exhausted. Boy howdy, do I have a story for you!” She’d put a little heart emoji at the end.
He didn’t reply and was grateful he had his “read” receipts off. Tossing aside the phone and starting the car, he pushed the gas pedal down as much as he dared with the baby in the back and raced toward home. Luckily, the hour was late and it was a weeknight, so the suburb streets were quiet.
He slammed on the brakes once when a sodding teenaged boy, who was walking his slow-moving dog, started crossing the street right in front of him. “Bloody hell,” he whispered through clenched teeth as the dog stopped to smell his bumper. “A right stupid mutt.” He scratched behind the kitten’s ear. “Gershwin would never do that. You’ll have to meet her. Well, under better circumstances.”
As soon as the boy and his wayward pet were far enough along, Spike hit the gas again and sailed complication free to their home a mile or so away. He was pleased to see no Pilot in the garage as the door rose with excruciating slowness. Pulling the car gently inside, he slammed it into park and shut down the engine.
Gently lifting the kitten, he placed her inside the house. “Be right back.” Then, he raced around to find that little Asher was fast asleep. He was going to sleep well tonight and maybe even let them sleep in in the morning. He contemplated how he was going to move his son from the car seat into the house and after only a brief second, he said, “Sod it,” unlatching the whole infant seat, looping an arm through the strap of the diaper backpack, and carrying the whole kit and kaboodle inside. The cool rush of the air conditioning happily greeted them. Nudging the curious kitten to keep her from sneaking back outside, he pushed the button to close the garage door and shut and locked the door while balancing everything. Being a father meant multi-tasking.
The loud screech of the garage door shutting somehow didn’t wake the sleeping nipper, and Spike rushed through the house to the baby’s nursery. The kitten tagged along at his heels.
Leaving only the hall light on, Spike carefully unlatched all the straps and wove his son’s limbs around them. He lifted an eyebrow at the kitten who was attentively watching the baby as he moved his lips like he was drinking a bottle. Asher often did that, no doubt dreaming about consuming something delicious. “Let’s hope he sleeps through this next part, eh?”
Of course, now was the time that Asher chose to wake up despite how slowly Spike was easing his hands under his nugget’s head and torso. He blinked bewildered eyes and began crying, his tiny lungs somehow creating a noise infinitely bigger than himself. Spike pulled the tiny boy close, bouncing and rubbing his back.
The kitten was now sitting up on alert, her tail wrapped around her legs. She tilted her head at Spike.
He shrugged his free shoulder. “Think he knows he’s home and is telling me all about it. Can’t blame him.”
A scent wafted up. Damn it. The sprog smelled like cigarette smoke and Bourbon Street, and his little hands were cold. Not good things.
When Asher was done with the loudest wails but was still making whimpering noises, Spike drew him back. “Let’s get you a quick shower. It’ll be warm, and it’ll make both of us smell nice for your mum.”
Without waiting for a response, Spike hurried into the spare bathroom, pulled closed the shower curtain and turned on the shower. He then divested the baby and himself of clothing, stuffing the reeking pieces into the hamper. He eased himself and the baby under the soothing water. He’d showered with the nipper before, and Asher always loved it, usually laughing and waving his arms in the stream of liquid.
Tonight, Asher was sober as he held onto his father, but Spike could feel his son’s muscles relaxing, and soon, his body melted against Spike’s.
Spike stooped and picked up the bar of soap and carefully but efficiently soaped up and rinsed their bodies. He was pleased that he got a small giggle when he tapped his son’s nose with the bar.
With the fastest shower done, Spike dried them off, slung the towel over the shower curtain rod, and then diapered Asher, even rubbing on some of that Vanicream Buffy had reminded him about. As he dressed his drowsy son, Spike was suddenly eternally grateful for the onesies that snapped in the front. He couldn’t imagine pulling something over the baby’s head right now. Kissing his dozing son’s forehead, Spike laid Asher in the crib atop his clean sleep sack, zipping him inside. That done, Spike eased a clean giraffe Wubbanub in Asher’s mouth. Contented sucking began, and Asher was out.
The kitten, who had been following them, rubbed herself against Spike’s legs and started purring.
Spike scooped the kitten up and stalked naked through the house, grabbing a can of anchovies from the cabinet. Luckily, Dawn always kept a stash for when she was in town. She was in Denver for her first semester back to her master’s program since Asher was born. Spike missed having her around the house. “Sorry, Nibblet. Kitten needs a bite.”
Setting the kitten on the cabinet, he pulled out two small bowls, filling one with water and the other with anchovies. The kitten purred louder at the sight and smell of food. Nudging the kitten away, Spike balanced both bowls in one hand as he frantically tried to think about where to stow her for the night. He’d had no time to get a litter box, and he wasn’t sure how the hell he’d explain the new pet to Buffy. He’d have to think of something and fast. If he were lucky, she wouldn’t notice the kitten until morning.
Of course, his luck was abysmal tonight.
His line of sight landed on the hall bathroom close to the front door. “Perfect.”
He rushed to the room, arranging the food at the base of the sink. “There. Sleep well. More supplies coming. Until then, this is your home for the night.”
The kitten ignored him in favor of the fish. Spike didn’t blame her. He rubbed her head once more and shut the door.
Now, to bed with him.
The garage door began its slow ascent.
Bloody hell!
Spike ran for the bedroom in the back of the house, flipping off lights as he went. There was no time for clothes because he heard her key turning in the lock, so he slid between the sheets sans covering. It’d be a good distraction for him and Buffy. His body was already responding in anticipation, and he ran a hand over his length. He could use a nice way to blow off some steam and to reaffirm that they were still okay. He shoved away the insecurity that he suddenly felt for what seemed like no reason at all.
Spike heard Buffy pouring something in the kitchen sink. Then, her footsteps carried her to Asher’s room where he heard her make a soft noise of happiness. Finally, she came into their room, shucking off her boots first followed by pants and other bits of clothing. Spike feigned sleep until she entered the bathroom where she showered. The sound of the water falling lulled him into a doze before the scent of her freshly washed hair woke him up again in more than one way.
Buffy pulled the sheets up and slid next to him, wrapping her arms around his torso and snuggling up. She, too, was naked, but she didn’t reach for him as she so often did.
Instead, she whispered, “You left the formula on the cabinet.” Oops. It was the whole fresh pitcher minus the bottle he’d fed Asher what seemed like an eternity ago.
“Sorry, love,” he returned, relishing the touch of her skin, which was warmer from the shower. “I’ll make a new batch in the morning.”
“You better.”
Spike turned onto his back and gathered her up against him, wanting to feel all of her near.
As she nestled into their familiar position, she casually asked, “So, what’s the deal with the car seat in Asher’s room? And the diaper bag looks like it’s been through the ringer.”
Uh oh.
Though Spike’s body was as relaxed as he could make it, his brain was racing with thoughts. He saw no way out of this. Not a way that didn’t lead to later badness. He swallowed. “Well. . .”
“You went out tonight.” Her tone was even and not accusatory.
So, Spike stuck to the truth. “Yeah.” And as soon as he said the singular syllable, he found that more words spilled out. “Clem texted me right after you left. Invited me out for a beer for old time’s sake. He said he was at an empty restaurant, so I took Asher with me.”
Buffy sat up and reached behind her to flick on the lamp, bathing their bedroom in golden yellow light.
Spike sat up, too.
Buffy’s mouth fell open as she no doubt saw the wounds on Spike’s face. “Oh my god!” She touched his cheek and surveyed his swollen nose. As her initial concern melted away, she crossed her arms under her bare breasts and narrowed her eyes. “What the hell happened?!”
Spike took in the bruises on his wife’s face and torso. “Speak for yourself.”
“The only reason I’m not freaking out more right now is that Asher is asleep in his crib.”
He resisted the urge to get defensive, forcing his arms to stay away from his body. “Without a hair disturbed.” Though not for lack of trying.
“Clem didn’t hit you. He wouldn’t.”
“He didn’t. He said to give you his best, by the way.”
Buffy’s expression softened. “Oh. I’ll have to get his number from you and text him later.” Then, she resumed the angry set to her mouth. “Spill.”
“Only if you do.” He nodded at the marks on her body. “Solved the neck-biting mystery. No doubt.”
Her green eyes flashed. “I did. But you know what? Still not going to get you out of going first. What happened after you took our son out for a beer at a quiet restaurant with Clem?” There was the expected sarcasm there. Spike supposed this was much better than her reaction could have been.
“Promise you won’t interrupt until I’m done?” They’d made this sort of promise before, and Spike had a feeling he’d need her to continue the tradition.
She rolled her eyes. “Fine.”
“Already a bit tense there, pet.”
“When it comes to you and my son, you’re just gonna have to deal with it.” She was firm but then relaxed and said more quietly, “Fine. Go already!”
So, Spike plunged into his tale, starting with the bar, Clem’s attempts to figure out why Spike had a baby, the pureed green beans, and the unexpected kitten poker game. Luckily, she believed him when he said he just wanted to find a way to get Asher out. He didn’t leave any details out about running into Liz and Gershwin, singing in the bar with Clem, almost being discovered by Oz, getting taken by the trio of angry poker players, and being drugged by Dru’s minions. Midway through Spike’s recounting of events, Buffy began to add in what happened with her and the other Slayers along the same timeline: how Liz and Katie came to be bait and how they’d met up with Oz and Stacy after Oz saw something suspicious with some demons on Frenchmen.
Spike’s terror at almost losing Asher to the demons and Dru was so strong that tears filled his eyes more than once, and Buffy moved to his side and clasped his hand with hers. He could feel her tremble a little and put his arm around her. Soon, their arms and legs were wrapped around one another, and they were curled up together and facing one another under the covers.
Spike had just finished telling Buffy about escaping from the Katrina exhibit, and Buffy was sharing the details of her fight with Dru and her minions. Most of the minions had been dusted, but Dru had escaped with her new play toy.
Bending her arm under her head, Buffy said, “I should have known it was Drusilla as soon as we heard about all those people with neck wounds in the Quarter. She did the same thing last time she came looking for you.”
“She did. I screwed up last time around, too. Only last time, my invitation was revoked.” Spike threw the words out without the weight of his fears behind them.
“Not this time.” Buffy smiled and kissed his chest. “You want to know the really weird thing about the whole thing?”
“What’s that?” Relieved, Spike ran the back of two fingers over her hip and relished her resulting shiver and rising scent of desire.
“She didn’t say anything when we were fighting. I don’t think I ever fought her before, but she’s strong. . . and kinda psychic. I swear, at times, she was anticipating my moves before I could make them.”
“She is at that. You never had the chance to really go hand-to-hand with her, but I bet that’d be a sight to see.” Spike felt himself growing harder in response to the thought of his wife and former love trading blows.
Buffy grinned when she felt him, and she wrapped her warm hand around him, stroking upward until she reached his tip, which was already damp.
Spike groaned but managed, “Not seeing how that’s weird though.”
Buffy pushed him onto his back and lowered herself onto him with aching slowness. “She had me pinned against one of those wooden doors. You know the ones with the ‘X’ code on them?”
“Uh huh,” Spike gripped her hips with a sly smile and bucked his hips up so that she moaned.
Buffy followed his motions. “S-she gave us h-her. . .” She trailed off when Spike brought deft fingers up to tease her further.
“She gave you what, love?”
“Screw it,” Buffy hissed and rolled back, staying connected and dragging him atop her. “I want you hard and fast and now.”
Spike, of course, didn’t exactly take such orders, and he drew back, his fingers entering her slick wetness as he tenderly kissed her C-section scar, the soft curve of her belly, both her nipples and her neck. When she was squirming with longing, he lowered his weight onto her, pushing himself inside her.
He kissed her nose, his gentleness the inverse of what was to come. “Your wish is my command.”
Then, he proceeded to immerse himself in her heat, helping her use up all her post-mission fire and his post-adventure anxiety until they were both breathless and sated and happy.
Buffy laid on her back, arms and legs outstretched, one hand atop his chest. She turned her head toward him on the pillow. “You’re mine.”
The fierceness of how she said it made Spike want to give her one more orgasm, but she stopped him when he reached over. “No?”
She smiled. “I’m exhausted. In a very good way. Again after I get some much-needed sleep?”
“Please?” Spike loved that he’d worn her completely out. If he was honest with himself, he was done in, too.
“Please?” she asked politely. She turned onto her side withdrawing from him but glanced back over her shoulder. “Hold me?”
He cuddled up close behind her, briefly pressing his face into her hair. “You don’t ever have to ask, love.”
She yawned and proceeded to fill him in on some little details that he’d probably forget tomorrow because he was only half-listening. “Willow and Oz are coming by for dinner and a movie tomorrow night. And Stephen’s tagging along because Stacy’s here. I think he kinda has a thing for her.”
“The witch who married Red and her wolf?”
“Uh huh.” Her voice was softer.
“She throws a mean ball of fire.”
“Right? She and Willow tag team with the spell.”
“Remind me to not piss them off.”
They were both quiet for what may have been several minutes. Then, he added, “That spell to disguise the Slayers?”
“Mmhmm?”
“Disturbing. Don’t like it.” He was glad the witches had dismantled it before Buffy came home.
She gently elbowed him. “Too bad, Big Bad. We’re going to have to tweak it some and figure out how to use it, but it’s sticking around.”
He grunted even as one corner of his mouth lifted. “Great. I expect a warning everything time you lot decide to use it. And you’d better talk to Liz and Katie. They may protest being the bait.”
“Okay.” Buffy drew his hand up to her heart where he could feel her heart beating. He liked to fall asleep that way.
Dreams tugged at his consciousness, but something niggling kept him on the precipice of sleep. “Love? What did Dru say to you during the fight?”
“Hmm? Oh.” She wriggled her hips against his and sighed in contentment. “She said something about how you belong to the sun now, and I have to take care of you for her. Not let you get burned up again. She doesn’t have to worry about that. I love you. Not going anywhere. And you’re never ever wearing anything remotely close to that creepy necklace.” Buffy paused for a moment and then added, “I think she was giving us her blessing. Is that weird?”
“No. Sounds like she was. Not that that matters.” No more than Angel’s indirect blessing by attending the baby shower. Spike squeezed Buffy’s hand. “I love you, too.”
Silence took possession of them again, but this time, Buffy broke it. “What are we going to name our new kitten? She needs a name.”
“I dunno. She’s a little ball of energy. A survivor.”
“And she totally saved you guys. I’d say she fits right in the family. What about Xena?”
Spike scoffed. “Isn’t that a little cliché?”
“No!” Buffy huffed quietly. “She’s a warrior cat.”
“You’re a far better warrior than Xena ever thought about being. Not Xena.”
Buffy picked up his hand and kissed it. “Okay, mister, let’s hear your late night name musings.” She dropped his hand and reached back, forcefully pinching his thigh.
“Ow! You wanting to start this now? ‘Cause I can go again.” He rubbed himself against her half-teasingly, half-seriously.
“Tired. Almost to fire bad, tree pretty but not quite there.” Spike knew that Buffy was just trying to convince herself that she wasn’t going to pass out and soon. “But name first.”
“Well. . . mine’s not much better,” he hedged.
“Out with it.”
“I mean, it’s tied to the culture here.” Spike wasn’t sure who he was fooling with that line. “They have sno-balls instead of snow cones. And she’s white like ice.”
“Snowball?!”
“What’s wrong with Snowball? It’s a darn sight better than Nala or Xena! And New Orleans is our home. The place we chose together. The place we had Asher.”
“My sentimental husband.” She cradled his hand to her chest again. “How about Anne? After your mom? You know, since we won’t ever have a girl.” Spike heard the edge of sadness there.
He kissed her neck. “After you, too, love.”
“Snowball Anne Summers Pratt. Too pretentious for a tiny kitten?”
“It’s perfect.” Spike thought a big name fit the tiny creature.
“Did you notice that naming the kitten was much easier than naming our son?” Buffy’s voice was fading again now that her last agenda item was met.
“We’re getting better at agreeing to things.”
“We are.”
As they drifted off to sleep, Spike remembered that he’d forgotten to text his grandsire about his ex. Ah, well, the ole poof would figure it out soon enough. Happier than ever with his life, his wife, and his son, Spike let himself surrender to dreams.