TITLE: The Ticking Clock
AUTHOR: JK Philips
RATING: PG-13 (some swearing)
SUMMARY: After my resurrection of Buffy in “Death Brings Clarity.” Can Buffy and Giles live happily ever after? Or will the very nature of the Slayer tear them apart? Is it illness, a spell, or just the next level of her slayer powers? I got this idea from a challenge on the Watching You, Watching Me website. I won’t tell you which challenge, because that would give it away. :)
SPOILERS: Everything up to “The Gift”
DISCLAIMER: I do not own these characters; they are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy & Fox. I simply am doing this for fun, and non-profit use.
EMAIL:
. Would love feedback. This is only my second fanfic. :)MY WEBSITE: www.jkphilips.com
--------------------------------------------------- GILES:
While I’m loathe to say it, the fact is - the Slayer rarely lives into her mid-twenties. It follows that she’d exhibit signs of maturity early on. Her whole life-cycle is accelerated.
-- shooting script for “Surprise” by Marti Noxon Part 3: 9 ½ weeks “Buffy, all I’m saying is that it’s too soon. You can’t possibly be having morning sickness the very next morning.” She opened the bathroom door and glared at Giles as he leaned against the doorframe. “Then how would you explain the miserable nausea and the throwing up?” He sighed patiently. “I know you probably don’t want to hear this, but I imagine it’s more than likely just psychosomatic.” She looked at him blankly. “Psycho what? Are you saying I’m crazy?” “No, no, no.” He took her by the shoulders. “I’m saying that you want very badly to be pregnant, so your mind is trying to fulfill that desire by giving you the symptoms.” “You’re saying it’s all in my head?” “I’m sorry, Buffy, I don’t mean to disappoint you.” She laid her head against the doorjamb weakly. “I don’t know, Giles, it feels more like it’s in my stomach.” Then her eyes grew wide, and he found the door abruptly slammed in his face. He heard the sounds of her retching, and he leaned back against the wall, sighing. “What’s up with her?” Dawn said, as she came to stand beside him and listen to the sounds of her sister puking in the bathroom. “She got the flu or something?” “She thinks she has morning sickness.” “Isn’t it kinda early for that?” Dawn asked, looking at him curiously. “I mean you guys didn’t start trying ’til last night, did you?” Giles blushed and crossed his arms, more than a little uncomfortable having this conversation with Dawn. “I did try and tell her it was too soon. I think it’s just wishful thinking on her part.” They both heard Buffy moan, followed by another round of violent retching. “Wow,” Dawn commented. “That’s some pretty powerful thinking.” *** Buffy strolled through the mall, eating ice cream. She insisted she was having cravings. Willow and Tara walked hand in hand on one side of her, Xander and Anya on the other. It was the Sunday before Thanksgiving, and the diehard shoppers were getting their Christmases started early. “I don’t know, Buffy,” Willow was saying. “Giles is probably right about this. If you guys only started trying last night, then this morning is too soon to be all sick.” “It’s not just the morning sickness, Will. I mean, look at me. Out mallwalking with my buds. No impulsive patrolling or slaying. No insatiable desire for… well, you know. And look! No urge to do anything to Xander other than mess up his hair.” Which she promptly did. “Hey,” he protested, batting her hand away. “I’m glad you don’t want Xander anymore,” Anya said with relief. “Because you can’t have him.” Buffy flashed Anya a hundred-watt smile, and then licked the ice cream up that was running down the side of the cone. “See, Will, I think all my symptoms have just vanished. And I just feel different. Yup, definitely preggers. Now if only I could convince Giles.” “May-m-maybe you should get a test,” Tara stuttered as they all turned eyes in her direction. “From the store. One of those pregnancy tests.” Buffy nodded. “Yeah, that’s a good idea. Thanks, Tara, I think I’ll do that tonight. Maybe more than one. Giles is going to need a lot of convincing.” Finished with her ice cream now, she wiped her hands off on a napkin and tossed it in the trash as they passed by. “Although, I wouldn’t mind if he wanted to keep trying. You know, just to be safe.” “Aghh!” Xander cried, plugging his ears. “Way too much information. Let’s just pretend this was an immaculate conception, okay? For my sanity, Buff?” Buffy laughed as she pulled his hands from his ears. “No problemo. I won’t mention the handcuffs then.” “Aghh!” he cried again, giving her a little shove. “Oooh!” Buffy bounced in place, giddy and pointing at a store just ahead. “You guys want pizza?” Willow frowned. “You just had ice cream.” “You’re going to get fat,” Anya stated. “But I’m famished,” Buffy protested as she ran up ahead of them. *** Monday morning, and another bout of morning sickness like the day before. Giles brought her tea and crackers to settle her stomach, again gently reminding her that it was too soon to be experiencing pregnancy symptoms. He asked her to wait and be patient. Really, he just didn’t want her to be disappointed if she did get her period this month. After all, he thought to himself, they really only had two, three months at the most, to get Buffy pregnant before her window of opportunity would close forever. Buffy went to class, and he dropped Dawn off at school on the way to the Magic Box. The day passed uneventfully. Anya was in a chipper mood. She offered him constant advice on the best way to get Buffy pregnant: specific positions and timings for a boy vs. a girl. Apparently she had been reading Cosmo on her breaks. He begged her to stop. Tara came in and worked a few hours in the afternoon, restocking amulets and crystals, on part time status now that school had resumed. Willow stopped by and hung around until Tara was ready to leave. Buffy and Dawn never came in, probably going straight home after school. When Giles was ready to leave for the day, Anya waved him off with a cheery smile, wished him good luck, and gave him a fertility charm, which he reluctantly accepted with some amount of embarrassment. The house was empty when he walked in. A note on the kitchen table informed him that the sisters were out grocery shopping. Their mother’s jeep, now Buffy’s, was missing from the curb. Still, after five months, it made him nervous to think of Buffy driving. But in all practicality, he couldn’t chauffer them around all the time. It was lucky that he hadn’t sold the jeep after Buffy’s death, and she was very lucky that she hadn’t wrecked it yet. He settled down in the chair by the desk and began reading. Buffy and Dawn came home, started supper, and left him to read in peace until it was done. Barely a half an hour later, Buffy rather unceremoniously snatched the book out of his hands and jumped into his lap sideways. Giles removed his glasses and gave her a very annoyed glare. “What is it, Buffy?” She pulled a box from behind her back and held it out in front of her. “Look what I picked up at the store.” It was a home pregnancy test. His face softened, and he brushed her hair off her shoulders kindly. “I keep telling you, Buffy, it’s too soon. Those tests are meant for after you’ve missed a period, like two or three weeks from now. They’re not going to tell you anything after two days.” She reached into the box and pulled out the little stick. She smiled broadly. “Then why’d it turn blue, Giles, huh?” He took the stick from her hand and studied it. “You’ve already taken the test?” “Yup. Big ole blue popsicle stick.” He snatched the box from her hand and began fumbling for the instructions. “This can’t be right. It couldn’t possibly give you a positive result this early. You must have done it wrong.” She began laughing at his flustered appearance. “Pretty hard to screw up, Giles. Pee on a stick, wait five minutes.” “Then this test must be defective.” He handed the box back to her. She pulled out three more sticks, all blue. “I took the test four times. Which is better than I did on my Math exam. Five times. Stupid derivatives.” Giles took the three sticks from her and added it to the one he was already holding. Four blue sticks. His head was spinning. “This can’t be right. It’s too soon.” “Can we get past the Buffy-was-right and Giles-was-wrong and skip ahead to the Omigod-we’re-having-a-baby?” He paled about two shades and dropped the four blue proofs of that fact on the ground. “Omigod,” he breathed, “We’re having a baby.” “There it is.” She nodded with satisfaction. “Now comes adoration and pampering for the mother of your child.” The box tumbled from her hands as he pulled her into a passionate kiss. They parted for a moment, and he gazed at her in awe as one hand came to rest against her still flat stomach. He pulled her into another lingering kiss before Dawn turned the corner into the living room and started making retching sounds. “You guys have your own room, you know. I’d rather not be around for the baby-making activities.” Giles blushed to the tips of his ears, something Buffy always told him looked adorable. Jenny used to tell him that too. “Hey, Dawn, come here.” “Buffy,” he murmured in her ear, softly enough so Dawn wouldn’t hear. “Let’s wait before we start telling people.” “Wait, schmait. I want to tell everyone.” She jumped out of his lap and took Dawn’s hands in her own. “Hey, kiddo, ’bout nine months from now you’re going to be an aunt.” Dawn beamed. “Really?” “Yup.” Dawn squealed and leapt into Buffy’s arms, letting her sister twirl her around as they both laughed in delight. Giles frowned. Buffy really shouldn’t be picking her sister up like that. And then Dawn was jumping in his lap and giving him a big kiss on the cheek. “Smile, Giles,” she admonished him. “You’re going to be a dad.” Giles couldn’t help but grin like the Cheshire cat. It was the first time someone had called him that. *** Buffy and Giles hosted Thanksgiving dinner at the house. He and Dawn ended up doing most of the work, as Buffy complained that the mere smell of the food cooking made her nauseous. Giles suspected she was exaggerating in order to duck out of turkey duty. Willow and Tara arrived in the afternoon to help, and Xander and Anya joined them a couple hours later, after stopping by to wish his drunk relations a happy Thanksgiving. By dinnertime, Buffy had regained her appetite and devoured everything that was put in front of her. This small band of misfits, who had been brought closer than family by danger and battles fought and battles lost and death and apocalypse and resurrection, these misfits simply enjoyed each other’s company and conversation and laughter. When the meal was finished, they took turns saying what they were each thankful for. Giles was grateful for many things. He mentioned only the friends around him, Dawn, Buffy, and their coming child. But as the others spoke their thanks, he reflected back on the last year and everything that had brought him to this point in his life. Only a year ago, he was living in his own apartment and had come here as a guest for the holiday meal. In the time since then, Joyce had died, Buffy had died, he had made this his home, had taken care of Dawn like his own daughter, Buffy had returned to him, had blessed him with the miracle of her love, and now they were to have a child. He wished that Joyce could still be here with her family. He saw the occasional flashes of pain cross her daughters’ eyes when some nostalgic Thanksgiving ritual would remind them of years past. This was their first real holiday without their mother. Christmas would be even harder. He would do his best to make the season happy for them, but he wished it wasn’t necessary. It wasn’t fair for Joyce to have died so young, younger than he was. He would have given anything to have Joyce at the table with them right now, to have her join in the conversations and laughter, to have Buffy tease her about becoming a grandmother. His dear slayer was likely to miss her mother even more, now that she was to be a mother herself. And when they all settled down for a little post-dinner movie marathon, he soon found Buffy dozing against one arm and Dawn against the other. He slipped his arms around them both and pulled them in closer, one hand sliding down to rest against Buffy’s stomach. He closed his eyes and promised Joyce that her family would be protected and loved. Then he laid his head against the golden curls of her eldest and allowed himself to fall asleep too. *** It was a week after Thanksgiving, and Buffy was 12 days pregnant. It was nice to be sure of the date so exactly. Giles had demonstrated a manly sort of pride in knowing that he’d gotten it right on the first try. And now, he had plunged headfirst into Watcher research mode. Only this time, instead of ancient, dusty volumes of prophecy and demon lore, he poured through books on pregnancy and birth, purchased brand new from the local Barnes and Noble. Sometimes Buffy thought he resembled a little boy, waiting for his new toy to arrive, as he gleefully pointed out to her facts gleaned from the book illustrating their baby’s development. “Look, Buffy,” he would say, “She already has a head, next week she’ll have eyes and ears.” She, always she. Giles wanted a daughter. Buffy strolled through the cemetery, twirling her stake in one hand. She had dropped it twice already, which was odd, but she was probably just distracted. She had taken to talking to her baby as she patrolled the cemetery, telling it stories about her adventures slaying and about the people who would be part of its life after it was born. Giles would kill her if he knew she’d gone. But she had a term paper due in the morning, and she had writer’s block. A couple hours slaying: good for procrastination, and hopefully good for writer’s block as well. She asked the baby what it thought the main connections were between literature and the arts during the Renaissance. But the baby obviously didn’t know. Buffy was in the middle of Restfield Cemetery, near where she had been buried, an area of the graveyard she avoided if possible. Suddenly, she felt a cool hand on her shoulder and spun, drawing back her stake in preparation for the plunge. “Whoa, whoa, hang on there, Slayer. It’s just me.” The tension uncoiled from her body, and she lowered the stake, panting. “God, Spike, don’t you know better than to sneak up on a Slayer in the middle of a graveyard?” Spike shrugged casually. “Didn’t know I could sneak up on a slayer. You feelin’ alright, pet?” Buffy nodded, brushing one hand through her hair and continuing her patrol through the cemetery. Spike fell in step beside her. “I must have been distracted,” she answered. “Distracted slayer’s a dead slayer.” She spared him an annoyed glare. “You sound just like Giles.” “Speaking of the Old Watcher,” Spike began, looking around the cemetery, “I don’t see him lurkin’ about. You two birds have a fight? ’Cause if you did, and you need some consoling...” Buffy stopped, and Spike passed her by two or three steps before he stopped as well and faced her. “We did not have a fight,” Buffy insisted. “And as much as you hate the idea, Giles and I are kinda a forever thing. Especially now that... well never mind about that. The important thing is that you and I are friends, Spike, and that’s all we’ll ever be.” Spike dug the toe of his boot in the ground, and Buffy felt sort of sorry for him. He drew out a cigarette and lit it. He took a long drag, blew a suave smoke ring, and commented, “Yeah, well, you’re probably a right pain to live with anyways. So where’s Mr. Forever-guy then?” Buffy started her sweep of the cemetery again, Spike still trailing along beside her. “If you must know, he didn’t want me to patrol tonight. So I had to sneak out.” Spike’s eyebrows hit his forehead. “Isn’t that a bit, I don’t know, paranoid? Not to mention against the rules or whatever it is Watchers have? Keeping the Slayer from her sworn duty’s probably up there on the list of no-nos. I know the bloke’s been mighty worried ’bout having you die on him and all, following you on patrol most every night like he was your bodyguard or something, but isn’t this a little extreme?” “And how would you know he patrols with me, unless you’ve been following me around too?” Buffy countered with a knowing look. “Yeah, well,” Spike hedged, “I just happen to live in the cemetery. And if you and your ex-librarian wander by... Oh bloody hell,” he sighed. “Yeah, I follow you on patrol too. Happy now?” Buffy smiled and gave him a playful shove. She frowned when it didn’t knock him off balance. “I am the Slayer, Spike. It’s not like I didn’t know you were there. Well, except for tonight at any rate. And I do appreciate the thought, but if you want to actually patrol with me now and then, you wouldn’t have to always hide out in the shadows.” He made a face and tapped out the ash from his cigarette. “Who said I wanted to be a professional demon hunter or something? Just ’cause I watch your back sometimes doesn’t mean I’m lookin’ to join up with the Scoobie gang. Glory was a special case. But I’ll leave you your nightly slayage, thank you very much. I’ve got enough demons think I should be lining a flowerbed already. Don’t need a rep as the Slayer’s faithful sidekick.” Buffy noticed the two vampires approaching from behind Spike, a girl and a boy, neither one of them very intimidating. “Fine with me, Spike. But you better get out of my way. The nightly slayage is about to begin.” He turned and saw them too. He stepped aside for her to walk into battle, but when the scrawny man in the ripped jeans and the weathered biker jacket was able to send the Slayer sprawling on the first blow, Spike stepped into the fray. Spike deflected the male vamp’s attention, allowing Buffy to catch her breath and focus on the woman. This one was dressed like a bad TV prostitute, with the fishnets and an arm full of bangles. If Buffy wasn’t feeling the stabbing fear thrumming through her body, she might have made a remark about her opponent watching ‘Pretty Woman’ one too many times. As it was, she was focusing all her energy on staying alive and figuring out how these two had gotten one up on her so quickly. Buffy aimed a right cross at the girl, but the vamp caught the blow in her hand, sending a shock wave vibrating up Buffy’s arm. God, it hurt! The vampire sneered and grabbed the Slayer by the front of the shirt, kneeing her in the stomach and flinging her several feet to the left. Buffy hit the ground hard and rolled. She doubled over and tried to make it to her feet, but couldn’t. The vampire was on her in a moment anyway, flipping Buffy on her back and grinning as she began to strangle the Slayer. Buffy tried to break the deathgrip around her throat, struggling to breathe and reaching one hand for the stake in her pocket. The woman slipped into her vampire mask and pinned Buffy’s hand to the ground. She had to be the strongest vampire Buffy had ever faced. Or else the slayer herself was the weakest she’d ever been, like those long ago nights of the Cruciamentum. “I’ve heard Slayer’s blood is like getting high and drunk at the same time. Mind if I give it a try?” And then the woman was leaning over her, baring her fangs. A moment later, Buffy was coughing, both from the release of the vampire’s chokehold and the dust that now rained down on her. Spike stood above her, looking more than a little concerned. Buffy was barely aware of his presence. She curled herself into a tiny ball, crying. She felt his hand touch her, and she grabbed him like a drowning woman might grab a life preserver. “Spike,” she begged. “Hospital. Baby.” And then she felt Spike’s strong arms lift her from the ground. It seemed like he was running. She couldn’t really focus on anything except that she hurt and she was terrified. She closed her eyes and prayed, over and over again, that she hadn’t lost her one chance at a child. *** The ringing phone pulled Giles from a deep sleep. He reached for the receiver with something approaching dread. Buffy had promised him she would come right to bed after she finished her term paper. She had promised him she wouldn’t go patrolling. It was after one in the morning, and he was still alone in their bed. Of anyone he could name, Spike was probably at the bottom of the list of people Giles would expect to call him. Did Spike’s crypt even have a phone? But when Spike told Giles where he was and what he was doing there, Buffy’s Watcher and the father of her child was pulling on clothes and halfway down the stairs before Spike could even realize that he’d been hung up on. Almost to the door, Giles remembered Dawn sleeping upstairs. He couldn’t just leave her without letting her know he was gone. And if he told her where he was going, she wouldn’t want to be left behind. Bloody hell. He turned around and ran back up the stairs, for the very first time cursing that Dawn was in his custody. He burst in her room like the police on a raid, calling her name and telling her to wake up as he fumbled through her drawers for clothes. He knew his panic was likely to upset her, but at the moment he couldn’t control it, couldn’t pretend that he knew everything would be fine, not even for Dawn. She was still blinking sleep from her eyes, groggy and confused, when he handed her a sweatsuit and demanded that she get dressed quickly. “What’s going on?” she asked, slipping the sweatshirt on over her pajamas. “Your sister’s in the hospital,” he answered, and then rushed out of her room and down the stairs. He fumbled on the end table for his keys. He had dumped them in the dish with the loose change, and his fingers kept pulling up quarters and nickels. He finally upended the whole thing across the table and retrieved his keys. He turned, and Dawn was on the bottom step, watching him with wide, terrified eyes. He reached for her hand, mostly to pull her along at a faster pace and not out of any attempt at comfort. She shut the door behind them, and Giles didn’t bother to lock it. He had the car started before Dawn had even sat beside him. He glanced over at her, and then pulled out of the drive before she’d had the chance to do up her seatbelt. Normally he would have waited for her, made sure she was belted in before shifting into reverse. Right now, he just didn’t have the time. The drive to the hospital passed in silence. At some point in time, Dawn started crying. Some father you’ll make, Giles thought bitterly. You’ve frightened the poor girl out of her mind, and you don’t have it in you to even try and reassure her. He pulled in next to the emergency entrance, having far too much experience with late night trips to the ER. He was striding through the doors, Dawn jogging to keep up. She reached for his hand, and he took it, pulling her along faster. He banged on the counter as soon as he reached it, trying to get someone’s attention. “Buffy Summers!” he demanded, as the nurse walked up. She was an older woman, maybe 60 or so, with gray hair piled on top of her head and loose wrinkly skin hanging from her thin frame. Her nametag said Emma. She started flipping through charts at an infuriatingly slow pace as she asked him, “And you are?” “The child’s father.” “Her father?” Giles closed his eyes, tried to calm himself, tried to bring his panic down to a more productive level. “No, the baby’s father.” The nurse raised an eyebrow at him, but didn’t comment further. Giles felt Dawn release his hand and then heard her exclaim, “Spike!” He turned in time to see her throw herself into the vampire’s arms. He approached Spike as well, hoping to get answers that the nurse was still dawdling to find. “What happened?” Spike shrugged, still holding Dawn close and rubbing her arms reassuringly. “Couple vamps got the better of her. I jumped in and staked ’em. Buffy was all doubled over in pain, so I brought her here. Doctor’s in with her now.” “Which room?” Giles asked as he moved to pass the blond vampire. Spike hooked the watcher’s arm before he could get more than a few feet. “Best have a seat, Rupert. Let the doctors do their stuff. Nothing you can do but wait. They’ll let us know soon as they have something to tell.” Giles was numb, and he let Spike push him down into a waiting room chair. He leaned forward, elbows on knees, face in hands. Every second he had to wait was agony. He barely registered Spike sending Dawn off on an errand, apparently to sneak a couple bags of O+ from the blood bank. If Giles had been more himself, he would have stopped her. The vampire sat down in the chair next to him, and Giles could feel predatory eyes boring into him. “What?” he finally said. Spike pulled out a cigarette. Catching the look of an orderly as he pointed to the no smoking sign, Spike slipped it back in the pack. “You’re a lucky bastard, you know that?” Spike said softly. Giles leaned back in the chair and stared up at the ceiling. “I don’t feel so lucky right now.” Spike drew out two cigarettes this time and glanced around to see that the orderly had gone. They were pretty much the only ones in the waiting room at the moment. He passed a cigarette to Giles, who looked at it for a few moments in confusion. “Steady your nerves,” Spike explained and then lit them both. Giles hadn’t smoked since the band candy incident, and before that not since his Ripper days. But he took a long drag anyway, feeling the burn down his throat and chest. He exhaled and looked sideways at Spike. “Don’t tell Buffy,” he requested with a wry half-grin. Spike only smiled back and took a long drag on his. “Slayer said something ’bout a baby?” Giles nodded and fell into the familiar motions of smoking. Like riding a damn bicycle. “We just found out maybe a week or so ago. Only been trying less than two. Buffy’s going to be devastated if she loses this child.” That seemed to surprise the vampire. “Slayer was trying to get herself in a family way? Hmm… Never pictured her going all domestic.” Giles tapped his ash out into the garbage can next to him. “She shouldn’t have been out patrolling. I told her not to.” Spike stretched out in his chair, looked behind Giles towards where the doctor was still in with Buffy. “Yeah, wouldn’t get on her back ’bout that if I were you. She’s feelin’ bad enough as it is.” The desk nurse, Emma, came over at that moment, carrying a chart. She frowned at both men until they extinguished their cigarettes and looked properly chastised. “Mr. Summers?” “Mr. Giles,” he corrected her. He saw the look that flashed across the older woman’s features and knew that he was being judged for not having the decency to marry Buffy. “The doctor’s finished examining your friend.” She emphasized the friend, as if hinting that it should have been wife. “She’s asking for you, if you’d like to go in. Dr. Strader was just about to perform an ultrasound. Room 112.” The nurse turned on her heel and walked back to the desk. Giles stood and looked down on Spike for a moment. “Watch Dawn for me until I get back?” Spike crossed his legs as if he were just settling in. “Yeah, sure, whatever.” But when Giles turned to leave, Spike called him back. “Rupert!” He picked at the handle of the waiting room chair, not willing to meet Giles’ eyes. “I know when I don’t stand a chance. I still love her, you know. But the whole way here, you were the one she was crying for. I just…” Spike tilted his head up to fix Giles with a serious stare. “Make her happy, mate. And if you hurt her… Chip or no chip, I’ll put you in the fucking ground.” And then Spike was out of his chair and across the room to inspect the vending machines. Giles watched the blond vampire for a moment before walking down the hall to Buffy’s room. He read the numbers off the wall until he found room 112. He knocked politely and stepped in. Buffy was alone, lying on the bed in a hospital gown and covered with a sheet. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying. When she saw him, she reached for him desperately, and he was at her side in moments. Giles smoothed back her hair and leaned down to kiss her tenderly on the forehead. She started crying again, clinging to his hand and begging him to forgive her. He smiled. “What’s to forgive? Maybe you shouldn’t have gone on patrol alone, but you are the Slayer. I can’t exactly keep you at home, barefoot and pregnant.” He pulled up a chair beside her bed and lowered the side railing so he could be closer to her. He slid his arm under her head and laid his own beside her on the pillow. She was still clutching his hand, her tears now giving way to hiccups. She turned to the side, their foreheads touching, the world around them falling away as he looked into her eyes. “Giles, I’m so scared.” “I know, luv,” he whispered. “So am I.” Her hand tightened convulsively around his, and he stroked the back of it lightly with his thumb. Her eyes closed, and she licked her lips. He knew she was trying to work up the courage to tell him something. Something he probably wouldn’t like. “Giles, I think I lost all my slayer powers.” “What?” Her eyes opened again, and he saw in them the same fear he had seen during the Test. The fear of being just a normal girl, of being helpless and weak, of not being able to protect the ones she loved. She sniffled and wiped her tears across the back of her hand. “Those vamps almost killed me. I couldn’t stop them. When they hit me, it hurt. I had no strength. It was like my birthday all over again.” He closed his eyes, not wanting to remember his betrayal of her. “We’ll figure it out, Buffy. I promise.” But he was already figuring it out. He was already connecting the dots. All those vague references in the Watchers’ Diaries, all the missing time, those watchers weren’t just protecting their pregnant slayers from a Watcher’s Council that would be irritated by slayer maternity leave. Those watchers were guarding a secret from the demon population, protecting future slayers by preventing it from becoming common knowledge. That a pregnant slayer was no longer the Slayer. He tilted his head to kiss her on the lips and seal his promise. But she pulled away and screwed up her face, not the reaction he was accustomed to receiving. “Giles, have you been smoking?” After a beat, he put on his poker face, hoping she hadn’t noticed the guilt that flashed in his eyes first. “No, of course not, Buffy. Spike’s in the waiting room. As usual, he was smoking. Must have stuck to my clothes. Where’s that doctor?” he finished, sitting up and staring at the door. Buffy patted him on their joined hands, and when he looked down, she was smiling slightly. “The smoke kinda makes me nauseous. That’s a good thing, right? That means I’m still pregnant?” He returned her smile and rested his free hand against the top of her head. “Let’s hope so.” The doctor entered a moment later. Her nametag said Dr. Elizabeth Strader. She was young, blond, and thin. Giles didn’t think she looked old enough to be a doctor. “Well, hello again, Buffy and…?” “Giles,” his slayer supplied. “He’s the baby’s father. There’s still a baby, right?” Dr. Strader smiled kindly and flipped open the chart. “Well from the pelvic and from some of the tests I ran, it doesn’t appear that you miscarried. I’d like to do a quick ultrasound just to make sure.” She lowered the sheet and raised the gown, exposing Buffy’s well-toned stomach. “This will be a little cold,” the doctor warned as she smeared some gel across Buffy’s skin. She chatted with her patient as she worked, trying to put the terrified young woman at ease. She asked about Buffy’s name, amused to discover they shared the same name, Elizabeth, and more than a little curious about the unique derivative. The doctor flipped a switch on the monitor and watched the screen as she moved the small doppler across Buffy’s stomach. Dr. Strader frowned as she focused, and Giles desperately tried to read something in her expression. The display on the monitor made no sense to him, and he needed to know if Buffy had lost their child. The doctor smiled at them both, and then reached her free hand to the instrument panel. “Here, listen to this.” She turned a dial, and the soft thrum of a rapid heartbeat gradually filled the room. “That’s your baby’s heartbeat. It sounds good and strong. I’d say everything’s going to be fine.” “Wait,” Giles stopped her. “Heartbeat? Isn’t it a little soon for that?” The doctor set aside the doppler and wiped the gel from her patient’s stomach with a washcloth. “No, right on schedule. I’d put you at about 8 or 10 weeks, Buffy.” “Eight or ten weeks?” Buffy and Giles exclaimed in unison. Buffy settled back to process that new information, but Giles was clearly in a mood to argue with the doctor. “I assure you that’s quite impossible. It’s only been 12 days since we started trying.” Buffy was tugging on their linked hands, trying to bring his attention back to her. “Hey, you, ever consider that this might have happened before we started trying? You know like an accident?” Giles frowned for a moment as if he were only now beginning to consider that possibility. He dropped down into the chair next to her bed, staring at their joined hands. “But we were so careful.” Buffy shrugged. “Well, nothing’s a hundred percent. Happens to the best of them. Be thankful we didn’t find out a month ago. It might have really freaked us out. Consider it fortuitous timing.” “But… But…” He raised his head to seek out the doctor. “But she had her cycle this month. And last.” Buffy sat up straight and gave him a look. “You keep track of that sort of thing?” He squirmed in his chair, clearly uncomfortable. “Well I am...” He glanced over at the doctor significantly and then back to her. “I am responsible for you. And the people who gave me that responsibility-” “Omigod. You write that kind of stuff in your books? Eww! Some guy in England gets to read about my periods? What else do you write about?” Giles stared at the doctor again. “Buffy, perhaps this can wait until we get home. For right now, I’d like the doctor to answer my question. How can she possibly be 8 or 10 weeks along?” The doctor sat on the little metal stool and slid over in front of Giles and Buffy. “It’s not uncommon during the first trimester, and even into the second, especially around the time a woman would usually be getting her period. It’s called ‘spotting.’ I wouldn’t worry about it, Buffy. You and the baby are doing fine. Although, I don’t mean to minimize your fall. You were very lucky not to miscarry. I’d like you to take it easy for a few days. By that, I mean stay in bed and be waited on hand and foot.” She gave Giles a pointed look, and he nodded his understanding. The doctor released them after scheduling a follow-up appointment with an OB for the next week. They picked up Dawn on the way out, thanked Spike for his help, and drove home with the glazed expression of two people who had just had over two months carved off their nine months of preparation time. *** Buffy lounged on the living room couch, watching Xander and Dawn duke it out over Dr. Mario. Giles had bought a Nintendo to keep his restless slayer occupied during the three or four days she was supposed to stay in bed. He probably never guessed it would keep the house full of constant guests and reduce college age adults to childish bickering over whose turn it was. For now Giles had been thrown out by a cranky girlfriend, who insisted that if she had to spend every minute of every day with him hovering over her, then he was certainly not long for this world. Discretion being the better part of valor, he beat a hasty retreat and left her in the care of the other Scoobies. Willow sat on the floor beside the couch, casting half an eye on Xander and Dawn’s game as she talked with Buffy. “So 8 or 10 weeks, huh?” “Yeah,” Buffy said. “Baby’s a boo-boo. Although Giles got mad when I called it that.” “How’s he taking it?” her friend asked. “I think he’s mostly embarrassed, so I wouldn’t tease him about it if I were you. He wanted to be like ‘The Man with the Plan.’ Now he’s just the man who knocked up his girlfriend. I think he wants to apologize for it or something. I have to keep reminding him that we wanted a baby.” “So, how are you taking it?” Buffy shrugged. “Mildly freaked out. I was supposed to have nine months to get ready. Now I have less than seven. Middle of July instead of the end of August. But the heartbeat was really cool, Will. You should have heard it. I have a little person’s heart beating inside me.” Willow smiled and put her hand on Buffy’s flat tummy. “How long you have to stay like this?” Buffy sighed and tossed her head back. She was getting sooo bored with just laying around. Giles only let her up to go to the bathroom, and even then it was an interrogation to see if she was trying to cheat her bedrest. “Doctor said two more days. Giles says three. I’m going batty here, Will.” Xander jumped to his feet, his hands raised in victory. “Who’s the man?” Dawn crossed her arms. “You are. You’re such the man. You can beat a 14-year-old girl. I think my speed’s set too high. I should get a handicap.” Xander laughed and started tickling Dawn until she giggled. “I think someone’s just a sore loser.” He had pity on her and let her up, turning towards the couch. “Hey, Buff, want to play?” “Naw,” she answered. “You’ll just cry when I beat you, and then I’ll feel all bad.” She could see he would have tickled her too, except perhaps that he feared the wrath of Giles. Sometimes there were advantages to being pregnant. *** Giles turned the handle on the bedroom door, but it was locked. That was very odd. He didn’t even realize their bedroom door had a lock. “Buffy?” “Go away.” He could tell that she was crying. “Buffy, is something wrong? Please let me in.” He tried the handle again, even applied a little force. He was growing concerned. “Buffy, please, you’re worrying me.” The door opened a crack and one red-rimmed eye poked out. “None of my pants fit,” she informed him. He tried not to smile. That would only make her angry. He pushed the door open further, and she let him take her in his arms. “That’s to be expected, Buffy. It will probably be a long while before they fit you again. But that doesn’t change how beautiful you are.” “Sweet talker,” she mumbled against his chest. She pulled away from him and walked back into the bedroom. Clothes were strewn everywhere, across the bed, the floor, hanging off of the nightstand and even the lampshade. She must have tried on 30 pairs of pants. Buffy flopped down on the bed, clad only in a T-shirt and undies. Giles could see the slightest curve to her stomach, and then he did smile in spite of himself. “Giles,” she wailed. “It’s just happening too fast. They all fit just yesterday, maybe a little snug. Today I can’t even zip them up.” Something she said clicked inside his head. It’s just happening too fast. A suspicion began to grow inside him, and he felt his stomach knot up. He wouldn’t say anything to Buffy, not until after the doctor’s appointment confirmed or denied his hypothesis. No need to worry her for nothing. But he was beginning to wonder if the Watchers’ Diaries with their vague comments and missing chunks of time, if maybe they weren’t hiding more than pregnant slayers who’d lost their powers. “Come on, Buffy,” he told her. “Put on a pair of sweats or something loose. We’ll be late for the doctor’s appointment.” *** Buffy paced the length of the living room over and over again. Giles had been Mr. Research ever since they got back. And he wouldn’t tell her anything. Not until he was sure, he told her. He didn’t even eat dinner with her and Dawn. Buffy just brought him a plate and set it on the coffee table. It was after dark, and he hadn’t eaten more than half of it. After about the fifth time Buffy had snapped at her sister, Dawn had slunk off to her own room, muttering about hormones. Now just her and Giles in the living room. And he might as well be a million miles away for as much as he noticed her presence. A strange mix of old journals and new pregnancy books lie open across the coffee table. Giles kept punching numbers into a calculator. “Giles!” she tried again, bending over into his line of sight. “Come on. You said you had the explanation for our incompetent doctor. So start explaining already. I’m having visions of alien babies here.” He twisted away from her, still buried in his book. “Please, just a minute. I almost have it.” She huffed and resumed her pacing. Giles hadn’t seemed the least bit surprised when the doctor told them she was 12 to 14 weeks along and put the due date at the middle of June. Buffy was ready to demand a second opinion, but Giles had quickly silenced her, played the passive patient for the doctor, and then ushered them out as quickly as possible. Another month carved out of their prep time. Now only six months or less. “Dear Lord,” he breathed, leaning back against the couch in a daze. Buffy was at his side in a second. “What is it? Come on, share already!” He looked up at her, and then drew her to sit down in his lap. Uh-oh. This couldn’t be good. “Buffy,” he began. He was still staring off into space, his eyes glazed over. “I’ve done the calculations three times. I think you lost your slayer gifts, because your metabolism is focused on this pregnancy. You did conceive that first night we tried.” “But, Giles-” He silenced her with a finger on the lips. “That puts you at twenty days right now. Taking that, plus the timing of the various symptoms you’ve experienced, adding in the estimate the doctor in the ER gave us, and now the very different estimate the OB doctor gave us, I think I’ve determined your real due date. Buffy, we don’t have nine months. We have nine weeks.” “What?” She collapsed against him, her eyes glazing over as well. “Nine weeks?” “Well, closer to six weeks now, actually. Near the end of January, I believe.” “Omigod! Don’t slayers get to do anything by the book?” “Apparently not,” he answered, now absently running his fingers through her hair. Suddenly she bolted off his lap. “Omigod! Giles, how far will I be on January 5th?” He adjusted his glasses and leaned forward to look over his calculations. He punched something in the calculator. “Six months.” Buffy groaned. “Anya is totally going to kill me. I’ll have to have my bridesmaid’s dress completely refitted. I’ll look like a big orange pumpkin.” Giles quickly punched some more numbers into the calculator, and sank back into the couch. “Buffy, isn’t your father’s wedding the following weekend?” Her eyes grew even wider, and her hand came up to cover her mouth. “I’ll have to be refitted for that dress too.” “I was thinking more along the lines of you showing up at your father’s wedding seven months pregnant. He hates me enough as it is. Now he really is going to kill me.” Giles removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes wearily. This was turning into a nightmare. There was no way they would be ready for a baby in six weeks. “Giles,” she said softly, crawling back into his lap. “Is this like a pregnancy thing? Or will the baby… I mean… Should we be looking at colleges for next year?” He chuckled and rubbed her back reassuringly. “No, it’s just a slayer thing. Your body’s speeding things along. It makes sense, really. The Slayer can’t afford to be out of commission for nine months. After the baby is born, she should be just fine.” Buffy sighed, and they both sat in silence for a moment. It really was rather overwhelming. “What do we do?” She sounded very small and very frightened. He wrapped his arms tightly around her, trying to lend her some of his own strength. “Well,” he started, thinking through the whole matter from a more practical standpoint. “We make a list of everything that must be done before the baby comes. The others will help, I’m sure. Then there are the doctor appointments. We will need some help from the Council, either by sending us a doctor we can trust or by fudging your medical records. If it’s the latter, then you’ll have to see a different doctor at each visit.” He continued on, his mind working through the problem logically, the rest of him completely numb from the implications. “I hate to do this to you, Buffy, but you’ll have to drop out next semester. Finish your exams for this term, but then the next… It would be rather hard to explain your sudden pregnancy after just the Christmas recess. You shouldn’t leave the house much at the end, either. People would ask too many questions.” He hugged her closely and kissed her on the forehead. “Everything will be fine. We’ll work it all out. Please don’t worry.” Buffy snuggled up closer. “What would I do without you?” He laughed deprecatingly. “I imagine you wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place.” He slid her off his lap. “Now, do you want to tell Dawn, or should we both do it?” Buffy shook her head. “I better do it. Actually, I think she’ll be excited. Nine months seemed like a long time to her.” And his slayer headed up the stairs to enlighten her sister on the recent turn of events. Six more weeks and he would be a father. He couldn’t comprehend it. *** A black Accord with out of state plates pulled up across the street from 1630 Revello Drive. The driver killed the lights and engine, and then snapped a telephoto lens on his digital camera. “People should learn to draw their shades,” he murmured as he took half a dozen photos. He waited for the man to turn for a clear shot, and then- click- the driver snapped one last picture. A laptop rested on the passenger seat, and the digital camera was quickly plugged into its port. He downloaded the images and attached them to an email. He encoded it, and then sent it. Nothing left but to wait for the phone call. Ring. He answered his cell before the second ring. “It’s me,” he said simply. “That your man?… All right, then, target acquired. I’ll need the first half up front… What?… No really, I prefer to work alone… Fine, but it’ll cost you another five if you want me to play nice with others… Agreed. So where am I meeting this contact of yours?” The driver reached across to the laptop and opened up notepad. He typed in the directions to the rendezvous. “Make sure he knows that I’m in charge of this operation… Yes, of course… I understand. Not quick at all. I’m good at these kinds of games. I’ll keep your friend ‘entertained’ until you can arrive. You are still planning to be there for the big finale?… Good. So this guy I’m meeting, what’s his name?” The driver typed below the directions: R- A- Y- N- E. “Ok, got it. Ethan Rayne. Tell him not to be late. I hate waiting. I charge extra for that.” Click. He hung up the phone. Moments later, the black Accord had pulled away and was gone. ***
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