Fic: The Wide and Starry Sky
Title: The Wide and Starry Sky
Pairing: Wesley/Illyria, Spike/Buffy
Word Count: 2600
Rating: very mild R
A/N: This is set in the Rulesverse and is a companion piece to Home is the Hunter, and particularly to Winds Blowing Chill, in which Wesley agrees to ‘father’ a baby for Spike and Buffy, with emotional consequences for all concerned. It is *slightly* babyfic.
It was a difficult situation not covered by most books of etiquette: the prospective sperm donor interviewing the prospective non-biological father. (Which made him sound slightly like washing powder. Wesley wished his brain would focus more on the important conversation in progress, dammit.)
“I’m not certain this is what you want, Spike. Rather the opposite, in fact.”
“Nope. It’s not my dream. Actually, I fucking hate it, and you would too. But it’s hers, and I want her to be happy. Slayer’s thought this through, been over a lot of options. If you’d do it, it would be... okay, I think.”
“I see. Well, I would certainly like to help out my friends.” Wesley tried not to sound as reluctant as he felt. He did want to help, but preferably by killing demons or chanting spells, not contributing biological matter to create a new human being.
“Would you be okay? Because you know I’d be its Dad, right? You’d have a kid, but it’d be far away and brought up by someone else. Not like you’ve got five bouncing babies already.” Spike sounded as though he was trying to talk Wesley out of it. Which should have been welcome, but instead spurred Wesley to test Spike a little more.
“Indeed not. Nor likely to have. But it would be... interesting may not be quite the word, but it’s roughly how I feel about the proposition. It may very well be the only offspring I ever have.”
“Wesley?”
“Hmmm?”
“Don’t call it ‘it’.”
Wesley laughed, and felt fractionally better. Spike might sound grudging, but he had a few good instincts.
*
The telephone rang. Wesley picked it up absently, still half-immersed in analysis of the Slayer Support Officer-candidate aptitude test results.
“You have spawned.”
Wesley rubbed a hand across his eyes. “Good afternoon Illyria. How are you?”
Annoyed, by the sound of it. “You did not tell me of your plans. The Slayer is bearing your child.”
Wesley didn’t bother to ask how Illyria knew it. She could probably smell his cells, or recognise him by the aura of his genetic material or something. He would rather not know precisely how she could track his essence; too intimate.
“Please don’t mention this to anyone else. I am not going to be that child’s father. I believe Buffy will keep the fact of his genetics quiet, at least until the infant himself is old enough to understand. I will certainly not be in a care-giving position to the child. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
It was always worth checking that she had.
“Will you co-operate?”
That was even more essential to verify.
“Yes. I encouraged the Slayer to seek such a resolution. I will not interfere with it... But I did not expect her to approach you.” She sounded almost baffled.
“No, I don’t imagine you did.”
Hanging up, Wesley thought back to the last time Illyria had visited LA. To lying, sweaty and satiated, with her hand still cupping his cock. She had said, “Mine,” savage yet content for the present. No. She would not have foreseen this.
*
He caught sight of Spike at one of the major Council conferences, when the vampire was passing by the castle briefly. They exchanged one quick, embarrassed glance, and no more.
In creating life, Wesley appeared to have killed off one of the last remaining friendships he possessed.
Illyria watched them.
*
Months later, Illyria visited Los Angeles, unexpected as always. She bore photographs of a roundly pregnant Buffy; dumped them on Wesley’s desk without ceremony.
“Is this normality?”
“I haven’t any idea. All the pregnant women I’ve known have been incubating demon spawn, or else they’ve been dead. This is quite out of my experience.”
They sat and considered the pictures for silent moments. Wesley’s life was so consistently bizarre, had been for such a time, he really couldn’t fathom what to say about something as basic as a human woman with child.
He looked over at his inhuman mistress. “Why does this interest you?”
“Continuity is life.”
“That tells me nothing.”
Illyria was bluer than blue, shedding her humanity. “I have no family. They are gone.”
I have no family, either, Wesley thought.
When he considered it, he was made uncomfortable by how closely Illyria could mirror his moods.
*
On a voicemail far, far away...
This is Illyria, the God King of the Primordium. I wish to leave a message for Spike.
Wesley is sad. Buffy is sad. You are a fool.
That is the end of my message.
*
Two days later...
“Wes. That you?”
“Yes. Is that Spike?” It had actually been long enough that Wesley wasn’t sure.
“Yeah. You alone?”
“Yes, at present. Angel will be back by ten.”
“Won’t take long.” Spike sounded curt, which either meant trouble or emotion.
“Everything all right?”
“Not really. I’ve been acting like an arse to the woman I love, and I’m thousands of miles away. Any suggestions for how to fix it?”
I haven’t spoken to you in... well, seven months or thereabouts, oddly enough. Why in hell would I be able to fix this? But he tried. Wesley always tried to make things better.
“What can you do at long distance? That would seem a natural ice-breaker. You can’t do much to support her physically, but perhaps you could order a cot or something?”
“I’m in Nampho, Wesley. North Korea. Unless you want something smelted, it’s not great consumer territory.”
Right. Yes. Delenteria the endless quest. That on top of familial emotional depths would explain a certain silence from Spike, he supposed. “Well, something intangible then, or you could order something online, of course. Perhaps something engraved with the baby’s name.”
Spike sounded curter still. “Dunno what that is.”
“... Shouldn’t you?”
*
Illyria returned to Slayer HQ. The next day she put through a call to the Los Angeles office. She did this at least weekly, sometimes daily when bored. Wesley tried not to take more than 50% of them. It preserved his sanity.
“I have tidings.”
“Indeed?”
“Buffy is smiling.”
“Good.”
Wesley had no intention of telling her about Spike’s follow-up consultative call, but it had apparently led to good things. He’d never named a baby before, even through this indirect three-step process. Fingers crossed for Annelise; it had a pretty sound.
He had almost wept on being asked if he’d like a girl to be Winifred. But there would be no more Freds in his life. Instead, there was the being on the end of the phone line.
Illyria was waiting for him to speak. If he didn’t have anything to say, she would hang up. So it went.
For almost the first time in this circumstance, Wesley did speak.
He said, “When can you come back here?”
There was a very long silence. He’d never invited her before, let alone just after she had left.
“Soon.”
*
“Hey, Wesley.”
“Spike. Good to hear from you.” Wesley was half surprised, but it was roundabout the time for this call. “Has it come yet?”
“Yep, she’s born.”
She. Wesley’s eyes closed briefly, savouring for one second the sensation of having a daughter. Then relinquishing her, and playing his assigned role with polite interest.
“All well, I trust?”
“Yep, mum and baby all good. Hefty wench, is Annie. Bit purple and wrinkly, but I hear that passes off soon.”
“Good. I shall tell the others, they’ll be delighted.”
“Yeah. I bet.” Spike laughed, a little. Then, “Wes...”
“Mmm?”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.”
“Oh... you’re welcome, I suppose. It’s more awkward than I anticipated.”
Chuckle from Spike. “Yeah. ‘Fraid so. We’ll work something out. She’ll know, in a few years, who you are and all that, right?”
“That’s rather up to you.” Wesley tried to imagine it, and couldn’t.
“How’s Blue?”
Wesley could feel his ears burning with embarrassment. “She’s well enough.”
Dirty laugh. “I bet. Still, at least one of us is getting laid tonight. Treat her well, Wes. She loves you, if she can do.”
“I don’t think love is a word either of us uses.”
“Well that’s a sad shame, my friend.” Spike rang off, and went back to family, love and fatherhood.
*
It wasn’t a relationship. At least, it wasn’t a romance. Wesley was far too sensible to fall for a superhuman being whose emotions he could barely comprehend.
He didn’t know what it was, of course. There were moments of absence when he missed her ferociously. Others when he could have killed her, as she killed Fred. Hollowed her out and kept her as a vessel for the spirit of Winifred Burkle.
There were other moments when he felt desperate tenderness. As when she called him after dark, with a tight note of fearful bewilderment. “Did I do wrong?”
This time three Chadian men had died, and a Slayer with them, because she had believed her way was best. Yes, that was wrong. But the goal was achieved. To have Illyria question the means was emotional progress beyond his dreams.
Wesley sent her to headquarters. Couldn’t face the hope. Wanted to hear occasional Illyria-filtered snippets about Annie, come to that. They came grudgingly.
*
Another call...
“How’s tricks, Head Boy?”
It was never worth rising to that old jibe. “Fair to moderate, thank you, Spike. Is all well at the castle?”
“Could be. Really could be. I think Blue Bird’s got the solution to Delenteria. Been sitting on it all this time, bless her self-centeredness.”
“Oh, damn. I’m so sorry about the delay.”
But Spike was cheerful enough, now the end was firmly in prospect. “Should’ve asked her, I suppose. Weird thing is, she’s worked it all out with Dawn. I’m just the strong arm, after all that time. So, question is, how soon can you come and keep her on the strait and narrow while she does her portal thing?”
Portals. Fred hated portals. Illyria was not Fred. Sometimes, he almost forgot that.
Wesley said, “No.”
“What? Doesn’t have to be tomorrow, but soon would be good.”
“I’m sorry. I find I... can’t.”
Spike’s voice was cold. Most unlike him. “Right. I’ll have to walk through dimensions without your input, then. Have a good week at the Academy, Head Boy.”
*
Wesley got on a plane two weeks later. The silence from headquarters was too much. It left him able to hear his subconscious, accusing him of cowardice and being a poor friend. Wallowing in senseless grief. Denying himself an emotional life because he had suffered one grievous loss.
The castle was half-deserted when he arrived. Faith was there, holding the fort while the others were at the Deeper Well.
Wesley could talk to Faith about work, but nothing more. She didn’t know about Annie, and she’d barely met Fred. They coexisted, frostily, as she didn’t quite accuse him of letting down the Council.
He tried to bring himself to join the others at the Well, but couldn’t face the source of Fred’s death; that contagion that could have killed half the world. So he existed, pottering around the research department, joining in Vi’s thrilled examination of the potential of the Key, and waiting.
*
For the moment when they came home. Success was already known, of course. But the straggle of Slayers, vampire, Support Officers and superbeings crossing the threshold confirmed that they were safe. Dawn was pale and bandaged; Spike battered and shining with certainty.
Illyria was quiet, drawing up the rear with Giles, until he was greeted by a purposeful Faith and towed up to their quarters.
Buffy was drawn, and cuddling a baby. Wesley did not look at her after the first. He slipped back up to R&D, and tried to focus on a text. After half an hour, he realised it was a driving test manual, and gave up.
*
It was Giles who first broke the silence. Tracking Wesley to the research suite, he began with undemanding reports on the successful Delenteria quest, and a few suggestions for how the Codex might be destroyed.
Then he threw in a faux-casual, “Shame you couldn’t be there for it.”
Wesley didn’t respond.
Giles tried again. “I think sometimes we forget, we who didn’t love Fred, just how directly Illyria relates to her. I wonder that you can face her at all, when I do consider it properly.”
“Sometimes I can’t.” Wesley finally spoke.
“And yet you do maintain a relationship with her.” Dangerous ground, which Giles skipped over. “You can be proud. She was a genuine help to us. And suppressed any thought of making use of Dawn for her own purposes.”
That was gratifying. But still, Wesley had to say it. “I don’t love her. I don’t think I can. She isn’t human.”
“But there is something. And she is changing. Love isn’t simple; we’ve all seen that.”
Giles stood up. “That’s probably enough moralising for one day. We’re glad you came, Wesley. Do stay a while.”
*
Two days later, Spike approached Wesley, otherwise alone in Slayer central.
“Hey Wesley.”
“Good morning.”
“Do I owe you an apology for bawling you out? Giles thinks so.” Spike sounded unconvinced.
“No more than I owe you one for not coming when you needed me.” That much was certainly true.
“Right, quits then. Otherwise we’ll have to be mortal enemies, and I’ve plenty of those already.” Spike raised his voice. “’Sides, we wanted you to meet someone.”
*
Annie looked like Spike.
It was Wesley’s first thought, on looking at the pinkly squirming bundle in Buffy’s arms. Fair, blue-eyed, slightly elfin cast to her features. Not the nose, that was an infantile smudge. But otherwise, Spike’s face was a half-decent match.
Bundle was the wrong word for her, in fact. This was no blobby infant, but a baby verging on toddlerhood, with vigorous arms and legs flailing in her efforts to convince her mother to let her down. On being let down, she immediately demanded to come up again.
Buffy, who’d entered the room visibly braced for emotion, had speedily downgraded that to slightly harassed motherhood. With a familiar eye-roll, she swooped down on her daughter, swung her high into the air and said, “Up or down, Annie? Can’t be both.” The baby laughed, and reached out demandingly towards Spike as well. She clearly expected him to obey her command and come within playing distance.
Wesley had been expecting something. Some feeling of connection. Perhaps a terrible sense of grief, loss, deprivation? Or at the least, a moment - an exchange of glances in which Annie would... what? Sense his biological claim, absurd though the thought was.
No such thing. She was rosy, active, cheerfully self-centred, and she barely knew Wesley was there. But it was fine. It was good. Wesley looked at the three of them and felt... contented. He’d done a good thing for this family. Nothing more. He was interested in her, distantly, but there was no need for agonies of emotion after all
He sensed two pairs of parental eyes staring at him, worried. He smiled at them both. “I’m afraid I don’t know much about babies. But I can tell this one is marvellous.”
The atmosphere lightened. Spike grinned, “Yep. She should be, after all that hassle getting her.”
Buffy stretched up for half a hug. “Yeah. Did we say thanks for that?”
“None needed.” It was true. Such a small thing to Wesley, and so huge to them. He stayed a few minutes, enough to be politely admiring but little more, and slipped out to find Illyria.
It wasn’t love. But it was something. And he wanted to try turning her nose pink again.
***
Pairing: Wesley/Illyria, Spike/Buffy
Word Count: 2600
Rating: very mild R
A/N: This is set in the Rulesverse and is a companion piece to Home is the Hunter, and particularly to Winds Blowing Chill, in which Wesley agrees to ‘father’ a baby for Spike and Buffy, with emotional consequences for all concerned. It is *slightly* babyfic.
It was a difficult situation not covered by most books of etiquette: the prospective sperm donor interviewing the prospective non-biological father. (Which made him sound slightly like washing powder. Wesley wished his brain would focus more on the important conversation in progress, dammit.)
“I’m not certain this is what you want, Spike. Rather the opposite, in fact.”
“Nope. It’s not my dream. Actually, I fucking hate it, and you would too. But it’s hers, and I want her to be happy. Slayer’s thought this through, been over a lot of options. If you’d do it, it would be... okay, I think.”
“I see. Well, I would certainly like to help out my friends.” Wesley tried not to sound as reluctant as he felt. He did want to help, but preferably by killing demons or chanting spells, not contributing biological matter to create a new human being.
“Would you be okay? Because you know I’d be its Dad, right? You’d have a kid, but it’d be far away and brought up by someone else. Not like you’ve got five bouncing babies already.” Spike sounded as though he was trying to talk Wesley out of it. Which should have been welcome, but instead spurred Wesley to test Spike a little more.
“Indeed not. Nor likely to have. But it would be... interesting may not be quite the word, but it’s roughly how I feel about the proposition. It may very well be the only offspring I ever have.”
“Wesley?”
“Hmmm?”
“Don’t call it ‘it’.”
Wesley laughed, and felt fractionally better. Spike might sound grudging, but he had a few good instincts.
*
The telephone rang. Wesley picked it up absently, still half-immersed in analysis of the Slayer Support Officer-candidate aptitude test results.
“You have spawned.”
Wesley rubbed a hand across his eyes. “Good afternoon Illyria. How are you?”
Annoyed, by the sound of it. “You did not tell me of your plans. The Slayer is bearing your child.”
Wesley didn’t bother to ask how Illyria knew it. She could probably smell his cells, or recognise him by the aura of his genetic material or something. He would rather not know precisely how she could track his essence; too intimate.
“Please don’t mention this to anyone else. I am not going to be that child’s father. I believe Buffy will keep the fact of his genetics quiet, at least until the infant himself is old enough to understand. I will certainly not be in a care-giving position to the child. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
It was always worth checking that she had.
“Will you co-operate?”
That was even more essential to verify.
“Yes. I encouraged the Slayer to seek such a resolution. I will not interfere with it... But I did not expect her to approach you.” She sounded almost baffled.
“No, I don’t imagine you did.”
Hanging up, Wesley thought back to the last time Illyria had visited LA. To lying, sweaty and satiated, with her hand still cupping his cock. She had said, “Mine,” savage yet content for the present. No. She would not have foreseen this.
*
He caught sight of Spike at one of the major Council conferences, when the vampire was passing by the castle briefly. They exchanged one quick, embarrassed glance, and no more.
In creating life, Wesley appeared to have killed off one of the last remaining friendships he possessed.
Illyria watched them.
*
Months later, Illyria visited Los Angeles, unexpected as always. She bore photographs of a roundly pregnant Buffy; dumped them on Wesley’s desk without ceremony.
“Is this normality?”
“I haven’t any idea. All the pregnant women I’ve known have been incubating demon spawn, or else they’ve been dead. This is quite out of my experience.”
They sat and considered the pictures for silent moments. Wesley’s life was so consistently bizarre, had been for such a time, he really couldn’t fathom what to say about something as basic as a human woman with child.
He looked over at his inhuman mistress. “Why does this interest you?”
“Continuity is life.”
“That tells me nothing.”
Illyria was bluer than blue, shedding her humanity. “I have no family. They are gone.”
I have no family, either, Wesley thought.
When he considered it, he was made uncomfortable by how closely Illyria could mirror his moods.
*
On a voicemail far, far away...
This is Illyria, the God King of the Primordium. I wish to leave a message for Spike.
Wesley is sad. Buffy is sad. You are a fool.
That is the end of my message.
*
Two days later...
“Wes. That you?”
“Yes. Is that Spike?” It had actually been long enough that Wesley wasn’t sure.
“Yeah. You alone?”
“Yes, at present. Angel will be back by ten.”
“Won’t take long.” Spike sounded curt, which either meant trouble or emotion.
“Everything all right?”
“Not really. I’ve been acting like an arse to the woman I love, and I’m thousands of miles away. Any suggestions for how to fix it?”
I haven’t spoken to you in... well, seven months or thereabouts, oddly enough. Why in hell would I be able to fix this? But he tried. Wesley always tried to make things better.
“What can you do at long distance? That would seem a natural ice-breaker. You can’t do much to support her physically, but perhaps you could order a cot or something?”
“I’m in Nampho, Wesley. North Korea. Unless you want something smelted, it’s not great consumer territory.”
Right. Yes. Delenteria the endless quest. That on top of familial emotional depths would explain a certain silence from Spike, he supposed. “Well, something intangible then, or you could order something online, of course. Perhaps something engraved with the baby’s name.”
Spike sounded curter still. “Dunno what that is.”
“... Shouldn’t you?”
*
Illyria returned to Slayer HQ. The next day she put through a call to the Los Angeles office. She did this at least weekly, sometimes daily when bored. Wesley tried not to take more than 50% of them. It preserved his sanity.
“I have tidings.”
“Indeed?”
“Buffy is smiling.”
“Good.”
Wesley had no intention of telling her about Spike’s follow-up consultative call, but it had apparently led to good things. He’d never named a baby before, even through this indirect three-step process. Fingers crossed for Annelise; it had a pretty sound.
He had almost wept on being asked if he’d like a girl to be Winifred. But there would be no more Freds in his life. Instead, there was the being on the end of the phone line.
Illyria was waiting for him to speak. If he didn’t have anything to say, she would hang up. So it went.
For almost the first time in this circumstance, Wesley did speak.
He said, “When can you come back here?”
There was a very long silence. He’d never invited her before, let alone just after she had left.
“Soon.”
*
“Hey, Wesley.”
“Spike. Good to hear from you.” Wesley was half surprised, but it was roundabout the time for this call. “Has it come yet?”
“Yep, she’s born.”
She. Wesley’s eyes closed briefly, savouring for one second the sensation of having a daughter. Then relinquishing her, and playing his assigned role with polite interest.
“All well, I trust?”
“Yep, mum and baby all good. Hefty wench, is Annie. Bit purple and wrinkly, but I hear that passes off soon.”
“Good. I shall tell the others, they’ll be delighted.”
“Yeah. I bet.” Spike laughed, a little. Then, “Wes...”
“Mmm?”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.”
“Oh... you’re welcome, I suppose. It’s more awkward than I anticipated.”
Chuckle from Spike. “Yeah. ‘Fraid so. We’ll work something out. She’ll know, in a few years, who you are and all that, right?”
“That’s rather up to you.” Wesley tried to imagine it, and couldn’t.
“How’s Blue?”
Wesley could feel his ears burning with embarrassment. “She’s well enough.”
Dirty laugh. “I bet. Still, at least one of us is getting laid tonight. Treat her well, Wes. She loves you, if she can do.”
“I don’t think love is a word either of us uses.”
“Well that’s a sad shame, my friend.” Spike rang off, and went back to family, love and fatherhood.
*
It wasn’t a relationship. At least, it wasn’t a romance. Wesley was far too sensible to fall for a superhuman being whose emotions he could barely comprehend.
He didn’t know what it was, of course. There were moments of absence when he missed her ferociously. Others when he could have killed her, as she killed Fred. Hollowed her out and kept her as a vessel for the spirit of Winifred Burkle.
There were other moments when he felt desperate tenderness. As when she called him after dark, with a tight note of fearful bewilderment. “Did I do wrong?”
This time three Chadian men had died, and a Slayer with them, because she had believed her way was best. Yes, that was wrong. But the goal was achieved. To have Illyria question the means was emotional progress beyond his dreams.
Wesley sent her to headquarters. Couldn’t face the hope. Wanted to hear occasional Illyria-filtered snippets about Annie, come to that. They came grudgingly.
*
Another call...
“How’s tricks, Head Boy?”
It was never worth rising to that old jibe. “Fair to moderate, thank you, Spike. Is all well at the castle?”
“Could be. Really could be. I think Blue Bird’s got the solution to Delenteria. Been sitting on it all this time, bless her self-centeredness.”
“Oh, damn. I’m so sorry about the delay.”
But Spike was cheerful enough, now the end was firmly in prospect. “Should’ve asked her, I suppose. Weird thing is, she’s worked it all out with Dawn. I’m just the strong arm, after all that time. So, question is, how soon can you come and keep her on the strait and narrow while she does her portal thing?”
Portals. Fred hated portals. Illyria was not Fred. Sometimes, he almost forgot that.
Wesley said, “No.”
“What? Doesn’t have to be tomorrow, but soon would be good.”
“I’m sorry. I find I... can’t.”
Spike’s voice was cold. Most unlike him. “Right. I’ll have to walk through dimensions without your input, then. Have a good week at the Academy, Head Boy.”
*
Wesley got on a plane two weeks later. The silence from headquarters was too much. It left him able to hear his subconscious, accusing him of cowardice and being a poor friend. Wallowing in senseless grief. Denying himself an emotional life because he had suffered one grievous loss.
The castle was half-deserted when he arrived. Faith was there, holding the fort while the others were at the Deeper Well.
Wesley could talk to Faith about work, but nothing more. She didn’t know about Annie, and she’d barely met Fred. They coexisted, frostily, as she didn’t quite accuse him of letting down the Council.
He tried to bring himself to join the others at the Well, but couldn’t face the source of Fred’s death; that contagion that could have killed half the world. So he existed, pottering around the research department, joining in Vi’s thrilled examination of the potential of the Key, and waiting.
*
For the moment when they came home. Success was already known, of course. But the straggle of Slayers, vampire, Support Officers and superbeings crossing the threshold confirmed that they were safe. Dawn was pale and bandaged; Spike battered and shining with certainty.
Illyria was quiet, drawing up the rear with Giles, until he was greeted by a purposeful Faith and towed up to their quarters.
Buffy was drawn, and cuddling a baby. Wesley did not look at her after the first. He slipped back up to R&D, and tried to focus on a text. After half an hour, he realised it was a driving test manual, and gave up.
*
It was Giles who first broke the silence. Tracking Wesley to the research suite, he began with undemanding reports on the successful Delenteria quest, and a few suggestions for how the Codex might be destroyed.
Then he threw in a faux-casual, “Shame you couldn’t be there for it.”
Wesley didn’t respond.
Giles tried again. “I think sometimes we forget, we who didn’t love Fred, just how directly Illyria relates to her. I wonder that you can face her at all, when I do consider it properly.”
“Sometimes I can’t.” Wesley finally spoke.
“And yet you do maintain a relationship with her.” Dangerous ground, which Giles skipped over. “You can be proud. She was a genuine help to us. And suppressed any thought of making use of Dawn for her own purposes.”
That was gratifying. But still, Wesley had to say it. “I don’t love her. I don’t think I can. She isn’t human.”
“But there is something. And she is changing. Love isn’t simple; we’ve all seen that.”
Giles stood up. “That’s probably enough moralising for one day. We’re glad you came, Wesley. Do stay a while.”
*
Two days later, Spike approached Wesley, otherwise alone in Slayer central.
“Hey Wesley.”
“Good morning.”
“Do I owe you an apology for bawling you out? Giles thinks so.” Spike sounded unconvinced.
“No more than I owe you one for not coming when you needed me.” That much was certainly true.
“Right, quits then. Otherwise we’ll have to be mortal enemies, and I’ve plenty of those already.” Spike raised his voice. “’Sides, we wanted you to meet someone.”
*
Annie looked like Spike.
It was Wesley’s first thought, on looking at the pinkly squirming bundle in Buffy’s arms. Fair, blue-eyed, slightly elfin cast to her features. Not the nose, that was an infantile smudge. But otherwise, Spike’s face was a half-decent match.
Bundle was the wrong word for her, in fact. This was no blobby infant, but a baby verging on toddlerhood, with vigorous arms and legs flailing in her efforts to convince her mother to let her down. On being let down, she immediately demanded to come up again.
Buffy, who’d entered the room visibly braced for emotion, had speedily downgraded that to slightly harassed motherhood. With a familiar eye-roll, she swooped down on her daughter, swung her high into the air and said, “Up or down, Annie? Can’t be both.” The baby laughed, and reached out demandingly towards Spike as well. She clearly expected him to obey her command and come within playing distance.
Wesley had been expecting something. Some feeling of connection. Perhaps a terrible sense of grief, loss, deprivation? Or at the least, a moment - an exchange of glances in which Annie would... what? Sense his biological claim, absurd though the thought was.
No such thing. She was rosy, active, cheerfully self-centred, and she barely knew Wesley was there. But it was fine. It was good. Wesley looked at the three of them and felt... contented. He’d done a good thing for this family. Nothing more. He was interested in her, distantly, but there was no need for agonies of emotion after all
He sensed two pairs of parental eyes staring at him, worried. He smiled at them both. “I’m afraid I don’t know much about babies. But I can tell this one is marvellous.”
The atmosphere lightened. Spike grinned, “Yep. She should be, after all that hassle getting her.”
Buffy stretched up for half a hug. “Yeah. Did we say thanks for that?”
“None needed.” It was true. Such a small thing to Wesley, and so huge to them. He stayed a few minutes, enough to be politely admiring but little more, and slipped out to find Illyria.
It wasn’t love. But it was something. And he wanted to try turning her nose pink again.
***