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Humble Me

by Priscilla19


Everything is Joss's, yadi yadi yada... except for Terry, yet another prophesized Fuffy child. Not usually fond of them, but hey, what can you do, right? Oh! Song, Humble Me, belongs to Norah Jones and her crazy sidekick whose name I can never get right.
Summery: Post Chosen, NFA, Buffy is stuck on the side of the road with her six year old daughter. Who' she gonna call? (Spike was right. That sentence will be forever unusable.)
A. N. I don't really know where I'm going with this... I was listening to Norah Jones' Humble Me and got inspired. But the inspiration left me and now I'm stuck with this. So feedback would be nice... Let me know if its worth it to keep going!

Listen to the Music

See the Image Guide




Chapter One

It's been five years. Five years since I've seen her face. I'm not gonna lie and do the denial thing saying that those five years were short and sweet. 'Cause quite honestly, I've got nothing to gain from spreading a lie. Truth is I can't remember doing anything as hard as not waking up and seeing her face, even just once, let alone for five long years. And the kicker? It simply got harder every fucking morning.

I never used to swear before her. Now it's in my vocabulary right next to 'peachy' and 'unmixy'. Yup, now things are usually 'fuckin' peachy'. This is how I would describe my morning so far.

At around 4:30 this morning, I was stealing glances at the alarm clock, killing off another sleepless night when I was hit with an epiphany. Terry had never seen the ocean. Well, hot damn (another thing I picked up from her. God, I'm such a fucking sponge), today was the day for that. So I got dressed, woke Terry up and got an earful.

"But Mommy, it was such a nice dream. Daddy was there."

Huh, imagine that. Daddy. Well, I smoothed that over nicely with a:

"We're going to see the ocean, Ter. Then we can get ourselves an ice cream cone and walk along the beach."

That worked for like 30 seconds before the whining started. I swear to god, if she got any traits from me, it was my goddamn lip. It just kinda sticks out, quivers a bit, and the rest is history. She's got it down pat.

So anyway, after a quick breakfast, I strapped her into her car seat in the back of my rusted Dodge Neon (hey, no poking of fun here. It's a perfectly respectable vehicle) and we were on our merry way.

When you become a parent, you learn quickly. They say the parent is the teacher and the kid is the Padawan, or so Andy keeps telling me during his weekly visits. Truth is, it's the other way around. Terry's got me wrapped around her little chubby fingers like a first prize golden ribbon.

"Are we there yet?"

"Not yet, Ter."

"I'm hungry."

"Terry, you can't be hungry. We ate 10 minutes ago."

"I need to go pee."


"I really need to go."

When you've got a six year old, you learn from past experiences, past road trips. So before we left the house, I made sure I had everything. Sippy cup with Welch's white grape juice? Check. Game Boy? Check. Fresh batteries? Check. Sesame Street count with Count von Count? Check. Granola bar? Check. Blanket? Check.

So this morning I felt relieved when we drove past the "You are leaving Lenwood" road sign and Terry stated:

"Mommy, I'm cold."

Easy enough.

"There's a blankie in the bag right next to you, Ter."

But that was this morning at about 5:30. Fast forward to 7:00, and you've got me, standing on the side of the road, hands on my hips (my foreman pose, or so Xand keeps telling me), staring blankly at the flat tire my trusty Neon has just suffered. Fuck.

So let's recap, shall we? I'm awake during the early morning thinking about my ex, when I get the bright idea to bring my six year old daughter to see the ocean. After an hour and a half of uneventful driving, I wind up on the side of the road with a flat tire, and no spare. Thank god Terry is fast asleep. Hope she's dreaming of better days.

What do you say when it's all gone away? The sun's been up for 'bout an hour, and I'm sitting on the hood of the car, smoking a cigarette, considering my options. I could flag a car down for help, but the highway seems completely deserted, save for the last car I saw... driving in the opposite direction, 20 miles ago. I could catch some random tumbleweed and fashion some sort of patch for my tire, but let's face it, I'm not Macgyver, and I don't think he's around.

Then the answer buzzes inside of my coat pocket. Literally. I dig in my pocket and find my mobile (I lived in England long enough for me to earn the right to call my cell phone a 'mobile', thank you) and look at the screen. Missed call at 6:47AM and You have (1) new message(s) flashes on. Swell. Who the hell calls someone, especially me, at this time, on a Saturday? Only one way to find out.

"Hey Buff. You're probably still in bed, but I was just wondering what you and Ter are up to tomorrow. Dinner? Call me."

I miss Dawn. Haven't seen her in what seems like ages. She calls once in awhile, but it's never enough. Mental note: Call Dawn back.

Meanwhile, let's get back to our problem, shall we? I'm 45 minutes away from Pasadena, with a flat tire, with no spare, on a deserted highway, with a sleeping six year old in the backseat. Sounds like the plotline of a really bad independent chick flick.

Pasadena. I was hoping I could drive right through, without stopping, but I guess this little incident changes a few things. It's not that I don't like L. A and it's outskirts. Hell, if you could give me a choice of big cities to live in, I would choose L. A. in a heartbeat. But I don't have the choice. I live in the boonies, and that's fine with me.

The thing with Pasadena is that... She lives there now. Or so they say. I have her number right here, on the contact list on my mobile. To point a fact, it's even the first number on there. Ironic, since I've never called her. Not to say I'm the only one who hasn't taken the time and effort to do call, since she hasn't either, but hey, I'm just saying.

I could call Giles, and shoot the shit for a while, "How is Teresa's Sumerian coming along?" "Giles, she's six years old." before finally informing him that I need help. "Good Lord, what kind of help?" "I have a flat tire and no spare." Yeah, that'd go over well. Especially since Giles is in London right now.

I could call Will, and have her teleport herself all the way from Nepal to Pasadena, just so that she can look at me and say "Oops. I forgot the spare in Singapore on my way here."

Xander's in Madagascar with Riley, Sam and... Spike. Don't ask. You really don't want to know.

So my options have dwindled down considerably. Calling Andrew isn't an option since he's down in Me-hi-co (as he dutifully calls it) and Angel's well... who knows and who cares. So, basically, it's been narrowed down to AAA, to which I don't have the number, and... And Faith. Who lives in Pasadena. Whom I haven't seen nor spoken to in five years. Whose daughter is sitting, sound asleep, in the backseat of my fucking Neon. Whose phone number is number one on my contact list.

Well shit.



Chapter Two

Exactly 8 years ago, two days from today.

The air in the bar is stale and sour, smelling like unwashed drunk travelers. Some would call it unpleasant, but I'm finding it quite refreshing. The lights are dimmed, and the Budweiser sign's flashing on and off in a blue neon glow.

The bar itself is empty save for me, sitting on a stool, and the bartender wiping the counter. He's been giving me the eye since I walked in, and I think I would give him a shot if he had been fifteen years younger, got rid of the wig, and brushed his teeth once in awhile. But let's not go making rash decisions.

The jukebox in the corner is playing tunes on scratched records, and it makes most of the songs I've heard so far skip once in awhile. The guys sitting in the booth next to it have been feeding it quarters for the past half hour, choosing to play Donna Fargo and Johnny Paycheck's hits over and over again. When Take This Job and Shove It comes on for the third time, the bartender looks up from the stained counter and gives me a toothless smile.

"Them guys yonder jus' got fired."He says in a scratchy, smoky voice.

I smile back and finish my pint of MGD, and slam my glass on the counter noiselessly.

"They're not the only ones."

He looks at me and squints, showing crows feet around his blue eyes. Maybe he's wondering what I'm doing in a dump like this.

"You's lookin' fer a job?" He says, tilting his head a little, making the wig slip off his dome to the right.

Maybe not.

"Not right now."I say.

He tries not to look disappointed as he turns to the beer fridge.

"Give me another."

I just see him nod and go about filling up a clean glass with amber liquid when I hear a chopper outside. Another biker? Doubt it. Biker's don't usually give me vibes like the one I'm feeling right now. I bet Willow sent her.

The door swings open and she swaggers in. Ripped jeans, Blundstone boots, black worn leather coat, and hair from a shampoo commercial. I don't look up when she takes the seat next to mine, and I know she doesn't spare me another look either.

The bartender doesn't ask her what she wants to drink, and she doesn't ask him for anything. He just gives her a shot of JD and a pint of Guinness to wash it down.

"Thanks, Tommy." She says, downing the shot.

We've been here what? Like a week? We've been here a week and she's already a regular. Sometimes I wonder.

"Watcha doin' here, Babe?" She says, finally breaking the looming silence between us.

I shrug and down the rest of my beer. I guess she accepts that for what it is.

"I hear Spike is flying over after the prophesy was realized." She announces suddenly. "Bastard stole Angie's thunder."

This gets my attention. During the first week, nothing happens. Last two hours that I'm not there and something this big comes up.

"What?" I finally decide to exercise my vocal chords, and as a reward, I get a smile and two dimples.

"Ain't that wild? He just Szechwaned and bam! His old heart is beating again."

My turn to smile.

"Shanshu." I correct, and she shrugs in indifference.

Somehow, Spike being human isn't a big shock to me. After his soul, I never really thought of him as a vampire. He had too many emotions and human traits for me to think otherwise. And after he resurfaced in L. A., he stopped surprising me. Him being human now just makes it less surprising, and removes some charm to his status.

Faith stares into my eyes, trying to read my thoughts. She's got this crazy theory that she can actually do that. Well, not so crazy 'cause she actually can, but I don't let her know that.

"You're not happy." She says in a matter-of-a-fact tone. She downs her Guinness and magically, another shot and pint appear in front of her.

"Faith, if you're here to bring me back, you're wasting your time. I'm not. Tell Giles and Willow I'm sorry. I'm done."

"Look B. I'm not here to bring you back."

I give her a look that screams "Bullshit."

"Okay, fine, Will asked me to do what I could. Truth is Buffy, you can do what you goddamn please." She says, lighting a Lucky Strike. "I just thought you should know about Blondie." She expels a thread of smoke in the air, and it dances along the flashing neon Budweiser sign.

She catches me staring at her, and she slides her pack of cigarettes over to me. I make a face and slide them back. She just nods and pockets them back into her jacket. Then she turns on her stool to face the three guys in the booth next to the jukebox.

"Hey Stan. What's with the Billy Ray Cyrus marathon?"

Achy Breaky Heart is playing. I must be really out of it for me not to notice crap like that.

"Me an' the boys jus' got fired, is what." Stan says. He's got this blue farmer's cap on, and a five o'clock shadow. I can't see much more 'cause they're sitting in the back, hiding in the shadows of the dimmed lights.

Faith nods as if it explains everything.

"Yeah, well I just quit, so knock it off." She says, in a menacing tone.

Stan gets up immediately, clearly intimidated, and feeds the jukebox another quarter, and seconds after, Dolly Parton comes on, belting out the lyrics to 9 to 5. Not better, but I guess he tried. Wait. What did she just say?

Faith gives me this funny look. Like there's something wrong with my face.

"What's wrong B? You look like a deer caught in headlights."

"You quit?" I manage to say.

She just smirks, and flicks some ash into the nearby ashtray.

"Well yeah. What? I can't just let you quit and leave me there." She says. "We're the Chosen Two, 'member? Besides, can't let you have all the fun yourself."

I blink and find myself staring into her eyes, disbelievingly. She brings a hand out in front of me and waves it in front of my eyes.

"The paralyzed deer look doesn't fit you, Babe."

I frown and scrunch up my nose as only I can. Shit. She just quit. Shortly after I did. Poor Giles.

"What did Giles say?"

"'Bout you or about me?"

I nod, and she arches her eyebrows as she butts her cigarette into the ashtray.

"Don't know, and I don't fucking care either. He's got Ken and Vi there, along with Will, Rob, Dawn and Drew. And with Xander leaving with Ry soon... He'll manage."

"Yeah. I guess." My answer is adamantly short and just by the look she gives me, she knows.

"Don't you start feeling guilty on me Buffy. They'll do fine without us." She coughs a little, making Tommy look up from his hunting magazine, and points at my glass, then hers.

He nods in acknowledgment and refills our glasses with our respective beverages.

"What about the prophesized child of the Slayers? Any new light on that?" I ask slowly.

Ah. The prophesy. A child shall be born from two Slayers. Or something nonsensical of the sort. The very reason I quit Giles and Robin's new Council, only but two hours ago. Having Giles and Willow wonder about male Slayers just unnerved me so badly... Something just clicked in my brain, and I knew that I had had enough. Enough of everything.

Faith shrugs and lights another cigarette.

"Nuthin'." She mumbles with the cigarette perched on her lips.

"Why do you smoke?" It's random and I don't really care. After everything I've been through today, the prophesy, my resignation, Spike's transformation and Faith's compliance to leave, it makes sense to me to ask such a stupid question.

Faith looks into my eyes again, and does the mind reading thing. She nods as if she's confirming something.

"Guilty pleasure." She says.

What I say next surprises us both.

"Guilty pleasure? Faith. It's called porn."



Chapter Three

"This… It feels different."

There's something in his voice that makes me cringe. The uncertainty laced in with his rich, smoky, suave voice is sending me a warning sign. Okay, I do realize I went overboard with the adjectives, but I was at a loss. It feels different. What the hell does that mean?

"Good different, or bad different?"I barely recognize my own voice. It's sketchy. Probably ‘cause my breathing is laboured. And that's probably due to the fact that his fingers are roaming somewhere down south.

He grins and leans his forehead against mine. And that's when I feel it too. It does feel different. Like something is missing. I'd give my last dollar to know exactly what that is, but unfortunately I've got more than a few bucks left.

Spike sighs and rests his eyes into mine for a few seconds before sitting himself up against the headboard. There's a ray of sunlight that escaped the curtained windows and it lands right on his chest. Yet he just sits there, giving his eyes a rest for a few seconds. It takes me a few moments to realize exactly what he's doing. He's absorbing it. He's absorbing the heat.

He slowly opens his eyes and leaves them level with the wall in front of us.

"I can't stay here, Buffy."

I shift myself to my side, and rest my head on a pillow.

"Why not?"

Finally his head turns, but unfortunately, he turns it the wrong way. He just stares out of the window; stares at the sun shining.

"I..."He whips his head around and lands his bright blue eyes into mine. "I've got so much to learn, Buffy! I can't just be expected to jump back into the human pool after over a century of…"He stops himself, as if he's looking for the right word to say, but can't quite put his finger on it.

I can feel my nose scrunch up involuntarily. He looks so different. Like a little boy the morning before his first day of school, ready to learn, eager to become something more.

"I can't stay here, Buffy."

"Yes you can. We can do this together. I'll be with you every step of the way."

But I don't say that. Somehow… It wouldn't be the right thing to say. Instead, I just nod. "Okay."

Spike tilts his head like only he can, and considers my answer. I can tell he's disappointed: It's not what he wanted to hear. His face turns sombre for only a second before he breaks out into a mischievous smirk.

"You're in love with her." He whispers. It's broken and soft. "God. How could I have been so blind?"


He smiles again, and leans his head back against the wall.

"You have Harris's number around?"

And the award for the most dramatic change of subject goes to…

"Yeah. Somewhere. Why?"

Spike shrugs and gets up. He slips into a pair of faded denims and turns to face me. His eyes roam my body, and I suddenly feel a lot more naked than I really am. I don't know why, but I try to cover myself the best I can with the flannel sheet.

"I want to learn."



The porch I'm sitting on needs some work. Not a lot, mind you, but still, it'd be nice to walk comfortably without the fear of falling through looming in your mind. The previous owners had wanted to fix it up, but never got around to do it. They bought all the lumber and everything, and when Faith and I bought the house, it was under agreement that they leave the pile of two by fours so that we could have a try.

But as for now, I'm sitting on a step, thinking about Spike's words. You're in love with her. And I'm thinking so hard that it's bringing tears to my eyes. Confused is the word I would use to describe myself right about now.

My thinking comes to an end though when I feel Faith coming home from work. I can hear her put some things in the fridge before she opens the screen door behind me. I can hear bottles clink together and soft safe footsteps on the rotten wooden boards.

"Where's Blondie?"She asks my backside.

"Not here."I manage between sobs.

"He coming back?"

"No."It's broken and pathetic.

"You crying?"

"No."I whimper. "God, I'm such a bad liar."

I can just picture her smirk in amusement. The distinct sound of bottles being put aside make it's way to my ears and before I have a chance to do anything, Faith sits behind me, wrapping her warms around my waist and caging my legs with her own. I can feel her chin rest itself on my shoulder, as she leans her head against mine in a comforting gesture. Then she scoots a little more into me, until I feel her belt buckle nest itself in the small of my back, the cold metal in the warm night sending shivers up my spine.

God, if she only knew that I wasn't crying about Spike's departure.

"You wanna beer? It'll help with the confusion."

Okay, well maybe she doesn't need to look me in the eyes to read my mind. Confusion? Faith… If only you knew…

Her breath smells of cinnamon, and it lingers in the air, meddling itself with her distinct scent of dark chocolate, leather and omnipresent hint of smoke. She has no idea what that scent does to me.

Suddenly, I'm on autopilot, ‘cause in a temporary fit of insanity, I loosen myself from her grasp and turn around so that my face is mere inches away from hers.

She only has the time to murmur my name before I doom myself forever.

"Buffy."It sounds so perfect when it trips off her lips.

And before she can do anything, my lips hover over hers for a moment before they make contact. It takes a second before she reciprocates, and I can feel her lips start to move against mine. They're soft and full with want. Instinctively, my tongue brushes her lower lip and begs entrance. Her lips part open as a silent invitation, and I quickly gain access. Her mouth is warm and inviting and suddenly I'm filled with an unwanted sense of fear.

What happens when we pull apart? What'll happen to that friendship we've been building so carefully for the past three years? She doesn't leave me anymore time to wonder as she breaks away, resurfacing for a breath of fresh air.

Her eyes closed tightly, her arms still around my waist, her thumb making a circular motion on my lower back, and she rests her forehead against mine. Her eyes are still closed. I know all of this ‘cause, well, obviously, my eyes are wide open with shock of what I just initiated.

"Patrol with me tonight?" She says, catching her breath, her voice huskier than I've ever heard it. I can't help but notice the need in her tone, and it makes my eyes water again.

I can only nod, rest my arms around her neck and sigh in contemplation of what's to come.



Chapter Four

I'm staring at my bowl of Alpha bits, trying to accomplish the impossible and spell the name of the demon Faith and I encountered last night when Faith walks into the kitchen. She opens the door to the fridge and pours herself a glass of orange juice, before sitting on the counter near the sink. She guzzles the whole thing down before breaking the looming silence.

"You're late."

My nose scrunches up as I look up at the clock hanging on the wall.

"I don't start till ten."

Faith frowns and shakes her head in despair.

"B. We've been rockin' the kasbah almost every night."She says. "You're late."

Oh. Right. That.

"I know."I say, and look down to my bowl of floating letters. I'm missing an E and two K's. "How many N's in Kiennstorpiak?"

She gracefully ignores my attempt to change the subject, and gives me a scolding look.

"How long?"She asks softly, jumping down from her spot on the counter.

I stare at her as she fishes in the breadbox for a few slices of whole wheat.

"Three weeks."

She puts the slices in the toaster and turns to look at me. Her eyes are twinkling with something that I can only interpret as worry. She dives her hands into the back pockets of her ripped jeans and rocks back on the heels of her Blundstones.

"You gonna call the doc for a check up? Can't hurt."She says, staring intently at a magnet on the fridge door that she, no doubt, suddenly finds extremely interesting.

"I'm pregnant."Whoa. Not the way I wanted to tell her.

Well, that was blunt and unexpected. Right on Buffy! Anya, bless her soul, would be proud! You also want to tell her about your plans for the spare bedroom? And how you think you should paint the room green, since green is a nice neutral colour? And how you think a car seat would be safer in the back of a reliable sedan, instead of her motorcycle?

Faith looks like she's about to laugh or break down. Suddenly, the magnet loses her interest, and she smirks in my direction.

"I know I'm good B, but I'm not that good."She says as she takes a seat in front of me as her toasts pop up. She ignores them, and asks the million-dollar question. "Spike?"

"That makes more sense."I manage, trying to lighten the mood of this suddenly gloomy May morning.

Her reaction is slow and extremely hard to decipher.

"You're not joking, are you?"She asks softly.


My voice is stronger than I expected it and it surprises me. Deep down, I think it surprises her too.

Faith gets up and rounds the table, and makes her way to me. She kneels by the table in front of me, one hand holding onto the table for support, while the other lies in my lap. Her doe eyes are fresh with unshed tears.

"You're pregnant."

"I'm pregnant."

"Did you…?"

"Yep. Three different brands. One answer."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I just did."

I cringe as the words escape my lips. Somehow, that wasn't the right thing to answer. Faith looks taken aback, but she quickly shrugs it off.

"What happens to us?"She asks painfully, slowly rising to her feet, clearly thinking about Spike and how he would pierce our stifling relationship. Believe me, I've thought about it too.

I get up with her, grab her by her belt, and pull her close.

"I'm not going anywhere." I sigh softly. Finally, something that sounds right this morning.

Fuck Faith. You're the habit I crave twenty four seven.

Our lips meet softly and the kiss starts off slow, before her tongue forces an entry into my mouth and makes a violent sweep. It's brutal and I know my lips are going to be bruised. She's sending me a warning and I can't help but heed to it. I know it'll only end up cursing me. Don't you ever forget about me, you hear?

"Okay."She breathes when she pulls away. "Okay."



"God Buffy, she's beautiful!"Willow coos, gazing into the glass incubator.

"Yeah. But don't you think she looks like a really old midget?"

Will gives me the stern "you just gave birth, you don't have the right to make odd jokes"look, and goes back to spying on the sleeping beauty in the glass box. My sleeping beauty.

Spike is sitting next to me, on my right, while Faith is sitting with me on the bed, to my left. They're both clenching my hands like they're about to explode. But in a good way.

Willow finally tears her eyes away from the miracle of life, and looks us over. Man, we must look like a pretty bunch.

"The guys will be here soon. You want something before they get here?"She offers. "Hospital cafeteria food is on me."

"I could go for a–"Spike starts, but Faith cuts him off.

"Root beer."

The look he gives her is classic. They've been like this since ever since Spike arrived, two weeks ago. Needless to say, I've been going crazy for those past two weeks.


"I'm good thanks."

Will gives us a smirk before leaving the room, and as she leaves, silence sneaks inside.

Faith is staring intently at the incubator, lazily drawing circles inside my palm with her thumb. Spike on the other hand, gets up, and starts to read the cards that accompanied all the flowers I received.

"Which one did Angel send?"I ask.

"The poinsettia."He answers.

"Dude, which one?"Faith asks.

The danger to giving birth near Christmastime is drowning in poinsettias. Red ones, yellow ones, pink ones…

"This one."He says, pointing his finger to the biggest pot of the bunch, complete with little pine trees at the base and an aluminium baby blue helium balloon. Cute, but it's the wrong colour.

Spike then turns to face us and rocks back on his heels. He's antsy. I can't blame him. We've been stuck in this room for over two days now. Short delivery indeed.

"S'okay if I step out for a few? Fresh air."He says.

I nod my head gently and wish I could go outside as well. We're going home tonight, but it's not soon enough.

Spike strides over to my left where Faith is sitting, and leans in to whisper something in her ear. When he retreats, Faith has a look of incredulity on her face.

"No way. You quit, Buster."She scolds.

"C'mon. Jus' one? Please?" He whines.

Okay, now this is just weird.

"Oh for God sake's Faith, just give him a fucking cigarette."I don't know where it came from. I swear.

They both look at me, eyes wide in shock.

"Sorry. I just…"I start, but Faith nods.

"Need to get outta here. I know."She says quietly.

She then digs into one of her coat pockets and fishes out her pack of Lucky Strikes, and throws it to Spike. He nods gratefully, and gives us a warm smile before leaving the room.

The room itself isn't all bad. Apart from the hypoallergenic smell and the pistachio green walls, it's actually almost liveable. My mattress has some buttons that make it go up and down, and it also has a foxy brunette, sitting right next to me. Can't really complain, now can I?

I catch Faith staring at the incubator again, and it finally hits me: I'm a mother. Buffy the vampire Slayer, has finally settled down. She's quit her previous life, found a new one in Lenwood, California, of all places, has a great new job and a new baby girl that she loves to death. And if that doesn't cut the cake, I think she's in love.

"You think of a name yet?" Faith whispers, as if she doesn't want to wake Baby Girl Summers.

Yep. I'm in love with her. I smile. She turns to look at me, and when she catches me smiling, she does the same and snakes her arm around my shoulders.

"I mean, apart from the ones we discussed with Blondie."She adds hastily, the smile still lingering on her lips.

"Well, I kinda like Teresa. I figured, if she came into the world screaming, then we'd name her Darcy. Kinda feisty for a name. But she came so peacefully that I think I want something—harmonious."

Faith nods and kisses my lips softly.

"I have an aunt named Teresa."She says. "She gave me my first and only bike when I turned ten."

I love it when she opens up. It's so… bona fidly real.

"Teresa it is, then."

Faith smiles and shuts her eyes. Just then, Will sneaks her head in the room and looks at us. She gives us an affectionate smile and disappears back into the hall. Faith opens her eyes.

"Teresa."She says, trying it out on her lips again. "Teresa. I like it."

Spike enters the room right after, and tosses the pack back to Faith. She catches it and gets up from her spot next to me.

"My turn."She says, slipping into her jacket, and making a quick exit.

Spike looks at me, and tilts his head a bit. I pat the area where Faith was sitting, inviting him to take her spot, and he nods. He makes his way to Teresa's incubator and carefully rolls it next to my bed. He then sits down next to me.

"Her name is Teresa."I murmur, staring at him from the corner of my eyes.

"That's a beautiful name." He says, and I'm glad he agrees. "She's too quiet to be a Darcy."He adds with a sly smile. "I love seeing you this happy."

A chuckle escapes my lips and I lean my head back against the headboard.

"What happens now, Spike?" I sigh. It's a simple question, but I know the answer is a tad more complicated.

He links his hand with mine and squeezes it gently.

"Harris's got an extra plane ticket, and I'm…"

"Not done learning?"

He shows me a small smile and nods gently. I still can't believe that he spends all his time with Xander and Riley. God, what a trio they must make.

"I will help thought. Financially, I mean."He says, nodding at the same time.

"We don't need to worry about that just yet."

He nods and levels his gaze with Baby Teresa.

"Oh! Her eyes are open." He whispers, and I can tell he's just resting his in hers.

Unfortunately for me, I'm on the wrong side, and I can't see jack shit, and I don't have the strength to get up. Spike seems like he's just coasting. He's staring so intently, that if I didn't know any better, I'd say he was studying and deciphering them.


Finally, he tears himself away and looks at me in confusion. However, I can also see tenderness and love. His cheeks are wet with tears, and he clears his throat in a manly way, trying to prove that he's not crying.

"Spike?"I ask again.

But the only answer I get is a soft kiss on my lips and a pained "Congratulations."He then gets up and walks out of the room quietly, leaving Baby Teresa and me alone. Okay, what was that all about?

I scoot to the edge of the bed, and peer inside the incubator. Teresa's got her eyes closed again, and she's shaking her little fist in the air. Then her eyes open slowly, and I'm caught staring at them. Just like Spike. And that's when I notice it. Notice the colour of her eyes.

They're not hazel.

They're not blue.

They're dark brown.



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