Title: When I Lay Me Down to Sleep (part 18/?)
Author: Neena (varscona_pal@yahoo.ca)
Pairing: Giles/Buffy
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: The characters and Buffyverse belong to Joss Whedon, Fox, Mutant Enemy, etc. This little ficlet (or novella, as it turns out) is for fun only.
Feedback: Pretty please? I’m an addict!

Buffy tossed in her sleep, the word ‘No’ tumbling from her lips over and over. She flailed her arms wildly, thwacking Giles hard across the throat.

“No!” she shouted, and bolted upright, instantly wide-eyed and awake. Through the deafening sound of her own pounding heart, she heard an odd wheezing sound and turned to find Giles clutching his throat, trying hard to breathe.

“Oh, God, Giles!” she cried. “Did I do that?” She was relieved to see he wasn’t so badly injured that he couldn’t give her a dirty look. “Okay,” she admitted, “stupid question. Can you breathe?”

He nodded, and a pathetic little grunt that could have been a ‘yes’ rattled from his bruised windpipe.

“I’m sooo sorry,” she said. “I had a nightmare.”

“No—really?” Giles wheezed sarcastically.

“Okay, now I know you’re feeling better,” she said. “But I’m serious…this was a bad one.”

Giles clicked on his bedside lamp and sat up, making himself comfortable for what he knew was bound to be a long conversation. “Alright. Tell me about your dream.”

“Nightmare, Giles,” she corrected. “There was nothing dreamy about it.”

Giles frowned; “That’s strange…we haven’t had the nightmares since we came to this place. Why did you have one tonight? And how come I didn’t have it as well? We’ve always shared the dreams before.”

“This one was different…more Slayery, less demony. It was more like the dreams I had about the Master.”

“So you feel this dream was prophetic?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I think so…but it was weird. There was chaos, and people were getting killed. And there was this enormous snake… What?” she asked, peeved to find Giles snickering.

“You say this snake was enormous?” he asked, grinning. “Have you considered that maybe your dream is more Freudian than prophetic?”

“Ego much, Giles?” Buffy shot back. “I’m being serious here.”

“Sorry.” Giles obediently checked his grin and gave her his undivided attention.

“As I was saying; there was this enormous snake,” she paused to make sure she hadn’t lost him to the giggles again, and, satisfied, she continued: “It was at the school. During the graduation ceremony all Hellmouth broke loose—there were vampires everywhere, herding everyone up so the giant snake could eat them. They all died, Giles—Willow, Xander, Wesley…all of them. I have to go back and help them.”

“You can’t,” said Giles gently. “You know you can’t. You’d be putting yourself and the baby in jeopardy.”

“There’s a lot more at stake here than just us. All of Sunnydale could get wiped out if I don’t help them.” Buffy flung the blankets off and hopped out of bed, graceful despite her swollen belly.

“Where are you going?” asked Giles. Buffy didn’t answer—she was busy getting dressed. “Buffy, it’s late, you’re tired…I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think.”

“I have to do this, Giles,” she said determinedly. She knew he was only trying to protect her and the baby, but she was starting to feel smothered. He wouldn’t even let her get a breath of fresh air—she was hardly surprised he didn’t like the idea of her going into battle.

Giles got out of bed and pulled on his robe. “I think you’re underestimating the capabilities of your friends. They can handle this one without you.” Although he spoke calmly, he’d moved to block her way to the door, and his stance was threatening.

“I’m the Slayer—I can’t just sit back and do nothing while all my friends get killed doing my job.” Buffy tried to brush past him, but he stood his ground and wouldn’t let her pass.

“Get out of my way, Giles,” she threatened.

“I can’t let you leave,” he answered her darkly.

“I think you’re forgetting who you’re talking to,” she said, and took a swing at him. Giles dodged the blow easily enough, but that left the door unguarded, and Buffy made a dash for it.

Giles caught up with her just as she reached the front porch. He flung himself at her heels and brought her to the ground, wrestling with her until she was pinned neatly underneath him. Her eyes grew round and she winced as if she was in pain, but Giles knew his grip on her wasn’t that tight, so he put it down to a ruse on her part to make him let go.

“You’re coming back inside, Buffy. You have to forget about Sunnydale—you have other things to worry about.”

“I know,” she said, then sucked in a hissing breath. Giles felt her stomach go rigid beneath him and suddenly understood her look of pain.

“W-was that a contraction?” he asked, quickly scrambling off of her.

“Still is,” she grunted and wrapped her newly freed arms around her abdomen. Her brow furrowed deeply, as much with worry as with pain. “It’s too early, Giles.”

“Apparently not,” he replied and lifted her so she was cradled in his lap. She clutched at his robe, twisting the material tightly in her fist. “Don’t worry,” he said softly, smoothing his hands through her hair; “Our baby is special—I’m sure everything will be fine.”

After a few minutes Buffy relaxed in his arms, the contraction over.

“Please tell me the pain doesn’t get any worse that that,” she said, allowing him to help her to her feet.

“Well, it…uh…it’s not likely to get any better, I’m afraid,” he replied reluctantly.

She glared at him: “That’s where you’re supposed to say, ‘No, of course not, sweetheart, it’s all downhill from here’.”

“Sorry, I must have missed that Lamaze class.”

“I’m still mad at you,” she said with a little chuckle.

“I know you are.” Giles wrapped his arm protectively around her and led her back inside the cabin. She was so brave, he thought. He was terrified, himself, and he wasn’t the one having the baby. He couldn’t imagine what she must be going through.

Deep in the shadows of the bushes, a jittery, caffeinated Watcher absorbed every detail of the scene that had just played out in front of him. If he could trust his eyes, then Buffy’ had just gone into labour, throwing a huge monkey wrench into their plans.

It was time to gather the troops.

Wesley arrived back at his home to find the troops already assembled. They were oddly quiet—even Xander—and that made him nervous. Something had happened.

“Willow—I take it there’s some news?” he asked as he shucked off his jacket.

“Uh-huh. Big news.”

“You first, then,” Wesley answered and pulled up a seat.

“Well…you were right about the nest,” she said, concern etched deeply into her young face. “There were so many of them coming and going all night that it was hard to keep track, but there had to be more than two hundred of them.”

“You said they were coming and going all night?” asked Wesley.

“Yep,” said Xander. “And I’m guessing they’re gonna have to adjust the ‘Population’ part on the ‘Welcome to Sunnydale’ sign.”

Wesley ignored the callously flippant remark and continued; “Such a marked escalation in their activity can only mean things are coming to a head. We need to act quickly on this—strike now before they have time to do any more damage. Unfortunately, there’s another matter of some urgency that requires our immediate attention.

“This morning while I was staked out at the cabin, Buffy and Giles had a bit of a row on the porch—I think she was trying to escape. But in the middle of the struggle…well…I think Buffy went into labour.”

The silence thickened in the tiny apartment.

“You’re kidding, right?” asked Oz, ironically being the first to break the silence. “It’s way too early.”

“And yet when I saw her, she appeared to be full term. And in considerable pain,” Wesley replied, raking his grubby fingers through his dishevelled hair. “We forgot to take into consideration that we’re dealing with a demon birth. Gestation varies widely depending on species. Perhaps the birth is right on schedule for a Preot demon.”

“For the demon, maybe,” said Willow. “But what about the real baby?”

“As far as I know, this sort of thing is unprecedented,” replied Wesley. There’s no way of knowing how the human foetus will fare if she gives birth now.”

“But—but…we’re not ready yet,” Willow said, feeling as if she’d found herself writing an exam she hadn’t studied for. Only, this was an exam in which people would die if she gave the wrong answer.

“It’s not your fault, Willow,” Wesley assured her. “None of us was prepared for this. But I’ve been doing some research of my own, and I’ve discovered the Council has a nice, thick file on our friend Ethan Rayne. I’m pretty sure I can persuade him to lend us a hand.”

“If you can find him, that is,” Willow pointed out.

“If the dossier is right, this Rayne fellow won’t be far. His obsession with Mr. Giles runs deep, and I guarantee he’d want to stick around to see the outcome of this. I figure he’s lurking nearby, probably keeping closer tabs on Giles than we are.”

“Okay, so the Demon Team is covered…that still leaves us with a legion of vampires to deal with,” said Cordelia.

“Uh…I think I might have an idea,” Xander volunteered quietly. “Thanks to Ethan Rayne I know a thing or two about explosives—I say we napalm the bastards. Of course…it would mean blowing up City Hall.”

“Cool,” said Oz.

To everyone’s amazement, Wesley nodded. “Alright—I’ll put you in charge of that operation, then. Cordelia, you can help him. Willow, I need you to head out right now to keep an eye on Giles and Buffy. We can’t risk losing track of them now. I’ll find Mr. Rayne and meet up with you later.”

Everyone but Cordelia shared the resulting buzz of energy and adrenalin. As everyone mustered up their courage and their coats, Cordelia huffed, blowing a stray strand of limp hair out of her eyes. Xander was about to follow the others when he noticed their ranks were diminished to the tune of one. He turned back to find Cordelia slumped over the dining table.

“Cordy? Wakey-wakey, Sweetie,” Xander said cheerfully.

“Go away,” she grumbled back at him.

“C’mon. It’ll be fun—big explosions, general mayhem…skipping classes?”

“Xander, I haven’t slept in almost two days. I haven’t even washed my hair! And there’s the vaguest possibility that I’ve developed an odour,” she said, lifting her head off the table to stare glassily at him. “I think I finally understand why Buffy always looks the way she does.”

Xander sat in the chair next to her and put his arm around her. “You’re tired—I get that,” he said softly. “And I know you didn’t exactly sign up for this when we started going out, but we need you. I need you. And if the vampires win this one, there won’t be much of Sunnydale left, so, really, the whole town needs you.”

“We few…we happy few?” said Cordelia, cocking her head at him. “You can save the inspirational pep talk, Xander; I’m in. But can we at least stop by my place so I can shower and change clothes?”

Xander grinned; “Absolutely. I wasn’t gonna say anything, but that outfit’s getting a bit ripe.” Cordelia gave him a well-deserved punch on the arm, but he didn’t mind so much. At least she was in the game again.

Once again, Giles found himself in a situation for which no amount of research could prepare him. Naturally he’d read up on labour and childbirth in anticipation of his role as Buffy’s midwife, but there was nothing written in any book that applied to Buffy’s circumstances.

He’d settled Buffy upstairs in their bed, and gathered the supplies he’d kept handy for when the time came. The only thing he didn’t have was the one thing he fervently wished he had—proper pain medication. All he had on hand was Tylenol with codeine, and she’d refused it with a humourless laugh. He found it unbearable to watch her suffering. She put on a brave face—and no doubt her Slayer strength helped—but the strain of nearly thirteen hours of intense contractions was taking its toll on her. Every tear that rolled down her cheek, every grimace and shout of pain, cut Giles like a knife.

“Keep pushing, Buffy—you’re almost there,” he said for the hundredth time. This time, however, he meant it.

Buffy let out a string of truly demonic expletives and bore down until her face turned beet-red. The burning pain intensified until she was sure she couldn’t take it any more.

Then it was gone. Like a switch had been flicked, it just disappeared.

And the sound of crying filled the air. Loud, piercing cries that jarred Buffy’s ears, making her cringe.

Giles looked at the squalling, filthy creature with disgust. It was hard to believe their child had shared a womb with it. Still—it had to be dealt with. He tied off the umbilical cord then cut it free, setting the furiously wailing infant on the bed and covering it with a towel so Buffy wouldn’t have to see it.

Buffy wanted nothing more than to relax and sleep—say, for the next three years—but the second head was already crowning. This time the urge to push was overwhelming, and there was practically no pain at all.

“This is it, Buffy,” said Giles, nearly giddy with anticipation. The moment they’d dreamed about for so long was at hand. Within minutes a new voice cried out in the makeshift delivery room. Buffy lay back against her pillows, hair plastered to her face with sweat and tears, her face aglow with joy as Giles placed her brand new son on her chest.

She thought her heart might burst with happiness at the sight of him. She couldn’t imagine ever letting him go, and she was reluctant to let Giles take him to clean him up and wrap him snugly in a blanket.

Giles was just as reluctant to give him back to her. Having held his son in his hands, he never wanted to let him go. But seeing mother and son bonding in these first moments of life was an experience he knew he would never forget. He would allow Buffy some time to bask in the moment before breaking the news to her that they would have to leave. With the new baby, it was essential that they get as far away from the Hellmouth as possible. And knowing the protective nature of mothers, and of Buffy in particular, he knew she’d agree.

Willow was starting to wish she’d thought far enough ahead to bring something to eat. Her stomach growled angrily as she crouched in the bushes near the cabin. She’d been there all day, and so far there’d been no indication that anything out of the ordinary was going on inside. She was starting to wonder if maybe Wesley had been wrong about the labour thing.

Willow rubbed her grainy eyes—the fading light was making it hard to focus and the outline of the cabin was beginning to blend into the background…just another shade of grey. She checked her watch. It was almost eight o’clock. When she looked up again there was a door-shaped sliver of bright colour breaking up the uniform greyness of twilight.

A jolt of adrenalin shot through her as she watched Giles help Buffy out the door, then leave her to fetch the car. Buffy had a tiny bundle in her arms and was clutching it close to her chest.

Willow was in a panic of indecision: the plan was for her to tail them if they left, and call the others from wherever they ended up. But in that plan, Buffy was either still pregnant and on her way to the hospital, or she was toting two little bundles and making a run for it.

Giles got out of the car and opened the door for Buffy, who climbed in carefully, never taking her eyes off the baby. Willow knew that if she didn’t get back to the van right away, the Demon Team would have too much of a head start and she would lose them. But she couldn’t bring herself to leave without knowing what had happened to the other baby.

She made a decision and silently prayed that it was the right one. As the old, silver car trundled slowly down the dirt road, Willow dashed out of hiding and ran to the cabin. The door wasn’t locked, but when she opened it she was disheartened to find herself in the tumbledown version of the cabin. The floor looked like it would give under her weight and there was barely enough light to see by. Only then did it occur to her that the run-down façade might not be a façade—it could very well be real. For all she knew, the cabin Buffy and Giles had been staying in had been on an entirely different plane of existence, which would mean that the other baby could be trapped beyond her reach.

As the floorboards groaned and creaked underfoot, Willow began to lose hope. It all seemed too real to be just an illusion. But then, to her relief, she heard the plaintive mewling of a newborn coming from upstairs. The tiny voice cracked and wavered as if exhausted by the effort, and Willow wondered how long it had been left there.

“Hang on, I’m coming,” she said, more to give herself courage than to calm the baby. She managed to cross the floor with little difficulty, but the stairs looked like a challenge. A few nails and a whole lot of wishful thinking seemed to be all that was holding them together. Willow tested the first stair, which sagged alarmingly. It held her, though, and she began picking her way up the decaying steps.

Skirting a gaping hole in the floor of the upstairs hallway, Willow followed the sounds of desperate crying to the far bedroom. The door looked like it was unhinged and leaning loosely in its frame, but it swung open as if there was nothing wrong with it, which was proof that it was all just an illusion—a damn convincing one, but still just an illusion. With more confidence, Willow stepped quickly across the room, not slowing to sidestep the gaps and buckling floorboards anymore.

The crying emanated from under a pile of filthy old rags. She pulled them away to reveal a tiny, red-faced baby girl, still covered with the detritus of birth and shivering in the cool air. Willow used one of the rags to clean her and another to wrap her up snugly, hoping that the filth on them was only another illusion. The exhausted baby stilled almost instantly in her arms and blinked myopically up at her with large blue eyes.

“Oh my God, you’re so beautiful,” Willow cooed, eliciting a little hiccough from the infant. “Don’t you worry, Sweetie-bear, I’ll get you home. You’re safe now with Auntie Willow.” She planted a soft kiss on her forehead, which seemed to relax the baby even more, because she promptly closed her eyes and fell asleep. Willow felt tears come to her eyes as a wave of maternal longing swept over her. She couldn’t believe Buffy and Giles were capable of abandoning their own baby, even while under the Preot’s influence. It clearly had a much stronger hold on them than she’d originally thought.

Willow carefully made her way out of the cabin, noticing with relief that the filthy rag she’d wrapped the baby in was actually a fluffy, white towel. A tiny round face and a tuft of white-blonde hair was all she could see of the baby, but she thought the resemblance to Buffy was incredible.

She walked along the dirt road, humming a long-forgotten lullaby. She would take the baby to Buffy’s mom, and from there she would call the others to give them the news. Good and bad.

NEXT