Thursday's Child

Chapter Thirty-Three

…

Spike rummaged through the fridge while a mug of blood heated in the microwave, able to use both hands since Thursday was held securely in a baby sling against his chest. He wished Joyce had gotten the sodding thing before The Incident. Bloody cat-footed Summers women, sneaking up on a bloke when he was watching his sprog and startling him enough to bloody well drop her. He'd managed to catch her – by the bloody ear of all things, though it hadn't (thank God) literally ended up bloody – but it had still been one of the most terrifying moments of his existence.

Half slayer and half vampire, but still just as fragile as any baby, really. Brought Dru to mind and how careful he'd had to be with her after the mob in Prague had gotten a hold of her. A mob that he'd riled up, looking for a spot of "fun." She'd warned him, of course, but he hadn't understood in time. He'd always been good at sussing out even the barmiest Dru-speak, but "when bad doggies spill the milk, the bees will sting" didn't exactly immediately translate into "don't go stirring up trouble or I'll pay the price for it."

Dru…. He still missed her, though he knew that part of his life was over. At least he knew she hadn't dusted. The letter she'd sent a week or so ago had proved that. Just a simple little note, saying that the white queen had defeated the black, taking the dark knight as her prize. And that little daisy boys needed sunlight to flourish.

She'd conceded defeat. She'd… given up on him. The microwave beeped, pulling him out of his thoughts. Time to get your head out of your arse, you git, he told himself with a snort of disgust. She didn't abandon you. She bloody well set you free.

He grabbed a beer and a container of leftover ribs out of the fridge, tucking the beer under his arm to make it easier to carry everything into the living room. Thursday started to fuss just as he sat down. Right on time. From the start, he'd always been able to tell when she needed blood - something in her scent reminding him of a vampire that needed to feed – but after two months, he'd gotten good at anticipating when she'd need it.

"Hush now, kitten," he murmured to her. "We're gonna watch some telly and have us a bit of a snack, yeah?"

He settled in, turned the telly on, and dipped a finger into the mug of blood before putting it into her mouth. He could have just put the blood in a bottle or somesuch, but he preferred doing it this way. It was more personal. Besides, having her drink blood out of something meant to represent a nipple seemed like a bad idea.

Thursday gazed up at him as she sucked on his finger, her little face full of recognition and adoration. The urge to turn her, to keep her like this forever, reared its head again, but he was able to push it down easily. He wanted to see her grow up even more than he wanted to keep her as a perfect little dolly guaranteed to always love him. Keeping her like that would get bloody boring honestly. A growing little girl, though? She'd keep him on his toes, always trying to guess who she'd become.

Who she'd become…. God, what a thought. He was going to be an influence in who she turned out to be. What if he bollocksed it all up? He was good at that. He'd failed Dru in Prague, and she'd nearly died. What would happen if he failed Thursday? He was going to, he realized with stark clarity. That was just the way of life. People failed.

She was alive – heartbeat, breath, and all – but Thursday was essentially a vampire with a soul. She craved human blood. They'd tried giving her pig, but she'd screamed and spat it right back up. Thank God for Tara. She'd suggested horse blood. Pointed out that horse milk was very similar to human, and maybe that meant the blood would be tastier than pig. He wasn't sure if that was why – it could have just been because horses weren't fed the same kind of crap they tended to give pigs – but the horse was actually pretty good. Both he and the sprog were being weaned to it from the human.

Didn't matter, though, how good the horse was. Humans would always smell like food to them both. For him, it was a sort of achy loss, knowing he couldn't hunt and kill humans. For her, though…. She'd think she was a monster, wanting to eat the very people it was her mum's sacred duty to protect from that sort of thing. As it was now, he remembered how he'd felt about things with her soul. By the time she was old enough for worries, though, that memory would be fuzzy and distant.

The only being who would have any true notion of how she felt would be Angel. The self-centered wanker who liked to wail and gnash his teeth about guilt and how horrible it was while also denying that he was the one who had done any wrong. Thursday would grow up with that as a role model. Unless Spike went through with the idea that had been swimming about in his head for the past two months.

He'd talked about it to Ben – it had been a bit awkward the first few weeks, but the man was still their therapist - but all he had really had to say on the matter was that it was up to Spike. Only he could decide what the right path was in this instance.

He took a deep breath and slowly let it out as he gave Thursday more blood. He let his thoughts bubble along as he fed her, giving her about an ounce of human mixed with horse. Then he watched the telly for a bit, drinking his beer and dunking the barbecue ribs into the rest of the blood like it was extra sauce. He didn't need human food anymore, but he liked it, and eating it had always been a bit of a comfort. He needed that right now.

If he was going to do it, it needed to be soon. While the pregnancy had been slightly accelerated, Thursday's development now that she was out and about didn't seem to be. He'd miss out on something no matter when he left, but if he waited just long for Buffy to finish the spring semester, he shouldn't miss too many of the major milestones. She could record the small ones for him over the summer.

He finished off the beer, ribs, and blood while he wrestled with the issue, weighing the pros and cons. Finally, he turned the telly off and cleaned up after himself before heading for the stairs. He needed to talk to Buffy and tell her about his decision.

…

...

After her post-slayage shower, Buffy had hoped for some snuggly time with Spike and Thursday before she had to make with the studying. Sadly, when she peered into her room she found it empty of both man and baby. She could very faintly hear the TV, which meant he'd probably taken her downstairs for some blood. She really wanted to go down there and join them, but….

"No rest for the wicked…. Or snuggle times for the not-so-wicked," she muttered with a sigh as she sat down on the bed and opened up one of the text books waiting there for her.

Only a couple more days until finals start. Stay focused, Buffy, she told herself sternly. She started to read, but her gaze kept creeping from the page and to the empty bassinet. For now, having the baby in the room with them was a good idea, but they already had plans to turn Dawn's room into a nursery once Spike and Xander finished fixing up the attic for her.

Poor Dawn. First all the key and Glory stuff, then the week-long reaction headache from the spell to lock the hellgod away, and now she was being asked to give up her room for her niece. She'd been really upset about that until Spike had pointed out that her being in the attic was kind of like having her own personal apartment. Her latest demand had been for a skylight, which Xander was already drawing up plans for.

And thinking about all this isn't getting me any closer to passing my finals. She got down to business, reading and taking notes for about twenty minutes before the door to her room opened. Spike walked in, not looking at her as he went to the bassinet and gently settled Thursday into it. He had a strange expression on his face. A mix of nervous, determined, scared, sort of queasy. She couldn't quite pin it down.

Dread bubbled unpleasantly in the pit of her stomach. What had happened? The baby seemed fine, so it couldn't be about her, right? Is it about me? Buffy wondered. Had he decided that he didn't want her anymore? That he actually would be moving down into the basement – or asking her to – so he could be in the same house as Thursday without having to be with her anymore?

He hadn't done anything to indicate that he was tired of her, but men had a tendency to leave. She thought of all of the girls she'd known in L.A. who had been raised by their mothers after their fathers left. Her own father had left. Angel had left. Multiple times depending on how you looked at it. Riley probably would have walked out on her if she hadn't dumped him first.

"I promise I'll be back soon as I can," he said quietly, "but I've gotta go away for a bit."

Go away? He'd said more than that, but once she heard those words, the rest faded away. He was going away? He was leaving her? Men always leave, she thought numbly.

"Buffy? Buffy-love?" Spike was sitting on the bed now beside her, looking concerned. "It's alright. Told you, I'm coming back, yeah?"

Coming back? He was coming back? So he was just going out of town and not really leaving her? "Where are you going? Why are you going?" Unless he planned to get formula somehow, he was obviously intending to leave Thursday with her. Considering he got antsy if their patrols stretched on too long, it had to be pretty damn important.

He looked away from her and stood up, beginning to pace. Whatever was going on had him really agitated. Was it Drusilla? He'd said the letter meant she'd given up, but the ho-bag was crazy. What if she'd changed her mind?

"No easy way to say this really," he muttered, shoving his hands through his hair. "It's like this, see? I'm off to get my bloody soul back." He continued on in a rush before she could respond to that stunning announcement. "Not through any of that cursed and no happiness rubbish. There's this bloke in Africa – demony sort – who can call back souls. Trick is, you have to pass these trials, or he'll bloody well eat the sodding thing. No worries," he said at her dismayed look, "I can pass 'em. I've had lots of crap thrown my way, I have, and I'm still kickin', aren't I?"

Buffy just stared at him for a moment, then she exploded up from the bed and grabbed him by the shoulders, shaking him slightly. "You're off to do what? Why would you…? You don't… I love you without one, you stupid dope!"

Of course, she'd loved him with one too, and she had to admit there had been a sort of extra something when he'd been sharing with Thursday. Like the soul had been the mocha in the mocha chocolate chunk ice cream that was Spike. He was still delicious chocolate chunk ice cream, but he was missing the sort of mature depth the coffee flavor brought with it. Despite that, there was a voice screaming in her head that he would essentially die if he got his soul. That souled and unsouled could only ever be completely and utterly different.

"I know," Spike said with a smile as he reached up to cup her cheek. "Not about you, though, pet. This is for Thursday, so she has someone other than Great Grandpa Wanker who knows what's what with the whole souled up blood drinker gig."

The fact that their daughter craved human blood was something Buffy tried really hard not to think too much about. "Okay, you have a point there, but this is insane," she argued. "Xander can help her when she gets old enough to worry about it. He thinks some types of canned dog food smell really good, but he doesn't eat them… probably."

Spike snorted and gave her a look. "Much as I admire the boy's iron self-control, that's not the same thing, and you know it. Besides, there's more to it than that." He pulled away from her, wrapping his arms around himself. "When I was human, I never really felt quite right in my own skin. Always felt like parts of me were locked away while others… just weren't there." He started pacing. "Tried writin' to get some of it out, yeah? But it was all just… drivel. Pretty words with no real meaning. No punch to 'em."

He stopped and took several long, deep breaths. He tended to breathe just out of habit, but she'd figured out that the deep ones were a sort of comfort action. This was really hard for him. She almost told him to stop. Almost told him again that he didn't need the soul. He really did have a point about Thursday, though. And… he seemed to want the soul. An evil demon held back only by love and a government pain chip actively wanted a soul.

That was…. It was unbelievably huge. She couldn't even wrap her mind around that concept. Without his soul, Angel had hurt and killed people to keep from getting it back. Spike was willing to be parted from Thursday for however long it would take and to undergo all these trials just to get his.

"When Dru turned me, it was…. It was like suddenly being able to see in color, but having to give up on seein' things far away. Becoming a demon unlocked the things trapped inside and filled up some of the holes while the soul buggering off opened up new ones. Everything seemed new and vivid and right there! Even the poetry was different. Still awful, but it had more heart to it, you know? More depth and punch. It just lacked…" he trailed off with a slight frown, gesturing vaguely as if trying to gather his thoughts.

"Soul, I s'pose," he said with a pained smile. "The ones I wrote for you, for Valentines? They weren't exactly good or anything, but –"

"Set aside all you know and take my hand," Buffy recited quietly. "We'll fly away now to a better land. We'll dance together under twilight skies. And I'll watch forever in your eyes."

Spike's look of bewildered vulnerability made her heart ache. He was obviously stunned that she had bothered to memorize any of them.

"I know most of them by heart," she said. "I'd have them all memorized, but baby, slaying, and studying takes up a lot of my time."

He swallowed and glanced away, looking suspiciously like he was blinking back tears. "Anyway," he finally said, his voice a little shaky, "what it all comes down to is this: with Thursday's soul, I felt almost… whole. I stopped believin' that destiny rot a long time ago, but it's almost like –" He stopped abruptly, a thoughtful look on his face. "No. That's not it. It's more like them people who feel they aren't the right sex. I'm definitely all man, through an' through," he smirked and gave her a suggestive brow wiggle, "but it's a bit like – to really be me – I have to be a souled up demon, but I was born human instead."

If he'd been heading off to get a soul for her sake, she'd have punched him in the nose and chained him to the bed again until he came to his senses. If it had just been for Thursday, she'd have tried to convince him to wait and see if it was even necessary. But this…. He wanted to feel whole. She couldn't stand in the way of that.

She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them to look directly at Spike. "How exactly do you plan to get to Africa?"

"Stow away on a cargo boat," he answered immediately, though he seemed surprised that she was asking. "Should be enough rats to keep me going. If not…." He shrugged. "Not like I'll starve to death, is it?"

"Okay, that's just stupid. You're not doing that." He was planning on taking a boat? That would take forever. And the whole rat thing? Major yuckage.

"Buffy," he protested.

She cut him off with a raised hand. "What? It's dumb. You have to know this. I have a better idea."

"You… what?" Poor little vampire. He looked so confused. She smiled.

"I have a better idea. I've been the Slayer since I was fifteen." Her smile got wider. "I think that entitles me to a few weeks of paid vacation and access to the company jet, don't you?"

Spike's jaw dropped and he was rendered utterly speechless for a good ten seconds at least. "I… you…." He blinked. "That's bloody brilliant, love."

"Uh-huh," she agreed, pleased with herself. She walked towards him, getting close enough to hook her thumbs in the belt loops of his jeans.

He lightly cupped her cheek. "You sure about this? Goin' with me? Your mates'll miss you, and the Hellmouth –"

"My 'mates' are used to when I visited my dad over the summer." Back when her dad still at least pretended to care. She took a deep breath and pushed that thought away. "And the Hellmouth slows way down around this time of year. I'll have a talk with the Council, and once I've finished my finals, you, me, and Thursday will go to Africa. Okay?"

"Got it all sorted, do you?" he asked, leaning in to nibble at her neck.

"Uh-huh," she confirmed breathily. "And you can thank me by taking these off," she tugged at his jeans, "and changing into something a bit more regimental."

He blinked and laughed. "Like that look, do you?"

"Oh yeah. I like me a pretty man in a pretty manskirt."

He grinned at her. God, he was beautiful when he smiled. She drank it in, the ways his eyes gleamed. The soul would weigh on him, putting shadows in those eyes, taking away a little bit of the boyish charm. He'd still be Spike, no matter what, and with his soul, there would be something extra to love. Still, she'd enjoy her chocolate chunk ice cream for as long as she could before they went to add the mocha.

…

...

The Magic Box was closed for the night, but all Willow needed to get inside was a simple unlocking spell. That was really dumb. Giles and Tara thought they were so high and mighty when it came to magic, but they couldn't even secure the store against the one kind of person most likely to want to steal stuff. They could put monitoring spells on her though that would have them in a tizzy over something as simple as the spell she'd just used.

She still loved Tara, but she was getting really tired of all of the constant "don't do this. No, Willow, you can't do that." They were treating her like a child, trying to teach her the basics even though she was way beyond them. And then there were the lectures. Both of them going on and on about how light magic worked with nature and was hardwired for instant payment from the caster or some pre-selected power object while dark magic worked against or beyond nature and was inclined to slowly extract its price from the world around the caster.

Magic was a force, like gravity or inertia. It should only matter what it was used for, not the title of the book it came out of. But no, they refused to believe that. They just kept telling her she was wrong. And if that wasn't bad enough, Buffy had finally talked to her for the first time in two months – well for the first time when it had been more than a rushed talk about being too "busy" – just to say that she was abandoning them for a few weeks to run off somewhere with her vampire sex toy and magic rape baby.

She hadn't said where she was going or why. She'd just left, expecting them to watch over Sunnydale while she was off having fun. To be fair, the Hellmouth traditionally wasn't very active over the summer, but Willow really didn't feel like being fair.

She stalked into the shop, using magic to close the door behind her. Another burst of magic turned on the lights and sent various objects floating through the air. Feeling that through the monitoring spells would definitely get Tara and Giles riled up. She wondered if they were on the way to the shop, or if Tara would just wait at the dorm for her with her kicked puppy look of disappointment. Would Giles call in the morning to tell her how very disappointed he was in her? She really didn't care anymore. All of this just because she'd healed the stump of her arm. It wasn't like she'd regrown a new one using the "dark" arts. And why would that be such a bad thing, anyway? So what if it went against nature? It was magic.

She could, though. Regrow her arm. It would take a lot more than the four books Xander had brought to the hospital for her, but she could do it. Eyes narrowed in consideration, she made her way up to where the forbidden books were kept. She made a grasping and pulling motion with her remaining hand and the door to the safe flew off. She levitated the books out, holding them in the air as she sucked out the magic.

She moaned softly, her eyes rolling into the back of her head as the power flowed into her. Her entire body tingled with the rush. She could even feel it in the missing part of her arm. Waves of magic, surging in and around her. She languidly reached out with her good arm to grab her stump and pulled. She screamed with the pain of it, but kept going. Al. Most. There!

She just stood there for a moment, gasping with equal parts exhaustion and exhilaration. There were still some books left. Pulling out more power took care of the exhaustion nicely. A magical pick-me-up. Nothing dark or sinister about that.

She smiled suddenly as she stared at her arm. Black and scaly with spines along the outer edge and three claws, one of them opposable. It was perfect. Buffy wanted them to watch over Sunnydale while she was gone? Willow could do that. She'd make sure it was perfect.

Just like her new arm. Her new strength. Her new, beautiful self.

…

...

Important note: This is the end of Thursday's Child. It's been a wild ride. Thank you for coming along on it with me. The storyline will be picked up in the sequel, Friday's Child, where Buffy and Spike deal with Spike's soul and Willow's further descent into darkness.