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Part 3
"Come on! You can do it!" Xander exclaimed. Cordelia slapped his arm . . . not lightly either. "Ow!" he yelled, as Buffy said dryly,
"I think they’re a little young to be walking Xander." Willow giggled behind her hand as Xander rubbed his arm and looked injured.
"You want to walk, don’t you?" he asked the baby in his arms. A little fist shot up and hit his nose. Willow rescued the baby before Xander could drop him. Buffy felt Kailyn stop sucking and gently detached her.
"Trade ya," she said, and Willow carefully—and we’re talking extreme carefulness here—put Tristan down before picking up Kailyn.
"Now here’s a girl ready to face the world!" Xander exclaimed, peering at her.
"You be careful with my babies!" Buffy warned him. "If anything happens to them—"
"I know, I know, no need to go into graphic details! We have children here!" Buffy laughed. She was finally home—well, at her father’s house—and all her friend had come to help her settle in with the babies. "I still can’t believe these guys were inside you," Xander said, not for the first time. Buffy laughed.
"That is how it works you know!" she exclaimed. "And I was certainly big enough! Finally, I can wear my jeans again!"
"Um . . . Buffy, you don’t . . . wear jeans," Willow pointed out, looking up from Kailyn.
"Oh . . . right. Slinky little dresses?" Buffy suggested. Xander brightened noticeably—followed by a slap from Cordelia—and Willow laughed. "Seriously though, there’s no cute maternity clothes. It’s like a law."
"I totally know what you mean!" Cordelia exclaimed. "From my mom and stuff," she added hastily, then turned to Buffy with a confiding air. "I’m thinking of designing a line of cute maternity clothes. I mean, with all the teenage pregnancies these days—"
"Cordy, honey," Xander interrupted. Cordelia stopped and looked at him, then realized what she’d said and closed her mouth, smiling slightly at Buffy who smiled back in amusement.
"Okay you guys, I think it’s time for mother and children to get some rest," Joyce announced, entering the bedroom.
"We’re restful!" Xander exclaimed.
"Xander—" Cordelia began, but he cut her off.
"Okay, okay. I’m going. Witness the goingness of me!" Willow carefully handed Kailyn to Joyce—though not before Xander tried to tickle her and made her whimper instead.
"I’ll call you, okay?" Willow asked, hugging Buffy as much as possible.
"You better! J/K. And you too Xander! You’re going to be my only anchors to sanity!"
"Only anchor is not good for me," Willow said nervously. Buffy smiled and squeezed her hand.
"Relax Will. I’ll miss you."
"I’ll miss you too. We’ll come visit when we can!"
"Good! Definitely with the visiting! Bye," Buffy said, trying to keep the forlorn note out of her voice. Xander and Cordy took their leaves as well and soon they were all gone off to their teenage lives. Leaving Buffy. And Tristan.
She sighed and looked down at his tiny perfection. Slowly she stroked his hair—the blond had fallen out and it was growing in dark. He looked like his father. So much. Her little Angel. One that would never lose his soul.
"I love you, little one. I give you my soul, whatever part of it you need. Because I need you to have one." And he looked at her, straight at her and his eyes were yellow, but they slowly melted into green. And she met herself in those eyes, and the man she loved, and someone else, whom she didn’t know yet.
Buffy glanced around the barely light alley and took a deep breath before knocking on the back door to the butcher shop. Joyce had the babies—Buffy had said she needed a half hour to just walk and her mother had accepted that. So here she was.
A large man with dark eyes opened the door. He grunted as he looked her over. "You’re a new one," he said. Buffy handed him the card.
"Whistler sent me," she said. His eyes widened slightly and he nodded, motioning for her to come inside. Buffy did, warily, one hand checking the stake that was tucked up her jacket arm. One never knew what was waiting. The man led her inside to a huge door.
"Walk in fridge," he said at her questioning gaze. "Wait here." Buffy nodded and watched him open the huge door and walk inside. She glanced around nervously—it looked like a butcher shop. She winced at all the raw meat and looked back to the man, coming out with several jars full of . . . full of blood.
"How many do you need?" he asked.
"Just one." For now anyway . . . Babies didn’t eat much, and Whistler had said she could come every morning if she needed to. The man grunted and handed her a jar. He turned away for a moment and came back with a paper sack. She put the jar inside. He named the price. Buffy nodded and reached into her purse, counting the money out to him.
"We don’t get pretty young ones like you much. Usually have more sense," he said as she pocketed her change.
"It’s not for a vampire," Buffy said, suprising him. "I don’t like vampires."
"Sure. Well, Whistler sent you, so that’s probably the truth."
"It is," Buffy said, turning away and clutching the paper bag as if for dear life. Not hers, but her childrens’ certainly . . .
Buffy sighed herself awake, hearing the now familiar hungry cries. And then there was a soft sound and they stopped, and for one horrible second, so did her heart.
Buffy’s eyes snapped open and she sat up immediately. Her whole body froze and everything seemed to be moving slowly, so slowly, as he turned his head from the tiny bundle in his arms, his face in an adoring, wondering expression and met her eyes. But he wasn’t there, couldn’t be truly there. She had killed him. She had driven a stake into his heart and watched him crumble to dust—felt him crumble. And yet he sat there, holding his son and watching the woman he loved. Or the woman he hated.
"Angel?" Buffy whispered, the work town from her. He moved as if to touch her, then stopped, looking down at the baby in his arms. His son. A smile came to his lips before he looked back at her.
"It’s me. Not . . . in body. I’m a . . . you’d call me a ghost, I suppose."
"H-how are you h-holding h-him?" she stuttered. He smiled again, a little sadly.
"I’m not." She realized that she’d been mistaken—Tristan was still in his crib. But the bottle . . . Angel noticed her look.
"I have . . . powers. Certain powers. This was all I wanted anyway. And to see you."
"Angel, I—" she began.
"Shh. There, he’s asleep," Angel said. Buffy watched with wonder as the bottle of blood floated over to the table and settled beside the mini-fridge she kept their bottles in. And then Angel came toward her.
"They’re beautiful. So beautiful," he murmured. Buffy nodded.
"Yes they are. Angel—I’m sorry. I’m so sorry." He reached her and his hand reached out to her hesitating, to brush back her hair, but his fingers went right through it.
"It’s okay. In fact, I’m glad. If I had hurt you anymore, or anyone else . . . If I had hurt one of them . . ."
"You didn’t," Buffy said, to stop the anguish in his voice.
"Only because you stopped me."
"Angel, how can you be here? How can I see you?" Buffy asked.
"You can see me because you won’t remember any of this tomorrow." Buffy bit her lower lip and looked away.
"How are you?" he asked, concern clear in his voice. Buffy sighed.
"Tired," she said. "Lonely. Afraid that I won’t be able to take care of them. That I’ll be alone forever."
"You’re not alone," Angel answered. "I’m with you." She looked at him, a small, sad smile on her face.
"You’re a ghost. You’re . . . you’re not alive."
"I never was," he pointed out. Her mouth quirked, her eyes filling with tears.
"But I could touch you before," she whispered, her mouth doing the hopeless little quirk he hated. He had no answer for that—there was no answer.
"Just know that I’m here. I’m always here, with you, even when you can’t see me."
"But I still feel alone," she said softly.
"You have to let people in. Your friends—they want to help. And Whistler . . . I know he’s annoying, but he’s here to help."
"If you say so."
"He was the one that brought me to you," Angel said and Buffy closed her eyes, unable to imagine a reality without him.
"I can’t stay much longer," Angel whispered. Buffy’s eyes flew open and she stared at him, trying to memorize him, hold him in her heart.
"Angel, I love you," she whispered.
"I love you," he replied, reaching towards her. She closed her eyes,
feeling the faint brush of his hand over her face. And then his lips
were on hers, somehow, despite everything and he was so, so sweet.
Buffy turned her face into the pillows and cried herself to sleep.
"Hush little baby, don’t cry a word, papa’s gon—" Buffy stopped in the
middle of the phrase and changed it. "Mama’s gonna buy you a
mockingbird, and if that mockingbird won’t sing, mama’s gonna buy you a
diamond—" RING. Buffy stopped again and rolled her eyes. "Dad?" she
called.
"I got it," Hank answered from the next room. Joyce had returned to
Sunnydale for her gallery, though she was going to come back that
weekend and see how everything was going. Buffy began humming and
rocking again, smoothing Kailyn’s blond hair. "It’s for you," Hank said
a moment later, coming into the room. Buffy looked up in suprise. Who
could be calling? It was after 10:00 . . . Willow wasn’t allowed to call
after 10:00. Who else would be calling her? Buffy reached for the phone
and rested it on her shoulder before answering.
"Buffy here," she said, still rocking. Kailyn made noises of protest
that she wasn’t getting her mother’s absolute attention, but Buffy only
made faces at her and kept rocking.
"Buffy? It’s . . . it’s Willow." Buffy frowned at her friend’s voice. It
sounded hoarse, like she’d been crying.
"Will? What’s the matter?" she asked, truly worried.
"It’s Kendra," Willow sobbed. "Drusilla killed her." Buffy stopped
rocking; stopped everything. She closed her eyes and the phone nearly
slipped. She took her hand off Kailyn’s stomach and caught it. Drusilla
killed Kendra. Kendra’s dead. If I had been there, she thought suddenly.
If I had been there this wouldn’t have happened. Kendra would still be
alive. If I had been there.
"Buffy?" Willow asked, a catch in her throat.
"Thank you for calling Will," Buffy managed. Her father was asking what
was wrong but she couldn’t answer. Kailyn started to cry, and, as if
sensing her distress, Tristan woke and started crying too. Hank picked
him up and Buffy tried to rock.
"Are you gonna be okay?" Willow asked. Buffy almost laughed; it was too
horrible.
"Don’t worry about me, Will. I’ll be fine. I’ll be wonderful. It’s
Kendra that died," Buffy said bitterly, though it was all aimed at
herself. "Willow. I have to go. I’ll call you back okay?"
"Okay. It’s not your fault Buffy," Willow said. Buffy didn’t reply, just
said good bye and hung up the phone. The babies were screaming now and
her father still didn’t know what was going on. Buffy gathered Kailyn
closer to her and rocked, singing gently.
She’d left her duty for her children and Kendra had died because of it.
Was it the right choice? Were these two tiny beings worth a Slayer?
Worth a young woman that had been her friend?
Buffy didn’t know how to make that decision, and yet she already had,
and it was too late to go back on it. The babies lived and the Slayer
was dead, and Buffy didn’t know whether it was worth the life. Whether
they were worth the life. And Buffy didn’t know how it came to be her
decision, or how she’d made it. She hadn’t known she was at the time.
That was the worst part; she’d decided to keep the babies for her, but
she was the one that had paid in the end . . .
Buffy sang to her daughter, and prayed she was worthy of the life that
she’d been given.