Regarding Birthdays

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E-mail Hilary

by Lynne C.

Rating: PG

Disclaimer: It’s all Joss’ – I worship at the altar of his genius, and acknowledge that he owns all these folks and everything that they do and say.

Setting/Spoilers: post-Killer in Me (7.13) through Chosen (7.22)

Summary: Spike has a birthday?

Acknowledgements: The opening paragraphs come from Killer in Me, and were copied from http://www.buffyworld.com/buffy/season7/transcripts/135_tran.php; the section from Chosen was lifted (save for certain tense changes and the inclusion of Spike’s “inner monologue”) from http://studiesinwords.de .

She’d paced for a bit, then tried to sit in the hall outside of the exam room. She’d just stood up to resume her pacing when one of the soldiers finally approached her.

“Med team tells me they took a look at the chip. You were right; It's degraded. Leave it as it is much longer, it'll be fatal to him.”

Buffy swallowed as she took this news in. “OK. So, how long t—“

“Now. “

She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “Right, of course. Um, what do we do next?”

“Agent Finn said it was your call, ma'am.”

“My—what was my call?”

“All decisions regarding Hostile 17 are to be left in your hands. This chip...we can either repair it... or remove it.”

Buffy blinked at him stupidly for a moment, unprepared for this new responsibility with which she was being confronted. She stalled for only a moment though, studying the tops of her shoes, before taking a deep breath. “Take it out.” Later on, she would tell it to Giles and the others as though it was a rationalized, reasoned, well-ruminated on decision. In fact, it was her gut that responded, and she didn’t really question it. She knew it was the right thing, but only came up with the reasons why after the fact.

“Yes, ma’am.”

She regarded the soldier again, confidently, “will he be conscious while you’re doing it?”

“No. He’s pretty out of it as it is, and they’ll shoot him up with some tranquilizers before we go in.”

Several hours later, she sat uncomfortably on a stool beside the inert vampire. The medical types had told her that he should be coming around any time, but so far, he hadn’t stirred. It made her think of the few times she’d seen him asleep, and how it had come as such a surprise to see him appearing truly dead. It was very disconcerting, and was one of the many reasons that she had usually fled as quickly as possible after their trysts, back then. She sighed, recalling the excess of turmoil, not just within herself, but that he’d been experiencing, too. She’d been much too preoccupied with herself to notice or, more honestly, to let herself notice his situation.

Well, newer, more conscientious Buffy, reporting for duty. Or, at least, she hoped so. This present apocalypse had rather derailed some of her best resolutions regarding Dawn. But…there were only just so many hours in the day. Once The First was defeated….

She sighed again, drew her knees up onto the top rung of the stool, propped her elbows on her knees and rested her chin on her hands, staring at this being who had, so improbably, become such a significant feature in her life.

Several more minutes ticked by. She shifted position again.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

“Wake up already, Spike.” She didn’t bother to hide the impatience in her voice.

Nothing.

Next she tried an authoritative tone. “I think you’re just being stubborn, now. They said you should have woken up by now. What, you just want the satisfaction of making me wait around for you?”

More nothing.

Wheedling came next. “Oh, Spi-ike, there’s an order of hot wings with your name on it if you wake up.”

An abundance of nothing.

She sighed a third time. It had been a really long night and she was exhausted. Fine, if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em. She scooted the stool closer to the table, folded her arms on the near side of Spike’s sheet-covered chest, and put her head down. The aforementioned nothingness took her almost immediately.

She thought at first, as she woke, that she must have been dreaming. Then she realized that the voice she heard wasn’t inside her head, it was under it, or above it, or, at the very least, somewhere outside of it. She lifted her head, through the protestations of her stiff neck and back muscles, and pushed herself upright.

“Shleble dot poker gameshlef….”

“Spike, wake up.”

“Gotta go see the spaflempl..ar….”

She shook his shoulder gently, and then a bit harder. At last, his eyelids fluttered open, and he attempted to focus on her leaning over him.

“Shlayer…eh…feelsh like cotton in my moufff.”

“They knocked you out pretty good. But you’re better now.”

“Yeh, better.” His eyes drifted shut again as he tried to grasp where he was and what was going on. “Chip misfiring, yeah?”

“Yeah. They said it was never meant to last so long.” She paused a moment, not certain if he was still with her or not.

“All fixed now?”

“All gone now.”

He opened his eyes again, and turned his head a bit in her direction. He was clearly very addled, and didn’t believe he’d heard correctly.

“ ‘S what?”

“They took it out. They could have replaced it, but eventually, that one would have failed, too. Besides, you have a real conscience now, you don’t need it.”

He tried to sit up then, but lay back down quickly as a wave of wooziness washed over him. One forearm lay across his eyes, protecting them from the dim light of the room.

“Sure that was the best thing?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. I said it before, Spike, and I think telling them to take it out says it again. I believe in you.” She laid a hand on his shoulder to punctuate the assertion. His hand crept over hers and gave it a squeeze.

“ ‘F I’m still in an ether dream, I hope I don’ wake up. Don’t deserve you worryin’ ‘bout me, takin’ care of me. Sittin’ here by me. But I’m grateful for’t all th’ same.”

They were quiet again for a bit, before Spike spoke again.

“Mmm, guess it’s whatever they gave me, but I’m feeling every one of my hundred…” He paused to check his math. “Hundred forty-six years.”

Buffy snorted out a short laugh. “You actually had to stop and remember how old you are?”

“Not ‘xactly at my best here, pet. ‘Sides, it’s not like I really observe birthdays any more.”

“Why not?”

“Well…partly just not really a vampire thing. Birthdays’re a celebration of life ‘n’ we’re dead. Then, too, ya have enough of them, ‘n’ are immortal, they stop meaning anything.”

“But what about the presents? Don’t you want an excuse for presents?”

He lifted the arm over his eyes, tilted his head up a few inches, cracked open his bleary eyes and looked at her. “You serious? Who would bother giving me presents? Not exactly the guest of honor, type here, luv. More like the ‘on sufferance’ type.” He laid his head back down with a sigh. “Anyway, recent years, there’s usually so much trauma going on that it would get lost in the shuffle.”

Buffy waited a few moments, but discovered that she was intrigued at the idea of Spike’s birthday. Birthday of Spike. Images of him in a birthday hat, or blowing out candles. She stifled a chuckle, and persisted on her line of questioning. “But, if you did observe your birthday, when would it be?”

“April 11th. 1856. Same spring that the Crimean War ended and the Covent Garden Opera House burned…so, me mum used to tell me. ‘T also turned out I shared a birthday with Arthur Shrewsbury. ‘Course, you’ll never have heard of him, but when I was young, he was quite well known for playing cricket. Fact, ‘e was huge; he was like bloody Beckham is now….”

“Beckham? Isn’t that the church guy that Peter O’Toole played in that movie?”

Spike shook his head weakly, rubbing his eyes. He had to smile at her though. He explained with exaggerated patience, “No, luv, that’s Beckett, a 12th century english saint. David Beckham? Footballer? Man U?” She was still looking at him blankly. “Married to one of those Spice Girls?” She shrugged at him. “Well, trust me, he’s huge in the rest of the world, and so was Shrewsbury in his day. I rather enjoyed the association, however tenuous, back when I was alive. Anyway, water over the dam now.”

He tried again, this time with more success, to sit up, shaking his head to try and clear away the cobwebs. His eyes were still squinty when he turned to look at her. “I notice that you took my advice this year, and didn’t bother with your own birthday….”

“Yeah, it just seemed safer that way.”

“Thought maybe.”

“In fact, after so many crummy birthdays, no one else mentioned it either. I think we were all a bit afraid to jinx things by even bringing it up.”

“ ‘S why I didn’t say anything. Nor get you anything either. Seemed like a quiet day was the best gift, if ignoring it did the trick. Musta done.…”

Spike finally swung his legs over the side of the table, pausing to see if he was going to get dizzy again and, evidently deciding that all was well, slid off the cold metal surface to a standing position. He kept his hands on the side of the table gripping it hard as his knees proved to still be wobbly. Buffy hopped off the stool, ready to lend a hand, but waited to see if he would rally without her support.

At last, he let go of the table, lifted an eyebrow and gave her a faint lopsided smile. “Since the floor’s not coming up to meet me, I guess I’m ready to get out of here.”

Buffy smiled back, letting out the breath she’d been holding. Mental note, stop holding breath without realizing it. Or at all for that matter. She shook her head, then stood back to allow Spike to slowly lead the way to the door.

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Nine Weeks Later

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He was awakened by the clanking of his shackles being unlocked. His waking breath told him it was Buffy, and his instinctive alarm receded.

“Buffy, what’s going on? Something the matter?”

“No, nothing’s the matter. I just….” She stopped. She was standing next to his cot, not looking at him. Like she was debating changing her mind regarding whatever she’d come down after.

“What brings you down to my borrowed lair in the middle of the night?” He asked gently, but warily. Never knew with his Slayer, when she might turn around and surprise hell out of you. Surely it couldn’t be she had an itch wanting for scratching…? He banished the speculation immediately, but not before his body reacted to the idea. Damn the lad, for having a mind of his own!

“It’s…well….Okay, I feel silly, but it’s April 11th and Happy Birthday!” The words came out in a rush, once she decided to commit to them.

He was entirely gobsmacked. His baser instincts retreated completely, much to the relief of the part of his mind monitoring such things. Birthday, huh? He very vaguely recalled their conversation while he was coming out of whatever anesthesia they’d used when they took out the chip, but hadn’t given it another thought since. He’d rather figured she’d just been talking about any old thing in order to help him come ‘round. Well….

Buffy had turned away as soon as she’d given her surprise greeting, scooting back to the steps where she leaned down to pick something up. She returned, fumbling briefly with whatever she carried, before the flame of a barbeque lighter illuminated her face from below.

His breath caught in his chest at the sight, and his heart would surely have skipped if it still beat. God, but she’s the most gorgeous thing… made as much for firelight as for sunlight….

Spike forced himself to focus on what she was doing, and when he saw, he threw his head back and laughed. Heartily and completely, like he hadn’t done in he couldn’t have said how long.

“Slayer, you are something else!” He sobered a bit, adding, “thank you.” He held her gaze for a moment, then bent to blow out the fat numeral candles spelling out 1-4-7, each one resting in the frosting of a chocolate snack cake.

“Did you make a wish?”

“Of course. But I’m not blowing the chance it will come true by telling you what it was.”

“Of course not, silly. I just wanted to make sure you hadn’t forgotten how this was supposed to work. Now, sit down and have your cake-like-thing.”

Chuckling again, he sat back down on the cot. She joined him there, and they companionably ate birthday snack cakes in the wee small hours of the morning in the dark basement of 1630 Revello Drive, as if they hadn’t a care in the world.

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Four Weeks Later

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“Gotta move, lamb. I think it’s fair to say, school’s out for the bloody summer.”

“Spike!”

“I mean it! I gotta do this.”

The light emanating from the amulet had flared even brighter and Buffy reached out to take Spike’s hand in her own, entwining her fingers with his. A moment, and then both their hands burst into flame. She had ignored the fire and held his gaze with her own.

“I love you.”

He had looked back at her, a flood of emotions pouring through him. Then, he’d smiled at her ironically. Damn, if there wasn’t something to those birthday wishes, then. Too bad he hadn’t known sooner, or he’d have been making them long before this. Too bad, too, that he couldn’t savor the words long. But she needed to get going, else this big sacrifice of his was going to lose some of its point. “No, you don’t. But thanks for saying it.”

They’d share one last look between them, two souls coming together as one at last, before the ground heaved beneath their feet and chunks of stone slammed down like bombs around them.

“Now go!”

And she went.

The End

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