Last Resort

~~~~~
Willow bolted upright and pretty purple fireworks went off behind her eyes.

“Take it easy, Willow,” said Giles, clasping her arms to stop her from falling over.

“Take it easy? We’re about to become parents and you want me to take it easy?”

“I only meant that if you get up too quickly you might faint again,” said Giles.

“Oh. Right. Valid point,” she conceded. “Help me up?”

Giles took her by the elbows and brought her to her feet. It was odd how quickly he seemed to have overcome his issues with nudity. Perhaps it was just because he was too preoccupied with the arrival of the baby to care that he and the others were constantly naked, but he doubted it. Nudity was simply starting to feel…natural.

Willow gave Giles a weird look. “Giles? You can let go now, I’m okay.”

“Sorry,” he muttered. “My mind wandered for a moment there.”

“Don’t fizzle out on me now,” she said. “I need you fully functioning to perform the cleansing spell.”

“Th-the what?” he sputtered.

“Oops! That’s right—you don’t know about that, do you?” she said and her forehead instantly developed more lines than a road map. “This is seriously not good. The spell needs to be cast as the baby’s head is crowning.”

“Why? What do you need a cleansing spell for?” asked Giles.

“There’s a very good chance Oz is the biological father…” she said.

“I see…and the cleansing spell is to ensure the werewolf part of him doesn’t pass on to the baby,” he concluded.

“Got it in one.”

“And if Oz isn’t the child’s father?” he asked.

“Then we’ll have a baby with a super squeaky-clean aura,” said Willow with a proud, toothy grin. But when she saw Giles’ pensive expression her smile dimmed. “This is a lot to ask, I know…especially since it means putting off getting you home…but the spell needs to be done. You do know how to do the spell, don’t you?”

His frown deepened. “It’s not that I don’t know how to do the spell…in theory, at least. It’s just that my…skills…aren’t advanced enough to handle such powerful magicks.”

Willow giggled, and kept on laughing despite Giles’ glowering. “Not advanced enough?” she said and burst into a fresh bout of giggles.

“I fail to see what’s so funny,” he said tersely.

“You’ve raised demons and dabbled in Chaos…you nearly brought down the British government with a spell…but you don’t think you’re advanced enough to do a little cleansing spell?!” She snorted, clutching at her sides as she surrendered to her laughter.

Giles felt the blood drain from his face, leaving him off-balance. He leaned against the sink, grasping the cool porcelain to keep upright as he stared blankly at the giddy woman in front of him.

She knew.

Obviously his counterpart had shared much more of his past with her than he had with his own Willow. But did she know everything, he wondered? He doubted it—she wouldn’t be laughing so hard if she did.

“If you know so much about me, then you’ll understand why I’m hesitant about using magicks that draw on such primal forces. This is not a ‘little’ spell you’re asking me to do. It would be dangerous for me to attempt it alone, given my…history.”

Willow fought to reign in her mirth in order to form a cohesive sentence. “Silly! You won’t be doing the spell alone! Why would you even think I’d ask you to do it alone? That’s just…stupid,” she said and gave him a playful little shove.

Giles was baffled but relieved. He would have done the spell by himself if it had come to that, but he had to admit he was overwhelmingly grateful he wouldn’t have to. He was confused, however, as to who would be helping him. The only other people in the family with skills in magick were Willow and Tara, and both of them would be rather busy when it came time to do the spell.

Willow answered his unspoken question: “Wesley’s helping out with the spell. Oz has probably already called him.”

“But he’s in L.A., isn’t he? It’ll take hours for him to get here. We may not have hours,” he said nervously.

“Don’t worry about that—Anya’s got it covered,” said Willow. She took him by the hand and led him out the door. “You just concentrate on getting the spell right.”

~~~~~
Buffy came downstairs to a relatively normal domestic scene. There was bacon and pancakes and everyone was gathered around the dining room table, smiling and chatting amiably. Even Willow seemed to be having a quiet moment of happiness. The only unsettling thing about the scene was Rupert and Spike sitting side-by-side and holding hands.

Although Xander was doing his best to ignore them, the others seemed to be fine with the new couple. Buffy could see no reason why she should object—it wasn’t her Giles, after all—so she mentally shrugged and moved past the weirdness. Anyway, it was hard to be upset with Rupert. He was kind of cute…and he’d somehow managed to cheer up Willow, so extra brownie points for that.

Still, when this was over and she had her own Giles back, she’d have to have a serious chat with Spike about the ‘hands-off’ rule for her watcher. There was no way he was going to get his cold, undead hands on her Giles. Buffy’s eyes widened at the proprietary nature of her thoughts. Since when had she thought of him as ‘her’ Giles, she wondered?

Buffy took a seat at the end of the table and poured herself a tall glass of orange juice, shaking off the thought.

“So, Anya,” she said, “did you get a hold of your friend Boba Fett?”

“You mean Bobrachnilothtot?” asked Anya, to which Buffy nodded. “No, why? Was I supposed to?”

Everyone glared at her like she’d said perms were back in style.

“What?” she asked innocently.

“Uh… Sweetie—you were planning on getting our Giles back, weren’t you?” asked Xander with an air of strained patience.

“He’ll be back,” she said. “Bob only sent him away for a couple of weeks.”

“Uh…” Rupert interrupted, drawing everyone’s attention. “I hate to put a damper on your friend’s holiday, but I really do have to get back. I’m due to become a father any day now—so the sooner I can get home the better.”

Rupert felt Spike’s hand tense underneath his own and he turned to face him in time to see the vampire’s quickly concealed look of disappointment. Rupert squeezed his hand gently, but Spike pulled it away and refused to meet his eye.

Anya sighed in defeat. “Alright, I’ll see what I can do. But finding Bob is a lot more difficult than you might think.”

“I thought you said he was vacationing in Florida,” said Buffy.

“Oh, he is,” she agreed readily. “But which one? There are millions of Floridas and only one Bob to go around.”

“Well how did you find him the last time?” asked Dawn as she snatched the last piece of bacon off the serving platter before Xander could get it.

“Luck,” Anya answered. “His wife Marcy told me where he was the last time he called her, and he just happened to still be there. But he bounces around a lot—skips out on his hotel bills by hightailing it to a new dimension every few days.”

Buffy’s expression grew stormy. “You’re still going to try, though. And if he’s not there, you’re going to track him down until you find him, right?” It wasn’t a question.

“Fine—no need to get snippy,” said Anya. “First thing after work I’ll call Marcy…”

“Now,” Buffy insisted.

“But the store,” Anya protested.

“I’ll look after it for you,” Rupert offered.

Anya looked at him distrustfully. “You won’t kiss any customers, will you?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he answered, his lip curling up in a sly smile.

Anya seemed pacified enough by his promise to behave and with a brief round of farewells she was out the door, Xander in tow.

“C’mon, Rupert,” said Buffy. “I’ll drop you off at the store on the way to Dawn’s school.”

As they gathered themselves up to leave, Spike rose to his feet. “Right. I’m coming with you,” he said to Rupert.

“No, you’re not,” Rupert replied firmly. “It’s daylight. I’ll see you when I get back from the shop.”

“Yeah—if Anya doesn’t send you packing, that is,” Spike sulked under his breath.

Rupert pulled him aside, away from the prying ears of the girls. “I suppose I can’t promise I’ll return. But we both knew I’d have to go back to my own home eventually.”

“But so soon?” said Spike, keeping his voice low and casting cautious glances at Willow and the Summers girls. “I thought…well I thought we’d have a bit more time, is all.”

Rupert smiled wistfully and grabbed hold of the lapels of Spike’s duster, yanking him forward into a kiss. Rupert almost forgot they had an audience until he heard Dawn giggling.

~~~~~
Giles sat by the bedroom door and kept looking up from his book, casting worried glances at Tara, as if the baby might suddenly spring from her loins, catching him off guard. She was resting serenely on the bed as various family members came and went, offering their services in making her more comfortable. So far her contractions had been few and far between, and Tara seemed to be taking it all in stride.

Giles only wished they could take her to the hospital—these home-birthing experiences were fraught with danger. But under the circumstances they had little choice—he doubted the hospital staff would think too kindly of strangers performing witchcraft in the labour room. He got a mental image of it and had to smile. Tara smiled back at him and waved, assuming he’d been smiling at her.

Giles waved in return and looked at his watch nervously. It had been over an hour since Tara’s water broke and there was still no word from Wesley. He fought the urge to bite his fingernails—an old habit he’d abandoned ages ago in favour of eyeglass fiddling, but still reverted to when deprived of his spectacles. Giles ignored the fluttering nerves in his stomach and buried his nose in his book of incantations.

He’d never performed a cleansing spell before, and the language of the incantation was an obscure dialect of Old French—not one of his stronger languages. If only it were Latin, he thought disparagingly. He could do Latin. He was so engrossed in his studies that he failed to hear the front door opening and the clumping sound of footsteps climbing the stairs. His first indication that there was a new arrival in the room was the sound of Wesley’s voice coming from the open doorway.

“Rupert!” he boomed. “Come here, you big old mutt—get your head out of that book and say hello!”

“Wesley!” Giles beamed, relief fairly dripping from his voice. He quickly laid the book on his chair and stood to greet the anxiously awaited ex-watcher, noting as he faced him how different he seemed from the Wesley he knew back home.

He didn’t so much as flinch when the younger man pulled him into a kiss. Nor did he fight the hands that slid firmly down his bare chest to rest on his hips. Whatever inhibitions he’d had when he came to this dimension had abandoned ship and left him to fend for himself.

Not that that was a bad thing, necessarily, he thought, as Wesley’s hot tongue gained entrance to his mouth and tangled with his own. Giles deepened the kiss, his fingers twining in Wesley’s thick brown hair.

Wesley finally pulled back, his lips pleasantly swollen and his eyes half-mast as if still imagining himself in Giles’ embrace.

“Wow,” said Wesley, catching his breath. “That was…uh…quite the welcome.”

“You have no idea how glad I am to see you,” said Giles, slightly embarrassed by his own enthusiasm.

“I could tell,” Wesley purred huskily in reply.

“But how did you get here so quickly? Weren’t you in Los Angeles?”

Wesley looked at him askance, wondering if he was being serious. Willow had drilled them so hard and so frequently on what they were supposed to do that it seemed impossible Rupert could have forgotten.

Anya appeared in the doorway behind Wesley, followed by a badly sunburned, scrawny old man in Bermuda shorts, wearing a hideously floral sunhat that only partially obscured the horns on his head.

“I pulled in a favour from my friend Bob,” said Anya, then proceeded to kiss Giles hello. “He offered to provide emergency teleportation in exchange for a front-row seat at the big event.”

“I can’t believe my little Sweet Pea’s all grown up and having children of her own,” said Bobrachnilothtot, getting all teary-eyed. “I’m so proud I could burst!”

“Don’t worry—he won’t really burst,” said Anya, as if they’d presumed he might just do that.

“Ah!” cried Bob, clapping eyes on the expectant mother. He pushed his way between Giles and Wesley and scurried over to Tara. He hovered uncertainly for a moment with his hands poised over her bare belly. “May I?” he asked.

Tara nodded proudly and Bob gently placed his hands on her tummy, oohing and ahhing appreciatively. Tara giggled, but not for long—the giggling turned to pained panting and grunting as she was hit by another contraction.

“I didn’t do it, I swear!” Bob exclaimed, swinging around to face the others in a panic.

“That was a contraction, Bob,” Wesley explained calmly. “I thought Anya said you’ve been around for thousands of years; have you never witnessed childbirth before?”

“Not a human one,” he answered. “Not many humans are keen to have demons present at such an occasion. Is…is it supposed to be so painful?” he asked worriedly as Tara’s moaning grew louder.

No one had a chance to answer, though, as Willow came crashing through the door, her arms overflowing with candles and pillows. Giles and Wesley rushed to relieve her of her burden.

“Tara, sweetie,” said Willow, taking her position next to her. “Remember your breathing.” She demonstrated helpfully, getting a positively hateful glare from Tara in response.

“Okaaay—I’m being quiet now, see?” said Willow with a frightened little smile.

The contraction eased at last and everyone breathed a sigh of relief. With the fear of decapitation no longer deterring her, Willow took the opportunity to examine the mother-to-be.

“Is it almost over?” wheezed Tara hopefully.

Willow shook her head, her big eyes filled with regret at having to deliver the bad news. “Don’t kill me, okay? But it looks like we’re just starting.”