Then there were Three

PART 3

Willow felt the joy of lying prone on those first few nights; the joy of finally remembering things from her past; and feeling the surge of unfettered magical energy restore itself through her whole being.

Two weeks later she was propped up a little by Clem, and looked down sadly as her breasts were relieved of their burden for the third time that day (Xander had been given the brief of how to… along with a reputable dealer in human milk should he want to 'exploit' the additional benefits of the surrogate).

“Come on sweetie! Please don’t cry again! Do this for the kittens all the time… now just suck on the nipple… that’s it… You’re friend Xan is out tonight but Spike’s always up for a cuddle… You don’t mind if I…”

Clem lifted her with an audible grunt then pushed her against an inanimate fellow magical creature’s side, easing her top leg onto his instead of using a pillow for her comfort. These were things she had not experienced in her ‘chamber’… and strangely felt the energy and power flowing both ways.

Xander consulted with various doctors, conventional and… well just straight wacky! And the result had been a distressed Willow sedated for the first few days away from her tank then doses were reduced and things ‘evening out’. But on her twenty first day in her new circumstance, her huge belly tightened impossibly, pain ripped through her and her body arched of its own accord. She instantly felt a rush of wetness between her thighs but knew she had not soiled herself in the conventional manner. Xander and Clem had been expecting it to happen any day, but with Xander out for a few hours, Clem rang his cousins Nell and Martin.

Though she had delivered before, it had always been fast and furious with no feeling thanks to an epidural and the timing dictated by others. She had always been in water and the progeny had always been non human before! This time she was fully aware, out of control in a body that seemed to know what to do. Due to multiple pregnancies, the delivery was again to be swift but this time desperately painful as cervix dilated and muscles contracted impossibly in preparation.

Finally, at the edge of panic as three rather floppy eared demons fussed around her, she panted without prompt. She had been placed on the kitchen table, her legs pulled up as though for another impregnation, the two male nurses ready to deal with the babies and Clem occasionally (and very nervously) swiping her forehead with a damp towel. Just as she heard the instruction to “Bear down now… Come on *push*!” She felt a strong hand twine fingers with hers and saw the face of an old friend once again.

She would have panicked but for the calm presence of her rescuer and lifelong friend, though despite her thankfulness, unintentionally broke one of his fingers in the third last contraction as he held her hand.

The DNA tests came through a week earlier. All three girls were his … and Willow’s.

His children, his biological progeny… three little girls… wonderful miracles of an horrendous set of events, had been born naturally. Each one, in the end, ‘caught’ by their natural father, each contraction this time felt by their mother and the ‘push’ instruction understood and followed.

Post event was unlike the other times. She saw the placenta for the first time as she delivered it, was she carried to a warm bath and gently cleaned then returned to a real bed and given half a unit of blood… but no sedative there was no need.

Willow was sleeping in the ‘third bedroom’ – it was really Clem’s study, but there was no real problem. The bed was comfortable, the fish tank pump hummed a bit, but there was a sound system that was set on low and played a long loop of classical pieces so she might feel ‘at home’. When the babies stirred, she knew she would need help… but for now… it was enough that she lay on her front, horizontal for the first time in three plus years, and next to her, three tiny girls who were wrapped in identical pink baby blankets in the crib by her bed.

Xander checked on her twice, then made his way back to the room he called his own. He had moved Spike to his bed (from the study) sensitive to Willow’s state, and consequently lay on his back trying not to touch said vampire, for fear of ‘violating him’… but in the end rolled over and cried onto Spike’s chest for no better reason than a male chest was his preference… Spike was a friend… he was a Father(!) … and Clem was… well a little too squishy to cry onto, and well… And *why* was he having this conversation with himself !!!! Probably because Clem was out at kitten poker *again*; he had just become a father to his lifelong, very ill friend Willow; he still had no idea how to fix Spike; and they really should move out to their own space sometime… Oh and he needed to sort out the situation of funding once and for all. If only Spike would start to move again, all would be well… or not. He really just needed a good cry.

The next day brought a number of small miracles. Willow felt her own children feed from her for the first time – each one benefiting from a burgeoning bosom even though the nurse had to ‘latch the little loves on’. Strangely for Willow, there was no prompt for her milk dropping, tiny mouths and a quiet snuffle all it needed for her body to respond.

Wonderfully she was also able to lift an emaciated arm to carefully stroke a too thin hand over the little one born with a head of dark hair. The effort cost her, but her dear rescuer, Xander, saw and smiled. She could smell her babies for the first time and felt the pad between her legs that was changed every few hours, just as she watched her babies changed, hers with serious amounts of blood as well as urine flooding the wadding.

She worried about things and was confused that she was not back in her tank. Confused rather than nervous. On one level she knew she had been ‘rescued’, but really still struggled with the irrational concern that she might be sent back. In her waking moments, as yet another little mouth fussed and finally suckled, she wondered if it was the drugs, the magical energy, the tank, or the electic shock therapy of the pregnancy before last that had damaged her thinking. Visions of her last three years began to flood in, but then a snuffle and meaningful stepping sounds announced yet another tiny one ready for feeding and this time the kind nurse carefully rolled Willow onto her side so a little mouth could find the nipple with ease, and her arm could be positioned as though she had meant to hold her child.

Willow let a tear fall as her kind Nurse Sarah continued to monitor the feeding, replaced the little girl with yet another hungry mouth, then wrapped all still unnamed new ones and settled both mother and children for the night.

……………..

Three weeks later saw both Willow and Spike’s limbs being worked in a series of exercises four times a day, massaged, fed, and cleaned. It was exhausting but with an apparently endless supply of Clem’s relatives and friends willing to take cash (or kittens) for their time, the busy house seemed to take on a rather festive feel. Clem was delighted at all the attention (and none too few accolades) as he made yet another pot of tea and took the newly folded towels into the ‘therapy room’ (formerly the lounge).

Willow’s muscles were improving, even on her abdomen, though as she struggled to ‘crunch’ anything beyond a slight deliberate tightening. Her breakthrough was rolling over unaided. It would be months if not years before she was able to walk again, but at least now she was able to shift on the soft surface of her bed and face her little ones in comfort. Days later she managed to sit up (albeit padded by pillows) for the feeding and even kept her knees bent for a time, though she did watch sadly as muscles began to shake and then said limbs fell wide and needed to be ‘rearranged’ by Clem’s dear sister (her current helper).

Yet as she improved, she knew the figure she was so often lying beside, her rescuer’s ‘other friend’, was still without movement.

It should have been ridiculous but the following day as a specialist remedial therapist (for magical beings) entered their home, Clem and Xander almost had a fit! The strange individual had sniffed the air, inspected Spike and Willow then given his verdict. He was ‘the best’ according to all the demons, but the recommendation of feeding the vampire *her milk* mixed with the (ex)Watcher’s blood seemed just outrageous!

The trouble was Spike did not seem to respond to anything else. He was healing so slowly physically that it would be years if ever that his limbs were back in his command. There was no rhyme or reason to it. With the human blood regularly infused by force-feeding it should have been a swift process, but there was something more to his survival after the Illyria incident than a simple broken body. It was magical, so needed a magical boost for a solution.

Finally, taking the plunge and trusting the odd medico (with his strange talon like feet and odd gait) Xander heated one of the frozen bottles of his oldest friend’s breast milk and sliced the palm of his hand, dripping it into the baby bottle, before adding a nipple as he would for his girls… just for good measure

Even an amazed Clem saw it. There was no force feeding needed as the rich smell of body temperature milk and ‘honey’ (Xander’s blood) wafted into the sick room and Spike was instantly in game face and awake. Xander would have sworn he saw Spike’s left had shift a little as he accepted the ambrosial liquid for the first time, sucking hungrily until the bottle was empty then, for the first time since at Clem’s, voluntarily finished a full bottle of blood, sucking from the same teat as the milk.

That night his hand really did shift and Xander had the joy of feeling a slight squeeze as he fed his friend the potent remedy once more.

The following day, as Xander cradled ‘B’ (he really should name them properly!), he quietly told Willow that she was now feeding four, explained the reason and begged her to understand and forgive him for not asking her first. The courtesy had an unexpected effect however, as the slowly recovering wiccan began to cry. Xander was about to leave but the young cousin of Clem’s who was currently helping out put a floppy hand on his shoulder and whispered, “Wait.”

Willow gradually calmed and tried to put her feelings into words. For so many months… *years* she had been milked for others unknown, but now she was able to provide for her family… and a special friend. She knew whose mouth her milk entered, and just that thought alone had her leaking and ready to feed someone again. Eventually she simply whispered, “Good”, squeezed his hand weakly then smiled a little before whispering “Good” a second time and giving in to sleep.

Maisie Lynne, Lucy Charlotte and Sadie Elaine… Rosenberg Harris were named on the night of the full moon, aged three months

Spike still needed to be strapped tight against the back of his wheelchair for the ‘outdoor event’ though was improved enough to hold his head up and control the joystick with his preferred left hand. Willow too was wheelchair bound, but now had enough strength in her arms to hold each of her daughters as the visiting wiccan blessed them for their naming.

Willow’s milk supply had not slowed, indeed like most mammalian mothers, had responded to the increased demand, and with four month old triplets and a vampire to feed, her own recovery was obviously suffering. Clem noticed it first.

Part of her therapy had been to try to read again, holding the book up as she reclined in bed was an effort, as was milking herself, rather than using the pump. She had done well on both scores for almost a month, her hands and arms working with increasing strength, but then a setback. Clem found her with a collapsed book covering her face and tears flowing as she tried to explain, she had a blocked nose, head ache and dreadful levels of… she waved a weak hand in the direction of her nether regions. It was determined to be a virus of some description, but a couple of weeks later as she succumbed a second time, a local almost human doctor was called in.

Antibiotics were prescribed along with a series of vitamin and minerals and a feeding regime for her *very* healthy baby girls that included the first introduction of solids. Xander was in attendance, Clem opting for an overdue ‘afternoon at the sister’s’ and the young(ish) father of three struggled to take all the instructions in.

The doctor also inspected Spike, approved the regime of feeding and therapy and promised to return in a month… but also insisted that Willow be ‘watered and fed at least five times a day!’

That night Spike asked the nurse to be directed to the ‘baby room’ then leave him in his chair beside the wiccan’s bed. It took almost fifteen minutes, but he managed to reach up, and slowly lever a plastic cup half full of water until it came off her side table and fell into his lap.

The water was cold but that was of no issue. More important was the positioning of the cup between his legs before he opened the vein. His legs still had little to no feeling, but eventually the cup found a resting place as he managed to sink the fangs into the vein in his wrist and the rich fluid of a sick but still Master vampire found a vessel to drip into.

Xander found him there wrist still dripping slowly into a near full cup, but the weakened vampire’s head now lolling to the side.

“Oh G$#%! Spike! What are you??? Give me that!!!! Why??”

The cup was carefully taken and placed on a side table, before Xander’s warm mouth latched onto the wounded wrist, licking carefully and hoping for some healing as his own left wrist was offered up. A scar of many cuttings was reopened by familiar fangs and corpuscles exchanged in unison… at last.

Xander felt the magical jolt as something very small but still significant seemed to shift inside him. He pulled on Spike’s blood anew and felt the reciprocal act, now being done in exact unison. The rhythm had an effect and he felt a rather neglected nether region respond enthusiastically. He moaned a little but did not attend his ‘interest’. Instead he released the now healing wrist, took back his own that was in the same state, and lifted the thin pale, beautiful male figure from the chair and carried him back to their shared bed. But this time it was different.

Instead of avoiding aught but a chaste touch, he lay atop, massaged his obvious erection against his friend’s and whispered, “Please Spike! *Feel* it! Please feel it! You must… just…”

And Spike did – just enough. With his now lover’s blood in he veins, willingly given, his body needed no more prompting and regardless of feeling or none, spurted its seed between them in a matter of moments.

Eventually Xander lifted off, cleaned them both as much as he could with facial tissues, then kissed the now snoozing vampire gently as he tucked the covers around the male form and stood rather awkwardly by the bedside. He had just done an act which, in his wildest dreams, he should not have performed! He fell to his knees beside the bedside, overcome by a sense of delayed guilt. He had *taken* an invalid, a friend! Accepted blood, given it, then engaged in an act not of penetration but stimulation with a body that had barely moved for months and he was trying to make well. … but it *still* had felt… right.

And a minute or so later, a drawled, very rough from lack of use, baritone voice said, “Wh… took you s’ long! Than’s… Luv…Y… Hummmpf… blood’sferthegirl… payback… I… ffffffff”

Spike stopped mid thought, and gave in to sleep. But something had definitely changed, and the following afternoon’s cocktail of milk, Xander blood and O positive had a more ‘vampiric’ healing response. He made a fist, with both hands!

Willow drank the blood slowly - mixed in with the two half litre bottles of water she was compelled to consume before lunch. The result was a small but not insignificant blessing. That day in therapy, with full support from two attending helpers, she put her feet on the ground and was eased forward to standing. Not by herself yet of course, but… Despite the severe tremors in too weak legs Xander and Clem were both witness to the event and hugged her soundly after she was eased back onto her double bed that now also contained three tiny sleeping girls on a near permanent basis.

There was still the problem of her wide eyed staring, apparent nightmares (which resulted in catatonia rather than thrashing), and her fair level of detachment from everything… but lately she seemed… better.

“She’ll be happier when she’s up and around! C’mon buddy… Three rounds and I win back that little white one from you…”

An hour later saw Clem with his prized blue eyed deaf kitten back, and Xander checking on a sleeping Spike before finding a quiet spot with the phone. Before dialling, he sent a prayer to Gaia, the Powers, to any deity willing to help, that their ‘family’ strange as it was, might be well again.

A male voice answered.

“Who dares call the Well?”

“Giles?... Um… it’s Xander… I’ve got… Oh thank G#%$ it’s you…”