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[not_that_spike]

The light from the TV set is the only light on in the room; the volume's all the way down. Seven Samurai plays, scenes interspersed with subtitles, but he's not really paying attention. That's because across the room, in her basket, one princess is fast asleep.

By the black-and-white-and-gray light, he studies Beth: her profile, the curve of her shoulders, the glint in her eyes punctuated by the television's flickering. He's got one hand on the small of her back and a cigarette between his lips, but he's not going to smoke it in here. He's not going to smoke it at all; it's just to have it there out of habit. He's stretched out watching her, occasionally glancing at the movie. Last time they did this, she had a baby.

If he's sure of only one thing, it's that the same thing isn't going to happen tonight.

Love you, Slim. If he could, he'd send the thought to her right through the palm of his hand. For all he knows, she feels it anyway.

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[not_that_spike]

Slowly -- being careful not to disturb her hand in his hair -- he untangles from around her and works his way back into a lying-down position, his head resting in her lap. It almost makes him feel like a little kid but not quite; when he was a little kid, he never let his mother do this. She'd call his hair a mop or a mess or a tangled jungle and try to get him to comb it or cut it or get him to let her do those things, but he never did. When he got sick of it, he'd cut it himself but never, never let anyone else touch it.

And now, all these years later, he both wonders why and he knows why: no one but Beth can make him feel this content just by curling her fingers in his hair, playing with it, making it feel like a part of him instead of just the thing everyone stares at because it's kind of green.

He wonders if he'd known her back when he was a kid, would that have kept him from running away? Overnighting in that abandoned mine, the one that altered his DNA just enough to make his hair the shade it is now? It's never really bothered him and it doesn't now, either. It's just something to think about, and he likes to tell himself if he'd known her then, his life would have been real different and he would have been crazy about her from the start, but... that's idle fantasizing. His life wasn't different, and he loves her both because of and in spite of everything he's done.

Lying there, his head on her lap, he lets his eyes close all the way. He can't see her, but he can feel her fingers in his hair and the rhythm of her breathing.

It's really nice.

[stbethadettes]

Looking down at him rather than at the TV, she watches his face and the changing light that falls on it from the screen.

What ifs of a larger scale aren't things she allows herself to really think about very often, but just this once...

Those thoughts that only a second ago had been of skin dampened with sweat and hands on hips and greedy kisses and entangled legs turn to things like sponge-bathing little Beth and looking for a house and sitting on a couch with Spike while giving a potential babysitter the third degree.

Stealing moments together in bed in the morning before the baby -- in a little room of her own -- wakes up. Shopping for furniture, something that never seemed this fucking inviting before the plague. Going grocery shopping with baby Beth in a sling, one of Spike's arms casually around her waist and the other hand shoved in his pocket.

She meant what she said the other night. It's suddenly all so much more seductive than before. Dipping down, fingers still in his hair, she kisses Spike's temple.

When it's all said and done, she's not sure she cares much for the nesting instinct.

[not_that_spike]

Now it's his turn; opening his eyes, he resettles in her lap so he's looking up at her face.

Then, with a hint of smile (just for Beth, only for Beth, always for Beth), he taps his own finger to his lips. His hair isn't going anywhere, but this moment right now is practically calling out for embodiment of the phrase turnabout is fair play. Since it's a long stretch down for her and her body's still recovering from the little incident a week and a half or so ago, he raises himself, resting on one palm, so she doesn't have quite so far to go to meet his request.

Besides, it isn't like sitting here on the bed with her making out like a horny high school kid on date night is a hardship or anything. Actually, it's kind of fun -- no, really fun -- and there's this tight little anticipation of how far will she let me go? Hell, he knows she's not ready for all the shit they used to do, but it still feels good to know that he's as much of a turn-on to her as she is to him.

He saw that flush on her cheeks earlier and that look in her eyes.

[stbethadettes]

With her hand still at the back of his head, she ducks down for that kiss.

(There are some requests she never minds going along with.)

She's kind of glad for being unintentionally coaxed out of the train of thought she'd been on, all those idle thoughts pushed unceremoniously to the side, and there's nothing shy or reluctant about the way her lips part against his.

Spike hasn't seemed like just a distraction in a long long time, but he sure as hell always makes a nice one. Has from the start.

And he probably never realized that bit about falling several stories out of a church's stained-glass window would've been such an effective pick-up line.

Her free hand's on his tie before she realizes it, and she doesn't really have any plans for it there. It's instinct, reflex, something that happens almost involuntarily.

But she hasn't forgotten her rule.

[not_that_spike]

The way she reaches for his tie causes this cascading effect all up and down his body; some of it's anticipation and some of it's pure unbidden reaction. Whatever it is, it makes him sit up a little bit more and wrap his arm around her and pull her close, explore every bit of her mouth just waiting there against his lips, his tongue, and damn if she's not just as eager as he is.

Even though he knows it's not going to go quite as far as it wants to go, it's still a kick and she's so exotic and so warm and so fucking sexy and that's something he's always thought, every minute of the last two years, pregnant or not. For all he knows it's pure chemistry at work between them. Whatever it is, he fucking loves it.

He holds her and holds her and holds her, and one of her hands is still in his hair and the other on his tie like a lifeline, and his hand is still on her back, and her eyes are closed and so are his, and the lights of the movie playing to no one on the television still flicker silently. The only sounds he hears are quick little intakes of breath when there's a fraction of a moment for those, and the beating of their hearts, and it's like the first night he brought her up here all over again: the anticipation, the exploration, the want, the longing, the selfish thought of forgetting about everyone and everything else, because this moment is just for them. His lips trail down to the underside of her chin to kiss the pulse beating in her neck; the heat between them is palpable.

It feels like it's been forever since they last had a moment like this.

At first he almost doesn't notice the other sound creeping in because it's so small and so foreign to the whole mood, but it's persistent and getting louder. Resting his head against Beth's forehead, he lets out a little almost-silent answering laugh. It's a sound he's starting to recognize: a small and entirely priceless princess needs something. Changing, he thinks, from the sound of her little cry; he gives Beth one more kiss on the lips before backing away from her, off the bed, standing.

It kind of looks like both his Beths want him.

What a lucky fucking guy; wearing an entirely indulgent smile, he whisks Beth Junior up from her basket and kisses her baby-sized fist into opening before setting her down on the bureau -- now a makeshift changing table -- and reaching for a fresh diaper.

I was right. How 'bout that.

[stbethadettes]

Beth slumps back against the bed, all too happy to let Spike take his turn.

First there's this vague feeling of silent frustration, but it's quickly replaced by the reminder that there's someone to take turns with for this kind of thing.

That in itself is something to be hugely thankful for, and for a moment she just sprawls luxuriously out on the bed, reveling in the fact that she's not needed this time. But soon enough she's up again, off the bed and crouched down enough so her face is close to her daughter's, playing with one tiny hand and providing distraction while a new diaper's put on.

[not_that_spike]

Once that ridiculously small diaper is on and the old one's thrown safely away (and really, who ever knew plastic bags were so damn useful?), he steps back just enough to let Beth take over. At first, the thought of diapers sent him into an actual panic: shortness of breath, dry mouth, wide eyes, the whole thing. But now... hell, he could even show Faye how to change the baby without breaking a sweat. Not that he wants her that close to Beth Junior.

For a moment his hand lingers in Beth's hair as she holds the baby, swaying back and forth in that automatic way that people seem to do when they've got an infant in their arms. He likes the connection: baby in Beth's arms, Beth in his. It feels trite but breathtakingly sweet. Soon enough, though, he lets go, turns off the movie and TV, turns on one of the soft bedside lights, and plumps up the pillow for Beth. Their little princess is going to be hungry after such a nice long nap, and he wants both princess and queen to be as comfortable as possible.

He's never been the kind of guy to ask how high? when someone tells him to jump, but he'd do that for either of his Beths in a heartbeat. Any time, anywhere, for any reason. After all, he's in love.