Sorry for the double post:
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Author – JustSkipIt
Pairing – T/W
Feedback – Yes, please
Spoilers – None
Rating – PG
Setting – Some AU. It’s not that important.
Disclaimer – Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy own Willow and Tara and the Buffyverse. No copyright infringement is meant by this fic and I will not make any money from it.
Note – If you’ve never heard
Better Days, I highly recommend it. I find it to be a beautiful and inspiring song. Are you one of the 10,000,000 who probably could?
Note 2 – Thanks to the RKTwriters. I
love working with all of you. Thanks and welcome to Kaia for filling in so fantastically when needed.
Note 3 – Thanks to Chris for the graphic and for trading positions.
Happy Holidays to everyone!
Part I – Morning
Tara woke to the now familiar sensation of a strong, no make that overwhelming, urge to urinate, caused of course by a tiny foot repeatedly jamming itself into her bladder. She rolled onto her side and went to the bathroom, staying in the small room for a few extra minutes to wash her hands and face. She leaned on the counter, noting the way she had to stand back from it, and stared into her face. She looked as worn and tired as she could ever remember and she felt just the same. Dark circles were under her eyes and she shook her head, thinking of the now disregarded recommendations to get extra rest and sleep in the final trimester.
They didn’t write books about this did they? She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
Finally the blonde dried her hands and face and decided that there was simply too much to do today to stay in the bathroom. She quietly opened the door and tiptoed past the bed she shared with her lover. Willow’s sleep had been fitful again in spite of the pain killers Tara urged on her and Tara couldn’t expect any differently. She bit her lip as she stood in the doorway for a moment studying her lover. The cast, Willow had chosen purple so everyone would see her coming, covered her entire left hand and nearly reached the elbow. The night before, Tara had changed the dressing on her temple but she could see that this one was tinged with blood in spite of her care and in spite of the seven stitches holding the skin together. The tape on her nose and her blackened eyes certainly changed Willow’s appearance from that Tara had loved so for the past four years.
Tara blinked away the tears and pulled the door shut behind her before slowly descending the stairs. The tree stood forlornly in the corner, its lights dark as if mocking the entire house and Tara considered for a long minute before deciding to switch it on. She waited until the strings warmed enough to begin blinking and then went into the kitchen.
The room seemed extra cold and she quickly turned on every light before crossing to the counter to make the coffee. She smiled to herself as she performed this morning ritual in duplicate. The fact that she was not able to drink the caffeine hadn’t hampered the other Scoobies, except for Anya who had shown remarkable empathy and restraint in joining Tara’s limitations on caffeine. Willow teased her lover that she was now responsible for drinking twice as much caffeine to make up for Tara’s lack.
That task completed, she flipped on the radio so that she at least wasn’t stuck in the kitchen with nothing but her own morose thoughts for company. Sleigh Ride sounded somewhat tinny from the small speakers but she smiled in spite of herself. From her pocket, she pulled a small pad and set it on the counter to review the day’s schedule. She decided the turkey would have to be first and opened the door to the refrigerator. Somehow she wasn’t sure that anyone was likely to want to eat but it struck her as an island of normalcy in this otherwise chaotic and horrible day.
She opened the door smiled at the size of the turkey. Xander certainly hadn’t wanted anyone (himself included) to go hungry. She squatted down and was reaching for the thawed bird when she was startled by a loud voice behind her. “Oh no you don’t there, Missy!” The shock of Anya’s voice unnerved Tara so much that she fell quite unceremoniously onto her ass on the tile floor. Sitting there, feeling the cold from the refrigerator hit her in the face she started laughing at it all. Anya rushed over. “Oh no. You’re broken. See, I told you not to pick up that thing.”
Tara laughed and began to extend her hands toward the ex-demon. Thinking better of it, she rolled onto her knees and got up carefully but slowly. She could just imagine herself pulling Anya on top of her and the two of them remaining there either disabled or too amused to move until someone else woke up. Standing she hung on to the counter for a few seconds and regarded Anya. “You scared me.”
Anya rolled her eyes. “Quite obviously but you need to be more careful and less stubborn. That kid could pop out any time now and we don’t want to have to clean up another mess around here.” She motioned with her arm for Tara to stand aside and pointed at the turkey. “You want that?” Tara nodded and Anya lifted the bird from the refrigerator with a grunt and set it on the counter. As soon as she’d set it down she shrugged her head toward the radio. “Do you like this song? I’ll be home for Christmas? Where has he been? It’s so like a man.” She crossed her arms over her chest.
“Thanks.” Tara pulled two coffee mugs from the tree and handed them to Anya without answering the ex-demon’s questions about the song. Surely she hadn’t actually expected an answer. Anya poured them each a cup of coffee as Tara began to cut the plastic from the turkey. “How is Xander?”
Anya took a seat at the Formica covered table and shook her head in obvious concern. “He’s asleep at the moment. But between the nightmares and he can’t get comfortable…”
Tara nodded in understanding. “Willow’s the same but the pills seem to help.”
“What are you doing to that turkey because that doesn’t look legal.” Anya motioned toward Tara’s hands.
Tara laughed. “I’m buttering it and it’s easier to do with my hands than a knife.” She finished buttering the turkey and spiced it before pulling a bowl of stuffing from the refrigerator and beginning to stuff the large bird. “What are you going to season it with? Mistletoe and Wine?” Tara laughed. “I was thinking sage, garlic, onion, and rosemary.” Anya nodded but it was obvious that both of them just needed something to keep them busy and keep them from thinking.
“When does Dawn get in?”
Tara wiped her hands and picked up the piece of paper from the counter. “Her plane lands at 10.32. Giles said he’ll pick her up.”
“Can he drive?”
Tara nodded and the phone rang. She answered it and quickly answered a series of questions before assuring the caller that someone would “be there” shortly. She hung up and turned to the ex-demon. “Can you go pick up Faith in an hour or so or should I?”
“They’re letting her out?” Anya practically shouted, realizing after a few words what she had done and clapping her hand over her own mouth. “They’re releasing her today?”
“So she says,” Tara confirmed. She thought about it for a moment. “Actually, when you get there make sure they’re releasing her as opposed to her r-releasing herself.”
Anya nodded. “Roger that. I don’t think we want her passing out this afternoon. It might be kind of unseemly.”
Tara finished her ministrations over the turkey and tossed down the towel. “The whole thing is fucking unseemly.” She drew in a sharp breath and patted her stomach. “Sorry, baby.” Then she looked up at Anya. “I’m sorry, Anya. I shouldn’t snap at you. I just feel so… “ She reached out and slapped the countertop. “Damn it.”
Anya nodded but didn’t dwell on Tara’s mini-breakdown. “Did anyone hear from Angel yet?”
“Can you help me with this?” Tara motioned to the turkey and pulled a deep roaster pan from under the oven. As Anya stood to help her, Tara shook her head. “I called Tuesday and Faith called yesterday from the hospital. We left m-messages and Cordy, Fred, and Gunn will be here before it starts but nothing from Angel.”
“Ok. Do you need any more help?” Tara shook her head. “Then I better take a shower before I go get Faith.” Anya left the kitchen and Tara was again left with her own thoughts. She twisted the dial on the counter radio, hearing One Tin Soldier louder than before and focusing her attention on a large bag of potatoes that was just begging to be victim of her unfocused emotion and a potato peeler.
By the time the next visitor to the kitchen arrived she had put enormous pile of spuds to soak in water and was boiling a bag of cranberries. “Something is starting to smell good.” Xander’s tone was quite light but to look at him any observer could see differently. He tilted his head to the side as if compensating for the new view from his lone eye, a patch covering the other and moved slowly on crutches.
“Why don’t you sit down, sweetie, and I’ll bring your coffee?” Tara smiled at the carpenter and poured him a cup of the hot drink, noting the way he made small sounds of discomfort as he settled into a chair and leaned the supports against the nearest wall.
She brought him his mug and softly touched his shoulder. “Do you want something to eat?”
He obviously thought about it before shaking his head. “I don’t think I can.” He looked over his shoulder at the doorway. “How is Will?”
Tara brought her toast and an apple over to the table and sat down. “It sounds like she’s doing about the same as you. Nightmares and trouble sleeping from the pain.”
Xander looked down at the table and began to pick at the edge of the Formica, chipping off a small piece. His voice was so quiet Tara could hardly hear him. “I see it happening over and over. I just couldn’t move fast enough. I mean I’m no superhero but I just couldn’t…” Tara reached out her arms to envelop the larger man and hold him as he cried. Finally he finished and wiped his eye. “I’m sorry.” He took a deep breath. “Anya said Faith is being released from the hospital this morning?”
“So she says. I guess that Slayer healing really does work.”
Xander swallowed heavily. “Sometimes.”
Before Tara could answer Willow spoke from the doorway. “Hey, how about this? My wife and my best friend having coffee.” She attempted to smile but her expression turned into a grimace as the movement obviously hurt her stitches and the bruises around her eyes.
Tara rose and walked over to gently kiss her lover. “Good morning.”
Willow leaned forward and whispered in Tara’s ear as she placed a hand on her stomach. “How’s pip today?”
Tara smiled and moved Willow’s hand so that she could feel the baby’s movement better. “I think she’s getting tired of the accommodations.” Tara shrugged toward the radio’s rendition of Deck the Halls. I hope she’s not getting that comfortable in there.
Willow leaned down with an exhalation and spoke to Tara’s protruding belly. “If it’s too crowded in there, you can come out and meet us.” She kissed Tara’s belly before standing back up. “She’s only three days overdue and that’s an approximation anyway.”
Tara rubbed her stomach and reached to get a mug for Willow’s coffee while waving her wife into a chair at the table. “That’s usually my line, sweetie.”
“Where’s Anya?”
Xander finished sipping his coffee. “She went to get Faith at the hospital.”
Willow nodded and Tara added, “and Giles is going to get Dawn at the airport.”
Willow swallowed and took a drink of her coffee. “Did we ever get that time machine working?”
Xander laughed weakly. “Not yet, Will.”
“Ok.” Willow looked down at the bagel which had somehow appeared on the plate in front of her. “I don’t think…” She was stopped by a stern look from her lover. “I mean ‘oh boy. A bagel!” “I hope I don’t throw this up at the cemetery,” she muttered.
Tara patted her lover’s leg tenderly, aware of the numerous bruises under the gray sweatpants.
All three sat in silence for a few minutes before Willow broke it. “It’s Chrismas Eve.” She looked at her coffee cup and started crying before she could even finish the next sentence. “Merry Chrisma…”
Tara wrapped her arms as gently as she could around Willow’s shoulders to hold her as she cried. She felt grateful that Xander showed no inclination to leave the room given his awkward movement with the crutches, Willow’s injuries, and Tara’s present size. After a few minutes, Willow got herself under control and used a napkin to wipe her eyes. “Well, that’s out of the way now,” she quipped weakly.
Wordlessly they returned to their now cold breakfasts. Xander watched them before admitting that he was feeling hungry and apologetically asking Tara to make him a bagel. She got up and turned up the radio as she realized that Let it Snow was playing, knowing that it was one of Willow’s favorites. They ate in silence until Xander looked at his watch and announced that he would go get ready. Willow said the same and gave her lover a quick kiss before heading upstairs. Tara washed the dishes and put them in the dishwasher as radio continued its stream of carols.
Feeling winded, she sat at the table and aimlessly moved and removed the fruit basket to find the best positioning. Good King Wenceslas continued sounding from the small boom box on the windowsill but she couldn’t feel very festive. She knew that everyone, everyone being the scoobies at least, would be coming over after and that they would expect some semblance of her hosting skills. After a few minutes, she looked at the clock and realized that she needed to get ready as well as helping Willow who certainly couldn’t manage getting dressed on her own.
Part II – Afternoon
The wind stung, Tara thought, in spite of the lack of snow. She turned her face to the sky, noting the bleak gray stillness. During her first year at UC Sunnydale there had been a surprise and somewhat freakish snowfall but that was apparently the only appearance of snow in years and years. Her mind cast itself back to that day six years ago when she’d stood at a similar graveside, ankle deep in snow. She felt nearly as cold today as she had then and wondered if the coldness came from inside.
The assemblage, as it was, had finally gathered and arranged itself accordingly. In the parking lot the Scoobies had met and hugged, some for what seemed like ages, most of them moving awkwardly, painfully, or a combination of the two. Dawn, Anya, and Clem had helped the others to their places near the open grave.
There had followed what, on some other occasion, would have been an amusing little dance in which nearly everyone attempted to get nearly everyone else to sit alongside Dawn in one of the four folding chairs. Willow pleaded for Tara to sit to relieve the pressure on her lower back while Tara retorted that Willow was the injured party and should take the seat. Anya, hearing this interchange, attempted to persuade Xander to take two chairs—one for himself and one for his casted leg. Giles practically shoved Faith into a chair but her slayer strength showed itself as she resisted and then did a quick turn to avoid his hands. She followed that little ballet move up with commentary on Giles’ condition as well as his age.
Tara stood directly behind Dawn, occasionally running her hand through the girl’s hair. Mostly she left that hand resting on the back of Dawn’s chair and used the other to enfold her lover.
Willow was visibly and understandably bereft. Perhaps she was closer than any of the others to the blonde slayer, or perhaps Dawn was simply in shock, or perhaps Xander and Giles were following some male or English tradition in hiding their grief, but Willow appeared the most undone by Buffy’s death.
Buffy’s death.
Again.
And most certainly finally.
Anya had gone to the morgue to identify the body. Such as it was. She’d confided in Tara that she had thrown-up just outside the small room. Even after 1100 years as a vengeance demon, she was shocked at what she saw. And her description-- possibly the only sentence Tara had ever heard containing the words
decapitated,
evicerated, and
immolated—had challenged Tara’s ability to retain the contents of her own stomach.
She felt strangely calm. Scarred. Bruised. But calm and empty too. A list of what needed to be done seemed to hold other emotion at bay. She remembered the day over a year and a half ago that Buffy had come to her room. She carried a very serious expression and a business size sealed envelope. After exchanging pleasantries with the witch, Buffy had explained that she had wishes she wanted followed upon the eventuality of her death. Tara questioned whether she was truly the best person to hold onto the document but was complimented by Buffy’s confidence in her. And she’d been shocked to find the name of a priest within the letter, a priest who knew Buffy and whom Buffy apparently knew well.
Now the blonde’s eyes scanned the crowd. It was larger, much larger, than anything Tara had expected. She smiled and immediately felt guilty as she thought of the scene Willow had described for her so many times of the high school students honoring Buffy at their prom. Opposite the Scoobies and other friends Tara knew by name, was what seemed like the entire population of Sunnydale. In actuality, she estimated it at about 300 people but still it was a large crowd.
Father Flanagan let go of Dawn’s hand and moved to stand at the head of Buffy’s predictably and necessarily closed coffin. “I met Buffy Summers a number of years ago.” He chuckled to himself. “She was at the church to steal holy water…”
His opening line got a big laugh of course and seemed to allow the mourners to relax a little. He went on to describe Buffy and her belief in what she was doing without ever mentioning that she was the Slayer or vampires and demons. It was obvious that Buffy had told him the nature of her work but he didn’t disclose it, rather painting her as a self-described heroine of fantastic strength and integrity and a drive to help the world. Tara found herself quite pulled into the lyricism and passion of his eulogy and was even more impressed with him as he took the time to describe Buffy’s love for her “family”: Dawn and Giles, Willow and Tara (who he referred to as Willow’s close friend), Xander and Anya, and finally Faith.
When he was finished, there were very few dry eyes in the crowd. He stepped to the side and Tara took a deep breath. Willow squeezed her hand and the blonde stepped carefully around the rest of the group to take the Priest’s place. She felt nervous but at the same time eerily calm. This was what Buffy had asked of her and so it was what she would do. Dawn stood and grasped the shovel and Tara began to sing.
“Amazing Grace. How Sweet the Sound…”
Tara felt a little surprised at how loud and clear her own voice sounded over the muffled thud of the shovel hitting the dirt and then bring dropped over the coffin as mourner after mourner dropped three scoops of dirt over the coffin and then passed the shovel to the next. When she finished singing, Giles passed her the shovel and she repeated the ritual with the dirt. Many, many people still waited their turn and she reached out for Giles’s hand to pull him toward her. He limped gingerly to her and then counted out the beat by squeezing her hand.
Their voices on the second song of Buffy’s request blended well and fit the season particularly strongly. Tara wondered what made the Slayer choose it. Perhaps it was the reference to one small child who saved the world. She had never actually heard
Better Days until the Slayer had suggested that she give it a listen. Now, of course, she was glad she had.
By the time they finished the song, about half of the attendees had taken a turn with one of the two shovels. Father Flanagan helped her back to her place at Willow’s side and Giles retook his position next to Dawn as they waited for the others to drop the dirt on Buffy’s coffin. Tara thought back to Willow’s explanation last night of the Jewish view on this tradition. She had explained that in Judaism, it is seen as a
Mitzvah or a good deed and is a very profound one because, by definition, it can never be repaid. She squeezed Willow’s uninjured hand for comfort and enjoyed the returning squeeze. With her free hand, she reached around and rubbed her lower back gently. Tara certainly didn’t feel that she could complain but the baby was very active and her back hurt.
Finally the assemblage finished their
Mitzvah and Father Flanagan announced that there would be a gathering at the Magic Box. Tara and Willow left with Anya and Xander to open up the back room of the shop while Giles stayed with Dawn to accept the wishes of those attending the funeral. “Should we wait for Faith?” Tara whispered as the four Scoobies made their way to the car.
Xander looked around the cemetery and shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t think she’s coming to the wake.” Tara nodded her head and contemplated his statement. Faith had to be experiencing survivor guilt. If Willow and Xander were both having nightmares about watching Buffy die as well as replaying the ways that they could have saved her but didn’t, what must Faith be feeling? It was unthinkable really. And the complexity of Faith’s feelings for Buffy, the complexity of the Slayers’ very relationship, was beyond even Tara’s comprehension.
Part III – Evening
Tara stood and began to clear the dishes from the table. Wordlessly, Anya began to help her. The others sat at the table looking anywhere but at each other. Dawn was the only other person fit to clear a dish and Tara could forgive her not helping out. The others? They should have been in bed if not in the hospital so she was content to carry plate after plate of barely eaten turkey and potatoes and beans to the kitchen. Maybe attempting to have dinner had been a mistake but there seemed nothing else to do.
The gathering at the Magic box had gone as well as those things ever do. Some of Spike’s former associates had sent over a large box that turned out to contain quite a few bottles of single-malt scotch as well as other types of alcohol and Tara had noticed that Giles was among those taking advantage of the demons’ unusual largess. She wondered if it was a tribute to Spike as well as Buffy but there was no one to ask. For a long time, the blonde had fulfilled her role of greeting people and making small talk but finally it became too much for her. She had retired to the upstairs loft for a little rest and had awoken only when Willow came looking for her to take her home.
Tara turned on the water and began rinsing dishes, her reflection in the dark window showing the dark circles under her eyes. Turning to look at Anya, she saw the same look of exhausted sorrow. “Why don’t you t-take Xander home?”
Anya nodded her head. “I guess tonight isn’t the best time to open our presents after all.” She gave Tara a hug and then patted her stomach. “Come out so you can meet your Auntie Anya, Larvae.”
Tara laughed. “You know I don’t like you calling her that.”
Anya winked and left the room. All of the sudden, it seemed too quiet, too lonely in the kitchen. Tara had the urge to go ask Willow to come sit with her but she wanted her wife to get some rest so instead she turned on the small radio over the sink. The “all Holiday songs all the time!” station was playing … and she turned the water back on to rinse the dishes before loading the dishwasher.
She remembered a time so many years ago.
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Tara washed the dishes as the radio played low. Dinner had been a big hit and no one knew that she’d substituted fake meat for real meat or tofu for cheese. Now Willow was upstairs studying, Xander and Anya had gone home, and Dawn had slammed her door after informing the group that she was old enough to not be treated like a stupid child.
Tara turned toward the door as it slid gently open and gasped as Buffy came in. The Slayer wore no shirt and had a blood-soaked shirt, obviously hers, against her cheek. Tara quickly grabbed a clean dishtowel and directed Buffy into a chair. She replaced the shirt with a towel and ordered pressure as she got up to get the first aid box from the top of the microwave.
“Do I want to know how that happened?”
Buffy smiled and then grimaced as the movement pulled the cut on her cheek. “No.”
Tara pulled off the towel. “That’s going to need stitches. Do you want to go to the hospital or do you want me to d-do it?”
“You,” Buffy assured her, “you do it as well as they do and you don’t charge as much.”
Tara laughed as she prepared her supplies and cleaned the cut well. She took her time and care putting the three stitches in the Slayer’s cheek. “There. Let’s keep an eye on it.”
Buffy smiled again before she realized what a bad idea it was. “Did you ever imagine this? That you’d be doing ad hoc surgeries while cleaning up from dinner?”
“No.” She looked at Buffy for a long minute. “But it’s a family and that’s what’s important. I have people who love me, people who I love, and I am important to them.”
Buffy leaned over and planted an unexpected kiss on the witch’s cheek. “You are, Tara.” She stood and grabbed a T-shirt from the stack on a chair – a stack Tara hadn’t gotten around to putting away yet.
Tara stood and put away the medical kit, washed her hands, and returned to the dishes. When Buffy thanked her again, she nodded but didn’t turn as the Slayer left the room.[/blockquote]
How much of her life was she going to spend standing at this window and cleaning up after one mess or another? How many injuries? How much blood? How much pain? Her family looked like victims of a massive accident. But it was no accident.
She pulled her hands from the water and slowly dried them on a towel. Baby it’s Cold Outside ended and she looked at the radio as a moment of dead air filled the room. She leaned on the counter as the words
dead air echoed in her mind and she gave a disgusted snort at the meaninglessness of the words. She could feel the tears starting, tears which she had managed to hold back all day, tears which she feared would never stop once they started. Her heard snapped up in shock as she heard the first line of the next song.
“Well you ask me what I want this year…”
And then her grief was upon her. Tara felt her entire body wracked with her sobs. Tears virtually poured from her eyes and she felt her body constricting. A tight pain gripped her across the stomach and she put one hand on her stomach to attempt to comfort the baby even as she held herself up with her other hand.
She wasn’t even aware that Willow was in the room until she felt her lover’s good arm wrap around her stomach, or as far as it could wrap. “I’ve got you,” Willow whispered over and over again as she held the blonde, eventually leading her to a chair. The redhead held her lover for minutes and more minutes as Tara finally let out the pain and sorrow she had felt since this attack.
Eventually Tara’s sobs subsided. She gasped for breath and again felt that tightness across her stomach. Willow pulled her hand back as if she had been shocked. “What was that?”
“I d-don’t know,” Tara said as she took a deep breath. She wiped her face and leaned in to kiss Willow gently. “Thanks, sweetie.”
Willow returned the kiss and smiled. “Of course. You can’t be strong like an Amazon all the time you know.” She winked as she repeated their familiar line. The redhead stood and extended her hand. “How about going to bed with your deformed wife?”
Tara laughed as she took Willow’s hand and stood up. “You’re only temporarily deformed, Love.”
Willow laughed back and patted the blonde’s stomach. “Come to bed with me and we can see about making this baby come.” She waggled her eyebrows in a playfully suggestive and relatively unrealistic way, making Tara laugh.
Tara took Willow’s hand and took a step before stopping. When the redhead turned around Tara looked down at the floor for a second, noting the growing pool of clear liquid at her feet. “I don’t think we’re going upstairs to bed, sweetie.” After a brief confused look on Willow’s face, the redhead jumped into action.
--
Part IV – Morning
Tara dozed, vaguely aware that there were voices moving about in her room. Occasionally she heard Willow’s voice whispering or shushing someone and then the door opening and closing. Listening closer as she began to regain full consciousness she became aware of the motion of a rocking chair just next to the bed and of Willow’s voice singing softly. She smiled as she realized that the redhead was singing …
“I thought we were raising our daughter Jewish-Pagan but the first thing you sing her is a Christmas carol?”
Tara opened her eyes fully to see Willow still rocking their baby. “Yes we did.” The redhead spoke directly to the small baby in her arms in a very soft voice. “But this little girl was born on Christmas so I thought I’d sing her a song in her honor.”
Tara laughed and Willow carefully stood up from the chair to step up to the bed. She sat gingerly on the edge and handed the baby to Tara who took her eagerly. “The gang is coming in a few minutes.” When the baby fussed, Tara opened her top and did her best to nurse her. It took a few tries and a little help from Willow but the baby finally got a latch and began to nurse.
“Maybe it’s a good thing that Xander lost that eye. Now he won’t be so shocked by this sight.” Willow nodded her head at her wife and the baby. “Oh God. I can’t believe I said that.” She leaned on the bed. “I mean…” She took a deep breath and leaned over to pat the baby on her head.
Just as Tara finished nursing the baby, the door swung open. “They tried to tell me that this is a gift giving occasion and I said I sure know that.” Anya’s voice filled the small room as she set down an enormous flower arrangement. “Once a woman has been through the torture you’ve been through, she deserves every present in the world. Now where is the baby?”
Xander was behind her, awkwardly maneuvering around the hospital furniture crammed in the small room. Dawn helped Giles through the door and helped him into a chair and Faith brought up the rear of the group. “Oh, she’s so beautiful,” Dawn enthused, taking her from her mother when the baby was offered.
Faith kicked some dirt from one of her shoes. “Angel… he said to send his regards.” At the group’s surprised looks she snorted. “I went out last night and found him … you know.”
“I’ll call him tomorrow,” Willow told her wife.
Giles stood slowly and reached over to touch the baby’s head. “She’s quite beautiful, Tara. What is her name?”
Willow looked at Tara and noted the blonde’s slight nod. “Everyone, meet our daughter: Joyce Anne Rosenberg Maclay.”
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Great little story, DW.
mostly 'cos I'm horrid at it...but partly because.... no. I'm just horrid at it. 
(which is odd because in real life i'm a bit of a chatterbox. teehee.)
Actually there's a funny story about Old King Cole *cough* which I'll save for another time. 
A good king, a princess who (in well and true Pens tradition) would prefer to marry a commoner woman than a wealthy prince, and of course our intrepid dragonslayer Tara.
in their future 
And good king Wenceslas...he really was a good king, even if a little oblivious at first. Excellent story, sweetie. YOU rock the hardest!
