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Two children had seemed plenty to Jenny and Giles. Especially given that their lives were still regularly intertwined with apocalyptic goings-on. (And Nel’s starring role in the local junior rugby scene).
So that was where they’d left it.
Until they’d laid eyes on each other after the Battle of Truro, both still covered in sweat and blood and ichor.
It probably hadn’t been the best idea to have post-battle reunion sex on the altar of the Celtic goddess of fertility, but it had been the nearest flat surface. And waiting till they were back at base had not been an option. Their quarters had been next to Anya’s and she had a tendency to provide audible real-time commentary – and make what she undoubtedly thought of as helpful suggestions. (What had really bothered Giles, though, was the way she kept trying to high-five them both at breakfast).
So, that was how an extremely pregnant Jenny came to be sitting in their study, doing her best to finish off her program to translate the mystic texts of the Beaker people before her scheduled c-section that afternoon.
Well, that had been the plan, but when Willow and Poppy had arrived bright and early to collect the girls, Bea had refused to go with them. So, Jenny and Rupert had pulled out all the stops to coax their soon-to-be middle daughter out from her hiding place inside one of the enormous antique vases at the back of the attic. In the end, it had taken a solemn promise from Nel to let Bea choose the film they’d watch later and have first pick of the bunk beds and first turn on the rope swing in Willow’s garden, but, nearly two hours late, the four of them had finally hit the road.
And then it had been pretty hard to concentrate on her work once the contractions started, which had not been part of the plan. And then, of course, she’d also had to contend with Rupert fussing over her and insisting that they head to the hospital now when what she really needed was for this code to compile properly. And, anyway, Jenny had seen enough movies and tv shows to know that the hospital wouldn’t be interested until they were coming way closer together.
Or something. Probably.
What mattered was getting her work finished by the deadline. Then she could have major surgery.
So, she was running slightly behind schedule. But she was almost there. Just a couple more lines–
“Jenny!” Rupert called again, an edge of hysteria definitely creeping in.
“Just a minute!” she yelled back. “Gotta finish this line or it’ll – oh!”
Too late. The baby was coming now.
No chance to get to the hospital – which was, on a good day, over an hour’s drive away. And that didn’t account for traffic or the sheep having got out on Love Lane again.
“Rupert!” she shouted, just about getting the word out before another contraction punched the breath from her.
He came pounding in, wild-eyed. “What is it!?”
“The baby,” she managed. “Now.”
And Rupert, bless him, didn’t waste any time with recriminations over who’d been trying to persuade who to go to the hospital for, like, the last three-and-a-half hours.
He just said, “I see,” in his apocalypse voice and scooped her up.
“Let’s go somewhere a bit more practical, all right?” he said calmly, carrying her down the hall in the direction of the bathroom.
“All right,” Jenny mumbled, twisting her hand into his sweater and trying to breathe normally.
Reaching the bathroom, Rupert set her down gently on the floor and then disappeared. But by the time Jenny had wriggled out of her skirt and underwear he was back with some cushions, his cell phone, and what seemed to be all the towels they owned.
He helped her arrange the cushions for optimal comfort and then dialled the emergency number.
When he got through to the call-handler, Jenny heard him say, crisp and calm, “Hello, yes, my wife, Jenny, was due to have a caesarean this afternoon, but she’s gone into labour. Any advice you can give us will be much appreciated.” A beat, and then, “About three hours ago.”
There was a brief pause, and then Rupert said, “No, our third. But the others were delivered by scheduled caesarean sections.”
Another pause, then, “No, I don’t think that’s possible. It would take too long to drive.”
“We’re at home,” Rupert confirmed. Then, slowly, “Right, I see.”
“Yes,” he said, with a glance at Jenny, “we’re in the bathroom with lots of towels.”
Jenny got the impression the call-handler was working their way down some kind of list. She hoped they’d hurry up and get to the advice bit because things were definitely picking up pace. She wasn’t sure whether that was a good thing. She’d never wanted to not do something so much. She’d never wanted something to be over so fast.
“Ah,” Rupert said uncertainly, “hang on, I’ll just need to work out how to do that. Just a mo.”
He took the phone away from his ear and squinted at it. Jenny tugged on his trouser leg. “Babe?” she queried.
“He wants me to put it on speakerphone,” he explained, frowning, finger poised over what Jenny could see – even at this angle – was the wrong button.
She held out her hand and he passed her the phone. She hit the right button then handed it back.
“Thank you, sweetheart,” he said in relief. “Hello? Can you still hear me?”
“I can hear you,” the voice on the other end said. “Can you hear me, too?” Rupert confirmed that he could. “And you, erm, Jenny?”
“Uh huh,” she managed, as another contraction hit. “Loud and clear.”
“Great,” the call handler said. Jenny tried not to notice that he sounded about fourteen years old. “My name’s Kevin and I’m going to help you today, all right? We’re very well-trained, and this happens all the time, so you’re going to be fine, okay? And your husband’s here, and he’s going to help, too. You’re not on your own. Everything’s going to be all right.”
Jenny really hoped that he was right about that, because she could definitely feel serious panic welling up at the prospect of giving birth like this, given her history. Nel had been upside down. It would make things really fucking complicated if this baby was, too. What the fuck would they do then? Maybe they should try and make it to the hospital–
Rupert brushed his hand against her cheek, bringing her out of the spiral. “All right, darling?”
“No,” she wanted to say. “Absolutely the fuck not.” But that didn’t seem very constructive.
“I’m here,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.”
He seemed unreasonably calm for somebody about to deliver a baby. A thing Jenny knew for a fact he’d never done before. Helping hatch Na’atph eggs did not count as a transferable skill. But there was still nobody she’d trust more to bring her safely out the other side. And, for once, she was grateful for the Watcher conditioning that meant he could keep his head in a crisis.
“Kinda scared,” she whispered so only he could hear. And she knew that Rupert would know that ‘kinda scared’ meant ‘absolutely fucking terrified’.
“Completely understandable, sweetheart,” he said, taking her hand and kissing the knuckles. “I’ll take care of you.”
“Promise?”
He nodded. “Promise.”
Jenny took a deep breath and squeezed his hand. She wasn’t really sure what to say. That, and the sudden urge to push, was probably why she ended up exclaiming, “Go Razorbacks!”
Rupert, to his credit, did not dissolve into helpless laughter. (Jenny never quite lived this incident down, though. She always maintained that, as Baby’s First Nickname went, it could have been a lot worse).
She couldn’t think too much about it at the time, because it was starting to hurt, and Jenny was suddenly thinking about all the tales told among the moms she knew.
Somewhere around her third push, she remembered the particularly graphic story her friend, Holly, had told about her experience of giving birth au naturel and Jenny felt the claustrophobic panic rise again.
“It’s all right,” Rupert reassured her, “Kevin says everything’s fine, everything’s proceeding as normal.”
“I don’t like it!” she ground out. “If this was a rollercoaster, I’d fucking want to get off right now!”
Rupert touched her face gently. “I know. I know, darling. I’m sorry. Just keep it up, you’re doing brilliantly, as usual.”
Jenny was distracted from making a further comment by a new sensation. It started somewhere around her navel, and it felt like… almost a pins-and-needles kind of feeling. Not uncomfortable, just… tingly. And sort of… warm.
“Rupert–” she gasped, as fear gripped her. And the feeling receded, almost as if it knew.
“Jenny?” he said immediately. “What do you need?”
“You,” she said, more or less without thinking.
He took her hand and kissed it again. “I’m here, darling. I’m here, I’ve got you, and we’ll get through it together, all right?”
She nodded vehemently. Rupert went back to guiding her and relaying Kevin’s instructions and letting her crush his fingers when he could spare them, and Jenny felt the tingly sensation again. And this time she distantly realised that things didn’t hurt quite so much. Or at all, now, actually. And it felt sort of… friendly as it spread out from her belly button and, before she could say anything, engulfed her.
Definitely warm, she thought absently. Like being wrapped in the softest, warmest, cosiest blanket. You’re safe, it seemed to say. You’re safe and loved and you can do this. Everything was going to be okay. It felt cast-iron certain about that. She just had to keep going, to keep listening and pushing and breathing. In a normal frame of mind, Jenny might have been more inclined to question weird feelings, but this one seemed familiar, somehow.
There was a strange moment, though, where Jenny felt the baby twist with more purpose than its usual gymnastics. It still didn’t hurt, but the accompanying slippery sensation was really disconcerting.
After that, Jenny’s world narrowed to Rupert’s hands and Rupert’s voice (because Kevin might have been technically calling the shots, but there was only one guy she wanted to listen to), and pushing and breathing and swearing and concentrating. And, eventually…
“Jenny, she’s here,” Rupert said, joy in every shaking syllable.
Jenny fell back against the cushions, her head spinning. Everything felt sort of… strange. Not bad, not scary, just… like she was observing the scene from a distance, or through a veil, or after several drinks. Like reality had had the rough edges knocked off.
She watched Rupert as he followed Kevin’s instructions about how to tie off the umbilical cord safely, and then how to cut it. Theirs might not have been the first baby born at home, but she probably was the first to have her cord cut by the ceremonial dagger of the Priesthood of Cronbach’s Alfa. (Her Rupert was so good at following instructions and preserving useful supernatural artefacts.)
She watched as he thanked Kevin and ended the call.
She was dimly aware of water running, and gentle hands, and then Rupert moving around, tidying up. She felt like she should help.
“Rupert,” she said unsteadily, “let me–”
“Definitely not,” he said firmly. “You just stay there, darling. I’ll take care of it.”
“But–”
“You did beautifully, Jenny,” he insisted. “Just, just, rest there for a bit, all right?”
And she had just pushed out a baby, so she graciously gave in and settled back into her cushion pile.
Once Rupert had got things sorted out to his satisfaction, he knelt down at Jenny’s side, watching her carefully.
“How are you feeling, darling?” he said quietly, feeling her forehead with his hand.
“Um… fine, I think,” she ventured, after a quick mental body scan.
“Can you stand up?” he asked, holding out his hand.
“Uh, I think so,” she said, taking it and pulling herself to her feet.
Rupert held onto her for a few moments, making sure she was stable. Just as he loosened his grip on her hands, Jenny felt the world start to tilt.
“Oh,” she mumbled, clinging to his forearms, “woozy.”
“Hospital,” he said firmly.
“No hospital,” Jenny protested.
“Yes hospital,” Rupert insisted. “This has been highly irregular, not to mention egregiously unsterile, and I want both of you checked by a medical professional as soon as possible, all right, dearest?”
Jenny felt a guilty stab as she noticed the intense worry in his eyes. Watcher training or no Watcher training, her honey got so anxious about these things. And this one was her fault.
“Okay,” she conceded.
“Thank you, darling,” he said, kissing her forehead. Without letting go of her for a single second, he guided her over to the toilet so that she could sit on the closed lid.
“Can you hold her while I go and get things ready?” he asked.
Jenny nodded. “Uh huh!”
He retrieved their little girl from her towel nest, wrapping her in a fresh one, and placed her oh-so-carefully in Jenny’s waiting arms. He kissed Jenny’s forehead again. Clumsily, off centre, but still a warm, adoring touch that helped keep her steady. “Wait here just a minute…”
Jenny looked down at her daughter. “Hi,” she said softly. “I’m mom. Sorry about the, um, unorthodox nature of your arrival.”
The baby wriggled then opened her eyes. Jenny felt a flicker of something. Not the instant-all-consuming-love deal, which she always found elusive in the first few days with her babies, but more like the promise that it would come. At least she knew that now, the way she hadn’t with Nel.
The floaty, faraway feeling seemed to be ebbing slowly. Enough, at least, for Jenny to start taking in details of their newest addition. Like her sisters, she’d been born with a shock of dark hair, currently sticking out in all directions. Presumably that was from Rupert’s efforts clean her up. But it looked like she’d been conducting dangerous electrical experiments right up to the last minute.
She must have said that out loud, because a returning Rupert said, “I wonder where she gets that from, dearest.”
Which would usually have made her grin or roll her eyes and snark something back. Only…
“She’s all red and scrunchy,” Jenny said, turning anxious eyes to Rupert.
“Er, well, I think it’s not unusual for babies to look, um, slightly worse for wear immediately after birth,” he said. “Especially if they arrive in the, ah, traditional way.”
“Oh,” Jenny said, relaxing a bit. “Well, okay, then.”
“It won’t last forever,” he assured her. “Do you want to put her down for a minute while you get dressed and put your shoes on and I finish getting things ready?”
Even without the Sacred Maternal Bond™, Jenny really didn’t feel like letting go of her baby just yet.
“No,” she said instinctively, gathering her closer.
Rupert looked at her with tired affection. “I’ll help then, shall I, darling?”
“Just one thing, Jenny,” Rupert said a few minutes later as he helped her up. “Do you want to decide her name now? They might ask at the hospital.”
Jenny looked at the little person in her arms, thinking about it. “I still really like ‘Esmé’,” she said slowly. That had been her first choice all along. “It suits her. And I never liked the sound of ‘Sybil Calendar-Giles’. It makes her sound approximately one hundred and seven years old.”
“Well, that’s settled, then,” he agreed, flashing her a quick smile.
It didn’t take all that long, in the end, for them to get ready. Rupert had loaded up the pre-prepared hospital bag, and, once Jenny and Esmé were installed in the front passenger seat, the only thing left to do was lock up and set the wards. Then they were off.
And because the sheep hadn’t gotten out on Love Lane they arrived at Bristol Infirmary in good time, where they were ushered into a consulting room and greeted by Dr Fiona Gloucester. As well as being Bristol’s premier obstetrician, she also happened to moonlight regularly for the Council, and, as such, had tended to several of Rupert’s more esoteric injuries over the last couple of years. Seeing the familiar face eased anxieties Jenny hadn’t even realised she had. Even Rupert relaxed a little when he saw who was waiting for them.
Everything went well, to start with. Dr Gloucester asked them to describe Esmé’s birth, and she listened carefully as they explained, nodding and making the occasional note.
And then she asked if Jenny had taken any medication just before, during or afterwards.
“Nope,” Jenny had answered.
“No pain relief?” Fiona had pressed gently. “Just in case I need to give you anything now.”
“No,” Jenny started to say. She frowned. “I didn’t actually feel any pain, except for right at the start.”
The doctor raised an eyebrow. “Did you experience any numbness?”
Aware that Rupert was watching her anxiously, Jenny said, “Well, no. It was like… I could feel everything, it just didn’t hurt.”
“I see,” Fiona said, making another note. “And you didn’t take any… let’s say more… unusual remedies?”
“No,” Jenny repeated, her frown deepening. “Although… actually there was a sorta strange feeling…”
“Oh?”
“Yeah,” she began slowly. “It was kinda like…” She called the feeling to mind again and tried to describe it. It was the sort of thing she’d have found much easier if she’d been alone with Rupert, curled up together in their bed or snug in his lap in the living room armchair. But in front of this politely interested medical professional? No chance. She gave up. “…fizzy sunshine,” she finished lamely.
“‘Fizzy sunshine’?” Rupert and the doctor echoed.
“Well… yeah,” Jenny said, acutely aware of how odd that sounded.
“But you otherwise feel well? No other… weird feelings?” Fiona asked.
Jenny thought about it. “Nope, all good. And even that didn’t feel bad, just… unusual.”
Fiona gazed at her for a long moment, before shaking her head as if to clear her thoughts. “Right,” she said matter-of-factly, “I’ll just take little, erm…?”
“Esmé,” Jenny supplied.
Fiona nodded. “Little Esmé for the usual checks and measurements, all right?”
“Yep,” Jenny agreed, handing her over.
As the door tapped shut, Rupert groaned and slumped forwards, head in his hands.
“Babe?” Jenny asked in some alarm. “What’s up?”
Without lifting his head, he said, “It’s my fault. I should have known that this would happen, that I couldn’t be trusted, that I’m no better than I was–”
“Rupert, what are you talking about?” she demanded, her alarm not at all helped by his evident distress.
He did look up at that, eyes full of self-recrimination. “The fizzy sunshine,” he said. “It’s my fault! I must have drawn on my magic to influence the process. I’m so sorry, dearest. Please believe me when I say that it was entirely involuntary.”
“Oh.” Jenny said. That would actually explain a lot. Like the fact that literally pushing out a baby had barely hurt. And the sensation of being completely treasured, fainter now, but still threading through her like wine in her blood. That probably wasn’t normal.
“I’m so sorry, Jenny,” he said again, in tones of utter misery. “I should never have performed magic on you without your consent. I could have done irreparable harm to you or Esmé. And I didn’t mean to – I was just worried – especially as the doctors advised against a natural birth this time give your past experiences. I didn’t know what I was doing and I, I must have panicked and lost control. I’m sorry,” he finished quietly, looking away.
“Rupert, I know I didn’t do a good job of explaining this the first time around, but I should really have emphasised the ‘sunshine’ part – I didn’t feel anything evil or dangerous or scary,” Jenny assured him. She still couldn’t quite bring herself to describe the feeling properly. And Rupert probably wasn’t in the right mood to hear it, so she focused on the important part. “I felt totally safe the whole time. It calmed me down, if anything – you know how badly I was starting to freak out. And I can’t imagine being anything other than profoundly grateful for the magical pain relief. So, I’m actually really glad for your magical interference on this occasion.” She leaned forward to touch his face. “You made the right choice, England.”
He stood abruptly and turned towards the window. “I didn’t really make a choice at all. I didn’t realise what I’d done until you mentioned that strange feeling. There’s only one thing that could be. I’m sorry – I should have had better control of myself. I’d thought that that, at least, was something I’d learnt over the years.”
“Wait,” Jenny interjected, “you’re beating yourself up because you accidentally responded to seeing me suffering by magically making it easier for me?”
“Well, yes,” he replied, as though that was a completely logical response. “I should have thoroughly learnt my lesson about non-consensual magic by now.”
“Look, if it helps,” she said, “I freely give you my consent now.” He looked at her plaintively, but she continued, “And I’d have given it to you at the time if you’d asked. But you couldn’t because it wasn’t even something you were aware of!”
He looked away again. “But I could have done real damage to both of you. I’d never have been able to live with myself.”
“But you didn’t,” she pointed out. “You took care of me the best way you could, just like you always do. You wouldn’t hurt anyone, Rupert.”
“Well, that’s not quite true, is it?” he said bitterly.
Jenny stared at him, trying to resist the urge to beat some sense into him.
It was a shame he probably wasn’t in the right frame of mind for a kiss, she thought. He’d said, once, that a single kiss from her could bring all his thoughts crashing to a standstill. The hard part, Jenny had learned, was calming him down enough for the kiss to be effective. If she missed that crucial step, the Rupert Angst would still be lying in wait for him when his thoughts started up again.
“Rupert,” she said eventually, “that was decades ago. If anything, the fact that you found it so easy, so instinctive to help me with magic should tell you kind of a lot about the nature of your power. It’s a healing power.”
He still looked highly dubious, so she joined him at the window, tangling her fingers with his and tugging him gently to face her until she could wrap him in a hug.
“I don’t deserve you,” he whispered. “Any of you.”
“Shut up,” Jenny whispered back. “I’m glad you were with me. Thank you.”
There was a knock on the door and Dr Gloucester popped her head in. Taking in the scene before her, she asked, “Everything all right?”
“Oh yeah,” Jenny said. “Just a little post-hoc freak-out. I’ve got it. Could you, um, maybe give us a minute?”
As Fiona disappeared again, Rupert sighed and said, “I’m so sorry, darling. I don’t mean to detract from you and your health, which is really why we’re here, after all. That’s what I’m most worried about.”
“I know,” Jenny said. “But, thanks to you, I really do feel pretty good.”
He gave her a sceptical look.
“Really,” she insisted. “Mostly just tired. And I wanna make sure Esmé’s okay, obviously. That bathroom is not as clean as it could be, let’s be honest.” She looked up at him. “And I’m worried about you, too.”
He didn’t say anything, but, taking the fact that he still hadn’t pulled away as a good sign, Jenny added, “So, it’s a big, emotional day for all of us, okay? And you did such a good job, honey. I love you.” She squeezed him tight. “You wanna stay like this for a bit?”
“Hmm,” he said, resting his head on hers, “Love you, too, dearest. Sorry.”
Jenny pulled back to glare at him. “If you say ‘sorry’ one more time, I swear to god I am gonna punch you in the face.”
She winced inwardly. That wasn’t quite the reassuring vibe she’d been aiming for. Hastily, she modified, “…with my love. I’m gonna punch you in the face with my love, understand?”
“Hmm,” he said again, which was unsatisfactorily non-committal.
“Look,” Jenny said, determined to carry the argument, “you didn’t feel bad about using your magic to save Buffy when she got cursed by Amy Madison’s mom that time, did you? Or when you banished the frog demon that was possessing Xander a couple of year back? Or any of the other times you’ve used your powers to help people you love, yeah?”
Rupert shifted, and she could tell even without looking that he’d be making his pained, Don’t Make Allowances for My Irredeemable Terribleness face.
“Those incidents were planned, Jenny. A-and I’d had chance to, to obtain their consent or at least had a reasonable expectation that consent would be granted given the gravity of the situation. I didn’t just inflict it on them.”
“And I do get that, baby, I really do, but don’t you kinda think that you could have reasonably expected that I’d give you my consent to administer side-effect-free pain relief and a really handy calming effect while I was literally giving birth? You know, the proverbially painful and stressful experience?”
“I still shouldn’t have–”
“Rupert, you already told me that you didn’t mean to. How could you ask for consent when you weren’t aware you were doing it, huh?” Jenny pressed, before rolling right over whatever he’d been going to say next, “You have the most self-control of anyone I’ve ever met. It’s okay if it slips occasionally – especially when it’s to help somebody out.” More quietly, she added, “I was really scared to start with, but that stopped the moment your magic took the wheel. I didn’t know what it was, but I could tell it was on my side. I felt safe, okay? So, I’ve zero problem with this whole thing, and I think you should cut yourself some fucking slack.”
“Hmm,” he said again, although this time Jenny detected his Perhaps You’re Right, Dearest intonation, which was something of a triumph. She hadn’t even had to start unbuttoning her top.
“Cometh the hour, cometh the man,” she said sagely, giving him another squeeze. “You did everything you could to make sure me and Esmé were safe and minimally traumatised. That was the right thing, Rupert.”
Rupert snorted. “Cometh the hour, cometh the baby, more like.”
Jenny giggled, and she was just thinking that maybe a kiss might be in order – just a little one, just for, like, luck, or something – when there was another knock on the door, announcing Fiona and Esmé’s return.
As Rupert had tensed up again, despite Fiona’s assurances that Esmé was a perfectly healthy little girl, Jenny took her, settling in on the examination couch for her turn under the doctor’s expert eye.
And everything was looking fine, all of her vital signs and stuff normal, pending the results of a blood test, just to be on the safe side, until Dr Gloucester gently pushed up Jenny’s shirt to feel her abdomen.
“Ah…” she said immediately, frowning.
“What is it?” Rupert demanded.
“Well, your notes say your previous daughters were delivered by caesarean…”
“Yep,” Jenny nodded. “That’s right. Nel was upside down, and they said that Bea was, too, although I’m pretty sure that really they were just worried about me giving birth normally after having had a c-section in the past. Which, actually, this time I was also sorta–”
“Yes,” Fiona cut in. “It’s just… your scar’s gone.”
Jenny looked down at herself. “Oh. Yeah,” she said. “There’s a thing.”
“So,” Fiona continued, “I hate to ask this – we doctors do generally prefer to give the appearance that we know what we’re talking about – but, well, any ideas?”
“You must have magicked it away,” Jenny said, turning to Rupert.
“I didn’t mean to!” he protested, panic rising again.
“No,” she soothed, reaching for his hand, “but you were really worried about me, and that was one of the things kinda preying on your mind, and we’ve already established that you kinda lent me some of your magic while I was, you know, pushing out a baby.” She smiled up at him. “You must have healed that, too.”
Rupert looked away. “I-I’m sorry, Jenny. I should have been more careful.” He glanced back at her, that familiar guilt-stricken look in his eyes. “I can only apologise, and assure you that it won’t happen again.”
Jenny opened her mouth to tell him not to be so fucking stupid, when he added earnestly, “And, darling, please believe me when I say that I was in no way trying to, to, eliminate anything that might in any way be considered an, an imperfection. Not, not that any such description could be applied to any part of you–”
Jenny caught Fiona’s eye and glanced significantly towards the door.
“I can finish this later,” she said, gathering her papers and slipping from the room.
Jenny swung her legs over the side of the bed so she could look at him properly, and interrupted the flow of Rupert Self-Recrimination, “Rupert, that’s not what I think.”
“It isn’t?”
“No, baby. Never,” she assured him, casting around for something to convince him. “You’ve kissed it enough times, haven’t you?”
He blushed.
“And,” she went on, “my other marks are all still here, right? So, absolutely no way you were sneakily trying to remove all my blemishes. You were just worried about me.”
“Well, yes,” Rupert agreed. “But I still shouldn’t have–”
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Jenny insisted.
The look he gave her showed pretty clearly what he thought of that.
Maybe unbuttoning her top was the way to go, Jenny thought. Shame she was wearing a t-shirt.
She sighed. “Rupert, you’re taking this way too seriously. I’ve got no complaints about any of this. My body my choice, right? Well, I choose to have an unfeasibly attractive husband who happens to be magically powerful enough to heal the effects of significant physical trauma but only the ones that might pose a risk to me and my health or wellbeing.”
“Jenny…” he said, clearly preparing some other totally bullshit reason for him to feel like a heel.
“If anything,” she went on, “I ought to be the one apologising. It’s my fault we didn’t make it to the hospital. If it had been up to you, we’d have been here in plenty of time. I put you in that position.”
“Jenny, don’t be ridiculous–” he started.
“You don’t be ridiculous,” she retorted. More gently, she added, “You think we can agree that we both just did our best in a difficult situation, huh?”
And that wasn’t entirely true, she acknowledged to herself. Because it was more like one of them had done their best in a difficult situation and the other had done their best to create a difficult situation. But she’d bend the truth into any shape at all if it meant that Rupert might stop beating himself up about something that was exactly the opposite of a problem.
Rupert fiddled with his glasses. That wasn’t the same as a “no”, Jenny knew, so she pressed home her advantage.
“So, truce?” she suggested.
Rupert nodded slowly.
Jenny allowed herself a small moment of self-satisfaction.
“So, you wanna hold her?” she said brightly, realising that she’d been sort of monopolising the Esmé-cuddling.
Rupert looked shiftily conflicted and mumbled, “Oh, um, no, not just yet. I think she’s, ah, best where she is for now.”
Jenny was a little nonplussed. This was not the way Rupert usually reacted to the chance to hold his kid for the first time. Usually, the only things that kept him from making grabby hands and keening in an undignified manner were his residual sense of decorum and his delight in watching her bond with their baby, too.
“Rupert?” she probed. “What’s up?”
There was a prolonged silence, Rupert clearly struggling with something. Eventually, in tones laced with guilt, he said, “It’s only… I’ve already subjected her to magic once. I, I’d hate to put her in danger like that again. A-and what if she’s, I don’t know, afraid of me now, as a result? I’m just… not sure I should be trusted with her, yet.”
Jenny stared at him for a long moment. Then she said, “Come sit here with me, at least, okay?”
“Okay,” he said reluctantly, perching on the edge of the bed next to her.
Balancing Esmé, Jenny tugged at his sweater till he was sitting next to her properly, his back against the wall and his shoulder touching hers.
“Okay,” Jenny began, once they were comfy, “so, firstly, you didn’t do any magic on Esmé, only on me, and we’ve already covered the fact that I’m completely fine with it. And, secondly,” she went on, ignoring Rupert’s efforts to protest and deciding that he didn’t need to know about the bit where Esmé had spontaneously flipped just yet, “the idea of any of your kids being scared of you is completely stupid. You’re the safest place on the planet.”
She tilted Esmé towards him and kind of wiggled her at him. “You sure you don’t wanna hold your little girl?” Sensing him wavering as his desire for a cuddle with his daughter warred with his Historic Rupert Angst, she added, “She probably really wants to meet her dad properly. And I’m gonna be right here the whole time…”
“Well,” he said slowly, looking at Esmé properly for the first time since they’d been left alone together, “a-all right, then.”
Dad instincts 1, Historic Angst 0. As if that hadn’t been a totally foregone conclusion, Jenny thought as she passed the baby across, with zero objections from Esmé, who gazed up at her dad with calm, trusting eyes.
“Oh,” he breathed.
“There you go,” she said. “Our littlest daughter. Expertly hand-delivered by her daddy.”
“I, um, I’m not sure I’d go that far,” he replied, sparing Jenny a glance before turning back to Esmé.
This was much more like it. Jenny watched that familiar delighted, adoring, crinkly-eyed smile blossom slowly, as he absorbed meeting the person he’d been talking, reading and singing to for months.
“Hello,” he said in his softest voice, running his hand over Esmé’s mop of dark hair. “Do you remember me?” He brushed his pinky against her hand, his smile widening and his eyes softening as she immediately latched on. “I love you very much, sweetheart, and I will do everything I can to take care of you, always,” he promised her. “My darling Esmé.”
Esmé accepted this promise of undying fealty with equanimity.
“See?” Jenny said. “No hard feelings from her, either.”
Rupert glanced at Jenny sheepishly. “Sorry, dearest…”
“It’s fine, Rupert,” she said. “I get it. Now, do a little spell. See how she feels about that.”
Rupert looked deeply alarmed. “Jenny…”
“Go on,” she urged, “otherwise you’ll only keep fretting about it.”
He opened his mouth to object again and she cut in, “Just think about doing a spell, then. Like, just get ready to do one. Try that, huh?”
He sighed. “Fine.”
Jenny felt him go still, the way he always did before a spell, and then felt the magic rise in him – just a little, just enough for a small spell, like he was just thinking about it. That same sense of warmth, and safety, and love – strong and golden and gentle – she’d felt earlier but softer, more muted.
Esmé closed her eyes and squirmed a bit in his arms, getting comfy, her little fist still clutching his finger.
“See?” Jenny said again, not even trying not to gloat.
“I see,” Rupert agreed softly, relaxing all at once. At fucking last.
Which meant that Jenny could relax into him and watch him being utterly captivated by their daughter simply existing, while she marvelled, as always, at the way he was just built for gentleness and love and tenderness.
He was so special, and she was so lucky, and he was so tall and Esmé was so tiny, and, oh, that would probably be the hormones starting to kick in, she realised, settling her head on his shoulder.
“So,” she said once she felt she’d gotten herself under control, “any thoughts about middle names?”
“Oh,” he said, tearing his gaze away from Esmé. “Um. Well, Xander has been pushing for ‘Alexandra’ and – whatever the children say – this will be our last child, so it’s his last chance. A-and we’ve already used Buffy and Willow’s names. Have you got any thoughts?”
“You don’t sound super enthused, though,” Jenny observed.
“I just don’t think she looks like an ‘Alexandra’,” he sighed. “But I do like our tradition of naming them after the children in some way…”
Jenny considered, her head tilted to one side. It was true that they’d named Nel and Bea in reference to Willow and Buffy – a tradition that had come about somewhat accidentally. They’d both detected a little insecurity in Buffy about Rupert expecting a literal biological daughter, so they’d chosen to give Nel the middle name ‘Elizabeth’ to honour the ties between their biological and chosen families.
(They’d actually asked for ‘Buffy’, but the stick-in-the-mud registrar had baulked and suggested some alternatives. The original Buffy had thought this was very funny. “Where was this woman when my mom was naming me?” she’d wanted to know).
And then Willow had been the one to drive Jenny to the hospital for the operation after Rupert was unavoidably delayed by some druid-related shenanigans, so it had seemed only fair for the resulting daughter to be Beatrice Sealh, after the Old English word for a certain species of tree. (Rupert had made it in time for the birth, at least. It would have gone very hard for the druids if he’d missed that.)
“What about, ‘Faith’?” Jenny said finally.
“‘Faith’?”
“Yeah,” she said, reaching out to stroke Esmé’s cheek, because if she said this while she was looking at Rupert then she wouldn’t say it because it was the sort of sappy thing she could usually only manage if she were half-asleep or more-than-half drunk. “Like I’ve got in you. Always.”
She heard Rupert inhale shakily and felt him shift so that he could press an ardent kiss to her temple.
“Yeah,” Jenny said again, more certainly. “Three little Calendar-Giles girls, three kick-ass fictional women, three kick-ass real women. There’s power in threes.”
“Also,” she added in a notably different tone of voice, “Faith bet Xander one hundred bucks that we wouldn’t name the baby after him.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, and she promised I’d get a cut if I helped her win.”
“Isn’t that essentially cheating, Jenny?” Rupert asked wryly.
“Yeah, well,” Jenny answered, nestling into his side, “nothing wrong with taking the easy route sometimes, is there, England?”
“Absolutely not, sweetheart,” Rupert murmured, extracting an arm so that he could gather her close.
There, Jenny thought, as she closed her eyes, that wasn’t so hard, was it?
Faith had gone completely still, when they’d asked if she’d mind sharing her name with their newest addition.
After several minutes, Jenny waved a hand in front of her face experimentally.
“Huh?! Jen, stop that! Can’t a girl think in peace!?” Faith exclaimed, snatching at Jenny’s hand. “For real?” she added more quietly.
Jenny linked their fingers together. “For real,” she promised.
A slow smile spread over Faith’s face. “Well, yeah, sure.”
Then, before Jenny or Giles could say anything, she gasped, yelled, “Holy shit! I gotta call Harris right now!” and went tearing from the room to do just that.
So, it was just as well, really, that they’d already warned him.
Xander had been disappointed, of course, right up until he’d looked into the cot for the first time.
At which point he’d said emphatically, “Oh, wow, yeah, definitely not an ‘Alexandra’. And she actually kinda looks like she wants to stab that fluffy elephant, so I think you guys have pretty much nailed it with ‘Faith’.”
Jenny had to admit that he had a point. “What’s Mr. Trunkers done to you, Es, huh?” she asked, gently teasing, as she made the stuffed elephant walk across the cot towards her.
Esmé huffed menacingly.
“You don’t like Mr. Trunkers today?” Jenny continued. “Your aunty bought him specially for you. They have kind of a love/hate relationship, “ she said, turning back to Xander as she set the toy in her lap. “Thanks for understanding,” she added quietly, her eyes warm.
“Oh, yeah, no big,” he said with a grin. “Especially ‘cause you guys are never gonna guess which name I went for in the Calendar-Giles Baby Name Sweepstake this time around. And, even though it’s just a middle name, I still got closest out of everybody, so, according to Wesley’s rules, that means I, as the winner, take it all.” He paused as if to savour his victory. “And the winnings’re are gonna more than cover losing that extra bet with Faith…”
“How did you– We didn’t even–” Jenny began.
“Three little Cee-Gee girls, three awesome women role models,” Xander answered, a smug glint in his eye. “Just your basic Scooby math.”
“Baby Name Sweepstake?” Giles echoed, still catching up.
“Yep,” Xander confirmed. “Where d’ya think Vi got Spike’s duster?”
Seeing their blank looks, he explained, “Won it off him last time, obviously, when our favourite undead moron bet that and a month’s wages on ‘Persephone’.” He shook his head in wry amusement. “Personally, I think Vi had it kinda easy ‘cause she saw G-Man here reading Much Ado just before he went on parental leave.”
“Now,” he added briskly into the stunned silence, “what’s this I hear from Nel about you gettin’ the girls a hamster? Because I think ‘Alex’ would make a really cute name–”
Possibly nobody was as disappointed about the baby’s name as the 999 call-handler who’d played a not-insignificant role in her arrival.
“Not even ‘Kevina’ as a middle name,” he said despondently, reading the note that had come with the ‘thank you’ box of posh pastries the parents had sent for the office.
His supervisor patted him on the shoulder. “I think the registrar might have had something to say about that,” she said wryly. “The interfering old baggage. Anyway,” she added, “there’s always the next one, eh, Kev?”
He brightened at that. This was only his first assisted delivery, after all. There’d be plenty more. Artisan pain-au-chocolat in hand, he headed back to his desk.
Duty called.