A vampire at a theme park, Spike thinks to himself - I just couldn't sink any lower. He can't hold the bad humor, though. Not with Sara clinging to him with one cotton-candy-sticky hand and gesturing wildly as she begs him to take her on the carousel just one more time, please, oh please, Uncle Will with the endless enthusiasm native to six-year-olds everywhere. Not with the glorious sight of his love walking just ahead, trim and tanned in tailored shorts and a shirt of emerald green, over-long hair brushing his shoulders. Xander ambles slowly, hunched to let little Joey hold his hand and walk on her own two feet because, as she says, she's a big girl now.
It's been two years since the day they held her in the hospital, two years since Spike made his promise, "We'll find a way." They've talked about it on occasion - times when they're alone, drowsing sated in the big, soft bed; puttering around the house, making the near-constant repairs the old Victorian requires; doing all the little things that keep the dojo running - paperwork, cleaning the carpet, polishing weapons, fighting good-naturedly about whether or not to summon Angel to touch up the murals. Sometimes the lulls lead to wondering what it would be like - to have a little someone of their own.
They aren't starved for the affection of children. Sara is as much Spike's darling as she ever was, and Joey has entangled Xander in a web just as light and strong. They spend plenty of their time knee-deep in Barbies and Candyland and sidewalk chalk and bubble soap. Spike's rarely seen Xander happier than the first times he's experienced with Joey - the first time she smiled at him or raised her chubby arms to be picked up, or when she toddled some of her first steps into his arms.
Lucky for him, she's a tough little thing. Her sister is prissy, girly - a delicate flower who's become an early reader and a dreamer. It works for Spike, and Joey's budding tomboyishness works for Xander. It also makes Spike yearn to give him a son - one to open up new places in Xander's heart, while not displacing the never-forgotten Lex.
Their family has grown; first with the addition of Joey, and the unexpectedly close bond formed between Spike and Xander and his parents-in-law, Lee and Lily. The older couple has meshed seamlessly into the group, and become grandparents to the little girls, who call them Sobo and Sofu. Willow has returned to California, teaching at UCLA, and Oz is around almost all the time. Cordelia's twins join them sometimes, along with their mother and Brooks. Some of the younger Slayers have started their own families, and holidays are boisterous and wild and they wouldn't have it any other way.
Up ahead there's an intricate dance happening of parents and children and sodas and wet-wipes and lines and when it all clears, Spike and Xander find themselves alone. They don't waste time on wondering what happened. After each taking that instinctive glance to see that their charges are safe with their parents, in line for the Monster Plantation, they come together.
Xander's hand goes to its favorite place - OK, its second favorite - and cups the back of Spike's neck to pull him close for a chaste kiss before slumping tiredly against him.
"Hot," Xander says, looking up at the stars dotting the summer sky.
"'S not the heat, it's the humidity," Spike quips, and he's glad Xander's too tired to pinch him. He takes the opportunity to kiss Xander's strong throat, tasting sunshine and sweat and sugar.
They've been in Atlanta for nearly a week; in this steaming park all day. Spike joined them after the late sunset, trading himself for Lee, who had headed home with much relief for a few quiet moments with his wife. Dawn and Jase have made the most of their smitten babysitters and ridden every roller coaster three times. Tomorrow night they'll return to California.
A couple walks by, a blue-clad baby sleeping against the mother's shoulder. Spike elbows Xander a little to make sure he notices, selfishly wanting to see the soft smile he knows will come, the one that always does. He isn't disappointed, but he is surprised when that same smile is turned on him.
Xander leans in close and lets his lips trace the edge of Spike's ear. "Not just yet," he murmurs.
"No?" Spike says, surprised.
"No," Xander says. "Sometimes I think it's time, but then we spend a Sunday morning lazing in bed, or we fuck in the kitchen or we decide to go somewhere on a whim and I think, nah, not yet. Not quite ready to share you yet."
That simple phrase makes Spike happy in ways that words haven't yet been invented to explain. Sure, he wants to make a family with Xander, but the mathematics of love - that it doesn't divide, it multiplies - haven't been easy for him to learn. There will always be a part of him that longs to be enough. His throat is tight, and his voice is thick when he drags Xander's head down and whispers in his ear.
"Gonna take you home and not share until you pass out," he growls. "The rest of the family'll just have to turn a deaf ear."
Xander shivers and makes that little noise that means he's ready, willing. It's Spike's favorite sound ever, and he traces the tendons of Xander's neck with his tongue until he gets to hear it again.
Xander turns Spike and presses them tight together, front to back, his arms encircling that slim waist, hands finding their accustomed spots on hipbones made to fit, and Spike leans back, letting it all wash over him. Love and family and heat and starlight and that damned annoying song from the stupid fake antebellum plantation and the knowledge that he is, in this moment, enough.