This Is To Mother You
"Hey, Wills, you okay?"
"Yeah," Willow lied as she swirled her ice cream around in her dish. Buffy looked knowing at her love as they ate their desert. It had been three days since they had moved into Buffy's old home, over a week since Willow last spoke with her parents. And she still felt down about what happened.
The child she was carrying was a miracle. She knew that. She was more certain of that than anything in her life, with the possible exception of her love for the blond woman on the couch next to her. But to her parents, the child was a burden, not a miracle. They insisted that their daughter wasn't old enough to be a mother, and demanded that she give the child up for adoption.
Of course, to Ira and Sheila Rosenberg, Willow would always be a pre-teen, still their precious little girl who would light the menorah every Chanukah, and then sneak off to be with that no-good Harris boy to watch "A Charlie Brown Christmas". There was no way, in their opinion, that their daughter could handle the responsibility of parenthood.
Yeah,she thought ruefully, since they never took the responsibility, how can their daughter handle it?
"Okay, Wills," Buffy announced, as she moved to take the ice cream dish away from her. "You tell your alien friends who are trying to make contact that you're busy."
"Huh?" Willow groaned, still a little dazed.
"Wills, you've been playing with your ice cream for five minutes, and strangely enough, none of it left the bowl en route to your mouth. What were you trying to do, sculpt Devil's Tower?"
Willow looked at the remains of her melting ice cream, and blinked her eyes. "Oh, that. Uh, sorry, Buff. Guess I wasn't as hungry as I thought."
"Willow," Buffy teased sweetly, "the day that you're not hungry for cherry cheesecake ice cream is the day they bury you." Turning toward her beloved, she added, "Which is not a day I'm looking forward to, so don't get any ideas." She removed the dishes to the kitchen, rinsed off the ice cream, set them in the sink and returned to the couch. Cradling Willow's head in her lap, she stroked her soft short red hair and smiled warmly at her. "C'mon Wills, tell Auntie Buffy what's the matter."
Willow gave in to Buffy's gentle ministrations, and calmed enough to speak. "I ran into Mom today. I was making a grocery run when I saw her, and she started in on me again. She was all 'Living with that no-good Bunny woman', and I was all 'What does it matter to you?', and it wasn't pretty."
"Hey, you want me to talk to them?" Buffy offered. She knew how much it hurt her beloved to be at odds with her parents.
"No, the way they feel about you, are you kidding?"
"Not likely to welcome me with open arms, are they?"
Buffy held Willow tighter, soothing her worries with her words and her
touches. "Hey, honey. Don't worry about it. You know how much it eats at me
that they won't support you or the baby?"
Buffy reluctanty disengaged herself from Willow's arms, and off of the sofa. Willow watched silently as Buffy made her way to the stereo system. She leafed through a CD rack, pulled out a disc, and placed it in the CD player.
"I want you to hear this song, Wills," Buffy said silently as she rejoined Willow on the sofa. "It's by Sinead O'Conner."
"The gal who ripped the Pope on Saturday Night Live?"
This is to mother you,
Buffy started to sing along quietly with the song, as she carressed Willow's face.
This is to be with you,
Willow closed her eyes as the last of her anxieties melted away. She could feel the still-young fetus within her, as though it too could comprehend the music.
All the pain that you have known,
A snare drum could be heard in the background, and Buffy's fingers absently started to tap feather-light strokes on Willow's shoulder. Willow smiled more at the contact.
For child, I am so glad I found you,
I'm here to mother you,
Willow sighed contentedly as Buffy gently kissed every square inch of her face. The song finished, and another one took its place. Willow was about to make moves to turn off the CD player, but Buffy stopped her. "Let the disc run, it's mostly love songs anyway."
"Some inspirational music," Willow commented, her eyebrows raised merrily at the thought.
"Something like that," Buffy breathed as she took Willow's mouth with her own again.
Later that evening, as Willow lay satisfied in the sleeping Slayer's arms, she smiled happily, remembering the song. She figured that Buffy meant the song for both her and their baby. Her promise, her vow, to be the kind of mother Willow didn't really have, one who was there to listen to their child, to bandage her boo-boos, to chase the monsters, real or imagined, from her bed. But also a vow to love and cherish Willow, for as long as the fates were kind enough to give them both.
Willow fell fast asleep, feeling happily mothered.
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