"Take a good grip on the hilt - hold it underhand, Punkin, you'll want to be able to strike anywhere you've got an opportunity, yeh? All right, take a stab at me. Keep loose, and watch my eyes... that's it. In and out. You'll want to get inside my reach, but don't let me close with you - you never want to give a bigger chap a chance to grapple. Now take it a little faster. That's right. Again. Faster."
Spike dodges his daughter's inexpert blow and feints. A second later Connie's tumbling, as her father knocks her legs out from under her. She rolls to her feet in a second, blowing chestnut curls from her eyes, round-cheeked face set in a grim scowl, and goes for Spike again. Spike shifts into game face, growling, fangs bared.
Buffy leans on the railing of the basement stairs, skate bag dangling from one shoulder, and watches as they dance, the lean, compact man in black and the tiny fierce girl in the pink ballet leotard. Connie wields the knife with little skill as yet, but a world of determination. If she's inherited any weird fighting mojo from either parent, it's years away from manifesting. For now, anyway, Connie's just a girl, just as she was, so many years ago. Watching her daughter slide across the mat with steps that grow surer with every lesson, Buffy feels a pang - the life of a freelance Slayer isn't anything close to normal. She's worked for so long to take the reins of her own destiny, but sometimes, she fears, just by being who they are, she and Spike have thrown their children right into the path of Fate's careening chariot.
Spike feints again, but this time Connie takes it in stride. The rattan training knife lashes out, an extension of her small hand, and slices his arm. She doesn't hit home, but she makes Spike put on a touch of vamp speed to avoid the blade. He clutches his chest with a theatrical gasp, staggers backwards, and collapses to the mat with a groan. Connie pounces, laughing. Kneeling astride his stomach, she plants the blunted tip of the blade above his heart. "I killed you dead, Daddy!"
"So you did, Punkin." Spike sits up and plants a fangy kiss on the tip of her nose. "Gonna do it again?"
"Not right now, honey. It's time for your skating lesson." Buffy holds up the skates - she'll have to buy Connie a new pair soon; they're already starting to be tight in the toes. "You need to go upstairs and change. You can kill Daddy again tomorrow."
"Coming, Mommy!" Connie yells. She bounces up and races for the stairs, brushing past her mother. On the top step she pauses, whirling around. "Mommy! When we get to the rink, can you show me the jump you did last time?" One pink-clad leg kicks wildly for the ceiling. "Where you sliced the ice monster's head right off?"
Buffy glances down at Spike, blue-eyed and human again, and back up at her expectant daughter. To Connie, vampire dads and Zamboni demons at the skating rink is the normal life. She wonders what loss her daughter will find to mourn at age sixteen - because at age sixteen, there's always something.
But age sixteen is years away, and Connie's eyes are bright and eager. Buffy tucks the skates into the bag, shoulders it once more. "Sure, sweetie. But you have to practice your axels first."
END
Story Notes:
This story is set in the same universe as A Raising in the Sun, Necessary Evils, et. al. (See the Barbverse Timeline for specifics.) It contains spoilers for previous works in the series. Promptfic for , who wanted Spike interacting with one of the girls.