Title: "Throwing the Stork"
Summary: Xander and Faith have a situation, and sometimes there are problems that can't be answered by "What would John Crichton do?"
Disclaimer: Not owned by me.
Faith shrugs out of her leather jacket, eying Xander warily. "What's the deal?" The apartment's quiet, the front room lit by just one lamp and the flickering TV. She glances at the screen. Blue bald chick -- Farscape. Comfort TV. "Tell me."
"When you greet me at the door with a post-slay Dagwood sandwich and a cold Sammy, I know something's up."
"You're always hungry when you get in. I needed something to do with my hands."
"Hungry and horny. And I'll give you something to do with your hands." She plops onto the sofa and starts on the sandwich. "How're the kids?"
"Fine. They're asleep. Jessie's got a loose tooth, but it's got a ways to go before we need the Tooth Fairy."
"And?" Faith knows there's an and. He's got that slightly manic look he gets when he's freaked out about something. "Giles call with some new apocalypse?"
"Uh, no. Jessie wants to know where babies come from."
"Fuck a duck!" she squeaks.
Xander takes a pull from his own beer. "I'm pretty sure that's one of those old wives' tales. Unless, of course, we're talking about where baby ducks come from."
She sets the plate down on the coffee table. "Well, we knew this day would come, but I thought we'd have more time."
"Yeah. I thought she'd maybe be twenty or something." She takes a long swig of her Sam Adams. "So what'd you say?"
"I did what any red-blooded American man would do. I stalled for time. I told her it was late and we'd get into it in the morning."
"How's this supposed to go?"
"'When a slayer and a watcher love each other very, very much....' You're asking me? How is it I'm supposed to be the one who knows?"
"You're the answer man, right? You have a question, you ask the watcher."
Xander huffs a breath. "Yeah, let me go Giles this. I'm sure there's an ancient text that covers this."
"Seriously, though, why is this up to me?"
"It's not. We'll do it together. I'm just askin' for input. I never got the official baby speech. I just saw my ma and her friends, so it was more 'When a man and a woman get very, very drunk.' And not that many babies. It was more like a joint trip to the ATM and a solo trip to the clinic."
Xander grunts. "I never got the talk either. I heard details from Willow -- in a purely biology class sort of way, with frogs or fish or something fertilizing eggs without loving each other very, very much -- and from Jesse, who had visual aids that were mostly terrifying. Eventually I split the difference between the two." He gestures with his bottle at the screen. "You know why I love this show?"
"The slutty gray girl? The tough dark-haired leather chick?"
"Besides Chiana and Aeryn. I love it because Crichton has no idea what he's doing a lot of the time, especially in the beginning. But he's a hero, because he rises to the occasion."
Faith tucks her legs beneath her. "Too bad we can't get Crichton to sit down with Jessie and have the talk." She has another swallow of the beer. "So how would he do it?"
"With even more pop culture references than me."
She glances at the screen. "I don't know why you like this arc so much." Arc is a word she's picked up from him. To her, television's always been television. Whatever's on, old movies if she can find 'em. Her comfort TV. "Scorpius freaks me the fuck out."
"Me too. I don't exactly know why. Why I like this storyline, I mean. I guess it's about knowing you can go through the worst, and make it through."
"But it changes you. It changed him."
"Yeah," he says softly.
She curls into his side and he puts his arm around her. "Me, I'd rather watch the Looney Tunes one."
Xander grabs the remote and hits stop. "I'll put that one on if you want."
"Maybe we better focus and figure out what we're gonna say first."
"Okay. Well. She's little. Probably sketchy on the details is better. What about saying it comes from smooching?"
"Yeah, right. That works until she sees Dawn kiss you on the cheek and asks when the baby will pop out."
"Ooh. Yeah. Bad. How about saying it's from a girl sitting on a boy's lap?"
Faith gestures in a way she hopes indicates a tabloid headline. "I Gave Birth to Santa's Lovechild!"
"We don't want to lie to her."
"We don't want to scar her with the whole truth. I mean, we're willing to tell her about Santa and the Tooth Fairy, so where's the harm in throwing the stork in there, too?"
Faith snorts. "Throwing the stork. That could be a new slang term for doing the deed. 'Hey, baby, wanna throw the stork?'"
"Stop. I can't concentrate if you make me laugh."
"How's this? There's a special thing people do when they want to be really close, which is a private thing for grownups. Sometimes it makes babies. And sweetie pie, that's all you need to know right now."
"Oh. I like that." Xander kisses her temple. "Not too much information, but not a big tangle o' lies. What if she asks when she'll be a grownup?"
"It's a moving target, babe. Ten years after whenever she asks, or five years after her current age, once she hits sixteen."
He kisses her again. "She might have something to say about that."
"Yeah, well." She turns her face toward his, receiving the next kiss directly on the lips. "Maybe we need to study up some, make sure we're not leaving anything out."
"Maybe so," he agrees. "A refresher might be good."
Faith rises from the couch and tugs at his hand. "C'mon, then. I could throw me some serious stork right about now."