Work Text:
Buffy was familiar with the concept of muscle memory. Often, fighting a fresh vampire in the cemetery, she would get all the way to the dusty bits without thinking of individual actions. Kick, punch, stake. Some combination of the three. Her body knew what to do. She could trust it to complete the task.
This was completely different.
Her body knew what it was doing, but she did not feel like a willing participant. Muscles clenched violently on their own schedule, giving her feelings of being powerful and powerless at exactly the same time. Seconds of reprieve after the tension snapped only to build again. There was a moment of doubt before her body and her mind relinquished. There was only one option. Finish.
The reward was sweet.
Her chest ached with the weight thrust upon her. All seven pounds of it. Buffy's arms wrapped around the slippery baby, a mixture of instinct and choice. Her breathing slowed as her body calmed. Looking down, she recognized the tiny features in the tiny face. Miniaturized versions of her own unique nose and his thin lips. She snuggled the baby close against her skin.
Names, she should be thinking of names. The click of the door opening snapped her attention, bringing only one name to mind. Angel. The door opened.
"Buffy?"
Her eyes snapped open. Dawn's face was pinched in concern and she had a hand on Buffy's shoulder. Images swam in her mind, crawling away from her as fast as they had invaded. Reality settled in their place. Buffy pulled herself up from her slump on the couch and rubbed her eyes. "I'm fine," she dismissed her sister's concern. "Just a dream." That was new. They were usually nightmares.