Baileigh Solis

She does very well buying for everyone else, but finding anything for her husband is an absolute impossibility.

(based off this image)


It took an hour or two after Baileigh settled in for the night for the baby to decide she wanted to sleep as well. So long as mommy was moving around, baby was still. Rocked to sleep by the motion of walking, of Baileigh going about her daily routine, and roused fairly quickly when her mother took a break. She wondered if it was a preview of things to come, if little Irina Nicole would be one of those babies that needed to be held and rocked to sleep, and found that she was both dreading and looking forward to it. She wanted her baby in her arms, she wanted to meet her and know what she looked like, to hear her little voice and listen to her breathe, but once she was born, it wouldn’t be just the two of them anymore. She’d have to share her with the whole world. It was selfish, but then, Baileigh had never denied that she possessed a selfish streak.

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Baileigh Solis
Buffy the Vampire Slayer OC
word count: 862
(yes, I faded on the smut, sue me. written for Sark's mun, who has had a horrible day and requested shiny fic *hugs* love you sweetie!)

ooc: backdated to before all TEH DRAMAZ, obviously. Julian Sark is elementof_risk and is used with permission and love that shines and brightly as the power of a thousand suns. Or something.



Every woman knew the sort of faces they were prone to make when they did their makeup. In Baileigh’s experience, those hideously odd contortions were a necessity. Here eyeliner and mascara never looked right unless she twisted her lips to the left just so while she applied it, and she had a tendency to poke the tip of her tongue out the corner of her lips while she painted her toenails.

Apparently men were just as prone to those look as well, except her husband’s expression was more akin to that of someone holding down the pin of a grenade, or dismantling an atomic bomb.

With a soccer ball sized belly wedged between her upper torso and her toes, she’d been rather neglectful of this particular vanity, and anyone that knew Baileigh knew she was incredibly picky about her feet. There wasn’t much point in having awesome shoes if the feet they were on weren’t pedicured. After she pouted about the chipped polish for long enough, Julian volunteered to repaint them for her.

It was sweet, and cozy, to curl up on the couch with her feet in his lap, but she hadn’t been able to stop giggling since he started painting. She’d never in her life seen someone so particular and fussy and focused on perfecting nail polish before. He shot her a glare every time she giggled and jostled her feet, which only made her laugh harder, arms wrapped around her stomach to minimize the motion’s effect on the baby. Something that should’ve taken all of five, ten minutes took much longer because he insisted on starting over every time she made him smudge the paint, despite her insistence that it was okay, she wasn‘t that particular.

She made an effort to press her lips together and look repentant when the top of the bottle met the glass lip with an irritated clack. “Do you to walk around like this, love,” he drawled, indicated her one finished foot, the other still bare, the cuticle stained pinkish from multiple polish removals.

“I’ll be good,” she promised, pulling her most innocent look, and smothering a grin behind her hand as he glared at her before going back to work.

She kicked. Not squirmed, kicked.

Well, we’re married, so I think it stands to reason that yes, we live together. It’s us, our two dogs, and…huh, in about four and a half months, a baby.

Of course, we were living together before then--yay for living in sin? Personally I don’t think you should marry someone without living with them first. I mean, really--people have quirks and habits that can, potentially, drive you nuts. You should be aware of these things before you take a step as big as marriage.

It’s funny…I used to be one of those people that had to have their own space. I’d never lived with a guy before. I hated to feel smothered. I wanted my space for me. My things. My towels and my underwear drawer and my stuff in the shower and bathroom put up just how I wanted it. I didn’t like feeling…crowded.

And then Spike shacked up in my basement. Of course, I didn’t really have to worry about him encroaching all up in my personal space because we weren’t like that, and he didn’t really eat anything save for the occasional cereal or vanilla wafers crushed up in his cup of blood (which, hm, I haven’t eaten vanilla wafers since then, come to think of it), and he was pretty good about replacing any booze he drank (he was more of a beer guy anyway, and I hate beer, so), and if he left the toilet seat up or put wet towels in the floor I could just, you know, punch him. Still, I think things worked out pretty well. It was a good stepping stone. Having a roommate, to living in a dorm type environment with the girls, to living with Julian.

And honestly, he’s most definitely the easiest to live with, and I’m not just saying that because I love him.

He never forgets the toilet seat.

ooc: um...IDK? I felt like writing? Obviously it's not binding to any muses mentioned, it's just cute birthday fic for Sark and his mun? Set after paintball and dinner during drinks and cards at Sark and Baileigh's place. Technically his birthday's not til tomorrow, but celebrations were planned for today because honestly, what's there to do on a Sunday? Forgive me if I messed anyone up, for I love you all very muchly. :P


“It was cheating.”

“It was tactics!”

“Tactics?! You pretended to sprain your ankle!”

“And I played the ‘Don’t shoot, I surrender!’ card on Hiro, and he totally fell for that, too! Geez, let it go, it’s not our fault you’re all noble and gullible. It's a dog-eat-dog world, Petrelli.”

Peter laughed and sent a mock glare up at Baileigh over the fan of his playing cards as she smiled innocently and set a drink down in front of Mohinder. “Don’t you think it takes just a little bit of the fun out of it? You playing the damsel so Sark can shoot us in the back?”

“Considering the huge advantages you guys had over us? Nope.”

“Hey, we balanced the abilities!”

“Oh, please. We were at a clear disadvantage and we kicked your asses brilliantly. Juuuuuust admit it.”

“That’s enough, love,” Julian interrupted, calmly re-arranging his cards with a barely concealed smug smile. “Let them retain their pride.”

“Nooooo, I’m on the winning team, that means I’m entitled to gloat, and CRUSH their pride under my heel, like this.” She stomped the heel of her shoe lightly against the floor and twisted her foot for emphasis, and pouted at Julian’s raised eyebrow. “Oh, fine.” She bent down to steal a kiss before taking her place at the table and settling in to arrange her own hand of cards.

“You did not have to shoot us so many times,” Hiro put in, rubbing his shoulder with an uncomfortable grimace.

“Tell me about it, I still haven’t gotten this crap out of my hair,” Claire sighed, playfully trying to sneak a peek at Baileigh’s cards.

“Bitch, bitch, bitch--hey!” she squealed and snatched her cards to her chest, nudged Claire with her elbow.

“Children,” Adam chastised mildly at the giggling/shoving match that ensued.

It wasn’t surprising, considering that neither of them could stop giggling long enough to take the game seriously, that Baileigh and Claire were the first to run out of chips, but as there was ice cream and cupcakes in the kitchen to be nibbled at and a cake to be ‘ooo’ed over and prepared with candles, it worked out fairly well. They kept the drinks coming while the menfolk did their best to out-bluff each other and Sylar and Peter were accused more than once of using telepathy to cheat.

The final bickering match was broken up by Claire dimming the lights so Baileigh could bring the lit cake to the table. It was the most masculine birthday cake she could find, which was surprisingly more difficult than it should‘ve been, “Anyone sings, I will shoot you,” she warned, setting the cake down in front of Julian.

“Awww!”

“Shush, Claire.” Baileigh bent down and rested her head on Julian’s shoulder, kissed his cheek lightly. He looked both somewhat dubious, and somewhat overwhelmed, and she wrapped her arms around him and squeezed briefly before straightening. “Make a wish, babe,” she murmured, and sent a smile to the rest of the table. “Anyone claps, I will also shoot you.”

“You mean you’ll distract us so Sark can shoot us.”

Adam sighed lightly as Julian gamely extinguished the candles with a puff of breath. “Let it go, love.”

It was funny how weeks of non-stop questions and excitement over shopping for school clothes and supplies and perusing through backpacks and lunch boxes until finally choosing the perfect one seemed to dissolve at the realization that from now on, she would have to wake up at 6 A.M. on the weekdays. It took a lot of effort for Baileigh not to giggle at the sleepy-eyed pout they kept receiving from across the kitchen table over a half-eaten bowl of Fruit Loops, as though the inevitability of growing up and therefore being forced to deal with the world at an earlier hour was something that her parents intentionally inflicted on their daughter.

( It is her time, watch her run, with ribbons undone )

I don't know...it's just pretty and has been in my head.

[ooc: inspried by this conversation. elementof_risk used with permission and a whole lotta love]

“…What are you doing?”

Baileigh quickly slid a piece of construction paper over the infamous mouse ears picture, but she could tell by the look on his face that he’d already seen it. She bit her lower lip and gave him the best sweet, wide-eyed innocent look that she could produce; it was a shame he never fell for those. Damn. “Scrapbooking?”

“Give me the picture.”

She squealed and snatched up the incriminating evidence before he could and hugged it protectively to her chest, turning away and shaking her head. “Uh-uh, no!! Mine!”

“Baileigh, as much as I may love you, you are not putting that in a photo album--”

“Scrapbook!”

“--glorified and ridiculously overdone photo album--”

Her mouth fell open. “They are not!”

Julian sighed and made the face that she’d come to think of as his ‘gathering patience’ face. “We agreed that if you weren’t going to burn it, it wouldn’t be shown to anyone.”

“It won’t be!” She pouted again, quivered her lower lip. “This is just for me! I swear, I’m gonna be the only person to look at it. Promise. Cross my heart, hope to die, stick a needle in my eye and you know I don‘t kid around when it comes to sharp objects close to the cornea.”

He didn‘t appear convinced. “No one makes those things just for themselves, love.”

“I do!” She put on her best pout and gathered the album up in her arms as well, lest he decide to take it and hold it as ransom. “This is totally and completely, one hundred percent, just for me. In fact, you know what, you can't even look at it. You don't have the clearance. That's how exclusive these pictures are. And I promise if we‘re ever raided by the CIA this picture the first thing that goes into the shredder, but you should also know that your continued happiness? May very well depend on this scrapbooks continued existence.”

She kept her poker face as he studied her--it wasn’t hard to make it seem like she meant it, since, well, she kind of meant it--and when he finally sighed, she knew that she’d most definitely won. “Don’t leave it lying about. You never know what the puppy might decide to chew on.”

“Duly noted.” She beamed at him and settled back down on the couch comfortably. “Hand me those glitter pens, would you please?”