‘When the sun rises, do you not see a round disc of fire somewhat like a guinea?’
O no, no, I see an innumerable company of the heavenly host’
William Blake

Rupert Giles, Head Watcher, shuffled the papers in front of him as he sat at the far end of the long, oak table set up in the Library and Research Centre at Ashdown Estate. Laughter and the casual conversation of various arrivals drifted around him, mixing with the gentle heat of a midsummer’s morning and settling around his tense shoulders like the whisper of a tender caress. He breathed out the stress and impatience that often seemed to trail him these days, and peered around the room at the group of people that gathered before him.

A few of these he had known for years; he had watched them grow through good and bad, blossoming through the ecstasies and triumphs, and struggling through the agonies and tragedies. He had shared the most extraordinary events of his life with them. He had tried to teach them, to guide them; he had tried to impart his so-called learning and wisdom; but in the end, it was he who had learnt from them, lessons that had been hard and at times unwelcome, that often flew in the face of all the accumulated knowledge that he had based his life on. But those lessons had opened his eyes to an infinite new world of possibilities and helped create the man he was today. Undoubtedly, the learning was far from over.

This small group of astonishing people, Buffy, Dawn, Willow, Xander, and against all odds, Faith and Spike, sat either side of the table before him, talking, laughing and teasing, an ordinary looking bunch of young, carefree people. Looks could certainly be deceiving.

In particular, his eyes were drawn to Buffy. She glowed with health and happiness, more content, he thought, than he’d ever seen her. Spike’s return seemed to have ignited an inner radiance in her. Leaning against her vampire consort, his arm wrapped around her shoulder, she chatted comfortably with Xander.

Sprinkled among his ‘Scoobies’, ridiculous term that it was, were others that supported and fought alongside them. Some of these, such as his old friend Althanea and her granddaughter Rowan, or fellow Watchers like Gareth Robson and Cecil Davis, Anthony Collins and Edwards, he’d known for much of his adult life. Others, he’d only met in the last year, Robin, Andrew, several young Watchers such as Matthew Morris and Ashton Hurst, the two dozen girls who had survived the Hellmouth Battle, as well as the new lass, Francesca, who had turned up at their doors last week. An eclectic gathering to be sure.

Finally, everyone who needed to be there was. Giles cleared his throat and caught everyone’s attention. He could feel the excitement glittering in his eyes and it didn’t take long for those who knew him to pick up on it also and the air began to quietly hum with anticipation.

“Yes, well, welcome everyone. Thank you for your attendance this morning, on this, the second official meeting of our organization. It is only three weeks since our inaugural meeting and much has been unveiled since then. Today we have several important decisions to make.

But before we begin, I would like to take this opportunity both personally, and professionally on behalf of the new organization, to formally welcome Spike back to this dimension, and onto the council. He has already contributed much and, as Sagaria’s ‘Dark warrior’ and the father of Buffy’s child, he will undoubtedly continue to play a critical role in events to come.”

Spike’s head shot up and a look of shock and delight slid over his face. Buffy wrapped her arms around him and kissed his cheek, her eyes shimmering with pride. As cheers and murmurs of “Well done Spike” and “Welcome back Fangboy” echoed around the room, Spike caught Giles’ eye, acknowledging his words with an uncharacteristically humble nod. Gradually the room settled down and Giles took back center stage.

“Just a few minutes ago, as I sat here, I looked around the room in wonder. Before me sits an amazing group of warriors, brave, fearless, talented and tenacious – whether Slayer or vampire, witch, or Watcher, or simple heroic human, each and every one of you has contributed in one way or another, big or small, towards the ongoing task of keeping this world we live in safe and sound for those that inhabit it. For some of you, this involvement is recent, while others have been part of the cause for many years now.

I’d love to tell you that the battles are over, that the war has been won and send you all on your merry ways to your happily ever afters. But we know that our world is always in danger from some supernatural force or another and that we have many, possibly endless conflicts and evil forces to overcome.” Giles’ rhetoric had his audience spellbound, and the room was silent and still apart from the subtle nodding of heads here and there.

“But we will not be alone in that fight. Thanks to Sagaria, the Slayer Scythe that Buffy attained and the activation spell that Willow used to tap into Sagaria’s essence, for the first time in all of recorded history, we have an army of warriors available to us. Our challenge is to work out how to find these girls, how to convince them to join us, how to train them and how to manage and effectively utilize such a large and diverse group.

We will need the talents and efforts of every single person in this room, and more besides, if we are to succeed in this endeavor. Some of these tasks have already begun. Thanks to the efforts of Xander and his team, we succeeded in opened this amazing residential training and research center ahead of schedule. And two weeks ago, Althanea and Dawn took the first steps involved in finding and identifying our newly activated slayers. I’d like them to talk us through the process.”

Giles sat back as the two women made their way to the front of the room. Dawn grinned nervously and waved a little before standing aside for Althanea. The older woman smiled and faced the crowd.

“Good morning everyone. Yes, Dawn and I have been quite busy. Our job is not a difficult one, although it can be somewhat draining. The old Watcher’s Council always utilized seers to help identify both potentials, and where they slipped through the net, unknown Slayers who had already been activated. I myself have performed this task for them in the past.”

“But how can you tell who is a slayer or a potential and who isn’t?” Kennedy asked.

“Ah, a good question Kennedy. All living, and undead creatures give off a trace signature, a sort of vibration or energy frequency if you will. With Slayers and even potentials, this signal is particularly strong and of a certain calibration that is not hard to isolate if you know what you are looking for. Experienced seers are able to seek out these signals by sending out vibrations of their own that will interact with the Slayer signal. It’s a bit like a mystical radar system in a way.”

There was a buzz around the room as everyone considered the implications of this information.

“But its not foolproof right? I mean some of us didn’t get picked up as potentials.” Rona queried as Buffy, Faith and Colleen nodded.

“Well it’s by no means a perfect art. The greatest challenges are often distance and accuracy, particularly if two or more potential signals originate from the same area. Usually seers will scan a general area to locate any interesting signatures and then localized covens might use a spell to refine that search down to the potential candidate. I believe that Willow carried out that task for you at one stage in Sunnydale.”

Those survivors of the Hellmouth Battle nodded quietly as they remembered Willow’s discovery of sweet, brave Amanda.

“Considering the numbers we are dealing with, we needed to modify the process a little. Given that our job has been to seek out those vibrations by projecting our energy over increasing distances to isolate a signal and determine the range and direction of the slayer, both distance and accuracy became vital. Using Dawn’s unique power source, I have been able to strengthen and amplify my base signal, somewhat like a satellite dish, in order to cover much greater distances than are usually possible. Initially Dawn’s role was simply that, of an amplifier. But this young lady is naturally talented and a quick study, and in the last week she has begun to locate slayers on her own, leaving me to use Sagaria, an effective means in its own right, to achieve my own targets.”

Dawn blushed as she received a round of applause, proud of the increasingly important role she had finally found for herself within the group.

“In the last two weeks Dawn and I have traced the signatures of over a hundred new Slayers in just the U.K., Ireland and Western Europe.”

“Wow,” Buffy uttered as Spike added “Bloody Hell” to the chorus of exclamations coming from the other young Slayers in particular.

“I’ll get Dawn to take over and explain the next stage,” Althanea said as she sat down next to Giles and gratefully accepted the glass of water he poured for her.

Dawn had sobered up from the heady first days of her initial power tapping. She took her responsibilities and talents seriously, and had worked hard to master the array of skills she had so far uncovered. The young woman who stood at the head of the room was quiet and composed, but clearly nervous. However, her enthusiasm for her role, the successes they had achieved and Buffy’s encouraging nod soon bolstered her confidence.

“Hi guys. So Althanea and I were doing real well. We’d found heaps of Slayer signals. But the problem was that they were often clumped together and it was real hard to tell if each signal was another slayer or one we’d already found. The other problem was that we needed to do the locations quickly ‘cos there could be all sorts of other evil creeps out there, just like the Bringers, who could start doing the same thing and killing or stealing our Slayers.”

“And we don’t wanna share,” Xander called out.

“So we needed some way to actually identify the name and address of each Slayer and if possible, the estimated number of Slayers in each country, just to give us a guideline as to whether or not to keep searching. But to do that we needed someone a little geekier than Alth or me; we needed someone who could solve big mathematical problems and access computer tracking systems; we needed…. Andrew.”

Dawn turned and flourished her hand in Andrew’s direction. There were cheers and catcalls as the ex super villain jogged to the front of the room and took a bow.

“Thank you, thank you all. I’d just like to say that it’s a privilege to be here and to be part of this noble cause, sharing my skills and talents for the greater good. I really feel that I am well on the way to redeeming myself for all my past sins. I feel like Wolverine when…”

“Oh Good Lord. Will you just get on with it,” Giles’ admonishment was echoed by the rest of the group.

“Of course Professor Xavier. So we needed a simple method of identifying these girls precisely without like flying all over each time we located one. Dawn and Althanea’s methods are quite accurate, they can generally situate a signal within a ten-yard radius. Using Keyhole Inc.’s satellite application called Earth Viewer, I can quickly narrow a slayer signal down to a single residence, and by accessing local Government databases and Google, I can generally come up with the names, ages, genders and often photos of the current occupants. If our new slayer lives at home, in a unattached residence, I can use a process of elimination to come up with a name, age and address of our probable suspect.”

“Sounds great, but what if the chick has a big family, or lives in a block of flats or is at boarding school or … in prison?” Faith drawled.

“Good question young Rogue.” Andrew replied, ignoring Faith’s folded arms, pissed off expression and pointed glare at Spike. “This scenario is most common so we needed to utilize more accurate systems than we had used so far. We hacked into as many Government and commercial CCTV systems as we could. Over the last week we’ve refined our system a little and can now track and label a Slayer in just over 30 minutes. But I believe, with a little help from Goddess Willow, we may be able to tie the magic and the technology together to create a fully integrated Slayer identification package.”

“Oh, oh,” Willow called out, enthusiasm lighting up her eyes. “I was just thinking that if we did an enjoining spell, we could tie Althanea’s scrying skills, a touch of Dawn’s battery power and a dash of Sagaria’s Slayer essence to the tracking software, then all we’d need to do would be to programme the computer to remotely connect to the relevant database and we’d have a completely portable Slayer track and trace.”

Willow was fired up, but in her eagerness, she failed to notice the look of disappointment on Dawn’s face. Both Buffy and Spike spotted it though and decided to talk to the witch later to make sure Dawn wasn’t pushed out of her new role. Giles had also observed the young girl’s reaction and quickly sought to intervene.

“That is a possibility you could work on Willow. Nevertheless, these three have done an amazing job so far. Where are we looking at first Andrew?”

“The process isn’t perfect, but so far we’ve managed to come up with the names and addresses of these girls.”

At this point Andrew indicated the portable screen and clicked on the laptop in front of him to display a map of Western Europe surrounded by arrows and colorful charts detailing a long list of names, addresses and ages.

“As you will notice, I have sorted the names into geographical groupings. This allows for the implementation of economical collection procedures.”

The room’s occupants studied the chart intently. Each group of girls was listed under the name of a country. The U.K., France and Italy were all listed with 17 or 18 names in each, while Germany had 25 and Spain 14. Even smaller countries like Portugal, Belgium, Greece and the Netherlands had 3 or 4 names written under each of them, while Denmark and Ireland had a single name each.

“There are 106 names listed on this chart,” Giles said. “That seems a considerable number based on a relatively small geographical area. What are your predictions for worldwide numbers of new Slayers?”

“Well,” Althanea stood in order to address Giles’ question. “We feel pretty certain that we’ve picked up every single activated Slayer in these eleven countries. Andrew calculated the per head of population percentages and ratios and has put together another useful chart for us.”

Giles sighed as Andrew leapt up again. The boy was undeniably useful, but he wished he didn’t have to be so irritating.

“We began with the 106 slayers located around the eleven EEC countries. We allowed another ten percent, so 10, for the girls that we know were taken out by the bringers before the battle began, plus 3 for the local girls that died in Sunnydale. That gave us 119. Then we added the populations of these eleven countries and divided that by 119. That gave us a figure of just over 3 million. So we estimate that about 1 in every 3 million people will be a newly activated Slayer.”

While Willow and the Watchers were listening with interest, the remaining Scoobies and the Sunnydale Slayers were getting glazed looks in their eyes. Andrew sat back down and fiddled around with the computer, bringing a new document up on the screen. Giles cleared his throat and explained the figures before them.

“This chart shows us a list of all the major countries in the world with populations over 3 million – 136 in total. Using a ratio of one Slayer for every three million head of population, we’ve been able to do a rough prediction of the distribution and density of Slayers we could expect to find in each country. The Slayer predictions are in the far right column. As you can see we anticipate significant Slayer populations in China and India – over 430 and 330 respectively and other large groups in Asian countries such as Pakistan, Bangladesh and Vietnam. Accessing, alerting and recruiting the girls in these countries, especially in more remote areas, may prove quite challenging given the cultural, economic, religious and language differences we will face. People like Chao-Ahn,” Giles nodded his head in her direction, “will become crucial in the months ahead as we attempt to locate and gather up these girls.”

“So cut to the chase Rupes,” Spike said, “just how many new Slayers do you think we might find? Or is it a case of ‘As the host of heaven cannot be numbered, neither the sand of the sea measured’ ?”

“Well Spike, as to how many we find, that rather depends on the speed and accuracy of our tracking and recruitment programmes. But in terms of how many girls have been activated and now find themselves with sudden, unexplained strengths and abilities, we believe we may be looking at as many as 2000 worldwide.”

“Bloody hell,” said Spike, “a heavenly host indeed.”

The audience sat in thoughtful silence, stunned by the sheer numbers and by the enormity of the retrieval task ahead of them.

Giles nodded at Andrew who once again changed the page up on the screen. Up popped the prophecy they were now becoming familiar with, the Amroz prophecy from the Pergamum Codex.

The Days of the Chosen Ones

‘And a time shall come to pass, when Slayers walk the earth, using their powers to beat back the Scourge of Amroz. The battle will be long and hard. Victory shall only be theirs if the Legion of Chosen Ones stands strong, lest the fading of their new powers signal sure defeat and the beginning of the End Days.


“I think we must seriously consider,” Giles said, “that in order to build our necessary Legion, we must find and gather up every single Slayer that we possibly can, that we train and support them so they can ‘stand strong’ and that we prepare them for the battle ahead. To fall short in any of these duties could mean the end of it all.”

‘To win by strategy is no less the role of a general than to win by arms.’
Julius Caesar

The Slayers were in the middle of one of their most critical battles yet. The girls had one another’s backs, as any move made by one of them was closely scrutinized and cheered on. Their adversaries were older, more experienced, and less quick to anger, more strategic. But the girls had youth, enthusiasm and mad skills on their side. They had taken a few direct hits, but they had handed out even more fatal blows. The scent of victory was in the air. Slowly but surely they were grinding the Watchers into the ground.



It had begun with what Giles had suggested would be a short presentation on the anticipated make-up and M.O. of the Slayer Retrieval team. He had proposed that he, Robson, Faith and Wood set off as soon as practical to begin collecting up the identified Slayers, first from England and Scotland, followed by Ireland and Wales, then France, Spain and Portugal over the subsequent weeks. With any luck they would have collected the girls on Andrew’s list by the end of the first month.



However, Giles had appeared neither surprised nor even particularly bothered by the vigorous debate that had erupted over this proposal. In fact he appeared to sit back and play Devil’s advocate as the two sides argued the relative merits of both the original motion and the various counter suggestions that were being put forward by an astonishingly united, passionate, and articulate group of young women.



As the Slayers systematically questioned and refuted the size, make-up, name and planned schedule of the proposed retrieval group, their suggestions began to form a cohesive and viable alternative. Rather quickly they won over the younger Watchers, who subsequently sat bemused on the sidelines, until, as the shape of the Slayers’ proposal came together, they began to add weight to the girls’ argument.



The room buzzed with excitement as suggestions were offered up, discussed, debated, amended and recorded. Buffy grinned as Dawn and Caridad executed a high five while Matthew tried his hardest not to let a pout settle over his handsome face. Behind her, Vi had her hand up and was frantically vying for attention.



It took longer for Davis, Robson, Edwards, Collins or even Robin Wood, who having been raised by one was schooled in the ways of Watcher traditions, to let go of their entrenched ideas about ‘the way things should be done’. Giles on the other hand, appeared to be challenging the girls’ pitch initially, but it soon became apparent that his questions were offered more to motivate their analytical thinking and justifications and his smile just got bigger with each valid rebuttal and confident assertion coming from the Slayer camp.



Eventually, the proposition had been put together and presented. Several ‘Recruitment Teams’, as the girls wanted them to be called, would work in confined geographical areas. The teams would consist of two or three Slayers and just one of the younger Watchers. Where possible a team would include at least one person who was familiar with the culture and language of the candidates.



The girls argued for connection and empathy over experience and authority, maintaining that it was better to have a team that the candidates could relate to and feel comfortable with than one that would intimidate and confuse them further given the already scary circumstances they now found themselves in. The new Slayers used their own experiences to illustrate this point and it was hard to argue with them.



They would make contact with the girls first, a quick, snappy interview session that would explain who they were and establish a relationship through their shared experiences. Each girl would be offered the opportunity to train at a first class facility, gain a recognized qualification and have a ready-made career available to her when she graduated. They would be invited, along with one or two family members, to attend a presentation that would be held at the end of the interview period.



If the team could contact and interview three or four girls in a day, a presentation held on the third night might involve ten or more candidates and each girl’s guests. The presentation would briefly outline the special gifts and responsibilities each girl now possessed, with demonstrations from the Recruitment Team and any of the candidates that felt comfortable enough to participate. They would be informed that these new abilities could not be traded in or given away and that the down side was that without training, knowledge or backing, they would now be at risk from the many supernatural creatures that would wish to seek out and destroy them.



However, the emphasis would be on the extraordinary nature of these unique gifts and the exclusive opportunities provided by the Training Academy – physical training to help them defend themselves and others from attack and academic training to help them strategize and plan and in every other way survive and lead full lives in this new world they were now part of. Emphasizing exclusivity and opportunity over coercion and duty would also add an element of elitism to the programme.



Finally, as a sweetener, if they had a close friend or sibling who was interested and met the entry criteria, scholarships would also be available for Sackville College, the Watcher’s Academy – kind of a two for one package deal and laying down the future foundations of the sort of successful support network that the Scoobies had provided for Buffy.



The use of several teams would allow for greater coverage in shorter time frames. The new girls, after they’d completed a fortnight’s induction period, could then augment team membership, allowing for both greater relevance when recruiting and exponential growth in the number of teams operating.



The girls’ enthusiasm provided a strong inducement but it was the rationality behind their suggestions that won the older Watchers over and in the end the vote was unanimous, the teams would be set up and set off within the week.



As a sense of satisfaction settled over everyone, Giles made his way back to the front of the room, an enigmatic smile gracing his face. He stood there for a few seconds, casually making eye contact with each of the puzzled individuals before him.



“Well done everyone. I am delighted with the outcome of this discussion. Not only have you come up with a practical and highly feasible solution to the challenge of recruiting the new Slayers, but also you have truly worked together to come up with this concept. The Slayers have found their voice and the Watchers have learned to listen to their opinions – not an easy task for the old school practitioners among us who were taught that the Watcher should have control, while the Slayer, no better than a tool, should meekly comply.”



“Yeah, well that never worked for you in Sunnydale either did it Rupes?” Spike asked wryly, as the Scoobies chuckled in agreement.



“No Spike, it certainly didn’t and in fact, that is I believe, a huge part of what has made Buffy so successful. Without her instincts, strategic skills and downright bloody mindedness, many of the battles we faced would have been lost.”



Buffy smiled at Giles, his acknowledgement finally laying to rest so many of the issues that had arisen between them during the final weeks of Sunnydale.



“However, we didn’t always make it easy for her,” he continued. “Too often we didn’t listen to her, we questioned her decisions, made her doubt herself, abandoned her. We forced her to become much more insular and secretive than she needed to be, compelling her to ‘stand alone’ like the old Council axiom. I was guiltiest of all.”



The room was heavy with introspection, as its members considered Giles’ somber words. Several heads hung in remorse.



“But at other times, particularly in the early days, we worked together, supporting her, helping her, and we triumphed through team effort. We didn’t always get it right but the idea was spot on. And that’s what I witnessed here today as you formulated the plan for Slayer recruitment, and that’s what we need to utilize to create a new organization for the twenty first century.



We need an organization that is founded on respect and fairness. Everyone has a role to play, but we must never forget that these girls have been Chosen and they have abilities and instincts that grant them our professional respect and personal regard. But neither should we ignore the contributions of our magic wielders, our researchers, our teachers or of our families and friends. Everyone counts. Now more than ever it will be crucial to create strong squads with robust connections between squad members and with their support personnel so that we can begin to utilize these vast resources in the most effective and fulfilling ways possible.”



Giles spoke with outmost conviction as cries of ‘hear, hear’ rang out around the room.



“I expect the people in this room today to form the genesis of our new organization. We will have enormous challenges ahead of us: how to house, train, educate and deploy such large numbers of Slayers; how to quickly and efficiently replace our decimated stock of Watchers; how to fund this massive venture; and how to ensure that we are able to effectively work together and communicate with one another. But in this room this morning I was fortunate enough to witness the very real beginnings of what I believe could be a powerful executive council.



If we can find common ground among a diverse group such as this, in a relatively quick, painless and successful way, this bodes well for the future of our organization. There are many decisions that are yet to be made, positions that need to be allocated, and roles that need to be defined. But those jobs will keep us busy throughout the afternoon and evening, and I think right now, lunch is calling us. So before we break up for the morning, could we give some thought to a name for our new organization, a name that reflects what we do and how we do it?”



“What about just ‘The Council’?” Davis suggested.



There was a chorus of groans from around the room, mainly from the girls.



“Remember to treat all suggestions seriously and with the respect they deserve,” Giles cautioned.



“Fine Giles,” Buffy spoke up. “Great idea Cecil, but apart from carrying too much negative baggage from the past, I don’t think its informative enough. People won’t get what ‘The Council’ is all about from that title.”



“Well, how about ‘The Slayer Organization’?” said Kennedy.



“That perhaps leans a little too far the other way, not taking into account the other members of the team and giving the public too much information all at once.” Giles countered softly.



“Okay, then what about the ‘International Legion of Warriors’? It’s descriptive, and references the Sagaria Prophecy,” said Andrew hopefully.



“Bit of a mouthful ain’t it Jimmy Olsen?” Spike said.



Andrew glanced at Spike, delight and discontent, alternately schooling his features as he reacted to the vampire’s choice of sobriquet.



“And possibly a little incendiary for public consumption.” Giles added.



“What about something with ‘Guardians’ in the title?” Willow said thoughtfully.



“Hmm not bad,” Giles muttered, “particularly from a public point of view, although it might create some confusion internally with the group of women who created Sagaria. Which reminds me, we must look into the Guardians, they must have a recorded history somewhere.”



“Actually,” Matthew called out hesitantly, “we may have already found out a bit about the Guardians. Unwittingly, I might add, as we were carrying out a little more background research into Sagaria and the Scythians. And there’s a fair bit of conjecture involved.” He paused as Giles raised an eyebrow, willingly him to continue.



“Well we, that is Colleen and I,” a smattering of partly stifled giggles broke out behind them at this and a crimson heat stole over Matthew’s cheeks, “We, we were quite taken by the story of Sagaria.”



Colleen, conveniently sitting next to Matthew, turned back from glaring at her friends and added, “I went to Matthew for help with the research. See my babusya, my Grandma, originally came from Kiev in Ukraine, and she always told me tales of distant warrior ancestors who rode the steppes on horseback and defeated all who challenged them. I did a project on Ukraine at high school and found out that she was referring to the Scythians so your presentation three weeks ago really got me curious. Matthew agreed to help me access the materials and we’ve been spending all our free time since then reading up on the latest research and theories about the Scythians and also uncovering legends and myths.”



“So where do the Guardians come into your story,” Willow asked.



“Well, that discovery was a bit further down the track,” Matthew took over. “First we found out all we could about the Scythians. They were nomadic pastoralists who occupied large areas of what is now Ukraine, Russia and Central Asia during the first millennium B.C. They were an ancient Iranian people who were renowned for their horseback hunting and warfare.”



“As we read, we kept finding references to Amazons,” Colleen interjected, “as in the mythological race of female warriors. There seems to be heaps of evidence that the Amazon myth was based on tales of real warrior maidens – probably Scythian. And recently discovered burial remains have proven that Scythian women certainly fought as warriors, dressed and armed no differently than the men. When the men went off on hunting raids, the women would have remained behind, ruling over and defending their people and their territories. These women would certainly have fought in battles if they had to.”



“And Greek travellers coming across the Scythians may have taken back accounts of whole tribes ruled entirely by women. Their stories would have formed the basis of the myths,” Matthew added.



“And their connection to the Guardians?” Buffy prompted.



“Well, the Amazons, have also been given the credit for inventing the battle-axe or sagaris, although the weapon was linked with both Amazon and Scythian tribes by Greek historians. When we read this we started to wonder about Sagaria and the Guardians, so we dug a little further,” Colleen shared.



“Next we discovered a tentative link between the Amazons and the cult of Artemis. Artemis was Goddess of the hunt, wild animals, wilderness and young girls and she was worshipped throughout Ancient Greece. She had many names and was worshipped by many of the ancient peoples, with temples erected in her honor throughout the known world.”



“But several historians seemed to think that Artemis herself was appropriated from an older mythology. Then we found out that the origin of the Temple of Artemis in Ephesus, one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World, has been attributed to the Amazons. Which was pretty strange given that Scythians in general did not build shrines or temples, and Artemis was not one of the deities they regularly worshipped. Well not that we knew at that stage. The only info we had was that they had worshipped a pantheon of eight Gods, but only the names of six were ever listed, and none of these were equated with Artemis.”



“But then we came across a description of ancient esoteric practices contained in a series of letters written by the Greek historian Herodotus, that had been found in a package of papers rescued from the old Council buildings. It had been translated centuries ago but didn’t seem to have much relevance to any Slayer business so had been left moldering away in a vault.”



“Davis remembered it,” Matthew nodded in the older Watcher’s direction, “when I asked him if we had any studies on Scythia. It held the key to tying all this information together. Amongst Herodotus’ descriptions was a list of all eight deities, with a mention that worship of the final deity, who happened to correspond to the Greek Artemis, was carried out by the Scythian women alone, its purpose and practice shrouded in arcane rituals and ceremonies. The name of that final deity was Sineya.”



There was a gasp of recognition from around the room and a muttered “Bloody Hell,” from Spike and some spectacle polishing and an “Oh dear Lord,” from Giles. Buffy’s eyes were gleaming with excitement, her mind racing ahead of the information they’d been given. It seemed too much of a coincidence that the Scythian Goddess could have exactly the same name as the first Slayer.



“It’s not inconceivable that the Scythian women or Amazons as others referred to them, may have kept their rites and practices, and eventually even Sineya’s temples, concealed, initially from their outsiders and then from their own men. The temple priestesses, who may have initially served at the temple for short periods of time, could have ended up devoting their lives to protecting the rituals and symbols of Sineya’s temples. Over time this may have evolved into an entirely secret cult, dedicated to upholding the hidden central purpose of the order,” said Matthew.



“And the priestesses became the Guardians,” Buffy guessed.



“And their central purpose was to protect the lineage of warrior women that had descended from their goddess Sineya, and the weapon that they fashioned for their use.” Giles proposed.



“Sagaria, noble Sagaria,” Andrew sighed.



“Yes, it seems the most likely scenario. They fashioned and named the weapon and blessed it in Sineya’s name, infusing it with divine properties. Then they sat back, watching tribes come and go, nations rise and fall and whole civilizations wax and wane. They followed the deeds of the Slayers and the Watchers, covertly giving help or guidance where needed, waiting for the time when the weapon would be required. All of this they did in the name of their goddess.”



“But, if I remember my history correctly, the Scythians only appeared 3000 years ago, and the Song of Sagaria was estimated to be at least 2000 years older than that timeframe,” Giles argued.



“A good point boss,” Colleen said, “but there are two possible solutions. One, that the prophecy was created long before Sagaria itself. Or secondly, and this again is pure speculation, what if the Amazons were, at an earlier point in time, quite separate peoples from the Scythians. In fact maybe not a race of their own, but only the remnants of one, or maybe just a small group of Sineya’s priestesses and followers who originated from Mesopotamia, Egypt or even somewhere in continental Africa. Perhaps they were fleeing their original homeland, charged with protecting Sagaria and the worship of Sineya, or Artemis as the Ancient Greeks came to know her.”



“So, slowly, over hundreds, maybe thousands of years, they could have made their way northeast from West Africa, up and around coastal Northern Africa, through Egypt to Mesopotamia, settling down at various points in time, possibly even for a generation or two. From there they would have travelled into Persia and then into Central Asia, where they arrived at the central Eurasian steppe.



The inhabitants of that region, ancestors of the Scythes, were readying themselves to travel north into the great steppe. The Sineyan’s would have been absorbed by those people, all the while maintaining their Sineyan cult, passing it on to the fierce warrior women of the Scythian tribes.” Matthew sat back, his history lesson for the day complete.



“So the Guardians were originally the Amazonian mystic high priestesses. That means the Scythian Amazons were like the first ever Slayers,” Xander mused. “I wonder if they were as hot looking as Xena?”



“Well look around you Harris,” Spike said, “If these girls are the descendants of the originals, then I’d say the Amazons were just as hot as the Warrior Princess.” He chuckled quietly as Buffy nudged him in the ribs and growled, “Hey watch it, we are the Amazon warriors.”



“Hey, that’s it,” Dawn said excitedly. “The name of our new organization. You’ve got the Guardian side, which represents arcane knowledge and magic rituals and the warrior side, representing the Slayers and non-superpowery fighters. We are the Amazons.”



There was a general chorus of agreement from around the room and Buffy nodded approvingly at Dawn.



“ So what shall we call ourselves?” Willow asked. “‘The Amazon Organization’, no that doesn’t sound right, ‘The Council of Amazons’, oh no that’s worse.”



“What about adding a word that tells people we are also involved in research and education.” Robson suggested.



“Hmmm, like Institute or Foundation?” Wood asked.



“Yeah or even League or Society,” Davis added.



“And what about add a word for everyone to know we are organization all over world, like Global or International,” Chao-Ahn suggested haltingly.



Everyone sat trying out various combinations, and mumblings echoed around the room.



Finally Buffy said, “I think the primary name should be something simple and easy to remember, like ‘Amazon International’. It could be followed by secondary descriptors that give people a hint about what we do, like ‘Global Guardians’ or ‘Defense Institute’.”



“Hmmm, ‘Amazon International’,” Giles said thoughtfully. “Short, catchy, strong sounding and relevant. I like it. And,” he added, “We could use the acronym A.I. as shorthand amongst ourselves.”



“Oi, isn’t that the abbreviation for the Poofter’s old detective agency?” Spike grumbled.



“Yes, I do believe it used to be. But I don’t think he’s using it anymore so we’ll just borrow it.” Everyone laughed. “So, what does everyone else think? Would you be happy working for “Amazon International’?’



The consensus was unanimous, and spontaneous applause broke out as Andrew typed it out on the screen in large font, with the descriptors underneath in small italics.

Amazon International

Defense Institute and Global Guardians


They happily filed out of the room to lunch, the designation plastered boldly across the front of the room. A new day had begun.

‘What we call little things are merely the causes of great things; they are the beginning, the embryo, and it is the point of departure which, generally speaking, decides the whole future of an existence.’
Henri-Frédéric Amiel

The next few days were crazy busy. Buried amongst the arrangements for the Recruitment Teams: sorting out who would be in each team; dividing up the areas; preparing lists of the candidates names and addresses; booking hotel accommodation; arranging conference room hire; shooting video footage of the Slayers in training for the presentation; and packing for their time away; Buffy and Spike seemed to have very little time for themselves.

She knew they were working to a strict timeframe and that what they were doing was important, but Buffy couldn’t help feeling a little resentful that she and Spike had practically had to schedule time to see one another. And Spike had only just been resurrected/rescued, damn it!!

It had been three days since the big board meeting. Everyone was zipping around like crazy so that the local teams could set out on Sunday. Team One wouldn’t leave until Monday because they were covering Southern England and Wales on Day 1 and 2 before hitting North England, Scotland and over to Ireland for the one young lass showing up there, on Day 3. Team Two were responsible for France, and Team Three for Spain and Portugal, so they were heading off first, each team flying over, then hiring a van, intending to be based on the continent for a while.

Buffy was almost eleven weeks pregnant. Her nausea had eased off considerably, but she still had to be careful in the mornings, and make sure she didn’t get too tired. She also had a prenatal (or antenatal as they called it here in the U.K.) appointment in a weeks time, so she hadn’t been included in the first four teams, all of whom would be on the road for three weeks solid before flying home for a week’s break. The younger Slayers were keen to take on the responsibility themselves, claiming it would be empowering and a chance to prove themselves without the senior Slayers around.

Which was fine with Buffy. She just couldn’t wait for them to all clear out so that she and Spike could have some couple time. But not just yet unfortunately. Andrew had shot all the footage and was just doing some last minute editing and special effects, which he claimed would make the promotional video an absolute hit. He was as delusional as ever, but there was no denying he had some very bankable skills and seemed to be making himself quite indispensable.

Buffy had been in three segments, putting the Sunnydale Slayers through formation exercises, in a fight sequence with Spike, and delivering a presentation about what it was like to be a Slayer. Spike and Willow and Giles had helped her write it, a heavily edited version of her life over the last eight years, and she’d tried hard to deliver it in a friendly, welcoming, serious and wise sort of way. Which, between the fluffed lines, giggling, mumbling, attacks of nausea and excessive grumpiness took Andrew about ten takes.

It didn’t help that Spike stood there smirking throughout the entire production.

He’d been busy himself. Apart from the few video segments he’d featured in, Spike had surprisingly spent much of his time closeted away with Giles, Robson, Ashton, Matthew and a few other Watchers that she didn’t know by name. They were reviewing the direction that Watcher Training would take at the Sackville Academy, and more importantly the role that the modern Watcher would now play in the new Squads.

She and several other of the girls had been asked for their ten cent’s worth on the merits and pitfalls of the Slayer/Watcher relationship, where from their points of view it could be strengthened and broadened and what main skills and qualities a Watcher should have. Buffy knew this was a whole new organization, with a whole new perspective, but it still felt weird being in a room full of Watcher types and not being looked down on, told off or subjected to the third degree.

Weirder still was seeing Spike sitting there quite comfortably amongst the group. She knew that the older Watchers were pretty wary of him still, their knowledge of his vicious, bloodthirsty past too difficult to overcome on such short notice and at Giles’ say so. The younger ones seemed to look up to him though. Maybe they saw him as a kind of post-modern antihero or something. She wasn’t sure, but she thought she’d spotted a touch of hero worship in Matthew and Ashton’s earnest gazes. Definitely post-apocalypsy weirdness.

But in other ways Spike seemed to fit right in. He’d taken to wearing an open chambray shirt over his black t-shirt and leaving the duster behind in their suite. It was his one, small concession towards toning down the Big Bad look. Checking out the group, Buffy thought it seemed to be working. Jotting down things on the notepad in front of him and conversing with his team mates in such sincere, subdued tones, Spike could almost pass for a Watcher.

Okay, so Spike hadn’t exactly appreciated that observation when she’d voiced it two nights ago. He’d tackled her and rolled them both onto the bed, growling that he’d “show her Watcher”, whatever the hell that meant. Well he’d certainly shown her something all right, over and over.

His lips and tongue had chased his fingers across her face, down her neck and onto the soft upper curves of her breasts, the first stroking and caressing while the second lapped and tasted. Deftly, he’d released her lacy bra and her swollen mounds had burst out, only to be captured by his mouth.

With fingers and lips, he’d tugged fiercely on her engorged nipples, driving her to the fine line between pleasure and pain. He kept up that suckling pressure as he looked up and captured her eyes, staring intently at her as he backed off and flicked her nipple once, twice. Buffy’s breath hitched and thick cream flooded her loins as a sudden and unexpected orgasm ripped through her body.

Lying there, panting and restless, she’d tried to rip her shirt and jeans off, desperate to feel Spike’s body pressed against hers. But his hands had stilled her and he’d continued his slow, tender mission, gently divesting her of her shirt, releasing each button reverently, before placing lazy, sensuous kisses upon each square of revealed skin.

By the time he’d reached her belly button, his tongue flicking in and out of the indentation as she lay there topless on the bed, Buffy was ready to go off again. He’d slid himself back up the bed to lie alongside her, just staring down at her intensely, a mysterious little Mona Lisa smile on his face as he’d popped open her jeans and slipped his hand into the snug space between her knickers and her overheated flesh.

She’d felt the muscles in her abdomen clench and quiver as his fingertips had wriggled under the top band of her sodden knickers. Her breathing was erratic and she was moaning. Spike had slowly thrust his whole hand further south, curling his fingers around until he was lightly cupping her whole mons in his palm.

He’d pressed down very gently and Buffy could feel herself throbbing wildly against his cool palm. She’d tried to tilt her hips up and grind herself against him, desperate by then to get herself off. He’d just smiled at her and used the heel of his hand to push her back down, applying a steady, maddening pressure just above her clit.

Buffy was moaning, almost frothing at the mouth and she was trembling before he reached down and placed a gentle kiss on her mouth, pulled back to gaze intently at her once more, then slid the middle finger of his cupped hand down into her drenched slit. He quickly dragged it upwards then neatly flicked his fingertip once, twice, three times over her swollen clit and she literally exploded. Limbs flailing and a high pitched whining noise coming from her slack mouth, she’d barely been aware as Spike slid the finger responsible down, added it to the next digit and thrust upwards into her spasming cunt. He ground against her g spot and used his thumb to press on her button and she went off again, bucking and screaming fit to burst.

And burst she had, juices pouring from her overexcited quim in torrents as Spike kept on thrusting. Finally she’d begun to calm down and had lain there panting, only semi conscious. Fuck, three huge orgasms and she hadn’t even gotten her pants off. Spike was still staring down at her as he curled his hand up into a fist and cautiously dragged it away from her crotch and out of her jeans. Bringing his fist up to his mouth, he opened it up to form a cup. His long, wicked tongue shot out, lapping at the pool of luscious fluids lying in his palm, licking and slurping. Buffy had felt her stomach muscles clench, and her pussy throb again at the sight of that dexterous muscle, moaning as he continued to stare at her.

Finally, his hand was empty. One by one he’d sucked his talented fingers into his hot mouth, sucking up every drop of pussy juice. Buffy had shivered as he’d dropped his damp fingers down to her mouth and traced the outline of her lips. The fragrance of her excitement drifted around her as he’d smirked and said, “So what do you think of your Big Bad Watcher vamp now?”

Buffy had shrieked and rolled him over, attacking his mouth with her lips and his jeans with her hands. Spike might have acted as cool as a Watchery cucumber, but the front of his jeans were sopping, soaked through with the copious amount of precum that had already leaked from his rigid, overexcited cock. She’d briefly thought about getting her own back, putting him through the slow, torturous build up he’d subjected her to, but when it came down to it, she just couldn’t wait. She needed him. Like now!

She’d dragged the denim off impatiently and pounced on his trembling cock, sliding her lips down over the swollen head, licking off his sweet oils. She’d sucked deeply, his cock nudging the back of her throat, then pulled up to swirl her Slayer blessed tongue over his knob. “Ha,” she’d thought as he’d shivered and groaned, “Not so cool now are you, Mr Watcher guy?”

He’d got a bit short changed on the foreplay, but it really had served him right, and anyway, Buffy couldn’t wait any longer. She’d knelt up and shimmied out of her own jeans, kicking them off one leg but too impatient to worry about the other leg. She’d straddled him and reached back to position him at the entrance to her burning cunt.

Her muscles had sucked him in as she’d driven herself down onto his full length. He’d grasped her hips tightly and thrust up into her heat, both of them grunting and panting. This was no love making session, just an out and out fuck, both of them too desperate for their own completion to worry too much about the other’s needs.

Not that it mattered because within minutes Buffy had felt Spike swell within her and her body had responded to his call, clamping down on his turgid shaft and milking the spurts of juice he’d fed her.

Finally they were sated and she’d collapsed on top of him. That’s when the giggles had started, deep belly laughs that roused Spike from his drowsy state.

“What?” he’d grumbled, laughter not being the exact reaction he was going for.

“What do you mean ‘What’ Mr Big Bad Watcher?” she’d smirked, looking up at him playfully. “Oh and I’m never gonna be able to look at this Watcher shirt again without blushing.” She sighed as she stroked the blue shirt he was still wearing, ironically considering their otherwise naked and dishevelled state.

Spike had reached down and pressed a kiss sweetly to her forehead before growling in her ear, “Just so long as you don’t forget kitten. Don’t mind helpin’ the Geek Brigade out, but I’m still more Big Bad than Watcher any day.”

Buffy had kissed him back and tapped his nose. “Oh there’s no chance of me forgetting that. But just make sure you don’t forget, no including this particular set of skills on the new Watcher training schedule, okay?”

He’d chuckled at her as she’d snuggled down in his arms and they’d chatted about the actual outcomes of the Watcher meeting before drifting off to sleep.

Buffy sighed. That had been two days ago and they’d had precious little time to schedule a repeat performance since then. Every day had brought new challenges and a long list of meetings to attend, calls to make, timetables to organise, strategies to plan. Most nights she fell into bed exhausted, too tired from the endless jobs and pregnancy hormones to do anything other than sleep. So not fair.

Today’s big job had revolved around getting Faith, Lisa, Leslie and their Watcher, Ashton Hurst, packed up and on the plane to L.A. Thanks to Faith, Giles and Xander’s efforts, they had already leased a training room come living space in downtown L.A. and it was ready to move into. It had two bedrooms, which the three girls could share between them, and an office they could convert into a bedroom for Ashton.

Lisa and Leslie had both survived the Sunnydale Battle, so Faith was pleased to have their experience, but they were both quiet girls, neither of them really leadership material at this stage. They’d accompanied Faith on her ill-fated raid, but despite the outcome, still had confidence in her.

Ashton was rather a nervy type, not unlike Wesley in his early days. But he was an excellent researcher and quite competent with the magic making according to Giles.

And Faith, well she had plenty of experience and mad skills. She could be a little hot headed at times, a little impetuous, but Buffy could see amazing leadership potential in Faith. She just needed to get away and stamp her own authority on a place. Altogether, Buffy thought Faith’s squad would make a good team.

She knew Faith herself was just amping to head off. Partly it was because she was impatient to get a head start on a whole raft of jobs that were lined up over there. Her squad formed Recruitment Team 4 and they were due to start identifying and connecting with new Slayers from Monday. Over the weekend they had to lease a van so that they could start their search with the West Coast.

Faith also needed to check in with Angel. He’d contacted them to let them know he’d met with Cyvus Vail already, but he was pretty light on the details of the meeting other than to say things were ‘in hand’. Whatever that meant! Wesley had also kept in contact with them and was generally more forthcoming about anything that he was aware of.

They all felt that Angel, as well as Wolfram Hart itself, needed to be watched fairly carefully. Angel seemed so secretive and it was hard to say how much actual control he had over the law firm. Buffy wasn’t sure what the deal was between Faith and Angel. She knew they’d been good friends in the past, but going by the Slayer’s comments in L.A. it seemed like she might be interested in a little more than friendship.

Angel still had the curse in effect of course, but Faith was a pretty canny girl and Buffy trusted that she would know how to walk the fine line between fun and disaster. Faith deserved some happiness, Buffy just wasn’t sure it would end up being with Angel but either way, she wished Faith all the best.

But Buffy figured that at least part of the reason that Faith was so keen to head off was to escape the messy and awkward situation between her and Wood. She’d had the big ‘its not you its me’ talk with him as soon as they’d got back from L.A. He hadn’t really taken it too well and had been insistent that she was just running scared and that he’d give her some space for now rather than accept her request to end their relationship.

Her announcement sure hadn’t improved Wood’s mood any. He’d been pretty touchy ever since he’d heard about the plans for Spike’s rescue and his disposition had gone even further downhill since they’d got back from L.A.

He hated Spike, and probably not without good cause. So it had to burn that not only had the guy who’d killed his Mom returned from the supposed final death he’d wished on him, but that he’d been welcomed back as a conquering hero. Yeah, Buffy could see how that would seriously piss him off.

But Wood was also too valuable an asset just to dismiss. With the training he’d received from old Bernard Crowley and his educational background, his skills were in short supply. And Buffy remembered what an outgoing, laid-back guy he could be from his Sunnydale High days. But he wasn’t doing anybody any good in his current mood. She hoped Giles had a viable plan up his sleeve for the guy.

Buffy sighed and went back to her current task, completing an inventory on all of the weapons they had, including condition and size of each weapon and then selecting a range to ship out to L.A. It wasn’t the most exciting of jobs, but she was probably one of the best qualified to do it so it made sense.

She’d put together a good selection, different types of swords, knives, axes, crossbows and heaps of stakes. While she was doing so, she was working out how many weapons they were going to need in order to set up the more than thirty branches of Amazon International Giles intended to open around the globe. She knew it might take years to get them all up and running but there was no rush. One thing they were gonna need a lot more of though was weapons. Maybe they’d have to get on eBay or start going to heaps of garage sales, she thought.

Finally, she had everything itemized and a good stock of weapons ready to pack into an L.A. bound shipping crate, including the blessed sword she’d used on Angel back when she was 17 and the knife Faith had got from the Mayor. They’d both been in the weapon’s chest that had been packed onto the bus in Sunnydale, but neither one had been used in the Battle. Both beautifully crafted weapons, she hoped they brought Faith better luck in the future than they had gifted either one of them in the past.

Buffy was going to miss Faith. Despite there being thousands of Slayers across the planet now, Faith was the only one who knew what it was like to be utterly unique, well almost anyway. That had created a connection between them that Buffy had spent too many years trying to deny.

They’d become even closer over the last fortnight, their experiences and chats in Los Angeles helping develop an intimacy between them that had never existed before. And since she’d finally let Spike into her heart, Buffy actually got Faith. She wore her tough shell to protect a vulnerable interior in the same way that Spike always had. But in L.A., Buffy had seen glimpses of that vulnerability. Faith was no different than anyone else; she wanted friendship, love and the chance to be valued for who she was. Buffy thought her friend deserved to experience all three and hoped she got the chance to in L.A.

But not only was she going to miss Faith, she also envied her a little bit. Setting up a squad of her own and heading off on a whole new, action packed adventure sounded pretty cool. Especially as she was pretty much stay-at-home Buffy at the moment.

By Monday, Ashdown would be cleared out for the most part. Most of the Sunnydale Slayers, or Legionettes as they’d taken to calling themselves, after Andrew’s coining of the Legion of the Light, were heading out in the Recruitment teams. So too were most of the younger Watcher types, including Wood and even Andrew!

Even Dawn was off on a mission, flying out to L.A. with Faith’s squad, just for a week, so that she could pinpoint the local girl’s names and locations. From this distance all she and Althanea could pick up were numbers and rough distribution, they needed to be closer to pick up the exact location and utilize the satellite and CCTV programs for actual identification purposes. While she was there, Dawn would attempt to ‘scan’ the whole Western half of the States, compiling a detailed list for Faith and her team to work through over the next few weeks.

Buffy sighed and settled back to work. She might be a smidge bored, but at least she had Spike and she was safe. That counted for something.

‘Provision there had been for just such meeting
Of stranger-cousins, in a family tree
Drawn on a sort of passport with the branch
Of the one bearing it done in detail’
Robert Frost

The door slammed violently and the noise reverberated across the open space of the dojo. Lisa and Leslie dropped their fighting stances and looked up, startled. Ashton popped his head out of the office.

“I guess it didn’t go well then?” he queried mildly.

Faith stood there, anger drumming a tattoo through her blood stream. The old her would have let rip at this stage, smashed, bashed and crashed, anything to burn off the rage. But she had responsibilities now, a team to lead. They were a family of sorts, her family, and she was damn well going to do a better job of heading up this family than anybody had ever done in her life. So … step one, cool it.

She cracked her head to the side and blew out a long, slow breath. Swagger on, head up she moved into the room, heading for the fridge in the corner. She grabbed a coke and spun around, the nonchalance gradually becoming more genuine as she shook off the frustration that had propelled her into the room.

“Nah, not so much,” she addressed her team. “Angel can be such a dick at times.” Faith grinned and the girls laughed and went back to sparring. She slipped past them and into Ashton’s office, flopping down into the chair in the corner.

Ashton caught her eye and nodded his approval. A feeling like warm molasses spread over her. This was different, and … nice. She was gonna try real hard not to fuck it up.

They’d only flown into LA two nights ago and it had been a whirlwind ever since. Thank God they’d sorted this place out three weeks ago when they’d come to rescue Spike. Yesterday had been bad enough as it was, picking up linen and towels, a pull-out couch for Dawn and any other prospective guests to sleep on, groceries to see them through the next few days and most importantly a vehicle to get them from place to place as they hunted down and rounded up the Baby Slayers here on the West Coast.

It had to be a reliable wagon and comfortable as they’d be putting in a fair few miles over the next three weeks. Tomorrow they were hitting the road. Recruitment Team 4! Mission parameters set! Seemed like a fucking sci-fi plot, she thought. Oh, …yeah, guess it kinda was!

“Where’s Dawn?”

Ashton glanced up at Faith, tearing his attention away from his laptop and the various maps and journals covering the table.

“Oh she went to meet Wesley at a coffee shop along the road. Something about picking his brains on the subject of inter-dimensional travel. He was bringing some other bloke along, Bill or Fred I think she said. Some sort of expert in the field.”

Faith snorted, both at the Fred mix-up and at the certain contrast between Dawn’s meeting and hers. Good luck to her, Faith thought, she’s bound to get more out of Wes than I could squeeze out of his boss.

Angel had played his cards pretty close to his chest tonight. Not that Faith didn’t expect that in a way, but part of her did hope for a little more given their history. Okay, so some of it was rocky but they had always had a connection. Well she’d thought so anyway.

But Angel wasn’t playing the game tonight. She’d tried to arrange the meeting away from Wolfram and Hart, hoping he might loosen up out from under the law firm’s influence, but he’d put her off saying his schedule was booked up and he could only squeeze her in to a twenty minute slot in his office.

She’d asked for a scotch when he offered, hoping he’d help himself to one, setting a more casual tone for their meeting, but he’d blocked her on that one too, explaining his need for a clear head for the upcoming appointments.

She’d tried a professional, business approach, appealed to their past friendship and finally had played the slutty angle, innocently rubbing up against his vamp-hard torso, trying to reignite that spark that had hit them during the showdown at Vail’s place, and well she was ready to spark, but Angel … nada!

All of her efforts had been in aid of uncovering what had gone down with Cyvus Vail the previous week. Faith couldn’t really care less, except that as Buffy had negotiated the terms of the contract between Angel, Vail and herself, she was honour-bound to ensure it was carried out. And that made it official Amazon business. Besides which, Faith and the others were just plain curious as to why Angel was acting so strangely about the whole thing.

She knew the two had met, Angel was overdue returning the Orlon Window to its rightful owner, and he’d informed Giles that a meeting had been set for last Friday. But he’d been very close lipped about the whole thing. Faith couldn’t even get him to confirm that he’d actually handed the cube over to the sorcerer. When she’d pushed him, the strangest look had slid over his stoic expression. She could have sworn he’d looked scared for a moment.

Anyway that had come and gone with the blink of an eye, and he’d gone back to his Oscar worthy impression of a gloomy rock. Damned infuriating considering Faith knew she had it in her to rattle his chains when he let his guard down. She closed her eyes and once more recalled the look on his face and the angle of his body as they’d had their little moment in the midst of the battle against Vail’s Kith’harn.

So part of Faith’s frustration was purely personal. To be honest, the thought that she and Angel could have maybe explored their attraction to one another now they were both living in LA had definitely crossed her mind. But she wasn’t much attracted to gloomy rocks, so his loss she reasoned.

But she was also pissed off professionally. This was her first assignment as head of the LA branch of Amazon International and her inability to establish an effective two-way dialogue between the CEO of Wolfram and Hart was pretty galling. And a little embarrassing.

She tried not to, but part of her couldn’t help wondering if Buffy would have been able to drag the info out of Angel. Fuck, probably. Well, possibly. Okay, maybe. Shit, who knew? Just that it was more than a little humiliating.

In a way, this first meeting had been seen by the executive as a litmus test for the entire working relationship between Amazon and the law firm. If Angel couldn’t open up about something as seemingly innocuous as the completion of a deal they were all party to, then it didn’t bode well for any future dealings.

Still, Faith wasn’t a quitter, and she’d keep at him. And that was more than enough introspective bullshit for now anyway, she reckoned.

Quickly, and a lot more concisely than her rambling musings had allowed, Faith shared the contents of her meeting with Ashton. She might be the head of the team, but with his huge knowledge and quiet, astute ways he was shaping up to be a good 2IC.

“I wouldn’t read too much into Angel’s reluctance to share,” he offered, “who knows, there may be issues we’re not even aware of that are shaping his actions.”

“Yeah, there’s definitely something going on beneath the surface. Oh well, we’ve got too much on our hands to sit around moping about Angel. He does enough of that for himself anyway.” Faith grinned at Ashton and hopped up. “I’m just gonna check if the girls have the van packed …”

She was interrupted by the sound of the door shutting and the click clack of heels signalling Dawn’s return.

“Hey,” she greeted them as she plopped down into one of the office chairs.

Faith checked out her expression and sighed. “Looks like your mission was slightly more successful than mine.”

“If you’re asking whether I got any answers from Wes about Angel’s meeting with Vail, then that would be a great big no-siree. Wes reckons something weird’s going on with that whole deal. Angel’s even more close-lipped than usual. You struck out too I gather?”

“Like getting blood from a stone,” Faith scowled, “a big gloomy old stone.”

She and Dawn both giggled at that image, nodding their heads in total agreement.

“So, what’s got you so chipper then?”

“Wes introduced me to Fred. She’s been working with the Fang Gang for a few years now. She’s a real sweetie. She’s like this hardcore physics chick. Angel’s even put her in charge of the Science Division at WH. And guess what her special interest field is?” Dawn didn’t pause for an answer. “Quantum theory and string theory!” She was particularly vibrating. “Okay, so I don’t exactly know what those are, but they’ve got something to do with energy particles and other dimensions and alternate universes. And Fred’s even been through a dimensional portal …”

“Whoa, chill Brat, calm down,” Faith said, “a little less with the babbling. So what’s with the girl crush? Geez, that Fred’s a real chick magnet isn’t she?”

“Hey,” Dawn blushed and poked her tongue out at Faith while Ashton looked on with amusement. “It’s not like that. I just think Fred might be able to help me understand how my abilities work. Kinda work out the ramifications and oh I don’t know maybe set up some protocols. Or something.”

“Yeah kid, its all good. Just don’t forget who she works for now. I trust Wes and Fred, but I don’t trust the faceless minions who work for the evilest little law firm in town. Be careful alright? No letting Fred take vials of your blood into that building, you don’t know who could get their evil mitts on it.”

“Okay, good point. Anyway Ashton, you should hit the laptop, finish off this list of names and addresses in San Fran and Sacramento and I should try and locate any more signals towards the east. We mightn’t get to them this week, but every name and address I can come up with before I head home will be a help right?”

“Sounds good. We’re hitting the locals tomorrow right?”

“Yes Faith,” the Watcher responded, “we’ve got the names and addresses of two girls here in the city, three out in the suburbs and one down in San Diego. With any luck, we’ll get through them all tomorrow.”

“Well I think I’ll leave you to it. Time to blow off some steam I reckon.”

“Oh yeah?” Dawn looked up from her map, the green glow from her hand throwing its light onto the paper beneath it.

“Yup. I think it’s about time LA put out the welcome wagon for its three new resident slayers. Time to go kick us some demon ass in the city of angels.”

“Be careful, Faith,” Ashton threw in her direction.

“Sure thing, Watcher boy. Just a quick recce, no biggie.”

They watched Faith disappear through the door and call out to Lisa and Leslie, followed by the sound of the door slamming. Ashton shook his head and Dawn grinned, before they settled back to work.

~~~

Angel slammed the door and stomped back over to his desk, throwing his jacket over the arm of the leather couch before plopping despondently down into his chair. He dropped his head down onto his desk and banged it a few times before quickly straightening up as he heard footsteps approaching the door.

Two quick knocks and a “Come in” later and Harmony was standing at the threshold, her handbag over her shoulder.

“Hey, Boss, can I get you anything?” She barely paused for the time it took for him to shake his head. “Well if there’s nothing else, I think I’ll call it quits for the night. You don’t have any other appointments until 11.30 tomorrow when you and Wes are paying a visit to that horrible Magnus Hainsley. Poor Mr Novac, he seemed a really decent guy, for a lawyer anyway. And I don’t know if I’ll ever get him rinsed out of this skirt.” She fingered the hem as she looked down at the stain on her dress. “Blood and guts are just so hard to get out of silk you know.” She frowned quietly then looked back at Angel as something struck her. “Hey, the company should really replace this right? I mean it was a workplace accident so …”

“Yeah Harmony, fine, we’ll sought something out tomorrow,” Angel said wearily, but his secretary was already striding off towards the elevator, muttering something about occupational hazards and employee compensation.

Angel sat there, brooding about his meeting with Faith. He hated the way it had gone down. He’d acted like an ass. He knew it. But the trouble was, he couldn’t see any other way out of the situation.

Part of him was excited that Faith was based in LA now. Actually, he thought as he adjusted his pants, part of him was still a little excited. Hell, the girl was gorgeous, and hot, and she knew how to use her many charms. And of course add in that little frisson of deadly excitement that her slayer calling added, well you pretty much had the perfect package.

She was feisty and funny, brave and tenacious. And her friendship meant a lot to him. Over the years, they had built up a bond, had one another’s backs. Sure she had her demons, didn’t they both. But Angel was proud of the way she’d fought back against her dark side and set out to redeem herself. God, he really owed her. That fucking Angelus had almost killed her a few months ago. But she hadn’t given up, she’d really come through for him. And now she’d been chosen to head up the new LA slayer squad.

She deserved it. She’d earned the right to step out from Buffy’s shadow. And Angel wanted to support her professionally. Show her the respect she was due as Head Slayer. Show her the respect she was due as his friend. He really did. Instead he’d gone all aloof and uncommunicative on the girl. What a bloody prick.

He’d simply panicked and gone into lock down mode. The safety and happiness of his son was too important to let anything slip. Connor was his family. Angel just couldn’t compromise even for the sake of an old friend’s feelings.

And it was fair to say Faith had been both pissed off and a little hurt. He’d caught the little moue of confusion and disappointment on her face. Just a flash before she’d quickly buried it beneath that newly minted professional façade of hers. Oh yeah, he had some bridges to mend all right!

But he couldn’t think about that right now. He had to concentrate on the big picture, and that was getting Vail to back off.

The meeting with the old warlock had taken place over a week ago, and Angel was now in a worse state than he’d been before it.

He’d put it off for as long as he could, dreading the thought of returning the innocuous looking little Pandora’s box to Vail, and in the process leaving himself vulnerable to all sorts of bribery and corruption. If it were up to him, he’d have taken the damn thing and buried it in the bowels of the earth. But he’d signed that bloody contract with Buffy and Vail and so he’d been legally bound to return it.

Ever since the showdown at Vail’s place, Angel had been racking his brains to try and think of some way of neutralizing the threat that the old demon’s possession of the damned Orlon Window would represent. He’d considered offering him money, artifacts, some sort of contract with Wolfram and Hart, anything, just so that he could retain possession of the cube. He was prepared to enter negotiations with an open mind and an open (company) checkbook.

But Vail had utterly gazumped him. He hadn’t been interested in money or baubles. He had his own brand of bribery already mapped out.

Turns out the prophecy related to Sahjan’s termination was quite specific. The only person who could kill the trapped demon was Connor. Vail wanted Sahjan neutralized, and now he had the cube back, he could call the shots. The best Angel could hope for was a little more time. The old warlock had at least agreed to Angel’s request for an extension, but he’d only given him an extra month.

Angel could feel the dread seeping through his veins. How could it have all gone so wrong, so quickly? God, it had only been six weeks since he’d made the biggest sacrifice of his life, given up his freedom and any contact with his son, practically sold his soul and any chance of personal happiness, just so the boy could have a happy, normal life.

In exchange, the Senior Partners had left him with this evil, fucking millstone around his neck and an invisible wall been himself and his friends. God, he wouldn’t have any friends if they found out what their mighty leader had done. And now? The risks, the deceit, the sacrifice! It could be all for nothing!

~~~

“Damn, he’s getting away. Quick, you two chase him and I’ll try and head him off.”

Faith ran to the right, cutting through the trees that were scattered through this section of the cemetery. It didn’t take long to work out this was an older part of the memorial park, the crowded headstones marching side by side across the lawn. Which made it a bitch to run through.

She sighed, hurdling as fast as she could. She could spot the vamp through the trees on her left, but she didn’t think he’d seen her yet, too intent on the two younger girls thundering along behind him. Shit, she’d have to work on getting them to move with slightly more stealth than the herd of baby elephants they were imitating at the moment.

Still, it was good to finally get the blood pumping again. It had been three weeks since the fight against Vail’s Kith’harns and two months since the battle to end all Hellmouths and Faith was getting pretty antsy. Sure, she and some of the girls had done a few patrol runs into London over the last month, but not enough to really get her rhythm going again.

She’d nabbed the keys on the way out of the office. It was late, and she and the girls had an early start in the morning, and none of them were too familiar with LA. They didn’t have time to suss out any demon hotspots downtown, or just hang around hoping for a little evil to come their way, so Faith had decided that heading to the nearest cemetery would be the best bet. A little game of vamp tag with a few dustings at the end was just what she needed after her irritating run in with Angel.

And it looked like the doctor was going to deliver just what she’d ordered. Lisa had driven and Faith had navigated, quickly finding her way around the pile of map books the car dealer had thrown in as part of the sale. She’d directed them to a big, old looking cemetery in East LA called Evergreen.

It was about three times the size of any of the boneyards they’d had back in Sunnydale, a massive sprawling thing, all laid out with trees and little winding roadways.

They’d only just parked at the western entrance when Leslie had spotted him. He looked faintly dazed, so was undoubtedly a fledgling. When he’d not so subtly started following a middle-aged woman with a bunch of flowers in her hand, they were ready for action. They’d checked stakes, locked the car and started after him.

But the girls were a little over eager and had tipped him off before they’d been close enough to do anything about it. He’d abandoned his prospective meal and done a runner, leading them on a merry chase through what was undoubtedly his home turf.

That didn’t worry Faith through. The hunt was doing wicked things for her bad mood. If she could top it off with a dusting, it’d leave her in good spirits for the start of their recruitment mission. She put on a final burst of speed as she rounded the corner, coming directly side on to him now, and a little ahead. He’d reached a section of road that had low fences running either side of it.

Faith ran full tilt at the fence, springing up onto the top rail and then down onto the road in two single, smooth strides. The vamp didn’t even notice her until she slammed down onto the asphalt in front of him. Shocked, and fearful for his unlife he’d jerked to a halt and backed away from her, quickly colliding with the fence on the far side of the road.

Grinning like a panther in heat, Faith prowled towards him, stake dancing in her fingers. Lis and Les arrived, jizzed full of adrenaline and buzzer ready to take him out if he should make a move in their direction.

Faith was only three feet away and closing when he started to reach out with his left hand, preparing to vault the wall behind him. He froze and she reached out to grab his shoulder, seeking purchase to help drive her forward plunge into his chest. But just as she touched him he gave a quizzical little sigh and exploded in front of her.

Stepping back, Faith looked down at her unused stake in confusion. She lifted her eyes back to the drifting remains of the vamp and peered through the dust cloud and straight at the shocked expression of a young Latina girl.

The girl’s expression undoubtedly mirrored Faith’s own, but it only took the space of a heartbeat before the little chiquita’s face shifted to a look of wary suspicion.

Right, Faith thought, one of our little lost lambs. And she’s checking me out like I’m the big bad wolf. Easy does it girl, don’t frighten the kid off.

“Hi,” Faith said, pocketing her stake and loosening her body posture up, “I’m Faith.” She smiled and took a half step forward. “Awesome hit on that vamp. Always harder from behind, but you staked him perfectly.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see her two girls take their cue from their boss and stand down as well, but Faith didn’t take her attention off the kid for a minute. The little Latina was still wired, still on the defensive, but the praise had softened her somewhat and a little uncertainty had crept into her demeanor.

“So,” Faith kept her voice soft and light, “self-taught huh?” When she received a wary nod in reply she kept going. “Yeah, I was the same to start with. You from around here?”

Finally the girl relaxed her stance, cautiously checking around her before replying. “Si, I live here in Eastside. So,” her voice took on a more curious lilt, “you kill the vampiros too, yes?”

“Yeah, all three of us,” Faith offered, nodding in the direction of the other two girls.

“So you’re like some sort of,” the girl paused and looked around before continuing, “gang?”

Faith could read the girl’s hesitation and answered carefully, “No, not like a gang. More like a family. You live with your family?”

“Yeah, with my mama and two older brothers. But my mama, she’s not really …” her voice drifted off, uncertain, a little embarrassed.

“I get ya kid, been there, done that. So I guess you’re pretty good at looking out for yourself, huh? How old are you?”

“I’m fifteen. And I don’t need no-one telling me what to do, telling me how to act and what to wear. I can look after myself. I might be small but I’m stronger than I look. Oh, I guess you get that?”

“Yeah, we get it. You been getting the dreams too? What about slayings? Just vampires or other demons too?”

“There are demonios?” The girl looked at Faith in awe, her desire to understand what was happening to her tearing down the last of her hesitation.

“Yeah, there’s a whole big, bad world out there. Listen, we have to go now, but maybe we can hang out tomorrow. I’d love to hear about your first slaying. You in school?”

“Yeah, Roosevelt High, just a block east of here.”

“If we can get clearance from your principal, you mind if we pull you outta class in the morning?”

“Oh, you can do that? That would be cool, no problem.” The girl’s voice rang with eagerness.

Faith smiled, their first recruitment was going well. “So we’ll see you tomorrow. Oh. By the way, what’s your name? Who will we ask for?”

“Oh, si, my name’s Soledad.”

‘The moral virtues, then, are produced in us neither by nature nor against nature. Nature, indeed, prepares in us the ground for their reception, but their complete formation is the product of habit.’
Aristotle

Spike was bored. Due to her extra dose of crankiness, he knew Buffy was as well. The place was like a ghost town, with just about everyone out on the road.

He and Rupert had made a joint decision about his non-involvement in the Recruitment Teams. They both felt that his presence would set the baby Slayers off and confuse them at such an early stage in the conscription process, putting off more than they’d attract. And it was a shame really as he had a lot of valuable skills, not least his ability to converse fluently in most European languages.

Buffy was still feeling a bit peaky, and travel sickness on top of pregnancy nausea didn’t seem like such a good idea, so she’d been left out of the teams as well. But the Action Duo were getting a little restless.

To be fair Rupes probably needed them here anyway. They’d both attended a horde of meetings. Spike had been surprised, and secretly a little thrilled, when the Boss man had offered him a seat on the Board of Watchers. He already sat on the Executive Council, along with Buffy, Dawn, Willow, Xander, Althanea, Rowan, Faith, several of the Hellmouth Slayers and several of the Surviving Watchers. Giles was determined to ensure that the decision making group was as diverse as possible; as resident vampire, he had no problem being on the Exec.

But a group made solely of Watchers? Spike’s first instinct had been to turn the position down, Big Bad offended by the idea of sitting around all chummy with a bunch of Wankers. But then he’d realised how invaluable his knowledge and experience could be, a hundred years as the Slayer of Slayers and five as the thorn in Buffy’s side. He’d certainly bring a unique perspective to the Board.

What’s more, he could influence the future direction and responsibilities of the Watchers within the overall Amazon International organization. And that’s really what the current round of meetings were all about.

As a group, the Watchers were in a crisis situation. With thousands of Slayers to find, train and deploy, the Watcher role was critical. This came at a time when they had been decimated by the First, either tracked down and slaughtered by the Bringers or blown to smithereens in the Headquarters explosion. These actions had removed more than seventy percent of active Watchers.

There were still pockets of Watchers out there. Several dozen Council staff had survived the blast, among them Hurst, Edwards and old Davis. Most of these though were clerical or administrative workers rather than actual Watchers and had already been transferred to the new offices at Bromley.

Elsewhere, they were continuing to receive reports of Field Watchers who had survived the actions of the Bringers. Some of these, like Robson, had witnessed their potentials being butchered right in front of their eyes, before escaping to safety themselves. A few had managed to hear of the impending danger and go into hiding with their Slayers before the First’s minions had arrived, and by using cloaking spells and moving around a lot, had escaped the initial cull.

These men and women were coming out of the woodwork now. Some twenty odd Watchers, nine of them with their new Slayers in tow, had contacted Giles and were due to arrive next week. The girls, already trained and prepared for their roles in the scheme of things, would be invaluable. But the Watchers would be in even higher demand. Many of them, although they had trained and studied in England, were foreign nationals, repatriated to their own homelands when and if local girls were identified as potentials. This continued a tradition long established in the old Council, as the need for effective communication and rapport with the potentials became apparent.

The largest single group of surviving Watchers was stationed at Sackville College, The Watcher’s Academy in nearby East Grinstead. Twenty-four first, second and third year students and six staff members, including the principal Anthony Collins (younger and less deadly brother of wetworks commander Duncan Collins), had gone into immediate lock down when news of the explosion had made it to them. It had been a traumatic time; almost all of them had lost close friends or family members in the explosion. But they had come through it unscathed and many had really stepped up a level in the months since.

The eight third year students, Matthew Morris one of them, had since graduated and the new academic year was due to start. One of the Board’s jobs was to work with Collins to set out a new curriculum that would produce relevant, Twenty-first Century Watchers. The new Slayers would need men and women that were knowledgeable, adaptable, skilled, willing to follow as well as lead and not bound up in the old Council rhetoric.

Judging by the caliber of Matthew and a few of his mates, Spike didn’t think that Sackville needed to undergo too many changes. Traditionally the Academy provided a three-year Masters degree, its students having already completed undergraduate degrees within the conventional university system, many of them at either Oxford or Cambridge. Competition to enter the programme was fierce, and generally only the most accomplished students were accepted.

A new and greatly increased intake, many of them from outside of the traditional families that had served the Council for centuries, would soon be selected as inaugural students in the new wave. And the Board were considering running supplementary secondary school classes as well, an option for students who wished to accompany the new junior slayers as potential future Watchers. Challenging but exciting times.

But a greater part of the Board of Watcher’s current mission involved defining just what a Watcher’s responsibilities would now entail. The Slayer/Watcher balance had shifted drastically and the Field Watchers needed to develop more of a team mentality if they were going to be an effective part of their squads. Communication was going to become a vital new skill.

Finally, Amazon International needed to maintain a comprehensive team of Researchers. Cecil Davis was put in charge of this team. Their two main goals were to scan, archive and catalogue all of the research books and documents: historical, mystical, and prophetical; onto a central A.I. website for easy access from anywhere in the world; and to start searching for any links to the two current prophecies, either the Song of Sagaria or the Scourge of Amroz.

They had almost no information on the Scourge, no idea of timeframe, except possibly within the next few years if they broadly interpreted the context of the Prophecy. But where, what and who was totally unknown, so research was critical.

As for the Song, the stopwatch was ticking away on it. All they could really do was wait for his and Buffy’s child to be born and then carry out the Sagaria claiming ceremony, although the prophecy gave them no clues as to what that might involve.

Spike himself had contributed plenty to the discussions, but his main interest lay in building a detailed picture of an effective Watcher and getting the research around the Song in particular underway. He knew Slayers in general pretty well and Buffy even better. He’d seen what worked well in terms of Watcher support and what didn’t. Some actions, he offered, with all respect to Giles, were even highly destructive to their protégés.

The first thing that had to go was the Cruciamentum, and he’d got no argument on that. None of them could see any harm in testing the Slayers, either in theoretical or physical challenges, but to deliberately endanger them to the extent of extreme jeopardy was not only brutal and archaic, but in economic terms, it was also a potential loss of valuable company resources.

Spike wanted to see the Slayers and Watchers working together in a partnership, not a mentor/pupil relationship. What the Watchers often neglected to understand was that when a Slayer was activated, along with enhanced physical skills and abilities, she received an upgrade on her ability to plan and react intuitively and instinctively. Given good training, greater headway and more backing, Spike thought Slayers capable of making superior strategic decisions.

Finally, he wanted the Watchers to consider how they were going to handle the Slayer explosion in terms of public relations. Spike felt they needed to shift away from the old layer of secrecy they’d operated under and be proactive in terms of presenting their role and mission to the world. He suggested they might need to hire image consultants to present their organization in the best possible light. The others had scoffed at that, not even certain that they needed to uncloak let alone sell themselves.

Spike’s William persona had thrived on the intellectual stimulation of the Watcher’s Board, so the two meetings had been no great hardship. It was a novelty to be consulted and listened to with such respect, something he’d rarely experienced in either his living or undead existences. But his demon side was restless and antsy, suffering withdrawal symptoms from the lack of action since his amulet release.

He’d sparred with Faith a few times before she’d flown out the week before, but now there were precious few Slayers around except his own true love, and until they got the go ahead from the doc, he’d refused to spar with her.

He and Buffy were seated in the living area of their suite now, waiting on the Doc’s arrival. They hadn’t met her before, but she was some relation of Rowan’s and was seemingly in the know about the supernatural side of life, so that was a good start. Apparently she didn’t usually make house calls this early in a pregnancy but Rowan had also organized her an interview with Rupert, who was looking for a reliable and experienced doctor to join their staff. A horde of Slayers could keep a medic pretty busy.

Spike had gotten much better at doing the sitting around waiting thing, but after a whole week of little more than meeting attendance, he was feeling pretty twitchy. As he looked around their gorgeous room, he decided that maybe it would be better to take his mind off the boredom by thinking about something else.

His and Buffy’s first task, on arrival at Ashdown, had been to shift into their rooms in the Fairway Suites. The Suites had still been booked out when the Council had taken over Ashdown’s lease, and Rupert had honored the reservations. But once they were empty, these twelve rooms had became the long-term accommodation for any resident Sunnyhell survivors or key personnel, recreating a sense of home for those who had lost their’s.

They were gorgeous, luxurious and surprisingly private. Spike had, over his time traipsing round the world, found occasion to hole up in rooms of this caliber, but Buffy had never had an opportunity to live in the lap of luxury. And it was about time she got that chance – she deserved it.

Spike had gone all traditional and carried her over the threshold, figuring the suite would be the closest thing they would get to having their own place, for a while at least. She’d turned surprisingly docile and snuggled in contentedly, bright tears shimmering in her eyes as he’d stepped through the door and into the beautiful rooms that would quickly become their home.

She’d taken one look and wriggled her way down to the floor and kissed him quickly before dancing off to view all the pleasures that high quality interior decorating could produce. Spike had ambled off after her, taking his delight in the squeals of excitement and coos of joy that his girl had issued as she’d wandered through the modern, well equipped kitchenette, the lavishly appointed lounge, the sumptuous bathroom, complete with a massive multi jetted shower and sunken spa bath, and through into the opulent bedroom where he’d discovered his little minx spread out naked on the king size bed, ready to christen the suite in her own way.

Spike had quickly shed his own clothing and crawled onto the bed, both enthralled and aroused by the glistening goddess sprawled beneath him. He could sense and smell her desire, as he’d knelt over her on all fours, and had had to fight hard to keep his demon below the surface, the longing to possess and mark her clawing at his self-control.

Buffy had giggled and slid her lean legs up around his hips, dragging his pelvis down to hers. His aching, tumescent cock had pressed into the heat of her groin and they’d both groaned as he’d begun sliding back and forth along her wet slit, his head and shaft dragging across her throbbing clit. His hips continued to plunge backwards and forwards as he’d leant down to devour her mouth in a passionate kiss. Buffy had lifted her legs even higher and slipped her hands down to Spike’s butt, stroking and massaging his gluts, pushing and pulling in time with his thrusts.

Cradled by her fleshy lips, his hard prick had been slick with her hot nectar, and the feelings triggered by their grinding so intense that, as Buffy had reached her peak, he’d had to stop and take several long slow breaths to keep from shooting all over her belly. But as much as they’d both enjoyed the frottage, for their first time in their new home Spike had wanted to come inside her.

Having calmed down enough to avert a hasty finish, Spike had drawn himself back through the swollen folds of her quim, pressing down firmly enough to squeeze his knob against her still sensitive button. At the furthest point of his backstroke, he’d grabbed his shaft and, never losing contact with Buffy’s sodden flesh, slid down until he was aligned with her opening.

This time his forward stroke had led him directly into the tight, wet heat of her glorious cunny. Oh God, this bliss was his real home, buried here deep inside her body. He’d known he wouldn’t last long, and that last stroke down through her vulva, combined with the sudden thrust into her stimulated sheath, had also put Buffy right on the edge again. Plunging in and out of her slippery depths, Spike had leant forward again to whisper in her ear.

“That’s it baby, come for me. Let me feel you squeeze my cock. Show me how much you love me pet. Oh Buffy, oh sweetheart, I love you. I’m gonna come baby, you’re making me come. Come with me Buffy.”

He’d nuzzled into her neck instinctively, licking and sucking the silvery scars of his bite, and her response was fierce and instantaneous. She’d exploded, her powerful internal muscles spasming violently around him, pulling him over the edge into a convulsive explosion of light and colour. Deep within her body he had felt himself spending, his warm cum pulsing within her, flooding her core as she’d continued to milk him.

Finally they had collapsed, bodies replete with exhaustion and satisfaction. Spike had rolled onto his side, bringing Buffy with him. They’d wrapped themselves around one another and spent the next half hour sharing gentle kisses and sweet words of adoration, mutually pleased with their choice of house-warming celebration.

Spike jolted as he came back to himself, no longer bored but now with a different problem to, ah, solve. Casually, he straightened his shirt and buttoned the bottom half up, hoping the loose fabric would cover his aching erection. Damn, how’d he get himself into these situations. Now he was restless and extremely uncomfortable.

Buffy didn’t look much better, but undoubtedly for a different reason. She was nervously sitting on the edge of the couch, rubbing her hands up and down her thighs. Spike sighed and tried to rein his libido in. Time for best boyfriend mode he reckoned, as he slipped his arm around Buffy’s shoulders and pulled her against him. The contact immediately calmed both of them, and they were both much more relaxed by the time a knock sounded on the door five minutes later.

Spike got up to let their visitors in, checking his shirt again to make sure he was decent.

He opened the door to Rowan, his and Buffy’s own little personal crystal ball, her face lit up by an infectious grin.

Behind her stood a petite, fine-featured woman. Her dark hair was shot through with thick bands of intense violet and styled in a wispy, pixie-cut. Her wide set, warm brown eyes sparkled with curiosity and possibly a touch of mischief. She was dressed casually in faded jeans, black boots and a fitted black tee that bore the head shots of four guys beneath a stylized logo proclaiming the name ‘Skids’.

Spike’s eyebrows rose in surprise as he recognized the logo of the Scottish punk band and tried to reconcile the woman’s appearance with her occupation. He nodded at Rowan before he ushered her and the doc into the room and over to the lounge suite where Buffy was standing nervously.

Finally remembering his manners, Spike stepped forward and held out his hand.

“Morning Doc,” he said firmly, “I’m Spike, or William if you’d prefer, and this is Buffy. We’re pleased to meet you.”

The woman smiled back at them and returned Spike’s handshake before offering Buffy a similar greeting.

“I’m Dr Catriona McNair, but please just call me Cat.” The woman’s soft Scottish burr betrayed her nationality. “Please excuse our tardiness, but I’ve just met with your good leader and I guess we forgot the time. Our ‘discussions’ went on wee bit I guess you could say.” The doctor’s eyes twinkled with mirth and she had to cough into her hand to control an impending outbreak of giggles.

Buffy and Spike looked at each other in confusion, while Rowan rolled her eyes and frowned.

“Never mind me,” the doctor grinned, “a tale for another time I think.” She shook her head then threw her shoulders back before adopting a more subdued expression. “Ah now, to business, ya must think me slightly addled, but there’s just something about that man that…” Dr McNair trailed off and shook herself once more. “But really, I’m verra excited about supporting ya through this pregnancy Buffy and Spike. It’s an honour really. Come, let’s get comfortable and start.”

Everyone took a seat and the doctor popped her antique black leather bag on the ground.

“So how does this work Dr McNair?” Buffy asked, a touch of anxiety threading through her voice. “I just don’t know anything about pregnancy or what I’m supposed to do or expect to be feeling.” She smiled gratefully up at Spike as he wrapped an arm around her and dropped a kiss on her forehead.

“First of all, its Cat remember, I’m not much of one for standing on ceremony, so I’m more comfortable with first names.” She waited until Spike and Buffy had nodded their agreement before continuing on. “Now I know this pregnancy is pretty unique. Rowan told me a little about the special circumstances surrounding the conception of this wee one, and I know that may be some cause for anxiety. But most of what you’re feeling is what every young couple experience when faced with the amazing, thrilling, life-changing and terrifying reality of being responsible for nurturing a new life.”

Buffy and Spike looked at one another before letting out the breaths they were each holding, unnecessarily in Spike’s case, grinned nervously and nodded.

“Reckon you’ve got us pinned Doc, ah Cat, and that’s good enough for us, so point us in the right direction.”

“All right, good. And just so you know, I’m currently working in the Emergency Department at Princess Royal Hospital in Haywards Heath, but I’m a qualified Obstetrician and I spent five years in their obstetrics department and still have access to their facilities when I need them. Okay, now this is what is known as your booking appointment in the U.K. I’ve got a raft of forms for you to fill out so that we can work out things like your due date and family medical history.”

“S’gonna be interesting pet, what with me being born in the 19th Century. Don’t know how much of my family history’ll be relevant anyways, too much water under the bridge.”

“You’d be surprised Spike. If what my niece tells me is correct, and mystical forces managed to reanimate your own sperm, then we could very well be looking at William’s gene pool pure and simple, no matter how many years since he was born and died. After all, even undead, your body cells must still carry the blueprint of your DNA.”

“How do you figure that pet?” Despite himself, Spike was hooked. Balanced on the edge of the seat he was eagerly trying to follow Cat’s train of thought.

“Well, I’m no expert, but it seems that when a vampire is wounded, he or she is able to accurately reproduce the damaged cells in much the same way that a living human can, although much more efficiently from what I understand. The DNA of the host body lies dormant in each cell, ready to divide and proliferate, replacing damaged bone or tissue rapidly when needed. Although the cells aren’t alive in a biological sense, they’re inactive really rather than dead. Vampires after all look and move like the humans they once were, unlike zombies whose bodies really are dead.”

“Thank goodness for that,” Buffy shuddered as she screwed up her nose.

“So it seems to me Spike, that your body is doing everything that it did before you were turned, but in a stop-start fashion instead of continuously. Your cells are inactive until activated by injury, and your life force is mystical not biological – hence the lack of aging – if your cells aren’t living and aging then neither are you. So normally, when you release semen, it contains sperm but they are inactive or dormant just like your other cells. It took a mystical power source to activate them, but they should carry a perfect little blueprint of your DNA.”

“Yes, go me,” Buffy yelled, punching the air with her fist. “I might have flunked Biology my senior year but I still got the mystery of our miraculous conception right.” Spike sat next to her looking chuffed.

“Right, enough of the physiology lesson. Let’s get onto the good stuff.” Cat opened her bag up and pulled out several sheets of paper, which she passed to Spike, her stethoscope, which she hooked around her neck, and a Blackberry PDA. “Buffy, I’m going to take your blood pressure, then draw down some blood. There are a raft of tests to get done and believe it or not none of them relate to being a vampire.”

Cat moved over to sit next to Buffy so she could begin administering her tests while Spike drifted over to the table to begin filling in his sections of the paperwork. He was in a very contemplative mood, the doc’s musings setting him to wondering about the baby, meeting Buffy, vampirism and the meaning of his existence in general. Pretty heavy navel-gazing for a Wednesday afternoon.

Rowan had slipped through to the kitchen to pop on the kettle, and was now setting up a pot of tea and a plate of treats on the table for afternoon tea. She wandered through to chat to Cat as Buffy headed off to the bathroom with a small container in her hand.

The two McNairs had made their way through to Spike, Cat with her PDA and a small booklet in her hand. They sat down at the table and when she’d finished entering Buffy’s results, both in the booklet and on her Blackberry, Cat smiled at Spike.

“How’s the form filling going Sassenach?”

“Oi you cheeky wench, don’t forget that despite this youthful exterior I’m your elder and to be respected. Besides which, I’ve not been tame long enough to have forgotten the rich, smooth taste of a bonny Scots lassie’s blood. Goes down a treat on an chilly Glaswegian evening, if I recall.” He gave her his patented Spike smirk, eyebrow tilt, tongue roll and all.

Buffy caught the last part of Spike’s monologue as she came through the door. “Hey,” she growled, “watch it Big Bad, don’t go scaring our baby doctor off.”

Cat laughed, the warm sound filling the room. “Och, it’ll take more than his bree tung to scare this canny lass. Now, lets take a spot o’ tea while you fill out your life story for me.” She passed the forms Spike had finished with over to Buffy, who started scribbling away.

Once she’d finished, Cat passed Buffy a small bottle of pregnancy vitamins and a prescription for more once she’d finished them. She looked over Buffy’s dates and worked out her due date.

“Okay, by my estimate you’re 11 ½ weeks pregnant so provided this pregnancy runs the normal gestational length, you’ll be due around the 15th February.” She scribbled something into the little booklet. “So next week you’re due for your 12 week scan and all of your test results will be back by then too. We can do the scan at Princess Royal. Hayward Heath’s only about 14 kilometres down the road, so it’ll take nae tyme a’tall. We’ll make it in the forenicht, ah I mean evening, if you like, so it’s easier for Spike to get around.”

Spike looked at Buffy before clearing his throat. “Actually pet, looks like that niece of yours didn’t get to tell you the full tale of this here vamp. Seems I’m no longer afflicted with the sun allergy I once was, quite convenient actually.”

Cat’s eyes popped open in astonishment. “Really, its seems there’s more to this fairy tale than I could guess. Well that’s a story for another time. Alright, let’s make it ten o’clock on Wednesday morning then. Your pre-visit instructions are in this booklet Buffy, along with all of your baseline measurements. Bring it with you each time we meet.” She stood up and started moving towards the door.

“Ah, before you go Cat,” Buffy asked, a sheepish expression on her face, “How do you feel about pregnant women sparring against semi-vampiric men and young, untrained slayerettes?”

“Hmmm, I’d normally say no, but I guess you’re not my normal sort of patient. As long as you take it easy, no direct contact anywhere in the abdominal region and avoid lifting anything too ridiculously heavy,” she eyed Spike up at this point, “then I’d say go ahead, at least for the next two months. We’ll review things after that.”

With that Cat breezed out the door and the parents-to-be were left there, bemusedly contemplating the suddenly very real direction their lives heading in.

‘It is up to my spirit to find the truth. But how? Grave uncertainty, each time the spirit feels beyond its own comprehension; when it, the explorer, is altogether to obscure land that it must search and where all its baggage is of no use.’
Marcel Proust

Giles sighed as he pulled his car into the courtyard outside his suite. The elegant block of rooms, set slightly to the west of the main buildings, presently housed most of his nearest and dearest. Buffy and Spike, Dawn, Willow, Xander and when they were around, Andrew, Faith and Kennedy. As such, the inhabitants had formally replaced the official name ‘Fairway Suites’ with a more fitting sobriquet – ‘Sunnydale Lodge’ and informally with the more irritating label, ‘Scoobyville’.

It was late, he was tired and a little distracted, and he’d undoubtedly missed dinner, but the light spilling out of the Lodge filled his weary body with warmth, and satisfied a hunger that food could never fulfill. His weeks were crazy at the moment, the days so filled with demands on his time that he felt washed out and stretched thin.

But coming to this place made him feel, for the first time in his life, like a father arriving home at the end of a hard day’s work. It re-energised him and gave everything a sense of purpose. This was his home, and inside, those people were his family.

Each set of rooms was self-contained, with its own living area and kitchen facilities. But in the evening they tended to gather in the attached lounge room of the former Country Club, share a meal, talk about their day, watch TV – things that a regular family did.

Grabbing his briefcase off the passenger seat, Giles clambered out of the car. And a very nice car it was too, he mused, a sleek silver 2002 BMW 3 Series E46. A company perk, and a damn sight better than anything he’d ever driven before. Still, he needed it with the mileage he’d been putting in.

He’d just finished his working day with a one hour journey south down the A22 from Amazon’s Administration Centre in Bromley, grateful at least that it was Friday and tomorrow he could be based at Ashdown instead of heading to Bromley. The last few weeks he’d been able to cut those trips down to two a week, a vast improvement on the three or four he was doing over the first month since he’d taken control of the helm in May.

Just in time too! Things here at Ashdown were really winding up; in ten days time, with the arrival of the first wave of Slayer Trainees, all hell would break loose. Well, not literally hell, Giles mused. After all, what was that saying? Been there, done that!

He shook his head and grimaced slightly at the memory of the hormonal nightmare that had overrun the Summers’ household earlier in the year. But as he stepped through the door into the lounge, calls of welcome settled around his shoulders like a warm blanket. From Xander’s “Hey Dad’s home” and Spike’s “Rupert” to Willow’s “Hi Giles”, Rowan’s “Hey Uncle Giles” and Buffy and Dawn’s more demonstrative hugs, Dawn’s extra squeeze marking her return home from LA that morning. Yeah, it was worth it, and he’d do anything to keep his little family safe and happy.

Willow and Rowan bustled around, getting out cutlery and popping his dinner in the microwave while Spike poured him a scotch. Then they all joined him at the table, talking and squabbling and laughing as Giles ate. Finally, plate clean and glass empty, he opened up his briefcase and grabbed his laptop. He still couldn’t believe he’d succumbed to the pressure of using one, but he had to admit now that he could navigate his way around the more basic functions, it had come in very useful.

He began by checking his emails. Each of the Recruitment Teams had taken a laptop with them and were staying at hotels with internet access. Each evening they emailed in their progress reports. One week down and the results were astounding.

“What are we starting with first Giles?” Willow asked. These little informal Scooby meetings had started up the day after they’d shifted into the Lodge, and Willow had become their unofficial secretary.

“I thought we’d go over the Team reports for this week and see what sort of numbers we’ll be dealing with and discuss any sort of problems that might have cropped up.”

Willow nodded and opened up the folder in front of her. Finding the papers she needed, she began handing them out.

Everyone flicked through the reports, their favorable remarks reflecting the generally positive progress the teams were making. They had found and recruited 66 out of the 68 girls identified in this week’s target areas. One of the girls they’d missed had been only 13 and her parents felt she was too young too join the programme but had agreed to reconsider it the following year.

“I like this idea of Faith’s, taking the team out on a patrol each evening.” Buffy commented. “It’s good for morale and helps balance out the sitting and talking side of the day. And you get to check out the sights at the same time.”

“Yeah, what a great tourism venture that would be – ‘Great Cemeteries of the World – The Moonlight Tour’. Crowds will be flocking.” Xander said. “Still it’s a good idea. Maybe you could email the other teams and suggest they do the same.”

“A few problems though, I see.” Willow said.

“One girl we’ll need to keep our eye on is this Genevieve chick, sounds like she could be trouble,” Buffy noted.

“I’m sure she’ll be fine pet. Just needs a gentle hand and a bit of acceptance no doubt.”

“The only other significant issue seems to be with 25 year old Dana Strassberg.” Rupert paused, a worried look on his face as everyone turned back to Faith’s report. “Dawn, maybe you could fill us in on a little more detail seeing as you’ve just been out there.”

“Sure Giles. Dana’s life has been tragic. She was just a little girl, only ten, when she witnessed her family’s murders and then spent months being tortured and God knows what else by some psychopath. She was utterly traumatized by the events and has never recovered. She’s been a patient at Gateways Hospital and Mental Health Centre ever since.”

“God, how horrible,” Willow shuddered.

“And now she’s a Slayer?” Spike’s voice held a mix of sympathy and horror.

“Yeah, Ashton and I had identified her not long after we landed. She was the easiest to pick up on – a totally stationary signal day and night. Faith and Ashton made the preliminary visit, found that she was a long-term patient and spoke to her doctor. During the day she seemed placid enough, non communicative, but manageable. But Dana’s nights were often broken by terrible nightmares. The staff always assumed that the trauma of her past haunted her. But one of the nurses Faith spoke to showed them dozens of drawings she’d done, always in the days following her dreams. Pictures of monsters and demons and often a girl fighting them.”

“Oh my God,” Buffy gasped. “She was having slayer dreams.”

“Yeah,” Dawn continued, “it seems so. Then, the doctor reported, about two months ago she started becoming more agitated, more violent. Even though she’d been on a cocktail of sedatives since she first came to them, she’s become almost impossible to restrain. They’ve had to up her meds, but its not calming her. They’ve had to move her to the maximum security ward and they’re worried about what could go wrong.”

“We have to do something Giles,” Buffy exclaimed tearfully. “We can’t leave her in there like that. The thought of her in that place …” She shuddered and they all knew she was recalling her own experiences in psychiatric care.

“I agree Buffy,” Giles said, “but I just don’t see how we can help her. You heard what Dawn said; she’s suffering from some form of attenuated state of psychosis. We’re not trained for this kind of work.”

“I don’t know Giles,” Buffy said, a frown on her face. “What if we were able to get through to her, break through the fog? Maybe we could guide her back towards life.”

“I don’t know what you think we can do that fifteen years worth of psychiatric support hasn’t managed to achieve. But I suppose, as a Slayer, she is our responsibility now. One thing’s for certain, we can’t leave her where she is. They’re not equipped to deal with the inhuman strength this girl now possesses.” Giles paused, deep in thought. “It might be best to bring her back here, keep her sedated and find somewhere secure to confine her. Damn, I’m going to have to think again about employing that bloody wench of a doctor,” he muttered, half to himself.

“Maybe we can do more than that,” Willow offered. “Do you remember when Buffy was in that catatonic state after Glory had snatched Dawn? Remember how I was able to enter her sub conscience psychically, and ass kick her mopey self?”

“Hey,” Buffy pouted, “I was feeling overwhelmed and guilty and depressed and … right, mopey. But I had cause.”

“Yes you did Buffy.” Giles agreed. “And so does Dana. But I don’t think it follows that you’ll automatically be able to work your caring, compassionate, ah …ass-kicking skills on such a severely damaged stranger Willow. It could even be dangerous.”

“Oh, I don’t think so, well not dangerous in a physical sense anyway. My body wouldn’t actually be there.” Willow paused. “But in a psychological sense, yeah it could be pretty traumatizing. It’s possible I’d end up witnessing all the horrors that Dana experienced as a child. I can imagine that that could be a hundred times worse than anything Wes Craven could come up with. But throughout the whole process I’d still be conscious and aware, able to talk to and comfort Dana, explain to her that the bad things are over now and that she’s safe.”

“Well, maybe its worth looking at,” Giles conceded. “Let me think about it.”

“Actually Uncle Rupert,” Rowan’s quiet voice piped up from where she sat on the couch next to Xander. If Willow doesn’t mind, I’d like to try this with her.”

“No, Rowan,” Xander interjected, “Why? It’s too dangerous.”

“Xander, you’ve just sat here, along with everyone else, and listened to Willow explain that the dangers are only psychological, emotional. I know I’m a little younger than most of you, but I’m not a child. In fact, I was only a very young child myself when I began dream-witnessing the gruesome sights and sounds of the Hellmouth Battle, and I handled that.” Rowan paused and took Xander’s hand. “Besides which, I think this is something I’m supposed to do. We all contribute those talents we have. Well this is my talent.”

Xander starred at her for a time, then drew her forward and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. He smiled and turned to Willow. “So what do you say Mr Spock? Are you ready to pass on the closely guarded secrets of the Vulcan mind-meld?”

“Yep,” Willow grinned back. “Beam us up Scotty.”

They’d packed it in after that. It was late, everyone was tired and tomorrow was another day. Giles had poured himself another small scotch and wandered across the courtyard to his suite. He wasn’t quite ready to turn in yet. The discussion about Dana’s possible removal to Ashdown had re-emphasized AI’s need for a qualified medic. Treating the sorts of injuries that Slayers received required a highly specialized and trustworthy individual.

The Watcher’s Council had always trained and employed their own medical personnel, but the current staff had all been killed in the explosion. Giles was looking for someone who was not only an experienced and well-qualified emergency physician, but also familiar with the supernatural world, and prepared to consider mystical or mixed medical/mystical treatment options where necessary. And now, with Buffy’s pregnancy, he was seeking someone with obstetric experience as well.

It was a pretty tall ask. The position had only been advertised by word of mouth and so far they’d had only two applicants. Dr. John Galloway would have been fine, but he was pushing 65 and Giles was pretty certain he wouldn’t be able to keep up with the on the job demands. So that just left that annoying Scots chit, Catriona McNair.

Of course she was eminently qualified for the role. She was not only a highly regarded practitioner, currently in charge of the Emergency Department at Princess Royal Hospital, but she also came from a long-standing Council family. Both her brother and father had been watchers, while her mother and paternal and maternal grandfathers had been doctors. In fact old Dr. McNair had been the Council medic for 30 years up until his death.

And to top it off, she’d done her residency in obstetrics. The bloody job was written for her.

Both Gareth Robson and Buffy had added their stamps of approval; he was the only hold out. The woman just plain irritated him.

Theoretically, it should have helped that she was not only the aunty of his goddaughter but also the little sister of his long deceased best friend. But in practice, the history they shared was more of a negative.

The first time Giles had met her had been at Mac and Celeste’s wedding. He was Mac’s best man and 13 year old Catriona, ten years younger than her handsome big brother, was the bridesmaid.

A skinny, awkward, brunette, teeth done up in a full set of braces, Catriona wasn’t the most eye-catching 13 year old. Not that he’d found her loathsome or anything. Just that he hadn’t really noticed her at all. But she’d noticed him all right.

It quickly became obvious, as the reception wound up into full swing, that little Catriona had a crush on him. If he’d been a little wiser to the ways of the world, or even just a little bit less of a self centered prat, he would have been flattered by the young girl’s attentions and treated her with gentle affection or even a little mild flirtation. It would undoubtedly have boasted her teenage self-esteem no end.

But instead, confusion, anxiety and his own hormones guided his actions. A rather fetching lass, well into her twenties judging by the size of her endowments, caught his eye. He’d spent most of the evening trolling after her, and had finally ended up achieving some moderate success, snogging her under the stairs.

Catriona, on her way to the toilet, had caught them out when, leaning on the cupboard door too enthusiastically, they had tumbled out of their hidey-hole and landed on the ground at the young girl’s feet.

Giles’ shirt had been untucked (thank goodness, as it hid the fact that his zipper was also down), there was lipstick smeared across his face, and worst of all, the lass’ lacy knickers were adorning his head. Catriona had gasped and she and Giles had locked eyes before she turned bright red, burst into tears and fled the scene.

Well that had pretty much put paid to any further action for Giles that night. Not only had the bombshell’s hitherto unmentioned fiancé (a cousin of Celeste’s) threatened to knock his block off before dragging his unrepentant girlfriend out the door, but Giles had also ended up feeling slightly guilty for his rather cavalier treatment of Mac’s little sister.

It had weighed on his mind quite a bit over the years and he’d decided to apologize to her the next time he saw her. But for one reason or another the right occasion had never cropped up.

They’d come close to crossing paths at Rowan’s blessing and naming ceremony. Both Giles and Catriona were asked to stand as the baby’s Guardian’s and had both eagerly accepted the honor. But at the last minute Catriona had come down with a bad case of glandular fever and had to make her oath at a later date.

So it was that the only other time Giles had ever seen Catriona was at Mac and Celeste’s funerals. It had been seven years after their first meeting and he hadn’t recognized her at first. When Althanea pointed her out to him, he’d been astonished at the beauty she’d blossomed into. In fact he’d probably gone on to act a little bit inappropriately given the tragic occasion, frequently staring at her across the aisle of the church, and later as she wept by her brother’s graveside.

The only time he’d managed to catch her eye, she’d looked right through him. He’d had no idea if that look represented a lack of recognition or an aloof disdain, but her subsequent early departure meant he never did get to find out. He also never got to apologize for his boorish and inconsiderate behavior of so many years previous.

So, it was fair to say there was some baggage between them. Of course Giles had recognized the name on her C.V. as soon as it landed on his desk. He’d followed her career over the years, well just in a general sense of course, casually asking Althanea from time to time what Catriona was up to. And he guessed she must have known that he was the one holding the reins now at the newly reconfigured Council. So theoretically there shouldn’t have been any surprises for either of them when she’d turned up to the interview yesterday.

But that’s certainly not how it played out. When she walked into his office, he could hardly breathe, such a mixture of surprise, confusion, disapproval, irritation and violent, passionate attraction hit him at once that he was at a total loss at what to do with himself.

It had started the minute she’d walked through the door. She was dressed down in holey jeans and an old band t-shirt, her gamine haircut was streaked with shocking purple, her elfin features adorned with little more than a slash of magenta lip gloss and a smudge of black eyeliner. Giles was taken aback by her; this punk princess, so different from the sweet, little girl he remembered. He was unsure what message she was trying to give him.

Confused and a little annoyed at what he saw as inappropriate attire for a professional job interview, he was even more unsettled by the lightning-strike frisson of awareness that sizzled his senses when she reached out and firmly grasped his welcoming hand in hers.

It had temporarily shorted out his circuits and he’d had to resort to autopilot for the next few minutes. Long enough for him to realize he’d missed something vital in her opening remarks. His confusion was obvious, as too was the realization that she was making fun of him in some way. Giles did what he so often did in moments of pressure, resorted to his pompous, arrogant persona.

That had set her off even more, her giggling, quick-witted disrespect more than a match for his snappy, supercilious disregard. If truth be told, she’d made him feel like a gauche schoolboy. Oh how the tables had been turned since that long ago wedding.

Sitting here now, he couldn’t remember a word of their conversation, just the emotions that the encounter had invoked. The fury he’d felt when he slammed the door behind her retreating figure, the shame that had washed over him not five minutes later, the embarrassment at how foolish he must have seemed. And roaring through the whole lot, a deep hungering lust, so intense and overwhelming that he’d had to pull his achingly hard dick out right there in his office. Three swift strokes later and he’d spilled into his handkerchief like a teenager.

By evening he’d been hard again and had had to seek release twice before he could relax enough to sleep. His dreams last night had been full of her and now, his cock was throbbing once again, her power over him so intense.

Giles sighed and tipped back his glass, swallowing the last mouthful of scotch. God, there was no way he could work with the woman, he’d have no control over his mind, his emotions or his bloody libido whenever they were in the same room. Yet she was the best person for the job. And she was going to be around any way; she was Rowan’s auntie and Buffy’s obstetrician.

Maybe if he appointed her, he could try to be elsewhere during her working hours, make sure they set the clinic up at the other end of the building from his offices. Or maybe if he tried to meet up with her, apologize and try and sort out some of their issues from the past.

Either way, now that they Dana to deal with, they’d need a doctor pretty quickly. He resolved to call Catriona tomorrow. Or maybe Monday. Yes, Monday would be better.

Shaking his head in embarrassment and disbelief, he flicked off the lights in the lounge and wandered through to his bedroom, the rampant dick in his trousers signaling that he still had a task to perform before he’d be able to settle to sleep that night.

‘'Of what significance the light of day, if it is not the reflection of an inward dawn?—to what purpose is the veil of night withdrawn, if the morning reveals nothing to the soul? It is merely garish and glaring.’
Henry David Thoreau

Xander rolled over and swiped his left hand in the general direction of the alarm, the shrill noise having jarred him from a deep sleep. He lay there for a while, drifting in and out of a doze. Finally, blearily, he opened one eye, seeking out the green glow of the clock’s LED numbers. The room was still blanketed in the thick, inky darkness of predawn. He frowned; it was Saturday morning, he thought, and his sleep-muddled brain struggled to reconcile his regular weekend wake up time with the obvious lack of light.



Confused, he searched again for the clock’s glow. To no avail, the darkness around him remained complete. For a split second Xander panicked, fear driving a stake into his guttering heart, his brain screaming a terrified chant, “I’m blind, blind, blind!”



He pushed up off the bed with his arms till he came to a halt, kneeling in a tangle of bedclothes. The sunlight creeping in around the curtains and the mocking light emitted by the clock, quickly extinguished his anxiety.



Damn, second day running he’d woken up with his good eye snuggled face down in the pillow, the empty socket of his left eye assigned the hopeless task of greeting the day. Sighing, he rolled back over, fitting big spoon like against the curve of Rowan’s back. He nuzzled into her hair, his good eye now clear of its blindfold and free to travel around the room.



Whew, not blind. Or at least only half blind, he thought.



It was quite light in the room; the sun had obviously been up for a while. He’d set the alarm for 7.30, so it was probably not much past that. In his blind panic, he’d forgotten to check the time. He wondered how long it would take before his brain caught up with the reality of his loss. It had been months now since Caleb had carried out his handiwork, but in his dreams, he could still see out of both eyes. And each morning when he awoke, it still took a moment or two before he remembered why he could only see half the room.



He sighed and snuggled up against the tiny girl who slept so peacefully in his bed. She was the best thing that had happened to him in a long time. After the Hellmouth, after Anya, he hadn’t expected to find love again, so quickly, or so well. But here she was.



She was stunning, pretty rather than beautiful, but with the likelihood of heading that way as she got older. And she was sweet and kind and caring and patient. She reminded him of Tara in some ways. More confident, but just as sweet.



He’d plucked up the courage to mention it to Willow last week. She’d stared off into the distance for a while, then smiled at him and said, “That’s because she has the same sort of energy as Tara, and I think she practices magic in the same way. She’s very connected to the Earth, just like Tara. She’s a lovely girl Xander. I think she could make you very happy.”



Mind you, Xander wouldn’t have gone after her. It was too soon for one thing, and he was still filled with grief and guilt and anger and doubt, and badly in need of some space to heal.



And Rowan seemed totally out of his league for another, although that was something he was trying to sort out in his head these days, both his poor self esteem and this unreasonable need he seemed to have to categorize people as either too good or not good enough to be with someone else. In fact, he was beginning to question his ability to read people or situations at all. So much for being the one who ‘sees and knows’. Becoming one-eyed was ironic given that he often only saw one side of an issue anyway. So yeah, he was working on that.



Finally, Xander thought Rowan was a bit young. Well not too young, obviously. She was almost nineteen. But maybe she just seemed young because sometimes he felt so very, very old.



Anyway, they’d all seemed valid reasons at the time not to go after the girl. But he hadn’t needed to. She’d reached out to him, her insight and healing nature telling her that here was someone that needed tending to. And she’d given him that; care, compassion, empathy, understanding, peace and tranquility. She’d given him a safe place to just be, a place to heal.



Not that she let him mope or moan or fester in his anger or bitterness. She made him consider life’s positives, challenged his judgments and misconceptions, and tempered his thoughtlessness. But she did all of this from a position of unconditional acceptance and concern. It felt a bit like being wrapped up in a warm, loving blanket of cotton wool.



She also got him to examine his upbringing and the way it had impacted on who he was today. It wasn’t a pretty picture. He’d hated the vision that the demon at his and Ahn’s disastrous non-wedding had shown him, the dark glimpse of future Xander, a replica of his drunken, belligerent father, and Ahn speaking his Mom’s words. But he really hadn’t considered until Rowan pointed it out to him, that it might be possible to change so that he didn’t become that person.



If he had realized that on the day of the wedding… well who knows? But instead he’d been weighed down by the inevitability of it all, convinced that he was saving Anya, and himself, from a future of grief and distress.



But now Rowan had made him consider the fact you could be a good person, but get bogged down with judgmental thoughts and actions. She was trying to get him to see issues from at least two angles, and think before he opened his big mouth. So yeah, a work in progress, but still.



Xander’s relationship with Rowan had been one of friendship to begin with, nurturing and healing. It had only become romantic three weeks after they’d got back from LA, and they’d not slept with one another until two nights ago, the slow transition from friends to lovers a startling contrast to how his relationship with Anya had begun. This felt better, the foundation solid and carefully built on. And the sex was no less exciting. Less kinky perhaps, but breathtaking nonetheless. More connected, more satisfying, he realized.



So now they were a couple, effectively working together and living together. During the day, Rowan helped him with the plans and preparations needed to get the new Slayers housed and settled in.



There was an enormous amount of work to do before the girls arrived, the first in a week’s time. If the Recruitment Teams were as successful over the next few weeks as they had been last week, then they were looking at around seventy girls per week for the next three weeks, with possibly the same number again during the first two weeks of September.



Xander and Rowan had reorganized the suites in both the East and West wings of the main building. They’d pulled the queen-size beds and lounge furniture out of all the rooms and replaced them with four or five singles. Any conference rooms situated amongst the bedrooms had been turned into large dormitories. They’d turned every fourth suite into communal living areas and also provided spaces in the dormitories for relaxing and for studying. All up, they would be able to accommodate up to 500 girls in the main house.



Xander had also been put in charge of staff recruitment. A skeleton staff had been kept on following the Hotel purchase. They’d had to let the restaurant’s Cordon Bleu trained head chef go, but they had retained two of the kitchen staff, a local couple, Dave and Annette, who had been working the hotel kitchens for the past ten years. They had handled all of the meals over the past two months, but with the expected increase in numbers, they were going to need more help.



Likewise with the cleaning and ground staff. They’d only held on to two women out of a crew of ten housemaids and only one of the gardeners. Xander had helped interview the Hotel staff and they’d had to question each worker carefully to determine whether or not they could be discreet about the goings on of Ashdown’s new residents. The staff they’d retained had all proven their worth, and were about to be offered management positions, modest salary increases and the opportunity to help Xander select their new team members.



The first interviews were set for this morning, which meant Xander had to get up and get ready. But Rowan was stirring, sleepily pushing her buttocks back against his morning erection, and he thought maybe he could afford another 20 minutes. He pulled her closer; thankful for this window of time they could share together. She’d slipped into his life so easily, that he wasn’t looking forward to the end of summer and the resumption of her classes.



This would be Rowan’s second year at med school. She was studying at Brighton and Sussex and was one of their inaugural students, the School being only in its second year. The campus was based at Falmer, just out of Brighton, only a 40-minute trip south of Ashdown. During the school year, which was only a month away, she lived on campus. She’d promised to come up on the weekends, but in the mean time he’d decided to make the most of their together time.



He felt her wriggling gain momentum and she turned towards him. Xander took her in his arms and kissed her awake. What a great way to start the day!



~~~


Willow woke up feeling hot and bothered. She’d been dreaming, the naughty sort of dreaming. Hence the hot. And quite apart from the fact that she was alone in her bed, with no-one to help her sort out her horniness, of greater concern was the fact that her dream hadn’t even been about Kennedy.



Her girlfriend was presently traipsing around Barcelona, she, Rona, Caridad and Robin spending the day catching the sights and chilling out before flying to Zurich in the morning. They’d had a great week, finding and signing up all sixteen girls that had been identified on the Iberian Peninsula. Both Caridad and Kennedy herself spoke fluent Spanish, undoubtedly a huge advantage on the Recruitment drive. Switzerland and Italy would be more challenging with only Kennedy’s 8th Grade German and an Italian phrase book to help out.



Willow and Kennedy had kept in regular touch since the teams had flown out a week earlier, either emailing or ringing one another each day. Kennedy kept the witch up to date with their successes and stories of the girls they’d met. Willow was envious in a way. It wasn’t exactly a holiday, but many of the girls they were looking for lived in the most beautiful and renowned cities in the world, so the recruiters couldn’t help but see some of the sights.



Still, Willow reasoned, her role here right now was vital, and undoubtedly she’d get a chance to do some sight seeing/slayer tracking later on. But for now, she was in charge of setting up the curriculum for the Slayer Academy that was to be run out of the converted chapel. The previous owners had sectioned the building’s vaulted space up into six different rooms, the largest of which was big enough for a lecture hall, while the others were all classroom sized.



Classes would start in six weeks and in that time she had to register with the Department of Education, organize an Ofsted inspection of the grounds, and crucially, apply to the Government for recognition of their status as an Academy. If successful, they could attract public funding, which would cover not only teacher’s salaries, but also equipment and resources.



The Board wanted the girls to complete their schooling with recognized credentials so that they could go onto tertiary training if they wished. So covering all the bases was essential. She needed to finalize core curriculum subjects, and employ teachers who were not only well qualified and available on short notice, but sympathetic to the ‘special character’ of their learning institution.



She, Giles and Anthony Collins, the principal of the Watcher’s Academy, Sackville College, had their first big meeting on Monday. Two bigwigs from the Department were coming to do a walk through and discuss their progress. She was nervous. A lot depended on the outcome.



There was a lot to do and a lot to focus on. Which was good really, as it kept her mind off the Kennedy situation.



Their relationship was definitely on the chilly side these days; it had been ever since they got back from LA. Kennedy had not been impressed with the re-introduction of Oz into Willow’s life. It seemed to play up all of her insecurities and she’d become jealous and resentful. For some reason, instead of rushing to assure her, Willow had instead become aloof, the irritation she felt at Kennedy’s petty behavior, somehow fuelling a hidden well of resentment and boredom.



Because, if the truth be known, she had been questioning her relationship with the young slayer even before they’d flown out to LA. Sure she was exciting and sexy and her confident, determined pursuit had been flattering and a much needed balm for Willow’s broken heart. But even back in Sunnydale, her confidence had often come across as arrogance and her determination as brashness.



Also, Willow knew that Kennedy was at best, only tolerated by the Gang, and at worst, openly disliked. It had made her uncomfortable and caused her to question the viability of a long-term relationship. And it was a direct contrast to the way that her friends had accepted her partners in the past, both Tara and Oz quickly becoming integral members of the team.



And finally, she came back to the very thing that had bothered her most about her erotic dream. Not only was it not about Kennedy, but the reason she was really so breathless was because the dream had been about Oz! Oh Goddess!



Well, there was no time to lie here and reflect on the hotness that was Oz-sex. Or the wrongness of it, she quickly amended. No, she had to get up and get going. There was just enough time for a cold shower. Willow sighed and crawled out of bed, heading for the bathroom.



~~~


Dawn looked in the mirror as she finished brushing her hair. She paused, frowning, as she peered carefully at her face. No matter how closely she looked, she could never spot the green glow of her energy matrix or any evidence of her wacky powers and abilities. She just looked the way she felt, like a normal seventeen year old girl. Well normalish anyway.



But the stuff she’d found out about herself over the last month was hardly normal. Although, it was pretty cool. And a little scary. To be full of an enormous well of energy, to be able to sense the energy signatures of others, to be able to open doors through space; all of these things were awesome.



It did leave Dawn feeling a bit strange and weird and otherworldly though. Like an alien. Or a mutant. This would have been hard for most teenagers to handle. But the fact that she lived amongst witches and vampires and super-powered slayer chicks made her weirdness just a little bit less abnormal. In fact the totally normal ones, like Xander, were the odd-ones-out at Ashdown.



It also didn’t hurt that at the moment, she was a very important part of the team. Sure Althanea could identify Slayers, and for that matter Willow and Rowan probably could too. But nobody could do so as quickly and easily as Dawn could. She could even use a portal to take her to the other side of the world, seek out all of the Slayer signals within a thousand mile radius, use the laptop ID programme, print out a list of up to two hundred slayers and be home by dinner.



It felt amazing to be so crucial to the recruitment programme, a fully-fledged Scooby at last. The others treated her with respect and gave her responsibilities they thought she could handle. Opportunities like travelling to LA to scan the West Coast, and the chance to be on the team that was going to break the crazy slayer girl Dana out of a psych hospital.



So, they pretty much treated her like an adult. Even Buffy! Which was cool, but underneath all these skills and responsibilities, she was still just a seventeen year old kid, and she also wanted to live life like any teenager. Part of that involved going back to school.



She could have enrolled in the Slayer’s Academy that Willow was setting up at Ashdown. If week one’s recruitment drive was any indication then most of the girls would be 15, 16 or 17, so she would have slotted in fine. But Dawn had set herself a firm goal, a normal, real world goal, not just a ‘lets do my part to help save the world from the next apocalypse’ goal.



She wanted to go to Oxford University. She wanted to do a B.A. with a double major in Classics and History (Ancient and Modern). She knew that her grades would have to be outstanding in order to qualify, and she wanted a really good grounding in languages during her final year at school. And she thought she’d found a school that could give her that.



Imberhorne School was on the north western outskirts of East Grinstead, only a fifteen minute drive from Ashdown, and had an excellent languages department. She’d already downloaded an enrolment pack.



The idea of starting school made her nervous though. She wasn’t worried about whether she’d be able to cope with the British curriculum, or what she’d look like in a uniform, or even if the other kids would make fun of her accent, but simply, whether she’d be able to fit in with normal kids. She worried that her ‘special’ skills would make her stand out in some way. Would her ‘uniqueness’ just come across as ‘difference’? She could ask Buffy or Willow or even Xander, if she seemed ‘normal’ to them, but they were either so weird themselves or had hung out with weirdos for so long that their opinions didn’t really count for much.



In the meantime, there was a month of summer left, and she had a huge amount of work to do scanning the rest of the world for slayers. She couldn’t cover the whole globe in the next four weeks, but she was going to try and scan the rest of the U.S., Canada and South America, and if she could manage it Russia. Willow and Althanea would have to deal with Asia, Africa and the Middle East.



But she also wanted to spend some of her time researching her Key abilities. She had so many questions. Would her Key energy replenish itself or eventually run out? Could she open portals through time and between dimensions? Could her blood be collected, stored and used by others to open portals? And most importantly, was she, deep down inside, a normal human? Could she still live a normal life?



With a wry grin on her face, she gave her hair a final flick of the brush and set off to meet the rest of her friends for breakfast.

‘Down
The long shadows where undriven the dawn
Hunts light into nobility, arouse us noble.’
Philip Larkin

Buffy wriggled, the padded chair a poor answer to her restlessness and very full bladder. All of her years of slaying, all of the injuries she’d sustained, and she could barely remember an occasion when she’d been in greater discomfort. She was sitting in the waiting room of the X-ray Department of Princess Royal Hospital in Haywards Heath. Spike was perched awkwardly beside her.

“You alright pet?” Spike reached out to grab her hand, but was warned off by the look of ill concealed irritation in her narrowed eyes. He grinned nervously at her.

“What are you smirking at?” she snapped, “And don’t ‘pet’ me. Of course I’m not alright! Why don’t you try consuming gallons and gallons of liquid and see how you’d feel. Oh, that’s right, Mr ‘I don’t need to pee ‘cos I’m a vampire’. I suppose you think it’s funny?”

“No Buffy,” Spike said slowly and carefully, “I don’t think its funny. And it’s only a pint Doc asked you to drink. Not long now pet and you can pee to your heart’s content.”

“Humph, well maybe I had a bit more than a pint, but just cos I wanted the pictures to be good,” she grumbled.

“Good morning to you both.” The voice startled them out of their little ‘discussion’ and they both looked up and into Cat’s smiling face.

“So, I see we have a pair of nervous wee campers this morning. And you look like your bladder’s fit to burst Buffy. Well come on through and we’ll get this scan done so you can make yourself a bit more comfortable.” She turned and headed towards a room across the hall, Spike and Buffy following as quickly as the Slayer’s bladder would allow.

Once in the room, Cat introduced them to a bubbly blonde woman. “Right guys, this is Alison. She’s the senior sonographer. She’ll sort you out.”

“Hi, Buffy and Spike, right? Okay, Buffy hop up on the bed here. Spike you sit next to the bed so you can see the screen.”

Buffy gingerly hoisted her self up onto the bed and carefully eased herself back onto the pillow. Alison worked quickly, lifting Buffy’s dress up and laying a spilt cloth over her, positioned so her still flat tummy lay exposed in the gap.

“Right, I’m just going to pop this gel on your tummy. It just helps conduct the sound waves and give us a better picture, but it’ll be a little cold.” Alison warned.

“Okay, now lets see what we’ve got.” Spike held Buffy’s hand as they both looked at the monitor. At first the picture, white shadows on a black background, didn’t look like anything recognizable, but as the technician moved the transducer around they began to see movement and a vague, fuzzy outline of a jelly bean.

“Ah, here we are, look here’s the head and the chest, with the little heart beating away. And if we move down here you can see the legs kicking about. Alright, I’ll just take some measurements.”

The room was quiet as Alison clicked on one spot then another. Lines appeared in between the two, then she clicked and started measuring elsewhere. Spike squeezed Buffy’s hand tightly, and she glanced at him, moved to see tears tracking down his cheeks. She tugged his hand closer and pressed a kiss into his palm. He gave her a wobbly smile and a soggy hug before turning back to the screen.

“Okay guys, everything seems just fine. Right Buffy, let me clean your tummy, then you can pop next door to the toilet. While your doing that, I’ll print out a few stills for your collection. There’s a DVD here of the whole production as well.”

Buffy saw to herself then met Spike back in the corridor. He held a large envelope in his hands and still looked rather shell shocked. Once he noticed her, he pulled her into a fierce embrace, burying his face in her hair. She was a little worried he was going to start up with the waterworks again, but he stepped back and stared intently at her.

“You have given me a gift greater than anything mere coin could purchase, more precious than the rarest of jewels. You have given me the gift of true immortality, wrapped up in our wee one’s heart beat. I love you Buffy, so very much.”

She solemnly returned his gaze and said, “I love you too William. I love you for helping create this precious life.” She took his hand and placed it on her belly.

He laughed self-consciously. “Yeah, well I am a sodding git, carrying on like that. No wonder you mixed me up with William.”

“You’re Spike and William both and I wouldn’t want it any other way,” Buffy said as she reached up to press her lips against hers.

“Right, if you two have finished with the deep and meaningfuls, then I’ll take my leave of you,” Cat’s voice broke into their quiet contemplation. “I seem to be making a habit of interrupting your private moments.”

Buffy blushed, and Spike rubbed the back of his neck.

“Ah, do we need to make another appointment?” Buffy asked.

Cat laughed, a light, tinkling sound. “Oh, I don’t think we’ll need bother about that. Rupert rang me on Monday, and between all the bristling and blustering, I understand that my services are required tomorrow, overseeing the transport and arrival of a special patient. And after that, well, as indisposed as he is towards the idea, it’s likely I’ll be working there at least part time.”

Buffy nodded, not at all privy to the cause of the prickly undercurrents, but aware that Cat was the frontrunner for the medic’s job, and equally aware of Giles’ unreasonable but nevertheless violent objections to her appointment. She smiled politely, saying “Well we’ll see you tomorrow then,” before following Spike out to the car park.

The trip home was a quiet but happy one. Buffy looked over the scans of their little one while Spike drove. Just before they turned into their road, Spike flicked on the indicator, pulled into the Garden Centre at Wych Cross and parked outside the tearooms. Buffy turned and looked at him in confusion.

“Just wanted to extend the ‘me and you time’ a bit before we head back to the bloody bedlam. God knows what next week’ll be like, all those little bints shattering our peace and quiet. Thought we could have a bite of lunch, luv. What do you reckon?”

Buffy grinned and shook her head at him as they walked across to the tearooms and grabbed a table. “I thought you were bored with the peace and quiet Big Bad? Don’t tell me this Daddy bit’s turning you into Giles.”

“Oi, bite your tongue missy. I can handle the excitement. Just we won’t be getting much alone time from now on.”

Buffy nodded and waited for the waitress to set down the pot of tea and plate of sandwiches on the table. “Yeah, you’re right. It’s awesome that Svetlana and Aiko and Mai and Nisha and all of the other little lost sheep turned up safe and sound, dragging their Watchers behind them, but it sure has upped the busyness scale around the place.”

In fact, the arrival over the last three days, of nine Slayer/Watcher pairs from spots all over the world, including Tokyo, Rome and deepest, darkest Siberia had been a cause for celebration. The nine girls had been identified by the old Council in their early teens, and assigned Watchers. Most had continued to live with their families, explaining away the new adults in their lives as sports coaches or academic tutors provided free of charge by the schools they attended. As a bonus, two previously unidentified girls, rescued from the shadow of the Bringers’ carnage, had accompanied the Slayer/Watcher pairing from New Dehli.

In all cases, the Watchers were fluent in both English and the mother tongue of their charges. So too were the dozen other Watchers that had arrived from the far flung corners, less in triumph than in trauma having, like Ekrem from Istanbul or Lena from Dusseldorf, been witness to the slaying of their potentials. Yet all thirty, Slayers and Watchers alike, had continued to be active in the field, keeping their local areas free from vampires and demons.

These twenty-one field Watchers had kept in contact with the old Council, communications only disrupted for a few days after Headquarters had been razed. Once the survivors had re-established contact, the international contingent had followed the developments from afar, kept up to date via the Council network. All had responded immediately to the call home. And so they had turned up, the flotsam and jetsam of the First’s handiwork, washed up upon Ashdown’s shores.

Still, the Slayers themselves were well-trained, active warriors. All had used their potential abilities well, honing their skills and knowledge over time, using them to patrol alongside their Watchers.

These men and women were also a fit and active bunch, mostly in their twenties or thirties, often not long out of Sackville. Along with their skills and experience they brought a much-needed commodity, their linguistic expertise. The ability to communicate with different cultures was critical at the present time.

As such, both slayers and Watchers would provide a valuable boost to the Recruitment teams. In fact Nisha, the little Italian Slayer, had flown out this morning to meet Kennedy’s team in Milan, and would travel with them for the rest of the week.

This afternoon they were holding an official welcoming ceremony for the group, followed by a detailed description of the prophecy, the events to date and their plans for the future. As members of the Board and only resident Slayer and Vampire, Buffy and Spike were expected to be there, although what they’d make of Spike was anyone’s guess.

Buffy popped the last mouthful of light, fluffy, cream and jam-topped scone into her mouth and washed it down with a final gulp of tea.

“Ready luv? Home to the chaos?”

The Slayer sighed and nodded, it had been a lovely morning, a real escape from the pressures and kookiness of life at Ashdown, a chance, for a short time, to just be a normal couple in love, giddy with the excitement and happiness that comes from having their first child.

Together, hand and hand, they headed out to the car. Time to head back to Ashdown, ready to face whatever mayhem it threw their way.

~~~

The afternoon sun slanted through the high windows. Dawn gently fingered the knife in her pocket, waiting nervously for everyone else to get ready. She was careful not to show her nerves, aware that Giles already had his doubts about the whole operation and that Buffy was doing her usual overprotective big sis thing, so it would take only the slightest hesitation on her part for either of them to call the trip off.

Dr. McNair, or Cat as she’d asked Dawn to call her, looked okay, maybe a bit hyper. She was wearing a white medical coat over her clothes and a stethoscope around her neck and you could see the outline of the two, capped syringes in her coat pocket.

They were about to ‘pop’ over to LA to ‘kidnap’ the psychotic slayer Dana Strassberg. Dawn’s role was to open a portal between here and Gateways Hospital in LA, where Dana was a patient. She and Dr McNair, Cat, would step through the portal, they’d sedate Dana and then bring her back with them.

Over the summer, she’d been researching and testing out her powers and she understood a little more of how it worked now than she had in the first weeks of her blindly ignorant experimentation. Bleeding on its own wouldn’t do anything. Of course, if you used the words to certain rituals, invoked at certain times, then her blood could be activated and begin to do its job.

But Dawn could do the same thing mentally. She just needed to hone in on the essence of a place or a person to create a connection first between the two places. Once the connection was up, she could open the portal. Opening the portal didn’t actually take any great effort at all, a quick slice across the palm of her hand or a prick of her finger and she was all good. She obviously had a high pain threshold and enhanced healing powers, because she barely felt the cut and it was usually healed within hours. Whether that was because she had inherited some of Buffy’s slayer abilities or it was just part of the Key package she’d probably never know.

No, the effort came in making the connection mentally and keeping that connection strong throughout the opening of the portal and the journey to the other side. It only took moments to step through a portal, no longer than stepping through a door, but the more people that passed through that door, the longer she had to keep it open. And making the connection did take some effort.

She’d practiced over the last few days, making small portals, just from one room to another, and losing the mental connection after she’d opened the door. It had snapped shut, just like that, every single time.

Of course she hadn’t tried stepping into the portal and then doing the forgetting thing, she wasn’t that dumb. God knows where she’d end up, and that was what worried her. Maybe when she got back she’d enlist Willow’s help and they’d try a few more experiments, using mice or wind up toy trains or something to see what happened.

But in the meantime, there was today, and she needed to be in top form. Focused so that she didn’t lose herself or anyone else. Luckily Faith was to be her anchor on the LA side. Creating a connection required a person or place that she knew, so that she could use their energy to anchor the connection on the far side. She had to keep both the place she was going to and the place she was coming from in mind or else the cord would unravel behind her.

The better she knew someone, the easier to create that connection, so Faith was a good target.

Finally, everyone was ready. Giles, who was in a very odd mood, either bossing everyone around or scurrying off to hide in corners, had just received a call from Faith. They were in position at their end. It was time to go.

Cat had moved over to stand next to her, and Dawn had grabbed her hand. She hoped her own wasn’t too sweaty. There were cries of ‘Good luck’ and ‘Safe travelling’ but Dawn blocked them out as she began to seek out Faith’s essence. It came through strong and clear. Locked in, Dawn dropped Cat’s hand for a moment and pulled out her pocket knife. A quick swipe, a drop of blood and the portal popped open, a faint green glow in the centre of the room.

Focussing intently, she grabbed Cat’s hand again and took a step forward.

The next moment they were standing next to the sink in a bathroom, the sweet, sickly scent of hospital disinfectants perfuming the air. Faith stood with her arms folded, grinning wildly, a wide-eyed Latina girl standing behind her.

“Wow, that is bitching brat. You’re really pulling your weight these days. Playin’ with the big guns.”

Dawn beamed delightedly, her self-esteem fuelled by Faith’s praise. “Hey Faith, this is Dr McNair, Cat. Cat, Faith.”

“Hey Doc. You’re an interesting looking one. Don’t know how we’ll go palming you off as one of the resident quacks. You don’t look like any doctor I’ve ever spotted around this place but we’ll give it a go. Little Chiquita behind me is Soledad. Chick this is Dawn and Cat.”

The girl smiled shyly at them, then followed Faith’s lead as she turned and headed towards the door. Dawn and Cat followed behind. Once outside they found they were in a corridor. Either Lisa or Leslie, she could never remember which was which, was stationed beside the door they’d just exited. Dawn nodded and followed Faith, too intent on the mission to worry much about etiquette.

“This is the secure wing. Dana’s room is just along here. We don’t actually get to visit with her unless a guard is present. So we’ll have to wait for the guard, get him to let us in and then knock him out and leave him tied up inside the room. I’m not too keen on doing that to Jerry, he’s a good guy, but needs must huh?”

“Hold off for a minute, there might be another way,” Dawn said. They’d stopped outside a room and Faith had nodded at Dawn’s look. A small window was set into the door in front of her. She peered through and could see the plain white room beyond, a girl sitting slumped on the single bed. Focusing hard, she pulled up a connection to the girl’s room, and whipped out her pocket knife. A drop of blood later and the portal was up.

Dawn nodded at the others and everyone except for Lisa hustled through, leaving her to take up the rear. Once in the room, she cut the connection and heard the cord snap in her mind as the portal slammed shut, the sound reverberating through her brain, leaving behind the soft throb of a slight headache.

Faith and Cat were milling around the bed, the slayer speaking in a quiet, gentle tone that seemed to soothe the agitated patient. “Hey baby girl, how are you today? I brought some friends to meet you. It’s all good, they won’t hurt you.”

Cat stepped back and Dawn got her first good look at the girl. Dana was wearing a hospital gown, and her long, dark hair was tangled, partly obscuring her face. She looked so young, like a little girl, nowhere near the 25 years her records stated, frozen in time by the shadows of the traumas she’d faced. Suddenly she looked up, straight at Dawn. She seemed to be entranced, staring at Dawn as if mesmerized. Suddenly, it struck Dawn why that was, the memories of the crazies in Sunnydale and their reactions flooding over her.

“Pretty,” Dana said, reaching her hand out towards Dawn, but then shrieking when her fingers encountered the Key’s warm skin.

“Quick,” Faith said, “we need to get her sedated now. Once she starts going off, it’s almost impossible to calm her down.”

Cat stepped forward, one of the precious syringes in her right hand. It was already preloaded with the rare elixir Interfector infirmitatem, the infamous Slayer’s Bane used so notoriously by the old Council as part of the Cruciamentum trials. Cat was about to uncap the syringe when Dana spotted her. Shrieking in fear and anger, the deranged girl charged at the doctor, flinging her into the door.

Faith and Soledad leapt up, restraining Dana as Dawn ran over to Cat’s side.

“It’s okay Dawn, I’m okay,” she said as she allowed Dawn to pull her up. But Cat didn’t look okay. There was a nasty gash on her forehead, and blood was dripping down the side of her face. Her eyes looked clear though. And determined! “Come on, let’s do this.”

She picked up her syringe, popped the cap off and ejected the first few mils, all before heading over to the prostrate slayer. Faith and Soledad held her face down on her bed and Cat quickly jabbed the needle into the girl’s immobilised arm, injecting the fluid into her muscle. Intravenous would have been quicker, but there was no way they’d locate a vein on this screeching, squirming banshee, so intramuscular would have to do.

They just needed a few more minutes to keep Dana calm while the drug took effect. Luckily, the girl’s agitated state worked in their favour, her elevated heart rate pumping blood through her muscles at a rapid speed. Slowly, she started to relax, whimpering still, but pushing against Faith and Soledad’s restraining hands with less and less force.

“Okay, I think we might be good to go,” Faith said, slowly straightening up. But as soon as she let go, Dana started thrashing around again and it took all of Soledad’s strength to hold her down until Faith added her muscle to the mix.

“Shit, this chick is strong,” Faith sighed. “Do you have any more of that juice Doc?”

Cat responded right away, preparing the second syringe and plunging it into Dana’s arm. “That should be enough to weaken a baby elephant,” she said, concerned about the effects of an overdose on the frantic girl.

Slowly, Faith stepped away from the bed. Dana immediately started struggling, but she seemed to have little strength in her. The senior slayer nodded at Soledad, who gently released Dana and stood up. Once again, Dana began thrashing about on the bed, as weak as a kitten undoubtedly, but by no means calm and compliant. They sat her up on the bed and she lolled there, barely able to support herself, but still keening and writhing and lashing out with her hands.

Faith frowned, things weren’t panning out quite as they’d foreseen them. Finally she nodded and turned towards the others.

“Okay, we’re almost out of time. Jerry’s due on his rounds any minute, so we have to do this now. We can’t afford to wait for the drugs to kick in any more. Dawn, you need to open up a portal through to the corridor to let me out, then you need to get the four of you back to Ashdown.”

“W-what?” Soledad said nervously.

“Chick, I want you to go with them. The Doc is hurt and Dawn needs to concentrate on keeping the portal open. You’ll need to carry Dana, she’s not going to be able to stand on her own or move without thrashing about. You’ll be fine. They’ll look after you there and send you back here as soon as they can. I’m counting on you to do this.”

Soledad straightened her shoulders and nodded once, before turning to pick Dana up of the bed, cradling the struggling girl gently in her strong arms.

Dawn’s brow was furrowed and a green glow filled the room as Faith quickly stepped through, her words of good luck cutting off part way through as the door snapped shut behind her.

Cat stood behind Soledad’s back, lightly clasping the young girl’s jacket. Beside them Dawn sighed rubbing her forehead before closing her eyes, sending her senses out across the ocean, seeking her sister’s essence.

There, she could sense it, pulsing strong and bright through the void. Dawn locked on, sliced and pushed the other women ahead of her as she heard the sound of a key jingling in the door behind her.

The next thing she knew, she was stumbling to her knees, limp and panting. She lifted her head and looked around. The room was filled with noise and confusion. Dawn blinked and looked again, sighing in relief as she recognized the lounge room of the Lodge. Willow, Rowan and Xander were kneeling or standing next to a highly distressed Dana, Buffy was helping Soledad and Giles was hovering over the injured Cat, wringing his hands and looking uncharacteristically distraught.

“Well done Bit, sounds like you saved the day.” Spike’s voice was a very welcome sound amongst the pandemonium. “Here, hop up and you and me will head down to my place for a spot of tea. You look like you could do with a strong, sweet cuppa, and I need to get outta here, I’m setting that poor bint off more than she is already.”

Spike’s long white fingers reached out to grab hers and she clutched them in relief, a solid presence in an afternoon full of shades. Together, she and Spike slipped out of the room, leaving the chaos for the others to sort out. She’d done her bit for the day, and she was happy to slip back into the background for a while. It was hard work being a hero.

‘We laugh and we touch.
I promise you love. Time will not take away that.’
Anne Sexton


Giles was beside himself. Guilt and regret and indecision flooded through the chambers of his heart, making it thump uncomfortably. He hadn’t wanted them to set out on this blasted rescue mission in the first place.



Okay, so they’d managed to get the girl out, wretched creature that she was, but at what cost? Dana was clearly stronger and more disturbed than they had anticipated. What they could do for her was anyone’s guess. Then there was the new lass, standing there looking shell shocked and lost. And Dawn, who’d arrived back pale and trembling, clearly having pushed herself beyond her limits.



But worst of all was Catriona. Her first day on the job, well not even on the job really, she hadn’t even signed a contract or anything yet; she was just doing them a favor. Anyway, her first mission and she’d been hurt. God, she was so little, much smaller than any of the other girls she’d come back with. The thought of her being hurt made him want to scream.



And what must she think? She already hated him, and now he’d let her get hurt. Still she didn’t seem to be looking at him in a hateful way, although there was still one of those annoying cheeky grins on her lips. Well a wobbly version of one anyway.



God, she looked beautiful … or ah terrible, he meant. Yes terrible. By the time they’d got Dana sedated and settled into the secure room they’d prepared for her, the gash on Catriona’s head had stopped bleeding, but blood was smeared across the side of her face and the area around the cut was swelling and turning purple. What should he do? Bloody hell, he’d been hovering and wringing his hands like a sodding useless wanker. Why couldn’t he get his bloody brain to work? Must be the guilt, yeah, probably the guilt.



“Um Rupert, do ya have an icepack maybe?” Her voice sounded a bit thready, but he could read a touch of exasperation woven through her raspy Scots accent, so he figured she wasn’t too badly off.



“Oh, um, yes off course. I’ll just, um, there’s one in the fridge in my suite, I’ll just go and get it.” Giles frowned, baffled by the effect she had over him.



“Actually, Rupes, I’m dead on my feet,” Cat declared, wavering a little where she stood. “Do you think you could whisk me away from this madness and find me a quiet spot to recover?”



“Of course! Oh my, how stupid of me. We could go to my rooms, they’re only across the courtyard. Um, maybe an icepack, a sit down and a nice cup of tea.” He didn’t wait for Catriona’s reply, instead placing his hand on her lower back and gently guiding her out through the door and across the cobblestones. As he slid the key into the lock and opened the door to his unit, her throaty laugh sent shivers down his spine.



“Well, really Rupert, if that’s the caliber of chat-up line you’ve been using, then it’s no wonder you’re still on your own. Still,” she mumbled, “it seems to have netted you a wee sprat anyway.”



Giles frowned again, unsure of quite what she meant by that last part, but justifiably insulted by her first comment. God, she really was infuriating at times. He had to bite his tongue and remind himself that she was injured, or he would have called her some rude name and scowled at her.



He led her to the sofa and made sure she was comfy before heading over to the mini fridge and pulling the icepack out of the icebox. He wrapped a cloth around it and took it over to her, then grabbed a warm face cloth, a tube of antiseptic cream and a small bandage from the bathroom.



“Right,” he said, after he’d finished cleaning her up, dressing her wound and pressing the cold compress to her head, “I’ll just go and pop the kettle on.”



“Boil away old man, but if it’s all the same to you I’d rather have a glass of Scotch. I’m sure you’ve got a fine drop stashed away here somewhere.” Giles was just about to give her the sharp edge of his tongue for calling him old when she added, “Oh, and a glass of water and a few Disprin too if you can rustle them up.”



Her eyes were closed and her head was lying against the back of the sofa, so Giles’ frosty glare was wasted on her and instead he stomped petulantly into the bathroom to find the painkillers, then back to the kitchenette to fetch a glass of water.



He plopped them down on the table next to her and hurried back to get the Scotch. Finally everything was laid out, a bottle of Laphroaig, a decanter of ice and two crystal tumblers sat before them. Giles had felt so annoyed that he’d plonked himself down on the couch right next to Catriona before he realized what he was doing, then felt too awkward to move elsewhere.



“How do you take it?” he muttered tersely.



“Straight’ll be fine, that’s too grand a Scotch ta ruin with water or ice,” Catriona said appreciatively.



“Are you quite sure you should even be drinking the stuff? What if you have a concussion? That’s a nasty bump you know.”



“I’m sure I’m fine, and I’m the doctor after all. Sure I’ve got a headache but I wasn’t knocked out and my memory of the whole drama is fine. But you can check my eyes for unequal pupil size if you’re really concerned.” Cat turned to face him, her knees brushing against his thighs.



Giles thought it would be churlish to refuse; he was concerned about her after all. He took a large gulp of his Scotch and set it down, before gently taking her chin in his hand, turning her head by small increments until her eyes caught the light and he could see them clearly. Catriona stared straight at him, her amber brown irises gleaming softly. They seemed to be saying something to him, telling him a story that he just couldn’t read.



Intrigued, captivated, he sat peering intently into the depths of her eyes, as his heart pounded in his chest. He realized he’d been dreaming of these eyes for years, the same that had first captured his so long ago. How had he never consciously been aware it?



“So, how are they?” she asked softly.



“Beautiful,” he whispered, stroking her chin. “Oh, I mean, beautifully equal.” He blushed and dropped his hand, but continued to look at her, even in his embarrassment, unable to drag his gaze away. “So, nicely equal and not too dilated. Although, ah, actually, um, they do seem to be a bit dilated,” he said, his quiet voice betraying his concern.



“Well,” Cat laid her hand along his cheek, “maybe, I have got concussion. But dilated pupils can also mean something else.” She paused waiting for his brain to catch up.



“Oh? Oh!” he said, the message finally getting through. “But …”



“No buts Rupert,” Cat said as she slid her hand to the back of his neck, “I’ve been waiting too many years to put this off any longer.”



She pulled him down towards her, and all hesitations laid aside, Giles moved willingly, eagerly into her arms.



Their lips touched and he heard a desperate, keening groan. Whether hers or his it mattered not, the mere sound igniting an explosion of passion in both of them. Giles crushed his lips against hers and dragged her against him. Too far, too far, each needed the touch of the other and he hauled her onto his lap, never breaking the deep, fiery kiss they were sharing. Sitting astride him, Cat ground her jean covered crotch against his erection.



Panting, she pulled back a fraction, throwing her head back and circling her hips more firmly. He groaned and pressed kisses along the length of her neck, all the time muttering passionate invocations.



“Oh God, Cat.” Her name tumbled from his lips like a prayer. “Baby, want you so bad,” he said between kisses, his voice filled with longing. A longing that sprang from the depths of his soul and swept away the tattered veils that had obscured the truth for so long. A flash, as of lightning, arced across his brain, laying bare the memories he’d buried deep inside. He gasped and clutched her to him. “So long, so long. How did I not know? Is it true, have I always wanted you this bad? How could I have lived like this, burning with need for you?”



Cat stilled and pulled his head up to look at her. “Aye, Rupert, all this time, twenty four years. We were meant for one another, we both knew it at a glance.”



“But you were only thirteen, I was twenty-six. It couldn’t be. All these years, I didn’t even remember how it felt when I first gazed into your eyes. How could I forget that?” His voice was broken, distraught.



“I guess because I was only thirteen, you locked the attraction away, ashamed of yourself. Most men would’ve simply waited till I’d grown up and then come back, but no, you dropped it down into a deep, dark hole, and went off with that bimbo. You broke my heart you ken?”



Giles shuddered and pulled her back into his arms as the memories came rushing back at him like a hail of bullets, obliterating the carefully constructed recollections he’d held for so long and releasing the emotions that had been kept in check. He shook his head in disbelief, before dropping a kiss on her head. “Bloody hell Cat. I only went after that bimbo to try and wipe away my need for you. Funny how I’d remembered the events of that wedding differently all these years. But hell, hardly surprising given what a bloody degenerate I was, falling for a child.”



“Hing aboot man. You were nae a degenerate; you didnae do a thing wrong, except for maybe falling for the right person at the wrong time. You didn’t act on those feelings. You didn’t act inappropriately. The only thing you did wrong was to not come after me when I grew up, but some people are verra slow learners I guess.”



“Well slow I may be, but I’ve learnt my lesson. Bloody hell, I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but Catriona McNair, I think I’m in love with you.”



Cat grinned, joy lighting up her face. She pressed a kiss against his lips and stroked his face. “We’ll that’s good then, cos I’m crazy mad in love with you, and have been for the last 24 years. So what are you gonna do about it then?”



“Well if you feel up to it, I think it’s well past time I showed you.” He swooped in, capturing Cat’s lips in his own and before long they were once again caught up in a burning, raging passion. Like teenagers they ground together, tearing at one another’s clothes desperate to feel the intensity of bare skin against bare skin.



Their shirts discarded, her bra hooked beneath her breasts, her nipples already hard and wet from his greedy mouth, Giles clutched the cheeks of her backside and rose to his feet. Carefully, mindful of his precious cargo, he navigated the furniture and abandoned items of clothing and footwear and strode towards his bedroom. He laid her back gently on the bed and swiftly divested her of her jeans and little black knickers, while she stripped off her bra.



The sight of her, lying there in all of her magnificence, took his breath away. She was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen in his life. He could spend hours looking into those gorgeous dark amber eyes, but neither his hormones nor hers would allow it. A fierce tidal wave of yearning welled up from the depths of his soul.



Quickly he shucked off his own jeans and boxers and crawled over her, then slowly, deliberately, eased himself down until their bodies were pressed together. His hard cock lay throbbing between them, her nipples bullet points against his chest as they kissed deeply, their tongues entwined in desire. No time for foreplay, no need, both of them only a hair trigger away from going over the edge.



Giles shifted his weight to his elbows and lifted his hips up and back until the head of his cock slid down and lodged itself in the wet heat of her opening. He froze, wholly intent upon her loving gaze, then slowly, purposefully, slid home. Home. Oh God, home. All these years of wandering the world, and finally, finally he was home.



Slowly, he started moving, thrusting into her depths. His eyes blurred and he kissed her again, the joy bringing with it tears and laughter. He shouted his love to her, roared his pleasure as she came beneath him, and finally spent his essence deep within her, where it had always belonged.



Rolling to the side he gathered her in his arms, their lips drawn together once more. She peered up at him, uncharacteristically somber and quiet for once. “Don’t ever let me go Rupert. I don’t think I could bear it if you let me go now.” Tears pooled in her eyes and overflowed.



His heart breaking for the pain he’d put her through, Giles swore, “I promise I’ll never, ever let you go. I want you in my life, in my bed, in my heart for always. In fact …”



Suddenly he leapt up and dashed over to his dresser where he rummaged through the top drawer. “Ah ha,” he cried, ran back towards the bed and dropped to his knees.



“Catriona, I love you more than words can say, but I owe you a few, so I’ll try my best. You have breezed back into my life, bringing sunshine into my world with your laughter and wit. You’ve made me see myself in a whole new light. This is the most outrageously spontaneous thing that stuffy staid old Rupert Giles has ever done, but I just can’t imagine my life without you in it.” He picked a small velvet box up from the floor where he’d put it and opened it. “Cat, will you marry me?”



“Oh bloody hell Rupert, it’s aboot time. Gràdh mo chridh, love of my heart, I’ve waited more than half my life for you. You were my first love; ye’ll be my only love. Aye, of course I’ll marry you. But yer aff yer heid if ye think I’ll wear another girl’s engagement ring.”



“What? For God’s sakes, speak English woman. No, this ring is no one else’s. Well, it must have been originally as its Edwardian, but I certainly didn’t purchase it with anyone else in mind. In fact, it’s probably been yours all along. I’ve had it for almost twenty years.”



“How did you come by it then?”



“Well, I was walking aimlessly around Mayfair one day. I’d just turned thirty, and all of my friends were pairing up and getting married off. Mac and Celeste had just had Rowan and I was pondering marriage and children when I came across this little antique jeweler's store, up a side alley, just off Piccadilly.



There in the window was this ring. It just called to me. I didn’t even have a girlfriend at the time, but I was dogged with a feeling of, I don’t know, maybe inevitability? That ring was mine to give one day, along with my heart.” He grinned sappily at her and she squeezed his hand.



“I was only a junior Watcher at this stage, and not on a very big salary. But I strode right in and put down a deposit. It took me a year to pay it off, but I never missed a payment. I remember the joy I felt the day I picked it up, the sense of anticipation.”



“So did you never offer it to anyone else then?”



“Never. I’ve never ever been engaged, although I’ve come close at times. Once, about six years ago, I came close enough to start looking at rings. But, I never even considered using this one. I think it’s been waiting patiently for you, gathering dust in my sock drawer while I carried on through life oblivious.”



“Well in that case, I’ll gladly accept your gorgeous ring.” Cat extended her left hand, fingers splayed so that Giles could slip the ring onto her ring finger. The fit looked perfect and sure enough, it slid smoothly into place.



“Ooh!” Giles said. A tingle of energy had leapt from the ring and passed through his fingers, washing over his body and leaving a warm glow in its place.



“Ooh indeed,” Cat responded, her dilated pupils and rapt expression telling a similar tale. “Well that was something now wasn’t it. Guess it’s what I get for promising myself to a sorcerer.” She peered curiously down at the ring, a large, multi-faceted oval amethyst, encircled by 22 brilliant cut diamonds, set into a band of antique 14 carat gold.



“Wow! It’s a bonnie ring Rupert. I’ll wear it with pride.”



Giles’ gaze was still glued to the ring. It fit Cat perfectly; the bohemian style; the shape and size of the stones; the dark violet shade of the amethyst echoing the streaks of color in her hair; and the deep sparkle of the diamonds reflecting her effervescent personality. It was as if it had been made for her, this mysterious, enchanted ring that had called out to him from a shop window two decades ago. A little research was in order he thought.



Elation, incredulity and exhaustion washed over him in waves. He crawled back into bed, kissing his happy fiancée fiercely, holding her lithe body against his. “You might think me crazy, but I’ve waited 24 years, I don’t want to wait a moment longer. If you want to back out, you’ve only got two weeks to do it. Tomorrow I’m heading into town to give notice at the Registrar’s office and apply for a special license.”



“You’ve gone loopy Rupert Giles. But I love you dearly so I’ll no complain. We can have the wedding here – venue, catering, your family and friends – they’re all on hand already. It won’t take much to organize a dress and round up my own kith and kin. Aye, I’ll accept your challenge Rupert, but lets make it a fortnight Saturday instead of Friday. An extra day won’t kill you.”



“So, the 16th August it is. Do you want to have attendants?” Giles asked her softly.



But there was no answer, a quiet little snuffle her only response. He pressed a gentle kiss against her head, whispering his love for her into the violet streaks. He closed his eyes and drifted off, more content than he’d ever been before.

‘Our destiny, our being's heart and home,
Is with infinitude, and only there;
With hope it is, hope that can never die’
William Wordsworth

Giles was droning on about something. It was undoubtedly important, but Buffy was too nervous to focus on his message. She was only a few yards from him, seated in the front row of the lecture hall as he addressed the room. Behind her sat the nine Slayers who had arrived last week and sixty-six shiny, new recruits, the first batch of slayerettes identified by Dawn and Althanea and located and signed up by the recruitment teams. Seventy-five girls who were looking to her for leadership, guidance, inspiration. No pressure, okay? Right!

Most of these young girls hadn’t had to travel too far, either from spots around the U.K. and Ireland, or from just over the channel in France or Spain. But sixteen girls had flown all the way from the States, west coasters the lot, including ten Californian girls. And in a minute, Buffy was going to speak to them for the first time.

She’d love to blame the roiling motion in her tummy on pregnancy nausea, but at thirteen weeks, she’d finally put that behind her. No, it was just good old nerves. As Giles began winding his talk up, Buffy noticed that he sounded kinda weird. Like he had a smile in his voice. In fact, now she thought about it, he’d been acting kinda weird lately. As Giles stepped aside and Buffy took center stage, she decided it was something she should to look into. If she managed to survive the next twenty minutes!

“Hi, I’m Buffy Summers. You’ve no doubt already heard of me, maybe even heard strange stories about my life. People will tell you things about me, that I’m the head Slayer, the Chosen one, one of the longest living Slayers ever, that I’ve died a couple of times, and that I’ve saved the world … lots. They might say that I’m weird and that my friends and family are freaks. You may have also heard that I’m the one responsible for your powers being activated back in May, and you’re not sure yet whether that’s a blessing or a curse.

Well, all of those things are true in a way. I’ve done a lot, I’ve seen a lot and I’ve kicked a helluva lot of demon ass.” Laughter, much of it uncertain or very slightly hysterical, erupted from the ranks.

“I’ve fought and defeated a jumped up, narcissistic Hell God, a vain and self-absorbed Dracula and a cold and conceited Frankensoldier. I’ve staked fledgling vampires, freshly hatched from their burial plots and lead a team of the bravest fighters I’ve ever seen into battle against the armies of Hell. I’ve had to send one guy I loved to hell and watch another burn to ashes. All of this, and I’m only 22 years old.

Maybe these things seem strange and freaky and supernatural to you, almost impossible for you to relate to. But despite all the bizarre experiences I’ve had, I’m really not so different from any of you. I know some of you are younger, but a lot of you are sixteen or seventeen. I was only fifteen; just a kid, when I was ‘called’ and my powers were activated. I hadn’t been identified as a potential slayer, so I knew nothing about the supernatural world. I had no idea that vampires and demons were real, that they lived hidden from view but very much part of our world. I didn’t know how to fight, how to use a stake or a sword, what to look out for to keep myself safe.

I was no different from many of you – young, scared, uncertain and confused. But you have one huge advantage over the schoolgirl who was forced to burn down her high school gym to get rid of a master vampire and his minions. You have each other. You can share this huge destiny with hundreds of other girls. You can help and support one another through the daily grind, bitch and moan together when things get tough, cheer each other on when you need encouragement, celebrate when you win the battles, console one another when you lose.

You have each other; you have family. You may not know it yet, but from among this slayer family you will find big sisters, little sisters and best friends. Some of you may even find substitute parents.

I didn’t have slayer sisters like you do, well not for many years anyway, but I did have a ‘family’. I’d like to bring my family out here to meet you.”

The first row of people stood and walked to the front of the room to join Buffy, before turning around to face the new slayers. Each took a step forward as Buffy offered up their name.

“This is my family: my sister Dawn, my two best friends Willow and Xander and you already know my Watcher and surrogate Dad, Giles. Each one of these people is special, not just for the particular talents and skills they have developed over time, but also for the enormous emotional support they’ve been able to provide. They’ve been with me almost from the beginning of my Slayer journey. They’ve been with me through thick and thin, stood by me through the triumphs and the disasters. Sometimes we’ve watched each other make huge mistakes, but we’ve always had one another’s backs. Cos that’s what you do with family.

There’s one other person who is part of my family, the man who won my heart. He was one of my most determined enemies; he became one of my strongest allies. He has fought for me, he has died for me, and now he is the love of my life. You may have heard of him. If you’ve never been around his kind before, you’ll wonder why he makes you feel so uncomfortable, and if you have, then you’ll instantly know why. To our Slayer essence, he is the enemy, but to me and mine he is a champion, a hero. I hope you will come to see him as one of the greatest assets in your lives. Ladies, this is Spike.”

The vampire entered the great hall from the foyer on the left, where he’d been out of sight and out of range. There was an immediate reaction from some of the older girls, who having spent years as council trained potentials, were instantly aware of what the pinpricks dancing up and down the backs of their necks meant.

He was dressed innocuously in his ‘Watcher garb’ – black t-shirt and chambray shirt over dark blue jeans, but his pale visage and graceful gait betrayed his hidden nature. Murmurs of shock and recognition spread out like ripples across the room, as each girl responded hostilely to the face that had haunted her nightmares, to the tingles that tapped the nerves in her spine, and to the voice embedded deep in her subconscious that was screaming at her to fight, to kill. The room trembled with the force of lightly leashed aggression and the air shimmered with hostility.

Spike eyed the girls cockily as he sauntered over to the center of the room, to take his place at Buffy’s side. He turned to face them fully and stood, legs apart, thumbs hooked in his belt, fingers dancing dangerously close to his package, an arrogant smirk teasing his lips.

Buffy elbowed him and frowned which just caused his grin to grow wider. Shrugging her shoulders and shaking her head, she gave up and grinned back at him.

The girls watched this in total silence, shocked and confused by the interaction between the head slayer and this creature that they instinctively knew was a vampire. Disruption broke out as the girls started to mutter amongst themselves, and several began to recall Buffy’s words of introduction. This creature was a hero and the Slayer’s lover?

Buffy let them go for a while, unruffled by the anger and suspicion beginning to build throughout the room. She and Spike stood side by side, flanked by Dawn and Giles on one side and Willow and Xander on the other. The atmosphere had turned ugly, fuelled by the girls’ innate enmity of Spike.

Finally, just before the mood grew to riot proportions, Buffy stepped forward.

“Well done girls.” The crowd quietened down reluctantly, but tension still flooded the air. “That’s what it feels like to be a slayer. That anger and suspicion, that power pouring through your bodies like ultra-adrenaline, that is your slayer essence working its will through you. The slayer in you has awoken, and she is a greedy beast. The call to hunt and destroy that which it recognizes as the enemy is an overriding instinct.

Some may tell you that this is your calling, your destiny; at other times you might see it as a curse or a burden. But either way, now your powers have been activated, there is no going back. To be a slayer is not a job, or a part time interest, it is part of who you are. It’s your mission, your reason for being here. You're not here by chance. You're here because you are the chosen ones.

I hope in time, as you get to know Spike, you’ll be able to ignore your instincts to dust him. It will be awkward if you can’t, cos he’ll be responsible for many of your training sessions.”

There was a smattering of nervous laughter around the room.

“You will learn that this world you have stepped into is not always black and white. You’ll have to recognize the difference, and where it lies, between demons in general and true danger. Your class in ‘Mythology 101’ will help you identify some of the many demons out there, and sort out friend from foe. But never ignore your instincts totally, they are what will keep you alert, keep you safe, and keep you alive.

Classes don’t start for another five weeks, but we will begin training sessions tomorrow, either with Spike and myself or with some of the older slayers that arrived last week. Next week we’re expecting another group of 65 girls and another similar number the week after that. Make the most of this time to get to know one another, to share experiences, to bond. We’ll be around to chat with or to give advice, so just ask. Thanks girls, finish unpacking and chill, the day’s your own.”

Buffy relaxed and stood back as the girls began to chatter and get up and move out of the lecture hall. She felt Spike move closer to her from behind and she leaned into him lightly, dropping her left hand to the side to discretely link fingers with his. After all that speechifying she could really do with a Spike hug, but they’d decided to forgo the PDAs in front of the girls, determined to present as professional a face as possible during working hours.

The other Scoobies were milling around, and Rowan and Cat had wandered over to join them.

Giles cleared his throat. “Yes, well, I think that went very well Buffy. It was a bit of a risk bringing Spike in like that, but I think you made your point.”

“Yeah, great speech Buffster. You sure gave them some food for thought. Although I’m glad you had that shield up Wills. I don’t know how you were feeling Spike, but if Slayer looks could kill, then I think we would have all been dust from the fallout.”

“Yeah Harris, it got a little intense there for a minute or two. I don’t think I could have kept up the cocky smirk without knowledge of that shield being there. Thanks Red.”

“No problem guys. Better to be safe than sorry given the trigger happiness of young slayers.”

“How is the school organization going Willow?” Giles asked.

“It’s getting there. This week I’ve been focusing on outlining the curriculum. The girls will do the same core subjects as at any Secondary school, English, Mathematics and Science, but we’ve tailored the other subjects to suit our special focus. Physical Education will not only encompass fitness, but weapons, defense and training exercises and Citizenship studies will cover ethics and the slayer role in keeping our world safe. ICT will focus on accessing the research database we’re putting together and Vocational Studies will look at strategizing, teamwork, and leadership.

We’re looking at a few optional subjects now, obviously English as a second language for non English speakers, a couple of Language options for the others, History, which will focus on both the lives of past slayers and the history of various demon races.”

“Wow, sounds very schoolish,” Buffy said.

“You’ve worked very hard Willow.” Giles pulled out a thick manila envelope. “This came in the post this morning. I haven’t opened it yet. Would you care to do the honors?”

The A4 envelope was very official looking, the Department of Education’s insignia printed in the left hand corner. Willow took it eagerly from Giles and ripped it open. Her eyes quickly scanned through the page on the top of what looked like a pile of forms and booklets. She squealed in excitement lifted her head up to look at the others.

“Yes, we’ve got it - provisional approval to operate as an Academy. That means Amazon only has to sponsor ten percent of running costs and the Government will fund the rest. Phew, that’s a load of pressure off. We’ve still got an Offsted inspection tomorrow, and I’ve set up interviews for the English, Math and Science positions on Wednesday. Then it looks like I’ve got another wad of forms to fill out and send away,” Willow said as she glanced through the pile of papers in her hand.

“How will you staff the other, more ‘specialized’ classes? And will you teach all of the school levels or just Key Stage 4?” Dawn, who had spent a lot of time recently researching the UK school system, had lost most of the others with her questions.

“Well, Buffy and Spike can teach the P.E. classes, and I’ll take the ICT one. I’d love Giles to pick up either Citizenship or Vocational Studies but it will depend on the timetable. Otherwise Anthony Collins is going to provide a couple of his staff to take those classes and History.

And as for levels, we’re going to divide the girls into two groups. The 14 and 15 year olds will go into Year 10 for the two year programme leading up to their GCSEs and the 16 and 17 year olds will enter sixth form and work towards their A levels. All the girls will come out with formal qualifications and be well prepared for their slayer responsibilities.”

“But what about those girls who are 18 or older?” Rowan asked quietly.

“We don’t actually have a huge number of older girls. Five of the field slayers are older and have completed their secondary schooling in their home countries. Two of the new girls are 18 but they’d both finished school as well. So far, apart from Dana, and the 13 year old French girl, all of the other recruits are in the 14 to 17 year old range and even among the older girls, they’re all under 20.”

“So what happened with the poor loco chit’s activation? She’s 25 ain’t she, so a bit long in the tooth,” Spike said.

“We’ve got a theory about that,” Rowan said. “She’s been trapped mentally and emotionally at a much younger age. Maybe the mystical force that rules potentials out when they get to a certain age and stage in their lives ‘misread’ Dana’s true age and activated her anyway.”

“How’s she doing?” Buffy asked. “I keep meaning to go and see her but I haven’t got around to it.”

“She’s calm and settling in to her room,” Cat said “We’ve kept her pretty well sedated and topped it up with wee daily doses of Slayer’s Bane. I think Willow and Rowan are planning their inner road trip this week, is that not right girls?”

“Yeah, Thursday,” Willow said after glancing at Rowan. “It’s me that’s holding the works up. I’ve got Ofsted tomorrow and interviews on Wednesday so it’s all to do with scheduling. But we did a little practice on the weekend with Soledad and that went fine. She’s a good kid that one. She’s been spending quite a bit of time with Dana and has even brought some of the other slayers over to visit her. It seems to calm Dana down when there are other slayers around, like she feels safer.”

“Good, good. Cat and I will be there with you on Thursday when you ‘re ready to begin,” Giles said. “Now, Xander, Rowan, the girls appear very happy with their accommodations and the new staff are working well. Well done. Any problems so far?”

“Not yet,” Xander replied. “A couple of girls have swapped rooms, but as long as everyone’s happy then no problemo. No it’s going surprisingly well. The cracks will start to appear once we’ve got 500 girls squeezed in there.”

“So where are you going to house the other 1500 girls?” Spike queried.

“Well, I’m already looking into building companies that specialize in rapid construction of kitset buildings so that we can accommodate the predicted slayer deluge. Once we’ve selected a company, I’ll get them to meet with Wills as well about extra classroom construction.”

“Thank you Xander, well done. Now Buffy and Spike?”

“Yeah, the Slayer and I have been working out training schedules. The girls’ll do weekly fitness, flexibility and strength training using the pool, the running tracks and the gym. In fact we’ll get them started on that tomorrow. Each semester we’ll throw a different combat style at them, including tae kwondo, aikido, boxing and capoeira, as well as weapons training such as archery, fencing and kendo.”

“Spike and I can handle the general classes by ourselves, but we’ll contract local martial arts masters in to teach the different disciplines. We’ll add light and medium contact sparring sessions once they’ve become adept in two or more codes. Sparring will be much easier when you don’t have to pour your partner into a fully padded body suit just so he can survive your kicks and punches.”

Both Giles and Xander winced, while Dawn and Willow giggled.

“And we’ve also worked out a schedule for Work Experience,” Buffy continued excitedly. “We’ll do regular local patrols and each student will spend one week each semester living and patrolling with one of the international squads.”

Their ideas were received favorably and compliments were handed out appropriately. Finally Giles turned to Dawn. “How is the tracking going Dawn?”

“Good up until now. We’ve come to a bit of a halt due to distance factors. We can only scan with any degree of accuracy up to a distance of 1200 miles. Some of the IDs we did in Greece and Ukraine were really stretching matters. We need to get Russia done pretty soon and the Middle East or Asia, but that means either flying or portalling over there for a day or two and I’d prefer to take someone with me but everyone else has been too busy!” Dawn’s voice was getting a little bit screechy.

“Maybe,” Buffy looked at Spike and he nodded reluctantly, “if you could wait till Friday afternoon, I could do an overnighter with you. Head back Saturday evening. Maybe Moscow?”

“Oh yes,” Dawn squeed. “And some sightseeing on Friday night. We can’t portal hop all the way to Moscow, I’ve never been there before and we don’t have anyone we know there. But, Team 2 should be in Kiev on Friday, just over the border in the Ukraine. That’s Colleen and Matt, Dominique and Chao Ahn. Any of those guys I know well enough to lock onto. Then we could fly into Moscow, it’s only a thirty minute flight from Kiev.”

“How safe’s portal hopping for pregnant mums?” Spike asked.

“It should be no different than walking through a door,” Cat answered. “I scanned for things like radioactive isotopes or particle emissions before I hopped over to LA last week, and the readings were perfectly normal. I also checked my own vital signs before the hop and again the following morning. Everything was as you’d expect given the circumstances.” Cat looked sideways at Giles and seemed to blush.

Giles smiled at her and reached out to take her hand in his before turning to face the puzzled group before him.

“Yes, well, I’d like, actually we’d like, to make an announcement of our own. Catriona has done me the great honor of not only accepting a part time position as Ashdown’s Medical Officer, but also, and more importantly,” at this point he paused and turned to gaze fondly at the woman beside him, “of becoming my wife!”

The shocked silence and gaping expressions on the faces of the Scoobies did little to bolster Giles’ confidence, but Cat stepping in against his side and lovingly squeezing his hand lent him enough courage to hold his head up high.

“What the hell?” Buffy spluttered in outrage and confusion. “But you two don’t even know anything about each other. And what you do know you don’t like. Just days ago, you were bitching and mocking and, and … harrumphing about one another behind each other’s back. This has got to be some sort of joke.”

Buffy’s diatribe strengthened Giles’ resolve instead of undermining it and he looked her firmly in the eye. But before he could begin to deliver his rebuttal, Spike’s quiet interjection diverted the impending explosion.

“Hold on a minute pet, that’s a pretty poor argument. After all, that kinda carry on is hardly unique to Rupert and the Doc,” he said as he stepped up to her side. “Surely you’ve heard of UST? You know, unresolved sexual tension!”

“What’s that got to do with it? Isn’t UST just some pathetic plot device of middle aged romance writers and authors of those fanfiction thingies? I mean who’s ever heard of it in real life. How ridiculous. People don’t just go from being mortal enemies to suddenly falling madly in love with one another. That’s just not …” Buffy’s eyes widened and her mouth popped open as she glanced up at Spike’s smirk.

“Oh!” she said as the realization hit her. She quickly buried her pink stained face against Spike’s chest.

The vampire drew her unresisting body against his, offering her love and comfort even as he delighted in the way she instinctively and unguardedly sought reassurance from him. It still blew him away that she placed so much trust at his feet. Blinking back the sudden sheen from his eyes, he glanced up over Buffy’s head and caught the Watcher’s gaze, nodding his and the Slayer’s acceptance of the new relationship.

Giles nodded back, relieved at Buffy’s turn around, reluctant as it may be. The first bomb had been defused, but looking around the room, at Xander’s gaping mouth, Dawn’s moue of concern and Willow’s frown, he knew he wasn’t out of the firing range yet.

“I know it’s seems sudden. But actually I’ve known Cat for almost half my life. Yes, she’s swept back into my life with the force of a tidal wave. But she’s the one, the other half of me. I’ve wasted too many years without her by my side, and I refuse to waste a minute more.”

Xander seemed set to offer his five cents worth when a tug on his hand made him glance down at the upturned face of his girlfriend. Her beautiful face shone with the faith she had in him to do the right thing. He paused, remembering his vow to try and consider things fairly before leaping in judgmentally. Emotive overdrive switched off and reasoning gears fully engaged, Xander decided that if the Universe was benevolent enough to give a loser like him such an amazing second chance at love, then there was no reason why an old guy like Giles shouldn’t get a shot at it too.

Mind made up, and proud of himself for his newly found insight and tolerance, he grinned back down at Rowan before taking a step towards the Watcher and thrusting out his hand.

Giles took it hesitantly, suspicious of Xander’s rapid turn around, but was surprised and delighted by the boy’s confident bestowal of congratulations, and the warm hug and blessings from his goddaughter. He peered closely at the young couple as they stepped back, impressed by the added maturity and common sense Xander had developed over the last few months, certain that Rowan had a significant part to play in that growth.

Willow’s reservations however, weren’t going to be so easily mollified. She cleared her throat and shook her head at the way her oldest friend had just crumbled.

“Giles, I’m sure we’re all happy that you’ve found someone you’re attracted to, that you can spark off. But why the rush? Surely you can take some time to get to know one another as a couple, maybe even live together if you must. Surely there’s no need to jump straight into marriage.”

Giles considered the open, caring demeanor and gentle voice that barely masked the steel lying beneath Willow’s surface, and shook his head in disappointment.

“Willow, this is not some little dalliance or ‘crush’ as you might phrase it. Cat is the other half of me. Until she dragged the scales from my eyes, I was content with my life, happy with my work and my family, as you have all become. But I was merely stumbling through life, blind to what was missing, the gaping hole deep in my soul that yearned to be filled by that one person that gives our lives meaning.”

He turned to face Cat, grasping her two hands in his. “I found that person twenty-four years ago, but because of a number of reasons, some silly, some not, I lost her. I’ve been granted a second chance to spend the rest of my life with the woman who completes me, whom I love with such an intensity of passion and desire and tenderness that sometimes, when I look at her, when I feel her hands in mine, its all I can do to breathe. Cat is the one, my soul mate, my destiny, the love of my life, and no-one will take that chance away from me.”

He turned back to face his friends, finally singling the witch out. “Willow, you of all people should get that.”

The room was silent save for the odd sniffle. The girls all had tears running freely down their cheeks. Even the battle-hardened men’s eyes were suspiciously shiny.

Suddenly, almost as if reacting to a silent signal, Giles was attacked from all sides. He barely had time to tuck Cat safely in against his side before they struck. Accompanied by high-pitched squeals of glee and little tremors of excitement, his four girls, pseudo-daughters all of them, were gushing and hugging and oh-my-Godding uncontrollably. Extricating himself from the bedlam, the bruising and the likelihood of several crushed ribs, Giles managed to escape as the girls squealed once again at the sight of Cat’s ring and began pressing her for details of the upcoming nuptials.

Spike and Xander took in the sight of Giles’ shell-shocked form before the vampire laid a hand on his back. “Well done mate, didn’t know you had it in you. Looks like you need a strong drop of whiskey though. Come on, back to the Lodge, drinks on us.”

The women nodded eagerly, and as one the group turned and slowly made their way out of the converted chapel, chattering and laughing as they went. Giles paused. The early afternoon sun poured in through the stain-glassed windows, the multi-colored shafts of shimmering light bathing the floor of the alcove in a magical glow. The spectacular display seemed almost otherworldly, a touch of serene, ethereal beauty in a chaotic world. Nothing could have more clearly mirrored the tumultuous feelings of rapture coloring his very being, body and soul. With a tremulous smile, he turned and headed off to join his loved ones and his future.

‘... You ought to have seen how it looked in the rain,
The fruit mixed with water in layers of leaves,
Like two kinds of jewels, a vision for thieves.’
Robert Frost

Willow sighed internally as she looked in the mirror, lip-gloss in hand, ready to smooth on a final layer of the dusky rose shade. She was more than happy with her appearance, that wasn’t the problem. In fact she knew she was looking her best. She had grown her hair out since the Hellmouth battle, and today she wore the back section pinned up in a messy bun, while the rest tumbled silkily down over her bare shoulders. Her long bangs softly framed her face, bringing out the smoky tones of her eye shadow and highlighting her hazel eyes.



She stood back and appraised her outfit in the mirror. The chartreuse silk slip dress caressed her slim curves, the cross over V-neck dropping low enough to show a modest hint of cleavage, the vibrant shade lending warmth to her skin. The strappy, gold kitten heels added length to her slim legs and an touch of glamour to the ensemble. No, her appearance wasn't the problem, she was definitely looking smoking hot.



The problem was, there were two people on the other side of the bathroom door who no doubt agreed, and that was going to make for a very awkward afternoon.



Kennedy and the other members of the four recruitment teams had turned up at Ashdown on Monday, coming ‘home’ for a well-deserved week’s break after 21 days out on the road. She’d been full of the excitement and successes that she, Rona, Caridad, Robin and the Italian girl, Nisha, had achieved, a one hundred percent strike rate, with every girl on their list signed up and either headed for or already in residence at Ashdown.



Her team had made certain that they were there to personally welcome the second group of recruits that arrived on Monday afternoon, an idea that Willow was pretty certain was Giles’ not Kennedy’s, but you wouldn’t think it the way the Slayer had raved on about it.



And she’d also gone on endlessly about the sights and the fights – having taken out an array of supernatural beasties in a range of exotic locations across Mediterranean Europe.



Willow had diligently played the role of doting girlfriend, too full of conflicting and worrying emotions to do much else. Kennedy had lapped up all of the praise Willow had gifted her as if it were only fitting. She was proud of her team’s efforts and her own wielding of the leadership role she had been aching to slip into for so long. So wrapped up in her own achievements that she was unable or unwilling to invest any time or even interest in Willow’s achievements and ordeals.



That left Willow to shoulder the fall out of the previous week on her own. If she was brutally honest, she’d had some doubts about sharing her highs and lows with Kennedy anyway, the growing chasm opening up in their relationship leaching it of the level of trust needed to lay herself so emotionally bare.



Not that all of the dramas had been traumatic ones. She’d definitely had her triumphs too. Over a week’s worth of work to do with the school had been nothing but successful and satisfying.





The three Ofsted inspectors have arrived bright and early the previous Tuesday. After a tour of the facilities, both actual and planned, the other two Board members, Giles and Anthony Collins had joined them in the conference room to go over the proposed curriculum, staffing requirements, governance, compliance and financing issues. Anthony had been invaluable, his long-term role as Principal of Sackville Academy lending both experience and authority to their enterprise.



The day had gone well. The inspectors had been impressed by the work they’d already accomplished. They’d handed out a raft of approvals, adding suggestions for necessary changes and useful advice for those tasks still to be achieved. All and all, it had been a very long but very satisfying morning, one to be proud of. Nevertheless, Willow had felt the burden of responsibility weigh heavily upon her shoulders, and the long list of duties over tax her in-tray.



She’d spent the afternoon trying to tackle that list. She’d reviewed the resumes of the job applicants she’d be interviewing the following day, noting strengths and adding extra responsibilities to their roles in line with the Ofsted recommendations. She’d buried herself in a pile of paperwork; form filling, applications, furniture and I.T. orders – an endless sea of administration.



The following day, Wednesday, had been a highlight. She, Anthony and Giles had interviewed and appointed three of their teaching staff, including, unexpectedly, their Principal. Ashley Downer was a tall, blond 45 year old, an English teacher with a minor in languages. She’d been head of department at her last two schools and was presently on the establishment committee of the about to be opened Mossbourne Academy. These credentials alone qualified her for the job, but what took her over the top was the fact that she was an ex-potential.



The Council had identified Ash when she was only 14. Because she was so young, she was permitted to live at home. Her Watcher, John Townley, was appointed to her local secondary school, posing as a language teacher, specializing in Latin and Greek, neither of which the school had offered up until that point.



Three afternoons a week, she’d received individualized tuition, consisting of weapons training, demon research and enough instruction in Latin to get her through exams. Once she graduated at the end of sixth form, she got a part time job and trained more steadily, but as her 19th birthday came and went, they’d both accepted the fact that her chances of activation had dwindled to naught.



It had been time to start a new journey. She could have, as many ex potentials do, trained to become a Watcher herself, but she decided against it, choosing teaching as her career path. She met her future husband Geoff during her first year at University. He was a maths major; a tall, well-built guy who’d swept her of her feet. Their courtship was short and they were living together within six months and married as soon as she graduated.



Geoff knew about Ash’s background, the years spent training for a future that would likely have been short and violent. Even without activation she’d retained that extra athletic edge that most potentials seem to develop in their teen years, and she was always just a little faster, a little stronger than normal genetics could explain. He took the explanation of her mystical status in his normal, laid-back stride. Regular interaction with her old Watcher relegated no more fuss than a visit to a wealthy aunty or an eccentric cousin.



Still it had been a shock for both of them when they’d received the call that John Townley had been killed in an explosion at Council Headquarters. They had supposed that might put an end to that chapter of their lives; that their interaction with the mystical world of slayers and watchers had come to an end.



Their applications for the English and Maths positions had been pure coincidence, but a happy coincidence indeed. They’d both been appointed, and Ashley had also accepted the principal’s job. They were moving themselves and their two teenage sons up to Ashdown in a week’s time. Willow was looking forward to the support and guidance they could offer in the numerous jobs she still had to complete.



Finally, she’d appointed an ex Watcher to the position of head of History. She still needed a science teacher, but had a few more people to interview the following week. The Academy was ticking along nicely. The job of setting it up was exhausting and nerve wracking, but the outcomes were rewarding. If only she had someone that she could share her achievements with.



That deep-seated need was even more crucial by the time she’d stumbled back to her room on Thursday evening. She and Rowan had met outside Dana’s room at 10 o’clock that morning, hopeful that they could connect with the damaged Slayer inside her shattered mind, and somehow draw her back towards the physical world. Willow had let the young witch do the research and organization needed for the meditation.



Together they’d entered the Slayer’s room, Willow standing quietly by while Rowan set out the circle beside Dana’s bed and prepared an oil burner. As the room filled with the gentle, relaxing scent of herbs and spices, her experienced nose had picked out angelica and cinnamon for protection and healing, anise and frankincense to promote meditation and clairvoyance and the rich, woody undertones of sandalwood, used to aid spiritual communication.



Dana lay on the bed, sleeping fitfully. She’d been lightly sedated and her superhuman strength diminished due to the effects of Slayer’s Bane. Gracefully they’d seated themselves within the circle and Willow had relaxed her body and mind as she’d listened to Rowan’s words of invocation.




“Blessed be the Lord and Lady,
For they created the world,
The earth to hold,
The sun to warm,
The moon to guide,
The spirit to dream.
Let them guide our quest.
Let our minds roam free of our bodies,
Let our spirits be serene and at peace
That we may enter the sacred temple
Of our sister’s wounded mind,
Thus to hold and to heal.
So mote it be.”


Willow had relaxed further, letting her mind drift away. Slowly, she’d become aware of the change in her surroundings. A half-light, as of dusk, enveloped her, making it difficult to get a grasp on her bearings. She was hunched over, curled up in a tight ball, constrained by a low-lying structure directly above her back, a bed it seemed. As her eyes adjusted, she could see Rowan crouched next to her, and between them, the huddled up figure of a small, dark haired-girl, whimpering pitifully.



A woman’s scream, high pitched and agonizing had suddenly shattered the quiet. The sounds of violence and pain rumbled through the thin walls, the volume and vibrations indicating a setting close at hand. Shouting, wailing, begging and shrieks of anguish and terror were interspersed with slaps, punches, crashes and grunts, and even more disturbingly, cold, malicious bursts of laughter.



With every thud or moan that echoed through the room, the little girl had flinched and trembled, hunching in ever tighter upon herself as the sound of the assaults continued. Next to her, Willow struggled to remember that she was merely an observer in this scene, as adrenaline pumped its way through her own terrified system. Eventually the noises faded out, replaced only by the sound of harsh panting. Then a more horrifying sound had reached their ears, the slow, heavy thump, thump, thump of large booted feet thudding down the hallway towards them.



Young Dana, for that’s undoubtedly who the girl was, froze, drawing in upon herself a fraction more. The room was silent and utterly still as they’d heard the sound of a door handle turning and the squeak of the door being pushed open. There was a pause before a deep voice spoke, “Come out little rabbit; come out before I find you. Uncle Walt wants to play.”



Dana was shaking, rolled up in a little ball, her hands linked protectively over her bowed head, trying to make herself invisible. Maybe the man had heard Dana’s heart hammering frantically, or simply sensed her terrified presence, but either way, he strode straight over to the bed, flipped up the mattress and dragged the screaming girl out. He’d lifted the petrified child up off the ground and shaken her almost senseless. Then he’d bundled the trembling, subdued figure under his arm and stomped out the door.



Before either Willow or Rowan could react, the scene had cut away abruptly. Now they were in a dark, dirty basement, a cloyingly sweet scent perfuming the air. Dana was chained up in the corner, sobbing softly. Rowan tried to comfort her, but the girl hadn’t seemed to register their presence. Suddenly a man came down the stairs. He was dark haired, heavy set and whistled cheerfully as he’d approached her.



Dana immediately began crying and struggling against the restraints, but this seemed merely to amuse the man. He’d ambled over to her and laughed, “Good morning little rabbit. Excited to see your Uncle Walt I see. Calm down, it’ll be playtime soon enough.”



He walked over to an air vent set low in a side wall, removed the grill and reached into the hole. He pulled out a wooden box. He opened it as he walked towards her, sorting through the contents as he hummed to himself. Kneeling before her, he’d grinned down at Dana and showed her the contents of the box, various hypodermic syringes.



“Well little rabbit, what treat would you like Uncle Walt to give you? So many lovely choices! Yellow makes you weak. Brown makes you sleepy. Hmmm, yellow today I think, I wouldn’t want you to miss out on the fun.”



Calmly he’d removed one of the syringes, took the cap off and held it up, depressing the plunger just enough to eject a small shot of liquid. He’d approached the struggling girl, held her firmly and quickly stabbed the needle into her upper arm, depressing the plunger a short way. The girl had screamed and thrashed about, calling for help. “Hush now baby girl, no-one can hear you! Hold still now. Count backwards. 10... 9... 8... 7...” As Dana’s struggles tailed off, he’d closed the box and run a finger down the girl’s arm.



“Yes, we’re going to have so much fun,” he said as he’d unshackled her, picked her up and carried her across the room in his arms. He’d laid her unresisting form on a workbench and looked deep into her terrified eyes as he slowly pushed her thin nightie up and began to pull her underwear down.



Willow’s heart was pounding and she and Rowan were screaming and hitting at the man. But their actions of course were to no avail. Then suddenly, the scene changed again, three times, in quick succession. First, they’d been back in Dana’s bedroom, watching the child get dragged from beneath the bed. The scene flicked again, Dana struggling weakly as she was carried down the stairs into the basement. Once more the tableau transformed, this time settling on the view before them.



They were still in the basement, but now Dana was chained to the workbench. Some time seemed to have passed, as the child was more wretched and lost looking than before, her threadbare nightie now little more than a filthy, tattered rag.



The heavy footsteps and jaunty whistling signaled her captor’s arrival. Willow had felt the bile rise in her stomach as she saw the look of resignation pass through Dana’s eyes. Panic flooded her system at the thought of what they were about to witness. Rowan was bent over, close to the girl, urgently whispering in her ear.



Then he was there, a syringe in his hand. “Let’s try the blue one this time,” he’d leered. Dana’s head fell to the side, her glazed eyes staring blankly into the distance, resignation and helplessness seeming to create a protective disconnection between her mind and the impending violation of her body.



Rowan had shouted at the girl, trying desperately to gain her attention. “Come on Dana, look at me honey, let me keep you safe.” From somewhere close behind her, Willow had heard the rasping sound of a zipper being dragged down and the harsh panting inhalations of the monster himself. She’d trembled in fear and shock, unable to fathom the horror that she and Rowan were about to witness, helpless to intervene in any way.



Rowan had kept trying to get through to Dana, begging the child to look at her. Suddenly time had seemed to freeze as the girl glanced towards Rowan, confusion flitting across her features and lending lucidity to her gaze. “Help me,” she’d mouthed silently, as her eyes shimmered and a singled teardrop spilled over the edge and slipped down her cheek.



Instantly the light flickered and popped and Willow had found herself back on the floor of Dana’s room at Ashdown, Rowan trembling and distraught beside her. The young slayer lay quietly on her bed, unchanged but for the slight frown on her face and the silvery tear track that ran down her cheek.



The two witches were traumatized, horrified by the sights they’d witnessed, and sickened by the knowledge of the abuse Dana had been subjected to. Worse still was the awareness that Dana continued to relive that torture over and over, trapped in the endless loop of memories of that long ago torment. Rowan in particular was frantic with despair, unable to accept leaving the girl in that condition for even twenty-four hours more. Although exhausted, she’d immediately rushed off to the library, determined to find a way to connect with Dana and break her out of the nightmarish world she was stuck in.



Less than an hour later they’d been back in Dana’s room, Rowan armed with two tigers eye pendants. She’d gently threaded one over Dana’s head, centering the gemstone over the middle of the girl’s chest. The second one she’d slipped over her own head, confident that the stone’s ability to focus the mind, dispel fear and anxiety and see clearly, without illusion, combined with its protective powers, would help her get through to the trapped slayer.



Rowan had also placed a bonding charm on the two stones, linking them one with the other. This should allow her to connect physically with Dana within the girl’s dreamscape. Finally, they’d decided to place Dana within the meditation circle with them, still unconscious but propped up on a beanbag so that she was more or less upright.



These extra steps greatly increased the likelihood of drawing Dana out of her nightmare world, but, by strengthening the link between Rowan and the slayer they also boosted the chances of trapping Rowan in that world. Willow had volunteered to act as the young witch’s anchor, securing her essence to the physical world and drawing her back when it was time.



Finally they’d been ready, hands linked together, the scented oil once again perfuming the air and Rowan’s invocation aiding their meditative states. They’d slipped into the dream state easily, finding themselves once again back in Dana’s childhood bedroom. Willow could see Rowan huddled beneath the bed, pressed close to the child’s side, but realized that she herself was somewhat removed from the action, able to observe from a distance but not participate, much like a spectator.



The scene before her began to play out exactly as it had the previous time, but as the footsteps thudded along the hallway, Rowan turned to the trembling young girl and began to speak.



“Its alright honey, he can’t hurt you. He can’t hurt you ever again.”



Dana had lifted her head in shock, peering straight at Rowan in wide-eyed confusion. She’d glanced back and forth between the door and the young woman crouched next to her. A brief flicker of hope had begun to color her features before the sound of footsteps pushed it out.



Rowan spoke more urgently, determined to break through the child’s illusions. “Come on sweetheart, come to me. Let me help you, I’ll keep you safe.”



Fear had recaptured Dana’s attention. But, just as the doorknob began to turn, she’d turned back to the strange woman beside her and reached for her hand.



Immediately the scene had changed, the bedroom disappearing and the corner of the basement swimming into view. Dana had sat huddled beside Rowan, her small hand still clasped in the witch’s, a lifeline to safety. The young girl had stared up at her savior, listening intently to the older girl’s words of comfort, her promises of salvation. To their right they’d heard humming and scraping sounds, the child’s attention momentarily diverted, fear haunting her once more. But as the footsteps approached, Rowan’s quiet words and warm presence had strengthened Dana’s resolve and she’d turned back towards the witch, plaintively asking, “Can you help me?”



Instantly the setting had shifted, Dana’s small battered body once again lain across the workbench. Terror flooded her mind as she’d sunk back into the deepest recesses of her memories. Rowan crouched beside her, the girl’s limp hand clutched fiercely in her own, her words the only weapons she’d had to battle the nightmare world.



“Come on Dana, good girl, you can do it. You’re doing so well baby girl. The bad man is gone. He can’t hurt you any more. Hold on to me sweetheart, let Rowan help you.”



The footsteps had got closer and Dana was obviously terrified, but Rowan had felt it, a tiny but definite squeeze of her hand. She’d squeezed back and smiled down at the scared child. “Good girl, hold on tight, lets get you out of here. Look at me. You’re safe Dana, the bad man can’t hurt you.”



Dana had peered intently at Rowan. “Can't hurt me anymore?” she’d asked hesitantly.



“That’s right Dana, he can’t hurt you ever again. You just need to come with me. Hold tight, I won’t let you go. I’ll keep you safe, I promise.” With her free hand, Rowan had reached over and brushed the girl’s bangs out of her eyes, capturing her focus completely. Dana’s eyes had followed hers as the witch reached down to clasp the pendant hanging around the child’s neck. “See this Dana, its just like mine. Hold on to it tightly and keep looking at me.”



Simultaneously the two girls grabbed hold of their tiger’s eye pendants, their eyes locked one to the other. Their view of the basement began to flicker and blur, wavering in and out of focus like a damaged VHS tape. From the right footsteps and whistling had drifted towards them. Dana’s eyes darted from side to side, she whimpered softly and slowly the scene sharpened and cleared.



Rowan had gripped her hand again and called the girl’s name, willing her to refocus. Once again the surrounding sights and sounds shuddered, then faded into the backdrop. Without delay Rowan had pressed home the advantage, dragging Dana’s attention back, wrapping her broken psyche in the warmth and safety of her words and her intent, flooding her in waves of love and protection, washing away the layers of nightmare.



With a cracking sound and a surge of golden light, Willow had found herself back inside the salt circle on the floor of the Dana’s room. Beside her the adult slayer sat, still clutching Rowan’s hand, her eyes clear and alert but anxious as she’d checked out the unfamiliar but innocuous looking space. She turned to her rescuer and asked “Safe?”



Rowan had nodded tearfully and embraced the girl, a woman now both older and taller than herself. She’d moved the two of them to the bed, gently stroking Dana’s back as they’d waited for Cat to appear and perform a cursory med check. There would be time enough in the days and weeks ahead to begin the long, arduous and somewhat unbelievable tale of the nightmares that had shuffled and trampled a decade and a half of Dana’s life into a jumbled maze of terror.



Willow had excused herself, the short distance between the infirmary and her rooms in the Lodge almost more than her exhausted body and distraught spirit could take. She’d spent the next day in bed, physically and emotionally burnt out by the sights and sounds that kept replaying in her head.



That was all the time she’d allowed herself, deadlines paying no heed to the effects of PTSD. She’d spent the next five days immersed in Academy affairs: curriculum development, further staffing interviews, furniture and resource orders; and overrun by the arrival of the second group of baby slayers and the return of the Recruitment Teams.



Kennedy’s return should have been the balm she so badly needed. But, instead of being able to turn to her partner for comfort and support, she found herself lumbered with the unenviable chore of being expected to spend her evenings massaging her girlfriend’s already considerable ego. After several attempts to describe the trauma she’d witnessed and the effects it had had on her, Willow had given up, sick of Kennedy’s immature, self centered ways, and increasingly doubtful of the girl’s ability to understand or empathize with her anyway. Quite frankly, she’d had enough!



Things had been further complicated by the arrival of an unexpected visitor. Oz! Fresh off the back of a three week European tour, his band were taking a ten day break, leaving him free to look his old mates up.



Willow had been in her office on Thursday when she’d heard knocking and the sounds of greeting carry through from the main foyer. Intrigued by the tingly feeling running up and down her spine, she’d made her way along the corridor only to have the breath knocked out of her. Seeing Oz standing there had been wholly different vibe than her simple delight at spotting an old friend at LAX.



Whether it had been because of the sense of reconnection they’d developed during Spike’s retrieval, or the naughty dream she’d had three weeks ago, Willow was uncertain. But whatever the reason, her reaction was instantaneous. Heat suffused her body, flooding her loins with moisture, just as surely as it stained her cheeks pink. She’d felt dizzy and confused. And hot! Wow, who knew England’s summers could get so hot!



Judging by Oz’s dilated pupil’s as he’d gazed at her, and the slight tremble in the stoic bass musician’s hands as he’d lightly hugged her in greeting, the feeling seemed to be mutual. So, one unexpected eruption of long dormant passion later, Willow was left in a very awkward position, caught between relationships past and present, not sure where the future would lead her, or with whom. But she had her suspicions all right!



Two events had clarified her thinking even further. A little bit of down time on the Thursday afternoon had fuelled the first, Willow choosing to spend her precious break showing Oz around the grounds rather than hang out with her girlfriend and undoubtedly end up feeling diminished by the other girl’s words and actions. That choice alone gave her pause for thought.



But as she and Oz strolled over the manicured lawns, past lush gardens and tranquil lakes, and meandered along the woodland trails, she found herself opening up to him, disclosing the harrowing images and experiences she’d witnessed inside Dana’s nightmare world. He’d listened quietly, his attention and concern just exactly the level of support she needed. The attraction was still there, but so too was the emotional bond. Oz was too much of a gentleman to do anything about it while Kennedy was still in the picture, but nevertheless, Willow could feel the connection between them pulsing and glowing, just waiting for the time and say so to blossom into something amazing.



The second incident had happened later that day. The old gang had been gathered in the lounge at the Lodge, reminiscing about old times, and sharing their recent challenges and toasting their achievements.



Kennedy had burst into the room, full of excitement and her own sense of importance. Along with Vi and Chao Ahn, Giles had offered her the position of leader of her own international squad. They’d just finalized the details. She would be based in Sao Paulo, responsible for overseeing the slayer recruitment drive for the whole South American continent, and for ensuring that the inhabitants of Brazil got to go about their daily lives free of the threat of supernatural malevolence. She was thrilled, gratified that her superior slayer skills and leadership qualities had finally earned her the recognition she’d always felt was her due.



Giles had allowed her to select one of the squad slayers, quickly approving her choice of Caridad, one of the Hellmouth alumni. But Giles wouldn’t negotiate on the selection of the squad’s Watcher. Kennedy had wanted Willow, arguing that they were already established as a strong unit. But Giles wouldn’t hear of it, arguing that Willow’s role in establishing the Slayer Academy made her presence at Ashdown indispensible. Willow had never felt a greater sense of gratitude for Giles’ obstinacy. Instead he’d suggested the established field Watcher/Slayer pairing of Luisa and Sofia.



The young Watcher and her 15-year-old charge had arrived at Ashdown a fortnight previous. They’d been stationed in Sao Paulo prior to the First’s strike. One night, Luisa had spotted Bringers lurking outside their base, and had managed to alert Sofia, the pair fighting off and killing two of the four creatures that had been sent to murder them. Her knowledge of the hidey holes and alleyways of the city she’d grown up in had been invaluable in helping the two women evade the First’s agents, and eventually the Bringers had given up, no doubt off to track down and kill other, less fortunate potentials elsewhere.



Luisa was quiet, but determined. She also had good instincts and a compassionate streak a mile wide. She might seem a pushover to the headstrong Kennedy, but Giles thought they’d make a good match. Little Sofia would fit in with the older girls easily.



So it was settled, Kennedy would happily head off to the other side of the world, distance and divergent roles set to put paid to their relationship more neatly and less unpleasantly than their growing disharmony would have done. Still, Kennedy was not above a final shot at diva before she left, and was determined to monopolize her unwilling girlfriend’s time and company before she flew out with her squad on Sunday.



Which left Willow in the extremely awkward position she now found herself in, locked in the bathroom while both Kennedy and Oz waited on her appearance in the lounge. If it hadn’t been such an important occasion, she’d have been tempted to sneak out the back door and go missing for the day. Oh well, there was no way out. Smoothing on a final layer of lipgloss, and sliding her game face neatly into place, Willow opened the door and headed off to greet her dates.

‘And thus they sang their mysterious duo, sang of their nameless hope,
their death-in-love, their union unending,
lost forever in the embrace of night's magic kingdom.
O sweet night, everlasting night of love!
Land of blessedness whose frontiers are infinite!’
Thomas Mann


The rich, heady scent of wisteria perfumed the late afternoon air. Pendulous clusters of the purple and pale lavender flowers trailed delicately over the trellised walls of Ashdown’s Summer House, embellishing the pretty little building with their magnificent charms. Buffy sighed happily and took a deep breath, inhaling the heavenly fragrance as she and Spike sat waiting patiently in the warm sun.



The carefully tended lawns in front of the Summer House were decked out in rows of garden chairs, lined up to face the small landing at the top of a short run of steps. Over the last two weeks this area had accommodated the quiet sounds and gentle sequences of t’ai chi chu’an training, as up to three dozen girls at a time carried out the slow, repetitive movements of the solo art form. The Chinese slayer, Mai, and her Watcher Heng, were experienced proponents of the wushu, and Spike and Buffy had quickly enlisted their expertize in order to instruct the other girls.



Mai and Heng had run two sessions a day to begin with, but had doubled up over the last week following the arrival of another batch of newbies. With their slayer strength and physical prowess fully activated, the girls seemed to be picking up on the sequences quickly and capably, almost intuitively utilizing their natural balance and coordination to commit the routines to memory. The first group was already competent enough to add partner or ‘pushing hands’ exercises into their training.



Buffy had joined in as well, the low impact routines ideal as a pregnancy workout. Although she was aware of Angel’s regard for t’ai chi, she’d never really had time to learn the slow sequence of movements, or the philosophy of yin and yang (using softness to defeat hardness) that lay behind it. She thought that the expectation that students should demonstrate virtue or heroism, in order to protect the defenseless and grant mercy to one’s opponents, was an interesting one for slayers to consider. Whatever the case, she was enjoying the workouts.



Today’s gathering however was for an entirely different reason. Time to put play rather ahead of work; time to celebrate the joining of two souls.



“The residents have scrubbed up pretty well haven’t they pet,” Spike observed.



As she eyed the crowd sitting behind and to the left of them, Buffy had to agree. The guests were all done up in their best outfits, the men in suits and ties, the women in gorgeous jewel colored dresses. They sat chatting quietly, lined up either side of the short aisle that led to the landing.



A very attractive and grown up looking Dawn sat on the other side of Spike, then came Faith, who had toned down her usual slut bomb look for something more elegant. Willow, Kennedy and Oz sat directly behind them, the red headed witch striking in her chartreuse dress. She did look pretty awkward though, stuck between her two escorts like a rose between two thorns. Not that Oz was particularly thorny, but as for that Kennedy, she looked pretty prickly all right. Andrew, who rounded out the second row, was wearing a surprisingly dapper evening suit and some sort of hair product. Sprinkled amongst Cat’s family and workmates were most of the surviving Sunnydale Slayers and various Watchers and friends. A small gathering, but all very well turned out.



“Yep, pretty spiffy alright!” Buffy agreed.



“None so delicious as my girl though,” Spike leered, admiring the gorgeous full length, sleeveless turquoise blue dress that she was wearing.



It was the creation of young fashion designer Alice Temperley. She’d picked it out on one of the wedding shop extravaganza days in London. The gold detail around the neckline drew attention to her expanded bust, a good thing as far as Buffy was concerned, while the softly gathered drape of the dress’ empire line hid her still small tummy bump. She did actually feel quite delicious and was pleased that Spike obviously agreed.



The vamp in question was looking outrageously sexy himself. He’d stuck with his traditional color scheme, but had definitely put in some effort and was clad in a slim fit black lounge suit, black silk shirt and tie.



“Well, you look pretty mouthwatering yourself Big Bad. Perhaps I’ll need to reward such sartorial endeavors. Hmmm, maybe after the reception, I could check out the workmanship of such a smart ensemble. I think I’ll need to remove each item carefully, piece by piece and inspect the quality. Sort of quality control I guess. Sound alright to you?”



“Bloody hell,” Spike growled, his pupils fully dilated as he pictured the slow striptease in his head. Damn, he wished he’d worn underwear today, suit pants didn’t provide as much support as his denims usually did. Time to change the subject he reckoned.



“So the Watcher and the Whelp are looking pretty swish,” Spike noted, hoping to distract Buffy from her flirtatious efforts.



It worked! Buffy paused, her eyes following the short set of steps up to the raised landing. Two of the men she loved most in the entire world were standing on that grassy rise, the wisteria draped Summer House a stunning backdrop to the occasion that was about to play out. Giles and Xander both looked extremely gorgeous in their black, long length, mandarin collared tuxedos. The suit jackets were unbuttoned, highlighting the silver grey waistcoats each one wore, Giles’ paired with a pale lilac tie and Xander’s with a deep purple one.



Standing next to them stood Althanea, resplendent in an elegant V-neck silver grey lace and crushed velvet full-length dress, her dark burgundy hair pinned up in a loose chignon at the nape of her neck. Behind her a small wooden table was set out, laden with the many items she would need to carry out her responsibilities as Wiccan priestess. Alongside her stood a handsome older gentleman in a grey suit, some local dignitary who, Buffy guessed, was there to carry out the legal stuff. Encircling all four, a length of flower-strewn rope lay on the ground, outlining the area in which both the sacred and civil ceremonies would take place.



That reminded Buffy of the role that she and Spike would play later in the service. Quickly, she checked beneath her chair, unwilling to bring any attention to the object she had stashed there earlier. A sigh of relief and a slight smile were her only reaction, but Spike picked up on her actions anyway. He leaned over and whispered in her ear, his random and highly inappropriate suggestions about what he’d like to do to her after the ceremony took place sending heat to her cheeks and moisture to her loins. Huh, payback sucked!



The opening notes of a song thankfully interrupted their increasingly amorous byplay. The sound system began to play and several softly strummed guitar chords were immediately followed by Roberta Flack’s haunting voice:



The first time ever I saw your face

I thought the sun rose in your eyes

And the moon and the stars were the gifts you gave

To the dark and the endless skies, my love

To the dark and the endless skies



Buffy watched Giles’ face light up with adoration and she and those around her stood and turned around to see Cat walking gracefully across the lawn, walking towards the man she loved.



She looked stunning, her wedding dress molding her slim frame like it had been made just for her. Buffy had joined Rowan and the newly engaged Cat the previous week as they’d taken part in a massive, two day wedding dress hunt. They’d hit the shops in London’s Knightsbridge and Soho, but had ended up at a little store in West Dulwich that featured an up and coming designer by the name of Ian Stuart. Although his dresses were generally custom-fitted, he did stock a range of ready to wear models, including one that Cat had absolutely fallen in love with. It had been a one off gown, based on a standard design but produced in a non standard shade. The customer had ordered it and put down the deposit, but then changed her mind. Oh well, her loss, Cat’s gain.



The eye-catching dress was made out of a beautiful soft lilac taffeta metal, the strapless bodice heavily ruched and drawn up over her left hip to reveal an underlay of beaded French lace. The same lace embellished the neckline, and fabric flowers and bows adorned the hipline. Cat looked spectacular. As she made her way down the aisle, the late afternoon sun highlighted the violet streaks in her glossy hair. The dark tones complemented her magnificent teardrop bouquet: ivory roses, lilac freesias, gorgeous purple lisianthus, thistles and heather to signify her Scottish ancestry, lavender and betony to represent the healer.



The first time ever I kissed your mouth

I felt the earth move in my hand

Like the trembling heart of a captive bird

That was there at my command, my love

That was there at my command, my love



Buffy was stunned, and judging by the gasps of delight, so were the other guests. She leant back against Spike, teary eyed as he wrapped his arms around her waist, the emotion of the moment, the music, the dress, the pure love vibrating through the air getting to the both of them. Giles was likewise overcome and had to quickly dab his eyes with his silk handkerchief as Cat made her way towards him.



And the first time ever I lay with you

I felt your heart so close to mine

And I knew our joy would fill the earth

And last till the end of time, my love

And it would last till the end of time, my love



A half dozen paces behind her walked Rowan. She wore a simple knee-length strapless sheathe in deep purple satin. The ruched bodice echoed the design of Cat’s gown but fell softly to a slim-fitted, draped skirt. She carried a posy of flowers, a match to Cat’s only smaller, with the same lilac freesias, purple lisianthus, thistles, heather and lavender. Her long, dark hair fell in waves around her shoulders. Xander’s gasp of awe confirmed the effect Rowan was aiming for. The McNair girls were a dazzling combination indeed.



Together the two women made their way up the steps towards the small grassy landing that lay before the Summer House. Carefully they stepped over the rope and into the circle, and Giles and Cat exchanged loving glances as they came together and held hands.



The first time ever I saw your face, your face

Your face, your face



As the final notes of the song ended, Althanea stepped forward and spoke, “Welcome, friends and family, as we gather here today to witness and celebrate the marriage of Catriona and Rupert. This is a very special occasion, one that has been a very, very long time coming. I know we all share a sense of joy and wonder that these two souls, who were so clearly made for one another, have finally come together in a deeply loving and spiritual way, and have expressed their desire to make their union a binding one.”



There were a few raised eyebrows and smiles among the guests as those who knew the story of Giles and Cat’s many years apart nodded their agreement.



“For those of you who don’t know me, my name is Althanea Goodrich, and although not blood kin, I count both of these two fine people as family. I am a practicing Wiccan, living my life by the principles of the Wiccan Rede, and I’m very privileged to have been asked to officiate the ceremony today. Frank Gardner is the gentleman beside me, a local solicitor, who is authorized to register marriages in the Wealden district. Together we will oversee the proceedings.



I have already cast and blessed the circle in which we are standing. So without further ado, we shall begin the ceremony. Divine Lord and Lady, I ask thee to bless this couple, their love, and their marriage as long as they shall live in love together. May they each enjoy a healthy life filled with joy, love, stability and fertility.”



Althanea and Frank then both moved back behind the altar, and the priestess began the blessing of the elements. She began by lighting an incense burner, the smoke that arose from it carrying the rich scents of rose and patchouli. She turned to her left and spoke in a loud, clear voice. “Blessed be by the element of air. May your union be blessed with the gifts of the East, the winds of communication, and the breath of intellectual growth, and wisdom. “



She moved back behind the altar and lit a red candle, saying, “Blessed be by the element of fire. May your union be blessed with the gifts of the South, the warmth of harmony, the light of vitality and creativity and the heat of passion.”



Next, she lifted up a clear glass bowl, filled with water and shells, and held it up in front of her as she turned to her right and called out the next blessing. “Blessed be by the element of water. May your union be blessed with the gifts of the West, deep pools of friendship, and commitment, and oceans of understanding and love.”



Finally, she picked up a shallow earthenware dish containing an assortment of gemstones, turning so that she faced away from the gathering, and spoke loudly, “Blessed be by the element of earth. May your union be blessed with the gifts of the North, a bedrock of happiness, compassion, stability and sensuality.”



Althanea then moved back in front on the altar, close to where Giles and Cat were standing, hands still linked, and addressing them directly.



“Who comes here today, seeking spiritual and legal union with that one they have chosen over all others?”



“I have,” Cat and Giles responded as one.



“Do you both commit to love, honor, and respect each other, to communicate with one another, to look to your own emotional health so that you can relate in a healthy way, and provide a healthy home for children if you choose to have them; to be a support and comfort for your partner in times of sickness and health, as long as love shall last?”



“We do.”



“In making a commitment to loving one other, you share that which is best in you and give a moment of light to the world. Catriona and Rupert have chosen to write their own vows, and will now recite them as a promise to one another.”



“Cat, I have wandered this wide world for so many years now. A lot of my time has been spent buried amongst musty old books, but I’ve managed to squeeze in my fair share of adventure, face down some very real dangers, and even get knocked out a time or two. But all of this, I’ve done on my own, without a love to call my own. It never really bothered me, or so I thought. I’d built a family for myself and felt content with my lot, a careful, considered man, an intellectual man, a cautious man. But love is a funny thing. Once you acknowledge it, once you let it in, you’re at its mercy, you’re in its thrall and you know it will never let you go. And for that, I give thanks every day for its blessings.



Cat, you have breezed back into my life like a tempest, blowing away all my conceptions about myself, and my life. I find now that I am a passionate man, an affectionate man, a caring man, an impulsive man. You have brought such joy and passion into my life. I want to spend the rest of my days with you by my side, sharing love, life and laughter with one another.



Therefore, I Rupert Anthony Giles, take you, Catriona Rebecca McNair, to be my partner, my friend, my lover and my wife. I promise to love you through good times and bad, through joy and sorrow. I will try to listen to and trust you. I will try to support your decisions. Together we will face all of life's experiences and share one another's dreams and goals. I promise I will be yours always, your man, your mate; and that I will never, ever let you go, for as long as we both draw breath."



Spike blinked. His eyes must have some dust or pollen in them. Who knew the Watcher could be such a romantic. Beside him Buffy was squeezing his hand so tightly he could feel the bones creaking. He knew what she was feeling and thinking. Damn the old bastard and his soppy words, Spike was thinking the same thing. He couldn’t wait for the day that he and Buffy could stand up before kith and kin and pledge their vows to one another. God, he hadn’t even got his girl a ring yet. Had looked plenty, but there were none yet that seemed right. Rupes had shared his tale of ring discovery, wanting some help with the research, and Spike was waiting for something similar to happen. He didn’t know how, but he reckoned he’d just know when he came across the right ring. In the meantime, they had each other, and their little bump of joy, and that was enough for now.



He leaned over and pressed a kiss onto her damp cheek and whispered, “Love you pet, so much. Be us up there one day soon, and we’ll be so sickeningly sweet we’ll have everyone in tears, just you wait and see.”



By now Cat was ready to share her vows. She smiled tremulously through her tears and took a deep breath. “Rupert, unlike ye, I’ve always kent what and who I was missing. I have worked hard and played hard, and made a verra successful and fulfilling life and career for myself. But all the while I’ve ached inside, a hole in my heart that I knew only you could fill, mo gràdh. I thought our chances had passed us by, I couldn’t allow myself to hope that we would ever find one another. But I took a chance and here we are.



In the last two weeks you’ve filled my life with a love so deep and endless that it has filled up all the empty places in my soul. You are the other half of me, my bona fide, real life, one and only soul mate. Therefore, I, Catriona Rebecca McNair, take you, Rupert Anthony Giles to be my one and only and evermore, my husband. I give you my hand, and my heart, and promise to always be by your side as we journey together through all the good and bad, the ordinary and perilous that life can bring. I hope that my love will always be a safe haven for you and keep you sheltered from the storm. I am so in love with you Rupert, truly, madly deeply, and I promise that I always will be, that we will last till the end of time, my love.”



There was open sobbing coming from the audience now, and even Althanea and Frank were surreptitiously wiping their cheeks. Rupert hadn’t bothered waiting for any permission or otherwise from his old friend, but had simply drawn Cat in towards him, hugging her fiercely and murmuring words of love and longing. Finally he took a half step backwards and pressed a kiss to her forehead before bringing his hands up to cup her face, using his thumbs to gently wipe away her tears.



Althanea cleared her throat and Giles took another half step backwards, grabbing Cat’s hands and grinning down at her.



“Thank you Cat, Rupert,” the older woman said. “That was lovely. Your words did a wonderful job of reminding all of us of the power that love has to bring magic and beauty into our lives. Now we come to the blessing of the rings. Xander, if you will.”



Xander stepped forward and placed the two rings he’d been carefully guarding onto the center of a small velvet cushion that Frank was holding out. Althanea held her hands over the rings and intoned the blessing, once more calling on the elements to share their gifts. “The blessings of the wind upon these rings and your love, that you may share wisdom and communication. The blessings of fire upon these rings and your love, that you may share passion and strength. The blessings of water upon these rings and your love, that you may share love and friendship. The blessings of the earth upon these rings and your love, that you may share health and fertility.”



She stepped back and Frank took his turn, reminding everyone the rings were circular, a symbol of eternity, that though our lives are finite, love is everlasting, the creative force that binds us together, the force that gives new life. He then asked Giles to take Cat’s ring and place it on her finger and repeat the vow after him, which Giles did.



“I give you this ring as a symbol of my love and faithfulness. As I place it on your finger, I commit my heart and soul to you. Let it be a reminder that I will always be by your side and that I will always be a faithful partner to you.”



Then Cat repeated the same ritual before Frank excitedly announced to one and all, “I now declare you husband and wife, blessings upon you both. You may now kiss.”



And kiss they did, wholly and heartedly, and probably for a touch longer than was comfortable for those around them, until Xander saved the day by yelling out “Get a room!” which broke both the kiss and the awkwardness with a wave of amusement.



Everyone shuffled around a little, expecting the ceremony to be more or less over. Music played softly in the background as Giles and Cat signed the marriage register and Xander and Rowan witnessed it. As everyone around them chatted and sighed about the beautiful ceremony, and tissues were used liberally, Buffy and Spike sat quietly, aware that they still had a small role to play in the proceedings.



The wedding party completed their tasks and returned to their assigned spots. Althanea stepped forward and addressed the gathering once more. “At this point I would be expected to offer up the closing words, but we have something a little unexpected to add to the ceremony, something that even Catriona and Rupert have no knowledge of. I’d like to ask Buffy and Spike to enter the circle and perform a very special blessing.”



There were murmurs of surprise as Buffy reached down beneath her seat, grabbed the object lying there and walked quickly and a little nervously up the steps, her other hand in Spike’s. They paused at the edge of the circle, before stepping over the line together and moving up to where the bemused newlyweds stood. After a quiet greeting and a one armed hug for each of them, Buffy and Spike separated so that they could stand one each side of Giles and Cat, all four facing the guests in a small semi circle.



“You’re probably all very surprised to see us up here. I’m a little shocked myself. But last night I experienced a special delivery slayer dream, and as I try very hard these days to take note of and act on whatever these little memos from the boss folk seem to suggest, here we are. Giles, you have been like a father to me, sharing and supporting me through the many, many challenges that the slayer deal has thrown my way. Like a father, we haven’t always seen eye to eye, we’ve probably pissed off and disappointed one another more times than I can count. But like most family squabbles, we soon get over them, because underneath it all there is a deep, unshakable well of love and respect.



We’ve only known Cat for just over three weeks, but she’s an amazing person, a very special soul, with a very beautiful warmth and spirit about her. I was a little shocked by the speed of their relationship, but I’m hardly one to be commenting on the suitability of life partners given my own choices. So Spike and I are here to offer our own blessing, but in a very special way.”



With that Buffy lifted up her right hand away from the folds of her dress, and presented up the object she’d been holding there: Sagaria, gleaming dully in the late afternoon sun. There was a murmuring of surprise and interest among those gathered, in particular Giles and Cat. Buffy and Spike simply stepped forward, creating a circle out of the four participants, moving each of them around until she was satisfied that the positions matched the picture in her head. Behind them Althanea, Frank, Xander and Rowan stood curiously, creating a second circle.



Buffy thrust Sagaria into the center of their small circle, head uppermost, blade facing away from the altar. Spike grasped the shaft with his left hand, just above the guard, then indicated that Rowan should do likewise with her right. Buffy asked the bride to take Giles’ hand in her left, and then add his left hand to the scythe’s shaft. Finally, Buffy moved her right hand down the handle so that it sat immediately above Giles’. Slowly, she reached out to slide her other hand into Spike’s, their Hellmouth scars pressing lightly together, the circuit of connection complete.



Immediately their hands joined, a brilliant flash of light and energy poured out of Sagaria, washing over everyone like a warm wave. For those in the center of the circle, the ripple seemed to pass through them, a fount of wellbeing and heat and sensuality. It spread throughout their bodies, leaving a tingling awareness in its wake and a distinct glow in their loins.



As the two couples dropped hands and broke the circuit, the sensation began to slowly fade away, leaving behind a warm afterglow. A dazed Althanea quickly took charge.



“Well, it appears that Sagaria has added its own blessing to this union, an intervention of divine benediction indeed. This is a momentous portent, a sign of approval and covenant from the God and Goddess. But I think we may all need to partake of some refreshment after this startling event.” A ripple of laughter spread across the lawn.



“So, it is with great pleasure I present to you the bride and groom, Rupert and Catriona. May you each and together be blessed with health, happiness, harmony, and love. So mote it be!



Giles grabbed Cat’s hand and the pair of them, intoxicated on a cocktail of love, laughter, and joy, enhanced by a shot of mystical euphoria, stepped out of the circle and down the steps towards their guests, faces split wide open by matching sappy grins. Behind them, Xander and Rowan, also in the grip of some sort of exhilaration, trotted happily along, followed by the culprits themselves, Buffy and Spike, the Slayer still gripping her weapon tightly in her hand. She’d foreseen the events the previous night, but the reality was way more intense than the dream screen version. And what’s more, they were both pretty blissed out as well.



And so the ceremony concluded. Champagne was consumed; canapés were devoured; congratulations were bestowed. Group shots and intimate photos were taken down by the lake; the tranquil waters and cascading fountain in the background. Oz did the honors, proving to have a keen eye for composition. Finally the group retired to the lounge of the Lodge. Dawn, Faith and Andrew had done a brilliant job of turning it into a reception room, dressing the tables with crisp white linens, lilac candles and purple flowers, and organizing the chefs from the main kitchens to put on one of the wedding feasts they’d been so well known for in the past.



The evening turned into one of celebration all round. After the cake cutting, the garter tossing, and the various wedding toasts, Giles stood up to speak with pride about the work that had been achieved in establishing Amazon International, the setting up of the Academy, the organization of the dorms and the tracking down and recruiting of the baby slayers. He likened it to a phoenix, arising out of the ashes of the old council’s annihilation, and all of it accomplished without bloodshed thus far. Which of course set the Scoobies to groaning that he had undoubtedly doomed them all to another apocalypse.



Next, he formally announced the launch of the three new international squads, Sao Paulo, Beijing and New York. He warmly congratulated Kennedy, Chao-Ahn and Vi for their appointments as Squad Directors; and Watchers Luisa, Lien and Robin for their positions as official Operations Managers. Six other girls had been chosen to staff the teams, and all twelve team members, along with Faith’s L.A. team were due to fly out the following day. So too were the heavily depleted European Recruitment squads, newly topped up with several of the recently arrived field watchers and their slayers. He suggested that they all remember that and try not to party the entire night away.



With that, Giles and Cat bid everyone goodnight. As far as Giles was concerned, he couldn’t bear to spend even one minute more in the company of his friends and family. All he wanted was to get Cat alone, and to himself. He’d been achingly hard ever since Sagaria’s unexpected and disturbingly pleasant blaze of benediction. That was definitely research worthy, both the dream and the deed, probably some bloody prophecy. But for now, he didn’t give a toss. Anything that felt so good couldn’t be too bad, which sounded suspiciously like something Xander would say – my God, he was doomed!



Whatever the case, his priority at this stage was consummating his marriage. He was damned horny anyway, cut off for the last 24 hours after Cat insisted he, Xander and Spike take themselves off to a suite in the main house for the night previous. Of course the other two snuck back to their women later, but he was left lonely and loveless for the night. And the morning. It was extraordinary that, after years of very infrequent sexual interaction, a mere two weeks of twice daily sessions of lovemaking (three when the could sneak away during the days) had turned him some sort of sex addict, incapable of surviving a single day without being buried deep within Cat’s warm body.



But, of course, the addiction was for Cat herself, not just the sex. And he was presently aching for her. He bundled her out to his car and drove the 300 meters to the home he’d commandeered for the foreseeable future. There were five separate houses on Ashdown’s grounds, of varying sizes, but each located so as to maintain privacy from the main house and each other. Giles had selected one of the smaller ones for he and Cat to live in, and they’d already moved their clothes and personal effects in over the previous two days. It had been unfurnished, and at this stage the only furniture they had was the queen sized bed and bedroom suite that had shifted from his suite that morning. God it was time to christen its new home!



The silver BMW skidded to a halt outside the front door, and Giles leapt out the driver’s side and around to Cat’s door in time to open it for her. He handed her out, then swept her into his arms, and up the front steps to the door, barely able to pick out where he was going as he kissed her passionately all the while. Fumbling with the door handle he managed to shove it open, then carry her into the house. Wrapped up in one another’s arms, mumbling I love you’s and Oh God’s between kisses, they took their first steps over the threshold towards the beginning of their whole new life together.



But their physical need for one another left them blind to this sentimental act. Cat slid to the ground, and desperate and panting, the newlyweds scrambled up the stairs in the dark, too impatient to find the light switches. Instinct and yearning led them unerringly through the unfamiliar house, past the landing to the master bedroom. Instinct also allowed Giles to locate the switch inside the bedroom door, and light flooded the room as they stumbled towards the bed.



At once they stopped and separated, each intent on divesting themselves of their wedding finery as fast as they could, but unwilling to do so at the expense of missing the sensuous reveal that was happening in front of them. Giles did have to help Cat with the endless line of tiny, taffeta covered buttons marching down her spine, and it took him every ounce of will not to simply tear the two sides of her dress apart. Finally, enough of them were undone that she could wiggle out of the gown. Giles moaned as her luscious little thong (oh my God, a thong!) – covered, well uncovered, wriggly arse was revealed.



And then she stepped out of the fabric pooled at her feet and pirouetted. She stood there facing him, in just a lacy white strapless bra and the tiny matching thong, sheer, white stockings with lacy tops and pair of pale lilac satin shoes so gorgeous that even Giles had to admire them, although mostly for the effect that their 4 inch bejeweled heels had on lengthening and shaping her legs. She was the sexiest and most beloved sight he’d ever seen in his life.



Clad only in his new wedding ring and a pair of black boxer briefs, his throbbing, leaking erection stretching the front of them out beyond any hope of salvage, Giles was simply overcome and speechless. Just long enough to thank the universe, any gods and goddesses who might be in the vicinity and his own dumb luck, for the love of such an astonishing, sexy, funny, intelligent and compassionate woman.



Cat on the other hand was past the grateful stage and consumed by a burning, driving need to mate with her man. She tackled him, plastering her body against his and launching her self up into his arms, legs wrapped around his waist, lips locked, grinding her sodden, silk covered pussy against his straining prick.



Giles groaned heatedly between kisses and spun them both around so that they were up against the bed. His hands slid up and down her back, petting and kneading the silky skin, until he found and unhooked the catch to her bra and slid the loosened garment out from between them. Slowly, he lowered her onto the bed, pulling back just long enough to slide down her thong and his briefs. When Cat moved to take her shoes off, Giles stepped onto the bed, kneeling between her splayed legs and putting one hand on hers, stopping her, while he stroked himself with the other.



“Leave them on sweetheart. It’s a bit clichéd I’m sure, but you look hot. Leave them on.” Now he’d finally found his voice, his feelings came bubbling out. “Oh God Cat, I love you so much baby. Need you, now.”



Cat groaned, “Yes, now,” and he shuffled forward, bending his steel hard shaft down enough that he could line up with her sopping opening. He slid home in one thrust and they both moaned and panted. Only three strokes and Cat was crying out her ecstasy beneath him and Giles was lucky to manage three more within her convulsing walls before he spilled an unearthly volume of seed deep inside her heat. Three, less frantic but equally lusty strokes later, he figured he’d be good for at least one more round.



It turned out he was wrong. He was actually good for two more, and a third as dawn spilled over the trees-lined horizon. Finally sated, blissed out on love and connection, souls enraptured, bodies pleasantly sore, they drifted off in one another’s arms.

‘Mistress, there are portents abroad of magic and might,
And things that are yet to be done. Open the door!’
Elizabeth Jane Coatsworth


It was the cold that nudged Buffy’s senses first, a deep, bone jarring cold. As awareness began to filter through her sleep-addled mind, she became conscious of the hard, uneven surface beneath her. Her brain still fuzzy, she frowned, bewildered about why she might be laying somewhere so unsnuggly.



She opened her eyes. Nothing! She’d either gone blind or her surroundings were utterly void of any form of light, natural or artificial. Either way, she was in the dark, and a claustrophobic terror began to claw at her as adrenaline flooded her bloodstream like a shot of ice.



Cautiously, she sat up, her hands clutching at the wet, rough surface beneath her naked legs and panty covered backside. She shivered, her thin tank top offering no protection against the bitter chill.



She was encased in utter silence; no sound, no sight, no sign of life. She took a deep breath, the thick, stagnant air seeping sluggishly into her lungs, reluctant to surrender its measure of oxygen. Straining all of her senses, she desperately sought to detect any clues about her surroundings. But the silence continued to wrap her in its indifference, and the darkness blanketed the space around her like a sneer. Buffy felt isolated, alone, imprisoned in the dark nothingness, and a sense of foreboding swept over her. The eerie sensation of total solitude intensified, and a feeling of emptiness welled up inside her as she realized why.



Ever since his return, Buffy had been able to sense Spike’s presence. To be honest, she’d always experienced a little quivery sensation that signaled he was in the vicinity, a prickle of awareness that seemed more defined, more personal, somehow more sensual than the standard back of-the-neck tingle that she got off other vamps.



Over the years of their acquaintance that tingle had become so ingrained, so familiar, that its loss had contributed significantly to the deep depression she’d suffered from during those early weeks in England. In her state of despair and mourning, she probably wouldn’t have even been able to separate out the loss of her long standing Spike-tingle from the misery of the loss of him, so disoriented and overwhelmed by grief had she been.



But later, after his release from the amulet, she had welcomed that tingle back with almost the same enthusiasm she had used to greet the vamp that caused it. As the pieces of Spike’s body, his flesh, his very essence had begun reassembling themselves before her eyes, the prickling sensation that always announced his arrival had washed over her, bathing her in its familiar warmth and security.



Over the next few days, particularly after his little love bite, that awareness had deepened and strengthened until it had settled into an almost solid presence in the depths of her soul. They still hadn’t carried out the mating bond, in fact they hadn’t even discussed it properly, and Spike hadn’t bitten her since that first night, yet the link between them was strong and comforting.



They couldn’t read each other’s thoughts or sense one another’s emotions or injuries. She didn’t think they could use it like a locator beacon or a homing device, but to be fair they hadn’t done any research on bonds and she hadn’t even asked Spike how the connection felt from his side of the bridge. She’d just pretty much assumed it was as good for him as it was for her.



They had also never formally tested how far away they could be from one another before the link started to fade or cut out. Whether extreme distance would cool the familiar, deep-seated warmth that she now associated with Spike, shift it down a gear to the more garden variety, back of the neck vamp tingle, cause it to pass through a staticky stage before the signal faltered, or simply allow their awareness to continue unabated, Buffy couldn’t say.



But she did know that moderate distance had no discernable effect. The odd day they were apart was generally because one or other of them went up to London, either for council business (Spike) or shopping (Buffy). She missed being away from him, even for a few hours. But she was always comforted by that little background buzz of awareness, still coming in loud and clear, no matter that he was outside her immediate vicinity.



Even significant distance seemed to have little impact. Three weeks ago, she, Dawn and Svetlana, the Russian field slayer, had portal hopped over to the Ukraine, then flown on to Moscow. They were officially there to scan and identify the Russian baby slayers, but unofficially to hit the shops off Red Square. They’d spent the evening and the following morning at their hotel, scanning and identifying 38 girls over thousands of miles, then they’d rewarded themselves with an entire afternoon’s shopping. All three girls picked up some awesome bargains, including Dawn’s find, a floaty, shimmery vintage Valentin Yudashkin creation that she’d worn to the wedding.



The whole time, Buffy could feel the link humming quietly in the background, maybe not as strong and tingly as when they were near one another, but still there, like a silent, warm presence in the back of her mind. The only momentary glitch had been as she’d stepped through the key portal, the signal stuttering and fading away, but only for a second, surging back again as soon as she stepped into Colleen and Matt’s motel room in Kiev.



The homeward journey had been the same, a little falter, before roaring back to life as she stepped out of the portal and back into the lounge at the Lodge, back into Spike’s arms.



Buffy didn’t know how the link worked or whether it was mystical – part of some new psychic sensitivity Spike had picked up during his little vacation in Nirvana, the to-be-expected side effect of her having been vamp-bitten, or even some off-shoot of the dream-claim he’d made on her while trapped in the amulet: or purely emotional – the intuitive connection that two people deeply in love with one another can develop. She had little or no knowledge or experience of either. But she knew how it made her feel – loved and safe and always connected, never alone.



But now, sitting here in this cold, wet, pitch-black space, a terrifying awareness swept over her. The connection with Spike was gone; she couldn’t feel it at all. No comforting hum, no reassuring warmth, it was gone. It wasn’t fuzzy or weak or stretched out; it was just gone. Gone.



Terror bubbled up inside her again, this time sharper and more absolute than before, amplified by a devastating feeling of abandonment. She felt dizzy and weak, overcome by fear-induced nausea. In the silence she could hear an anguished howl, a beseeching voice screaming out for Spike, a wailing in the night for love lost. Whether the sound passed her lips or simply echoed through the blurred corners of her distressed psyche, she could not say.



Time passed, slowly, painfully. In the darkness, Buffy squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her fists, struggling to slow her ragged breathing and settle her pounding heart rate. Gradually, reason began to seep back into her mind. She tried to soothe the grief in her soul, quieten the dread in her blood. She needed to calm down and think, work out what this loss of connection could mean.



It didn’t have to mean he was dead, did it? But what did it mean? Maybe they were just really far apart? Maybe she was dead, except this dark, cold, hard place surely didn’t seem like her idea of Heaven! Anyway, her heart was still beating and she was still breathing, even though she felt so cold, so empty and so sore.



Huh! She hadn’t realized that earlier – that she was in physical pain, besieged as she had been by fear and emotional pain. But now she thought about it, she was – filled with a deep gnawing agony. She tried to block it out, tried to build a barrier around the pain and what it meant. A deep, primal horror washed away all reason, all conscious thought. But even as her mind froze, her hands took on a life of their own, and began to drift slowly towards her abdomen. Her fingers brushed against the wet, sticky hem of her tank, before fluttering downwards, naively searching out the gentle swell of her belly.



The appalling, incomprehensible message her questing hands finally relayed back could not be decoded by Buffy’s conscious mind, it simply did not make sense. In any event, her brain had shut down, a rational reaction when faced with a shocking horror too foul to contemplate.



But her subconscious mind understood what the jagged edges of torn flesh and muscle ripped across her stomach meant, what the cooling blood and barren agony signaled, and she tipped her head back to the foul darkness around her and screamed her boundless, incessant grief and anguish out into the void.



~~~



Buffy’s scream reverberated around the room. She panted harshly and moaned as tears flowed down her cheeks and her hands clutched blindly at her belly.



Spike reached out to gently stroke her rigidly tense back and whisper reassuringly to her. “It’s alright pet, its okay now, just a bad dream sweetheart. You’re safe. Spike’s got you my luv. I’m here Buffy. Hush now kitten, you’re okay.”



As his soothing words flowed over her, calming her terror-stricken mind, his hands stroked and petted her, gentling her frozen body. He felt her muscles soften and relax and she swayed before collapsing in his arms. The tears began again, this time heralding relief.



Spike was here beside her. Buffy could feel his hand stroking her shoulder, his arm gently draped across her back, his chest pressed against her side and his cheek pressed lightly against her head. She could hear his words of reassurance whispered lovingly into her tangled tresses. And most importantly she could once again sense his link with her, humming away in the back of her subconscious, instantly soothing her just as effectively as his words or hands.



Gradually, as shock abated and awareness returned, Buffy’s hands flew back down to her abdomen. Relief and elation surged through her body as her fingers stroked the smooth, gentle swell of her pregnant belly. She grabbed Spike’s hand and placed it under her own, lightly pressing his palm against her navel. Wordlessly she looked up at him, the question revealed clearly in her moist eyes.



“Little Bit’s fine luv, heartbeat thumping away as strong as ever. Can’t say the same for your’s though pet. It’s slowing down a mite now, but it was fair rocketing just before you woke up.”



He pressed a kiss on her forehead, scooped her up onto his lap and gathered her back into his arms. Quietly they sat there, Spike propped up against the headboard, Buffy cocooned in his embrace.



Spike waited until her heart rate had returned to normal and she felt relaxed and pliant in his arms before he slid his finger under her chin and lifted her face to his. “Ready to share yet luv?” he asked gently.



Buffy looked back up at him, her eyes big and shiny. She bit her lip and hesitated, staring deep into his soul before slowly nodding twice.



“Yeah. I guess,” she granted reluctantly. “But I’m really parched,” she pouted, “Could you make me a drink first?”



Spike grinned and shook his head, relieved that she was again feeling comfortable enough to use her girlish wiles on him, not that she didn’t already know that he was slave to her every whim as it was. He pressed a kiss to her forehead then slipped out of bed, ambling through to the kitchenette, unconcerned about his nudity in the warmth of the centrally heated suite. Having to worry about the air temperature was one of the few drawbacks of his Atar-gifted enhancements, but being able to walk by Buffy’s side through night and day, more than compensated for having to adjust to feeling hot or cold.



He popped a jug of milk in the microwave and frowned. Life had been very quiet over the two weeks since Rupert and Doc had gotten hitched. The place had literally emptied out the day after the event, he and Xander in charge of shuttling most of the senior slayers and field watchers out to Gatwick. Even the Bit had flown out, off to New York with Vi and her crew to do the slayer scan, and from there, all over the sodding Americas. Poor chit had only arrived back that afternoon, must be bloody exhausted.



Mind you, the imports far outweighed the exports, another batch of baby slayers, from Greece or assorted Eastern European countries, needing pick up from the airport the following day. There were over 200 of them squeezed in to the dormitories now, hell on a vamp’s nerves.



Still, it was the only action he got these days, working out with the little girls. He and Buffy worked together with the younger ones, just for the first week or so until they began to settle down around him. The young slayer Mai, one of their t’ai chi instructors, had flown off to set up the offices in Beijing with Chao-Ahn, but Heng was still here, taking three classes a day. They’d set up a fitness circuit, running, swimming and gym workouts, but the girls mostly supervised themselves through that class. Finally they’d introduced a bit of weapons work and unarmed hand to hand combat, nothing too heavy but the sparring was enough to get his blood pumping anyway.



Classes proper were due to start in two days time, and at that stage they’d have to compete with the academic subjects for slots in the timetable so they were making the most of the time they had now, building up the girls’ fitness, strength and flexibility.



The bleep, bleep of the microwave, signaling the milk had reached its optimum temperature, interrupted Spike’s thoughts. He grinned as he glanced down at his rigid cock, which had been enjoying a little reminiscing of its own. Fighting a slayer, any slayer, even the play stuff, always made it sit up and take note. Wasn’t a slight on his girl, was just slayer pheromones and battle lust combined. Stupid cock didn’t know any better, and being surrounded by the bloodthirsty little packages day in and day out, well he could hardly blame it. Luckily the Slayer didn’t either, just shook her head in amusement and took advantage of the situation whenever she could. Spike grimaced and gave his straining cock a few conciliatory strokes, more than aware that now was not the time for a show of rampant hormones.



The memory of Buffy’s recent terror-filled nightmare, communicated so clearly by her increased heart rate and moans of anguish that he hadn’t needed a bond link to know how distressed his girl was, subdued his libido more effectively than a bucket of ice water. She’d been horrified and in shock. And something told him that this was no garden-variety nightmare.



He hadn’t told the Slayer, but he’d been having dreams of his own lately, him lost and alone, searching someplace far underground, racing through a labyrinth of caves and tunnels, dagger in hand, danger ahead. He didn’t know what it meant, or where the Slayer was in his dreams, but his heart beat out a tattoo of danger and despair as he ran down the never-ending tunnels.



Sighing in recognition of the daunting task ahead, Spike finished making the two mugs of sweetened cocoa and placed them both on a tray along with a packet of biscuits (not cookies – they were in England now after all). He carried them through to the bedroom where he found Buffy propped up against the headboard, rapidly scribbling notes into her hard-backed journal.



Dawn had bought it for her so she could start recording her dreams, determined that no-one would ever have the opportunity to point the finger of inattention at her again. Although she was the younger sister, after all the sacrifices Buffy had made for her over the years, Dawn had felt bad that she hadn’t noticed how much Buffy was struggling since the Hellmouth Battle. That she hadn’t even known that her sister had been still having the Spike dreams after they arrived in England had made her feel like a nominee for bad sister of the year award. Not that Buffy herself could have escaped that dubious honor at times, but she did after all have the excuse of having to save the world at regular intervals.



Anyway, Dawn was obviously determined to make up for what she’d seen as a serious breach of sisterly protocol given her recent demonstration of overly solicitous behavior. She was constantly checking that Buffy was okay or happy and was the number one supporter of the Buffy and Spike 4ever fan club. She scowled at anyone who even looked sideways at the new couple and would openly chastise any who dared to make snarky comments. Not that anyone did these days. Weird that.



The dream journal was her attempt to ensure that Buffy was recording anything of importance so that they could analyze them for clues and deal with any up and coming apocalypses. Spike thought it was more than likely a thinly veiled hope on the teenagers part that by recording her dreams in the book Dawn gave her, Buffy would feel more inclined to share with her little sister.



Whatever the outcome, Buffy was certainly using the journal for its intended purpose at the moment. He cleared his throat as he walked around to Buffy’s side of the bed to place her hot chocolate on the bedside cabinet. She started as he moved into her peripheral vision, so absorbed in her task that she hadn’t heard him enter the room.



He watched her glance up at him warmly, before quickly noting his state of undress. Her eyes were drawn downwards, an admiring expression crossing her face as she checked out his flaccid, but still slightly engorged, member. She dragged her gaze upwards again and raised her eyebrow in question before gracing him with an impish grin.



Spike just shook his head in mock censure, pleased that she had recovered enough from her nightmare to indulge in a little flirting. But as much as he’d like to follow up on her invitation, now wasn’t the time.



“Later sweetheart, I promise. But for now we’ve got work to do right. Gotta get this dream thrashed out yeah. So drink up your cocoa and let’s get to. Sooner we start, sooner we get this little nightmare sorted out, and back in each other’s arms pet.”



This sobered Buffy pretty quickly, and the mood was catching as she prepared to tell her tale. Spike settled back into his side of the bed, both of them grabbing their hot chocolates before he leaned back against the headboard, and propped Buffy up between his spread thighs. There were no sexual overtones in their embrace, just comfort and support and unconditional love, freely given and received.



Buffy began by reading through her notes. Spike was still amazed that Buffy was so open with him. She had always been reticent about sharing her thoughts and feelings. Even in the early days of her slaying, Rupert had had to push to get details out of her about the demons she’d fought and things she’d heard. And over the years she had only got more guarded.



Spike guessed that some of it may have stemmed from her natural personality, but most of her reluctance to share came from the many secrets she’d had to keep. The big ones, like I’m a Slayer and vampires and demons are real she’d had to hide from everyone except a select few, even, to begin with, her parents. Their response to her early confession had taught her a harsh lesson, don’t tell anyone anything – they won’t believe you.



Her entire schooling was an exercise in secrecy, the Watcher’s employment as her school librarian ensuring that what could have been a refuge from the nightly dangers simply became an extension of her undercover life. She had to hide herself at home, hide herself at school. Hell, she lived in a town that made an art form of hiding from its own reality, what chance did she ever have of becoming an over sharer. Later she was forced to hide her relationship with the Big Poof from her friends and watcher, fearful that they wouldn’t approve. Not that Spike could blame them on that front.



As she’d got older and Rupert had begun to question or disagree with her decisions and then just stepped out of the picture altogether, she pulled even further inside herself. By the time she’d been dragged out of heaven, she didn’t know how to share, what to say, or who to tell. So for the most part she’d just shut up. To everyone. Except Spike.



And the amazing thing was that over the last two years that pattern had pretty much held true. Not that she would ever win the title of Little Miss Blabbermouth, but she did unload more with him than with any of the others, both verbally and non verbally.



She freely admitted that she should have been more open, both before and after the Hellmouth. She’d put herself through way more angst than was necessary had she just opened up to the others, at least Willow and Dawn. So she was trying to be more chatty and forthcoming, more in touch with and open about her feelings and fears. But the only one she really felt comfortable disclosing to was Spike. And he was fine with that, if not a little astounded.



So now she was ready to do the big dream reveal. Spike used his most encouraging words, his most supportive body language. Not that he had to put this on, he didn’t, it was just that being her major sounding board was such a huge responsibility, throwing him into the role of pseudo-Watcher as well as fiancé. And he took that responsibility very seriously.



Buffy’s account of her dream experiences began confidently enough, her narration strong and firm as she tried to describe the setting she’d found herself in. But she became increasingly more nervous as she began to unveil her emotions and sense of dread. Her voice shook as she explained her discoveries, adding details here and there so that Spike could get a pretty good idea of the landscape of what would be any woman’s most horrific dread. Describing the loss of bond was bad enough, both of them reaching for the other, as if their fingers could clarify the existence of that which only their souls could touch.



But outlining the denouement had been almost more than Buffy could take, and it had taken several attempts and a bucketful of tears before, curled up in the security of Spike’s arms, she haltingly began describing the sickening horror that her searching hands had discovered.



Spike could feel his heart stop, then lurch into an erratic cascade of staccato beats, as her words confirmed the dark suspicion he’d been harboring since her fear riven awakening. But her description painted a scene that flooded his soul with dread, the clarity of the image that danced in his head made more horrific by its familiarity.



He’d never himself committed such an act before, but he’d witnessed it more than a few times, usually with a sense of casual indifference. He’d watched Drusilla weave her dance of death, dealing out depravity and destruction with an insane glee. At times she would use her gift of thrall to lull her pregnant victim into a state of torpor before utilizing her razor sharp talons to tear and rend. At others she would tear out the expectant mother’s throat first, at least ending the poor woman’s misery, before swiftly seeking out the innocent child within.



But at her most sadistic, Dru would tear the child from its mother’s belly while the woman still lived, perfuming the air with her frantic screams of pain and terror. His sire had reveled in those occasions, swearing that the child’s blood tasted sweeter when seasoned by the mother’s fear-laced adrenaline. Spike didn’t know if that was true or not, never having partaken of the fruits of Dru’s obsession. In fact he’d thought it more than a little senseless, and somewhat barbaric, even for a vampire. But he had been happy to indulge her whim, the rewards he received afterwards more than making up for her acts of hedonistic bloodshed.



Now, in light of Buffy’s dream, Spike felt sick with a horror-filled remorse. His hands pressed shakily against her stomach, blindly seeking out the reassurance that the tiny heartbeat provided. But behind his closed eyelids the images danced on, the screaming faces of Dru’s victims morphing into Buffy’s terrified countenance.



He shook himself, ridding his head of the ghastly vision. The fire cleansing had gone a long way towards washing away his guilt, but it couldn’t remove the memories of all the atrocities he’d been a part of, all the lives he’d taken. All he could do now was to accept responsibility for his past actions and work towards doing enough good to balance out even a fraction of the evil he had inflicted on the world.



And he’d start by making sure that his love was safe, that nothing or no-one would get anywhere near Buffy or their baby. He swore that while he existed, no harm would come to either of them. His hand sought out their child, comforted by the tiny heartbeat pitter-pattering beneath his palm. They were his, his to love, and his to protect, and protect them he would, to the ends of the earth.

'Our life is composed greatly from dreams, from the unconscious, and they must be brought into connection with action. They must be woven together.’Anais Nin


Buffy’s narrative effort had exhausted her, and settled somewhat by Spike’s assertion that it was common for pregnant women to project their deepest fears into their dreamscape, she began to relax. Spike gathered the weary Slayer back into his arms, stroking her gently as her breathing smoothed out and her heartbeat slowed down, held her until her muscles softened and she slumped bonelessly against him, finally succumbing to sleep.



He sighed quietly and tried to settle down to sleep himself. But he was much more worried than he’d let on to Buffy, the vivid quality of the nightmare, combined with his own recent dreams telling a story to clear to ignore. He tossed and turned for ages, too wired to settle. He also had to fight the instinct that told his body it needed to be up, stealing through the night, seeking out those creatures that the predator in him recognized as prey, as sustenance, as his.



Back in Sunnydale, his sleep patterns had been fairly erratic. Often, over the last three years he’d had to be up and about during sunlight hours, using the tunnels to get around and carry out whatever little task was needed to make Buffy or the Bit’s lives easier. But, at other times, accompanying the Slayer out on patrol and then guarding her homestead, or even earlier in the year taking the little slayer wannabes out into the night for work experience, Spike had readily reclaimed his right to sleep the day away.



But since they had moved to England, what with a dearth of local slayage opportunities and her pregnancy, Buffy had reverted back to the ‘regular folk’ timetable of night sleeping. And Spike, trying so hard to never be far from her side, had also been obliged to keep to human hours.



It wasn’t the most difficult thing in the world to do. After all, humans managed to force their bodies into following unnatural sleep rhythms, shift workers up and about as the rest of the world rested. And he was nothing if not adaptable, adjusting to life in a white hat almost before he’d realised that was what he was doing.



Mostly that was just Darwin’s survival of the fittest – adapt or die, simple as that. Vampires needed to be able to pass as human in order to slip in amongst their victims and lull them into a sense of false security. And only the ponciest of vamps, like that tosser Dracula, needed to surround themselves with all the self-serving pomp and ritualistic bullshit of vampire mythology.



Then, to some extent it was the rebel in him, that part of his psyche that screamed out ‘Fuck you World, don’ try and tell me what to do and how to do it. Vamp or not, I’ll do it my way.” He took a certain twisted pride in doing what so many of his brethren would see as selling out, living with the Slayer, as her consort.



But partly it was also Spike’s deep-seated need to belong and be accepted. He’d always sought out love and acceptance, striving to be what he thought his beloved would want him to be, whether that be a love-sick milk sop, a vicious, murderous fiend, or a self-sacrificing champion. The sense of family and belonging he got from Buffy and Dawn and to a lesser extent, the other Scoobies, fed his soul and his freshly beating heart. And he’d do anything to fit in and maintain that acceptance.



Yeah, what the fuck, he was a mass of contradictions. And these deeply introspective bloody thoughts were in no way helping him to get to sleep. His restless demon stirred, as he and Buffy lay wrapped in night’s silence, frustrated by this nocturnal inertia, rebelling against such self-imposed restraints.



His mind was restless too, involuntarily recreating the scenes of desperate solitude and horror that Buffy words had painted earlier. His verbal responses at the time had been soothing, comforting, but Spike was deeply worried. Apart from the all too real correlation with events in his past, the dream itself was too vivid, too stark to be anything other than one of the portentous visions gifted her by virtue of her Slayer calling. And the message was clear – someone was out to destroy his girl and steal away their child.



~ ~ ~



Warm sunlight streamed through the narrow gap between the drapes, reaching out across the carpeted floor and up the side of the mattress and box base to caress the pale skin of Spike’s exposed thigh. He awoke with a jerk, the heat on his leg firing the primitive vampire response to sunlight. Yelling loudly (vampires do not scream!), he rolled quickly out of the way, one roll too many it turned out as he hit the ground, sheets and blankets tangled around his body.



Cursing, he belatedly remembered that sunlight was no longer a threat to him. It had been two months since the amulet spat him out into Buffy’s hotel room, two months of coming to terms with the added abilities and enhancements he’d picked up during his time in the Nirvana and although he’d adjusted pretty well to the changes in his vampire anatomy, there were still times that the habits and reactions of an unlifetime overrode his new settings.



Shortly after he’d arrived at Ashdown, Giles had got Rowan to put Spike through a series of tests to determine what the extent of these abilities was and just what the upgrade might mean. He had retained, along with his demon, the superhuman strength, stamina, speed, agility, heightened senses, and rapid healing that was gifted vampires at their turning. But now he was seemingly unaffected by sunlight, crosses, holy water or garlic; not that garlic had ever been a problem for him before.



In addition, his body was ‘alive’, well at least enough to register a temperature, with a reluctant heartbeat that sluggishly pumped fluids around his body. Neither his pulse nor temperature quite hit normal human range, but they seemed to do the job of keeping the body of one William Pratt fully functional.



And those functions included digestion. Although he still needed a minimum amount of blood each day to satisfy his demon’s requirements, Spike now needed normal food as well to ensure his body maintained peak health and efficient performance. That was pretty much a bonus as he’d enjoyed a range of foods anyway. They just tasted way better since his taste buds had kicked back in – just another little change that had got the Head Watcher all excited.



Spike wasn’t too interested in all the changes his body had undergone, or what it might mean in terms of what he was now. His only concern lay in if or how the outcome would affect him and Buffy, but the Watcher’s missus on the other hand was absolutely fixated. From the very first time they’d met, Cat had been fascinated by his vampire physiology, both past and present.



Now that she was living at Ashdown fulltime and the wedding was out of the way, she took every opportunity she could get to poke or prod Spike. She spent hours drawing up graphs and charts, recording the vampire’s various results like heart rate and blood pressure, as well as reaction and recovery times. She’d taken blood samples to measure oxygen levels and blood types and compared these with samples taken from slayers, regular humans and even other vampires. And she’d come up with a handy little theory to describe what had happened in the Fire Realm.



Her theory was based on the generally accepted understanding that infestation of the dying body by the vampiric virus (her words, not Spike’s, he was opposed to words like infest and virus being used to describe such a central part of himself!) reanimated certain base functions of the dead body it invaded.



Most of her findings had been shared, not only with Spike and Buffy, but also with the Watcher. He took a cursory interest, but was mostly too busy with Amazon business to get overly involved. His interest was more mystical than medical anyway, and was more likely to promote various musings about what the ‘vampire’ now was, and if there might be prophecies other than The Song that he featured in. It didn’t seem to involve anything more than speculation, the researchers all being preoccupied with more important study, and if Rupes came to any conclusions, well he certainly hadn’t shared them with Spike.



The issue of classification didn’t really bother Spike at all. He was more concerned with the fact that he could more fully be part of Buffy’s life. Instead of pulling her into the darkness, he was able to follow her into the light. And it felt bloody amazing.



In fact, only yesterday afternoon he and Buffy had taken a stroll through the gentle sunlight of summer’s end. They’d meandered down to a stand of ancient trees straddling the boundary line, an outcrop of Ashdown Forest. The woodland paths had been cool and shady, dappled with the light that stole in between outspread limbs and clusters of leaves, and they’d wandered in simple contentment, happy just to be in one another’s company as they’d trodden the paths that Christopher Robin had explored long ago.



Being able to hold one another’s hands and walk through the light of day had lent the couple a semblance of normality, but that illusion was only skin deep. No matter Cat’s detailed scientific analysis, Spike was still a vampire, mystically resurrected, Buffy was still the Slayer, mystically pregnant and her sister was still a teenager, and a mystical portal opening key – a real mystical-a-palooza.



Buffy had begun to accept her status, happier than ever before to leave that long lamented label of normal for the ordinary folk to wear. She knew that her standing and abilities put her so far to the right of the normal spectrum that not only was she not on the same page, she wasn’t even in the same chapter, and she was getting to be okay with that.



Part of her acceptance had come from Spike’s constant assertion that normal equaled ordinary and she should never settle for being ordinary and when she was so patently extraordinary. His words made her stutter and blush, especially as he always went on to drop in a few more superlatives, like brilliant, exceptional and remarkable.



The other had to do with her joy at being pregnant, a pregnancy she felt she never would have achieved without all the mystical alignment, and while her joy was mostly for herself as a woman in love with the father of her child, it was also partly for the world that child would play a hand in saving.



So yes, Buffy had let normal go, but it didn’t mean that she didn’t have the same hopes and fears as normal folk, didn’t want to experience the same highs or avoid the same lows, and if a walk in the countryside, with her man, on a sunny afternoon could allow her to hit one or two of those highs, well Spike was chuffed he could provide that.



Still, normal and happy. He didn’t like to tempt fate or attract the attention of the bloody PTB, cos this ordinary life had its advantages all right. But lying here on the bedroom floor entwined in bloody bed linen, well that was a bit too down to earth and sodding normal for Spike’s tastes. He sighed and hauled himself up, extricating himself from the sheets before wandering over to snatch up his jeans and pull them on. T-shirt and boots quickly followed and he headed over to the door, keen to find his girl and check if she was all right.



But leaving the room was harder than he’d anticipated, the bloody righteous voice of his demon kicking in as he spied the shambolic bed. He groaned and turned around, quickly and efficiently making the bed and picking up Buffy’s discarded nightwear. Who would ever guess that his vamp side would turn out to be so whipped?



Buffy wasn’t out in the lounge or kitchen so Spike figured she was either in Dawn’s room, the Lodge lounge or up at the main house. He quickly poured and nuked himself a mug of blood and downed it. Picking up the still warm croissant Buffy had left out for him, he munched on it appreciatively as he checked through the Lodge before wandering over to the Manor House.



He headed straight for the library, confident that Buffy would have already shared her dream and got the Watcher and the Scoobies researching. Sure enough, Red, Niblet, Harris, Rowan, Doc and Rupert had books scattered across the large oak table and were deep in conversation when he strolled into the room.



“Morning pet.” Spike murmured as he kissed the top of Buffy’s head and squeezed her shoulder. He sat down beside her, holding her hand as the others greeted him and asked for his interpretation of Buffy’s dream. It still blew his mind a little, the Scoobies, even the Watcher, asking his opinion and advice, treating him like he belonged. It was weird; nice, but weird, and he still had to pinch himself each time it happened.



Spike agreed with Rupert that the nightmare had all the qualities of a Slayer dream, warning that someone or something was out to either destroy or steal their child, more specifically than just trying to harm Buffy herself. Whether or not it was an attempt to stop the Sagaria Prophecy from being fulfilled or whether there was some other reason for wanting to take the child, it was unclear.



“Actually, have a little reveal of my own. Nothing much, but might be important,” Spike muttered. It was against his nature to share the details of his dream, even with Buffy who he wanted to protect from any unnecessary concern. But this seemed like too much of a coincidence, and he had to put the safety of Buffy and the bit ahead of his own pride and stubbornness. Still it wasn’t easy opening up to the Scoobies.



The group listened apprehensively as Spike outlined his own dream sequence, the setting, so similar to Buffy’s, the running and searching a match for her own panic and disorientation. The warnings seemed clear.



They went over and over every little detail of the dreams, the setting, the sounds and temperature, the order of events, and of course the double loss, bond and baby. Talking so dispassionately about the possible death or abduction of their child was emotionally exhausting for the parents to be but particularly for Buffy, who had been in share mode for half an hour longer than Spike and could still feel and sense her dream when she closed her eyes.



It wasn’t long before she was worn out, leaning against Spike and getting that blank glaze in her eyes. Spike looked over at an equally wilting Dawn, catching her eye before lifting his eyebrow and glancing sideways at the drawn looking girl propped up against him.



Dawn nodded and leapt up. “Gosh I’m starving. And thirsty. Time for a snack break. Wanna come with Buffy?”



Buffy, grateful for a break of any kind, stood up and headed for the door with her sister. The other three women decided to join them, muttering something about a bathroom break. That just left the three men on their own.



Rupert started the ball rolling. “Tell me a bit more about this bond you and Buffy share. If I am to understand it, you have not subjected her to a full claim, yet you obviously share some sort of link that is strong enough, that its absence was apparent and somewhat distressing to her dream self.”



Spike scowled, pissed off at the Watcher’s terminology. “Bloody hell you git! What makes you think I have or would ever subject Buffy to anything?” He ignored Harris’ mutterings, knowing full well what he was on about and more or less past the whole guilt trip since he and the Slayer had laid that matter to rest. “What we shared was both mutual and fully consensual, and if we get around to making a full claim in the future, it will be because its something we both want.”



Giles removed his glasses, giving them a perfunctory polish before sliding them back on firmly, as if resigned to viewing this new version of the world through a glass darkly. “I’m sorry if I offended you Spike. Believe it or not, it wasn’t intentional. And it wasn’t even to do with you being a vampire. Well not entirely anyway. To a certain extent, I imagine, my subconscious reactions are much the same as those of any father figure forced to acknowledge that his sweet little girl is involved in an adult relationship. I’m bound to put my foot in it from time to time; just remember it’s not personal.”



Xander looked on in mild amusement, entertained by the vamp/watcher testosterone display, and quite happy for once to remain in the spectator seat. He’d promised Rowan that he would try to at least look at things from Spike’s perspective, and although he still instinctively reached out for the well worn mental catalogue of Spike’s past transgressions, he’d found it surprising how different everything seemed when he chose to actually look and listen before jumping to conclusions.



“Right, well, fair enough. S’pose I’d be the same.” Spike looked down at the table, rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously. Part of him felt like ranting and raving, vamping out and roaring his anger at the old man. But a growing part felt stunned and secretly chuffed by the Watcher’s apology and explanation, wholly unused to such consideration and more than a little mortified by the delight it caused.



“Anyway, about the bond. Buffy and I have always been able to sense one another – read each other’s signature I guess you’d say. She says she’s always been able to tell me apart from other vamps, even before she’s spotted me. Didn’t realize it was the same way for me. After all Slayers have always given off a distinctive aura, stronger than other humans, more vibrant, and strangely enough, more in tune to that of vamps. But I didn’t realize until the Dark Slayer turned up that there was a significant difference between Buffy’s little riff and Rogue’s.”



“Fascinating,” Rupert muttered as he reached for his beloved notebook, bypassing the dreaded laptop that Red had been taking notes in. “Can you describe the difference at all?”



Spike frowned and closed his eyes in focus, straining to recall the signatures in question, their differences, and hardest of all, how to describe them. He opened his eyes and shrugged.



“That’s a tall order Rupes. Its like being asked to describe the sound of sunset or the color of the wind – nothing I’ve ever put into words before anyway. To even describe the feeling I get when I sense any slayer, and I’ve come across a fair few of them in my time even before Red’s spell went all Sorcerer’s Apprentice on us.”



He glanced up, only too aware of Rupert’s increased heartbeat and agitation. The Watcher was staring at him in rapt deliberation. “You do realize the council has no record of any further encounters between you and their Slayers. Although I’d always wondered myself.”



“Yeah, yeah mate, I’ll give you the details at some other time so just relax right now. ‘ve always been intrigued and fascinated by slayers and after Xin Rong I was hooked. Didn’t fight all of ‘em. Some I just watched then moved on. Fought three others apart from the two chits I bested. Came away a little worse for wear against one of ‘em but it was pretty even with the other two.



As for their signatures, well its like a low vibration thrumming through your body, a feeling that makes the hair stand up on the back of your neck or like when someone drags their nails down a blackboard. It’s a predator instinct I guess; the way vamps can sense the presence of a slayer and vice versa. You can be out and about, minding your own business and wham, it’s like a sharp sting of awareness kicks in. But that’s just the beginning, like the alarm goin’ off in the morning, or someone walking over your grave. You know there’s one out there but it takes a certain scent, a particular caress, a specific vibration to let you know who the little chit is.”



“Hmmm. I wish now you’d been around during Faith’s little body-napping stunt. It would have been interesting to see if you could have uncovered the switch more promptly than the rest of us could.”



“Yeah, Buffy told me about that later. Actually did come across the bint in the pub, all dolled up in my girl’s body and nowhere to go. Knew something was off about her, came onto me like a right tease. Not that Buffy hasn’t been known to do the same, but we weren’t really on the best of terms at the time. Still reckon I’d ‘ave worked it out if I’d met Rogue before hand. The person I met that night looked like Buffy, smelt like her, but didn’t give off the same signature. Mind you, what with the come on she was giving me, that wasn’t really my focus at the time.”



“Wow, that Faith huh? What a dirty, dirty girl,” Xander said, his voice filled equal parts with disgust and admiration, “And I should know. Did I ever tell you about the time …”



“Xander,” Giles admonished, “this is neither the time nor place to start pulling out the back catalogue of your dubious sexual connections. I’m sure you can brag to Spike another time. I’d like to return to the topic at hand.”



“Okay, G-man, don’t go getting your tweed knickers in a twist. Thought you’d eased off a bit these days. Still, Faith really had it in for Buffy, didn’t she? You know she ended up sleeping with Riley. Okay, so it was Buffy’s body, but Faith was in the driver’s seat. Imagine how Buffy would have reacted if Faith had ended up sleeping with you Spike? In her pre-Spike loving days of course. That would’ve really set Buffy off.”



“Yeah. Yours truly probably would’ve ended up dust. Buffy and Faith seem to have sorted their shit out though, seem almost friendly these days. Not a bad girl that Rogue, just a little lost and misunderstood. Anyway, the signatures definitely different from Buffy’s, darker, a little sultrier. Not really an issue now anyway. Could’a told them apart blindfolded and earplugged in a dark room before, but since the bite, Buffy and I are connected at a deeper level, always there at the back of my subconscious, not matter how far apart.”



“What bite? There’s been a bite? Oh my God, I’m probably next right?” Xander screeched.



“Calm down, whelp, it’s a love thing, a sex thing, not feeding. So I can promise there’s no chance you’ll be next.” Spike smirked at the brunette. “Its also a private thing, so don’t think I’ll be going into details Watcher.”



Spike had accurately read the look on Giles’ face, but the intense fascination of the Watcher was quickly overridden by the desire for blissful ignorance of the father figure.



“All you need to know at this stage is that Buffy and I can sense each other’s … being, for want of a better word, no matter how near or far. Signal’s much like it’s always been between us, just on steroids these days, pretty much constant and unbreakable since L.A. Don’t wanna get too sappy around you two, but it’s a deeply emotional bond, an intimate connection, loving and sensual, yeah, but also spiritual and even just platonic. S’not psychic or telepathic, supposedly that kicks in with the mating bond, but it is constant, which is bloody reassuring. For Buffy to loose that connection in her dream, would be terrifying, disorientating, devastating.”



The three men paused, all deep in thought. Giles cleared his throat, addressing the vampire once more. “Spike, if you don’t mind me asking, why haven’t you carried out a mating claim on one another? You might think me crazy, but in light of this dream, maybe it would be for the best.”



“Fuck Watcher, didn’t see that one coming. Never thought I’d see the day.” Spike shook his head in wonder, his shocked expression a match for Xander’s. “Okay, so of course I’ve thought about it. To be honest, want it badly, to the depths of my soul. And if it would keep Buffy safe, and have no side effects on her or the wee one, I’d do it in a heartbeat.” He sighed, “But the problem is, there’s no way of telling what impact it might have on the baby, s’not like there’s any precedent. Don’t know if they’d be any physical harm, or whether it’d create an equal bond with the child, something he or she’d unlikely be too happy about once they were old enough to interpret the X-rated thoughts and visuals running through their parents heads.”



“Oh my Lord, I’d never even considered that. But, doesn’t permission have to be given and received in order to activate the bond?”



“Well yeah, but what happens when your being is part of the being giving consent? Who knows? Its just not worth the risks.”



“What about some sort of protection spell?” Xander asked, “You know, to keep the ooglie booglies at arm’s length. If you could work out a way to keep Buffy safe, that’d keep the baby safe too, right?”



“Hmm, I think that’s definitely worth looking into,” Giles nodded. “Let’s go find our womenfolk and have some lunch. We can get started on the research this afternoon. Seems like we’re in for a busy weekend.”



~ ~ ~



Dawn sighed in relief, as the first mouthful of her double shot latte slid down her throat, and the much needed caffeine boost began to flood her system. Ahh, thank God for Dave’s awesome espresso machine and kick ass barista skills. But there was probably nowhere near enough coffee in Dave’s whole kitchen, let alone in this one cup, to overcome her tiredness. She was exhausted, literally dead on her feet. She should be comatose in bed right now, but Buffy’s insistent knocking on her door this morning and her subsequent rundown on the dream sitch had forced her out of bed and over to the library to do the sisterly support thing. Not that she was much help in her current zombified state. Still, it was the thought that counted, right?



She wasn’t suffering from normal fatigue either, she was utterly done in, jet lagged, portal lagged and really, really scanned out. She’d just spent the last twelve days covering an insane number of miles, tracking and tracing over 160 girls, for the most part on her own.



Dawn had flown out with the New York squad, the day after Giles and Cat’s wedding. While Vi, Robin and Juanita were setting up bank accounts, and checking out real estate and vehicle sales, she’d commandeered Anna’s help to run the computer programme, and begun scanning the East Coast. She’d set up in their 8th storey hotel room, knowing she had a lot of ground to cover, a lot of girls to find and not a lot of time.



With the 1200 mile limit on reliable scanning, it was a shame they weren’t somewhere more central like Chicago. She and Anna could have flown there, but Dawn couldn’t have faced another two flights on top of the portalling she’d done over the twelve days she was away. They just had to make do with what they had.



They’d started bright and early Monday morning. By the time Vi and the others were back for lunch, they’d identified thirteen girls in New York and the other Mid Atlantic states, and another five in New England. That afternoon they’d searched the Great Lakes States and as much of the Midwest as was in range, another twenty girls. The following day, they covered the rest of the eastern seaboard, all the way down to Miami, as well as the rest of the southern states, another twenty-two girls. Finally, on Wednesday morning she’d scanned the populous cities in the southern part of Eastern Canada, a final seven girls to add to the tally.



Then she was off to Mexico City. Faith’s team, including Soledad, who was joining them for a fortnight, had driven the entire 1800 miles to the capital city. They’d left first thing Monday morning and took it in turns to drive, travelling through the night until they’d reached Mexico City on Tuesday evening. They’d gone straight to Gabriella Rivera’s home. Gabriella was one of the field Watchers who’d survived an attack from the Bringers. Sadly, her slayer had not. She’d arrived at Ashdown three weeks previous, still quite traumatized and anxious.



Dawn had latched onto Faith’s essence easily, opened up a portal in New York and popped out in Gabriella’s hacienda moments later. She’d spent the afternoon and evening just chilling with Faith and the others, her energy levels already pretty low, and in need of recharging. Thursday saw her right back into the scanning, a daunting task ahead of her.



Gabriella had brought an extra Watcher/ Slayer team with her from Ashdown, a Spanish speaking Filipino pair, Yzabel and Mia. So with eight people at her disposal, Faith had decided to split the team in two, making it easier and quicker to cover Mexico and Central America. Faith’s team headed straight to Western Mexico, planning to slowly make their way northeast, tracking down the identified girls along the way, before turning more westerly, recruiting the chosen ones along the journey home to California.



Gabriella took Ashton, Lisa and Leslie with her in her car, focusing on the central plateau to begin with, before heading south through Mexico and on to Guatemala and the other Central American countries. Each team would take two or three weeks to cover their territory. And with such a huge area to cover, and three days down already, the teams had to leave as soon as Dawn could come up with names and addresses. And they couldn’t afford to leave anyone behind with Dawn to operate the tracking software. Luckily, Dawn was allowed to hijack Anna for a few more days, and portalled her out from New York first thing Thursday morning.



They started immediately, scanning the central plateau and Western Mexico moving outwards in an ever-increasing circle, emailing the results to the two teams as soon as they had I.D.ed the girls in a state or region. And so they worked through Thursday and Friday, finding seventeen girls, clustered fairly densely across the central region, on the first day, and fifteen girls, scattered more sparsely across the northern and southern states, on the second.



On Saturday, Dawn really pushed her limits, I’D.ing the ten Central American slayers, only just picking up the faint signal from a lass in San Jose, Costa Rica, 1300 miles away as the crow flies. After emailing the final names and addresses to the two Mexican Teams, an exhausted Dawn opened up the portal for Anna, sending her back to New York to join her squad. Then she went and collapsed on the bed in Gabriella’s spare room, sleeping for twelve straight hours.



She’d recovered enough by Sunday morning to hone in on Kennedy’s vigorous signal, some 5000 miles to the southeast, and after locking up Gabriella’s house, opened up a portal to the feisty slayer and jumped.



The Brazilian squad had been twiddling their thumbs for a week, waiting for Dawn to arrive with her tracking skills. Through various contacts of Luisa’s, they’d managed to find two of the young girls in Sao Paulo itself. But that didn’t really lift the pressure off Dawn; she’d had to hit the ground running. She started with the heavily populated South Eastern States, and had picked up twenty-three girls by the end of the first day. Once again, she’d had to requisition a slayer to run the tracing Programme, and waste valuable time showing her how it worked. But this time her recruit, fifteen-year-old Sofia, was an absolute IT wiz, learning to use the software quickly and efficiently.



By Monday morning the rest of the squad had headed out, off to track down the remaining ten girls scattered around the state of Sao Paulo, leaving Dawn and Sofia to work in peace and quiet. They’d uncovered eight girls in Southern Brazil and four in the Central Region to the west, and even scanned the neighboring countries of Uruguay and Paraguay, picking up another three.



Once again, because of the slayers’ base location, distance determined the accuracy of her readings in North and North East Brazil, and although she found another 15 girls, she was certain there were others out there, beyond the range of her ‘scanner’. So with the northern parts of Brazil, and the rest of South America to scan, Dawn had resigned herself to having to make a return trip or two in a few weeks time.



In the meantime it had been time to get out of there, before her energy levels were too low to even open any more portals. It had been touch and go for a while there, difficult enough to unlock a doorway between the Sao Paulo headquarters and Kennedy so that Sofia could rejoin her squad, let alone lock onto Faith’s essence, so far to the north, and create a portal between them. Her tank almost on empty, too exhausted to maintain solid contact at both ends, the tunnel had rapidly unraveled behind her as she jumped. She’d ended up stumbling out of the portal, shaking and distraught, into a shabby hotel room and Faith’s safe, steadying arms.



The older girl had immediately put her to bed, and Dawn had sunk into a deep slumber. The experience had frightened her badly, and she’d been quiet and withdrawn the following morning, as all five girls squeezed into the van for the eight-hour journey northeast to Mexicali, home of the final girl on their recruitment list. She’d dozed most of the way, still too drained to join in the quiet chatter and gentle camaraderie of the team.



The girl had been easy to find and, as with all the Mexican girls they’d tracked down, even easier to enlist, the travel and educational advantages provided by Amazon’s contract an opportunity too great to miss. Dawn, feeling more rested and together by this stage had joined them, watching the sales job in action.



Faith stamped her authority and assurance on the presentation, while Yzabel provided a reassuringly mature, almost motherly archetype that the girl’s parents seemed to respond to. But it was the two younger girls, Soledad and Mia, who the Mexican slayer seemed to connect with the strongest. Dawn could see a wondrous look of identity and belonging light up the girl’s face as she realized that the were others like her, that the overwhelming sense of difference and not-normalness that had set her apart from her friends and family over the last three months had dissolved in the presence of these two. It was a done deal!



Finally, they’d jumped back in the van and headed home, the four-hour journey north to L.A. flying by in the warm evening air. It was 10 p.m. by the time they’d pulled up to the dojo. Dawn immediately tumbled into bed for another round of much needed sleep.



Sipping on her coffee, she sighed as she thought about how much she’d learnt about herself and her abilities on that trip, the huge reserves of power and ability she had at her fingertips, the danger she placed herself and others in when she let those tanks run too low. She needed to review the whole process if she was going to survive the coming weeks and the huge areas of the world that still needed to be scanned for slayers.



As she wandered back over to the Lodge to meet the others, she recalled the other weird little thing that had happened in L.A., the morning before she flew out. She’d been down town shopping and had organized to meet Faith outside Wolfram and Hart so that the slayer could run her to the airport. Faith had had an appointment with Angel, and although Dawn could have just waited for her at reception, she was always wary about entering that pit of evil.



So she was just hanging around outside WH, creamy cup of Starbucks in hand, when some floppy haired guy came barreling out the main doors, straight into her. He was obviously surprised and embarrassed and had grabbed hold of her arm to steady her teetering self. His touch had hit her like a jolt of electricity, a shudder of connection, and she’d sprung away from him as he’d started apologizing profusely for his clumsiness. She’d mumbled a few phrases of meaningless mollification, then frowned at him as he’d stood there staring at her with his dumb blue eyes. It had taken an even fiercer scowl from Dawn to set his stupid feet to motion, his first half dozen steps away taken in reverse as he continued to gaze at her.



Finally, reluctantly, he’d turned and headed off, only looking back three times before he rounded the corner at the end of the block. Totally weird, and irritating. And annoying, given that she’d spent part of her first night home, snuggled down in her own lovely bed, dreaming of that idiotic floppy-haired boy. What was with that? He was probably some dodgy client of Angel’s, undoubtedly evil. Luckily, she’d never have to lay eyes on him again.



Quietly, Dawn wandered into the main lounge of the Lodge. The others were all there, putting together sandwiches and salad for lunch by the looks of things. It was time to let the love and laughter of this group of people, her family, wash over her and work its healing magic on her worn-out, thinly stretched self, body and psyche. It was time to rest up and recover. And then, she guessed, it was time to research and put paid to another apocalypse, probably all before dinner. Just another day in the life!

‘Never durst poet touch a pen to write
Until his ink were tempered with love's sighs.
O then his lines would ravish savage ears,
And plant in tyrants mild humility.’
William Shakespeare

The faint scratch of pen on paper and the quiet susurration of turning pages were the only sounds in the room. The group of people contained there were deeply engrossed in their various tasks, brows wrinkled in concentration and lips chewed upon thoughtfully as they delved into various grimoires and arcane texts, checked tomes on herb lore and crystal energies and investigated illustrations of totems and sigils. Their research arose out the suggestion that Xander had made the previous day about placing a protection spell on Buffy.

They’d spent the rest of the afternoon researching, well those who had the patience for researching did; the restless ones went off for a training session with the baby slayers. What the researchers discovered was that although some protection spells involved visualization, many of the stronger, more effective spells were concerned with enchanting an object like an amulet or a charm.

Willow explained, “If you’re Wiccan, you can perform a ritual and create an amulet for your protection. Pentacles are often used as protection charms.”

“So we could buy Buffy a cute necklace and place a protection spell on it?” asked Dawn.

“Well, that may work,” Giles said, “but what if she forgot to put it on at some point? And, I’m concerned that if the forces who may target her and the child were somehow able to remove the necklace, it would also remove her protection.”

“And from what the dream tells us, the target is the baby. Now Spike loves Buffy, but he is absolutely devoted to their child as well.” Cat said. “And he is almost always at Buffy’s side. So in order to get to Buffy, they’d need to go through Spike first, or at least separate them somehow. From his dream it seems apparent he survives, but isn’t he at risk too? Would an amulet work just as well for a vampire?”

“Oh somehow, I don’t think Captain Peroxide is gonna want to have anything to do with amulets, ever again!” Xander commented, while the others murmured their agreement.

“So maybe not an amulet, ‘cos its too detachable. And a bit bad memoryish!” said Willow. “What we need is something more fixed and permanent.”

“What about a tattoo?” Oz asked. He’d arrived back at Ashdown just that afternoon, his band’s tour on hold for a week while the lead singer recovered from laryngitis. From the reaction to his suggestion, it seemed like good timing.

“That’s not a bad idea,” Giles said. “We could place the protection spell on the tattoo itself. Its not removable, so permanent protection would be involved. It would also safeguard Buffy herself, and the child as it lies within her body. I think it would work.”

“Maybe, we could amplify the protection by adding ground crystals and herbs that are known to have protective qualities to the tattoo inks themselves.” Said Rowan. “I’d be happy to find out which ones we could use.”

“That sounds quite feasible dear. Now we’ll need to find a tattooist who could ink the design onto Buffy’s skin, and Spike’s also if he’s agreeable. And come up with a design that would be appropriate,” mused Giles.

“I might be able to help with that,” Oz offered. “I’ve got a bit of ink myself, tied in with my control charms. Did some research at the time, on different signs and sigils. Don’t mind throwing together some designs."

“And there’s a tattooist that often works with the coven, Wiccan and Celtic designs mainly. I could contact Gran and get the guy’s name and number,” Rowan suggested.

“Right, thank you Oz and Rowan, that sounds marvelous. Willow, you and I will need to start researching the actual spellwork and blessing involved. Xander, I know you’re busy getting the dorms ready for the next group of girls, but maybe when things are a little quieter we could call on you to pick up the various crystals, herbs and resins we’ll need for the inkwork. Cat sweetheart, maybe you could help Rowan out.”

They’d moved around the room, settling into different groupings and resorting the books they needed. Everything had just settled down again when Buffy and Spike had burst into the room, the Slayer babbling excitedly.

“See, I knew I was better at thinking on my feet than in front of a book. I was showing the French and Spanish girls how to block an attack, when it came to me. You use your strongest weapon to defend yourself right. When you’ve got nothing, you use arms and legs, but if I had a choice, I’d choose Sagaria. That’s my strongest weapon, apart from Spike of course, but Sagaria, well she’s ‘ours’ but also mine really. And she links me to Sineya as well, so I’d be getting protection from her as well.”

The others were all looking a little confused, so Spike stepped in. “What the Slayer’s trying to say is, couldn’t we use Sagaria and somehow invoke Sineya’s protection over her and the wee one? Buffy’s one of her chosen ones yeah? Must have a vested interest and all.”

“Well, they do say that the best safeguard against evil is to align yourself with the Divine, and that the best way to do that is by accepting the protection of the most powerful ally you have. That is undoubtedly Sineya,” agreed Giles.

But what about Spike?” Dawn asked. “Sineya’s unlikely to offer him protection, he’s the enemy after all. Shouldn’t we find another deity that would come to Spike’s aid?”

“Oi, hold on a minute Bit. What’s this about protection for me? Thought we were just sorting out the Slayer?”

“Actually Spike, we’ve all agreed that your wellbeing is just as important to safeguarding the child’s as Buffy’s. If you are well protected, its makes it that much harder for anyone to go through you in order to get to Buffy.”

“Okay, okay, can’t argue with that. But a protection spell, seems a bit over the top don’t it? And while you’re at it, I’m not wearing any poncy Liz Taylor jewelry thank you very much.” Spike scowled. “Sides which, doubt you’ll find any divinity willing to sponsor my safety, less it’s a demon of course.”

“Wow, honey surly much,” Buffy said, hands on hips. “Okay, one thing at a time! I definitely want you fully protected. We’re a team, a partnership, and I want you by my side every step of the way, fighting to keep our baby and me safe. Well you can’t do that if some Big Bad’s taken you out at the first hurdle. And what’s more, you’re a key player in the Song of Sagaria. Remember, both the mighty warrior parents and their child have to claim Sagaria or it won’t work, the Legion-strengthening bit. So get with the protection spell programme, alright? But I gotta agree with you on the amulet thing, burning up, not a good look for you baby.”

“No, Oz had a much better idea,” Willow said excitedly. “Tattoos. You know, some pattern or sigil printed onto your skin that we could bespell. We could incorporate all sorts of protective components into both the design and the inks. Rowan’s checking that out now. What do you think?”

“Seems cool, I’ve always wanted a tat,” Spike tried to keep the excitement out of his voice. “As long as its not a poncy one like Peaches has. Sodding angel wings! What a poof! Not sure how you’ll keep it there though. Tats don’t tend to take with vamps, what with our accelerated healing and all.”

“Hmmm, aye, I’ve been thinking about that,” Cat responded. “I think I’ve got a solution, but let me do a wee bit of research and talk to Willow and Rowan first.”

“Fair enough. What about you pet? Fancy a bit of ink? Might look right tasty on you.”

“Spike, behave. But, yep, I like the idea, as long as it looks tasteflu. It won’t harm the baby will it?” Buffy asked.

“Oh Lord, I hadn’t thought about that. I wouldn’t think so, but with all that added herbs and resins and powdered barks and roots, we’ll have to be very careful. What do you think Cat?”

“Well I’m not sure, but what I’m thinking of will be more like a mystically bonded decal than a pigment injected process. That should address both Spike’s permanence issues and Buffy’s health concerns, but as I say, let me do a spot of research first, aye?”

“Sounds awesome Cat. So what about the design?” Buffy asked.

“The image design is Oz’s job, he has some experience in the field,” Giles said. “Perhaps Spike, you would like to work with Oz.”

“Fine with me. But still don’t see who you’ll call on to activate my protection charm.”

“Actually, honey, what about that fire guy you hung out with after you got sucked into the amulet? What was his name? He’s a pretty big deal right?”

“Ah, yes Buffy, Atar, a manifestation of the Zoroastrian concept of holy fire, burning and unburning, visible and invisible. I think you may well be right. Spike, didn’t you describe it as passing a fiery test, and attaining physical and spiritual strength, wisdom, truth and love with serenity? If that’s the case, I’m sure Atar, as your most powerful ally, could be prevailed upon to grant you his protection.”

“Invoking both Sineya and Atar also aligns nicely with the traditional Wiccan concept of duotheism,” Rowan informed them, “the worship of both God and Goddess. In Wiccan terms it’s usually the Horned God and Moon Goddess, but a Fire God and Warrior Goddess would be comparable to the Sun God and Artemis/Diana, Goddess of the hunt, both of which are aspects of the Lord and Lady. As long as you have complementary opposites or dualities, representing the Divine Feminine and the Divine Masculine, then a standard Wiccan invocation should work well.”

“Well put Rowan, thank you. I think if everyone agrees, we’ll call it a halt for the evening and meet back here tomorrow morning. Dinner’s calling, and then an early night I think.”

Everyone laughed and Cat smirked, Giles’ recent fondness for early nights a well-established euphemism for more stimulating activities than sleeping.

Almost twenty-four hours later, they were about to pack up again, having put in a full day of investigating, consulting, crafting and designing. Willow and Giles had gathered all the info they had on Sineya and Atar, and contacted Althanea for advice on protection spells, before finalizing most of the elements of the various rituals. Rowan had devised a set of mystically enhanced, protection-based recipes for the inks and had ordered a range of powdered crystals, herbs and resins that would be used as key ingredients.

Cat had researched the construction of ink based skin transfers and had ordered a dozen sheets of plastic backed transfer paper that could be run through Ashdown’s laser printer. Oz and Spike had gathered a range of designs that would look great, and spiritually, mystically and philosophically align with the spell’s intent.

While Dawn slept and Xander did a couple of runs out to the airport to pick up the latest gaggle of baby slayers, 20 girls from Mexico and 18 from the East Coast of the USA, Buffy bounced around the room, checking what everyone was doing, asking questions, approving colors and designs, adding in her two cents worth about various herbs and the wording of the spells. Giles and Willow spoke with her at length about Sineya. Although they had both had deathly dream experiences involving Sineya, Buffy, who had interacted with the First Slayer the most, was the acknowledged expert.

~ ~ ~

A week passed before they were finally ready to perform the spell. Quite apart from the spell research, it had been a busy week. Ashdown Academy had held its official opening on the Monday, and most of them were involved in the proceedings to a greater or lesser degree. Willow and Giles were of course up at the school for most of the day, and off and on during the week, and Buffy and Spike had their teaching responsibilities, but the others were mostly free. Dawn had portalled out to China, meeting Chao-Ahn and her team there, so they could begin the massive Slayer scan of the world’s most populous country. She would be gone for six days, her own school due to start the following week.

For most of Monday, Oz and Spike had worked on the sigil. Oz had suggested a yin-yang symbol as the basis of the design, and Spike had liked both the shape and the symbolism. Yin-yang or taijitu, the instantly recognizable symbol of Taoism, the Chinese religion and philosophical tradition, was used to represent the concept of opposites or dualities existing in harmony, not as good and evil, but as light and dark, sunlight and shadow, male and female, hard and soft, fire and water, the opposites manifesting more strongly in the presence of the other, as part of an indivisible whole.

This idea, of course, aligned strongly with not only the whole Buffy/Spike, female/male, Slayer/Vampire duality but also with the Sineya/Atar dichotomy, echoing the Wiccan tradition of duotheism. They’d chosen the classic divided circle arrangement, simple black and white, the white yang, male element rising on the left, while the dark yin, female descended on the right. Each area also contained a large dot of the opposing color at its fullest point; the two dots aligned directly one above the other. The emblem was simple and clean, and very them.

They’d decided to add tribal flames flaring out to either side of the central symbol to represent the element of fire. The connection with Atar was obvious, and although water was the common elemental opposite, they both felt that Sineya’s element would also be fire. The flames would be inked in either red or orange.

Finally, Spike insisted that they add two weapons to represent the Divine Entities they were invoking, handles crossed above the taijitu, shafts extended out diagonally to right and left, entangled in the flames, the effect much like a coat of arms. Sagaria lay to the right, aligned with the black, female side of the pattern. Operating on pure instinct, Spike sketched out a short, straight, double-edged blade with an ornate, gold decorated hilt to adorn the left, the male side.

As a whole, the sigil was strong, attractive and highly symbolic, admired and approved of by all. There was some talk of it being adopted as a group emblem, or even a company logo for Amazon International as a whole. There was plenty of time to make those sorts of decisions later. For now, they needed to get Buffy and Spike’s safety sorted out.

On the Monday night, Spike and Oz had taken their hand drawn and colored design to Sackville Academy where they met up with a third year student, Max Roberts. Max had completed his undergrad degree at Eton, majoring in Art History and minoring in graphic design. He scanned their sigil and ran it through his graphics software, making it symmetrical, evening out the proportions and ensuring that Sagaria and the short sword were to scale and accurately but simply represented. He’d printed out several full color copies of the final design for them.

On Tuesday night Cat had run the design through the copier, printing two copies onto the special transfer paper. Rowan’s supplies had arrived earlier that day and she spent the day mixing up the four colors. She used an ethanol base for each one then added different ingredients, depending on the color.

For black she’d begun by adding powdered onyx, obsidian and black tourmaline to the base, all three stones known for their protective qualities and defense against negativity. She had taken Angelica root, and the herbs Aspand and Agrimony to ward off evil, and Dragon’s Blood resin for protection and courage and burned them over charcoal, adding the resulting ashes and liquid to the mix, creating a deep, rich, glossy shade of black.

For the white she added ground moonstone to balance yin and yang, selenite to bring light down from the higher realms and white agate, used to protect mother and baby from harm. When mixed with powdered white mustard seed, which protects the bearer from dangers, both physical and spiritual, a shimmering, almost iridescent white ink resulted.

Ground carnelian and sunstone provided the orange coloring, along with the warmth, strength and energy that the sun provides. When combined with gold cinnamon powder for healing and personal protection, the ink became a warm, vibrant shade.

Lastly, but by no means least, Rowan used finely ground red jasper and fire agate as the base of the red ink. The astonishing fire agate produced a protective flame energy that not only resonated feelings of safety and security, but was expected to create a shield around the body. Powdered bloodroot and red sandalwood enhanced the spells woven throughout the inks, and added the rich red coloring they needed.

As she burned and sprinkled and mixed the ingredients, Rowan murmured words of love and protection and strength, snippets she’d heard many times over at her Grandmother’s knee, phrases especially constructed by Giles and Willow and herself for the major spell, and others that seemed to flow naturally from deep inside her. The words wove themselves in and out of each element, strengthening the mystical qualities of each, binding them together, and embedding the inks with a life force of their own.

On the Wednesday night, Max joined them, using his steady hand and artist’s eye to brush the inks onto the printed designs. By Thursday, the tattoos were ready to imprint on the skin of their two recipients, but Willow and Giles weren’t available till the next evening, and if they waited till the weekend, Dawn would be back from China, Cat would have finished her shifts at the hospital, and Althanea could drive up from Devon to take part in the spell casting. So, wait they did.

Finally, Sunday afternoon arrived and they were ready to carry out the ritual. Everyone was present, with Giles leading the proceedings.

“Thank you everyone for coming to this blessing. Willow and Althanea, could you cast the circle while Cat and Rowan are applying the tattoos to Buffy and Spike’s skin.”

Rowan and Xander had moved the furniture around in the research center, pushing the table over to the side to create a large, clear space, and wheeling through a gurney from the medical room. Spike stood beside her, while Buffy hopped up onto the bed and lay down, wriggling her hips and pushing her leggings down a little so that the waistband sat just above her groin. She’d decided to get her tattoo inked just above her pubic line. In that spot it would provide the best protection for her baby, and Buffy thought it would look cool there.

Cat cleaned Buffy’s skin with Green Soap and wiped the area down with spirits. Rowan quickly marked Buffy up, drawing lines on her upper groin, just on the gentle upward swell of her belly, to ensure the sigil would be centered and straight. Then Cat carefully applied the design to Buffy’s skin, pressing in one firm movement to ensure adhesion. Finally she peeled the backing paper away, leaving the vibrant design on Buffy’s skin. They both stood back and checked the effect, pleased with the look of the tattoo.

“Oooh, pretty,” Buffy exclaimed, as she admired the finished product in a hand mirror. Spike lightly ran his fingertips over the design, his dilated pupils and tongue-moistened lips a testament to his approval.

“Okay Spike, take off your t-shirt and sit on this chair,” Cat instructed.

The vampire made a production of it of course, slowly peeling the black shirt off, revealing his hot, tight upper body to the delight of the three women around him.

“Damn,” Cat murmured, Rowan nodding in agreement and Buffy giggling with delight.

“Come on Big Bad,” she said good humoredly, “Stop showing off and get your sexy butt on the chair.”

The two women repeated the tattoo application process, this time on Spike’s left bicep. It seemed to take the distracted pair a little longer, but finally the sigil sat securely, decorating Spike’s arm.

Rowan got Buffy to lie back down and moved Spike’s chair around so that she could stand comfortably between the two of them, one hand on the Slayer’s tat, the other on the vampire’s.

“Blessed be the God and Goddess,
As two become one,
As the lichen clings to the tree,
Bind this sigil and the ink composed thereof,
And all the powers contained therein,
To the skin that lies beneath,
Make it one with the flesh of its bearer,
So mote it be.”

The two recipients felt a gentle warmth and a tightening sensation of the skin where their tattoos lay. When Rowan removed her hands, they checked out the results.

“Looks good pet,” Spike complimented Rowan’s work.

“Mmmm, smooth and sleek,” Buffy agreed, running her fingers over the ink work.

Indeed, the tattoo now lay totally flush against her skin, embedded into the top layer of the epidermis as if part of the surface on which it lay. The colors shone just as clear and bright and the whole sigil seemed to somehow exude a vibrancy and vitality of its own. A quick check over at Spike confirmed identical results on his arm.

“Right, all finished?” Giles asked as he walked towards them. “Oh gosh, those do look very, ah, attractive don’t they?” He glanced at Cat, eyebrow raised, “Perhaps we might acquire some of our own? Purely for protection purposes of course!” Everyone smirked and shook their heads. Giles blushed, but grinned good-naturedly. “ Right, anyway, good timing, we’re all set to go over here. Rowan, if you could go and sit behind the red candle then we will begin. Buffy, Spike and Cat, could you go and stand outside the circle beside Dawn, Xander and Oz.”

Everyone quickly moved into place, Giles and Rowan joining Willow and Althanea who were already seated inside the edge of the circle, at two of the four cardinal points. Giles began the ritual, using a lit taper to light the yellow candle that sat before him as Althanea invoked the blessing.

“Guardians of the East,
I call upon you to watch over these rites.
Powers of knowledge and wisdom, guided by Air,
We ask that you keep watch over us tonight within this circle.
Let all who enter the circle under your protectionr
Do so in perfect love and perfect trust.”

Giles passed the taper to his left, handing it to Rowan, who used it to light the red candle in front of her. Althanea spoke again,
“Guardians of the South,
I call upon you to watch over these rites.
Powers of energy and will, guided by Fire,
We ask that you keep watch over us tonight within this circle.
Let all who enter the circle under your protection,
Do so in perfect love and perfect trust.”

The taper then went to Willow, who lit the blue candle facing her.
“Guardians of the West,
I call upon you to watch over these rites.
Powers of passion and emotion, guided by Water,
We ask that you keep watch over us tonight within this circle.
Let all who enter the circle under your protection,
Do so in perfect love and perfect trust.”

Finally, the taper was passed to Althanea herself, who lit the green candle in front of her and completed the blessing.
“Guardians of the North,
I call upon you to watch over these rites.
Powers of endurance and strength, guided by Earth,
We ask that you keep watch over us tonight within this circle.
Let all who enter the circle under your protection,
Do so in perfect love and perfect trust.”

Althanea then stood up and moved to the center. “The circle is now cast. Buffy and Spike, if you could come to the edge of the circle. You’ll need to have the tattoos exposed, so leave your clothing as it is. How do you enter the circle?” she asked.

“In perfect love and perfect trust,” the pair intoned, having been instructed to do so earlier by Giles. Quietly, they moved to the middle of the circle, picked up Sagaria from the floor and stood side by side, hands linked via the Scythe’s handle, facing towards Rowan at the South point. Behind them, Althanea was admitting Dawn, Xander, Cat and Oz to the circle, each one murmuring their pure intent before entering and walking to their own places at the ordinal points.

Finally everyone was in position, Althanea having moved back to the North cardinal. She began the ritual, her strong voice ringing out.
“Blessed be the Lady Sineya,
Fierce Warrior Mistress who battles the demons,
Blessed be the Lord Atar,
Master of the Holy Fire that burns continuously”

Giles was next to speak,
“Thanks be for the gifts that you have shared with these two,
Slayer and Vampire, your precious chosen ones.
The gifts of strength and speed and cunning,
The gifts of life renewed and life conceived.”

Rowan called out clearly,
“We call on thee, to bestow your protection upon these two,
To keep them and their child safe from danger that may seek them,
To defend them from any being that may try to harm them
To grant them your shelter.”

Then it was Willow’s turn,
“Look upon this sigil, created to honor you both
Look upon it and be glad
They have been so marked in your names,
That others may know them as your own.”

Althanea completed the invocation,
“Bless this sigil and those who bear it
With the hand of your protection
Anoint it with your holy fire,
That it may draw a shield of flame about them.”

Finally, all four spoke one last time, together, “So mote it be.”

Buffy and Spike had been standing in the middle of the group throughout the ritual, eyes closed, quietly listening to the words of the invocation. But as the final words of the spell were uttered, they were hit by a flash of light and wave of warm energy.

Buffy’s eyes popped open and she gasped. Beside her she felt Spike tense up and squeeze her hand tighter. They were no longer in Ashdown’s Research Center. Instead, with sand beneath their feet, they seemed to be in a desert. Although it was hard to tell, as a wall of flame encircled them, blocking off any view of the surrounding environs.

“What the fucking hell?” Spike roared. “What have your mates bloody well got us into now pet?”

“Shush Spike, they’re your mates now, just as much as mine. And I’m sure whatever’s happening, its all good. Its probably just something all ritually.” Buffy soothed. “In fact, this looks a bit like the place where I’ve met Sineya before.”

Sure enough, at that point a dark figure passed through the flames to stand before them. Sineya, the First Slayer, the Primeval One. Mind you, Buffy’s recognition of Sineya was definitely context dependent; she wouldn’t have recognized her from previous interactions, her appearance markedly different. Her face was free of the tribal markings that usually covered it, and Buffy was surprised to see how beautiful she looked without them, her high cheekbones, full lips and gorgeous almond shaped eyes clearly visible.

Her hair, although still in dreads, was drawn back from her face, and seemed less matted and scraggly than in the past. She was bare foot, but clad in a long, white halter neck gown. She held herself very upright, another distinctive difference from her usually crouched, predatory posture. Buffy realized she was witnessing the Divine aspect of Sineya’s spirit. The goddess then startled her once again, by speaking.

“Greetings Daughter,” Sineya said, inclining her head slightly towards Buffy. “Welcome to the spirit realm. You seek my protection and my blessing I understand.”

“Wanna introduce us luv?” Spike asked Buffy, interrupting her audience with the First Slayer.

“Uh, oh yeah. Spike this is Sineya; Sineya, Spike,” Buffy gestured one to the other.

“Nice to meet you pet,” Spike offered, nodding deferentially at the Slayer Goddess.

Sineya narrowed her eyes and hissed, “Vampire,” she spat out, “Who are you to dare enter this realm? Who are you to stand before me? You dare to defile my daughter, corrupt her with your demon ways,”

“Whoa, sister, no harm, no foul,” Spike held his hands up in a gesture of conciliation.

“I am not your sister, I am your worst nightmare, demon. You are nothing but dirt beneath my feet.”

“Stop it! You’re wrong.” Buffy spoke calmly, but with authority. She shifted Sagaria and reached out and grabbed Spike’s hand, but eyeballed Sineya intently as she spoke. “He is my consort, my beloved, my soul mate. He is the father of my unborn child. He has stood up for me, fought alongside me, died for me. He has earned the right to stand beside me.”

Sineya’s eyes were cold and haughty, but she bowed her head in reluctant acceptance. “I have heard of his deeds; I will tolerate his presence. But do not expect me to grant him my protection.”

“That is of no consequence sister,” a voice interrupted Sineya, and a figure passed through the fiery wall to stand beside, “for his protection is mine to grant.”

The man moved forward to stand beside the First Slayer. Clad in a simple white robe, he was tall and broad shouldered, the red sash cinched around his middle testament to his slim waist. With olive skin and long dark hair, his startling blue eyes stood out beneath his heavy brows and finely chiseled facial features. In a word, Buffy thought, he was hot.

“Cheers Atar,” Spike called out in greeting.

“Greetings William. You look well. Is this your lady?” Atar asked politely.

“Yeah mate, this is Buffy. Love of my life and mother to be of my baby.” Spike preened as he squeezed her hand lovingly.

“Greetings Buffy. It is my pleasure to meet the woman that William spent so many hours extoling. If I may say so, I can see why. Congratulations on your happy news. The child will be much loved no doubt, and of great significance I predict. You have done well, both of you.”

Buffy blushed and smiled nervously. Wow, compliments from a studly God. Awkward! “Um, thanks. Yeah we’re pretty stoked. Oh, and thanks for rescuing Spike and looking after him for me. And for all the special upgrades, the heartbeat and sun resistance. I loved him before, just as he was, but life sure is much more convenient now that he’s all flame proof.”

“You’re welcome, my dear,” Atar replied, “William passed every test put before him and earned each and every one of those enhancements, as well as the chance to shape a new life for himself and those he loves. As I’m sure we’re all aware.” He turned his head to glance at the First Slayer beside him, eyebrow raised in question.

Sineya’s body language had clearly communicated her displeasure at Atar’s interaction with Spike, arms folded across her chest and frown firmly in place. Her glare had darkened even more as the God made his last declaration. She looked annoyed and frustrated, but declined to comment aside from an ungracious nod of her head. Given Sineya’s petulant silence, Buffy thought it likely that the fire deity outranked her, a fact that the blonde was grateful for given the Slayer goddess’ obvious mistrust of Spike.

“Right, I believe you are here to seek our protection, for yourselves and for your child. It goes without saying that we will grant it, both of us, isn’t that correct Sineya?” The First Slayer once again parted with a reluctant, surly nod. “But before we begin, some advice. You are stronger when you are together. This will also be the case with the protection spell, being in close contact multiplies the strength and effectiveness of the shield.”

Spike put his right arm around Buffy’s shoulder, drawing her closer in a gesture of agreement. “It a given mate. Don’t aim to let ‘er outta my sight. Any words of wisdom about what’s coming for us?”

“I am not permitted to disclose the nature of the paths that lay ahead. But I foresee the rise of ancient evil. To push back the encroaching darkness and burn away the night, you will need many hands, and the weapons to arm them. Be ever watchful William, for yours will be forthcoming. You will need it to turn the tide. We wish you good fortune in this endeavor. Sineya?”

“Yes, I too would wish for your victory in this coming conflict. For, I too have foreseen the days ahead. And in this matter Daughter,” Sineya paused, arching her brow condescendingly, “my earlier advice to you may be put aside. I still believe a slayer’s journey should be traveled alone, but in this case your best hope is in strength of numbers. I suppose you may count family and friends among those,” she conceded reluctantly. “Regardless, your path, unorthodox as it is, has led you far, your mission intact. I…” she hesitated, “I am proud of you Daughter. I wish you well, both of you.”

“We are ready for the blessing. Hold Sagaria between you, please.” Atar moved shoulder to shoulder with Sineya, and the two Deities took a step back towards the wall of fire. Together they lifted their outer arms, and began to chant, ancient words in an indecipherable tongue. The fiery wall around them flashed and flared, leaping to greater heights as twin streams of light shot out from their upraised palms and encircled the stunned warriors. The light converged behind them, sparking and flickering as it met, before continuing its journey, a broad ring of light gushing and tumbling around them.

The shaft of light suddenly surged, and the flash blinded Buffy and Spike. A ball of heat erupted over the vampire’s left bicep and the Slayer’s lower abdomen, and the wind was knocked out of them. Spike threw his arms around Buffy as the world turned black and they crumpled to the ground.

‘I to the world am like a drop of water,
That in the ocean seeks another drop,
Who, falling there to find his fellow forth (Unseen, inquisitive), confounds himself.
So I, to find a mother and a brother,
In quest of them (unhappy), lose myself.’
William Shakespeare


Dawn stood in the crowded airport, surrounded by thousands of travellers and the myriad family and friends that had come to greet or farewell their loved ones. She found it hard to believe she’d ever feel this way, but after the last two months, she’d grown heartily sick of airports. She’d spent far too much time passing through far too many airports, at far too many different points around the globe. Terminal 2 at Beijing International had the distinction of being one of the busiest passenger terminals in the world, and it certainly seemed it, crammed to capacity with a colorful, noisy throng of humanity.



She was there to meet Andrew. The little twerp, in a pathetic attempt to avoid portal travel, had opted to book himself a flight from Istanbul to Beijing before Dawn had a chance to, as he put it, ‘beam herself into his room and drag him kicking and screaming into her freaky portal’. She couldn’t believe that a demon-summoning, ex super-villain would act like such a big baby. Although, considering it was Andrew, she was totally unsurprised.



She was annoyed though. The problem with planes was they took so much time, whereas portalling took you half way across the world in the blink of an eye. Dawn had managed to squeeze an awful lot into her day so far. She’d spent the morning at Imberhorne School, her fourth day there. She was slowly getting used to the structure and routines of the Comprehensive School, finding both similarities and differences between Imberhorne and Sunnydale. Luckily Imberhorne didn’t seem to be built over a Hellmouth. Always an advantage Dawn thought.



Joking aside, she was taking her time to settle in. She was enjoying her classes so far, both the core subjects and her options, French, Italian and Religious Studies, a fascinating look at ethics, philosophy of religion, good and evil and the existence of mysticism. She was going to have to rein herself in in that class. The students seemed nice, and very friendly, so there were definitely possibilities there in terms of friendships, but Dawn wasn’t sure yet how wise those sorts of connections would be. She thought she’d just wait and see.



The Senior Students had had a half day, plus Friday off, as the rest of the school had some big learning seminar on. That suited Dawn just fine, she had her whole other life to live, and limited time to do it in. She was beginning to get a glimpse of how things must have been for Buffy all the way through High School. And most of the time she’d had to keep her ‘other life’ a secret from her Mum and little sis. Buffy may not have always done things the way Dawn would have, but she was reminded once again of why she was so very proud of her big sister.



Anyway, she’d dashed home from school, changed out of her uniform (My God a uniform!), grabbed her suitcase and had lunch and a quick coffee before opening up the portal. And she’d still arrived at the Beijing Headquarters of Amazon International in time to head to the airport with Lien and Chao-Ahn to meet Andrew’s 8 pm flight. The only time lost had been that created by the time zone difference. And what’s more she had no jetlag, no fatigue, no sore butt and no swollen feet. Fresh as a daisy her.



Andrew on the other hand would be decidedly stale. His plane had left Istanbul over ten hours ago! What a waste of precious time. Well, she hoped he’d used his time on the plane well by sleeping most of the way, because Dawn, whose body clock was still registering it as 1 pm, was determined to work through a good portion of the night. Which meant Andrew would be working through a good portion of the night as well!



Following her slayer tracking experiences in the Americas, Dawn had decided that time was of an essence, and she couldn’t afford to muck around training different slayers to run the IT package at each place she arrived. Last week’s experiences had confirmed her misgivings. She’d met the girls in Shanghai, a double team of them since Rona and Dominique, plus the Australian Slayer Kelly and Chinese Watcher Heng, had flown out to beef up the numbers. China’s largest city was centrally placed in terms of the heavily populated East China provinces.



In total there were over 370 million people living in this area of China alone. That equated to 120 plus Slayers. It was utterly mind-boggling. It had taken her the entire week just to scan and ID all of those girls. She’d made do with the IT side of things, getting Meredith to run the programme. But despite her willingness and determination, the young Watcher was painfully slow. Dawn knew she needed to bring in the best.



Her solution was to commandeer Andrew. His techy skills were the best, after all, he’d designed the programme, and her need for support was greater than Shannon and Nisha’s. They already had that rather cute Russian Watcher Vadim with them after all, and the Turkish guy, Ekrem. Andrew had probably spent most of his time annoying them anyway. She was no doubt doing Recruitment Team 1 a huge favor!



Still, she really did need his help, and she was kind of looking forward to seeing him again, even if he was a great pain in her butt. She just hoped he’d be in decent shape so that they could start scanning Beijing tonight. China was so huge and so populous, that it was going to take an awfully long time to cover the entire country, and if possible, she’d like to identify at least half of North China’s 50 estimated slayers before the morning. If she and Andrew could ID the ones in Beijing, at least tomorrow Chao-Ahn’s team could start the job of recruiting the girls in the capital city.



Dawn glanced up at the arrivals board. Andrew’s flight had landed 20 minutes ago and the passengers had already disembarked. She had to focus hard to fight of the ripples of impatience that threatened to overwhelm her. Sighing, she plonked herself down on a padded bench, squeezed in between a diminutive, old Chinese woman and middle-aged, business-suited Caucasian man, and allowed her mind to drift off as waves of travellers ebbed and flowed around her. Finally, a little mind space to reflect on the events of the previous weekend.



It turned out that Willow and Giles’ meticulously researched protection ritual had had some unforeseen but ultimately not necessarily unwelcome outcomes. Once Buffy and Spike had returned to the land of consciousness, they’d described their experiences, the encounter they’d had with the two deities, the hints they’d been given about the looming war, and the blessing they’d received. Over a restaurant prepared pizza dinner back at the lodge, Giles had frantically scribbled down the pair’s detailed but disjointed narrative. Then he’d sat there deep in thought, reading over his notes and pondering whether ‘ancient evil’ and ‘encroaching darkness’ might be literal or metaphorical, as the others, exhausted by the day’s activity, had abandoned him for their beds.



Dawn was just now wondering that herself. Mostly she was pleased and relieved that Spike and Buffy had successfully strapped on what amounted to permanent mystical bulletproof vests. But, she also recalled Atar’s advice about the need for ‘many hands’ and Sineya’s admission about ‘strength in numbers’. Which all came back to why she was sitting here, half a world away from her loved ones, waiting on the appearance of Annoying Andy. It was their job to ID the ‘many hands’ and she was amping to get to it.



Glancing towards the arrivals gate she perked up as she spotted the blonde would-be Watcher finally making his way through the doors. Her enthusiasm was probably a little premature, and she sighed once more as she took in the disheveled, weary looking boy that stumbled towards them. Oh yeah, Andrew was really going to love the work schedule she had planned for them. Wincing, she stood up and went to meet him.



~~~



Cat squirmed, the pressure on her currently temperamental bladder signaling an urgent need for the bathroom facilities. As she looked at the length of the queue in front of her, she knew that she’d be waiting a while longer. She, Rupert and Althanea were in India to begin the mammoth task of scanning the second most populous country in the world. It had been a long plane flight, ten hours from Gatwick to Indira Gandhi International, most of it fairly tedious and uncomfortable. The long periods sitting seemed to trigger some sort of crazy over stimulation of her water works, necessitating endless trips to the cramped airline bathroom. Mind you, it hadn’t been tedium the entire way. She and Rupert had made the most of the darkened cabin and close quarters, discreetly making out like a pair of horny teenagers, while Althanea tactfully slumbered in the window seat next to them.



Cat blushed as she contemplated the highlight of their intercontinental journey. After a low-key session of inconspicuous fondling and barely restrained necking, she’d had to excuse herself as the call of nature signaled her once again. As she’d pushed open the door to exit the bathroom, she’d been startled by the sight of her husband standing to the left of the narrow opening. Grinning mischievously, he’d gently nudged her back into the cubicle, before following her in and relocking the door behind him.



He’d given her no time at all to question his intentions before he’d attacked, pulling her unresisting frame into his arms as his lips devoured hers. His insistent tongue stroked hers, his right hand squeezed between them, palming her breast and flicking his thumb over her rapidly hardening nipple. Her brain caught up with the play pretty quickly, a portion of it mildly shocked and unnerved by Rupert’s obvious intent, but most of it in willing accord with the desperate demands of her various overwrought erogenous zones.



They’d pulled apart, both panting wildly, dilated pupils testament to their elevated levels of arousal. Without a word, the couple had simultaneously leapt into action, Cat drawing up her skirt and wriggling out of her knickers while Rupert had unzipped and shoved his trousers and boxers down to mid thigh. Conscious of the limited space, he’d spun them around, seated himself on the toilet lid and drawn Cat astride his lap. She’d reached down and grasped his turgid shaft, aligning the head with her sopping opening and dropped straight down. Her silken walls were hot and achingly wet from the hours of foreplay, and his swollen girth glided into her, bottoming out on the first thrust.



Rupert had grasped her hips and Cat had used one hand to hold the front of her skirt up while the other clutched onto his shoulder. It hadn’t taken long, he’d had sufficient leeway to be able to lift his hips and repeatedly slam his cock up into her, and she’d added her own vertical momentum to the mix. They’d hadn’t dared to speak and had bitten back the moans and whimpers that threatened to erupt from their trembling lips. As she sensed her orgasm approaching, Cat had leaned forward and captured his mouth with her own, at the same time pressing her clit more firmly against Rupert’s plunging pole.



That had tipped her over. Rupert had muffled her yell of ecstasy with his probing kiss. Three more thrusts through the squeeze of her spasming pussy and he’d groaned, spilling himself within her heat. Replete, they’d sat basking for a few minutes, enjoying the aftershocks and the adrenaline buzz. Their soft, loving embrace and gentle kisses had been rudely interrupted by Cat’s sudden fit of giggles. Her whispered explanation, “Bloody hell, we’ve just joined the mile high club,” had prompted a corresponding glimmer of amusement, and what looked suspiciously like pride, in her man’s eyes.



It hadn’t taken long to get themselves cleaned up and redressed. Rupert had slipped out first, his pre-prepared cover story about a nauseous wife unneeded as he’d made his way quietly back through the rows of slumbering passengers. Cat had followed soon after, and raging hormones temporarily abated, they’d both settled down, sleeping soundly until 40 minutes before landing.



With a faint blush on her cheeks, a lingering ripple of endorphins through her blood stream and a rather uncomfortable damp patch in her knickers, Cat glanced along the long, slow queue of travellers waiting to get their passports and visas checked. She stood behind Althanea, with Rupert behind her, firmly in possession of their baggage trolley, piled high with their bags and the carefully crated, labeled, Slayer Scythe.



Despite a folder full of official documentation, they were anticipating possible delays at the Customs desk. And her damn bladder was playing up again; no doubt due to the vigorous jolting it had received during their mile-high workout. Whatever the reason, she didn’t think she’d be able to hold on for however long it would take to make it to the immigration counter, complete all of the entry procedures and find a bathroom in the Arrivals Lounge.



Cat sighed and pressed an explanation and quick kiss to Rupert’s cheek before she left the line to find the closest facilities. With any luck, they’d have only shuffled a few feet forward by the time she made it back. Then hopefully a miracle would happen and they’d whip through the rest of the process. Because, the sooner they could get out of the airport and settled into their rooms in New Delhi the better.



~~~



Nandish indicated and quickly eased the van into the fast lane of the airport bound NH 8. The traffic was light at this time of night, and what there was of it was travelling at a quick pace. He’d be at Terminal 3 in plenty of time to pick up the new Head Watcher. He’d met him before of course, having just returned from five weeks at Ashdown. The guy seemed pretty decent and looked like he actually knew what he was doing. He had some pretty revolutionary ideas about the evolving shape of the Watcher Organization or Slayer/Watcher organization as it was now structured. Nandish wasn’t sure about how things would work out, but he was pretty impressed with the direction and pace Rupert Giles was leading them in so far. He’d surrounded himself with real talent too, which certainly didn’t hurt. And together they were dragging the new organization, Amazon International, phoenix-like from the ashes.



Someone needed to stitch things back together, to mend the destruction dealt out by the First. If Giles thought he could do it, well more power to him. But for some, the devastation was too deep, too absolute, to ever recover from. Almost a year down the track, Nandish felt sure that the events would continue to haunt him for the rest of his life. They certainly still plagued his every waking moment, as well as half of his sleeping ones.



That day was indelibly burned into his memory. It was an Autumn evening, earlyish still, and he’d been out following up on a lead about several unusual sightings around the India Gate Park. The three young girls in his care, all identified potentials, had been left back at home, where they were supposed to be finishing up their study for the day, and starting on supper. He’d cut his reconnaissance short, dogged by a feeling of unease, a hunch that something was wrong. It had sent him scurrying home.



Home was a second story Council-owned apartment, on one of Connaught Place’s radial roads. The building was, like most of those in Connaught Place, of typical Georgian design, resplendent with decorative columns, embellished cornices and arched, multi-paned windows, a little slice of England, designed and constructed back in the 1930s as the commercial centre of the newly inaugurated Imperial Capital. Next door to the Odeon Cinema, and upstairs from a Jeweller’s Store, the building was a piece of prime real estate that would be prohibitively expensive to purchase on the current market, but which the Council had probably bought for a song when it was first built.



He’d pulled the van into the carpark and leapt out of the vehicle just ahead of the encroaching sirens. He’d taken the stairs three at a time, his heart pounding in his chest at the unnatural stillness that stifled the usually bustling building. His first sight of the carnage had stopped his heart. The apartment door was ajar. Kumari lay prone on the floor, her lower legs sprawled out into the hallway. He couldn’t see her face at first but he’d recognised the bright pink trainers she loved so much. As he’d got closer, Nandish spotted the splashes and smears of blood that adorned the floor around her body, a sticky pool seeping out sluggishly from beneath her torso.



Kumari had been the oldest of the three potentials in his charge. She was 18, tall, strong, ruthless when she’d needed to be, a skilled, determined fighter. As her body came into view, Nandish could see the deep cuts on her arms, defensive wounds. She had obviously fought the attackers fiercely, determined no doubt to protect the other two younger girls. A large knife wound, just to the right of her spine, was visible through the rend in her t-shirt. Nandish knew that if he turned her over, there would be a corresponding laceration in her gut. The sort of wound that was always fatal.



He’d swallowed the tears and harsh sobs that threatened to overwhelm him, desperate to find the other girls. Stepping over Kumi’s body, he stumbled his way into the lounge. He didn’t have far to go to find Devak. Her body lay behind the overturned coffee table, the single chest wound and the look of shock affixed to her features testament to the speed of her execution. He staggered and crumpled to the floor, the shock and grief poleaxing his body and short circuiting his brain. He’d lain where he’d been felled, oblivious to either the ghastly, lifeless tableaux and unnatural silence surrounding him, or the sirens, screeching tires and approaching footsteps, signs of life and urgency impinging on his withdrawal.



He was shamed by that temporary retreat into catatonia, no matter the justification. All the more so by the gentle hands and voice of the young policeman who had brought him round. A flurry of voices and activity had signalled the find he’d managed to overlook in his grief and shock, Pritika, wounded, terrified, but still alive. He’d pulled himself together quickly as police and paramedics swarmed round, the former asking questions as the latter checked her over and lifted her onto a stretcher.



It had taken the remainder of the day to piece together the sequence of events. Eyewitness accounts from neighbours, retailers and Pritika herself had established that a silent but deadly raid had taken place, carried out by a group of three robed ‘men’, each carrying curved blades, that sounded much like Persian Jambiyas. Most disturbingly, the assailants’ eyes appeared to have been plucked out and the mutilated scar tissue covered with some sort of symbols or runes.



They had simply approached the front door of the apartment and knocked. When Kumari had opened the front door, two of the creatures had attacked her while the third pushed into the room in search of the other two girls. Mr Singh from across the hall had been disturbed by Kumi’s screams and had come to check out what was happening. His horrified gasp had alerted one of the attackers to his presence and the old man had had to shut and lock his door quickly for fear of his own life as the murderous beast had turned his blinded face towards him.



Mr Singh had pushed a chair up against the door and immediately rung emergency services. The sounds of Kumi’s screams had faded by this stage, but a sort, sharp scream, less audible as it rang out from within the girl’s apartment, but still recognisable as Devak’s, had sent a shiver of terror and sorrow down his spine.



Pritika had of course heard the scuffles and screams from much closer range and had easily recognised the sounds for what they were, desperate, futile battles for life. Trapped in the bathroom, she didn’t know who, or what, was attacking her friends, and she hesitated, agonising over which of her body’s instincts she should listen to, fight or flight. With no weapons at hand, fight didn’t seem like a viable option, but she couldn’t leave the girls to fend for themselves without at least assessing the situation.



She’d just released the lock and pushed the door open a fraction when a wicked, curved blade had thrust through the gap and into her gut. Luckily, most of her body was behind the door, and the knife, while it sunk deep, had struck the flesh and muscle just above her left hip, missing any major organs or arteries. In shock, and reeling from the deep, biting pain, Pritika had still been in control enough to slam the door closed repeatedly on the arm and knife that were trapped there. Finally her attacker had dropped the knife and withdrawn, but not before she’d managed to cause a fair bit of damage to his wrist, forearm and fingers.



Nandish had travelled to the hospital in the ambulance with Pritika, and had sat in the waiting room as she’d undergone surgery. He’d used the hospital pay phone to try and contact Quentin Travers in London, but the only response was an ominously flat dial tone. The little black and white TV in the waiting room had provided some answers while begging even more. The news had carried a report of a massive explosion in the head office of what they referred to as ‘a large international security firm’ but which Nandish had recognised as Council headquarters. He’d stared in shock and disbelief, beginning to suspect a connection between the explosion and the attacks on the girls.



As soon as she was stable, Nandish had snuck Pritika out of hospital, worried that the demons who had attacked her and the others would come back to finish the job. They’d spent the next six months on the run, staying at run down motels or with various friends and families around Northern India. He’d gone on line and researched whenever he could, finally establishing that the creatures that had slain his girls were called Harbingers or Bringers, and that they were the henchmen or foot soldiers of a non-corporeal entity called The First Evil. He figured they were right to have gone to ground. They were undoubtedly being hunted.



As they travelled around the countryside, they overheard reports of attacks that seemed likely to have involved the same blind assassins, and on two occasions were able to intervene and rescue the intended victims, both young girls, and according to Nandish’s reckoning, undoubtedly unidentified Potential Slayers. The girls and their families had easily accepted the Watcher’s recommendation that he keep them with him for protection and evasion. And so their little family had grown to four again. Finding and rescuing Vinesha and Rajani had in some ways assuaged the guilt and despair he’d felt at the loss of Kumari and Devak, helping to balance out the scales a little.



Suddenly, during the last week of May, an astonishing event had occurred. Not one, not two, but all three of his girls had simultaneously come into their full powers. Nandish didn’t know what to think or imagine what could have happened to instigate such a momentous change. At the same time, the pall of danger and threat had suddenly lifted, and the pervading sense of evil that had scented the air had evaporated. That double sea change had been followed by a strange report out of California, USA, where the entire town of Sunnydale had seemingly collapsed into a sinkhole. Nandish recognised the name of course, site of an active Hellmouth and home of the current Slayer, and he knew it was no small coincidence.



Over the next two months he’d managed to re-establish contact with the remnants of the Council, now based in Bromley, and prepare himself and the girls for the trip to England. The girls had adapted remarkably well, even little Pritika, fully recovered from her injuries and coping admirably with the trauma and loss of the Bringers’ attack. But Nandish, still struggling to come to terms with the loss, had become more serious, more closed off, less trusting. It was a heavy weight for a young man of 28 to carry on his shoulders.



Keeping busy seemed to help, and he’d undoubtedly be very busy over the next three months as Rupert Giles, his wife and the Wiccan Priestess began the process of identifying the more than 300 new Slayers dotted across the subcontinent, and he and the girls split into two teams and headed off to find and recruit them.

Satisfied with his current form of grief therapy, Nandish flicked on his indicator and pulled into a parking spot. He leapt out and locked the van doors before heading towards to the entrance to Terminal 3, ready to pick up his guests and get them back and settled into the Connaught Place apartment. The sooner they were settled and refreshed, the sooner they could begin their task, and the sooner he and his girls could begin their quest, the quest for new Slayers, the quest for redemption, the quest for peace of mind. For the first time in almost a year Nandish felt a sense of hope. It was time to move on.

‘The night is far spent, the day is at hand: let us therefore cast off the works of darkness, and let us put on the armour of light.’
Michel Houellebecq



Buffy jerked and eeped, a loud crash and gruff curses startling her out of a deep sleep. She blinked and frowned, squinting at her surroundings through sleep swollen eyelids, then yawned and stretched as she recognised her lounge room and the gold velvet couch she was lying on. She could hear Spike swearing in the kitchen, something about ‘sodding slippery plates’ and ‘bloody stupid floor tiles’ and grinned affectionately. What did it say about her that the sound of English profanities seemed to wrap a blanket of safety and security around her happy little psyche? Weird!



She was sorely tempted to snuggle back down under the fluffy throw and grab a few more zzz’s, but the pale light filtering through the curtains signalled the approaching dusk. She and Spike had work to do tonight, so the extra sleep was going to have to wait. They were taking a group of six Slayers out on patrol, driving up to Dartford in the mini van to stake out three of the cemeteries there



The trip formed part of their official teaching duties at the Academy. Which still freaked Buffy out somewhat. A teacher! God, she hadn’t even completed her undergraduate degree and now she was responsible for shaping the hearts and minds (well mainly the bodies) of a generation of young women. Even Spike was more qualified than she was, what with his first class honours degree from Oxford, although that was probably past its use by date.



And at least she had some experience working with teenagers. She had been employed as the guidance councillor at Sunnydale High after all, although, to be honest, she had no idea how or why Robin had appointed her to such a worthy position. And of course she and Spike had worked with, or more accurately put up with, the potentials in Sunnydale. And then there was Dawn! Probably the less said about her pseudo parenting efforts the better! All in all, pretty meagre credentials Buffy had to admit, particularly as most of those experiences she would list on the negative side of the ledger. Whatever, she knew how to fight, she knew how to train, both for armed and hand to hand combat, the reality was, she and Spike were the most qualified for the job.



And so far, that job was going extremely well. Physical Education at Ashdown Academy was a little different than the subject offered to most teenagers. But it was custom designed for young slayers. They’d settled into a routine of sorts, well as much as you can when the roll continued to increase by at least 100 students per week. They were up over 500 now, and an extra 103 girls had arrived two days earlier, given a week to get settled into the very overcrowded dormitories before they started in with their studies.



The classes were big, around 32 girls per group, but behaviour was never a problem. The girls wanted to train, needed to. With 15 classes (and growing) to teach, coverage was a problem. They’d worked out a schedule where they saw each group once a week to go over their training schedules, introduce new techniques, and supervise combat. They also oversaw four other staff members, including field Watchers Armand and Greg, who oversaw the combat classes, and two local martial arts experts, who taught Aikido and Kendo classes. On top of that, each girl was expected to undertake daily independent fitness workouts including running, gym work, t’ai chi, and swimming.



They had contracted another two instructors to provide Capoeira and Fencing lessons starting mid term. But a huge issue at the moment was space, how to find enough room to take each class simultaneously. It was okay while the weather was warm enough to train outside, but it was getting colder and wetter all the time – soon they’d run out of places to squeeze the girls in.



Xander had been working on solutions to the housing and classroom shortages as fast as he could. He’d contracted a modular building company to build two accommodation blocks, two classroom blocks and a large hall/gymnasium/library/staffroom complex. Xander, Willow and Ashley had worked hard to select a range of plans and sites that would disrupt Ashdown’s unique environment as little as possible. Luckily, there were plenty of flat sites surrounding the main building that required little in the way of tree felling or site preparation.



One of the accommodation blocks was going up at the moment, on a patch of land across from the Lodge. The modules were built and outfitted off site and then trucked to Ashdown, where they were craned into position. Buffy wasn’t usually much of a constructiony sort of girl, but even she had to admit it was kind of fascinating, and uber fast. The first modules had been laid down the previous week, in a kind of L shape, and already they were setting the fourth storey modules in place. Two more floors, the roof and the exterior cladding would complete the outside. With just the plumbing and power to connect after that, the contractors were guaranteeing that it would be ready for action by the end of the following week. All of the fitted furnishings were already in place, so the bedrooms only needed mattresses and bedding to make them livable.



Each floor would house 100 girls in 50 share bedrooms, each fitted with an en-suite and a study space. The bottom floor had a large dining room, capable of catering for all 500 residents, an awesome gym that Buffy had helped outfit and a large lounge room/conference space. They’d decided that the block, nicknamed Xena Hall by the girls, would house the senior girls, giving them the opportunity to be a bit more independent and a little less squished. This would mean more room in the dorms for the younger girls that were constantly pouring in, a necessity given that the main house was starting to look like a much larger, but equally overcrowded version of Casa Summers 2003.



As soon as that project was ticked off, the company would start on the first of the three storey, 15 classroom, teaching blocks, again built in modules offsite and trucked in. That was going in on the large field next to the East Wing, a space big enough for another matching teaching block as well as another accommodation block. The construction company must be rubbing its hands in glee. Buffy hoped that Amazon’s pockets were deep enough to pay for all this work, although Willow had explained that the company itself, Wilmott something-or-other Construction, had signed on as Academy’s sponsor, and as such, was helping to fund the cost of the project.



At the same time, the large square base of the gymnasium and hall was going in directly opposite the main building. This project was more complex and so would be slower to complete, although once the base was finished, the modular units for the second storey library, staffroom and I.T. suites would go up pretty quickly. Soon, Ashdown was going to start looking like a real school, although an utterly single sex one.



Buffy was pretty sure that the shortage of males around the place was one of the many reasons that P.E. was so popular. Most of the instructors were guys, and they were all in fine condition. Despite being a vampire, or maybe that was an added extra, who knew, Spike had all the little girlies besotted. In fact, just as besotted as the hot Italian and Australian Watchers (damn, they didn’t make them like that in her day!) or the hunky Martial Arts dudes did. To the point that, she had to regularly blast the bolder girls with her super Slayer death glare, just to get them to back off her man.



Despite that, she loved her job. She got to work out, practice fight moves and kick butt on a daily basis. Not bad for an almost 5 months pregnant older chick. Since the protection spell had taken affect two and a half weeks previous, she’d been full out sparring. Although her centre of balance had shifted and she moved a little more slowly, she had an added advantage that the younger girls didn’t know about. She was practically invulnerable in a combat situation.



When she and Spike had awoken from their little protection ritual catnap, they’d both felt incredibly buzzy and glowy, full of energy and high on life. They’d both had the same thought at the same time, eyes connecting and communicating their need for one another. But, first they’d had to set their worried friends’ minds at rest, reassure them that the spell had been cast, and by none other than Atar and Sineya themselves. This had gone some way towards soothing the others, who’d had to nervously wait out quite a lengthy period of unplanned coma from the two warriors, unsure about whether things had gone wrong and if Buffy and Spike were in deadly peril or not.



Only Althanea had remained calm, insuring that everyone remain in their places in the circle, each focusing on their role, repeating their invocations, reassuring them that Buffy and Spike were fine, that undoubtedly the ritual was working more thoroughly than they had envisioned. The duo’s awakening had been sudden and startling in its level of excitement and animation, and the two certainly seemed well enough, if not a little frisky and energetic. So Giles had let them leave, on the understanding that they would meet the next day to get their baseline readings checked and test out the parameters of the spell’s efficacy.



Buffy and Spike had grinned and nodded before tearing out of the building like twin tornados. They’d raced one another back to their apartment, laughing and whooping the whole way. They’d begun peeling their clothes off even before the front door was shut and locked. Stumbling through to the bedroom had taken longer than necessary, impatient hands, lips and tongues seeking out the sizzling touch of flesh, the sleek stroke of muscle, the hardened knot of nipple. Finally they’d made their way to the bed, Spike succumbing to Buffy’s hunger, falling back onto the covers.



He’d lain there, propped up on one elbow as he lazily stroked himself, watching the gorgeous sexy vixen at the bottom of his bed as he drew his foreskin back and forth across his swollen glans. Buffy’s eyes were sparkling with lust, drinking in Spike’s arousal as she ran her hands over her swollen breasts, kneading the areola, so enlarged and darkened by pregnancy and sexual heat, plucking at her distended nipples. She’d roughly lifted one breast towards her mouth, extending her wicked tongue to flick over the teat, sucking it into her mouth, before releasing it with a pop. Her hands had drifted down, over her rounded bump, caressing it, revelling in the changes to her body that pregnancy had wrought. For such a petite girl, the growing curves and softness had been somewhat liberating, and she felt sexier than ever.



Buffy had really gotten off on the girl power thing that night and it had made Spike hot, to see her so aggressive, so in control, knowing exactly what she wanted and how to get it. Spike had seen that the slayer in Buffy was in the driver’s seat and he’d trembled as he’d recognised more than a touch of Sineya shimmering in his girl’s eyes, the arrogance, the cruelty. At a look and a flick of her head, Spike had drawn up his heels, knees bent and splayed. He was on display for her, cock, balls and arse spread out for her to see and approve of. Part of him got off on the vulnerability he was gifting her, lying there offering himself to her.



Buffy’s hands had drifted lower, gliding over the vibrant marking that shielded her from harm, heading further south where she sunk them into her overheated pussy. Slipping, sliding, flicking and thrusting, she brought herself to a shuddering release before drawing out the two nectar-coated fingers that had been buried deep inside her quim. She’d held them aloft, kneeling carefully onto the bed and shuffling towards Spike. He’d shivered as she’d looked down on him, then adjusted himself, opening himself up further by hooking his legs over each arm and laying back. He’d shivered again as he felt the slide of her slippery fingertips over his arsehole, partly in fear, but mostly in unbridled excitement. He’d felt the pressure and then the thrust as her fingers slipped past the trembling muscles and deep into his hot tunnel.



Unerringly her fingers had found his prostate, ramming against it repeatedly as she’d fucked him, no time for niceties or slow and easy, both of them consumed by a burning passion, desperate for connection, for release. It had taken very little, the first half dozen thrusts pumping pre-cum out of his untouched cock as he’d lain there twitching and moaning, clutching the bedcovers in anticipation. Another six and he’d cum, howling, spurting, four, five shots, spraying his face, his chest, each one burning its way up and out of his shaft as Buffy had kept on pummeling his arse, even as he’d clenched his cheeks tightly around her slick fingers.



Finally he’d collapsed and her fingers had slowed to a gentle slide, her soft stroking of his prostate reawakening his arousal. Buffy had been agitated, desperate for her own pleasure. The scent of her wet pussy perfumed the air and heat and energy seemed to radiate out of her like a sun burst as she slipped her fingers out and pulled Spike’s legs back together. She’d knelt up and straddled him, her glistening juices sparkling like dew on her labia. She’d grasped his rigid prick and dunked the head in her juices before using it like a vibrator, diddling it against her engorged clit, driving herself to a rapid orgasm.



Her cum had really revved his motor up again and he’d taken himself back in hand, steadying Buffy with one hand on her hip. Holding his erection Spike had lined himself up and pushed, moaning at the exquisite feeling of Buffy's pussy stretching, stretching and oozing over the crown, sliding down to the flared ridge.



“Oh God!” he’d moaned as the Slayer’s swollen pussy snapped over his crown, gripping him tightly, in its velvety smooth warmth. His cock had throbbed wildly, responding to the heat and excitement of penetrating her again. So good, so incredibly hot. He’d had to pause to collect his breath, calm himself; fight back the huge urge to thrust into her, bury himself in her sexy little pussy. But he needn’t have worried; Buffy was moaning wildly, more desperate for completion than he, and had slipped into high gear. Spike had shifted a little, bending his knees and bracing his feet flat against the bed. He’d reached up and grabbed her arms, angling his cock so that he could hit her g-spot, all the while anchoring her to him so that he could increase the level of friction and velocity. Then he’d held her tight as he began to thrust into her repeatedly, slamming their two bodies against each other.



She’d screamed long and loud, her sheath clutching him in agonising, amazing spasms as a hot clear liquid squirted out of her pussy and all over his groin. Spike had momentarily worried that it was something to do with the baby but his nose had told him that it was just sex, pure sex, and Buffy’s utter, utter enjoyment of their connection. Besides, they were safe now, their baby was safe, and there was something totally liberating in that knowledge, the type of unconditional security that maybe allowed them to let go in a way they’d never done so before.



At that thought, Spike had rolled her over, pounding into her overheated wetness as she’d keened and writhed beneath him. With a roar, his demon had come out to play, game face on and fangs out, while below his cock thickened and lengthened as it slid urgently within his Slayer’s wet cunt. He’d pulled himself down against her, sharp nails clutching her to him, as he’d run his roughened tongue along her neck. The sense of belonging and intimacy and union overwhelmed him and he growled before sinking his teeth into her flesh, the sharp, sweet, rich taste of her lifeblood flooding his senses with fire and love and life. One deep, nourishing swallow and one long, tender lave later and they’d both climaxed loudly and satisfyingly.



Later, they’d lain in one another’s arms, talking quietly about that astonishing experience and the connection between it and the protection ritual. Both had sensed the presence of their Divine Guardian.



“Do you think Atar and Sineya have ever gotten it on?” Buffy mused.



“I don’t know if they go in much for bodily acts,” Spike replied, “being Gods and all. But it’d be a sad mistake to miss out on the heavenly delight that comes from joining with your other half, just because you think yourself above such carry on.”



“Well, if we happen to meet up with them again, I’ll be sure to pass on your wise advice.” Buffy had giggled as she’d imagined their expressions. Despite their stern, aloof demeanours, something told her that Sineya and Atar each knew a thing or two about fiery passion. They’d both drifted off to sleep with smiles on their faces and light in their souls.



Giles had put them through a bank of tests the following day, using hands, fists, feet and knives. They could still hit one another, the punches and kicks were still right on target, but the impact felt somehow muffled, as if they were wearing lightweight armour or wrapped up in wadding, like walking around in that big old padded suit that Xander used to wear when he was role-playing punching bag for Buffy. Likewise, the impact from a fall, or even from being slammed against a hard surface, seemed dampened; a faint echo of the normal force. Knife injuries were shallow, only slicing through the top layer of the skin, and stabbing actions were unable to penetrate deeper than an eighth of an inch. Although they needed to see if the results would be consistent under genuine battle conditions, it seemed likely they were both safe from harm.



Buffy’s main post-protection spell worry now involved what would happen if she needed a C-section to deliver her baby. Maybe Cat wouldn’t be able to cut through her uterus, or even her skin. Although, Buffy giggled to herself, remembering the way his fangs had slid effortlessly into her flesh the night of the spell, maybe Spike could nibble his way through. Ew, shades of Caligula! All the more reason to hope she could deliver naturally.



As if sensing her focus, her little lodger started tap dancing on her abdominal wall. Buffy placed her palm on her abdomen, still exhilarated by the recent development of being able to feel the baby’s kicks. Just then Spike walked into the room, carefully balancing a tray laden with cups, a teapot, a plate stacked high with toast and a pot of jam and a jar of peanut butter.



“Evening luv. You’re up I see. Little bit wake you with his moves did he? Like as not the lad knows his Mum and Da are off for a bit of action tonight and is readying himself to join in.”



He set the tray down on the coffee table and perched on the edge of the couch, pressing his hand against Buffy’s bump, a delighted grin gracing his face as the child’s spins and kicks vibrated through his palm.



“Got an awesome left foot on him doesn’t he? Gonna be a great little fighter I’d wager, and no doubt handy with a football and all?”



“Spike, he might be a she and you’re gonna give her a complex with all this talk of gender. Our kid’ll be great with fighting and soccer no matter whether a boy or a girl. And anyway, if you weren’t being so stubborn, we’d know for sure what we were having tomorrow.”



Buffy was due for her twenty week scan the following day, and Cat had offered them the opportunity to find out the baby’s gender. Buffy was keen to know, but Spike was weirdly offended by modern technology’s ability to provide a sneak preview of their family’s make up.



“Now pet, you know that’s like cheating, and probably bad luck and all. And it doesn’t really matter ‘cos we’ll love the nipper whether pink or blue. And anyway, I already know we’re having a boy, so why bother.”



“You know Spike,” Buffy said as she sat up and reached for a piece of toast, slathering it with plum jam before cramming a large bite into her mouth, “that set of arguments is totally contradictory and doesn’t even make sense. I think the real reason is because you’re so ancient that can’t deal with stuff that’s not traditional, meaning more modern than the 19th century. You’re gonna have to get with the updated programme if you wanna be a new age Dad.”



“Who says I wanna be a sodding poofy, new age wuss. Evil Big Bad here if you’ve forgotten.” He bristled under Buffy’s criticisms no matter how in jest. “And while I’m at it, next time I go to use that tray, remind me to set a cloth on it first. It’s as slippery as a frog’s bollocks without one,” he growled.



Buffy’s tinkling laugh filled the room and she snuggled up to her grumpy vampire as they drank tea and ate their supper. It was a quick bite to eat, then they grabbed jackets and weapons and wandered over to the car park to meet the girls. All six girls were seniors, and completing their final year of studies. They all piled into the van and Spike drove out of the Estate, turned the van right onto Coleman’s Hatch, and headed north east for the M25. Not that Buffy knew what that was. She hadn’t got behind the wheel of a car since she’d arrived in England, a fact that she knew everyone, including secretly, herself, was highly relieved about.



Quite apart from not knowing where anything was, the whole driving on the wrong side of the road freaked her out. She had enough trouble staying on the right side of the road as it was without the right side being the wrong side. Or the left side. Whatever! Anyway, who needed to drive when you had a built in chauffeur, right? She just sat back and relaxed, letting the chatter and laughter of the girls wash over her.



One of the girls in this group, Khatia, was from Georgia, which, Buffy was surprised to hear, was a small, mountainous country between Russia and Turkey and not just a state in the U.S. Who knew? As the girls began to share pre Ashdown slay-tales, bragging about various big bad smack downs, most of which seemed to amount to little more than having been able to outrun various things of a supernatural nature, the little Georgian began to explain, in her halting English, some of the strange occurrences that had been taking place before Shannon and Andrew’s Recruitment Team had rolled into her neck of the woods.



Khatia came from the small port city of Poti, on the Eastern Shores of the Black Sea. The political situation in Georgia was pretty tense, but Buffy zoned out during most of the young Slayer’s explanation of the background to that. Politics wasn’t really her thing. Or history. Or geography. When it came down to it, slaying was more her thing. So she didn’t take too much more notice until Khatia began talking about the weird goings-on that had begun taking place in a mountain range in the state of Abkhazia, goings-on that were being described by media as somehow linked to a resurgence of civil espionage, but which were, according to the Georgian slayer more mystical than political.



Small parties of men had been spotted travelling up into the mountains and then just disappearing altogether. Then without explanation, a different group of men would appear, coming down from the high plateaux as if they had appeared out of nowhere. In each instance, these men were armed, and kitted out in camo gear, hence the suspicion of military involvement.



But Khatia suspected a more supernatural connection. A friend of her family was one of the small, exclusive group of mountain guides, and they’d had compared notes; the trips were apparently one way, and there seemed to be no logical or earthly explanation for the phenomenon. One or two of the braver guides had ventured a polite query or two, but they had been rebuffed. The suspects had definitely appeared human, but with a cold, almost malevolent air about them that ‘felt’ wicked. Demonic.



The occupants of the van were quiet, all eight of them, as they pondered what sort of trick could cause grown men to simply vanish or appear at will. But at that moment Spike pulled into a parking area next to a set of wrought iron gates, so their musings were abandoned. The sign in front of them, lit up by the van headlights, read ‘Watling Street Cemetery”.



“Right ladies,” Spike said as he killed the ignition and the lights, and swivelled in his seat, “we’re in Dartford. Been a few suspicious deaths in these parts of late. Which is right stupid if you ask me, given how close Dartford is to the newly established Slayer Central. Either we’re doing a better job than I would have suspected of staying under cover, or otherwise these blokes are a bunch of right gits.” Buffy grinned and gave him an encouraging wink, but the little girls in the back just stared and nodded.



“Okay, so this is a lawn cemetery, plain flat layout, headstones laid out in boring little rows, no flair, no beauty; nothing like one of the Magnificent Seven.” The girls frowned and shrugged. “Ah you philistines, I’ll have to squeeze one into next Term’s schedule, maybe Highgate or Kensal Green. Those places are glorious, more like a cross between a museum and a nature reserve than a boneyard, full of gloriously Gothic tombs and vaults, fancy tombstones and mausoleums, all set in acres of woodlands. Mind you, you won’t get any fledglings at those places, burial space ran out years ago. But lots of vamps like to hang out there with all the rich and famous. Good place for a hunt when you’re a bit more experienced.”



“So just newbies tonight Spike?” Buffy asked so as to clarify things for the girls.



“All I’m expecting, less the boss man himself turns up. Not that that’s likely. Should be fairly straightforward. Nowhere much to hide in here, ‘cept behind a tree or two. Right, stakes everyone and out you get. Lets hop to.”



They jumped out and Spike locked the van, and the small party walked along the street, passed the locked gates until they came to the little low fence that separated the cemetery grounds from the footpath. Checking that the street was clear, they stepped over the fence and into the cemetery itself. Spike led the way, while Buffy brought up the rear, the entire party silent and serious as they entered the hallowed grounds.



Night had fallen by this stage, drawing its dark curtain across the sky, but the half moon, sitting low on the horizon, threw its pale, watery beams upon the various headstones and memorials, draping the lonely sentinels in its soft glow, and granting the hunting party just enough light to navigate by.



The grounds were large and they had no idea where the new interments were situated, so they began to wander up and down the numerous rows, carefully seeking out freshly turned sods. Eventually, in a large section about two thirds of the way towards the back, they came across two new plots, side by side and one other four rows over. All three plots looked like they’d been covered over just that day, the rich peaty soil used to backfill the gaps between the blocks of carefully re-laid turf standing out like a dark grid in the moonlight.



As they drew near, the baby slayers became agitated, their senses picking up on something untoward, something wacky. They knew that the creepy, tingly sensation was code for ‘vampires present, ones that aren’t Spike!’ but they assumed incorrectly that the vamps in question were those lying restlessly beneath the earth, waiting impatiently to be rebirthed, ready to burst forth from their womblike caskets when they were least expected. The girls readied themselves, a nervous host of midwives, eagerly anticipating their first deliveries.



While the interns got themselves into position, spreading out into circles, four girls surrounding the double plot and other two staking out the single, Buffy caught Spike’s eye and nodded. The two veterans moved slowly towards the small stand of trees that separated this section of the cemetery from the main area, his easy-going gait and her relaxed mien broadcasting an air of calm insouciance to the casual observer. Or the evil, bloodsucking, undead observer. Whichever.



But, as they say, appearances are only skin-deep. Beneath Buffy’s golden tan and Spike’s flawless dermis, muscles were tense, blood was pumping and adrenaline was surging. The two warriors were ready for action, no matter what direction it might come from.



And when it finally came, it did so suddenly, a half dozen vamps exploding out of the copse like shrapnel from a booby trap. Two apiece engaged Buffy and Spike, the other two heading for the larger group of baby slayers. It had been months since Buffy had had any real action, the battle against Cyvus the Creepy her last real combat. For Spike it had been even longer, the Hellmouth Battle had been four and a half months ago. Sure they were both still fit and fight worthy, their daily training sessions keeping them in peak form, but it wasn’t the same as the down and dirty of a genuine vamp attack.



There was of course no time to for Buffy to examine her reactions, to wonder whether her jangling nerves were singing with fear or excitement, or a combination of the two. She simply swung into action, her left arm blocking the Preppy Vamp who was attempting to throw a well-controlled right hook at her, while she delivered a solid kick to the chin of the Stoner Vamp who had launched himself at her in an enthusiastic but sloppy dive. The short fight continued in much the same vein, Buffy joyfully fending off most of the vamps’ inexperienced moves as her kicks and quips hit home. Very few of their blows hit the mark, and those that did seemed ineffectual, painless. A flurry of punches, a couple of spinning kicks and a deadly accurate thrust later and Stoner was dust, while Preppy was fighting for his dapper undead hide.



Being able to fight, without the restraints she had to place on herself during training, flooded her body with purpose and delight. This was what she was made for, and she was finally ready to admit how much she loved the hunt, the fight, the kill. A glance in Spike’s direction told a similar tale, his shouts of glee and graceful, deadly moves clearly communicating his enjoyment. But the noise and chaotic melee that came from the direction of the double plot painted a more desperate picture. One of the girls was down; a vamp crouched over her while he fended off the slayer who was trying to drag him away from her friend. The other vamp was trading blows with a third girl, while Khatia was struggling with two other vamps, the newborns Buffy realised, a middle aged couple with a ravenous look in their eyes. Behind her, the final girls were fending off their own baby vamp, a teenage girl.



Realising it was time to stop playing and get over to help the others she threw a quick left jab into Preppy’s gut, then a right handed uppercut into the side of his jaw as he bent over. The move spun him around and knocked him off balance, and onto his hands and knees. Buffy leapt nimbly astride him and drove her stake down through his Burberry clad back and straight into his heart. She leapt up and was already half a dozen steps away before his dust sifted down onto the ground.



Things became a little chaotic after that. She and Spike could have taken on and despatched the six plus the three newborns in the blink of an eye had they been alone, but having the baby slayers along complicated matters. Buffy was torn between wading in and taking over and giving them the chance to fight, to prove themselves. She took a few seconds to evaluate the situation.



One girl, Meg possibly, Buffy thought, was still down, bleeding heavily from a gash on her forehead. But the vamp who’d been hovering over her was up and fighting for his life, one on one with the Scottish girl, Rowena, while the second vamp and Genevieve were going head to head. Khatia in the meantime was holding her own against the hungry but disorientated Mr and Mrs Undead. The girls were doing well, but the scent of Slayer blood had the vamps in a frenzy and they were circling the young slayers like a pack of sharks.



Just as Buffy threw herself into the fray, all hell broke lose. Genevieve managed to drive her stake into her opponent’s chest, missing the heart but causing him to scream in pain and fall, writhing, to the ground. Taking advantage of the minor distraction, Khatia leapt on the vamp husband and thrust her stake home, accurately as it turned out, and he disappeared in a puff of dust. As she scrambled to her knees, coughing up the mouthful of ash she’d inhaled, Mrs Vamp began a high pitched wailing, which was immediately echoed by an anguished scream of “Daddy” coming from the nearby trees.



A pretty, blonde Essex girl came dashing out of the shadows, tearing herself away from a shadowy figure that hung back. The girl sped across the cemetery and pounced on Khatia’s back, the two of them rolling around on the ground as they hit and scratched and landed the odd glancing punch, a challenge at such close quarters.



In the meantime, Spike had helped the other two girls dispose of their newbie, and all three of them ran over to join the main action. The girls immediately checked on Meg, dragging her towards the edge of the fight circle once they established she was breathing but out cold. Spike on the other hand leapt in boots and all, kicking Rowena’s vamp in the pants so that he lost his balance and stumbled forward, directly onto the little girl’s stake. He whooped in delight and stepped forward to high five the stunned little Scot on her first real slay. Meanwhile, Genevieve had managed to re-stake her vampire, cleanly this time, putting him out of his misery.



Khatia and the leggy blonde vampire were still battling it out, both upright now and throwing wild punches, Khatia’s from exhaustion, the vamp’s from excess emotion, tears streaming down her face as she screamed and berated the Slayer who’d dusted her father. Indifferent to the messed up family reunion that was playing out, Buffy hadn’t hesitated, dispassionately staking the confused looking vampire who had just lost her husband. The blonde wailed again, and leapt at Buffy.



“You bitch! You killed my mother, you fucking bitch,” she screamed as she traded punches with the slayer. “I can’t believe you did that, killing my Mummy in front of my very eyes. How could you? And you about to become a mother yourself!” she ranted, indicating Buffy’s swollen abdomen. “How could you be so heartless?”



“I hate to break it too you Blondie,” Buffy said, “but we didn’t off your folks. Somebody got to them before we did. They were already dead you stupid bint. We just reminded them, just like I’m about to remind you.” The Slayer had grabbed hold of the girl’s shirt and dragged her closer, readying her stake arm for the final thrust, when she heard a whoosh from behind her and suddenly, strong arms and sharp nails yanked her back, away from the blonde and hard up against a solid chest.



“Drop the stake Slayer,” a masculine voice rasped in her ear, the slight lisp indicating his fangs were out and he meant business. The tingles running up and down her neck played a deep seated, discordant tattoo against her spine. This guy was no fledgling, he was old, experienced and very wily. Buffy let the stake loose, and it dropped to the ground. She could feel the vampire relax marginally, but his hands were like steel bands across her arms and chest and the slight scrape of fang on neck declared his unwillingness to back down.



“Right folks, so this is what’s going to happen. Mandy and I are going to walk out of here and you’re going to let us. Our passport is this tasty little morsel here,” he growled, shaking Buffy lightly, “and I’m sure you wouldn’t want anything to happen to her or her young’un,” he said, running his left hand down over her belly.



Spike was growling, his body vibrating with rage, but the vamp-napper seemed oblivious, or at least indifferent to the master vamp’s status or wrath.



“Right now, come here baby. Randy will make it all better.” The blonde, still snivelling and hiccupping tottered towards her partner, while Buffy caught Spike’s eye, the two of them shaking and spluttering with barely suppressed humour. Spike tried, but he couldn’t hold it in.



“Mandy and Randy? Mandy and Randy! You’ve got to be fucking kidding mate!”



Randy roared his displeasure and tightening his hold on Buffy, began backing up slowly, dragging the amused Slayer along with him. She was still chuckling and shaking her head in disbelief as she stumbled along. Mandy brought up the rear, which was a definite strategic oversight that Randy had failed to consider until too late. A swift, fatal whistle of displaced air was the only warning they had before Mandy disintegrated into a sprinkling of dust, the stake Spike had thrown with such deadly accuracy passing through the Mandy-shaped cloud and bouncing harmlessly off Buffy’s chest.



“You, fucking, fucking, traitorous bastard,” Randy screamed. “You’ll pay for that. See how you like it.”



With that proclamation, he wrenched Buffy’s neck to the side and sunk his fangs deep into her flesh, readying himself to rip and tear and drown his sorrows in the rich, heady elixir of Slayer blood. But something was wrong; she felt like rubber, tasted like fire and smelt like doom. Distracted by such a puzzling, disquieting quandary, Randy neither saw nor heard Spike slip behind him or and he uttered no more than a sad, gentle sigh as the wood slid smoothly into his back, between his ribs and pierced his long dormant heart.



“Ew,” Buffy screeched as Randy’s ashes sprinkled down over her back, shoulder and neck, with some even ending up in her cleavage. “Oh my God,” she shuddered, “that is so wrong. Get him off me Spike, now. Couldn’t you have pulled him away from me first before you dusted him?” And she began leaping about, brushing and flapping her clothes and shaking herself like a wet dog.



“Was a bit too busy worrying about the state of your neck, what with him gnawing at it and all. By the looks of things, I shouldn’t have bothered.”



Sure enough, Buffy’s neck was blemish free, no sign at all that a set of sharp and pointies had been anywhere near her.



“Weird,” she shrugged. “Guess the protection spell really does work huh?”



“Hmm. Just like full-body armour I guess, and just as tasty judging by the look on that vamp’s face. Priceless.”



“And he was called Randy,” she chortled. “Come on baby, take me home, I really need a shower. Then maybe you can show your little Joan what Randy marque one had hiding under all that tweed.” She winked and sashayed towards the girls, congratulating them on their moves and the slays they’d made, and checking on a groaning but conscious Meg as the others filled her in on the action she’d missed.



Spike shook his head in bemusement. Throughout the whole ordeal, Buffy had barely fluttered an eyelash, confident in their ability to overcome any threat. He hadn’t been so sure, the dude running his hand over her belly and sinking his fangs into her throat had been enough to almost stop his newly beating heart. But she was right, the spell had kept her safe, utterly free from harm, and it was certainly a great test drive of the shield’s limits and magnitude. It was fairly effective, he had to admit. Interesting, that it allowed his bite, but repelled one delivered with harmful intent. No doubt Rupert would find that titbit fascinating, if and when he did the show and tell.



Sighing, he made his way over to the noisy revellers, each proudly relating her accomplishments to the others. It would be a raucous journey back to Ashdown no doubt, but they deserved their moment of glory, each girl had acquitted herself well, and they’d achieved their objective and some. Time to get his baby home. Time to show her once again how much he loved her, worshipped her and came alive in her glow. Time to celebrate once again the life they had, the life they made. Whistling as he led his troop towards the van, he decided that all in all, tonight had been a pretty damn good night.

‘Man is not man, but a wolf to those he does not know’
Plautus

The soft glow and gentle warmth of October sunlight fell across the bed in a wide belt, dragging Willow from the sort of deep sleep that only the truly sated can achieve. Consciousness brought awareness, and with awareness came memories. They flooded back in, bringing with them an appreciation of why she ached in certain places, and a suffusion of blood to her face. He lay behind her, his body pressed against hers still, sweet and protective and devoted even in sleep.

She’d always known Oz had that gentle loving side to his nature, but last night he’d shown her the other Oz, wild, hot and a little scary; in a really sexy way, of course. It had been their first time consummating their rekindled relationship, and he’d wanted to lay himself bare, be really present, in the moment with her. Willow had agreed and what transpired had been a revelation.

Of course they hadn’t rushed things. Oz had been at Ashdown for five and a half weeks now. They hadn’t leapt straight back into a romantic relationship, given how her relationship with Kennedy had only just run its course. But they had spent heaps of time just hanging out. Willow spent the mornings at the Academy, teaching or working in her administration role, and even Oz was gainfully employed by the Academy now, teaching the optional Year 10 music class. But in the afternoons the two of them would wander about the estate really getting to know one another again and enjoying re-establishing their friendship.

Although they’d ‘caught up’ in L.A., they hadn’t really had time to share all of the little details, the day-to-day minutiae that make up the colour and pattern and texture of life’s tapestry. So she’d told him all about her relationship with Tara, the joys and the sorrows, the raptures and the regrets and about how she still felt the gentle witch by her side every single day. She’d also outlined the highs and lows of her other significant lover, magic, and how she had blossomed and matured as she uncovered her skills and talents, gaining confidence and self-assurance as her ability to contribute to the Scoobies grew, but how quickly she’d developed an addiction to and dependence on the sense of control and pride that her abilities brought with them.

Oz had commiserated with and commended her for the journey she’d taken to acknowledge and master the darkness in her. His admiration for the significant role that she had within Amazon International, and particularly in setting up and overseeing Ashdown, was genuine and straightforward. He saw ‘Chairman of the School Board Willow’ as a reflection of the girl who colour coded her books and tutored other kids and spent all her spare time researching, a return to her roots.

He spent days telling her about his journey, and the people he’d met along the way. He’d told her of the months he’d spent in Central America and Europe, looking for help to control his transformations. He’d shared tales of his time in Tibet and the Buddhist monks who’d helped him connect to his subconscious at a deep level using charms, herbs, chanting and meditation, and how he learned to re-programme his subliminal schema so that he could override or regulate the wolf change. But he’d had to work at it, his early successes too unstable to withstand the impact of stress, anger or jealousy. After his capture by the Initiative, he’d gone back to Tibet where he’d immersed himself in further study, seeking physical and emotional balance and spiritual enlightenment.

Meeting his friend Bayaarma, also a werewolf, had been the turning point for both of them. Together they’d travelled to Mendong in western Tibet and were taken in by the monks at the local Bonpa monastery, where they studied the ancient Tibetan religion of Bon. They spent months learning various tantric practices, whose goals included the transformation of all experience into bliss, the release from negative conditioning, and the development of control over perception and cognition by connecting to the earth flow. Ultimately they were able to release their wolf spirits back into the natural world instead of suppressing them.

Their life together had been idyllic, and Oz had been very tempted to settle down with Bay. He was attracted to the Tibetan girl and knew they could have made a life together, but something seemed to call him away, drawing him back to the States. Back to Willow he reflected, his soul searching for the rest of himself. Part of him was always seeking out her essence, listening for her call. Oz was adamant that he knew exactly when Willow had lost Tara, that his wolf-spirit had writhed and howled in sorrow at the deep well of pain it could sense from its mate, even from the other side of the world.

Willow had blanched somewhat at that, the thought that some part of Oz considered her his mate. She wasn’t sure how she felt about it. Part of her heart had always belonged to him, he was her first love, and while they had been together he had loved her quietly but fiercely, even forgiving her betrayal with Xander. And there was no denying their reunion had been exciting, sweet, and easy: a mere glance seeming to fire an almost effortless connection to that deep well of affection they had for one another.

But there were two issues that made her pause in considering a more permanent relationship with Oz. The first of course was Tara. Her love for the gentle Wiccan had been overwhelming, all consuming, and despite her earlier love for Oz, she had ever since felt that Tara was her ‘one’, her one and only. She wasn’t really concerned with issues of orientation, and didn’t much care for labels, so the boy/girl thing wasn’t the problem. What concerned her more was whether falling back in love with her first love would somehow negate or diminish her love for Tara. Was it an act of disloyalty she wondered? Was she betraying Tara’s memory? She felt so conflicted about it, enough so that she knew she was holding back a corner of herself from Oz.

She hadn’t felt like this when she’d fallen for Kennedy. Mind you she’d hadn’t felt as deeply for Kennedy as she did for Oz. And really, she’d never expected to feel that sense of deep, abiding, soul-touching love again, resigned to settling for contentment rather than passionate love. And maybe, just maybe, a little part of herself felt that she didn’t deserve the light and joy of real love again, that she’d earned too many black marks on the karmic check list to warrant another chance at the real thing.

Which brought up her second reservation. She thought herself possibly too dark for Oz these days. She saw this sweet, funny, gentle guy, his love for her simple and easy. But the black streaks that marred her soul were permanent stains. She was past denying the darker things she’d done in her life, and the dangerously addictive side of her personality that craved power and control, would always seek out opportunities to be in charge, to shape things to her liking and bend things to her will. Hopefully, heading up the Academy’s board was a positive and healthy channel for her natural inclinations, but Willow knew she’d always have to watch her self, second guess her actions and decisions lest she lose control.

But she was definitely a much different person than the shy, sweet, brilliant but geeky girl that Oz fell in love with at High School. The girl that Oz’ wolf self considered its mate no longer existed, and Willow wasn’t sure if they’d be able to find a balance in their relationship that would suit the people they’d each become.

But she needn’t have worried about that. Last night really had been a revelation.

It had all started late on Saturday morning when they’d received a call, Giles phoning from Northern India to request help with a band of marauding werewolves causing havoc in the high country bordering Nepal. Nandish and his Slayers had been the ones to raise the alarm, reports of recent attacks coming to them from neighbouring Himachal Pradesh where they’d just tracked down and recruited two slayers. They’d established a base and talked to locals but they wanted Oz’ wolf senses and expertise to help track the pack and evaluate the level of danger they posed. And help hunt and eradicate them if necessary.

Unusually, Dawn was at home. She and Andrew, having completed the scan of China, were both just having the weekend off, the teenage girl to catch up on school work and blob out in front of the TV and the techno geek to work with Willow on ways to tie Dawn’s key powered scrying abilities and the track and trace technology together to create a fully integrated, fully automated Slayer identification package. Not before time as Dawn had had enough of the endless portalling and scanning.

So it was that Dawn was available to open up a portal to an Ashram in the tiny village of Malpa on the border between Uttarakhand and Nepal. Willow and Oz stepped through first in front of a Rescue Remedy laden Andrew, still a highly anxious portaller, who nervously shuffled his way through the glowing doorway, Dawn’s firm hand on his back.

The cold, thin air of the high altitude hit them immediately, all four of them panting slightly as they struggled to adjust to the decreased levels of oxygen. It seemed to affect Oz much less, the wolf having spent so much time in these parts over recent years. In fact as he gazed through the sparse forest and rocky landscape towards the towering Himalayan mountains, his usually stoic expression reflected some depth of emotion that seemed almost to border on sentimentality.

The events that unfolded were swift and violent. The group had been met by Giles and Nandish, who had shared the information they had on the size of the pack and their location. Althanea and Cat had opted to stay behind at the Ashram while the others went out hunting. Giles, even more attentive and solicitous of his wife’s well-being than he had been at Ashdown, openly petted and cossetted her before setting out with the group.

The group was neither small nor lacking in power, two Watchers, three Slayers, a witch, a werewolf, a key and an Andrew (who was uncharacteristically quiet and twitchy). They’d gathered up weapons, axes and broadswords, and donned full-length, studded leather gauntlets and vests before scrambling into Nandish’s seven seater van, Andrew blushing as he’d offered to squeeze into the front seat between the two Watchers.

They’d headed out on one of the forest roads. It was late afternoon and the sinking sun signalled the impending dusk. Despite the chill air, Oz had the side window open so that he could scent the air outside as they were driving. They hadn’t gone far before he had asked Nandish to pull over. They had all clambered out and stood silently, weapons in hand, waiting for Oz to give them some sort of signal. With Sagaria clutched in his right hand, he’d stalked forward slowly on silent feet, pausing every few feet to listen and sniff. Suddenly he’d taken off, running rapidly, even in human form, weaving agilely in and out of trees and over boulders. The Slayers and Nandish kept up easily, the others doggedly bringing up the rear.

About two miles northwest of the van they’d come to a clearing. Oz had stopped and silently signalled the others to stay behind him. Willow had been one of the tail enders, puffing rather heavily as she’d jogged as fast as she could through the trees to where her auburn haired boyfriend stood, silhouetted by the dim light illuminating the grassy glade. By the time she’d joined him, the leader of the were pack was slinking out of the woods on the far side.

As soon as Oz spotted the wolf he’d muttered “Monroe!” and growled! A full on wolfy growl! Willow hadn’t understood it, but for some reason that growl had vibrated through her body, leaving her tingly in all the right places. Or wrong places, seeing as they’d been in the middle of a confrontation.

In Oz’ typically stoic fashion, the growl was a welcome, a warning and a question all rolled into one. The wolf, Monroe, had answered it by attacking, bounding across the small break and leaping straight at Oz while the rest of his pack sprang towards Nandish, Pritika, Vinesha and Rajani. The wolves were huge, powerful, and even the Slayers had struggled to defend themselves against their sharp claws and deadly, slavering jaws. Utmost in their minds was the thought of that toxic saliva, its price more chilling than death.

But they hadn’t been without weapons themselves. While Nandish and the girls fought in armed combat, Willow had joined Giles, Andrew and Dawn in attacking the wolves with magic – simple flame-shots or immobilisation spells. As a group they were holding their own, possibly even winning.

Oz and Monroe were still engaged in deadly battle, and what the man lacked in claws and teeth he made up for in terms of speed and agility, and the powerful battle-axe he wielded. Oz was battered and torn, but Monroe sported a deep gash on his left flank that was definitely hurting him. As a final, desperate measure, the wolf had leapt high, right over Oz’ head, straight at Willow, who, working a spell on a wolf to her right, had been oblivious to her own danger until Monroe was almost upon her. She’d felt the wolf’s hot ravening breath waft across the side of her head and had turned just in time to see the massive beast bearing down on her.

Before she’d had the chance to utter a simple incantation or even move a muscle, a fearsome howl had broken out from her left and instantaneously, a blur of movement, a flash of dark auburn fur and Monroe had been knocked to her right. The two wolves had gone down in a tangle of lupine limbs as they’d growled and snapped and torn at one another. In a final furious burst, the smaller, darker wolf had ended up astride the larger, brown one, his jaws locked around Monroe’s neck, his teeth embedded deep in the flesh, blood and saliva dripping onto the grass beneath their exhausted bodies.

Monroe had yelped and lowered his head and the victor had released him and stepped back, towards Willow, sniffing, whining and rubbing up against her legs. The red headed witch, who had been shocked into immobility throughout the short, brutal exchange, finally snapped out of it and reached down to thread her fingers through the auburn pelt, kneading and stroking the wolf that pressed up against her.

With a shudder and a whimper, the muscles beneath her fingers had begun to shorten and bunch up, most of the soft fur had been rapidly shed, littering the ground beneath their feet and the wolf had begun to shoot into an upright position. Within seconds, the figure standing before her had morphed into Oz. He stared intently into her eyes, his expression begging an answer to his silent question. Willow’s hand, which had remained on the back of his neck throughout the transformation, pressed firmly, bringing him towards her so that she could press a kiss to his forehead.

It was at that point that Willow had realised two things. First, that this man would do anything for her, even let loose his hard fought leash over the wolf, in order to keep her safe. By doing that, she’d understood that the wolf inside of him provided a darkness, a danger that balanced out her own. And at that moment, she’d let down the barriers, loving Oz without reservation, all of him, the man and the wolf.

Secondly, she’d realised that Oz was naked. Not only naked, but fully aroused, some part of him responding to his efforts to protect his mate, sensing her absolute acceptance of him. He’d been nuzzling her neck and rubbing himself against her and she’d been about to let out a moan of encouragement when a nearby branch had snapped and her eyes had popped open, reminding her of just where they were.

The battle had seemingly ended with Monroe’s incapacitation, and the other wolves had clustered protectively around their downed leader. The humans were more scattered, mostly standing or sitting in the spots where they’d been fighting. But all of the beings present, the eight wolves and seven other humans, were staring at Willow and the naked man wrapped around her with a range of expressions, including shock, suspicion, amusement (Dawn), and awe (Andrew).

Willow had blushed and eeped, before pulling off her jacket and wrapping it around Oz’ waist, tying the sleeves on his hip so that it covered all the vital parts. It had still taken a little while for him to calm down enough to be able to turn around without his makeshift skirt being all pointy in the front region, but in typical Oz fashion he’d seemed to find it amusing rather than embarrassing, so Willow had just boldly followed his example, shrugging off hanging out with her naked, excited, wolf-morphing boyfriend as a normal, everyday occurrence.

Eventually he’d been ‘relaxed’ enough to pick up the scythe and go and speak with Monroe, along with Giles and Nandish. She hadn’t been part of the negotiations, but could make out some of the ‘discussion’. There’d been a bit of growling (the pack), a lot of threatening language (mainly from Giles) and some axe waving (Oz) but in the end the wolves had slunk off, each one having given their assurance that they would refrain from attacking humans in exchange for their freedom. If any of them ever broke their vow, their lives would be forfeit. Oz also made them promise to reconsider undergoing the rituals needed to release the wolf.

The straggly band of scratched, banged up humans had turned and headed back towards the van. As soon as they’d got there and Oz was assured of the recruitment team’s safety, he got Dawn to reopen the portal, eager to get Willow home to Ashdown. And so Willow’s day of revelations continued.

They’d made their excuses as soon as they’d stumbled through the portal, off to shower, dress and nap. But Dawn and Andrew’s almost permanent looks of amusement and awe signalled a distinct dose of scepticism.

They did in fact bathe. They had tumbled into Willow’s apartment entwined in one another’s arms, Sagaria pressed up against her back as Oz held her and the scythe at the same time. Desperate and driven, they’d separated only long enough to drop the axe onto the foot of her bed as they stumbled through to the bathroom and drag her clothes and his jacket-skirt off before stepping under the warm water of her shower. Oz had thrust his face under the running water, scrubbing it roughly, eager to clean off the wolf blood and saliva so that he could finally kiss his love, then he’d drawn her towards him, pressing soft kisses across her face, down her nose and finally, finally to her mouth. That soft, clever, wicked mouth that he’d dreamed of for so many years.

They’d devoured one another, desperate for connection now that permission had been sought and granted at last. Slippery, soapy hands had stroked and fondled, driving their need for one another higher. With a roar, Oz had flipped off the water and picked Willow up, cradling her in his arms as he’d carried her through to the bedroom.

The first time had been soft and sweet and gentle, both of them exchanging loving words and deeds, clutching at one another as Oz drove his thick cock into her molten quim, her breathless spasms heralding his release. Afterwards they’d lain entangled together, sharing their love for one another, their dreams and plans for the future.

“What about the wolf?” Oz had asked eventually, “Can you accept that part of me?”

“Oz, the wolf is you,” Willow had said. “I saw that today. You changed to protect me, the wolf stopped short of killing Monroe even when it could have, and later on snuggled up against me like a gentle puppy dog. I could feel your love for me even in wolf form. Besides,” she’d added, “Wolf Oz is kinda sexy.”

“I’m glad you think so, because Wolf Oz finds Willow very, very sexy. That hard on this afternoon didn’t happen just as I morphed back. The wolf was hard for you already.”

Willow’s heart had skipped a beat and she’d started tingling all over her body, heated blood pooling in her groin and breasts. What would it be like she’d wondered.

“Do you trust me baby?” he’d asked.

Willow had stared at him, all big eyed and breathless and simply nodded. He’d swooped in for another kiss, flicking her nipples as his tongue danced with hers. His right hand had travelled south, stroking her flat belly and softly rounded hip before edging down to her neatly trimmed curls. She’d moaned and twitched as he’d thrust two fingers into her wet channel, unerringly finding that internal knot of nerve endings and simultaneously pressing his thumb down on her clit. Keening, she’d exploded, drenching his hand with cum.

Gently he’d rolled her over onto her hands and knees, kneeling beside her as he caressed her back and butt, whispering as he pressed her face against her neck.

“I love you so much baby, the man and wolf both. Let me show you how much, Willow. Let me love you. Let the wolf love you.”

Willow had shivered and shook, arousal shooting flames along her nerve endings and shifting her legs further apart. Glancing back at him over her shoulder she’d whimpered, “Please.”

Slowly he’d moved behind her, between her trembling thighs. She’d heard him drop down onto all fours himself and shuffle forward until he was sniffing and nuzzling at her sopping gash. A warm, wet tongue, longer and rougher than before, had licked her from clit to anus, the pressure and abrasiveness ramping up her already overtaxed nerves. Once, twice, three times she’d felt that long tongue, lapping up the juices that flowed so freely, leaving her on the verge of another climax. The sudden thrust of powerful tongue into her silken sheathe had tipped her over the edge, into a howling, screaming orgasm.

Her howl had been met by his. Oz had leapt up on her back, and gripping her around the hips had entered her channel in a single thrust. Through the fog of her pleasure, Willow had tried to grasp the various sensations she was experiencing. She could feel the silky warmth of his short, soft pelt pressed against her back, powerful muscles moving beneath the fur. His cock was longer, the head finishing in an angled point that slammed up against her cervix. The body of the shaft was thicker, tapering off before expanding into a broad, spherical knot of muscle at the base.

That thick knot had been rammed incessantly against her g spot, setting off a fresh round of intense spasms, her vaginal muscles squeezing Oz’ cock and spraying a geyser of hot juices all over his balls and the sheet beneath them. She was grunting, wailing and shaking when he’d lifted himself up off her back, rapidly pistoned his hips forward another half dozen times and howled his orgasm to the skies above, well at least the ceiling.

Exhausted, they’d collapsed onto the bed, still intimately joined as he’d nuzzled and licked her neck. The change had been slow and gentle this time, muscles and bones realigning first before the fur slowly retracted. When it was over, he’d rolled to the side, turning Willow to face him, the shyness and uncertainty gracing his face a more eloquent question than any he could have asked.

Willow had grinned, lifting her hand to his face, cupping his cheek lovingly.

“Daniel Osbourne, I love you so much, now more than ever. Thank you for sharing all of you with me. There is nothing you have to hide. Every part of you is sweet and loving and sexy and mine. Stay with me Oz, let me love you.”

Tears had welled up in his eyes and he’d drawn her into his arms, murmuring his love and adoration and devotion to her. He’d tugged the bedclothes up over their cooling bodies, a dull thump signalling Sagaria’s ignominious crash to the carpeted floor. Eventually they’d drifted off to sleep, their bodies sated, their hearts enraptured, their souls complete.

They’d slept deeply, contentedly. And now Willow was awake, a little embarrassed, a little sore, but a lot happy. She really felt that she and Oz would make it this time. He’d shown by his actions and choices that she was the one for him, his ‘mate’. And she was ready to commit to the long haul. They balanced one another perfectly, the light and dark both integral parts of them – much like Buffy and Spike’s yin-yang tattoo.

He was generally a pretty laid back kinda guy. But she also liked the way he’d taken the chance to lead yesterday, both on the battlefield, where he’d fought with grace and confidence, and in the bedroom. Willow was such a take charge, Type A personality sort of girl, and people rarely questioned her or challenged her lead. Now and then she needed someone who wasn’t afraid to take over, who knew what he wanted. Oz would do that for her, provide her with a safe place where it was okay to relinquish control, to hand over the reins. Yeah, everything about this relationship just resonated perfectly. He made her feel safe and loved and sexy and right, and he adored her, utterly. And she wanted to make him feel the same way. She just needed to work on that little pocket of guilt she had about Tara.

While all these thoughts had flitted through her mind, Oz had begun the slow journey towards consciousness, his muscles twitching and lengthening (well one muscle anyway), his heart rate climbing and his arms tightening around her.

“Morning baby,” he said, his sleepy voice all rumbly and sexy, as he dotted sweet kisses along her shoulder and neck. “Love you so much my beloved, my sweet Willow. Wanna show you again.”

“Mmm, love you too Oz. Want you,” she panted, “Now.”

She could have let Oz slip into her from behind, but this time she wanted to see his face as he came undone inside of her and despite all her recent revelations about power sharing, she wanted to show him that she could lead the way between the sheets as well as in the boardroom, that she wasn’t shy little Willow Rosenberg anymore, that she could rock his world.

She rolled over in his arms and pressed her mouth to his, thrusting her tongue forward to dance with his. Firmly, she pushed down on his chest, rolling him onto his back and pulled back far enough to grace him with her cheeky, excited grin. He chuckled and shook his head as she grabbed his hands in hers, used them to help her swing herself up and over his body then stretched his arms up above his head, guiding his hands to the rails of the headboard.

“Hang on sweetheart, this ride might get a little rough,”

“Ooh, my naughty little vixen. Go to it, show me what you’ve got.”

She wriggled her backside back towards his groin, kneeling up as she felt his hard cock knock up against her butt. Reaching between her legs, she grabbed hold of his shaft, swiping the damp head up and down her pussy, from her clit to her opening and back again. Steadying herself, she nestled the head into the moist indent of her cunt, looking up to catch his intense, wide-eyed gaze as she slipped down, taking him inside. She hissed as he slid in, her tissues still swollen and tender from last night’s vigorous workout.

Slowly, Willow took all of him in. Settling herself into an upright position, she began a gentle up and down motion, the scrape and slide of his broad glans quickly revving her up. Oz was twitching. His eyes travelled from the junction of their organs to her perky breasts. Her nipples were hard and achy, and his gaze made them throb even more. He began to loosen one of his hands from its rail, his intent clear.

“No baby. Hands still,” she barked out. As he grabbed the rail more tightly, she brought her hands up to her boobs. He groaned as she began squeezing and kneading her flesh, plucking and strumming the nipples, all the while rising and falling on his throbbing erection without missing a beat.

“Is this what you wanted baby, my firm little tits in your hands? Mmmm, feels so good.” Her head fell back and her eyes closed as the sound of his groaning and mumbling filled her ears.

“Ahh, fuck me you hot little bitch. Gonna make me come. Ahh, fuck Willow, love you and your hot little pussy so much.”

Oz began panting and writhing beneath her, and she leaned forward, her forearms resting against the bunched up muscles of his shoulders, her fingers linked behind his neck. She pressed her mouth against his as she ramped up the pace. The change of angle brought direct friction to bear on her clit, Oz’ thrusting shaft rubbing against the swollen pearl as he drew his legs up, planted his feet and began driving his cock into her at a rapid rate.

He was first to go over the edge, pumping his come into her as he jerked upwards and roared. She’d followed a step behind, grinding herself against him, shaking and squealing out her delight.

Boneless, she flopped down onto him. His released arms drew the covers over them and wrapped around her to hold her tight. They lay there, kissing and snuggling and whispering their love and great fortune, until the call of her full bladder and his rumbling tummy kicked them out of bed.

After showering and dressing they wandered through to the Lodge’s lounge to raid the pantry and the coffee pot. A round of applause greeted them, Buffy, Spike, Xander, Rowan, Dawn and Andrew’s ribbing and ribald comments informing them none too subtly that their love making had been overheard and in the case of the two couples, much appreciated.

They’d breakfasted together, a happy little family, sharing details of the previous day’s adventure. While Oz explained his history with Monroe and hopes for his eventual rehabilitation, Dawn and Rowan focused on Willow, probing her about progress on the research project she had undertaken.

Ever since their first big board meeting, the one where they’d selected Amazon as their company name, Willow had been fascinated by the group of women who called themselves the Guardians. She’d listened, entranced as Matt and Colleen had shared their findings, the Guardians’ roots in the temple worship of an Artemis like Goddess named Sineya, their crafting of the mystical battle axe Sagaria and their protection of the Slayer line.

Now that the Academy was up and running, she was able to steal away a little time to dedicate to further research on the topic. Not a lot of time of course, she was still teaching I.T. classes and overseeing the expansion of the school, both in terms of the property and the programmes. But she kept Sundays and two evenings a week for herself and Oz, and, over the last three weeks she’d put three hours of Sunday time aside for Guardian research.

The first thing she’d done had been to get hold of all the notes and books that Matt and Colleen had used for their research and had had a long chat with the Watcher Cecil Davis about anything else he could remember. She’d hit the internet, hunting down every lead she could. She’d trolled through all of the various prophecies, desperate to make links between the Guardians and any significant events past or future.

“I seem to have hit the wall,” she admitted to Dawn and Rowan, “I know a lot about their origins and what their purpose was. But most of the info is pretty archaic, the tales end centuries ago.”

“Yeah,” Rowan agreed, “And the problem with the old tales is that it’s hard to separate the historical out from the mythological. Not that useful if you’re trying to establish actual background data.”

“Is there a point to this research Willow?” Dawn asked, “Or is it purely out of interest or for archival purposes? Cos’ you seem pretty absorbed by it.”

“Actually, yeah, there is a point. I’m looking for a way to contact the Guardians.”

“But I thought they’d all passed away. I mean I know they were supposed to have some sort of extended lifetime deal, but they were human weren’t they? And didn’t Caleb off the last old biddy in Sunnydale?” Dawn asked.

“Yes Dawn, supposedly the last ‘old biddy’ as you so charmingly put it, is dead. But theoretically the Guardians’ origins were mystical, so maybe there was always some sort of inter dimensional aspect to their existence and that they’re still sitting around somewhere on another plane happily checking up on the Slayers and watching the Watchers.”

“If so, I imagine they’d be pretty chuffed with how things are going,” Rowan said.

“Okay, so what if they are hanging about up there somewhere,” Dawn said, waving her hand vaguely over her head. “What’s got you so fired up? Why do you want to contact them?”

“I guess I’m interested in whether they can be of any help to Amazon. I mean, if they’re all mystical and powerful, and dedicated to aiding the Slayer, well maybe there’d be a place for them on Executive Council. What with the whole ‘end of days’ thing coming up, we could do with their wisdom and advice and guidance don’t you think?”

“Yeah sure, if they’re still in existence, and contactable, and willing and, oh I don’t know, corporeal.” Dawn snarked. “Unless you’re thinking about adding ghosts to the Exec.”

“Actually Dawn, I think Willow’s onto something. The Guardians may have always been in the background, but they’ve been part of the picture as far as Slayers are concerned from the very beginning. And if they worship Sineya, then their role is pretty highly sanctioned,” Rowan said.

“Maybe it seems crazy but something is compelling me to do this. Call it a hunch or intuition, but I’m pretty sure we’re supposed to listen to our instincts around here.” Willow paused. “Anyway thanks for reminding me about their connection with Sineya Rowan. Maybe I can invoke her help in contacting them. It wouldn’t hurt to try.”

Excited by this new lead, Willow had spent the remainder of the afternoon in further research, both about the Guardians and about Sineya. But as the day drew to a close, she headed back to the Lodge, back to her apartment, back to her love. With Oz in her life, it really felt like coming home.
q95;

‘That perfect bliss and sole felicity, the sweet fruition of an earthly crown.’
Christopher Marlowe


Talk and laughter filled the room with love and warmth. Giles sighed, a silly boyish grin on his face as he glanced around the table at the faces of the people he shared his life with. He couldn’t believe how lucky he was. These youngsters, his family, safe and sound and glowing with happiness, brought such joy into his life. The challenges they’d faced and the triumphs they’d achieved had lent them a level of maturity and genuine appreciation for life that was absent in most people their age. Well, maybe not too much maturity, he thought, as Xander and Dawn duelled one another with their butter knives and Buffy stole the bread roll off Spike’s plate.



It was Saturday evening. He, Cat and Althanea had arrived back in England that morning, their scanning duties in India complete. They’d left Nandish and the girls to it, the subcontinent’s Slayer recruitment drive scheduled to take another month and a half to complete, even with the help of a second team, set to share the duties from Monday. Giles wished them luck, but hadn’t been able to wait to get home. He’d missed it and the people he lived with. And he was exhausted. And stressed.



Xander and Rowan had come out to Gatwick to pick them up and they’d spent several hours in the afternoon napping so that they’d be refreshed enough to join the youngsters for dinner. It was becoming customary for residents of the Sunnydale Lodge to gather together for a Saturday evening feast. This was the first time in a month they’d all been present, so it was a noisier, more joyful gathering than usual.



He was immensely proud of them, and grateful for their role in his life. And the one he was most grateful for was the beautiful woman by his side. His wife! Only in his wildest fantasies had he ever imagined being a husband. He loved Cat so much; she had filled the void in his soul, in his life, filled it to overflowing, and given fruition to all his dreams. Despite the dangers and uncertainties that obscured the road ahead, right now, right here, he couldn’t imagine a more perfect life, and he would do anything to keep it that way, to protect his loved ones from harm.



And now his protective instincts had gone into overdrive, and he was ready to share the next stage of his life with his family. Gently, he tapped his knife on the side of his wine glass, the tinkling tone quietening the clamour in the room.



“Ahem, right, its wonderful to be home,” he started, “To see you all, and catch up on all of your comings and goings. I, well we, have some information to impart, but can I just start by thanking Oz for the very important role he played in last week’s confrontation with Monroe and his were pack.”



Others around the table cheered and rose their glasses to him while Willow beamed proudly and pressed a kiss to his cheek.



“The outcome may have been quite different had he not been there. I think each group got the measure of the other and I believe the weres took the cautions against them seriously. There have been no further incidents reported in the last seven days. And apart from the costs to Amazon of an all out battle in terms of injuries and fatalities, I am loath to wish extermination upon Monroe and his group at this stage. One never knows when we maybe in need of allies.”



“Come on Boss, don’t you think they see us as enemies rather than allies?” Xander queried.



“I’m sure Oz will be able to answer that question better than I, but from my understanding werewolves, although vicious, predatory creatures when confronted, are not possessed by any particular drive to target humans when they hunt.”



“Yeah, that’s true. And Monroe and his pack have more control than others when transformed. They’ve completed the nine step programme, just choosing not to stick to the doctrine.”



“Well, we’ll monitor them carefully. If there’s any further trouble we may need to disband or even remove them altogether.” Giles paused, “Now I’ve been giving things some thought since the were clash. That was our first combat situation for some time, certainly since Buffy and Spike received their sigils, and their experiences have shown us how effective they are. We had five of our family members in the melee last week. Dawn and Andrew were fine and I only had a couple of scratches. But Oz, although he came out on top, was somewhat bruised and battered and Willow, well if it wasn’t for Oz’ quick actions, she could have been seriously harmed, infected or even killed.”



The room was quiet as everyone considered the implications of what was, for the most part, a fairly low level skirmish compared to what they’d faced in the past and what was yet to come.



“But isn’t that what we’re all about Giles?” asked Willow quietly. “I mean, to tell the truth, we’re so used to deadly situations that I didn’t even blink before diving into that fight.”



“That’s true Willow, and I think over the years the core of us, you, Buffy, Xander and myself have all been prepared at one time or another to die for the cause. And I think at times we’ve been guilty of only looking as far as the next apocalypse. But I look around this room and I’ve come to realise that now, more than ever, we have something to live for. Dying for a cause is much less noble if it means leaving behind someone that is the other half of you, someone who would be devastated and broken by your loss. You people are fundamental to the cause in terms of overcoming the Scourge of Amroz, but more than that you are vital to the health and happiness of everyone in this room.”



There was a fair bit of blinking of damp eyes going on once Giles finished this impassioned speech, a little surreptitious sniffing and some covet hand holding, but for the most part the room was silent as they reflected on what it would mean to lose their most beloved.



“So what are you suggesting Giles?” asked Dawn abruptly. “That we avoid battles, sit back and lead from the boardroom, while we send the Slayers out to the killing fields as cannon fodder. Cos I don’t think Buffy and Spike would like that. And what’s more, you guys have only just let me start fighting recently. I’m gonna need a few more notches on my apocalypse belt before I’m ready to hang it up!” she harrumphed as she sat back and folded her arms firmly.



“Calm down bit, don’t think Rupes is suggesting that. Can see where his thinking is headed though and I think its bloody brilliant. See, when we fight, the Slayer and me don’t have the same fears anymore, for ourselves or for each other. Only been out a few times so far, but I’ll tell you what, being invulnerable is everything its cracked up to be. Pretty liberating it is, right pet?”



Buffy had been staring at Spike in confusion, a frown on her face as she tried to follow his statement and its implications. The others could see the moment it hit her, hope and excitement bubbling up to wipe away the worry.



“Oh my God yes! Could you do it Giles, could you place protection tattoos on everyone. Well not everyone obviously, but the Scoobies – all of us?”



“Yes Buffy, that is my intent. We’ll need to research of course, in order to decide whether we can call on Sineya and Atar as protectors of the whole group, or whether other divinities might be better utilised. For instance, for Willow and Oz, maybe we should invoke Hecate and, is it Ekajati Oz that aids your wolf control?” Oz nodded. “So we will need to examine the possibilities and come to some conclusions in terms of who and when.



I know Willow is busy with the Academy and her research on the Guardians and Rowan and Dawn have school, but Althanea, perhaps I could persuade you to help me out in regard to this undertaking. But with or without help, I am determined to get this situation sorted, there is too much at stake to leave the safety of our loved ones to chance.”



‘Whoa Giles, can we say over react much,” said Xander as the others frowned and nodded their accord.



“I’m sorry,” Giles shook his head. “Sorry, I’ve got news to share with you, well we’ve got news and its great news, the best, but its making me somewhat irrational, as you can all probably see. And the thing is quite apart from our news the reality is that ever since Cat came into my life, it’s as if someone has turned the dial on my emotional sensitivity meter up to full. I just seem to feel everything at a deeper level these days. I mean I have always cared very deeply about you Buffy, Dawn, Willow and Xander, and have felt almost a father figure to you at times. But now that I am going to become a father for real I think that it’s vital that every…”



“What? Who? What?”



“What did you say?”



“Oh my Goddess! A father?”



The room was awash with a babble of voices, most of them female, all talking at once as Giles sat startled, eyes glassy and mouth wide open. Suddenly a shrill sound filled the air as Spike stuck his finger and thumb in his mouth and whistled long and loud.



“Alright you lot, can it,” he said. “Let the old boy talk, although to be fair he seems a bit overwhelmed. And to be honest Rupert, you’ve made a right mess of this so far. Maybe we should hear from your ladylove instead. Doc, what’s the goss?”



“There, there, ma bonnie wee man,” Cat grinned and patted her husband’s back, which at least seemed to restart his breathing and circulation if the red blush colouring his cheeks was any indication.



“And aye, what Rupert was trying ta sae to ye all in his ham-fisted way is that I’m pregnant.”



Another set of exclamations filled the room, this time accompanied by an outpouring of congratulations, hugs and backslapping.



“So how far along are you?” Buffy asked excitedly, thrilled to have gained a pregnancy pal to compare notes and commiserate with.



“By my reckoning I’d be ten weeks today if you count the two weeks prior to conception.” There was an awkward pause while everyone started counting backwards. “Aye, I’ll save you all the calculations. Seems this is like to be a honeymoon baby, wedding night and all if I’ve an inkling. I guess I’ll go and organise myself a scan this week and find out for sure.”



“Gosh, I didn’t even know you were trying,” Dawn noted tactlessly. “Oops, I’m not supposed to say that am I?”



“No, its alright Dawn.” Cat said, laughing. “We weren’t exactly trying, but I guess we weren’t actively not trying either if ye ken what I mean. It’s probably a little sooner than we’d anticipated or even discussed, but it’s all good now. And we couldn’t be happier, or we will be once I’ve got over the mornin’ sickness and Rupert’s got over the shock.”



“Well I’m delighted for you both, “Althanea declared. “And I think you’ll make wonderful parents.” She raised her glass. “A toast to the new parents.”



There was a general outpouring of laughter and excitement at this point. Giles, still uncharacteristically quiet, was at least looking rather chuffed with himself as Spike and Oz nodded solemnly at him in recognition of his manly achievements. Even Andrew was giving Giles the thumbs up in his feeble attempt at male bonding. Of the guys, only Xander was quiet, his arm wrapped around Rowan’s shoulder and his face close to hers as they seemed to be having an urgent, whispered conversation.



In imitation of his father figure, Xander picked up his own bread knife and tapped it on the side of Rowan’s water glass. The room settled down once more and people turned to face the young couple that were sitting at the opposite end of the table from Giles and Cat. Keeping his left arm firmly around his girlfriend, Xander addressed his family and friends.



“Um, right, well first up Rowan and I would like to wish Giles and Cat our deepest congratulations. That’s great news guys, really. But the thing is, we’ve got a bit of news as well. We aren’t, well we weren’t, really ready to share it yet, we’re in a bit of shock, but um, Rowan do you want to?”



“Yeah, turns out I’m pregnant too,” she whispered. “I’m sorry Grammy,” she burst out, tears running down her face as she began sobbing.



The scrape of Althanea’s chair seemed deafening in the stunned silent room. But she got up and went straight over to Rowan, drawing her out of Xander’s arms and into her own.



“There, there child. It’s all as it should be. You know that. Nothing happens without a purpose, and at times that purpose may seem obscure or even inconvenient, but if it’s meant to be, it will happen anyway nonetheless. And this is a blessing. A child, with a man you love. That seems pretty wonderful to me.



“But Grammy, what about med school? I won’t have even finished my end of year exams before the baby’s due. And then I’ve three more years to go before I qualify. I’ve wanted to be a doctor all my life, but I don’t know how I’ll cope with study and clinicals on top of being a mum.”



“Listen my girl, do you want this baby?” Althanea asked.



“Yes Grammy, I do, I know it’s not planned and that I’m too young and that Xander and I have only been together for a short while. And, well, I’m pretty scared. But I do want this baby, very much.” She turned as she felt Xander reach out to take her hand in his.



“Then we’ll make it work,” he said firmly. “Althanea,” he added, squeezing Rowan’s hand and glancing towards her grandmother at the same time. “I know this may not be exactly what you wanted for your granddaughter, and maybe I’m not exactly the type of guy you wanted for her. But I love her very, very much and I’d do anything for her.” He turned back to Rowan. “I know it won’t be easy, but we can do this. You’ve got ten weeks off school over the summer, so baby will be three months old by the time you have to head back. I can manage,” he gulped, “I’m sure I can. We’ll do what ever we need to do to make this happen. You’re gonna be an awesome doctor and an awesome Mommy sweetheart, just you wait and see.”



“Well Xander,” Althanea said, “I think you’re wrong in your assumptions of what I want for my granddaughter. I’ve only ever wanted her to be happy, fulfilled and loved. And from what I’ve seen over the last few months, you’re the man to help her achieve those goals. You’re a good man Xander, strong, kind, practical and with a deep capacity to love. I think you’re right, Rowan will make a wonderful mother, but equally I believe you’ll make a wonderful father.”



The rest of the group had been waiting with bated breath, silent apart from the odd little gasp or sigh as they bore witness to such a private, personal conversation and decision. But as soon as Althanea gave the young couple her blessing, they began to cluster around Rowan and Xander, their words of congratulations more subdued than with Cat, but no less heartfelt, and their hugs just a touch bittersweet.



It didn’t take long for the restrained atmosphere to break down, Rowan herself suggesting that Cat should be able to organise a group discount now that they had three pregnant Scoobies and Dawn planning the development of a crèche at the Lodge for the babies. But when the subject of due dates came up again, this time in regards to Rowan, the conversation once again turned a little contemplative.



“Well, I’ve only done a home test at this stage, but I’ve been online and used one of the pregnancy due date calculators, and I think I’m due on the 9th May.”



“That’s strange,” Giles said, “Isn’t that the same date you said you were due sweetheart?”



“Yes,” Cat agreed, eyes gleaming, “The exact same date. How odd. I guess you’re having a honeymoon baby too, just that its our honeymoon, not your own. Am I right in assuming that you conceived the night of the wedding itself?”



“Um, yeah. I’m usually, well we’re usually, very careful about contraception. Rowan was already on the pill, but it was early days, so I made sure that I generally had, uh, things covered as well if you get my drift. Except that night, there was a certain urgency shall we say and I guess we got a little forgetful.”



“More like a little horny,” Spike muttered in Buffy’s ear, not loud enough for anyone to hear except for his girl and Xander who was seated next to her and immediately flushed red in acknowledgement.



“Well, that is one for the books,” Giles commented. “No doubt just an uncanny coincidence, but still.”



“Come on Giles, since when did we believe in simple coincidence?” Willow asked. “This just seems a little too freaky.”



“Oh!” Buffy exclaimed suddenly, sitting upright and bringing her hand to her mouth.



“Oh what sis?” Dawn asked the question on everyone’s lips.



“Well, its just that maybe its my fault, or Sineya’s fault at least,” she offered, chewing her lip nervously.



“How do you figure that Pet?” Spike asked, before suddenly his mouth popped open and he chuckled. “Oh I see. Yeah. Yeah, that could be it.”



“Would you two stop talking in your freaky little mind meld way and let the rest of us in on the big secret,” Xander growled.



“Okay, so you might remember I had that Slayer dream the night before the wedding, either from the Powers or maybe even from Sineya herself. We know she can invade our dreams. Anyway, I faithfully followed the recipe provided and voila, freaky Sagaria light show!”



Seven of the people seated around that table reacted immediately, their faces registering a mix of emotions: understanding, appreciation, wonder and a touch of embarrassment as they recalled the experiences and effects of the blessing Buffy carried out during the wedding ceremony. There were a couple of chuckles, a few pink cheeks and several displays of affection as they reminisced. Meanwhile, Dawn, Andrew, Willow and Oz sat there nonplussed, impatience and curiosity colouring the expressions of the first three.



“Okay, so give,” Dawn said. “We all saw the light display, but what’s with all the soppy faces you guys?”



“Yes, well dear,” Giles offered stiltedly, “The effects, at least in my case, were rather invigorating and somewhat inflaming.”



“Huh?” Dawn queried.



“Acted like bloody Spanish fly Bit,” Spike stated plainly. “Revved up the old libido a treat. Made sitting through all of Rupes’ boring speeches torturous. Slipped away as soon as we could didn’t we pet?”



Buffy blushed but nodded her agreement while Giles muttered and mumbled about how it wasn’t that bad, before shutting up as he remembered how very distracted he’d been.



“So was it like that for all of you?” Willow asked.



After a slight hesitation, seven heads nodded in agreement.



“Wow,” Rowan said, both relieved that they were all in this together and mortified that her Grammy was nodding along with the others.



“That warmth was somewhat provoking,” Althanea admitted, “And we all have needs, even at my age. All I can say is that Frank got very, very lucky that evening.”



“Oh my Goddess Grammy. That is definitely too much information,” Rowan squealed and hid her face.



“Oh well dear, Frank is a lovely man and I had a very nice evening with him. And at least I can assure you that I’m not pregnant, which is more than I can say for the rest of you.” Althanea had a very self-assured tone to her voice.



“Okay, so what you’re saying is that Sagaria acted like a dose of mystical aphrodisiac,” said Dawn. “You guys got all super horny and dashed off to play hide the salami. Then lo and behold, two more couples are up the duff. I’m seeing a bit of a theme here.”



“What do you mean?” Willow asked.



“Well, correct me if I’m wrong, but couldn’t Sagaria have been implicated in Buffy’s mystical pregnancy as well?”



Buffy and Spike glanced at one another, frowned then shrugged. “I thought it was just the amulet and the freaky light show,” Buffy murmured, “but I did have the scythe in my hand at the time and Spike and I were linked so maybe, yeah,” she nodded “I don’t see why not.”



“So what we need to find out is, is this just some freaky side effect of the scythe itself, or have you guys been deliberately manipulated,” Dawn pondered. “Cos it looks like you’ve all been treated like some sort of mystical breeding stock,” she added.



“Wow.”



The room was silent as everyone considered Dawn’s words and the implications of such a suggestion.



“Does that mean that these pregnancies are predetermined, prophesised even?” Rowan asked quietly.



“Or has someone, the Powers, Sineya or some other Godly being taken advantage of our relationships to foster or even set up these conceptions. Cos it sure seems like it from where I’m sitting.” Xander said angrily. “Not that I’m not happy about being a Daddy. We are still happy but confused aren’t we honey,” he asked Rowan.



“Yeah, happy but confused. I think that describes the situation pretty well.”



“Aye, I’d second that sentiment, with the addition of a couple of ‘verys’,” added Cat. “What do you think Rupert?”



“I think that there is going to be a lot of research going on around here over the next few months. I can’t help but be delighted about becoming a parent, but I have to wonder what the future holds for our children. We already know that Spike and Buffy’s child is a critical part of the Sagaria prophecy, but do these other babies have some role to play in the future? One thing’s a certainty, we need to keep any couples away from Sagaria until we’ve found out a little more.”



“Oh my Goddess!” Willow had gone very pale, her freckles standing out starkly against her white skin. “Oh shit!” She turned to Oz, her eyes wide as she carried out a silent communication with him. He nodded then pulled her in against his chest.



“We might have a problem here,” he said quietly over the top of Willow’s head. “Last weekend we brought the scythe back with us when we came back through the portal from India. Had it on the bed with us while we made love. Too early to tell if it’s worked its mojo, but best to be prepared yeah.”



“Okay, so another unplanned pregnancy,” Dawn said. “Inconvenient maybe, but not the end of the world right? Unless you two aren’t that sure about your relationship?”



“No,” Willow interjected, “No, that’s not the problem. I’m sure about my feelings for Oz, sure about our love for one another. No, that’s not it. I mean I’m probably not even pregnant. It’s too early to tell anyway isn’t it? And if I am it might be all right. And if it was, all right I mean, I’d be so happy, proud to be a parent with Oz. Its just that, maybe, I guess, there’s a chance things wouldn’t be all right.” She petered out, tears forming in her eyes and trickling down her cheeks.



“So what’s the drama?” Dawn asked in confusion.



“Complications bit,” Spike said, recognising the guilt and apprehension in Oz’ face. “Boy’s got a curse on him don’t forget. More than just a human he is. There’s the wolf to consider too.”



“Oh? Oh! But that shouldn’t um effect things should it,” Dawn probed further. “Giles?”



“As far as I’m aware there have been no documented cases of ah deformities or unnatural deliveries resulting from congress between a werewolf and his or her human partner,” Giles offered, the delicacy of the subject causing a retreat into awkward formality, “but I’d need to research the matter further in order to provide a more comprehensive reassurance.”



“And Willow, I think it would be wise to head into Princess Royal this week to undergo a blood test for you and scans for you, Rowan and myself,” Cat suggested briskly. “We’re really going to set the hospital tongues to wagging. They’ll be wondering what’s in our water to create such productivity and fruition. Maybe we really should look into that group discount idea,” she smiled.



“Okay folks, looks like that’s all we can do for the time being,” Spike said. “Time for all pregnant mummies to turn in for the night I reckon. One thing’s for sure though. Bit, you are no way, no how getting anywhere that damned axe.”



Quiet laughter filled the room as everyone stood up, loading cups and plates into the dishwasher, wiping down the table, pushing in chairs and shuffling off to their individual rooms, all the little customs and routines that signalled days end. They had a lot to be thankful for, a lot to mull over, and a fair bit to worry about. But, as always, they had each other, the solid bonds of love and family weaving a net of warmth and security around them all. They’d get through, together.

‘Distinct, and visible; symbols divine,
Manifestations of that beauteous life
Diffus’d unseen throughout eternal space:
Of these new-form’d art thou, oh brightest child!
Of these, thy brethren and the Goddesses’
John Keats


It had been another tumultuous week at Ashdown Estate, both within the walls of the Sunnydale Lodge and out. The escalating numbers of baby Slayers and the three huge building projects combined to create a chaotic living and learning environment. Okay, so it was down to two builds at the moment. The first project, the six-storey accommodation block across the way from the Lodge having been wrapped up on Monday, but it was still hectic nonetheless.



So hectic that they’d decided to have a break from lessons for the week. The mammoth task of moving 500 of the older girls into the block had been somewhat of an organisational nightmare. With plenty of preternaturally strong helping hands, but only one stairway and 500 mattresses, sets of bedding, chairs and bundles of clothing, it could have been a disaster. But Willow had worked out a strict schedule that involved shifting the girls in from the top floor down, and from the outer rooms inwards. It had taken a whole week, but the Xena Hall residents were all moved in and the new girls, who’d been sleeping on the floor of the converted chapel had dragged their own mattresses up to the vacated dorms, and everyone was settled in nicely.



On top of that chaos, she’d also been a bit distracted by her own personal crisis. Cat had made appointments for herself, Rowan and Willow at Princess Royal on the Tuesday. They’d left Buffy, Spike and Dawn behind to supervise the shift, while Giles had driven her, Oz, Xander and Cat down in the van, and Rowan had skipped a class to drive up and meet them there. The results had been stunning. All three pregnancy results had come back positive, even her own despite how soon after conception it was. Her scan was a no show, her pregnancy too early to register anything visual at this stage. Rowan’s looked routine, a single tiny heartbeat thumping away clearly, bringing tears of quiet joy to her and Xander’s eyes.


The results had been stunning. All three pregnancy results had come back positive, even her own despite how soon after conception it was. Her scan was a no show, her pregnancy too early to register anything visual at this stage. Rowan’s looked routine, a single tiny heartbeat thumping away clearly, bringing tears of quiet joy to her and Xander’s eyes.

But Cat’s scan had clearly showed twin heartbeats, two little pulses beating alongside one another. Her mouth had dropped open in shock. Giles had looked back and forth between the screen and his wife’s face in trepidation.

“What’s the matter sweetheart? “ he’d asked fearfully. “Is, is there something wrong?”

Cat had sighed loudly. “No Rupert, everything’s fine. It’s just that there are two heartbeats. See,” she’d said pointing to the image.

“Oh dear Lord. Our baby has two hearts. What does that mean?” he’d asked in a panic-ridden voice. “Is it an alien? Something supernatural?”

“No mo gràdh, calm down, its not one baby with two hearts. Its two babies with one heart each. Twins ya ken,” she said quietly.

“Twins,” he’d whispered. “Twins. Oh well that’s all right then. Twins! Oh bloody hell, twins. We’re having twins. How will we cope? I still don’t know if I’ll be able to handle one baby let alone two.”

Cat’s calm professional side had kicked in at that point. She’d bustled around, registering herself as Rowan and Willow’s Obstetrician and talking to a colleague who would oversee her own pregnancy and deliveries. After a late lunch at a little café in Hayward Heath, it had been a very thoughtful and somewhat subdued group that headed home to Ashdown that afternoon.

Willow had gone to see Cat privately the next morning, her pregnancy confirmation intensifying her concerns that the baby could be other than fully human. She’d taken Buffy with her for support, having earlier shared her worries, and the specific reason for them. She figured that the Slayer may have had had similar experiences to her own, just vampirey ones instead of werewolfy. She was right and because of that Buffy was very unjudgey and pretty empathetic. In fact at any other time the girls may have swapped tales, all giggly and red faced as they bonded over the naughtiness. But the gravity of Willow’s concerns had eliminated any light-heartedness, a wry smile the only acknowledgment of their wacky sex lives.

“It’s just that,” she’d said haltingly to Cat, “not only does Oz carry the werewolf curse, but one of the times we were um, making love, he might have been, well maybe, kinda, an actual werewolf.” She’d blushed and mumbled, “As in furry and such.”

“I’d already assumed that to be the case Willow,” Cat said, “He is after all the man you’re in love with, and as such it seems entirely appropriate that he be able to share a loving experience with you in either form. But I’m also reasonably sure that it shouldn’t impact on the genetic makeup of your child to any greater extent than sexual intercourse with Oz would when he’s in human form.”

“Oh Goddess, are you sure? I’ve been terrified that my baby could have birth defects or be, you know, a little, furry cub,” she whispered, mortified. “Or even be born with the were curse, perfectly normal by day but a wolf cub three nights of the month.”

“Well, I can’t be one hundred percent certain, but I’ve done a bit of reading since Saturday night, using the texts we have here in the library and online sources. Rupert was right you ken; there are no documented cases of abnormal births to werewolf or mixed human/were parents. It seems the were virus can only be passed through a direct bite and not via genetic coding.”

“Okay, okay, that’s good right?” she asked Cat and Buffy both.

“Yeah hun, it seems all good to me,” Buffy had reassured her worried friend.

“Willow, tell me this. How would you feel about this pregnancy if you could be assured right now that all would be perfectly normal? I mean I know you spoke the other night about being happy to be a parent with Oz, but that sounded pretty hypothetical rather than real. How do you really feel about this wee babe right here right now?”

“Oh Goddess, I don’t know. I’ve been too scared and worried to even consider how I’d feel about a normal pregnancy. We’ve been back together for a little while, but believe it or not, that evening was our very first night of being intimate. And for this to happen, it’s such a shock. He’s been bagging it since then believe me, although now that I know I’m pregnant, there doesn’t seem much point closing the gate anymore. That horse has definitely bolted.”

“So are you saying you wouldn’t want the bairn either way? I’m not judging here, just trying to be sure I can work out what it is you want.”

“No, no, I’m not saying that at all. I’ve just been terrified to let myself get too attached to the idea of motherhood, in case it all gets taken away from me. I know I could love this baby fiercely, even if it was only normal 95% of the time. But I think it would break my heart if I had to terminate. How soon can we scan or test for abnormalities?”

“Well, we should get your blood test results back by tomorrow so we can start by checking those for abnormalities. We’ll scan again at six weeks and do another set of bloods then as well. We can do the same again at ten weeks.”

“What about testing the baby itself?”

“We can do a CVS by ten weeks. That will pick up chromosomal abnormalities or genetic disorders. And an amniocentesis can be carried out from fifteen weeks, which also allows us to access and examine the foetal DNA. But both of them carry a very small risk of miscarriage – CVS about 1% and amnio about 0.5% so you and Oz need to consider that before you make your mind up.”

“Thanks Cat, for everything. This is just so scary and so out of my control. I’m used to being the one in control and my very first response to this whole drama would be to turn to magic to sort out the situation. But I don’t want to do anything to hurt my baby unnecessarily. So I’m going to do some research and I’m going to wait. But the waiting will be hard.”

“I know Willow,” Cat reassured her, “But in that respect you’re in the same boat as millions of others parents, past and present. You’ll cope. Lean on Oz and your friends. That’s what we’re here for.”

And so the waiting began. Her initial bloods had come through that afternoon, Cat popping into the Library to tell her that the initial screen came back fine, with no anomalies showing up at all. It had helped a wee bit, but Willow knew she wouldn’t be able to relax until they had a definitive answer one way or the other.

In the mean time, she’d had to keep herself distracted. At night she lain in Oz’ arms; losing herself to the endless pleasure that his body gave her. Rather than the unplanned pregnancy dampening her desires, the lack of further risk seemed to ignite a fire in her, her body reaching for him over and over. And he always seemed ready to respond.

During the daytime, even without regular classes on, she’d had plenty of Academy work to see to. They’d advertised a range of further teaching positions, wanting staff on board by the time the new classroom blocks were ready for use. At least one, if not two new positions were open in each of the curriculum departments, including I.T., where, although she would continue to oversee the teaching programme, Willow was intent on jettisoning her classroom duties altogether. In some ways she was disappointed, but she had far too many other responsibilities to attend to in order to continue on in a job that others would be better qualified for and better suited to. Besides, now that she was pregnant, even though the thought of what could go wrong still terrified her, she had to start planning for the future.

Anyway, she, Giles and Ashley had spent Monday, Wednesday and Thursday afternoons interviewing candidates, offering positions to all but two of them. They didn’t have a wide pool from which to recruit, prior knowledge and acceptance of the supernatural world being a necessary prerequisite, but luckily the calibre of applicants was quite high, and several of their appointed personnel were able to start almost immediately, the remainder in a month or so.

In the rest of her spare time, she dove back into her Guardian research to keep her mind busy. It was crazy really, there was such a lot of research that was pretty urgent at the moment – both personal and family in terms of reveal spells, protection charms and prophecies, but something drove her to focus on her Guardian project. She found the work soothing and feelings of providence seemed to both entice her to continue and to guide her discoveries. It was intriguing.

She’d had to search through the most arcane and obscure texts to find any information on the Guardians at all. None of the more commonplace Council tomes had even mentioned such a group. Willow had not known what to think about that, whether the Watchers had always been truly ignorant of the existence of the Guardians, or whether at some stage a schism had formed between the two groups, so deep that all knowledge of the women had been suppressed and eventually lost.

Instead she’d turned to the Classical Greek and Roman authors, poets such as Homer, Hesiod and Ovid and historians like Herodotus, Stephenus of Byzantium and Pliny the Elder to discover what she could about the people and practices of those times. What she’d been trying to find was any reference to the temple cults of Hunting Goddesses, in particular the Greek Goddess Artemis, but also the Roman Diana, Sumerian Inanna, Akkadian Ishtar, or Egyptian Neith or Pakhet. Her goal was to try and identify a temple where a Sineyan form of the Artemis deity was worshipped.

Right from the start of her study, it was clear how much the various mythologies, arcane rituals and ceremonies borrowed from and influenced one another. Eventually she ended up back at the story Matthew and Colleen had shared in July about the Temple of Artemis in Ephesus, one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World. The fact that that temple had been attributed to the Amazons was her strongest lead.

Finally, she’d decided to pin her luck on Ephesos, an Amazon warrior from Lydia in ancient Turkey. Supposedly the city of Ephesus was named after her, and her daughter Amazo became the eponym of the Amazons. But the part that interested Willow was that she was also said to have been the first of the Amazons to honor Artemis and even surnamed the goddess Ephesia. Willow thought, well hoped, that given the link between the Amazons and the Scythians, that the temple at Ephesus secretly paid homage to Sineya and that Ephesos may have been high priestess of that order.

Once she’d settled on Ephesos as her guide, she’d made a start on composing the words to the invocation and organising the ingredients for the summoning. Finally, everything was ready. It was Saturday morning. Rowan was back from Med School for the weekend, Giles was happy to spare her a couple of hours away from his Protection spell research and Althanea had driven back up from Hatherley that morning, having a break for the weekend from lessons and training sessions they’d set up at the Coven for four new Wiccan apprentices, three young girls and a young man, three friends and an older brother respectively of four of Ashdown’s young Slayers.

Everyone was gathered in the library, not just the spell casters, but also the balance of the Scoobies, curious to see whether or not the Guardians would respond and be happy to support Willow in her endeavours. She had laid out the circle already, and once she and the other three casters were in place, they lit the candles and Willow called on each of the elements to invoke the blessing.

At last they were ready to contact the Guardians. Willow was nervous; generally Giles or Althanea led the summons. But this was her baby so it was up to her to take charge. The room was quiet and calm as she began.

“Blessed be the Lady Sineya,
Fierce Warrior Goddess,
Huntress and Slayer,
Blessed be fair Ephesos,
Handmaiden and high priestess,
Who honoured her Goddess
With gifts and libations,
Who watched over her daughters
And armed them for battle.
We call on you to grant us with your presence.
Come forth fair Ephesos, we invoke you.”

Willow repeated the invocation three times, gaining strength and confidence at each recitation. As she paused at the culmination of the third reiteration, the air in the centre of the circle seemed to shimmer and swirl, then an image slowly began to flicker into view. The figure was that of a woman, the manifestation faintly translucent as she stood there in her long white gown. The short sleeveless tunic or Chiton was embellished with elaborate gold braid and cinched below the bust, falling in soft drapes to just past the hips. The matching ankle length skirt was loose and flowing. Her long, brown hair was drawn up and pinned at the back of her head and adorned with a gold circlet.

Willow gasped as the woman peered intently at her then began to speak.

“Rejoice fair maiden. Ephesos sends greetings. I pray you are well?”

“I am well fair Ephesos,” Willow replied. Having studied Ancient Greek salutations, she was familiar with the format. “Greetings from Willow. We welcome you here to our sacred circle and bring you praise for heeding our call. There is much we wish to learn from you. Will you impart your wisdom to us?”

“Indeed, Willow. For though my sisters and I have passed from this realm, we continue to watch from afar, desiring only to help where we may. But alas, for many centuries we have been estranged from those whose job it was to guide and uphold the Chosen Ones. Their words and actions were often times deemed ruinous, shaped not by noble intentions, but rather by a voracious desire for power and control. Men who saw the One as little more than a tool, a weapon they could wield to meet their own base needs; men who betrayed their own sacred calling. These men have steered their order far from its designated course.”

“Not all of us are like that,” Giles spluttered, outrage and humility warring for dominance in his psyche.

“No brother, that is true. Yet it is fair to conclude that the teachings and decrees of the ruling body greatly influenced and circumscribed the thinking and deeds of each individual,” Ephesos added gently.

“That may have been the case in the past,” Buffy exclaimed from outside the circle, “But we’ve been working on things, honestly. We’re trying to work together, guide and support the younger girls, be good role models you know?”

“Ah, greetings child!” Ephesos’ tone and posture softened as she turned towards Buffy and addressed her. “Well met. Felicitations and blessings upon you and yours! It is an honour most high to find myself in the presence of such a One as yourself. The Goddess chose wisely when she laid her hand upon you.”

“Um, wow!” Buffy stuttered. “Yeah, right, thanks. But you know I didn’t do it all by myself. I’ve had lots of help from my friends and family, especially Giles and Willow and Xander and Dawn, and of course Spike!”

“Ah, yes, the vampire. Seeming strange, yet not inexplicable. Often times the dark and the light are drawn to one another, for one cannot exist without the other.”

“Okay, very philosophical. Anyway, as you’ve probably picked up, things have changed around here, big time. For a start, I’m not the ‘One’ anymore, just one of the ‘Many’,” Buffy said, using air quotes to emphasis her words.

“Child, you will always be the One. And if you succeed, both in meeting the conditions of the Song of Sagaria and in overcoming the approaching darkness, you will have truly earned your role as progenitor of the new order.” Buffy gasped, ready to either refute such a fantastic prediction or ask what progenitor meant. It sounded faintly dirty!

“But there is much work to be done before that may come to pass,” Ephesos concluded.

“Can you help us?” Willow asked. “Can you guide us along the right path?”

“Indeed, for we have judged your purpose most worthy, the attentions of you and your fellow delegates exceedingly fine; and thus we have hearkened to your call. The path you walk doth seem true to our hearts and minds, and so we purpose to accompany you, to aid your journey.”

“Oh my Goddess, that’s fantastic, ah I mean that pleases us highly. So um, what form will your aid take?”

“My sisters and I have already given this much thought. It is many years past since we have actively inhabited the earth bound realm, our sole remaining priestess merely enduring the endless years of her watch until she could complete her assignment and relinquish Sagaria to her new mistress. The time is nigh when we must summon and train two new novices; initiate them into the sacred mysteries and rites of our calling, and ordain them into our divine order.”

“Well that seems a good idea. Do we need to advertise or ask around? What sort of criteria are we looking at?” Willow asked.

“We need women who are compassionate, mindful, selfless, learned and of course gifted adepts in the fields of magic and mysticism. As to applicants, we have no need of such, for we have already made our selection,” Ephesos stated calmly.

“Oh, gosh, you really do move fast when you’ve a mind to, don’t you?” said Willow, shaking her head in astonishment. “So do you need us to send these women a letter, or call them or will you contact them somehow?”

“That will not be necessary, for our chosen postulants are already in this room.”

The initial response to Ephesos’ revelation was a resounding wall of silence, matched by a host of dropped jaws and bulging eyes. Eventually, one strangled squeak of surprise breached the quiet, and a flood of disorderly noise followed in its wake. Declarations of disbelief and demands for immediate answers, competed riotously with gasps of astonishment and nods and murmurs of comprehension. The clamour came from Xander, Dawn, Giles and Andrew and it took a while for the other to calm them down.

“I think,” Willow asked meekly, “What these spirited, ah delegates were enquiring about is whom exactly it is that you have chosen and why?”

“Thank you Willow, well asked. To answer the question foremost in the men’s minds, we looked no further than this group of women. Firstly, it would be difficult to match elsewhere the level of skill and presence of mind to be found in this room. Secondly, it has ever been that the aspirants were selected from those women that not only lived in and accepted the mystical world of the Slayer, but also wished to support her, therefore kith and kin.

As to whom precisely, the resolution was not as undemanding as I have made it seem. If truth be told, any of these fair womenfolk, excepting one, would make a fine pupil. The exception of course is the One, the Slayer herself, for she cannot Slayer and Guardian both be. After many hours of debate, we agreed we wanted two young women, who still had many, many years ahead of them on the earthly plane. Age alone eliminated wise Althanea, although we may yet find a role for her in our order. The Healer possesses magic of a different kind; skills that will be in great demand through the days of darkness, but skills that align not with the demands of priestess. The Gate Mistress has endless power and resources at her fingertips but she has a different role to play in the coming conflict.”

While Ephesos spoke, the rest scanned the room, mentally eliminating the occupants one by one as the Guardian high priestess discounted their suitability. Finally the field had narrowed to two; both women seated within the sacred circle, both women familiar with and comfortable in the mystical world around them, both women skilled users of magic. There were several gasps and Xander calling out “Rowan, no!” before Ephesos raised her hand, demanding silence.

“Willow and Rowan, you have been chosen. You need not give your response directly, I will grant you a period of seven days in which to consider your decision. Presently, I will take my leave of you, but will leave in my stead our most recent apprentice. Like many of our priestesses, this young woman did not come to us until after her own earthly passing. But as she is but recently departed, her sisters and I have bestowed upon her the gift of her corporeal form. She will be able to move between the two planes at will and will act not only as your guide and tutor, but also as an emissary.”

“Before you go fair Ephesos,” Rowan asked quietly, “May I ask a question?” When the Priestess dipped her head in acknowledgement, the young witch went on. “What about purity? Don’t priestesses have to be virgins?” She blushed as she spoke further. “You do realise that not only do Willow and I have … companions, but we are both with child.”

“Unlike many of the Artemic cults, purity is not a stipulation within the order of Sineya. Indeed your gravidities will elevate your positions within the group. For as with your sisters, the Slayer and the Healer, you both carry within your wombs the long awaited progeny of the New Order.” At this point Ephesos turned and spoke directly to Willow, “Calm your fears little sister. Your son will be born hale and hearty, with a boon upon him. You are blessed.”

Unbidden, tears began streaming down Willow’s face, relief and joy releasing the tide of emotion she’d kept so carefully at bay. She turned to look at Oz; his face was shining with love and pride as he mouthed, “I love you!” at her.

Ephesos was ready to leave, knowing they would have much to consider, Willow and Rowan for the most part, but their partners and friends also. From out of nowhere a warm wind descended, gently stirring the priestess’ garments. A golden light fell upon her upturned face and then she was gone, and another stood in her place. Her gown was similar to Ephesos’, although lacking adornment, and while her hair seemed fairer, the circlet that held it back was brown in colour.

Slowly the woman tilted her face back down and opened her eyes. Gasps of recognition and astonishment echoed around the room and Willow issued a startled cry, “Oh my Goddess, Tara!”

‘We are a continuum. Just as we reach back to our ancestors for our fundamental values, so we, as guardians of that legacy, must reach ahead to our children and their children. And we do so with a sense of sacredness in that reaching.’
Paul Tsongas

Dawn sighed and frowned as she stared at the screen of her new Apple iBook. The title of her English paper stared back at her from the top of an empty page, the curser blinking at her mockingly as it waited for her fingers to hit the keyboard. Ahh, who was she kidding, tonight she was all tapped out on the thinking front.

It was probably because her brain was so crammed full of other stuff, non-schoolish stuff, that it didn’t have room to organise and construct an essay on the role of nature in the work of Romantic era poetry. And a lot of that other stuff was pretty damn distracting, like Saturday’s appearance of a two thousand year old, non-corporeal spirit of a Guardian high priestess in their library followed by the arrival of the very much deceased, but recently revived Tara. Dawn hoped she wasn’t a zombie or anything disgusting like that, remembering with a pang her attempt to bring back her Mom. Vampires and werewolves she was okay with, but zombies! Ew!

She hadn’t had a chance to talk to Tara yet, beyond a shy smile from the older girl and a corresponding finger wave from Dawn. Oz had whisked her and Willow away pretty damn quickly and between them, Giles and Rowan, she’d been kept pretty busy over the rest of the weekend. Well Dawn had been pretty busy over the weekend herself. But from what she’d seen, Tara hadn’t looked like a zombie or acted like one. Which duh, it wasn’t like the Guardians would choose a zombie and start training her to be one of their order.

Anyway, Dawn had decided she’d try and steal her away from Willow for a while before dinner. Once she’d finished her homework of course. Or at least finished staring at her homework, whichever came first! At least she had a little bit of spare time to do her homework in, now that she, Andrew and Willow had completed the automated Slayer Tracking Software Package, made seven copies of the software and delivered it to Recruitment teams around the world. It had taken Andrew three weeks, pretty much full time work to write the programme, tie in the mystical components and iron out the bugs, but it was so worth it.

He’d started by adapting one of those wireless network interface thingys, so that instead of sending and receiving information to and from something like a modem, it used good old Slayer essence to ‘scan’ an area and tune into the particular ‘frequency’ or ‘signature’ that Slayers emit. The device used Key energy to power and amplify the signal. Once the transmissions or signals were picked up and decoded by the computer, the data was fed back into an improved version of the identification programme that he’d developed back in July. That software was of course basically a pre-packaged remote hacking programme, designed to access a wide range of local data storage organisations in order to translate the signals into names and addresses

The hacking software was contained on disks, while Andrew had used USB formatted wireless network drives for the scanning interface, adapting the protocols on them then getting Willow to use her telekinetic abilities to channel a dose of Slayer essence from Sagaria and a tiny portion of Dawn’s key energy into each one. Both of these forces were ‘borrowed’ rather than fully appropriated. The USBs only had an operating life of four months, Amazon’s best prediction for the completion of the Recruitment Programme. Once the completion deadline was reached, the interface programme would deactivate and the borrowed energies would be released. Rather than dissipating into the ether, Willow had attached a tracer spell to the extracts, designed to guide them back to their original sources. The short-term impact on Dawn and Sagaria’s powers would be negligible, but long term, it would be zilch.

They’d passed the entire design protocol through Giles first. The technological stuff was of course light years beyond his understanding, but he and Althanea had been scrupulous in checking and rechecking the effects of the magical withdrawal process on herself and the Scythe, so Dawn had felt confident that the procedure would be as painless as Willow and Andrew had made it sound. The only thing that had really worried her was being in the same room with Sagaria and Andrew at the same time, given that the scythe had lately transformed itself into some sort of fricking fertility device.

Sure Andrew was a good friend but the thought of doing the horizontal mambo with him was terrifying enough without adding in the possibility of pregnancy. One – Andrew, two – she was far too young and three – Andrew! It was so not going to happen. And she had a pretty good idea that he would be equally horrified, not just at the thought of having sex with her, but with any girl!

Anyway, all jokes aside, Andrew was awesome at his job. They’d trialled the finished Software package on Saturday afternoon by portalling over to Nandish in Bihar, Northern India. Andrew had installed the software on Nandish’s laptop and opened the programme. They were in Patna, the capital of Bihar, so he’d set the parameters to 380 km, creating enough of a circumference to enclose the entire state. When Andrew pushed start it had only taken 10 minutes to bring up a comprehensive list of the names and locations of 34 girls, including the three girls in the room next door and another three in the province of Jharkhand, just to the south of Bihar.

They’d compared the new list to the one Giles, Cat and Althanea had produced for Nandish only five weeks earlier. The names matched one hundred percent, but two of the girls now had different addresses, no doubt having moved in the interim. The software was a success. Recruitment teams around the world could now install the package and at the touch of a button could identify the slayers in their current area, providing accurate up to date information wherever they went. It would save an awful lot of time and legwork by the Recruitment teams and by rescanning at the end of a recruitment drive, would provide a simple and effective means of verifying that they hadn’t ‘missed’ anyone.

Best of all, as far as Dawn was concerned, it utterly released her from her scanning responsibilities. She’d enjoyed the job at first, proud to be able to finally contribute something to the Scoobies, something pretty damn big in fact, a kind of legacy. And it had been exciting to begin with, the thrill that came from identifying a girl that she would soon get to meet, who would become part of their Amazon family, and come to Ashdown to live and train was amazing. But as the numbers built up, each new girl became little more than a number to her, just another tally mark on the board. Zipping off around the world, either by plane or by portal had also gone from an exhilarating, exotic experience to tedious, annoying and exhausting. She was over it, and now she was free!

She was so grateful to Andrew that she could have almost kissed him. But with, one – essence of Sagaria no doubt leaking out of the hard drive, and two – Andrew, that would have been going too far. So instead, as they’d sat clustered around Nandish’s laptop, she’d squealed and wrapped her arms around him in a big, girly hug. Although, by the looks plastered all over Andrew’s face he was more interested in giving Nandish a big, girly hug, and maybe even a kiss, Sagaria be damned.

They’d spent most of Sunday hand delivering the automated Slayer Tracking Software Package across the Globe. It wasn’t really something you wanted to send through the mail, and the Watchers they delivered it to had to sign a confidentiality contract, promising not to disclose the existence of such a programme to anyone, even their own Slayers. The ramifications of someone unauthorised getting hold of the disc were unthinkable. Dawn shuddered as she imagined Caleb sitting in front of a laptop, printing off hundreds of lists to give to the First’s evil, blind assassins so they could utterly eliminate the world of potentials. Although how the Bringers would have been able to read the lists, what with having no eyes, was beyond Dawn. Still, not good!

So, with Andrew firmly in hand, they’d portalled off to deliver the packages to Sofia in Uruguay, Svetlana in Myanmar, Ekrem in Yemen, Farzan in Pakistan, Lien in Shaanxi and Meredith in Hunan. Nandish and the two Chinese Slayers would be using their software just as backup, what with their I.D. lists having already been created. But for Sofia, Svetlana, Ekrem and Farzan, the resource was critical and meant they would be able to hit the road with their teams the very next day instead of waiting around for Dawn to pop over and scan the area. It really was a win-win situation.

So with that done, it was now Sunday evening and Dawn actually had time before dinner to do her homework, if not the inclination, and some free time besides. It seemed like absolutely luxury after the chaos of the last three months. She figured if she could get the opening paragraph written, then she’d reward herself with a visit to Tara.

She was dying to know how her friend was, how long she’d been with the Guardians and how she was getting on with Willow. Things must be pretty weird with the whole Willow/Tara/Oz dynamic. Awkward much. But strangely, the couple of times she’d seen Oz or Willow since Saturday, neither of them seemed sad or guilty or freaked out. Both of them looked relaxed, happy even. Which was great, cos part of her had always wondered if Willow’s thing with Oz would last if another pretty, sweet, witchy girl turned up, let alone the love of her life, Tara.

She stared back at the screen, trying hard to control and organise her thoughts, force them to consider the poetry of Byron, Keats and Wordsworth. But it was pointless and instead she brought up her newly installed web browser, Safari and started trawling through the Internet. She remembered how Chelsea, one of her new friends at Imberhorne talked about Googling her own name and how funny it was to count the number of results that came up, and read stuff about other people with the same name or even about yourself that you didn’t know was up there.

So, grinning to herself, she typed in ‘Dawn Summers’ and punched the return key. Wow, the results were instantaneous (well 0.22 seconds according to Google!) and there were 19,537 results. Crazy! She started scrolling down the page, glancing at the links for a senior marketing manager in Edinburgh, a yoga teacher in San Francisco and a fashion stylist in London. Cool.

Near the bottom of the page was a link for an organisation called ‘The Glorious Order of the Golden Dawn’. She was going to scroll right past it, figuring that it was just the search engine picking up Dawn and Summers separately, but the two sentence summary below the link caught her eye:

I am About To r32;Share With You a Great Secret, Dear Friend and Seeker of Knowledge and Power, The time is nigh and the One we seek is new come to our shores, her power

Frowning, she clicked on the link, preparing to be met by some group’s earnest accounts of spiritual transformation and enlightenment. She’d briefly studied the history of the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn in her Religious Studies class and was looking at choosing the magical order as the focus of her elective assignment later in the year. She hadn’t heard of the Glorious Order. Undoubtedly it was simply another one of the various modern Golden Dawn organizations that had sprung up around the world, the majority of them based in the States.

But what Dawn saw on the site first surprised her, then freaked her out. Instead of finding a new-agey discussion about the promotion of philosophical, spiritual and physic evolution through a range of esoteric practices, this Order seemed to be focused on promising its members enlightenment as an outcome of passing through a portal that was controlled by the Gate Mistress. Her heart missed a beat at the use of the title that had been bestowed upon her only days ago. She hoped it was just a coincidence, it sounded like a pretty dungeons and dragons kind of name anyway, so no doubt plenty of people used it.

But the passage at the bottom of the page really alarmed her:

‘Dear Friend and Seeker of Knowledge and Power,
The time is nigh and the One we seek is new come to our shores, her power knows no limits. For she is the Gate Mistress, the Holder of the Key. She dwells in the House of Summers, alongside Warriors and Wiccans, Angels and Demons, Makers and Healers. Glory and divine energy emanate from her, and with a touch she may open up all of the untold dimensions of the universe. She will guide us; she will light the pathways of the divine Sephiroth leading to the Dawn of a Golden Age. She is the earthly embodiment of the Golden Dawn. We await her divine presence.”

There were way too many similarities for it to be a coincidence. She wasn’t sure if they knew exactly where she was, but ‘new come to our shores’ sounded too stalkerish for comfort. Sure enough, although she couldn’t find a contact address or phone number anywhere on the site, their yahoo email address was suffixed .co.uk, so she knew that she was looking at a ‘local’ site. She closed her iBook and disconnected it from the power adaptor. This was too weird to just shrug off. Time to call in the big guns.

~~~

Willow just couldn’t wipe the grin off her face. She couldn’t believe that only five days ago she was so scared and worried about what life was going to throw at her. She’d been terrified that something would be wrong with the baby she and Oz had conceived under such loving but unconventional circumstances. She’d been obsessed with contacting the Guardians and overwhelmed by her work commitments.

Yet within such a short space of time, everything had been turned to rights. Ephesos had set her mind at rest about the baby, and Willow had no reason to doubt her, trusting absolutely in her omniscience. She and Oz were going to have a boy! And he was going to be fine, better than fine, hale and hearty with a boon upon him. Willow had had to open up her online dictionary once they got back to their suite, but now she knew that he was going to be healthy and strong and blessed with great gifts or benefits. So, wow, they couldn’t ask for more than that.

And her little obsession with the Guardians had paid off, big time! To not only be able to successfully summon Ephesos, but to have enlisted the aid of her and her group was a major boost for the future direction and success of Amazon. The knowledge and skills of the Guardians had been seriously under utilized for centuries, and she was so excited that they been able to bridge that divide and bring them on board. They were going to need every bit of help they could get to defeat the Scourge of Amroz.

But on top of that, the offer of training! Ephesos had basically provided a double scholarship to the Post Graduate School of Blessed Guardians, all tuition fees and accommodation paid for. That Willow had been selected as one of postulants was astonishing, and humbling, and a huge compliment. She was almost certain she would accept the position, and she intended to work really hard to prove she was worthy of such an honor.

She’d been more than a little nervous about the workload though. After all she was already Ashdown’s Board Chair, the new non-teaching head of the I.T. Department (although if one of the new appointments worked out she’d be happy to jettison that role), a member of Amazon International’s Executive Council, and she was involved in almost every aspect of running Amazon: from the pragmatic day to day stuff like picking girls up from the airport, arranging moving schedules and overseeing administration; to the masses of research, either historical, prophetic, or mystical; through to undertaking a wide range of magical practices. And on top of that she had a relationship to nurture, and now she was having a baby. Oh Goddess.

She knew Rowan was even more concerned, the workload she had to cope with at Med School was already pretty intense, and once the baby came she was seriously worried about how she’d cope even without the added pressure of Guardian training thrown in. That’s where Tara had come in, explaining that although their physical forms would remain here on earth, the training itself would be inter-dimensional and as such would move within a different time frame from that of Earth’s.

Meaning that an entire day in the Guardian’s transcendental classroom would only steal away an hour of Willow and Rowan’s time here in the physical realm. Their training could take place while they were sleeping, or just in a relaxed, meditative state. And although they’d be attending class together, they didn’t need to synchronize their daily schedules, being quite free to chose different times of the day or even different days of the week to show up at the same class. What’s more, once they signed on the dotted line, they would be granted many of the gifts and abilities that their predecessors shared, including the ability to shift time sideways a little, a very useful skill for time-pressed young women to have.

So Tara’s explanation had set their minds to rest. Which brought up the last, but by no means the least of Saturday’s life-changing gifts. The reappearance of Tara in their lives, not only professionally, in terms of representing the Guardians, but also personally, back to fill the hole that she’d left behind when she’d been taken from them.

Willow would never forget that moment, the moment when Tara opened her eyes, and the feeling of recognition she’d had, right from the very second that Tara’s figure had replaced that of Ephesos’ had burst into a kaleidoscope of color and sound and feeling. More feeling than she’d been able to contain within her body. Which is why she’d had to cry out like a startled bird in the fields. Even as she’d called out Tara’s name, the colors were dazzling her and the sound was deafening her, and she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry or fall to the floor in awe.

Instead she’d run across the circle into Tara’s arms. And it wasn’t until she was wrapped up in them that the thought passed through her mind, ‘Arms! Thank the Goddess she has arms’, remembering Spike’s initial return from the ether, and the slight transparency of Ephesos. What had the priestess said, that her apprentice had had her corporeal form returned to her, as a gift from the Guardians? Maybe she was their star pupil or something and this was a reward for getting good grades. Willow didn’t know and she didn’t care. Well she did care, but hopefully Tara would be able to explain everything later.

And suddenly, at that thought, Willow was laughing and crying and wobbling so badly that if Tara hadn’t been holding her up, she would have surely fallen to the floor. Over Tara’s shoulder she’d seen Althanea carrying her athame and walking widdershins around the circle, thanking the elements and releasing the energy. Then all at once they’d been surrounded, Giles and Buffy and Dawn right in front of them, and Oz pressed up against her right side, directly behind the point where she was joined to Tara. He’d nuzzled into the side of Willow’s neck and enfolded both girls in his strong embrace. Willow had leaned back against him, every cell in her body blissed out by the absolute rightness of being sandwiched between her two soul mates.

It had taken a while to calm everyone down and promise them all the opportunity to hang out with Tara later, ask her all of their endless questions and get her to fill them in on the ‘Important Details’. To be honest, normally Willow would have been pretty curious too, eager to know ‘how’ and ‘why’ and ‘what’ it all meant. But at that moment her brain and her heart were stuck on ‘Yes!’ and everything else just seemed to fall away.

It was Oz who’d settled things down and made their excuses, his voice imbued with a quiet, calm authority that Giles and the others had listened to and respected. They’d held hands, the three of them, as they’d wandered along, Oz leading the way to their suite, as Willow pointed out different buildings and chatted away about what they were doing, what Ashdown was all about. Tara had simply nodded serenely, her lips curved gently in a Mona Lisa smile.

Willow wondered that there hadn’t been a greater sense of awkwardness or angst. The last time they’d met, things hadn’t exactly been a basketful of cute, fluffy puppies between Oz and Tara, more like a room full of crazed, furry wolf. And Oz had been so jealous and angry and out of control, which was totally understandable, well at least the jealous part. But this time, as they’d sat down all snuggly like on the couch, it was hard to pick out who was more calm, Tara or Oz.

It probably hadn’t hurt his wellbeing that the entire time she’d talked to and hugged Tara, she hadn’t once let go of Oz. That was because she didn’t want to let go of him. And that was an eye opener in its self, the realization that no matter what happened with Tara, whether she was back for good or just for a week, whether she wanted to be ‘in’ in Willow’s life or just a friend, she would never leave Oz’ side, they were bonded for life and she loved him deeply. Funny how that went, it had taken Oz coming back to Sunnydale to make her realize how much she loved Tara, now it was Tara coming back from death that had helped to clarify just how much Willow loved Oz.

They’d sat on that couch and talked and laughed for hours, Willow snuggled back against Oz’ warm embrace, her legs draped over Tara’s as their fingers interlocked with one another’s. Tara had described her experiences since parting from her body: the light (pretty), the waiting (boring), the offer (stunning), the welcome (awe-inspiring) and the training (stimulating, challenging, fascinating, rewarding).

Eventually they’d snuck over to the lounge and raided the fridge for supplies, Willow making a plate full of hot, buttery toast, while Oz expertly whipped up three light, fluffy cheese and mushroom omelettes, good enough to impress even Tara with his culinary skills. They’d carried their plates back to the suite, settling back into the couch that fit the three of them so well. Once they were replete, they’d talked some more. Willow explained the whole ‘many Slayers’ tale (most of which Tara knew – the Guardians were watching after all), and Oz shared his journey and how it had brought him back full circle, back to Willow’s arms. Finally, they’d grown tired, and almost without words, they’d stumbled through to the bedroom, tumbling into their big bed, snuggling up against one another like puppies, nothing sexual, but something deeply emotional and belonging about the instinctive act.

So far, today had been much the same, interspersed with walks around the estate and visits from their various friends. But throughout it all they were together. Willow had checked up on how Oz was doing at one stage when Tara had gone to the toilet.

“Oz are you alright with this?” she’d asked quietly.

“Yeah baby, I am surprisingly, I really am.”

“Why? I mean not that I’m not happy, delirious in fact. But I guess I’m just wondering why you’re handling this so well, not a jealous growl in earshot.”

“Don’t know, just want you to be happy I guess. You gonna leave me?”

“No, never Oz, I love you. We belong together.”

“That’s what I thought. Even the wolf, its not worried this time. It sees you as mate, mate for life. Doesn’t mind sharing. Enough beautiful Willow to go round.”

“Hmm. Is there enough gorgeous Oz to go round too?”

“What?” He’d paused, wide-eyed. “You mean …? Well, that’d be up to Tara I guess, but yeah, if you’re okay and she’s okay, guess I could force myself.”

“Ha, wouldn’t be too hard I’d imagine. I mean isn’t that a whole guy fantasy thing, you know, the old ‘two chicks, one dude, ménage a trois’ thingy?”

“Yeah, guess so. But this is different. More about connection than sex. I don’t know, just seems right somehow.”

“Yeah, baby, I know.” She’d paused, reflective for a moment. “Its good isn’t it?”

Oz had just nodded and pulled Willow into his arms, which is how Tara found them when she wandered back into the room. She’d smiled down at them, wisdom and deep affection radiating out of her eyes as they moved aside to make room for her.

There was still a lot to work out, and the whole details package to share, a task that Giles had booked in for after Tara’s ‘Welcome Home’ dinner that evening, but Willow was happy, in fact down right content, scarily so. Tara’s return was like a legacy from the Higher Beings, well at least from the Guardians, and she was going treasure and make the most of such a wonderous gift. But in the meantime, she was going to go and take a shower, make herself presentable for company, while she left Tara in the company of Oz and Dawn, the younger girl having popped in for a squealy, teary, pre dinner visit. Willow was looking forward to the big show and tell and eager to get on with the next stage of her life, the next stage of their lives, together.

~~~

Buffy stepped out of the shower and straight into the warm, fluffy towel that Spike was holding out for her. Not for the first time did she thank the Powers that Be for the seemingly endless supply of hot water they had access to in the Lodge. It never seemed to run out, no matter how long it took for Spike and her to finish up their ‘showering’ routines. And what an awesome ‘shower’ that had just been, her pregnancy somehow elevating her sensitivity and libido. Damn, when you got down to it, she was one horny little bitch these days. Luckily Spike was always up for it, he could match anything she threw his way. And some!

As they got ready for dinner, she couldn’t help but wonder about Tara’s story. Sure they’d popped in to catch up earlier in the day, but neither she nor her room mates were saying too much, promising they’d do a big reveal after dinner. Buffy sighed. She loved these big Scooby meals. They usually tried to coordinate meal times and all get together at least two or three times a week. The tradition served two functions, the communal meal feeding not only their bodies, but also their sense of family and connection, and the setting also providing a perfect setting for their frequently needed group powwows. It had become common practice to save the sharing till ‘after dinner’.

On other nights, at least two or three of them made sure to have dinner with the Slayers, wanting to stop any great divide opening up between the girls and the Exec. Generally they stayed in the dining room for at least two of the four sittings, trying to catch up with the girls in an informal setting. It was an important part of their roles as teachers and mentors and they didn’t mind doing it. But the Scooby dinners were the ones she really looked forward, sitting noisily around the table like the Waltons, talking, and eating and laughing. Of course it didn’t hurt that they ate in the Lounge, which was like twenty feet from her front door. Talk about convenient.

She was going to miss living here in a way; there was such a sense of family within the walls of the Lodge. All of her besties, except Giles and Cat lived right here. But with baby on the way, it was time to start thinking about moving into their own place. There were five houses on the property, all set closer to the road than the main buildings, but still within the circumference of Ashdown’s protection spell. Giles and Cat lived in one of them, and the Downer family were in another. But the three homes in between were vacant and she and Spike had been through them and chosen one they liked. She was almost six months along now, so they still had plenty of time, but she wanted to start choosing furniture and decorating the place over the next month or so. She figured that was the nesting thing kicking in.

It had taken a while, but she and Spike were really on board with the whole parenting deal now. They couldn’t wait, her growing bump and the baby’s movements fostering a deepening connection between the three of them. Buffy felt a profound sense of peace and serenity welling up inside of her, a feeling of utter rightness, of predestination. And for once the whole destiny thing seemed to be a good thing, not bad. She’d spent so much of her life railing against the fates, the Universe, the Higher Powers, whoever or whatever it was that seemed to direct her life, take away her choices and use her like a puppet for their own ends.

But Spike and the baby, this was different. Still seemingly preordained, but so much more like a reward than a punishment that she made sure to voice her gratitude every day. Mainly to Spike, but if whoever wanted to listen in and take credit, well she was cool with that. With that in mind, the whole ‘progenitor of the new order’ thing hadn’t fazed her at all. Made her curious sure, once she’d found out what progenitor meant, but she figured it was probably a good thing, just meant their kid was going to be special and important, a legacy for the future, and she wasn’t going to argue with that.

Buffy finished getting dressed and walked through to the living room where Spike was waiting for her. Hopefully Tara would be able to answer some of their questions tonight, and if not, then oh well, they’d find out sooner or later. They slipped through the door and closed it behind them; then hand in hand, they walked across the courtyard to the Lounge, ready to share food and the secrets of the universe with their friends and family.

‘I wonder what becomes of lost opportunities? Perhaps our Guardian Angel gathers them up as we drop them, and will give them back to us in the beautiful sometime when we have grown wiser, and learned how to use them rightly.’
Helen Keller

The plates had finally been cleared away. Only glasses, newly topped up with scotch or juice, or mugs, full of either tea or hot chocolate, remained behind, their contents intended to lubricate and lull the impatient audience, settle them in for the imminent commentary. Tara started immediately, her manner so much more self-assured than it had been in the past. Excluding her own example, Buffy wondered if that was what death did for you.

“Hey everyone,” she said, smiling gently. “Thanks for this wonderful ‘welcome back’ dinner. And I guess, what I need to start with is that I am back! Whether Willow or Rowan accept their apprenticeships or not, I will remain, for better or worse, your Guardian representative.”

There was an immediate outbreak of cheering and hugging at this news, and it took Tara a while to get everyone calmed down and seated again, but she did so with firmness and grace. Finally, when everyone else was quiet and settled and sipping on their drinks, she continued.

“Wow, I have a feeling this might take all night.” She grinned wryly then ploughed on. “Okay, so down to the nitty gritty. You know, being shot, it seems like such a violent way to go, but it wasn’t like that. I was lucky, I was surrounded by such love, that when I passed over, it pushed all thoughts of pain or fear out of my heart. I know that for those left behind,” and here she squeezed Willow’s hand, “That was not the case. But for me it was loving and peaceful. When awareness returned to me, I was surrounded by warmth and bright light. A bit of a stereotype I know, but there it is. It was more than just the physical sensation, just really emotional and spiritual like being wrapped up in a warm, loving, blanket.”

“Was it heaven?” Buffy asked quietly. “Did the Guardians pull you out of heaven?”

“No, not out of heaven,” Tara said, frowning thoughtfully. “That place was more like a waiting room I guess. Anyway, I had to hang around there for a long time. It was warm and nice and all, but after a while it got pretty boring.”

“Kind of like limbo then?” Spike said.

“Yeah, I guess so. Anyway, eventually they came for me, the Guardians. A kind of door opened up in the space in front of me and two of them came through and took me by the hand and led me through the doorway. “

“Wow, were you scared?” Dawn asked?

“No. I mean the women were pretty serious and kind of stern. They were tall and golden and lovely and all with the flowing robes. They made me feel kind of nervous, but not really scared.”

“They sound like angels,” Dawn noted.

“Or Arwen Evenstar and Queen Galadriel!” Andrew gushed.

Everyone groaned and rolled their eyes.

“Go on Tara, please.” Giles prompted.

“You might have easily mistaken them for Elvish queens,” she said kindly to Andrew, “But Dawn’s right, they were more like angels. Ok, so now for the long-winded exposition. Bear with me,” she giggled. “Now, for many millennia the Guardian’s recruited their members exclusively from the temple priestesses of the Sineya cult. Certain priestesses would be chosen and enlisted into the sisterhood, spending their earth bound years serving the needs of the Slayers. They had access to the realm where past Guardians resided and once they themselves passed on, they would transcend, joining their sisters to wander the Halls of Knowledge in Summerland.”

The Wiccans in the room nodded knowingly. “Until they pass onto their next incarnation?” Rowan asked.

“No, not the Guardians, not unless they petition it. The Guardians are granted eternity in paradise.”

“So they are angels!” Dawn insisted.

“Yes, they would fit the description of angels used by most religions, benevolent higher beings whose job it is to protect and guide. They don’t use the title themselves, but yes, that’s what they are.”

The room was quiet as everyone digested, and was a little overawed by that knowledge.

“Anyway, as the centuries passed,” Tara continued, “The cult faded from existence. Yet the Elder Guardians still managed to find women to recruit, women who were close to the Slayer and were skilled in witchcraft. And so the group continued its earthbound connection, if only just. But over time, as the gap between Watchers and Guardians widened, the women were granted less and less access to the Slayers. Training new recruits seemed pointless, and it has been many, many years now since anyone has been trained.”

“So the Guardian I met in Sunnydale?” asked Buffy.

“Mary? She was born hundreds of years ago, but her time on earth may have only added up to seventy years or so. She’d been living in a kind of stasis, moving back and forth between the temple in Sunnydale where she guarded the Scythe and the Halls of Knowledge in Summerland. Her time with her sisters would have been joyful, but I can’t imagine what it must have been like, sitting in that little room, year after year, waiting for the day when she could finally complete her mission.”

“And then that bastard Caleb came along and broke her neck,” Buffy cried out angrily.

“She was ready to pass by that time anyway. She’d done her job and her sisters were waiting. I’ve met her since and she’s a lovely woman. Very proud of having delivered Sagaria to you and of all you’ve achieved with the Scythe by your side.”

“Yes, well, that Scythe is responsible for quite a bit more than just the destruction of the Hellmouth,” Giles grumbled. “I think it’s having a go at single-handedly repopulating the earth.”

Tara laughed. “Yes, well, I’ll get to that later. Now, the Elder Guardians have always kept a close eye on the current Slayer and the state of play with the Watcher’s Council, always hoping they could build a new relationship with either group. And when it came to you Buffy, they noticed how important family and friends were and how paternal rather than authoritarian Giles’ relationship with you was. They had begun to wonder if one of the Scoobies might make a suitable trainee Guardian. They looked to Willow first, but at the time her addiction to power and control and her self-serving use of magic ruled her out.”

Willow flinched and bit her lip.

“Okay, harsh but fair I guess,” said Xander. “How come they’ve changed their minds then?”

“Because Will’s changed. She’s faced her demons, owned her weaknesses and come out the other side. We’ve been watching from afar, watching the way she’s used her intelligence and her skills and her determination to meet her goals and deadlines, only using magic when there is no other alternative, and only after checking with everyone else first.” Tara turned to Willow and squeezed her hand again. “You deserve this chance baby, I’m so proud of how you’ve clawed your way back.”

Oz said “Hear, hear,” and squeezed her other hand, while the others nodded their agreement.

“Okay, so after they ruled out Will, they started considering me. I don’t know what I would have said to Ephesos or Mary or any of the others if they’d approached me at the time. Will’s and my relationship was pretty up and down that last six months, so that may have had a bearing. But either way, I was shot before they could get to me. In the end it didn’t change much. Ephesos immediately interceded on my behalf, petitioning Sineya for the right to sponsor me. She must’ve taken some convincing, cos it felt like I was waiting for a while.”

“So did they even ask you if you wanted to be up graded or did they just snatch you away?” Buffy asked earnestly. “I mean, maybe you were finished, you know, ready to kick back and rest.”

“They gave me the tour first, did the whole slide show presentation with accompanying Cliffs Notes. It was an easy sell to tell the truth: getting to help you and eventually hanging out with the rest of the Scoobies again and making a difference to the world. I signed up pretty quickly.”

“So since then you’ve been studying?” Giles asked.

“Yes. I spent a lot of time learning about the history of the Guardian group so that I can understand where they’re coming from, where they fit into the big picture. Some of the training involves adjusting your mindset so that you can problem solve and think in a much more collective way. And then of course I had to spend time learning how to use my new abilities.”

“Tell them what abilities the Guardians have babe,” Willow said.

“Well, we have the ability to manipulate our interaction with time, to slow it down or speed it up. That’s how Mary was able to endure for so long in Sunnydale. We are also able to see flashes of future events, not full precognition, but just enough of a peek to be able to help the Slayer out.”

“Oh yeah,” Xander said, “That’s gonna come in handy. I’ve always thought we needed someone with sixth sense. Shit, even Angel had Cordy pointing him in the right direction, not that that did the poor cow much good.” Everyone was quiet as they thought of the ex-Scooby who was doing a Sleeping Beauty impression deep in the bowels of Angel’s evil castle.

“You can dimension hop too can’t you?” asked Dawn quietly

“Not strictly speaking. We can of course travel between the two dimensions, earth to Summerland, but we can’t just hop from one place to another on earth. In an extreme emergency, if I had to get from here to Rede Coven say,” Tara said, nodding in Althanea’s direction, “I could shift from here to Summerland then from Summerland to Devon. But we can only do that if things are really going pear-shaped, the Elders don’t like us using the Halls as a turnstile.”

“Are there any other abilities I, um we, should know about?” Rowan asked.

“Well the final one’s not really a new one, just training to help upgrade the way you access and use earth energy. Rowan, I know you and Willow are already pretty good at connecting to the source, but the Guardians help you learn how to, you know, draw deeper and quicker. And you also find out how to locate and use different kinds of energy, healing or vengeful or strengthening, so that you can use the best kind of energy to power your spells.”

“Wow, so that’s a lot of fire power you’ve going on now Tara,” said Buffy. “I know we love that you’re here with us, but I think we’re also gonna love having you and your Superwicca powers around.”

“Which leads us to the question of exactly how you’re here?” said Giles. “I assume that when you passed over to Summerland, you were in a non-corporeal state. I know Ephesos mentioned the gift of returning your physical body to you. Are their limitations placed upon you in that regard? Are you resurrected, reanimated, revivified or simply renewed?”

Tara’s tinkling laugh filled the room with warmth and joy. “Gosh Giles, what a great collection of verbs! You’re like a walking thesaurus. Okay, if I had to choose one of those worthy terms I would say that my body has been renewed, and its purpose and functions resumed after a little break. It seems in pretty good repair; maybe they had it in cold store. Anyway all the bits and bobs seem to be working okay. But there’s nothing new or upgraded about my soul, my essence. I’m still the same Tara, and apart from the little blackout after I passed, I have full recall of my life before and after death.”

“So you’re actually alive again?” Andrew asked.

“One hundred percent living and breathing.”

“One hundred percent mortal?” Giles asked.

“Ah, well that’s a little more complicated,” Tara said wryly. “My body can be killed, as Buffy saw with Mary, but not easily. It is not exactly immortal, but my body has an extended lifetime warrantee on it. And of course my soul, my Tara-ness is now eternal. When my body finally perishes, it will not be revived, but I’ll go straight back to Summerland and go on.”

“And you’ll be an Angel too! A Guardian Angel!” Dawn stated, a thoughtful, worried look clouding her face. “But while you’re alive you’ll live here, right? You’ll stay here at Ashdown with us? At the Lodge?” Dawn asked.

“I have to pop back to the Halls regularly, maybe once or twice a week. And now and again I might need to go for a night or two, but yes, if it’s all right with all of you, I’d love to live here.”

The sounds of cheering and approval filled the room, highlighting the enthusiastic nods and delighted smiles.

“Right my dear, welcome home.” Giles said to another round of applause and more than a few sniffles. “Well first we must organise a suite for you. Buffy and Spike are moving out of theirs in another few weeks, so it will be vacant. Until then, you’re welcome to stay in one of the guest suites down the end. They’re quite comfortable.”

“Actually,” Willow said, blushing slightly, even as she tried to hold her head up straight, “Oz and Tara and I have talked about this today. She’s going to move in with Oz and I.”

“Well of course,” Giles said, “you do have a spare room ever since Dawn moved into her own suite. I’m sure you’ll have plenty of room.”

“No Giles, I mean she’s going to live with us. As in together, the three of us.”

There was silence, a few confused faces and shoulder hunches before the penny finally dropped.

“You mean …?” Giles stuttered, “Oh dear Lord! I mean, I mean, that’s wonderful dear, oh, ah dears, oh.” He gave up and dragged out his hanky so that he could spend some quality time polishing up his foggy glasses.

“Whoa,” said Xander, “I did not see that coming. Man Oz, I don’t know whether to feel uncomfortable, embarrassed or just down right envious.” He laughed, “I think I’ll settle on envious, well done you lucky bastard. And good luck.”

“Actually Harris,” said Spike, “Looks to me like the congratulations might need to go to Red. Girl’s shacked up with her two main squeezes, she’s like the cat that got the cream.”

“Spike!” Buffy hissed as she elbowed him. “Oh my God, would you shut up! I’m sorry Willow, I can’t take him anywhere.”

Willow giggled, the carefree sound contrasting with the red stain on her cheeks. “Its okay Buffy, after all he’s kinda right. I am incredibly lucky to have the two people I love the most sharing my life with me. So I’ll accept your congratulations Spike.”

“And I’m all good with receiving your envy Xander,” Oz said, a wry smile on his face. “I believe it’s well deserved. I’ll take the good luck too, might well need it.”

“Yep, I reckon you will” Spike affirmed. “Its bad enough living with one bint. Let alone two of the mad creatures.”

After a round of nods, several offended hmmphs and another elbow to the ribs for Spike; Giles cleared his throat and spoke.

“Well, you’ve taken us all a little unawares, but as long as you’re all happy with the arrangement, then you have my full support.”

“Thanks Giles, that means a lot,” Willow leaped up and ran over to give him a quick hug before settling back down between Oz and Tara.

“Yes Giles,” Tara said. “And the rest of you. It’s great to have your support and love. This,” she used her hand to indicate the three of them, “It might seem a little strange to you, but it feels so loving and caring and very ‘right’. If there’s one thing death will do, its make you realize that life is too short not to go after what you want, what you need. If something feels right, you should go for it.”

There were plenty of heads nodding around the room at that little gem. Buffy clutched Spike’s hand tightly and her eyes misted over as she thought about how much time she’d wasted after her own resurrection, before she’d begun to accept that Tara’s advice was true.

“That being said,” she added, “Are there any other questions we can help you out with?”

“Well not about your sleeping arrangements blossom,” Spike winked, “We’ll just use our imaginations to fill in those gaps.” He chuckled and stuck his hand out to protect his ribs as Buffy’s pointy little elbow got itself lined up for action again. “No Glinda, what Buffy and I want to know about, probably the others too, is this new order business. Your boss called Buffy the ‘progenitor of the new order’. What’s that mean exactly?”

“Okay, personal hat off, Guardian hat on.” Tara said. “So, the New Order is just one of the possible pathways that we could take into the future.”

“New Order sounds a bit fascist petal,” Spike growled.

“Maybe Spike,” she agreed, “But words are just words, don’t get hung up on semantics. New Order is just the phrase the Elders have always used to describe the world where the balance remains, but the scales are tipped more firmly in favour of the light. I’ve seen glimpses of the alternative and it’s not nice: darkness, pain, fear. The New Order is definitely the direction we want to be heading in. But to achieve this, the ancient enemy must be defeated, and the new generation of warriors must be ushered in.”

“Hmm, so is this ‘Scourge of Amroz’ the ancient enemy you refer to?” Giles asked.

“Yes, in part. But remember what I said before, as Guardians, we only receive flashes of the future. Even with all of the combined foresight of these many women over many years, our vision is incomplete.” Tara sighed. “My job is to pass on what we do know, the picture we do have. But even so, it’s woefully patchy. But to answer your question Giles, yes, the Scourge is part of the greater evil you will face.”

“Okay, so it’s not looking like you’re gonna be our ‘get out of research free’ card, Tara. That’s disappointing,” said Buffy. “The books and I are still kinda unmixy!”

“Never mind Buffy, we’ve got lots of help with the research thing these days,” Willow reassured the Slayer, glancing around the room at her study buddies.

“I guess.” Buffy sighed. “So, the new generation of warriors are the new baby slayers right?”

“Actually, again, that’s only part of the picture. The baby slayers make up the Legion and the Legion are critical to the defeat of the Scourge. But the term actually refers to more than just that, we’re talking a whole new generation, an advanced generation, a kind of all new, souped up group of scions I guess.”

“Scions Glinda? Fuck, you’re talking about our baby right?” Spike growled as he jumped to his feet.

Buffy reached up and tugged him back down beside her, one hand stroking across his back calmingly, as the other palmed her belly protectively. But her eyes flashed as she turned back to Tara. “What does this have to do with our baby? And what’s a scion? I wish you people would speak English!”

“Sorry Buffy,” Tara grinned, obviously unperturbed by Spike’s outburst or Buffy’s aggression. “A scion is an young heir or descendent of a powerful or influential family.”

Buffy looked around the room, confusion marring her face. Everyone seemed to be looking at her, waiting for the penny to drop. When it finally did, she let out a squeak of realization and brought her other hand down to join the first, clasping them across her bump.

“Okay, so our baby’s a scion and what? Spike and I are a powerful and influential family? Wow, what does that mean, for us and for the baby?”

“Actually, before I get into that, the family is wider than just you and Spike. Every person in this room is a member of one branch of what will become known as one of the most powerful families of all time.” Tara paused, “The fate of the world hangs on the fortunes of this family.”

“Wow, deep,” said Xander. “But all good, we’ve always been like family to one another anyway. We’ll happily help to look after and protect the scion Buffy.”

“She didn’t say scion Harris,” Spike said, “She said scions. And a new generation isn’t just one, it’s made of a group of niblets. We’re not just talking about our little one are we Glinda?”

“No Spike, we’re not.”

“Oh my Goddess,” Willow gasped, “You mean?” and her hand flew to her abdomen at the same time as Cat and Rowan’s did, matching looks of shock and confusion gracing their faces. The fathers were only a split second behind and by that stage the room was in an uproar.

“Hey guys, calm down. It’s a good thing, honest. These little one’s are destined for great things. Their arrivals will herald in a new age.”

“But they’re only little babies,” Willow said. “How can they be a new generation of warriors? Won’t they be at risk or something?”

“Well babe, look around you,” Tara said. “They’ll be born into a family of warriors, that’s always fighting against a big bad of some kind or another. You’re all at risk, all the time, every day. But still you go on right? Giles’ idea of getting you all inked up is a good start. The protection spell is vital and it doesn’t hurt that you’ll all be wearing the family crest.”

“Oh, okay,” Willow nodded, “Sorry, I’m just turning into neurotic Mom here. So, by the way Giles, how’s the reworked spell coming?”

“Its complete Willow,” Giles said. “Cat’s already run off six more copies of the transfer and Rowan’s mixed up a new batch of ink. All that remains is for the inks to be applied to the design and left to dry and a time to be chosen to apply the tattoos and perform the protection ritual. I thought perhaps next Sunday if that suits everyone?”

General sounds of assent around the room were interrupted by Buffy’s question.

“Why only six Giles? I’m guessing you’re meaning the three sets of parents to be. What about Dawnie?”

“I definitely intend for Dawn, Andrew, Althanea and of course Tara now if she wishes, to receive a protection tattoo as soon as possible,” Giles reassured Buffy. “But we only had enough of the raw materials to make ink for six sigils. This round is going to be parent and child focused; the next round can be about individuals. I’ve already ordered more of the crystals, powders and resins we need to mix up the inks, so possibly the following weekend would work.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll feel better once that’s sorted,” Willow muttered. “But what about our children? What does this new order stuff mean for them?”

“Well again, I don’t have a full picture, but from the glimpses I’ve seen, you won’t need to worry about the children, they will possess gifts beyond measure, strength, cunning, beauty, wisdom, talent, charisma. They will be true leaders, warriors and tacticians all.”

“Oh Good Lord,” Giles suddenly interjected, “’The Scions of Sineya.’ Bloody hell, these children will become Sineya’s famed progeny won’t they?” At Tara’s brief nod, he exhaled noisily, then continued, half to himself as he sorted through his thoughts out loud. “It’s one of the prophecies you study during your first year at Sackville, it’s all about how the Scions of Sineya will cut down the demon’s and bring peace to their people. You know scion has an alternative meaning. It can refer to something that has been grafted onto a new plant. We were always taught, and nobody ever thought to question it, that the ‘Scions’ were the individual Slayers, chosen one after the other, but always able to trace their ‘grafted’ power back through the slayer line to Sineya. Hence, her scions.”

“So you were right about that fucking scythe Rupert,” Spike growled angrily. “That bloody Sineya’s been using us like a bunch of lab rats, sticking us in a box and throwing her damn fertility stick in after us. Hell, how do we know we’d even be together or with child if it wasn’t for her?”

“Oh stop being such a drama queen Spike,” Tara said shaking her head at him. Everyone looked at her in shock as the realization of how much more confident and forthright this version of Tara was than the old one finally sunk in. “Are you trying to tell us that you would never have been attracted to Buffy, never have fallen in love with her if it wasn’t for Sineya?”

“No, of course not, loved the annoying bint almost from the first moment I saw her,” he admitted gruffly. “Would love her no matter where I met her or in what circumstances.” This statement had all the women in the room sighing and Buffy gifting him with her biggest smile. “But,” he dropped his head, “maybe she wouldn’t have …”

“Spike,” Buffy said quietly, using her finger to lift his chin so that he could see her face, the love and openness shining out of her eyes, “Spike, nobody and nothing ‘made’ me fall in love with you. I mean, I resisted it hard enough, for long enough. And if some deity had orchestrated our being together, I’m pretty sure they would’ve made sure the path to true love was a damn sight smoother than ours was. I would have been all ‘I hate him, poof, OMG, he’s the one for me!”

“Ha, ha, kind of like Willow’s spell,” Xander offered.

“Yeah, pretty much. And anyway, there’s no way Sineya would have made me fall for you, she hates you remember, you ‘demon defiler’ you.”

“Oh yeah, that’s true innit? In fact probably had to fight fate to win your hand pet.” Spike seemed quite chuffed at the thought, and somewhat mollified.

“But as for Buffy’s pregnancy Spike,” Cat addressed the vampire, “Of course Sagaria had a hand in that, and the amulet. Your pregnancy would never have happened normally, it’s mystically generated. So unless you’re unhappy about the miraculous prospect of your becoming a father, then I would say Tara’s right, ya need to stop whining.”

“Okay, it’s obviously pick on the vampire day. But fair call girls, I’m right chuffed about how things turned out for me and the Slayer, just worried about what’s in store for our little one. Don’t want him to be a pawn in all this. Or the other littlies. Doesn’t seem right.”

“No problem William,” Tara replied cheekily, “Worry is a natural response when you’re a parent. But so is pride, and something tells me we’re going to have an awful lot to be proud of in the near future.”

“So Tara, these five children are the Scions, the first of the new order?” Giles confirmed.

“Well they are Scions, but not the whole group, there are others, some still to come. And they’re not the first. Two already exist.”

There was stunned silence at this proclamation. Tara had thrown so many shocking announcements at them this evening, and this one no less than the others.

“But I thought I was the progenitor?” Buffy said quietly. “Doesn’t that mean originator or ancestor? How can that be if two already exist? I mean I think I’d remember if I had a child already.”

“You haven’t given birth previously Buffy, but you are the reason that the first child was created. Because you could protect her and love her, she was made of you and given to you.”

“Dawn,” Buffy gasped reaching out to grasp her sister’s hand. “Dawnie’s a scion?”

“Yes, the very first. Her arrival opened up the way for the conception of her siblings. Part of the energy matrix she was constructed from was used by the Guardians to release the particular magic that was needed to conceive the rest of the Scions. Most of the energy found its way across town to the temple where Mary was guarding the Scythe, and entwined itself around Sagaria.”

“And thus the remaining conceptions,” Giles mused. “But doesn’t that make Dawn the progenitor?”

“No, because if it wasn’t for Buffy, the monks would have made the Key into something completely different. In fact, the Guardians had a role to play in Dawn’s conception too. But, don’t ever forget Dawn,” Tara turned to face the shell-shocked girl, “That you are not just the Key. You are Dawn; you were created human, fashioned from your sister’s DNA, given life. The Key abilities are one of your gifts as a Scion and from what I’ve seen, you’re doing a great job of using them wisely. See, just like I said: strength, cunning, beauty, wisdom, talent and charisma!”

“But hold on there, you just said Dawn had Buffy’s DNA in her,” Xander said, “So doesn’t that make Buffy her Mom. And how come they don’t look identical?”

“Well, she’s not a clone of Buffy. She does have other DNA material in her genetic make up. And don’t bother asking me who. I’m sure, given time and a little bit of effort you might be able to work out who exactly. Give or take.”

“Is it someone I know?” Dawn asked tentatively, her eyes shiny with unspent tears.

“Come and see me later,” Tara said, softening her hard ass attitude for the confused girl. “On your own. We’ll talk.”

“Wow baby, you sure are bombshell girl huh?” Willow said. “This stuff is big. It’s pretty mind-boggly. We all need time to process I think.”

“That sounds like a great suggestion Willow, but before we all turn in, Tara can I ask one more question?” Giles asked. At Tara’s nod he continued. “You mentioned earlier that two Scions already exist. If Dawn is one, who then is the other?”

“Well, like I said, most of the energy released at the moment of Dawn’s creation found its way to Sagaria, but a small part of that Scion energy made its way to L.A.”

“Oh fucking hell, please don’t tell me the mojo ended up in the bloody Poof’s balls?”

Tara just shrugged and gave Spike a twisted little grin.

“Fuck, Peaches has some kid out there? How the hell can that be?”

“Funny you asking that question Spike,” Xander said. “But also, I concur. Fuck!”

“Oh my,” Willow said, “Connor!”

“Who’s Connor?” Buffy, Giles, Spike and Dawn asked simultaneously.

“Oh Goddess, how do I know this and nobody else?” she muttered, biting her lip. “Anyone? No one? Oh great! All right, so Connor is Angel’s son. As in human son! He’s about nineteen, a good looking boy, although pretty moody and surly the only time I met him.”

“And you didn’t think to tell us?” Giles almost shouted.

“Well excuse me, we were in the middle of an apocalypse the only time I met him back in March. Ah remember the First anyone?” Willow said. “Anyway, by the time I arrived back with Faith, everything was falling apart, what with poor Shannon, all Caleb stabbed and message bound? So there just wasn’t time, and then I guess I forgot. Which is weird, cos when I say forgot, I mean really forgot. Like he was wiped from my brain up until a few minutes ago. Strange!”

“Okay, so this kid’s human, nineteenish,” said Spike, “He’d have to be way older than Niblet then right? How does that work? Dawn only came to us three years ago, so the kid’s far to old to be a Scion.”

“I guess you’d have to contact Angel,” Tara said. There was something about a different dimension in there somewhere, but I’m not really up on the Angelverse. You’ve got his number don’t you?”

“Yeah, we do,” Giles said, “Or at least the number of the evil Law firm that he runs now. Hmm perhaps it would be better to get Faith to question him. They always seemed to get on reasonably well. I’ll give her a ring in the morning.”

“And on that note guys,” said Willow, “I think we’ll turn in.” She blushed at the speculative looks they got as the three of them stood, but then shrugged and grinned, finger waving as they headed towards the door.

Everyone else made a move at that stage as well. It was late and most of them had school the following morning, teachers and students alike. There was a little chatter as they left, although Dawn, last one out as she pushed in the chairs and cleared the table, was quiet.

Finally the room was empty and still. Dawn stood by the door, filled with turmoil and confusion. All of a sudden she didn’t know who she was. Again! But there was someone else like her, someone in L.A. That knowledge made her feel weird, but maybe a little better. Faith would find the answers, then she wouldn’t feel so lost. She sighed, flicked off the light switch, closed the door and headed to bed. Tomorrow was a new day. Time enough to sort out her existential crisis then.

‘But when the self speaks to the self, who is speaking? – the entombed soul, the spirit driven in, in, in to the central catacomb; the self that took the veil and left the world – a coward perhaps, yet somehow beautiful, as it flits with its lantern restlessly up and down the dark corridors.’
Virginia Woolf

Faith stepped through the main doors of Wolfram and Hart. The ground floor lobby was uncharacteristically quiet as she made her way across the marble floor towards the elevators. There was no one at reception, which was weird as it was generally manned 24/7. Even Carl the doorman was nowhere to be seen. But despite that, or maybe because of it, the lifts were all in use, all heading up to or paused on the eighth floor.

She hadn’t had an exhaustive tour of the building, but she’d seen enough of it to be able to find her way around fairly comfortably. And from what she remembered, the eighth floor was the level below Angel’s offices and contained the H.R. department, a bank of offices and the café. The elevator opened onto a large lobby, a replica of the entrance level. She wondered what was going on there tonight. One of the lifts dinged and opened in front of her. She reached out and pushed the ‘8’ button, figuring she may as well check out the action for herself. She could always say she’d got off on the wrong stop by accident and use the stairs up to Angel’s floor if anyone asked questions.

She hadn’t checked up on (or ‘caught up with’) Angel in over a month. They usually met up once every two or three weeks, and she’d launch into the same old formulaic conversation; “How are you, how’s Evil Incorporated doing, what’s the latest Big Bad up to, how about that Cyvus Vail huh?” He’d nod and smile, take a sip of his blood and chip in with an ever so illuminating, “Good, good, nothing much, no comment.” It was utterly frustrating and a waste of her time and his.

Sometimes she wished they could just put all the work bullshit aside, meet up at some little bar, have dinner and drinks, flirt a little, laugh a lot and just chat and hang out like two old friends. Yeah, like that was ever gonna happen. For a start she and Angel hadn’t ever really been friends. Sure, there’d always been a bit of sizzle between them but she could never read him, never really trust him. And that was true now, more than ever.

Who knew what his prime directive was as boss of this big, fucking evil conglomerate. She wondered if he even knew himself. If he did, he wasn’t saying. And Faith was getting mighty sick of his terse little smiles and silent treatment.

But now she was on a little mission. Giles had rung the previous week asking about a son that he reckoned Angel had. It was news to her, although something about the name ‘Connor’ seemed to stir something in her gut. Faith had no idea what though. As far as she was aware, Angel didn’t have a son, unless you counted any kids he’d sired during his spells as Angelus. Briefly she wondered if his souled up version had ever turned anyone. It seemed pretty far-fetched given how goody two shoes, holier than thou he was most of the time, but there was no saying what he might do if he slipped.

Faith’s thoughts were interrupted by the ding of the lift announcing she’d reached the eighth floor and she stepped forward as the doors began to open.

Immediately, she was assaulted by a cacophony of sound and colour, loud voices and laughter ringing out over the top of what sounded like disco music. She took a few steps forward and peered out through the lift doors, settling her hand against the side to prevent the door from closing. A mass of bodies filled the lobby, human and demon. They seemed to be decked out in either evening wear or a range of costumes. Most were simply standing round the edges talking and drinking, some were over by a table in the corner eating and a few brave souls were even in the middle of the room dancing, including Carl the doorman and that vapid looking blonde chick that called herself Angel’s receptionist, all dolled up in a sparkly pink number.

Cautiously, Faith took another few steps forward and dropped her arms by her sides. Light reflecting off a huge disco ball hanging from the ceiling hit her in the eyes, blinding her momentarily. She blinked, sure that when she focused again the apocalyptic vision would have disappeared. Sadly, no such luck. It looked like, fuck she couldn’t believe it, but it looked like Angel was throwing a party and he’d invited the finest evil L.A. could offer.

Mind you, the big guy himself was nowhere in sight. Funnily enough she couldn’t spot any of his crew either, Wes or that chick Fred or the hot black dude. Even the big green guy, Lorne, was nowhere to be seen and he looked like a regular party animal. As she searched the room for a familiar face, she heard a whoosh and felt a swish of air behind her. She sighed as she realised the lift door had closed, trapping her in the party from hell. Oh well, Faith was nothing if not a rager. She’d just slip in undercover and mix and mingle, see if she could find out what was going on.

The room was certainly done up festively. Strings of red party lights were wreathed around the pillars and draped over the balcony railings. Scattered around the room were several of those cheap paper lantern lightshades in either yellow or orange. Everyone seemed to be chatting happily, a bunch of suits standing together on one said of the room and a group of demons on the other, including a trio of bald, grey skinned guys in serious need of some moisturiser and another small group with pointed ears and goat horns. One of the demons in this group, a small, pale, skinny dude was dressed only in a pair of speedos and a slave collar. Poor little bastard looked pathetic.

Faith shook her head in disbelief as she suddenly recalled what the date was and put two and two together. Shit, Wolfram & Hart were having a damned mixed species Halloween party. Talk about freaky. Buffy had always maintained that Halloween was a quiet time slaywise. Maybe this was why; the demons were all busy shaking their booties!

As she edged her way around he room, slowly heading towards the staircase that overlooked the lobby, Faith could see there was some sort of serious discussion taking place amongst the dudes with the goat horns. The demon with the longest horns, no doubt the head honcho, seemed to be ordering two of his minions around, then all three of them headed towards the stairs, dragging the little runt behind them.

Faith figured she may as well just tail them inconspicuously, which was easier said than done considering she had to avoid a drunken conga line. By the time she made it to the foot of the stairs, she could see the Billy Goats Gruff disappearing through the double doors and turning right, heading interestingly enough, in the direction of Angel’s office.

She dashed up the stairs and made for the door, pausing just long enough to snag herself a beer off a passing waiter’s tray and take a decent swallow. She figured if everyone else was getting down, she may as well get her party on too. Beer in hand, Faith opened the door quietly and headed down the corridor, past the unattended reception desk, towards Angel’s office.

The door was open, and the demons were standing just beyond the threshold. The Big Billy Goat was talking, making all sorts of threats and waving around the weapon he was brandishing. Quietly, she slipped into the room.

“Hey there everyone,” she started, “Is this where all the action…?” The remainder of Faith’s question stuck in her throat as she finally caught sight of Angel. He stood behind his office couch butt naked, a cushion clutched in front of his fun bits. And by the looks of things he’d been having fun all right, the chick standing next to him was dressed in Angel’s suit jacket and likely stuff all else.

“What is this vampire?” Goat boy interrupted Faith’s musings, “You dare to invite a Slayer to your pathetic little gathering? I had imagined that you had murdered Artode yourself, but perhaps your little Slayer friend did it for you.”

“I didn't murder anyone,” Faith and Angel both said at the same time.

“Well someone certainly did, and I am prepared to hold you personally responsible Angel. Dress yourself, you have a public execution to attend,” the demon stated.

“You’re making a big mistake Sebassis,” Angel said as he pulled his pants on.

“Damn, Angel,” Faith said, having finally been jolted out of her stunned shock. “What the hell is going on? Have you always been into exhibitionism or is this just a new habit you’ve developed since joining Team Evil? Not that I’m a prude or anything, far from it. And while we’re at it who the hell is this skank?”

“Faith,” Angel sighed as he slipped his shirt on and made his way around the couch. “Can we not do this at the moment? In case you’ve somehow missed it, the Archduke Sebassis is requesting the pleasure of our company.”

Faith glanced at the ‘Archduke’ who waved his mini crossbow at her and Angel before stepping back to allow the pair of them to precede him out the door. Faith swung her hips and sauntered ahead of Angel who was still buttoning his shirt. Lorne and the half naked skank followed and Sebassis’ gang brought up the rear. As they all reached the corridor, the sound of a woman’s scream carried up from the lobby.

“Move!” Sebassis yelled at them, waving his weapon about once more.

Angel pushed past Faith and quickly led the group back to the stairs and down to the lobby, following the sound of the woman’s horrified moans. They ended up at the buffet table, where a demon lay sprawled across the surface. He was oddly dressed in a long sleeved shirt and argyle sweater vest, with a weird, and horrifyingly realistic looking human mask stretched over his head. He was dead.

“Another victim of yours?” Sebassis stated.

“OK, Sebassis,” Angel said, “I don't know what's going on here, but we are not behind it.”

“Enough lies, vampire,” Sebassis growled threateningly, pointing his weapon at Angel.

“OK, everybody, OK,” Lorne interrupted, “Yes, the party's taking an unfortunate turn momentarily. But let's not … fight”

Sebassis and his henchmen ignored Lorne’s reasoning and cocked their Angel-directed crossbows.

“Wait! Please, wait.” Lorne interjected once again. “I think maybe I'm doing this. It's me. I mean, it's not me. But I haven't been myself lately. Somehow, I'm making people do things and I'm controlling them.”

Sebassis frowned and turned towards Lorne, pointing his loaded weapon at the nervous demon.

“Whoa.” Lorne said quickly, raising his hands above his head. “Lets not be hasty here. Its all just a misunderstanding.”

Sebassis was about to respond, when a loud roar, which came from the balcony that overlooked the lobby, interrupted them. They turned towards the sound in time to spot a suited up version of the incredible hulk jumping from the railing to the floor, straight towards the Archduke. As he sailed through the air they realized that the demon’s red eyes, small forehead horns and facial markings betrayed his Pylean heritage, while the cut and colour of his outfit had them looking back and forth between Lorne and his seeming alter ego. The creature’s menacing growl drew a sudden gasp from the Empath demon.

“Oh my, its … me!”

“Or at least a bigger, angrier version of you Dr Banner,” Faith said, addressing Lorne. “But he definitely doesn’t rock that suit like you do mate. Okay, action time,” she shouted, getting into a fighting stance as Lorne Hulk moved towards Sebassis. One of the Archduke’s men moved to stand protectively in front of his boss, but the creature knocked him aside without so much as a glance.

Sebassis immediately fired his dart into the Hulk’s chest, but the poison seemed to have no effect on him at all. Lorne rushed forward in a desperate attempt to appeal to his doppelgänger, but the behemoth simply knocked him aside, still intent on attacking the Archduke.

Angel pushed Sebassis behind him, telling him to run. Thwarted, the Hulk roared and delivered a backhand swipe to the vampire, sending him flying across the room. Faith grabbed a statue from the base of the stairs and swung it at the creature’s head. The blow connected but was partly deflected by the monster’s arm. Roaring again, he charged into Faith, shoulder charging her and propelling her across the floor until she ended up sprawled next to Lorne.

“Oh Faith,” Lorne stuttered, “I’m sorry I, I mean he, I mean, … sorry about that!”

“Five by five big guy,” Faith said as she leaped back to her feet and charged towards Lorne’s dark half. Angel was there before her, throwing punch after punch at the Hulk, but they seemed to have no more effect than a gnat would. Faith joined in, punching the monster repeatedly in the chest and gut, while Angel set about his head and shoulders. This infuriated the beast, who began returning their punches in equal measure, knocking Faith and Angel about viciously.

The Lorne Hulk had just managed to flatten the Slayer and the souled vamp with a brutal one two combination when, from her vantage point on the floor, Faith noticed two pairs of feet approaching from the elevators. She lifted her head and spotted Wes and Fred, both wearing dopey grins, heading their way. Fred had a gun shaped device in her hand and had it trained on the Angel-bashing hulk. She’d readied herself to pull the trigger when suddenly she spun round, took aim at Lorne and fired.

“Oh. Ohh! Ohh!” Lorne groaned as he collapsed onto the ground.

“Whoa, harsh payback,” Faith said, leaping back to her feet.

“No. I'm OK,” Lorne reassured them, “I’m just gonna rest my eyes a little bit.”

Within seconds he was snoring and at that very instant, the Hulk, who was about to pummel a horizontal Angel, disappeared in a little puff of blue smoke.

Everyone stood there open mouthed. Angel scrambled to his feet, and his little ho bag pulled his jacket more tightly around herself as she bit her bottom lip and actually blushed. In the background, Sebassis and his men were picking themselves up and dusting themselves off.

“What happened here?” Angel asked Wesley.

“It seems that Lorne’s extended sleeplessness impacted hugely on his empathetic abilities,” Wes explained, “Under normal conditions he can read people's destinies. But the lack of sleep resulted in him being able to create them.”

“Sort of like transmitting instead of receiving,” Fred added.

“Hence the drunkenness and peeing,” Angel said.

“And the inappropriate sluttishness,” countered Gunn.

“Yes, quite. As the days passed, the exhaustion allowed the veil between his conscious and subconscious selves to tear,” Wes said, “so that eventually his subconscious, his Id, manifested itself and was able to break out of Lorne’s psyche and into the real world.”

“Where it tried to kill everyone,” Faith ventured.

“Not necessarily,” Wes said, “It may have just been processing the conflicts that Lorne normally deals with in his sleep, and acting out the emotional responses he had to the people around him.”

Sebassis smiled darkly as he strode towards the group, his guards lined up either side of him. “How fascinating,” he purred. “Given how dogged his dark half’s attacks were, I can only assume that Lorne’s contempt for me was rather deep-seated.”

The tension in the room ratcheted up by several notches and Faith clenched her fists, preparing herself for another physical confrontation. Angel’s crew and Sebassis’ men eyed one another warily, both sides waiting for a signal from their leader. Faith guessed the Archduke was waiting for the vampire to start grovelling and apologising. If that was the case, he was about to found out how long a wait he’d have.

“I guess you’re right Sebassis,” Angel sneered. “Lorne obviously really, really can’t stand you. Can’t say I’m surprised.”

Apart from a sharp intake of breath from the humans, the room was quiet enough to hear a pin drop. Suddenly, Sebassis broke into an amused chuckle.

“Well, well,” he said. “So, you do have balls after all vampire. Maybe there’s a bit of Angelus left in you yet. Ah well, no harm done. I think on the whole I quite enjoyed your little celebration. The violence was … invigorating.”

“Oh, okay,” Angel replied, nonplussed. “Glad you could make it. Um, sorry about Artode.”

“Ah,” Sebassis waved his hand. “You’ve undoubtedly done me a favour. He was getting dangerously above himself anyway. Time for fresh blood. Speaking of which, if you come across my little blood bag, I’d appreciate his safe return.”

Faith glanced at the space either side of the Archduke, only just noticing that the little speedo slave was missing. He must have stolen away during the fighting. The slayer couldn’t help but do a little fist pump inside her head.

“Well as fascinating as all of this has been, we must be on our way,” Sebassis said, and immediately he turned on his heel and strode off towards the lifts, his guards trailing behind him.

Angel barked out a few orders and the Wolfram and Hart crew eased back a few steps, waiting until the lift doors slid closed before laughing off the tension and absurdity of the night’s events.

“Well, this has been an, ah … interesting evening,” Wesley said.

“Yeah, you sure know how to throw a party,” Faith added. “I don’t know who was more cringe-worthy, the demons or you guys.”

Wes and Fred blushed and Gunn glanced about the room awkwardly. The skank shrugged nonchalantly, pulled Angel’s jacket more firmly around herself and marched off, presumably to find her clothes. Angel just sighed and looked more put out than ever. ‘Boring!’ Faith thought.

The brooding vampire called Carl over and organised for he and Gunn to carry Lorne up to his apartment. Wes trailed after Fred as she began flitting around the room, picking up glasses and empty bottles. Angel turned on his heel and began to head back to his office. Faith shook herself and took off after him, catching him at the top of the stairs.

He turned to glance at her, but didn’t stop or even slow down.

“It’s been a long night, Faith,” he sighed. “And I’m tired. Whatever it is you wanted to see me about will have to wait for another day.”

“Sure,” she said perkily, “Just one question before I go. Giles and the gang were wondering, who’s Connor?”

Angel stopped so suddenly that Faith almost ploughed into the back of him. He swung around to face her and reached out one hand to grab her arm. His mouth was opening and closing, but nothing was coming out. Faith frowned. If it was possible for a vampire to blanch paler than normal, Angel was the perfect case in point. To say he looked shocked was an understatement. In fact, if Faith didn’t know better, she would have said he looked scared. Jerking, he looked around them, then dragged her into his office, slammed the doors shut and turned the lock.

“What?” he started, “Fuck! What do you know about Connor?”

Faith shrugged. “Just that he’s supposed to be your son. Which seems pretty wack if you ask me.”

Angel just stared at her hard, as if his intense gaze could somehow reveal all she knew, and how she’d found out. Suddenly he spun around and dashed across the room to his desk and picked up the phone. He punched in a series of numbers and stood there, running his fingers through his hair distractedly as he waited for the recipient to pick up. Finally, someone must have answered at the other end.

“Vail,” he growled, “I don’t care what the fucking time is. What have you done?”

He stood glowering while the sorcerer replied. “Well you must have done something you old bastard. I’m getting questions I shouldn’t be getting and I can’t help thinking you’re the only one who could let info like that slip.” There was another shorter pause and Angel weighed in again. “Yeah, not my lot, but some … associates shall we say.” Silence, then, “Well check the damned Window.” And finally, “Alright, yeah. Let me know.”

He slammed the handset down and kicked the desk before turning around to lean against it. Another deep, weary sigh followed. Suddenly Angel’s head popped up and he peered over at the couch. Moving at vamp speed, he flew across the room and reached down. In the blink of an eye he was upright again, his hand around the throat of the skank from earlier, now fully dressed in a little strappy cocktail dress and heels. He had her up against the wall, her feet dangling about six inches above the carpet.

They weren’t dangling for long, she immediately started thrashing about, slapping, clawing, throwing wild punches and delivering kicks with her pointy little shoes. Because of the length of Angel’s arms, her slaps and punches were pretty ineffective, but the kicks were hitting the target accurately if not forcefully, her sharp toes striking the bony ridges of his shins repeatedly.

Eventually he must have had enough, because he swung her around and launched her lightly into the air, so that she landed ass first on the soft carpet with a thud. The expression on her face was one of anger rather than fear and she scrambled to her feet defiantly as Angel started yelling.

“Eve, you little bitch, what the hell are you doing in here? No doubt spying on me for your precious daddies.”

“Oh for God’s sake Angel,” the girl, Eve, spat out, her voice rather hoarse from the damage Angel had inflicted. “Everything isn’t always about you every minute of the day. I just happened to be in here getting dressed.”

“If you breathe a word of what you’ve heard I’ll …”

“Oh you great big drama queen. Like its news to me! Did you really think Vail’s pathetic little memory spell would have any effect on me? After all, the Senior Partners can fill me in on anything they wish to. Connor’s existence and the deal you cut were all part of my original dossier.”

“Ok. But then why am I getting questions about Connor’s existence now? The senior partners and I had a deal,” Angel said.

“Yes, you did. They took your son, your raging psychopathic son I might add, and gave him a new family, changed his memories, changed everyone's memories actually, in order to give him a new life, a normal life.”

“And in return, I came to work here!”

“And we couldn't be happier. The senior partners honor their deals. And believe me, they have no desire to upset such a...profitable partnership,” Eve said.

“So how did we end up with a breach in the protocol?”

“I have no idea,” Eve said, striding towards the doors, “All I know is that the senior partners weren't behind it. You’ll have to work the rest out for yourself.” The girl threw Angel a malicious smile and gave Faith a little finger wave before unlocking and opening the office doors and stepping through them.

Angel rushed over and slammed the doors shut and locked them again, then turned and leaned against them.

“Fuck,” he said, “What a mess!”

“Actually Angel, maybe it’s time to sit down calmly and have a discussion with me,” Faith said. “You know, about what I might know about the situation.”

Angel looked up and stared at Faith in a daze, as if he’d forgotten she was even present. He nodded wearily and waved his hand towards the couch, before moving in that direction himself. Faith looked at the couch, then looked at Angel, then back at the couch before folding her arms and tapping her right foot on the ground.

“What?” said Angel.

“I’m not sitting on that couch if you and Eve did the nasty on it,” she said. “I’m not looking to wear either of your bodily fluids big guy.”

He shrugged as he sat down himself and said, “Suit yourself,” but at least he had the grace to looked slightly embarrassed.

“So where did Giles hear about Connor?”

“I don’t know a lot of detail, but apparently Willow’s little witchy girlfriend Tara’s back from the Great Beyond. She’s some kind of guardian angel now apparently, with all the right contacts upstairs. Sounds like Tara was able to break through Willow’s memory block, cos suddenly she was all with the Connor reminiscence. None of the others have any memories or knowledge of him but Will’s are crystal clear.”

“None of the others had ever actually met Connor. I’m not sure if they were even aware of his existence. I certainly never let it slip,” Angel bemoaned.

“So what’s the big deal anyway? Well apart from the whole how the fuck does a vampire father a child scenario, which I guess Buffy and Spike are contending with as well. I’m guessing your kid’s just a toddler. Giles seems to think he would have been conceived sometime after Dawn was magicked into being. So what’s the deal with Eve calling him raging and psychopathic?”

“No he’s not a toddler. Connor was born almost two years ago.” Angel sighed “In fact it’s his birthday in three weeks time. But when he was only a few months old, he was kidnapped by an old enemy of mine and taken to a demon dimension where he spent the next eighteen years. Time moved faster in Quor’toth than on earth, and when he came back, only six weeks had passed here.”

“Wow, that’s harsh dude. And I take it from Eve’s comments that the family reunion wasn’t exactly a Hallmark moment.”

“He’d been brought up to hunt vampires, to hate them, me in particular. All he wanted to do was kill me from the moment he got back. And considering the added abilities he has, being the son of two vampires, he made some pretty good attempts.” Angel heaved another deep sigh. “And that was before things got really bad.”

“How bad?” Faith asked quietly, the vampire’s obvious pain softening even her usual hard ass attitude.

“There were a few dramas,” he chuckled wryly. “He tried to get rid of me by sealing me up in a metal box and sinking me to the bottom of the ocean, he slept with Cordy and got her pregnant, he sided with a bitch Goddess who was trying to take over the world, and then tried to blow himself and a building full of innocent people up. His life was fucked basically, and Eve was right, ‘raging and psychopathic’ pretty much sums up where he was at after all that.”

“Shit, I’m sorry Angel, that really sucks. So what, you cut the deal with Wolfram and Hart?”

“Yeah, because despite everything he did I love my son, more than I’ve loved anything or anyone in my sorry existence. He was an innocent; he didn’t ask to live the life he was forced to live. He’s been used and manipulated by almost everyone he’s ever loved and trusted. I wanted to spare him the mental anguish and damage that had been done to him.”

“So in return for becoming Evil Inc’s little bitch you got … what?”

“A new life for Connor, a normal life. Minus the memories of his real life, minus the violence and trauma and angst.”

“And minus his real Dad!”

“Yeah,” Angel looked at her beseechingly, his eyes glittering with barely suppressed emotions and unshed tears. “Yeah, that’s the real sacrifice. I don’t give a fuck about having to work here, being forced to eke out my existence in the belly of the beast. But to never see his smiling face again, to never hear him call me ‘Dad’, that was a price almost too much to bear. Still, I paid it gladly in return for his safety, his happiness.”

“So I guess when you replaced his memories, you also wiped Connor off the radar of anyone that knew him?”

“Yeah. The Senior Partners got Vail to do the mojo. He’s got everyone’s real memories tucked away neatly in that little glowing cube of his, you know, the Orlon Window?”

“Fuck dude, no wonder you were whiter than a ghost when Buffy was waving it around in her hand like Pandora’s Box. It’s all starting to make sense now. So me asking about Connor must have freaked you out big time.”

“Yeah, I thought the spell had failed, that you’d remembered him.”

“So I have met Junior before. I wondered if I had.” Faith paused, frowning. “Don’t know if I like the thought that you’ve messed around with my mind. I can see why you did it, doesn’t make it right though.”

“Shit, I know, I know. Don’t you think I’ve regretted it too? In a way I’ve lost everyone, not just Connor. There are so many shared memories, good and bad that have just disappeared. And all the time, I have to watch what I say in case I slip up. I’ve made a nice little hell for myself.”

“Well you know what they say, you reap what you sow.” Faith stared hard at the couch cushions then shrugged and sat down gingerly before turning to Angel with a glint in her eye. “So what did Connor think of me?”

Angel rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Well I was short a soul at the time, but according to the others, yeah, he thought you were hot.”

“Ye-ah, strike! Still got it.” Faith settled back down as she steered the conversation back to Giles’ revelation. “Look Angel, maybe Connor’s living Richie Cunningham’s life right now, but we’ve got another problem. I don’t know the details, but turns out your son’s part of some big prophecy.”

“Whoopee! As far as Connor and prophecies go, been there, done that, got the t-shirt to prove we’re all still alive. For what it’s worth.”

“Well, I’m obviously missing your references there big guy but I’m guessing the boy wonder’s been the subject of prophecies before,” Faith said.

“Past and present Faith, meaning current,” Angel said, more than a little aggression coming through in his voice.

“Ok, down boy,” Faith said, holding her hands up. “Don’t bite the mail girl okay? If you wanna get the ten four, just give Giles a call, but from what I understand the kid’s gonna play a starring role in a new group of super babes. Or babies. Something like that.”

Angel sighed! Again! There had a truckload of sighing for a guy that didn’t even need to breathe.

“Alright, I’ll contact Giles. But if what you’re saying is correct, then he’s probably going to need to have his abilities intact and remember how to use them. Which means he’s going to have to have his old memories restored. Which means all of this has been for nothing!”

“Yeah, you’re probably right. Maybe you could negotiate some sort of delayed time frame with Giles. Give Connor a few more months and you a bit more breathing space. So to speak.”

“That might work with Giles, but I’ve got another problem on my hands. One of the other prophecies Connor stars in says that only he can kill the time-shifting demon Sahjhan, who’s currently residing in that urn that I caught at Vail’s during the fight for the amulet. Sahjhan is a long-standing enemy of Vail’s and has tried to kill him many times, so the old sorcerer’s solution to getting rid of the demon is to sic Connor on him. But of course, he thinks Connor would only succeed with his memories intact.”

“So Vail wants to break the reality shift?” Faith asked.

“Yeah, and he’s getting very impatient. He’s already sent his Kith’harn demons to harass Connor and his family. The bastard didn’t even warn me that he was going to do it. So imagine my shock when the Reilly’s, including my boy, turned up in my office looking for help.”

“Shit, no wonder you’re so highly strung lately. So you’ve actually seen him, talked to him?”

“Yeah, initially with his parents present. But since then on his own, at least once a week for the last two months, under the pretence that I’m training him to fight Sahjhan. Well actually its not pretence, the boy might be strong, but he’s forgotten every move he’s ever learnt. He’s pretty hopeless; clumsy, timid, falls over his own feet. Now and again I’ve seen a flash of brilliance, a show of strength, but not enough to survive against Sahjhan I’m afraid. I’m going to have to have his memories returned, and ruin his life all over again.”

“But in the meantime Vail’s just happy to wait?” Faith asked.

“Not at all. I’ve been living week to week, heading round to see Vail every Friday, begging and scraping just to worm another’s seven day’s grace out of him. I think I’ve reached the end of the line.”

“Ok, so if we’re gonna do this, we’ve gotta do it soon,” the Slayer said.

“What do you mean we?” Angel was confused.

“I’ll go with you and Connor for back up. Less chance of the old bastard double crossing you if he’s got three superbeings in his face.”

“Are you sure? This isn’t really your fight.”

“Maybe not,” Faith admitted, “But you’ll probably get less grief from me than from any of your team when and if the spell goes all Total Recall on them.”

Angel winced and shook his head. “It isn’t going to be pretty. I’ll be lucky if I end up with any friends at all after this goes down. And as for Connor, once the veil of lies is torn away, the best that I can hope for is that he hates my guts and never wants to see me again. What really worries me is how stable he’ll be when his memories return.”

“Well it’s a risk we’ll have to take!” Faith said firmly.

“God, you don’t know how good it feels to hear you saying ‘we’. It’s been ‘me’ on my own since this whole bloody mess began. Just to have someone to talk to, someone to share with means more than you could ever know. Thanks Faith, really, I mean it most sincerely,”

“Alright big guy, its five by five. Don’t get all maudlin and broody on me now. We’ve got work to do. We’ve got a demon to kill and a wrinkly old sorcerer to get off your back.”

“Right then. I’ll get hold of Giles and find out what he knows about this new prophecy and I’ll get Wes to find out as much as possible about Sahjhan so that Connor has a fair shot at defeating him. In the meantime, we both need to get some rest. Meet me back here tomorrow Faith, and we’ll work out how to kick the old bastard’s ass.”

“Ha, that’s the vampire I know and love. Okay, I’ll see you back here tomorrow morning.” Faith stood up and made her way to the door. “And just a suggestion, but I’d feel much more comfortable walking back into this room knowing that the carpets and furniture have been freshly cleaned. You have janitorial staff Angel; give them a call. Like now.”

With that she waltzed out, leaving Angel shaking his head as he reached for the phone. He’d been given his marching orders; so he guessed he’d better get to it. Tomorrow would be here before he knew it.

'Tis no sin love's fruit to steal;
But the sweet theft to reveal,
To be taken, to be seen,
These have crimes accounted been.’
Ben Jonson


It was a full week before they were ready to take Sahjhan on. Faith and Angel had met the following day and between them they’d worked out a daily training schedule for Connor that consisted of practising various fighting techniques and learning as much as possible about the Timeshifter.

Unlike the rest of the Granok demons, Sahjhan was corporeal, which was a good thing because he could be attacked, injured and killed, but also a bad thing because like all Granoks he possessed super powered strength and durability. In fact he’d kicked Angel’s ass before in a one on one fight, so they weren’t taking his fighting skills lightly.

On top of that he was a skilled practitioner of the dark arts, able to open dimensional portals to wherever and leap around through time and space. Faith really hoped that Sahjhan wouldn’t have time to get up to any of his magical tricks because Connor didn’t have any sort of counter to them, although Angel had gotten Wes to place some sort of ward over the kid so that at least he couldn’t be zapped out of the ring, sent off to Quor’toth again or some other shitty dimension. And finally, the demon liked to talk, quite incessantly, witty one-liners, useless trivia, that sort of thing. According to Angel it could be quite distracting.

Meeting Connor for the first time, well in her current memory anyway, was interesting. He was different than she’d expected, more friendly and naive and open than she would have thought any half demon son of Angel’s could be, somewhat like an eager puppy dog. She assumed that was the effect of the reality shift; there was nothing even remotely negative or bad-assed about this reset version of the boy, he was the polar opposite of raging and psychopathic.

In fact, if Faith hadn’t known any better, she would have assumed that he was just a very polite, rather cute, totally innocent and normal teenage boy. Despite the shyness, he was certainly all boy, giving her lots of wide eyed glances and shy leers when he thought no one was watching. Still, he was unworldly enough to blush and stammer and shuffle around whenever anyone noticed his attraction. Faith thought it was pretty cute and kind of endearing and it made her even more determined that the boy should come through his encounter with the Granok demon with all of his bits accounted for.

So, while she and Angel had worked with him on the physical side of things, both arm to arm and weapons training, the boss had brought Wes into the mix to help with the background info and magical side. Now that everything had come to a head, Angel had dropped a lot of the covert stuff. Okay, so he wasn’t exactly being Mr. Open and Honest, and was still employing the odd cover story here and there, but now that the Amazon crew were in the know and given that everyone could end up having their memories returned to them soon anyway, there wasn’t too much point in being all discrete and undercover. He obviously had no intention letting on that Connor was his son, but the rest of the stuff, about Vail and Sahjhan; he was being pretty up front about.

Still, getting Wes to handle the research was a risk. Angel had muttered something about some sort of scroll and the chance that Wes might put two and two together and come up with the fact that Connor, the son of a vampire with a soul, was actually Angel’s son. He was already pretty wary of his boss’ motives these days, particularly in regard to Vail. But on the other hand, the ex-Watcher was the most qualified and astute person to use when research and prophecies and protection wards were called for. It just meant that the vampire had to walk a tightrope in terms of sharing and withholding info.

This hadn’t made him the best of company. He was even more tense, paranoid and grouchy than usual and seemed very anxious about Connor getting hurt, and about his own chances of being outted. So, as much as Angel would have liked to have done so himself, he’d ended up leaving most of the training sessions to Faith. After Sunnydale, Faith had some experience working with untrained, super powered teenagers, although Spike and Buffy were both more qualified than she was. Still, how difficult could it be?

Pretty difficult as it turned out! During the first session, Faith quickly realized that Connor had all of the strength but none of the grace or skill of an experienced warrior. In fact he’d been down right clumsy and awkward. It was if the reset had not only wiped out any recollection of past physical confrontations, but also his body memories, how to move, how to respond. His coordination had seemed no better than a five year old.

But he’d been a quick learner. She’d taken him through a range of basic drills, getting him to repeat them over and over again, hoping to replace his stolen memories with a new set of instinctive responses. He’d been able to memorise the moves and quickly add speed and strength to their execution. Before long he’d learnt enough individual moves that they’d begun to put them together to create simple sequences.

Two days ago Faith had brought Lisa and Leslie in with her so that Connor could start to put his moves together, go head to head with each Slayer. At first it had been slow, awkward and rather painful to watch. Connor was over thinking each move and had been a beat behind the girl he was fighting against. He’d been embarrassed and annoyed when he got taken down and apologetic and shy when he won a skirmish, quickly conceding any leeway he may have made. He was fighting with his head, not his body, letting his thoughts and perceptions get in the way of his natural abilities and his learnt moves.

Finally Faith had got pissed off with him and stormed over, cussing him out in front of the girls, calling him a baby and a brat and a pussy, who couldn’t win a fight if his life depended on it. The dressing down had flicked on some sort of light in Connor’s head, finally, and anger had torn through his body, flooding it with adrenaline and leaving a cold, calculating gleam in his eyes. He’d flown at Faith, and she’d had to put every ounce of her preternatural strength, speed and experience into play in order to avoid being stomped into the ground.

He hadn’t beaten her, well not exactly, but only because she’d timed herself out, letting Lisa take over while she backed herself up against the wall and slid down to the ground, panting from exertion and covered in bruises and bumps. She’d had a front row seat as Connor had whirled and kicked and spun and punched and flipped and run rings around the young slayer. Faith wondered if he even registered the substitution as Leslie stepped into the arena from behind him, delivering a cheeky punch to his shoulder as she did so. It was the only time she managed to get her hands on him.

The boy fought like poetry in motion when he stopped thinking and set his body free. It was a beautiful thing to watch. He was at least as strong as a Slayer, although given his newbie status, Faith figured his strength and agility would eventually outstrip hers. And when he really let himself go, he was wicked fast. Still, whether it would be enough to defeat Sahjhan was anyone’s guess.

Faith certainly hoped so, cos either way that they’d find out within the next half hour. Angel pulled his sedan up to the curb, and they all got out. Wes had accompanied them, despite Angel’s reluctance, pointing out they he was the only one who had any shot at countering Sahjhan’s spells and charms if he decided to pull them out of his bag of tricks. Angel couldn’t very well argue with that, but he’d descended into an even deeper pit of sullen broodiness and had done little more than grunt at them on the drive over.

When they got to the entrance, they didn’t wait to be ushered in or announced. Angel opened the main doors and barged his way through and down the corridor to the front room. The Kith’harn demon stationed at the door obviously valued its life, because it quickly scuttled out of the vampire’s way, pressing itself up against the wall as inconspicuously as possible. Connor startled when he saw it, recognising the demon as the same breed that had attacked him and his parents months earlier. The two eyed one another warily as Connor passed, but neither made a move towards the other. Instead the boy hurried after Angel, pausing as he approached the open door to Vail’s receiving room and screwing up his face.

“Wow, this place smells like a retirement home!” the boy said.

Angel ignored him, but Faith and Wes looked at one another and grinned. Given Vail’s age and state of health, Connor had unknowingly hit the nail on the head.

Seconds later they’d crossed the threshold and Connor got his first look at the old sorcerer. The kid would make a useless poker player that’s for sure.

“Oh, lord!” Connor said in a loud aside as he pulled an ‘eek’ face. “Take a look at him will you?”

“Welcome, Angel,” Vail rasped. “I've been waiting for you. And this charming creature must be Connor. What a pleasure to make your acquaintance young man.” He grimaced and adjusted one of his med lines. “I see you’ve brought along two of your minions,” he added, nodding in the direction of Faith and Wes. “The worrisome ex-Watcher and one of your little Slayer whores if I’m not mistaken.

Angel growled and clenched his fists. “Shut up you old bastard, enough with your insults and fake pleasantries. We won't be staying long. Let’s get on with it shall we?”

“Yeah,” Connor strode forward confidently, fearlessly facing the old demon down, “Let me tell you how this is gonna work. I’ll fight this Sahjhan thing and kill it, and then we’ll walk. You come near my family again, and I'll slit your throat.” He paused and flicked his finger across his throat. “And if that doesn't kill ya, I'll chop your whole head off. And if that doesn't work, I'll, I'll just keep... stabbing you till you bleed to death. Understand?”

Vail shuddered and touched his hand to his own throat, before nodding thoughtfully. “I do.”

Angel in the meantime was looking at Connor in shock and admiration. “Right Vail, seems like my, ah Connor is ready for action. So where is Sahjhan?”

“Right through there,” Vail rasped out as he pointed to his left.

Everyone wandered over to inspect the adjoining room. A broad arched entranceway, framed by a pair of thick pillars, took up one whole wall of the octagonal room. It seemed rather formal, tiled in red and white like the receiving room with panelling and paper on the walls. A large chandelier hung from the centre of the ceiling, and several illuminated niches were set into the walls, the soft light displaying the large, ornate vases in each alcove.

A solid wooden table sat in the middle of the room. There was no sign of Sahjhan, but Faith recognised the urn that dominated the table. It was surrounded by a small selection of weapons, a couple of axes, two daggers, one straight and the other curved like a jambiya, and finally a wicked looking flanged mace. She and Wes circled the small room, checking it out for any hidden traps or doorways, while Angel was giving Connor some last minute advice.

“Listen Connor, he's gonna talk to you,” Angel said earnestly, his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Don't let him distract you. Don’t take your eyes off him. And whatever you do, don’t …”

“Dude, you're starting to freak me out,” Connor interrupted him nervously. “I’ll be fine. Really!”

“Yeah big guy,” Faith chipped in, “Leave him be. The kid’s got this covered. Come on, time to let him get the show on the road.” She snagged Angel’s forearm and began pulling him back towards the receiving room. Angel shrugged her off and lifted his hand, signaling he wanted a moment more. Faith took the hint and followed Wes out of the arena and over to where Vail stood watching impatiently.

“Sorry,” Angel said quietly to Connor, “I know you’ll do great. Go get him.” He reached forward as if to hug the boy, but paused at the look of discomfort on Connor’s face and just sort of patted his shoulders. Grimacing a little in embarrassment, Angel croaked out “Sorry,” shook his head, cleared his throat and stepped back. “Go kick his ass,” he said firmly, before turning away and striding over to join his team just beyond the entranceway.

Connor walked around the table studying the weapons. Suddenly he glanced up, a startled expression on his face as he seemed to look directly at Angel.

“He can't see or hear us anymore,” Vail said.

“What? Why not?” Angel said angrily.

“Just a little precautionary measure. I can't risk Sahjhan getting loose. He has a nasty habit of trying to kill me. I’ve erected a simple barrier, impermeable of course, but much like a one way mirror, viewable from our side only.” Vail smiled nastily, “But don't worry. Your boy is very brave. I'm sure he'll do you proud. In fact I’m counting on it.”

Angel clenched his fists. He could still see his son, and hear his soft footsteps, but to not be able to leap to his rescue if something went wrong was terrifying. If anything happened to him, he’d tear the old bastard’s head from his scrawny shoulders.

In the other room Connor stood next to the table, facing the urn. “OK, so ‘Open sesame’. Or whatever,” he said as he reached out and gently prized the lid off the urn.

At once, a silvery smoke emanated from the vessel, drifting across the table and drawing together nearby, gradually taking shape and solidifying into Sahjhan. The Granok demon looked around, quickly spotting Connor and noticing the lid of the urn, still in his hand.

“Thank you, mortal, for releasing me from my cursed prison.” Sahjhan bowed low. “In gratitude, I grant you 3 wishes.”

Connor’s eyes widened. “Really?” he said excitedly.

Sahjahn chuckled and shook his head. r32;”Nah. I'm just messing with you.”

“Oh.”

“I do appreciate it, though.” The demon said, stretching his neck. r32;”Ahh... that urn wasn't exactly a day at the spa. I owe you one.”

“Right. Well, before you start trying to kiss me, I should probably tell ya... you and I, we're, uh...supposed to fight,” Connor admitted.

“Is that right?” Sahjhan asked, then continued after Connor’s nod of confirmation. “Now, why would you want …?”r32; He stopped and peered thoughtfully at Connor. “Ah, you're him!”

“Yeah. I'm me. Hi.” Connor finger waved, “You can take a moment, if you want.” r32;He pointed to the table. “There's some weapons and stuff over here if you think you'll need them.”

“Thanks. So, long time no see. How did Quor’toth work out for you anyway?”

Connor frowned and shrugged, “Great thanks,”

“Well then, I guess we’d better get down to business,” Sahjhan said as he pulled back his fist and punched Connor directly in the face.

The boy went flying across the room. In the outer room, Angel threw himself against the invisible barrier in concern, while Faith and Wes stepped up either side of him. From that angle they had a good view of the look of shock and confusion on Connor’s face.

Slowly, Connor pulled himself up and faced Sahjhan again. The demon smirked as he threw another couple of swings at the boy, both of which missed as Connor managed to duck out of the way. The kid took advantage of Sahjhan’s frustration and let rip with a shot of his own, hitting him in the face. But for his efforts, he took a big hit to the kidneys, followed by another to the face that had him flying again. As Sahjhan approached the downed boy, Angel snapped and grabbed Vail by the front of his tunic.

“Open the door,” he growled, “Now!”

Vail wheezed and clicked his fingers. But instead of the barrier dissipating, the old sorcerer held that little glowing cube of his, the Orlon Window, in the palm of his hand. The threat was implicit and Angel backed up quickly.

“Maybe the boy just needs a little helping hand,” Vail wheezed. “The return of certain memories and skills might be very helpful to him right now. What do you think, Daddy?”

Angel cringed as out of the corner of his eye he saw the look of confusion and suspicion colour Wes’ expression. He sighed and turned back to the barrier. Faith moved towards him and put a hand on his arm.

“It’s five by five big guy,” she said, “Don’t give up yet. Connor can still do this on his own. There's no point bringing back the past if we don't have to.”

Angel nodded and they both turned to watch the action in the next room just in time to witness Sahjhan kick Connor in the ribs, which sent him sliding across the floor. Sahjhan strode after him, a menacing look on his face. He grabbed Connor by the lapels and lifted him into the air before slamming him down on the table. The kid groaned, a look of shock and pain on his face. But as they watched, they saw that look change to one of anger and determination. It was a look Faith had seen before. Things might get interesting now.

Sahjhan had his hands around the boy’s neck when suddenly Connor reached up and grabbed the Granok demon’s throat, squeezing and pushing on it until Sahjhan finally released him. Confidently, Connor drew his legs back and thrust his feet solidly into Sahjhan’s chest, knocking him across the room. Quickly he rolled off the table and turned so that he was facing his foe. Muscles taut, fists clenched, eyes narrowed, his entire body screamed Connor’s sudden willingness to take this battle on. And win it.

Angel looked to his left, checking to see whether Vail still had the Orlon Window, certain that he must have returned Connor’s past reality to him, so abrupt was his son’s obvious change of attitude and stance. But both Vail and Wes stood as they had the last time he’d cared to look, both utterly focused on the astonishing spectacle taking place before them. The cube was still clenched in Vail’s hand, the golden light pulsing softly between his wrinkled fingers.

Shaking his head in confusion, Angel turned back to the fight, just in time to see Connor land a huge left right combination on Sahjhan. The demon teetered but quickly regained his footing. Not quickly enough though. Connor delivered a solid spinning side kick to Sahjhan’s chest, continued his spin to pick up an axe off the table and swung the weapon at the befuddled Timeshifter’s head, slicing it clean off.

Panting, Connor stood over Sahjhan’s body. With a slight whooshing noise, the barrier between the two rooms disappeared and the sound of cheering and whistling reached the stunned boy’s ears. He looked up to see Faith barrelling towards him and Angel and Wes following close behind. Everyone had big smiles on their faces, and the boss man seemed to have surprisingly shiny eyes. Connor was swept up in their hugs and backslaps and words of congratulations.

“Whoa!” Connor said excitedly, “Did you see that? I went a little hard-core there for a second. That guy made me really cranky.”

“You were amazing. Are you all right?” Angel asked, trying, but failing to keep the pride out of his voice.

“Yeah. I guess. I don't really like people touching my neck, you know?” Connor replied, rubbing his throat.

“Awesome job Junior,” Faith joined in. “You really kicked his ass. Just like I knew you would.”

“Yes, Master Connor,” Vail said from the doorway. “It appears you were able to vanquish my foe for me seemingly without any prior knowledge or experience. A most impressive feat indeed. I am indebted to you.” He paused and inclined his head in Connor’s direction. “Perhaps a reward would be in order. Here, catch!”

With a malevolent look in his eye, Vail tossed the Orlon cube across the room in Connor’s direction. It sailed through the air, heading towards the boy’s right side, and the hand that still held the axe. Tired and laxed out after his victory, Connor was unprepared for the airborne missile. He tried to turn and get his left hand up, but Faith was standing next to him and they got tangled. The cube was falling, short of Angel’s desperately outstretched hand, heading for the ground where it would undoubtedly smash open, releasing its destructive secrets.

At the last moment Wes, who was standing a little apart from the other three, dove forward, his cupped hand sliding between the cube and the tiled floor with only inches to spare. The occupants of the room stood, stunned and silent, waiting with baited breath to discover the outcome.

Wes lay totally outstretched on his stomach. Triumphantly he raised the fully intact cube in his right hand, scrambling to his feet to show off his prize. He was grinning wildly, a look of satisfaction lighting up his face.

“Wow,” Faith said, “Great catch Wes!”

“Yes, thank you Faith,” he replied, “The consequence of many, many years spent fielding out on a cricket pitch. De rigueur you know, for public school English lads such as myself.” He paused, looking thoughtfully at the glowing cube. “You know, there has been an awful lot of fuss made about this little trinket. You seem quite concerned about its contents Angel.” He lifted his head and stared warily at his boss.

“No, its of no consequence to me Wes.” Angel denied. “I don’t know what you’re going on about.”

“Hmm, I’m not sure that I accept your reassurance. See, after our last run in with Vail and your temporary guardianship of this pretty box, I decided to do some research. The results were fascinating.”

“What, what do you mean?” Angel asked, clearly uncomfortable with Wes’ conversation.

“I discovered that an Orlon Window, for that is what this little cube is, is a device that stores the original events or memories of a reality that has in some way been altered. And it got me wondering, why would you be so concerned about the state of this one little cube? What could it contain that would get you so on edge?”

“I … I … it’s just some harmless little bauble. It’s nothing to us Wes, to who we are.” Angel pleaded. “Please, just give to me and I’ll get rid of it, destroy it.”

“It means something to you alright, doesn’t it Angel? I thought as much. I already knew about the deal between Vail and Wolfram and Hart, that they paid him to oversee a large-scale reality shift. That the deal went down on the very day you lead us through their front doors. I thought maybe they’d done something, changed our memories so that they could manipulate us into joining them.”

Wes began walking up and down as he shared his thoughts, rolling the cube between the fingers of his right hand. “But no, I realised that if that were the case, then you would have no knowledge of the spell. But you knew the minute that Vail mentioned what this little gadget was back in June, you blanched whiter than normal when he explained its purpose. No, the spell is yours, the price of your contract with the devil perhaps.” He turned to face Angel again. “What did you do Angel? What have you done to us?”

“It wasn’t like that Wes,” Angel begged. “I did it to protect someone I love, to protect all of us. I would never deliberately hurt you or the others, trust me.”

“But that’s the trouble Angel, I don’t think I can trust you, not when my life is a lie, a lie that you wrote.”

“Wes, what...what are you doing?” Angel’s voice was full of despair.

The ex Watcher held the cube up as if to throw it on the ground. In the background Vail was softly cackling, his face lit up with anticipation. Wes hesitated, mesmerized by the look of misery on Angel’s face, the look of confusion on Connor’s. Faith stepped forward and gently laid her hand on Wes’ arm, staying his action. He glanced at her. Her gaze was full of sympathy and understanding, silently asking him questions that he didn’t want to consider. Was he doing this for the right reason, or simply for revenge? Would this action bring healing or more pain? Would it reveal the truth or just bury it beneath acrimony and grief? If so, was he no better than Angel?

Slowly, he lowered his hand, passing the cube to Faith. He raised his head, staring at the slumped form of his boss. The vampire seemed to have aged 50 years, his face was damp with tears and lined with what looked like regret.

“I still want to know,” Wes said firmly, “The whole story, unedited. You will tell me or I’ll be back here to negotiate with Vail. And by the looks of it, he’d be only too happy to share.”

“Agreed,” Angel murmured, “Just not here, not now.” His eyes flicked across to Connor. Wes caught the quick glance and the hunch that had been percolating in the back of his head, rumbled and rolled over.

“Well,” Vail wheezed, “After a promising start, this has been somewhat of an anticlimax. How disappointing I must say. Nevertheless lad,” he nodded in Connor’s direction, “I am grateful for your execution of that accursed demon. I believe I will relieve you of this ‘harmless little bauble’” he said, snatching the Orlon Window out of Faith’s hand. “Don’t pout Angel, it’s unbecoming of a man of your status. I shall keep it perfectly safe, should you have need of it in the future.”

Angel eyed Vail darkly, but kept his mouth shut as he ushered everyone out of the room, out of the building and into the car. They were silent as Angel drove them back towards Wolfram and Hart. They may have escaped Vail’s subtle threats, but it was impossible to outrun their own poisoned thoughts; the regrets, suspicions, questions and concerns that flooded the air with tension as the car raced smoothly through the night. Connor may have defeated Sahjhan, but for Angel, the evening’s events had felt more like a defeat than a victory.

His life was a lie, his relationships grounded in the shifting sands. Wes’ accusations had certainly revealed the tenuous state of faith his best friend had in him, in his actions and decisions. It was time to come clean, to lay the facts out on the table, to do the big reveal. Angel could only hope, that at the end of the day, Wes, Fred, Gunn and especially Connor, would be able to forgive him, and that they would give him the chance to rebuild the relationships that would be so badly damaged by his perceived betrayal.

If they couldn’t, Angel didn’t think there would be any point in going on.

In the end, a simple phone call had diverted his big reveal. They’d only just trooped their way back upstairs, all of them, even Connor, glumly following him, his unspoken intent to get the worst of it over and done with guiding them back towards his office. The call had been from Giles, the note of panic in his voice colouring and overriding his prosaic message. He’d rung just to let them know that there’d been a couple of incidents, blah, blah, blah. Maybe some help with research if he could spare it; Wes, maybe the scientist, Fred was it? And Faith’s name was mentioned too.

Angel let it all wash over him, his head, his long dead heart, both in a whirl. Were the fucking Powers joking? How much could a formerly evil, partially reformed, somewhat brooding vampire take? First Vail, and now this. He didn’t know the details, had tuned the watcher out. But the one thing he had heard was enough to stop him in his tracks. Somehow, someone had snatched his Slayer, right from under their fucking noses. Buffy had been taken.

‘We have the words in our pockets, obscure directions. The old ones have taken away the light of their presence....’Denise Levertov

The deep, throbbing vibration of a powerful engine and the endless background rumble of tyres rolling effortlessly across an asphalt surface were the only slices of sensory information that Buffy could detect when she came to. She was blindfolded, handcuffed, trussed up inside some sort of sack and bound with cords. And very frightened! Although, surprisingly enough, not as terrified as she might be.

The fright was a given, considering how much like her baby loss dream her current situation was. Trapped in the silent dark, unable to make out anything about her surroundings, alone. It was no wonder she was scared. But the differences were what she was clinging onto, what gave her hope and kept her out of the pit of terror and despair that she remembered so vividly from that nightmare vision.

For a start, she wasn’t harmed in anyway. Whether that was because whoever had taken her had been particularly gentle, treating her with kid gloves, or because the protection charm had worked to keep her injury free, Buffy couldn’t say. In fact she had little memory of her capture, so she couldn’t have said how the kidnappers did the deed, beyond the fact that they obviously didn’t want her dead, or even in too much discomfit. In fact it seemed they had gone to some effort to make her comfortable.

Her wrists were locked into a pair of handcuffs, but they were fitted firmly without being too tight and seemed to be lined with something soft and cushiony, like velvet. They were the real deal though; all her efforts to either force them open or snap the chain proving pointless. Conveniently, (or maybe compassionately) her hands were cuffed in front of her body, with just enough leeway to allow for a little movement, stave off muscle cramps and keep the blood flowing. And to be able to press her hands to her belly, send love and reassurance to her baby, and feel the swoops and rolls and kicks of her little one back.

She was blindfolded, but again the fabric felt velvety, maybe like one of those novelty sleep masks. Buffy had no way of knowing of course, but she decided to picture it as a leopard skin print, way more appropriate for her than boring black or some pink fuzzy thing. Whatever the case, it was quite comfortable thank you.

She’d obviously been bundled up into some sort of bag, similar in size to a sleeping bag, but with her head at the bottom instead of her feet. This would have been the most terrifying aspect of her capture if the sack had have been as thick and impermeable as a sleeping bag, given the severe claustrophobia she’d developed after waking up in her own casket, but thankfully the fabric seemed lightweight and almost gauzy, pervious enough to allow air to pass through it at least.

Outside of this sheath, she’d been loosely bound, by what felt like velvet ropes rather than harsh chains. The ropes encircled her below her bust and around her hips and thighs, leaving her baby bump unrestrained. Like the handcuffs, this gentle binding had obviously been magically strengthened, so that no matter how comfortable and innocuous they seemed, ultimately they were unbreakable.

Finally, instead of lying on the dirty, hard, cold floor of an old pick up truck or thrown into the boot of some rusty sedan, Buffy felt like she’d been gently cradled in a nest of soft blankets, atop a thin, but comfortable mattress, in the back of what was probably a late model delivery van. She never been a car girl, so she couldn’t be sure, but the road and engine noise sounded less rumbly than a truck, and the way she was comfortably stretched out seemed to rule out a car or even a wagon. So, van it was.

All in all, if her kidnappers were going for torturous and terrifying, they were definitely way short of the mark. More like careful and conciliatory. Not that kidnapping wasn’t scary enough on its own, but the care they were taking was also pretty damn scary. They were obviously working hard to ensure that no harm came to her, or her baby, undoubtedly for their own evil, disturbing reasons. But as long as Buffy wasn’t hurt, as long as her baby was safe, she could use her time and energy to think and strategize, to work out a method of escape.

Most importantly, for her peace of mind, she could still feel her link with Spike, that warm, golden connection humming away doggedly in the back of her mind. It lent her such a feeling of peace and confidence, that it was difficult to take this threat too seriously. He would come for her, for them. Nothing would keep Spike from finding his family. So really, she just had to sit back and wait.

So, while she was comfortable, and of sound mind and body, it seemed sensible to try and work out how she’d ended up in this pickle. Buffy frowned, trying hard to piece together her most recent memories.

Things had been a little weird lately at Ashdown. Life had become even busier since Tara’s reappearance. The ever-increasing number of young Slayers living on the compound (over 1200 of them now) meant that Xander was working long exhausting hours overseeing the building projects designed to house and school the masses. He was winning, just, but with another 800 or so girls to squeeze in over the next four months, he spent most of his time on the job and Buffy hardly ever saw him anymore.

Likewise with Willow and Rowan. The two witches had accepted the opportunity to train as Guardians, and every free moment they had between either studying full time at med school, or running a school for preternaturally strong, ethnically and culturally diverse, hormone laden young women, they were off together with Tara in one of their rooms, or in another dimension, depending on whether you were looking at things physically or metaphysically. Either way, she hardly ever saw them.

Tara and Oz had immersed themselves in life at Ashdown as well. On top of Oz’s music class, together they’d taken up a job share position teaching the young slayers meditation techniques. Both of these two had a spiritual base to their own daily meditative practices, Tara with her Wiccan background and Oz with his Buddhist and Bon traditions. They taught the girl’s meditation as a spiritual pathway to one’s higher power, whomever that may be, but also as a way of connecting with self in order to increase concentration, clarity and self-awareness. It had been set up as an optional subject and was very popular so far.

Giles was utterly occupied by his role as Director of Amazon International. Most of the operational aspects of rebuilding such a huge, complex organisation were under control, the various departments, divisions and units well staffed and functioning smoothly. Now that his key function was to oversee everything, ensure it was running like clockwork, and that everyone had the resources they needed to do their jobs well, he had a bit more time each day to dedicate to various research projects. Chief of these was checking and cross-checking any and all references to the key prophecies that they featured in, The Song of Sagaria, The Days of the Chosen Ones, and now The Scions of Sineya.

Giles still had Cecil Davis heading up the research team, but at night he’d bring home various books and scrolls from Bromley and sit in the lounge pouring over them. His trusty research buddies, Willow and more recently Rowan, were too involved in their Guardian training to grant him much time, but Cat, Dawn and even Spike would often join him. The four of them would quietly rustle through the old, yellowed pages of ancient tomes, pens out, scratching down various notes and links and theories, absorbed in the task, oblivious to any or all others.

Andrew would have joined them, but determined to add some formal qualifications to his field experiences, he’d enrolled fulltime in the Watcher training programme at Sackville Academy. In fact, he had recently moved into the dorms there, in order to better immerse himself in the Watcher Training experience. And as for Dawn, well her sister seemed increasingly to keep to herself. Sure she had school, and various homework assignments and projects to complete, but now that Andrew’s technological genius had effectively freed her up from her scanning role, Buffy would have expected to see more of her. Instead, if she wasn’t researching, she kept herself scarce. Buffy felt certain that something was bothering her, but there was little she could do about it until Dawn herself felt ready to share.

As for Spike and herself, life had slowed and morphed. During the day they oversaw their charges’ strength and fitness programmes. Slayers were quick studies when it came to the physical stuff, and the girls who had been at Ashdown since August or September were already outstripping their weapons and martial arts instructors, most of whom were Masters of their own disciplines. So, she and Spike mostly supervised the senior’s sparring sessions; pointing out and correcting any flaws, giving advice on technique and strategy, reffing the one on one matches.

Spike often waded in himself, providing a bit of worthy opposition against a rubber stake-wielding slayer, allowing the girls to really test themselves against a vamp. With the senior girls, increasingly he could let himself go, almost to the limit of his ability. Of course none of them could really come close to defeating him, but they gave him a damn good workout, got his now circulating blood really pumping. But Buffy had more or less given away anything other than the lightest of sparring. It wasn’t that she was concerned in any way about her baby’s safety; the tattoo took care of that. It was more her own dignity she felt was at stake.

At 27 weeks, she had definitely popped out. Her tummy felt tight and stretched on the outside and very overcrowded on the inside. Her back and belly muscles and ligaments were grumbly and ouchy from the added work load. And even though her fitness level was still okay, thanks in part to her slayer constitution, but also to her daily t’ai chi sessions, it didn’t take much for her to feel breathless, probably because her lung capacity was half what it used to be. But on top of all that, her centre of gravity had shifted. She felt more awkward and clumsy than at any time, ever, in her life. Buffy’s biggest fear had been that she’d trip over during a fight against some newbie slayer, and end up on her butt at the girl’s feet. Absolutely not a cool look for the Head Slayer.

So, she’d been relegated to the sidelines during classes, in charge of advice and guidance instead of kicking and punching. The sudden dramatic drop in activity levels impacted badly on Buffy. She could feel the restlessness inside her, the waves of boredom battering frantically against the margins of her Slayer essence, the constant itch for action and excitement and violence an irritation to her soul. She thought it must be like the experience that addicts had when they were going through withdrawal. The only balm, the only outlet, came from the long, passion filled nights she shared with her love. Spike was so good to her. He made sure that what she lacked for during the day, she received in spades during the evening.

Which was why their lovemaking had evolved of late into something resembling a boxing bout. Not that they boxed, but they sure did tussle and scrap and wrestle, their sessions morphing from a melee to a brawl to an energetic, no holds barred, out and out fuck. They couldn’t hurt one another, and they loved and trusted one another deeply another to know not to take the wrangling personally. Buffy just needed the aggression and fierceness of the skirmish to tune her up just right, to get the blood zinging in her veins, to soothe her savage slayer soul.

She blushed as she remembered the previous night’s efforts. They’d headed off to their room not long after dinner. The Scoobies still tried to get together for evening meals on the weekends, but more often than not these days it was a depleted number that sat around the table on weeknights. And those that did make it often seemed to excuse themselves within minutes of swallowing their last mouthfuls. Gone were the long, lingering gatherings that often lasted well into the night. Dinner had become a short, perfunctory affair, a comma rather than a full stop. It was a bit baffling, but to tell the truth, it more or less suited her at the moment. It gave her and Spike more time to … wrassle.

She’d been on him as soon as the door was closed and locked, leaping onto his back, tearing at his clothes, biting at his neck and shoulder. He’d vamped out and shoved her backwards, spinning around to kick her feet out from under her, pouncing on top of her. He’d taken it to her, fist and fang, and she’d given it back, boot and nail. Over the next ten minutes of scratching and kicking and hitting and shoving and name-calling, they’d divested one another of each and every scrap of clothing.

Panting and coated in sweat, Buffy had eyed Spike’s erection. Stretched rigid against his belly, his foreskin had been skimmed back, the rosy head peeking out all swollen and glistening. Her pussy was weeping by then, the need blossoming bright and raw within her. Then he was on her, holding her down, taunting her with his pretty cock, with her lust for it. Still she’d resisted, kicking and scratching and biting all the harder to get him the fuck off of her. All of which just tuned her up a little more, whetted her appetite for him more keenly. But the slayer hadn’t been ready to give in, enjoying the fight too much she was, and she’d thrown him off.

It was her turn in the driver’s seat, and she’d cuffed him about, grabbing his slicked back curls in her greedy fingers and slamming his head against the floor. He’d shaken himself and shoved her off, and leaping up, they’d flown into another round of kicks and spins and punches. This pre-bedtime ritual had become a familiar scenario, and after the first time, when the coffee table had fallen victim to their lack of restraint, they’d shifted all of the lounge furniture closer to the kitchen, leaving a relatively open space at one end of the living area in which to play. So play they did, freely and joyfully.

Part of her, the dark, demon tinged part, buried down deep in her psyche, regretted the nullifying effects of the tat, regretted the absence of scratch and bruise and cut, on him and on her. With few exceptions, when they’d fought in the past, they’d each fought for their lives, and had walked away from each encounter wearing those marks like a badge of honour. Fighting while under the tat’s protection was still good, but it was a bit like fucking with a condom on, the act still exciting and sexy, but the raw sensations slightly blunted, and the finale slightly meaningless without the warm, messy, spurt of potent fluids. Still, it calmed the beast inside, and added benefit, got her dander up, as Spike would say, got them both fine-tuned and aching for the next bit.

Last night had been no different. Once Buffy’s need for violence had finally been sated, she’d collapsed onto the floor, her thighs splayed, her chest heaving, the very air redolent with her sexually charged pheromones. Spike’s nostrils had flared as he’d inhaled the luscious scent of her arousal. He’d dropped to his knees before her, still in vamp face as he’d crawled lazily towards her like a big, tawny cat. He’d used his tongue first, bathing her from head to toe with his libations, his soft kisses and long licks and words of worship a tribute to their love. She’d come twice from his oral ministrations alone, the first time as he gently flicked her swollen nipples with that wicked tongue, and grazed the sensitive buds with the sensual points of his fangs, the sting and soothe an erotic contrast to one another.

The second time had arrived as Spike had sought out and found every little random, out of the way, undiscovered erogenous spot on her body. He’d started off fairly standard, the length of her nose, eyebrows, her closed, fluttering eyelids, the line of her jaw (um, wow!) then headed to her ears, the shell, the lobes, that tingly little space behind her ears. The neck was a given, for her and him of course, the long slope from the ears to shoulders exquisitely sensitive.

But other places were more unexpected, her armpits, moist and heated as they were, Spike laved greedily. Those little creases on her inner arm, her wrists, and her fingers, enthusiastically slurped in, singly, in pairs, Spike staring up at her from under wavering eyelashes, his eyes glittering wickedly as he tongued and tasted and inhaled her fingers as if each was the most delicious cock he’d ever had the pleasure of sucking off.

He’d left off his endeavours just before she’d spent, moving down her body instead, ignoring her still aching nipples and her wide-open, needy, weeping cunt, but anointing her ribs, her navel, the sensitive skin of her trembling inner thighs (so close, so close, oh God Spike, just a little higher), the creases behind her knees and finally her toes. He’d settled down there, emulating the cock-sucking act of earlier, making love to her toes, her feet in such a perverse, erotic, worshipful way that it had sent her over the brink at last. Spike had unfolded himself, and at the sight and smell and feel of her orgasm, he’d fallen over that edge himself, five powerful shots of thick, white jism shooting out of his quivering cock, splattering all over Buffy’s tits and belly and pussy.

He’d scooped her up then, the victor carrying off his spoils, and marched through to the bedroom. The first round was often more of a battle than a pleasuring, but this time she hadn’t fought back or even complained as he’d thrown her on the bed and attacked her swollen quim. She’d been so sensitive for so long that she’d come as soon as he’d dragged his flat tongue along the length of her snatch, arsehole to mons, slurping up the heady mix of her nectar and his as he’d pressed and wiggled the talented muscle against all of her precious bits. And then she’d come again! And again!

Blissed out, giddy, she’d wavered when he’d quickly flipped her onto all fours. But his hands clutched her hips, steadying her as he’d crawled closer to her, and she’d centred herself, quietening down her bliss wobbles. He’d thrust his desperately swollen cock into her, his urgent desire negating any sense of etiquette or finesse. As if she’d complain.

He’d fucked her hard and loud; the wet suctioning, squelch of her cunt; the sharp slap of groin and balls against cheeks and vulva; the noisy pants and moans that punctuated the air combining to create a cacophony rowdy enough to make even the furthermost of their neighbours blush if it hadn’t been for Willow’s dampening spell. Thank God for Willow. So their fuck was unrestrained, uninhibited, Spike going at it hammer and tongs, Buffy pushing back at him wantonly. She’d worked those strong slayer's muscles of hers, flexing her cunt tight until he’d groaned and spent; the throb and spurt dragging her over again with him.

Finally, they’d collapsed onto the mattress; Spike spooned loosely behind her as they’d lain there panting. The voracious desire for action, for battle, for conquest had been mollified for the moment, replaced by a need for connection, for tenderness, for worship. The slow drift into sleep had been accompanied by soft kisses and gentle touches as he’d cradled her in his arms.

Recalling all of this had a predictable effect on Buffy. Well probably more weird than predictable, given her current circumstances. But kidnapped or not, her body and preternatural libido were her own, so yeah, now she was blindfolded, handcuffed, trussed up inside some sort of sack, bound with cords and extremely aroused. Inappropriately so! Note to self, must not think of Spike sex whilst in the midst of an undoubtedly evil and nefarious abduction.

She tried squeezing her thighs together and clenching those muscles she’d used to such good effect on Spike the night before. Well, if anyone asked later, she didn’t try the squeezy/clenchy thing, it just happened automatically, before she could sort her instinctive body reactions out. It wasn’t like she was deliberately trying to get herself off while she was tied up like a turkey in the back of some van. It was more that she was just trying to get comfortable, ease the tension, or rather the discomfort a little.

Sighing, Buffy tried to just relax everything down below, and stop herself from considering that the juices in her cunny were quite likely a mix of her fresh arousal and the jizz that Spike had deposited up against her cervix in the wee hours. Oh shit! God what if her kidnappers were vamps or some other sort of super-sniffing demons and they could smell the excitement on her when they came to haul her out of the back. Shit, with as fired up as she was, probably even humans would be able to smell her wet pussy. How humiliating!

To distract her wayward brain, Buffy thought back over the day’s events, mulling over the sequence of events that lead to her capture. She and Spike had been down to Brighton that morning, looking at cribs and buggies and choosing paper and paint for the nursery in their new house. Xander and Oz were going to give Spike a hand over the next couple of weekends to get the room ready. The three guys worked surprisingly well together, mainly because Oz never said much anyway, and Spike had finally developed enough sense to just shut up and let Xander be the boss. It was his area of expertise after all and Buffy was sure it must fill him with a fierce pride to be able to take the lead in something, even if it was as everyday as home decoration.

As far as she was concerned, having a comfortable, practical and attractive house to come home to after a day spent teaching slayers or battling demons was pretty important, and increasingly so now they had a little one to think about. So Xander’s contribution was just as significant as anyone else’s’ in her mind. No doubt the others thought so too. His role was so important these days, overseeing all of those building projects. And he was so good at it too, whether it be constructing a six storey accommodation block or painting and papering a nursery. Her three labourers had already finished the master bedroom, guest room and ensuite and bathroom. Once the nursery was complete, they were going to recarpet the upstairs area, then they could move in. Buffy felt that delicious mix of impatience and excitement surge through her again at the thought. Their own place, she couldn’t wait.

So, after a successful, and tiring, morning’s shopping, they’d been almost home before she’d thought to check her phone. She’d turned it off while they were talking to the interior decorator, and had forgotten to turn it back on again. There had been a message from Dawn’s school, ringing to inform them that her sister was feeling unwell, she was in the sick room, could someone come and pick her up. The message had been left at least 35 minutes prior, so poor Dawn had been lying there for quite a while. Friday was a busy day at Ashdown, Tara and Oz and Willow all had classes scheduled, Rowan was down at Brighton, and Cat had hospital rounds at Princess Royal. Andrew was at Sackville until after lunch and Giles was up at Bromley. And of course Xander was busy meeting deadlines on the building site.

Buffy had sighed and suggested that Spike drop her off on the corner of Coleman’s Hatch Road, and drive into East Grinstead to pick Dawn up. It was only a ten-minute drive each way, but Ashdown was only half a mile along the road, and even walking she could be home in five. She was hungry, thirsty and tired and had been happier to set out on a short walk so she could make herself some lunch and a cup of tea, than spend another half an hour sitting in the car. Spike had offered to drop her off at home first and then set off to pick up Dawnie but Buffy had laughed and told him that she could do with the exercise, do with the fresh air.

So it was that she’d been walking along their country lane on a crisp, overcast afternoon, admiring the last of the Forest’s autumnal apparel, the once brilliant colours faded now to pale golds, blanched mochas and drab khakis, the bleached bone like trunks and branches increasingly visible as the leafy carpet grew from ankle to shin deep. So, distracted by nature’s vista, Buffy had almost drawn level with the van before she’d noticed it. Late model, white, pretty non-descript, she couldn’t have added any further detail, noticing neither the make nor the licence plate.

She had noticed that the front hood was up, and that a guy was bent over the engine. She hadn’t thought anything of it, had no thought to any danger so close to home in the middle of the day. She’d stopped to chat to him, check that he was all right, that he didn’t need any help. He’d been friendly, apologetic, concerned that he might be in her way. Buffy had assured him that it wasn’t a problem and was about to offer use of her phone, when he began muttering some foreign phrase. She’d felt suddenly sleepy, unsteady. When an arm wrapped around her from behind and pressed a sweet smelling cloth over her mouth, she’d teetered and swooned.

That was all she could remember until she’d come to. She had no idea how much time had passed, but she didn’t think it could be more than a few hours. She did a quick body scan again and confirmed that she seemed to be in perfect health, suffering no ill effects from either the spell the guy had obviously cast or the chloroform or ether or whatever incapacitating agent they’d used on her. Hmmm, she must talk to Giles about adding some sort of ward to the protection spell, but she wasn’t sure how they could counter anaesthetics. In fact with a birth coming up, she was pretty sure she didn’t want an anti-anaesthetic charm placed on her. No way, no how!

Plenty of time to worry about that sort of thing later. Time now for her to work out where she was and how to get herself free. Or at least safe and ready for action in time for the cavalry to come storming in.

Buffy might have considered the kidnappers nothing more than opportunistic human creeps who wanted some woman, any would do, to play out their perverted fantasies of violence and degradation. If that was the case they would have been in for a rude awakening once they unwrapped their little prize. She might be a little unsteady on her feet these days against a bunch of slayers, but one on one or even one on several, she could still kick a normal human butt around the block and back. In fact it would have been kinda fun.

But, the use of a spell to disable her, and seemingly charmed ropes to restrain her, pointed to the definite involvement of possibly demonic, or at least mystical, forces. And of course, the portents gifted her by her baby loss dream seemed too coincidental to ignore. Buffy had to take this abduction seriously, consider that this may be a very real and possibly apocalyptic attempt on the life and well being of herself and her baby’s.

As she considered these realities, Buffy felt the vehicle slow down and turn. They’d been travelling more slowly for the last little while, as if they’d left the motorway at some stage, and were travelling along suburban streets or country lanes. This turn seemed to be onto a driveway, the surface beneath the tyres rough enough to increase the faint vibration. After another minute of so, the metal surface disappeared altogether, and the van was bumping along across an unsealed surface, whether a dirt track or a grassed surface, was beyond her speculation.

At last the van drew to a halt and she felt it rock as the front seat occupants exited and slammed the doors behind them. There seemed to be an interminable wait before they came for her, with nothing to see or hear except the sound of distant shouts and the faint ring of steel on steel. She was determined to fight back, determined to thwart their capture, but she knew she’d have to bide her time, make sure she had a fighting chance before she made her move. Undoubtedly she’d only get one shot at it. And her preference for fighting included being able to see and move.

Finally the rear doors were swung open. Not that Buffy could see anything, but she could hear the wooshy noise and the sensation of cool air wrapping itself around her feet and lower legs. The temperature was definitely cooler than it had been at Ashdown, so either they’d travelled further north, or it was much later in the day. Probably both.

She lay still, trying to suss out the lay of the land. Somebody clambered into the van, and hands reached down to lift her up, just enough to shuffle her bound form towards the open doors. Obviously this was the end of Buffy: The Kidnapping, Part 1. They were either going to shift her into a building, or transfer her to another vehicle. Or, um … gulp!

Wherever they were sounded far too quiet for any kind of transport hub, there were no other vehicle sounds or even voices or sounds of daily life. So, likely the countryside, she thought, confirmation of which came with the far off bleat of a sheep.

Her handler put her down on the ground, feet first this time, and held her arm firmly while got her balance. Which was hard to do being all blind and trussed up. Once she was steady, he began fiddling with the ropes that encircled her body, and suddenly she felt the pressure ease off and the coils drop away from her one at a time. She stood, bracing herself, but all that happened was that the body length bag was dragged upwards and off.

God, she was free! Well as free as someone who’s handcuffed and blindfolded and at the mercy of an unknown captor can be. So yeah; but still, it felt awesome to have the cool breeze ruffling her hair, to be able to suck down a big gulp of fresh air, to be able to move more easily.

And move she did, almost immediately, as her kidnapper grunted at her and with a firm hand on her back began to set her to walking. Or stumbling as the case may be, what with the ground beneath Buffy’s feet being grassy and uneven, and her being all with the unseeing.

“Alright, so thanks for easing up on the bondage thing. Movement is good. But seeing is good too, and might help me with staying upright.”

Her companion paused and spoke to someone (or something) else close at hand. She couldn’t understand the language, but it sounded human. Maybe even European of some sort. A plus for her if that was the case. She should be able to fight her way out of this situation once she could see what was going on, where she was.

There was another grunt and the blindfold was yanked up, onto her forehead. Buffy blinked, the sudden exposure to light blinding her. Except that there was very little light, she noticed, her eyes rapidly adjusting to the encroaching gloom that accompanied the onset of dusk. They were standing in the middle of a small grove of trees, the fog gently sifting down through the bare branches.

She glanced behind her and there was still enough light to see the van, parked about ten yards away, on the edge of a field. Directly in front of her stood a large tree, maybe an oak by the look of the leaves on the ground. Scattered around the base, cradled by the piles of leaves, were the bodies of half a dozen demons? They were kitted out in armor, and several of them had their tusked heads separated from their shoulders. There had obviously been quite a battle, and if these two alone had managed to take out six strong looking warriors, then she’d need to think out her strategy very carefully.

Buffy cautiously lifted her head, keen to check out her two captors without raising any suspicion. Both dressed in two-piece camo army fatigues, they were ignoring her, beyond grabbing her arm and moving her forward, focused wholly on their destination, which seemed to be the large tree. Realizing that she was running out of options, Buffy stumbled over one of the bodies lying prostrate on the ground. She toppled over, falling onto her knees and her outstretched, shackled hands, directly onto a discarded sword. She crumpled, face down on the damp grass, sucking in deep lungs full of air.

As one of her jailers stepped closer, she rolled. Bringing her feet up she planted them squarely on his chest and kicked out. With her belly in the way, she didn’t have quite the same flex as she used to, but she still had a kick on her like a mule. The guy went flying. Immediately she kipped up onto her own feet, although, whoa, that was so much harder to do with a baby on board. The sword hilt was grasped firmly in her hands. She held the blade out in front of her, level with the second guy’s chin.

“Right you two, on your knees,” she shouted, waving the sword about.

The two men just sneered at her, the first one standing where he was, the other slowly getting to his feet from where she’d thrown him. Damn, so they wanted to play hardball. These two seemed human, no tinglies to indicate they were vamps, although other demons could wear manface when they needed to. Buffy wasn’t quite so black and white these days as she used to be, and she certainly had no problem with a little breakage, but she was still reluctant to outright kill humans, even the bad ones. But if it came down to the safety of her or her child, there was no question; she’d do what she had to do.

“Okay, so I’m guessing that you guys know who I am. Original Slayer here, The. Guess you’ve heard about my exploits too. Killed thousands I have, most of them a hell of a lot bigger and uglier than you two.” She circled round, alert, staring them down. “Don’t want to hurt you too much, so this is your last chance to leave me the fuck alone.”

She backed up, the outstretched sword trained on her adversaries, something that got harder as they began to edge away from one another. Buffy focused on the sneaky, uninjured guy (a bit optimistic of her to assume that the guy she’d kicked was injured, but, well he had to be at least a little bruised). She kept moving so that she could keep Limpy in view, while inching closer to Sneaky.

Without warning Sneaky drew the sword that had been sheathed in the scabbard strapped to his back, and leapt at her. Buffy went straight on the offensive, swinging her sword into right, then left handed horizontal cuts, aiming for his upper arms. But Sneaky swiftly lifted his blade into a vertical position, and swung from one side to the other, parrying each of her strikes with ease.

Buffy struck again, with a downward swinging cut, but again her opponent blocked her sword. With a slight flick of his wrist, he jerked Buffy’s blade up, only slightly, but enough to throw her just slightly off balance. Her head and upper torso were totally exposed as she stumbled a half step backwards, but instead of moving in to take the attacking position, Sneaky stepped back, sword raised once more in a defensive pose.

Okay, so their orders were not to hurt her, well at least not too badly. She was pretty sure they didn’t know about the protection spell or they would have been a little more gung ho, but she’d take whatever advantages she could. Swiftly she moved into a combination, slashing right, then left, then right again, two high strikes, followed by a low. This forced Sneaky into a rapid series of defensive moves and she could see he was tiring. On her final strike, she added a boost of slayer strength, slamming her blade into his and flicking it out of his shaken hands.

As she was about to step forward and finish him off, well knock him out at least, she heard a roaring from behind her, and spun, blade slicing viciously through the air as she went. Her assailant, unprepared for the slayer’s quick reactions, didn’t have time to halt his trajectory and ran full tilt into the pitiless blade. The impact stopped both of them dead. A loud snapping sound filled the air around them as they stared, shocked, into one another’s terrified eyes. Funny how emotions can be identical on either side of such an intimate act of violence.

Buffy stepped back, regret already flooding through her body. He’d come at her on a slight angle, left side leading. By her estimation, her blow would have removed his left arm and sunk deep into the left side of his chest, neither injuries you could survive. She slowly, reluctantly dropped her gaze, expecting to see fountains of bright red jetting out onto the grass, onto her boots.

Instead, Limpy lay writhing at her feet, clutching his intact arm. It was at a funny angle, the humerus obviously broken, and possibly a couple of ribs too, given the way he was clutching at his chest. But not a drop of blood could be seen anywhere. What the hell? Did these dudes have their own set of spells protecting them?

Buffy, stood there, confused, frustrated, and suddenly very, very weary. To add to her sense of defeat, she suddenly felt a bright, sharp point pressing against her lower back. Although she was safe from harm, and could have fought back, she felt all battled out.

“I do not wish to hurt you,” Sneaky said, in very heavily accented English, “But you will come with me.”

She dropped her sword and held her cuffed hands up where he could see them, slowly, cautiously turning so she could face him.

“Alright, alright,” she said resignedly, “But how is it that his arm is still in one piece?”

He stared at her, mulling over whether to spill or not. Finally he grunted and fingered the front of his camo shirt. Up close Buffy could see that he wore a matching vest with sleeve attachments. Oh, of course, one of those Kevlar vest thingys, the latest in military issue by the looks of it. Guess they would have needed them going up against the demon guards. Limpy was beyond lucky that he had that gear on, and Buffy couldn’t help feeling a sense of relief that it had protected him from what would have been death, dealt out by her hands. But she was back where she’d started.

Well maybe not quite. Sneaky grunted and moved her on, in the direction of the large tree. When she looked at him and back at Limpy, he just shrugged, pulled a set of keys out of his pocket and tossed them back at his groaning comrade. Okay, so it was just the two of them now. Better odds anyway.

As they neared the tree, she could see that the ground in front of it dropped away sharply, angling down into what looked like the entrance to a cave. Sneaky flicked his head and waved his sword, indicating that she should lead the way into the opening. They had to duck down, but the entrance sloped quite steeply, and soon they were in a cavern large enough to stand up in. Several sconces were set into the cavern walls, and each of these contained a burning torch, the light bright enough to illuminate the exterior.

Crumpled against the far wall was the bound figure of a man. Buffy couldn’t tell if he was alive, but his condition was testament to the fact that Sneaky and his mate had been here already. She wasn’t given time to mull this over; her companion snatched up one of the torches and pushed her forward, towards the opening at the other end of the cavern.

The tunnel wound on for some way, the path sloping gently down as it wended its way. Finally it opened out again, into another chamber, this one spanned by a bridge where the cavern floor fell away. Filled with apprehension and a growing sense of horror, Buffy walked out towards the center of the bridge. Taking a deep breath, she peered over the edge and into the mouth of an endless, unholy pit.

‘Though lovers be lost love shall not; And death shall have no dominion.’Dylan Thomas

Bloody. Fucking. Hell! How in God’s name had this happened? Niblet was gone, nobody knew where or how, just gone, vanished! And now his Buffy, his precious love?

All afternoon, he’d been frantically tearing around the fucking countryside, trying to track Bit down. He and the Watcher had been besides themselves; first in anger that the little madam had obviously spirited herself off for the afternoon, pulled a sickie to get out of class, gone off with some mate, worse still with some bleeding little tosser, keen to get his end away with his girl; then in ever increasing fear, as each of their leads had come to a dead end.

They’d left Rupert’s car at the school and spent hours, simply hours just driving, the old man checking in with Xander every half hour to see if she’d turned up home. The school hadn’t been much bloody help either, refused to give out names or numbers or even say whether or not any other students had done a bunk. Police were no better, spouting some shit about how a person has to be missing for 24 hours before they could act, how teenagers go walk about all the time and turn up perfectly fine.

They’d headed back for home at about 7 o’clock, not given up, just regrouping, gettin’ the witches on board, gettin’ some food into Rupert before he fell down. Knew Buffy must be beside herself by then, was probably tearing the place down in frustration and worry.

Was about half a mile from Ashdown he’d felt it, the bond between him and Buffy sliding away, dissipating just like that. He was already so distraught, so wrung out that he didn’t know what to make of it, other than the stress somehow sending it wonky. Didn’t seem right, but nothing seemed right with Dawn missing. And all he wanted to do was get home, wrap himself around Buffy, give and receive the strength they both needed to get back out there and find her.

Crossed his mind briefly, terrifyingly, that Buffy might have checked out again, like she did that time that Glory took Bit. He wondered if that might bugger up their connection; unravel it from her end, if she was somewhat unravelled herself. But before he’d had time to ponder it much he was home, pulling into his car park, with Rupert right behind him.

It hadn’t taken more than a minute or two to realize she was nowhere in sight, not in their unit nor in the lounge where the others were all gathered, Scooby Central, gearing up for the crisis. But it wasn’t until he asked the question that all hell broke loose, spewing out confusion, denial, and fear with it. It was that one question that did it, anxiety tossing it out there before anyone even had a chance to ask about the latest on the hunt for Dawn.

“Where’s Buffy?”

It wasn’t said calmly, in an everyday voice. It was said urgently, panic crinkling up the edges of the syllables.

There was a moment of silence, of stillness; eyes and mouths gaping incomprehensibly. During that moment, there was still hope; there was still possibility. And then Xander stood up, pushed back his chair, shook his head, uttered the words he was dreading.

“I, I thought she was with you!”

Voices rose and fell, people leapt up and dashed wildly about, opening doors and calling her name. Chaos reigned. And all the while, Spike sat, slumped in a nearby chair, terror flooding his mind and immobilizing his body. Giles and Xander stood at the room’s centre, their quiet conversation tracking back through the day, to the point where it must have happened, where they’d lost track of his precious girl, lost her and their child both.

The Scoobies started throwing out all sorts of fanciful theories, about how maybe she’d gone for a walk and gotten lost, how maybe she’d set off to look for Dawn herself, how maybe she had an appointment she’d not told anyone about, and then her tyre had gone flat, and her phone.

Spike, sunk deep into a pit of despair, listened silently to their desperate speculation. He instantly discarded each suggestion, but was forced to spectate the torturous process of back and forth until they eventually arrived at the same conclusion. Time after time, through each implausible scenario, until they’d finally worked their way laboriously through denial and towards alarm, fear. And still they didn’t know the full story.

“Right,” Red offered, “I’ll go and get set up for a locator spell. We’ll track her down in no time.”

“Won’t do no good.” Spike said, finally stirred himself out of his stupor. “She’s gone, lost. May, maybe even,” he began stuttering between huge gasps of air, “maybe even …” He couldn’t go on, couldn’t utter the word that was resonating through his mind, obliterating any other thought. Anguished and terrified, Spike did something he’d rarely done in front of the Scoobies en masse before, he broke down and wept, fat tears wending their way silently down his cheeks.

The others were shocked, so caught up in their concern and confusion that they’d failed to notice how quiet and detached Spike had been. They knew that Buffy’s disappearance, Dawn’s too, would be affecting him even more than it did them, each and everyone of them accepting at last of the vampire’s very real love and devotion for both girls.

Giles and Xander did an admirable job of squashing the initial feelings of annoyance and denial they’d felt at Spike’s misery, their kneejerk reactions no more than that now, a worthless and mean spirited habit born out of years of conflict and distrust. They both knew Spike was different now, that what he and Buffy had was real. And Important. And more than that, they’d each of them, in his own way, come to quite like the vampire that had once been such a deadly nemesis. Their fears for Buffy and Dawn were very real, but their concern for Spike was almost as strong. And neither of them was afraid to show it anymore.

While the girls were fussing and cooing over him, warming up some blood, making coffee, grabbing tissues, the two men moved in synchrony, Xander heading to the sideboard to pour Spike a glass of neat scotch and Giles to lay a steadying hand on his shoulder, before pulling up a couple of chairs on either side of him. The Watcher took his seat, and Xander, after going back to swipe another two glasses and the decanter, followed tack.

“Shit, man, I’m sorry. We’ll get this sorted; get them both back safe and sound. We’re,” Xander paused, a wave of emotion sweeping over him, “We’re here for you man.”

This heartfelt assurance, from the most unlikely of allies, broke through Spike’s anguish, and after taking a huge slug of his whiskey, he raised his red eyes and looked at each of the men in turn. “Thanks guys. Appreciate this, really.”

“We’re family Spike,” Giles said sincerely, “It’s what we’re here for. And we are going to get through this. Now, tell me, why are you so sure that Buffy is lost as you put it?”

“Felt the connection snap didn’t I, just before I turned into the driveway. Couldn’t work it out at the time, but knew what it meant the minute I walked through that door and couldn’t sense her presence. Someone’s taken her, just like that dream of hers, and I think they must’ve, they must’ve just ended it, ended … her.” The final word had lurched brokenly from between Spike’s lips, said so quietly, but heard so clearly by all of them. It seemed to resound around the silent room.

Rowan stepped forward from the cluster that she, Oz and the other three women had made. She walked gently towards Spike, kneeling down before him when she got to his chair.

“Spike,” she began softly, waiting until he’d lifted his gaze to hers, “I think there’s a few things you’ve forgotten. Firstly, according to the dream, its seems likely that whoever took Buffy wants the child, and it’s way too early to attempt that yet, so I’m thinking they’ll have Buffy stowed away somewhere. Secondly, in the dream her connection with you was severed, it was a huge part of what freaked her out, but she was still alive, just cut off from you somehow. Finally, I know she’s not indestructible, but the protection spell will keep her, and the baby, safe from most harm. You’ve got to have faith in that.”

A slight glimmer of hope lit Spike’s dazed mien, and Rowan saw him nod almost imperceptibly, but nod nevertheless. She lifted herself up onto Xander’s lap, making herself comfortable for the rest of the telling. “There’s something else Spike, that you may not have thought of.” Rowan continued, her voice gaining in strength as her confidence in her belief grew. “Buffy and I have spoken about this a number of times, both when we first met and more recently. When you were off getting all enlightened, it’s probably fair to say that you were in another dimension, right?”

Spike frowned to himself, then nodded, the curious, expectant look on his face lighting some sort of blaze within him. “Go on pet, got some more thoughts on the matter I see.”

“Well, Buffy couldn’t sense you at all after you’d been sucked into the amulet. She felt you were still alive, or at least not dead-dead, but just somewhere else. But that was mainly because of the dreams. But as soon as you began pouring yourself out of the amulet, before you’d even fully reformed, and well before you’d regained your corporeal state, she could sense you once more.”

Rowan paused, checking that Spike was keeping up with her. He just nodded, signifying that she should go on. The others had drawn closer as well, bringing with them a definite sense of anticipation.

“Now, I know that your connection has grown deeper, stronger since the bite you shared in L.A.” No one even blinked at that, so she pressed on. “Yet even with that strengthened connection, there have been two times, momentary though they might be, when your connection has been disrupted.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Spike said, “When she stepped into the Bit’s portal. Was like she wasn’t on this plane for a fraction of a second, neither here nor there. The portal’s a little like Lewis’ ‘Wood between the Worlds’ I reckon.”

“Hmm, possibly,” Giles added, surprised only momentarily that a notorious vampire would be so familiar with The Chronicles of Narnia. “But I think the point that Rowan is trying to make is that when you step through a portal, for just a fraction of a moment you are not in our dimension, not on our plane of existence, and when that happened to Buffy, your connection could not remain intact.”

“Bloody hell,” Spike surged to his feet, gaping at Giles and Rowan in wonder and excitement. “You think that’s what’s happened to Buffy? She’s somewhere other?”

“I think it’s certainly worth careful consideration,” Giles answered cautiously.

“And I’m going to go out on a limb and say I’m certain of it,” Rowan said firmly. “Spike, even when you were in the Fire Realm, and Buffy couldn’t sense you, I could. Somehow I was able to feel your existence in a way that let me know you were definitely still alive, even if I wasn’t sure where you were. And Spike, I don’t know where Buffy is now, I really don’t. But she’s still alive! I can feel it, faintly but inimitably so. You just have to find her.”

Spike snatched Rowan up and pulled her into a wild embrace, jiggling her up and down as he leapt about. The hope that had deserted him so utterly came flooding back with the force of a tsunami, washing away all of his helplessness and inertia. He was gonna find Buffy and their baby and bring them home, even if he had to search to the ends of the earth.

Finally he let the young witch go. “Thanks pet,” he said humbly, “I owe you more than you could ever know.” He flicked his gaze to a rather bemused Xander, “Fine woman you’ve got here whelp. She’s a keeper for sure.”

“Right people, time to get to work,” he said, stepping back enough to address the whole group. “We’ve got two Summers women to find and a lot of ground to cover. We need to get cracking.”

Getting cracking involved getting some food and blood into the searchers, drawing up a schedule for the next day and organizing themselves into two separate teams. Spike had Giles, Xander, Rowan and Tara on the Buffy team, while Willow, Oz and Andrew, who was turning up in the morning to help with the search, were on Team Dawn. Cat was going to base herself at the Lodge, coordinating communication and resources between the two teams, and organizing slayer backup should either team need it. They all hoped like hell it wouldn’t be needed.

Once that was settled, they sent the pregnant Mums off to bed, knowing that they needed their sleep. Tara went too, Spike sending her a wink as she left the room, and Guardian or no, the darling girl blushed as sweet as ever at his speculative look. That left just the four menfolk to go back over the day’s events, sort out what they did and didn’t know.

The first thing they did was agree that the two sisters had undoubtedly been abducted, more likely by demonic forces than human ones. Whether they’d been taken together, by the same group, or by different agents, it was unclear. They’d not received any communications, no threats or ransom notes, so it was difficult to make any guess on that front.

Whatever the case, they were going to need more manpower than they presently had access to. The baby slayers could supply brute force if and when it was needed, but what they really needed was more experienced researchers and problem solvers. Giles suggested some of the Watchers based at Bromley, Cecil Davis and Gareth Robson, as well as the Academy Principal Anthony Collins. These men seemed perfectly adequate for the more general research required, but they all wanted people who knew them, who were more like family.

Spike suggested Faith right off. She and Buffy had got much closer out in L.A. and he was pretty sure that the dark haired slayer would want to be involved in the hunt for her sister slayer. Willow added Wesley’s name. Spike didn’t know him well, but had heard often enough how the ex Watcher had helped them hunt down the Amulet. Bloke seemed decent enough and would be a good addition to the team looking for Dawn. Willow also wondered about Fred, some scientist bird that worked for Angel, and everyone acquiesced to her knowledge.

No one suggested the big poof himself. Spike knew that Peaches would do anything to find Buffy once he knew she was missing, pull strings and share resources. But bringing him into the mix, having him on one of the teams, it just didn’t seem like a good idea. Besides, he’d undoubtedly blame Spike for her loss, although no more than he was doing so himself right now.

Once it had been decided, Giles put the call through to Angel. Spike hung round to listen in on the conversation. Seemed like the old boy had just got back from some mission involving the demon warlock that owned the amulet. Sounded like the sorcerer was up to his old tricks, pulling Angel’s strings in some way. Anyway, upshot was that both Wes and Faith were there with him and had agreed to come and yes he’d get Fred sorted, get them all on one of Wolfram and Hart’s private jets. They’d be at Gatwick by morning.

That having been organised, Giles and Oz bade he and Xander goodnight and headed off to their women. He’d managed to talk the boy into coming with him, driving the two of them back to the corner of Coleman’s Hatch where he’d dropped Buffy that afternoon, then shadowing him back in the car as Spike walked the route his girl would have taken, trying to pick up any clues that might hint at what had happened.

He brought up his vamp senses and walked slowly, steadily, his nose catching the delicious scent she’d strewn along the road from the moment he stepped out of the car, its bouquet in steady attendance as he followed the path she’d set ten hours previous.

Tears pricked the back of his eyeballs at such a visceral reminder of her presence; that she’d been here, so close to home. But he didn’t allow the moisture to gather; he needed to focus, to use the preternatural eyesight that allowed him to see the landscape in such stark detail, that threw the stones and blades of grass and fallen leaves and cigarette butts and nodding daisies into such clear relief in defiance of the midnight shadows that blanketed them. When even the smallest of objects might provide an all-important clue to Buffy’s whereabouts, Spike couldn’t afford to let sentimentality blur his vision.

He meandered along the road, care and concentration tempering his speed. The perfume of her led him on so that he could almost feel her presence beside him, that if he tipped his head just a little, she’d be there next to him, skipping along in the moonlight, smiling that enigmatic little smile of hers. Exceptin’ of course, the connection was down, that special link that told him more than anything else that his girl was in the world, that she was his.

He wondered at that moment whether he should have strengthened the bond at some stage, claimed Buffy and had her claim him back. He knew they both wanted it, were ready for and desirous of that deeper connection. The pregnancy had held him back, concern over the effects the claim might have on the child cooling his ardor, his yearning for the level of union and commitment the act would bring.

But now he wondered if staying his hand, or his fangs, as the case might be wasn’t the wrong decision. Surely, with a claiming bond in place, he’d have been able to track her, maybe even communicate with her in some way. He’d heard all sorts of freaky shit about the type of benefits a claim could bring, half of it undoubtedly vampire hyperbole or one-upmanship from someone who knew someone who’d claimed someone. Or worse yet, just a bunch of romantic twaddle promulgated by some pathetic, misguided starry-eyed wannabes.

Whatever the advantages might be, it was too late to ponder them now. He’d not gone there – just another black mark in ‘Spike’s Ledger of Regrets and Fuckups’. Still, sitting around marinatin’ in his misgivings wasn’t gonna do a lick of shit in getting’ his girl back. Or Dawn. Action was what was required now, action and a clear head.

The sudden cessation of Buffy’s scent jolted him out of his introspection, bought him back to the here and now. Spike retraced his steps, a half dozen back to where the Slayer’s signature became muddied, tangled with the scent of one, no two others. Males, by the smell of the pheromones, and human ones at that.

Woven in and out of the people scents were a couple of others, the slowly dissipating stench of magic, and a sweet, cloying smell that led Spike to a balled up square of discarded lint cloth. He picked it up and inhaled. The sweet smell was definitely an ether of some sort, and the faint hint of ozone alluded to fluorine. Probably one of the halogenated ethers that they used for anesthesia these days. They’d obviously knocked the slayer out chemically, which considering the alternative wasn’t a bad thing.

Just to be sure, Spike checked scrupulously for any signs of blood, slayer or otherwise. Not a drop could he find, and neither did the site yield up any other physical clues.

Xander had parked the car about twenty yards further up the road, which made the final task somewhat challenging. Spike dropped down onto his hands and knees, drawing in deep wafts of air, trying to sort through the manifold layers of mechanical lubricants and automotive fuels and byproducts, in order to find the most recent. The pungent odors of petrol, engine oil, hydraulic fluid, coolant, carbon monoxide, hydrocarbons and sulfur mingled together in a toxic miasma, hovering above the grass. He was grateful that the hazardous effects of such fuels and emissions had no impact on his vampire physiology beyond the obnoxious experience provided by his overly responsive olfactory senses.

Finally, he found what he was looking for. A small patch of diesel fuel, the scent strong enough to tell him it had leaked onto the kerb within the last twelve hours. Diesel. A van then, most likely. After one last inspection of the site, Spike jogged up to Xander’s car and jumped in the front seat.

“Any luck?” the boy asked as he put the car into gear and set off for home.

“Yeah,” Spike grunted. “Bastards had a van. There were two of them, human mind. They used magic and a good old dose of ether to take her down. Doesn’t look like there was any sort of altercation. Pretty sure she and the babe would have been right as rain when they tossed her in the back, just in the land of nod.”

“Is there any way you can track the vehicle from here?” Xander asked.

“Na, there’ve too many cars up and down that road since then. Track gets jumbled up with a bunch of others within a few feet. Only reason I could pick out what I did was cause they’d pulled off to the side.”

They were both quiet as Xander pulled the car into his parking space and they hopped out. Too many of their thoughts were dark ones, better left unsaid.

The lounge was dark and silent as Spike pushed the door open. It was well after midnight and the others, even Giles, had all gone to bed. Xander paused just inside the doorway, hovering there as he worried for his friend. Spike was busying himself, heating up some blood, pouring out a scotch.

“Go to bed man,” he growled, “That bird of yours will have it warmed up and cozy by now.”

“Are you sure? I could stay up with you for a while if you like.”

“Don’t be daft you berk, get out of here,” Spike snapped. He paused as Xander shrugged and turned back wearily for the door. “Harris,” he said, his voice cracking with repressed emotion, “Thanks yeah, for tonight, for the company and, I don’t know, that never give up attitude of yours. It’s worth something, don’t let anyone ever tell you otherwise.”

Xander stopped, his hand on the doorknob, and looked Spike directly in the eye. “No worries Spike, that’s what friends are for.” He held the vampire’s gaze for a minute longer, nodded then slipped out, pulling the door shut behind him.

Spike let out the breath he was holding. Shit these humans were starting to dig in deep. Who’d’ve believed, even six months ago, that he and the whelp would end up being friends? But that’s what was happenin’ here, Spike’s regard for the boy having shifted beyond tolerance, which initially was mostly for Buffy’s sake, and into the simple affection of friendship. Mutual too, by the lay of it. The timing of it was a fine thing; he’d certainly need the resilience and emotional support that this group lent one another if he was to make it through the next few days. Cos wasn’t it just like the fates to wait until his life was happy beyond his imagining before sticking it to him.

‘Fuck!’ Spike sighed, and tumbled back into one of the room’s plush velvet La-Z-Boy chairs. He knocked back his scotch in one gulp and poured himself another. Damn, he wished he had some fags left. He thought about going back to his and Buffy’s unit, rummaging through the drawers in case he still had a half empty packet stashed away somewhere.

Likely not; the Slayer had been pretty adamant about his givin’ up, her bein’ in the family way an’ all. Supposed to be bad for the baby. Spike didn’t know how given the way pregnant mums used to puff away like chimneys for as far back as he could recall. Not much left to chance these days he reckoned, humans liked to order and control things, take all the risks out of life. Whatever, his smokes were likely long gone.

He didn’t want to go back to their unit anyway, couldn’t stand being in the room surrounded by her scent and her stuff and the instant replays of all their little moments together. My God this life they had was a fine one, their time together at Ashdown the most sublime and perfect of his many years on this earth. At the thought of what he’d lost, part of him wanted to sink into a mire of depression and bleak hopelessness, wallow in his own despair. Be easy to, just slump down into despair, the way he was slumped down into the chair, so deep that none of the Scoobies could drag him out.

But he’d made a promise, to himself in regards to Buffy and their bairn, and to herself in regards to the bit. To the ends of the earth, both of them. And he wasn’t a welcher. But the thought of where they could be, what might be happening to them hollowed him out inside. Now that he was alone, the others all tucked up safe and sound in their beds, he let down his stoic façade. After all, it was one thing to hear the little witch saying Buffy was still alive, somewhere, but quite another to try and cope with this sense of empty, cut off bereavement. His psyche, echoing with the aching absence and intense aloneness of the severed link, was unable to tell death from disconnection.

Anger would have been better, anger and denial. Would’ve flooded his body with adrenaline, sent him scurrying out into the night ready to deal death and violence to whoever had anything to do with Buffy’s abduction. But grief only brought fatigue and inertia, unworthy companions for the road ahead. It was hard to breath with such a heavy weight on his chest. ‘God, such a fucking pounce’ he thought as tears tracked down his cheeks again.

Spike closed his eyes. Images of the two of them together danced through his mind, a whole medley of scenes from their times together, some of them violent, some of them passionate, some of them pathetic and some of them blissful. There was no pattern to the different settings and events. Some he recognized right away, some took a little longer. He sunk deeper and deeper into the sights and sounds and emotions, laughing or crying or grimacing as the various scenes played out on the screen.

Suddenly the setting changed again. He wasn’t immediately familiar with the cold, damp, dark cave, but it did seem to strike some chord in him. As far as he could tell, it wasn’t Harmony’s lair, nor Adam’s, and it didn’t look like the cavern above the Hellmouth either. As Spike struggled to recall any other caves he’d visited over the past five years, Buffy came into view, almost as if she’d walked onto a sound stage from the left wing. Okay, this seemed more familiar; she was in black leggings, track shoes and that gorgeous turquoise jumper he loved. When had she last worn that outfit?

Spike’s slow-beating heart seized as he realised when. It was this morning. Or this afternoon to be exact. These were the clothes she was wearing when she went missing. What the fuck? Now that he looked more closely, he could see the swell of her belly in her profile, and a set of cuffs on her hands. What was this?

Another figure came into view behind her, a man, brandishing a loosely held sword as he strolled behind her. She didn’t look to be injured, but by the droop of her shoulders and the shuffling of her footsteps, Spike thought she seemed exhausted. The man drove her on, grunting at her if she slowed down too much. Finally, after stumbling over a rock and falling to her knees, he let her sit down on a rock and rest. He left her there and wandered off, returning after a time with a backpack.

The bag contained food and water, which he dolled out between the two of them. For once the Slayer was sensible enough to just shut up and eat and drink. Maybe she was just too shot to argue, or maybe she was thinking about her little one, but either way, after finishing off her rations, she curled up on a rocky shelf and dozed off. Her captor grunted again, and pulled one of those aluminium thermal blankets out of the bag and draped it over her slumbering form. Then he sat down on a nearby rock, pulled out a whetstone, and began to hone his steel sword.

Suddenly someone was calling his name. Spike looked around the cave, waiting to see if he’d been spotted. Huh? Now he was in the cave? Okay, if he could get rid of the guard, he’d be able to rescue Buffy. Damn, he could hear his name again, louder this time. If whoever was doing that didn’t shut up, the guard would be tipped off and the game would be up. He’d probably threaten Buffy or even…

“Spike, Spike,” the voice was right in his ear now. “Wake up, the back up’s arrived.”

Spike leapt up, heart pounding, the sights and sounds and smells of the Lodge lounge room sweeping away his view of the cave. He froze, his equilibrium momentarily out of kilter thanks to the abrupt switch. Finally, his brain caught up with his eyes and ears. A dream, okay, but what sort of dream was that?

Bloody hell that was wacky. He’d slept, ensconced in his armchair, while a bloody circus was going on around him. Xander, undoubtedly the dream-slayer, was standing next to him, Tara, Rowan and Cat were busy setting the table and making tea and toast, Oz was carrying in a big covered dish from the kitchens, full of bacon and eggs by the aroma of it and Giles was at the front door, ushering Faith, Wes, some skinny chick, probably that Fred girl and a young lad, inside. Pandefuckingmonium, and he’d slept right through it. Great predator instincts all right!

Giles called them altogether to greet the guests and introduce the unknowns to one another. Cat knew Faith, but was getting to meet the rest on Angel’s lot for the first time. Likewise, apart from Willow, who was currently missing, none of them had met Winifred Burkle, or Fred as she preferred to be called. Finally, the whelp, a surprise addition to the team, name of Connor Reilly. No one bothered to volunteer his standing within the group, but Spike was puzzled by the vaguely familiar scent he could sense off the boy.

Faith had pulled Spike in for a bone cruncher of a hug, a real slayer special if ever there was one, and whispered in his ear, “We’ll find them Spike, all three, safe and sound. But not before we give their kidnappers a good, old fashioned smack down.” Wes had given him handshake/backslap combination that’s as close as some blocks get to a hug. Fred had greeted him with a blush, a stutter, a giggle and another blush. Charming, but a scientist? He couldn’t picture it. The boy was out of his depth, covered in confusion and angst. But under it all, Spike could sense a warrior, and still that scintillatingly familiar scent.

They’d all managed to settle themselves down at the long table, everyone having helped themselves to the breakfast fare so that they could eat and strategize at the same time, when Willow burst through the back door, closely followed by Dana and the little slayer from one of the independent, formerly Russian states, Georgia or Armenia. Khatia the girl was called, if he remembered rightly. The witch had her babble on, which she was apt to do when over excited.

“So it seems that more than two dozen of our girls had the same slayer dream last night. Mainly the older girls, which I’m not sure why, maybe the dreams can only stretch so far before they get too diluted. Or maybe Sineya feels the younger girls aren’t up for them yet. I wonder if there’s a bottom age limit for slayer dreams?”

Spike could see Tara and Oz grinning at one another, and quietly the wolf got up behind Red and put his hand on her back. This seemed to calm her instantly, and she took a deep breath and started again.

“Ok, so the dream itself seemed to be set in a cave; dark, damp, cold looking.”

Spike’s mouth popped open at this point, while Faith, sitting beside him, was nodding earnestly.

“Yeah, and next thing you know,” Faith interrupted, “B’s being led in by the point of a sword.”

“Oh my, yes,” Willow squeed, “You too huh Faith?”

“And then,” there was stunned silence as Spike shared the next act, “The guard brought in a backpack and hauled out food and water which they both ate, and one of those shiny blankets which he put over Buffy to keep her warm.”

“Oh my Lord!” Giles uttered, looking to Willow and Faith, both of whom were nodding at him. “Spike, you had a slayer dream.”

“Is that what that was? Thought it was pretty weird. Still not gonna do much good. Harris woke me before I got much further. Don’t know what happened after the guard finished sharpening his sword.” Spike slumped and shook his head. “And even if I did, have no idea where this cave is anyway.”

“Well, that’s where Khatia comes in.” Willow said, beaming.

“Yes, I know cave, have been to entrance.” Khatia said in her heavily accented English. “Have never been down shaft like in dream scene, but have I seen many, many photos.”

“Bloody hell girl, where?” Spike leapt up. “Where’s the damn cave?”

“ Is called Krubera cave, deepest known cave in world. If she is still alive, then Buffy is, in Georgia, deep down in the bowels of Krubera.”

'Tis sweet to feel by what fine-spun threads our affections are drawn together.Laurence Sterne

Connor sighed and looked around him. He still didn’t understand how or why he was here, in this room, this house, hell, in this country. He’d never even been outside of the States before. Well as far as he knew! But then it seemed as if he didn’t know much. According to Angel, his life was not what it appeared. There’d been a spell, a ‘reality shift’ that had been cast in order to keep him safe. Safe from whom, Angel hadn’t been quite so clear about.

In fact there was a whole bunch of stuff that Angel hadn’t been very clear about. And before he had a chance to ask questions, he’d been shoved on a private jet and whisked off to England to do … what? Something else he wasn’t clear about.

All Angel would say was that he, Connor, was some sort of warrior. Okay, so there was mounting evidence to support that theory, what with the injury free van incident and the demon fighting. But he didn’t really feel like a warrior, just like an ordinary college kid lost in some wacky dream. Despite killing that Sahjhan dude, he’d been pretty set on slipping back into his ordinary life as soon as they’d left Mr Vail’s place.

Instead, Angel had gotten all gloomy and serious and insisted they accompany him into his office in order to be party to ‘the truth of things’. But, from what Connor could work out, they hadn’t gotten far into that before the phone call came from England, from Mr Giles, who seemed to be in charge around here, informing them that ‘Buffy’ and ‘Dawn’ were missing. Which seemed like a bad thing all round. But what it had to do with him, Connor was still in the dark.

It didn’t really seem like they needed another warrior. Not only did they have Faith, but the place was apparently teeming with girls just like her, just like the two he’d sparred with earlier in the week. Slayers they were called, lots of them even younger than he was, but obviously with more experience. At least they all seemed to have a ‘purpose’, which was more than he could say for himself.

So if they didn’t need his fighting skills, he wasn’t sure why Angel had stuck him on the plane, instantly produced passport in hand. He was beginning to suspect that the vampire had done it just to get him out of the way, distract him from asking all of those awkward questions that Angel, with a gleam of panic showing in the whites of his eyes, just wasn’t ready to deal with.

So here he was stuck, bored, redundant and superfluous to needs. ‘Here’ was the Research Center of what looked like a pretty awesome place called Ashdown, home of all the slayers and their watchers. He’d like to have been able to wander around, check out some of the facilities, and some of the chicks. Man, there were something like 1300 little super powered hotties running around outside this room, some sort of teenaged boys' dream come true. So yeah, checking out the merchandize would be infinitely more pleasant than being stuck, bored witless, in here.

At least he’d managed to tune in some of the time, enough to know that he was on Team Dawn, charged with finding and rescuing the teenage sister of the capital S Slayer, Buffy. Who was also missing! Sucked to be that family. The girls were like surrogate daughters of Mr Giles, and the Slayer was the girlfriend of that kind of punk, sort of scary dude Spike. Someone had mentioned he was a vampire, although Connor didn’t see how that could be right, given that he’d seen him walk out to the carpark in full sunlight.

Apparently Dawn was something called a Key, which meant she had the ability to open portals and shift through space and time. Which made him wonder why she didn’t just open a portal back to Ashdown. Nobody else was mentioning this, but maybe they all thought it was because she was either unconscious or too badly injured to make her mojo work. Or dead. Connor hoped not, because she seemed like a very nice girl, everyone said so, and even though he didn’t know her, he thought that rescuing someone would be kinda cool. Sort of knight in white armourish. So yeah, alive would be good.

They’d established a few other facts over the course of the morning. Dawn had ended up in the sick room at her school the day before. The school had rung Giles to ask him to come and pick the girl up. Both Giles and Spike had headed for the school, but by the time they’d got there, Dawn had disappeared.

The school hadn’t been particularly cooperative the previous afternoon, but now that Dawn had been gone for some time, and the police were involved, they’d admitted that another student, a boy by the name of Bobby something had signed himself out at the same time. More worrying was the news they’d had from the police about an hour ago. The address, phone number and details of the boy and his family had turned out to be fake. So yeah, this was getting kinda serious now.

The police were still treating it like a regular abduction, but because of the mystical elements, which they couldn’t exactly explain to the detectives involved, the Ashdown crew were convinced it was more supernatural in nature. But what those supernatural forces might be was still anyone’s guess.

“Hello. Hello people.” Connor was zoned out, just staring into space, when this nerdy looking guy, dressed in a tweed suit, shirt and tie, and carrying a briefcase, made his way into the room. “Oooh, visitors. Bienvenu mon amis. Welcome to the Fortress of Multitude, the home of the Slayers of the Vampyrs. Your assistance is très appréciée.”

“Oh my Goddess,” Willow, the redhead said, rolling her eyes, “Would you can it. You know if Dawn was here she’d kick your backside. Stop being such a dweeb and get in here and help us.” She took a deep breath and tried to regain her cool. “Okay guys, this is Andrew, kind of an annoying ex-villain whom we’ve reluctantly adopted and is now in training to become a watcher. Andrew, this is Wesley, Fred and Connor, part of Angel's Investigations Team.”

“Actually, we work for Wolfram and Hart these days,” Wes muttered, “Well, at least Fred and I do. Connor’s kind of here as … back up?” Wes looked at Connor and they both shrugged at the same time.

“Charmed, I’m sure,” Andrew said, bowing crisply then fluttering his eyelashes at the two men, which was disturbing to say the least. “And have no fear Fearless Leader, for I have been hard at work researching potential leads in order to free our fair damsel from the brutes who would detain her.”

“Andrew, I swear,” Willow stood up and leaned over the boy, “If you don’t cut out all this pretentious Masterpiece Theatre shit, I’m gonna turn you into a frog. See how many damsels you can rescue when you’re green and slimy and four inches tall!”

“Okay, okay, I get it. I was just trying to break the tension, you know on account of Dawnie being taken.” His shoulders drooped and he looked up, an earnest, worried look on his face. “She’s my best friend, you know that, and I’ll do anything to get her back.”

“Alright, I know,” Willow’s voice was surprisingly gentle now. “Come and sit down, tell us what you’ve got.”

“Okay, so I’m sure you guys know about the Golden Dawn thing, but I thought I’d do a little background checking of my own, see if I could get a physical address from their domain site.” Andrew ground to a halt as he noticed the confused, blank looks on his teammates’ faces, not just the L.A. crew, but Willow and Oz as well.

“Maybe start from the top,” Oz said, nodding encouragingly at him.

“Really? But I thought you guys would be all up to speed on this.” He looked around again, shocked at the casual shrugs and total lack of awareness they were displaying. “Ohh-kay, she really should have told you about this, but here goes. Dawn came across this website about a month ago, back in mid October, right around the time that Tara came back to grace us with her presence. It was just a random thing, but the site was all about one of those Golden Dawn organizations, you know, all esoteric mysticism, ceremonial magick and initiatory rites.”

Connor had never heard of the Golden Dawn, but the other four were nodding keenly, so he decided to keep quiet on that front.

“Dawn had studied the history of the Order in her Religious Studies class, but this group seemed a little different to the other main revivalist orders. To begin with, it was based in England, whereas most of the other Orders are these days in the States. The name was somewhat different, and may I say, disquieting, as well: The Glorious Order of the Golden Dawn.”

Willow in particular looked troubled by this announcement, although the others looked merely intrigued. Connor tried to school his expression to match theirs.

“But what really freaked her out was the description of their grading rites. Like the other Golden Dawn Orders, admission from the First Grade to the Second Grade was via an invisible Portal Grade. Usually this just related to the demonstration of certain skills and a written examination before the aspirant could be initiated as an adept. But this crowd was a bit more specific. They alluded to the fact that enlightenment could only be achieved by passing through this invisible portal, which in the case of the Glorious Order, was to be controlled by a Gate Mistress.”

At this news Willow gasped loudly and Oz looked concerned.

“I take it that this title is somehow significant.” Wesley stated.

“Yes, yes it is.” Willow answered. “Over the last few months I’ve been carrying out a lot of research on the group known as the Guardians. I take it you’ve heard of them?”

“Indeed.” Wes replied, “The Guardians were an ancient group of powerful mystic women whose role it was to aid the Slayer. But little is known about them, not even whether their members were living beings or ethereal. I had heard that they played some part in Buffy’s retrieval of the Scythe.”

“They did. In fact they themselves created Sagaria, many millennia ago,” Willow said. “Anyway, to make a long story short, I wondered if we might be able to make greater use of the Guardians, forge some sort of beneficial relationship with them. My research led me to the name of one of their high priestesses, a woman who’d lived around 3000 years ago. Her name was Ephesos, and she was Lydian Amazon. It seems likely that the city of Ephesus was named after her. After a lot of research, and with the help of Giles, Rowan and Althanea, I was able to summons Ephesos.”

“Oh Willow,” Wes proclaimed fervently, “This is simply fascinating. What an astonishing achievement. I take it your were able to secure their cooperation?”

“Oh yes, in more ways than one. We received a number of blessings as a result of that visit, not the least of which was the return of my beloved,” at this point she paused and squeezed Oz’ hand, “Our beloved, Tara. Ephesos also shared many details of our roles and the road ahead. She referred to Dawn as the Gate Mistress, describing her as someone who held endless power and resources at her fingertips. Or something like that.”

“Could it be a coincidence?” Fred asked.

“Unlikely,” Andrew said, “Particularly given the statement at the bottom of their homepage.” He reached down and grabbed his briefcase off the ground, flicking it open to draw out a sheaf of papers. As he passed them out, one to each member, Connor could see that they were printouts, the heading, in ornate gold letters, proclaiming ‘The Glorious Order of the Golden Dawn’. The page was illustrated with arcane symbols and diagrams, including pentacles, pyramids, the Eye of Horus, crucifixes and a stylized tree. But the information that was obviously bothering Andrew was printed at the bottom of the page.

‘Dear Friend and Seeker of Knowledge and Power,
The time is nigh and the One we seek is new come to our shores, her power knows no limits. For she is the Gate Mistress, the Holder of the Key. She dwells in the House of Summers, alongside Warriors and Wiccans, Angels and Demons, Makers and Healers. Glory and divine energy emanate from her, and with a touch she may open up all of the untold dimensions of the universe. She will guide us; she will light the pathways of the divine Sephiroth leading to the Dawn of a Golden Age. She is the earthly embodiment of the Golden Dawn. We await her divine presence.”

There was silence while they all read and digested the words of the tract. The silence rapidly turned to shock as everyone, even Connor, could see the correlations between the Order’s eagerly anticipated Gate Mistress and their Dawn.

“How? How could this happen?” Willow gasped, “How did they find out who she was, where she was? And by the way, are they nuts?”

“Quite likely, yes. Golden Dawn organizations have always attracted people with extreme beliefs. Not that there’s anything wrong with the basic precepts of the Order. In fact, the Golden Dawn inspired much of the ritual and magic underlying contemporary traditions, such as Wicca and Thelema. So nutty people, not nutty ideas. After all, who are we to judge?”

“That’s very admirable of you Andrew.” Fred said quietly.

“Thank you attractive, slender woman, uh, I mean … Fred?” he blushed as she nodded. “Now, as for your other question Willow, well, that’s what I've been working on this morning. I’ve been busy trying to trace the organizations physical address through their ISP. After a bit of digging I was able to identify that the website was registered to a David Felkin. Mr Felkin resides in Bristol, along with his wife Andrea and their eighteen year old son Robbie, named after his Great- Great- Great Grandfather Robert Felkin, one of the earliest members of the Amen-Ra Temple in Edinburgh.”

“Wow,” Connor declared, “So, like a fifth generation adept.”

“Well not directly. From what I gather, the third and fourth generations weren’t really involved in the Golden Dawn at all. It seems this David was fairly recently drawn back into the fold. In fact, from what I can tell, they were nudged into reviving Felkin Senior’s Hermes Lodge in Bristol, by a newcomer to this fair land.”

“Okay, Andrew,” Willow grinned admiringly, “I’ll admit it, you’re more of a technogeek, I mean technomaster, than I could ever be. What you can coax out of the system is astonishing. I bow down to you, oh elite hacker and cyber spy extraordinaire. So spill the beans, who is this newcomer? I assume you know.”

“The guy’s name is Chuck Mathers. Funnily enough, he’s a descendant of Samuel Mathers, one of the Golden Dawn’s Founding Fathers. The family emigrated to the States several generations back. And interestingly, his last listed address was Sunnydale California.”

“Oh my Goddess.”

“Yeah, freaky huh?”

“So what does he do?” Connor asked. “I mean for a job? I mean, I guess that’s relevant isn’t it?”

“Well I thought so,” Andrew said, smiling flirtatiously at Connor. “In fact it was the first thing I looked up. I thought it might help me track down his whereabouts since he arrived in England. But, interestingly, he’s been unemployed since sometime in January 2001. Medical leave. I hacked into Sunnydale General’s archived admission records for that month. Seems Mr Mathers had a little bit of a psychotic break back then. He spent several weeks in the psych ward, then was released.”

“Nooo,” Willow said, “It couldn’t be. I mean, none of them survived. Well at least I guess a bunch of them survived, but none of them would have been able to function mentally again. Would they?” She paused, her eyes flicking from Andrew to Wesley.

“I assume you’re referring to the incident with Glory.” Wes replied vaguely. “Giles only passed on the barest of details, but from what I understand, she used the psychic energies of her human victims to stabilize her own deteriorating mental state. The process left the targets’ minds scattered and broken. It’s difficult to say whether or not a person in that condition could indeed recover his or her faculties.”

“Well I don’t think he recovered them too fully,” Andrew said. “But I’m pretty sure he followed us here from Sunnydale. According to arrivals, he was on the same flight Willow as you, Buffy and Dawn. I mean he obviously survived the collapse of the Hellmouth, but how he ended up on the same flight I couldn’t say. Maybe just coincidence. Or maybe he recognized all three of you at the airport and decided to head in the same direction.”

“You think he’s the one with the Dawn fixation?” Oz asked.

“I’d say it was almost indisputable.” Andrew was quiet for a minute, as if deciding whether or not to share his thoughts. “The thing is, I’ve accessed his pharmaceutical records since he arrived in England. For the first couple of months he was regularly filling scripts for Lithium and Olanzapine, anti-psychotics used to treat schizophrenia, and acute manic episodes. But unless he’s getting them under the table, he’s been off his meds for the last ten weeks.”

“And you think that coincides with this Golden Dawn thing?” Fred asked.

“Well, I've read all of Giles’ accounts of the Glory days pretty thoroughly.” Andrew said. “From what I understand, Glory’s brain suckees perceived certain things in different ways. Those that saw Dawn were often in awe of her, praising her light and beauty.”

“Yeah,” Willow agreed, “Even Tara was all with the Dawn worship after Glory got her nasty mitts into her.”

“So, maybe, if this guy came off his meds, he might have remembered that time, parts of it at least, and got Dawn somehow mixed up with Glory and ‘boom’, 1 + 1 = 3. Then maybe he got chatting to some bloke down the pub, talked about magic and esoteric stuff, the one guy admits his Great-Great-Great used to be a ceremonial magician, the other guy’s all how fascinating so was mine, then ‘bam’ lets revive their practices, yes lets and I’ll lead you to the next great thing. And so it goes.”

“Not that I’m doubting your research skills Andrew,” Wes said firmly, “But that’s a hell of a lot of speculation. Still I’m sure there’d be no harm checking things out if you’ve got an address.”

“Yeah, I’ve got addresses for the both of them, both in Bristol.”

“Meanwhile, Oz and I can follow up with the boy who’s gone missing,” Willow said. “What was his name again?”

“Ahh, let me see, it’s here somewhere,” Wes said, shuffling through his pile of papers. “Oh, here it is. Right, the lad’s name is Bobby Falcon. Hmm, that sounds familiar. Why…?”

“Sounds suspiciously like Robbie Felkin, don’t you think?” Connor said. “You know, teenage son of the Golden Dawn guy. The not crazy one. Or at least the less crazy one.”

“Oh my Lord,” Wes said, “You’re right! You’ve just provided the missing link between Dawn Summers and the Glorious Order. Well done lad.”

“And well done to you Andrew,” Willow said proudly, her warm tone belying the impatience she’d displayed earlier. “You’ve done an amazing job of pulling together all of the threads of this plot, weaving them into a coherent whole. You’re going to make an amazing Watcher.”

“Hear, hear, I couldn’t agree more.” Wes added warmly. “A little less with the affectation couldn’t hurt, but otherwise, I think you’ll do well.”

It was late afternoon by this stage and already closing in dark. They decided to have a quick meal, throw together some clothes, and travel across to Bristol in one of Ashdown’s vans. Apparently, if they took the M4 it would only take them two and a half hours. They could book into a motel, get a good night’s sleep, and be ready to check out the lay of the land in the morning.

That sounded fine to Connor, especially the bit about a good night’s sleep. After all, he was really just along for the ride.

He headed off to the kitchens with Oz to rustle up some dinner and throw their bags in the van, leaving the other four to pack up the papers and laptops and gather up a few volumes of spells and the bits and pieces they'd need to work those spells. He wasn’t familiar with any of that sort of stuff, better for him to stick to the catering side of things he thought.

As he and Oz made their way through the back door of the lounge room, carrying garlic bread, a bowl of salad and a big pot of spaghetti between them, he heard Fred asking Willow what Dawn looked like.

“It might be a good idea if we know who we’re looking for,” she added in her soft Texan drawl.

“Oh gosh yes. I should have thought of that earlier.” Willow said. “Let’s just eat, then I’ll go and grab the photo album from my room and you can check out the photos on the way.”

Dinner was a noisy affair. The six member team that was looking for Buffy, plus Giles’ wife Cat, were there as well, and the conversation was peppered with the successes and frustrations that each team had encountered during the day. Apparently the others were heading out first thing in the morning, they had an 8 o’clock flight to Tbilisi International Airport in Georgia.

Finally, everyone had been well fed and watered, the van was packed and they were ready to hit the road. Willow nipped back to her unit, ostensibly to get her photo album, but also, Connor suspected, to share a little farewell time with the third member of hers and Oz’ relationship, the girl called Tara.

Minutes later they were back in the van, the both of them up front. Oz was driving and Willow was co-pilot. Fred and Wesley had settled themselves into the bench seat at the back, which meant he was stuck sitting with Andrew. The boy might be a hacker extraordinaire, and an awesome Watcher-in-training, but he made Connor feel uncomfortable. He was so gushy and OTT. He’d just have to suck it up and cope.

Oz got the van started and they were off, down the driveway, onto the road and out into the night of an English countryside. Connor was disappointed he couldn’t see anything, although he supposed that wasn’t the point.

As they sped down the lane Willow said “Oh, that’s right,” and fossicked around until she came up with something she that she was then waving around in front of him.

“Connor, can you pass this back to Fred?” she asked sweetly.

He took the photo, almost didn’t look at it, but glanced down just as he was turning to face the back. “Oh my God.” The words slipped from his lips almost before he was aware of them. He couldn’t believe it. This was Dawn? He flushed hot then cold. His heart was thumping excessively loudly in his chest, his hands were shaking and he just stared down at the photo, transfixed by the face of the girl that had haunted his dreams.

Willow, Fred and Andrew were all looking at him strangely. They'd probably heard his exclamation, noticed the way he was trembling.

“What is it sweetie?” Fred asked. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah,” he mumbled, “Yeah. It’s just that … I know this girl. Well actually, I don’t know her, but we have definitely crossed paths.” He shook himself, remembering the day that he’d crashed into her outside of the Wolfram and Hart building. He’d just about knocked her off her feet, and not in the good way unfortunately.

She had absolutely mesmerized him at the time, he’d been entranced by her glow and her quirky expressions and her fine butt. And there wasn’t a day, or a night, that had gone by since without him thinking about her, dreaming of her sparkling blue gaze. He knew he’d annoyed her; her emotions flitted across the surface of her face loud and clear. But to be honest, that was part of the attraction. He’d been the one swept off his feet.

Reluctantly, he handed the picture back to Fred. At that moment he made a vow to himself. He may not know who he was anymore, but whoever he might be, he was going to find Dawn, find her and rescue her. Nothing was going to stop him from making sure that she got home safe and sound. Nothing!


q95;

‘Mountain, mountain, mountain, marking time.
Each nameless, wall beyond wall, wavering redefinition of horizon.’Denise Levertov

Spike glanced out of the window as the plane came in to land. The unfamiliar landscape of Tbilisi rushed up to meet them. He stared at it, his left leg jiggling rapidly, vibrating with an impatience that began deep down in his bones. God, the flight had seemed interminable. His nerves were shot through, both with edginess and anxiety.

Most of it was about Buffy of course, his beautiful girl lost out there, her and their baby taken from him, but just a tad was about the flying itself. He still found the whole aeronautic experience rather daunting. It wasn’t that he’d never flown before, but up until the amulet, if he had to fly, it was in the cargo hold, not the cabin. Easy enough to sneak in through the loading bay when you knew what you were about, and things were dark and quiet and peaceful down there. Much more vamp speed than this overcrowded, smelly, noisy carriage. Much less chance of immolation too.

Sitting here in the window seat, crammed in amongst the cattle, partaking of the proffered meals and free drinks, a fair few of those too to be honest, Spike couldn’t help but feel it was somewhat profane, to be carrying about his business in such a human way. During his Dru years, they’d looked down on air travel as a somewhat vulgar exploit, sneered at the thought of travelling like sardines in a can, hurtling across the world as if time were the enemy. But of course, for humans, time was the enemy, hastening them on towards their own deaths, minute by minute, second by second.

Time meant nothing to vampires. A day, a week, a month, it’s all the same when your immortality stretches out endlessly before you. He and Dru’s favorite mode of travel had always been the big trans Atlantic ships, now and again a fancy passenger liner, but mostly the sturdy freighters; the pair of them sequestered safely away in the bowels of the cargo hold. Passage might take days, or even weeks, but who cared when time wasn’t an issue.

Well things had certainly changed for Spike these days. More than just the effects of the amulet, or even the soul, it was living in the human world, crammed in cheek by jowl with them, marking time with their clocks and schedules and timetables that had changed him. Time had become measurable, precious. Spike could appreciate that, now more than ever.

Now that Buffy was missing. Now that time, as they say, was of the essence, was at the crux of all things. ‘Cos that was the truth wasn’t it? Time! While it dragged by incessantly for him, with endless rounds of talking and planning and researching and talking some more until he was about ready to rip their fucking heads off, it might be almost at an end for his darling, she could be almost out of it. And that terrified him, paralyzed him.

So the jittery, jangly nerves, the dancing leg muscles, they were all that he was permittin’ himself to reveal in terms of his fear. God, he wanted to scream and rant and tear and fucking wail his anguish out to the world. But he’d kept himself pretty tightly reined in. Well, the others might not see it that way. They might call him on the odd tantrum, the occasional meltdown, the intermittent crying jags. But he still rated that as fairly well controlled given the writhing, howling, desperate state of his insides.

If forced to admit it, Spike supposed he’d have to say he’d always been a fairly emotional sort of bloke, even as a vampire. The turning was s’posed to dampen all the drama down, flatten out the highs and the lows, so that his actions, his deeds, could become more purposeful, more calculated, less reactionary. But it never seemed to really take with him. Oh he could shove it down, make it less visible, a trick he learned early on round Angelus. Was never a good idea to expose any heightened emotions around the old bastard, just gave him an excuse to impart one of his many training sessions. Or torture as Spike called it.

Even Dru was no respecter of his finer feelings. Love had to be wrapped up and doled out appropriately, as the side dish to a main meal comprising violence, mayhem, passion and blood, or not at all. Allowing his emotions to shine through at the wrong time had gotten Spike into a mess of trouble at times. If she was coherent and strong, she could be a nasty, mean bitch, his wicked plum. She would take his weakness and flay him alive with it, or undead at least, taunting and twisting and clawing her way through his hopes and fears. So unless he was feeling particularly submissive at the time, he learned to put his emotions away, up on a high shelf, out of sight, out of reach.

But no matter the tricks he employed to push them down, at the heart of it all, that’s what he was. An emotional man.

It had served him well enough in his dealings with the Slayer though. Well maybe not at the beginning, not when he’d wanted to kill her, although looking back now, perhaps it was always his emotions that’d got in the way of doing that job too, his impatience, his pride, his obstinacy. Probably didn’t work in his favour during the midgame either, what with him foolishly, predictably falling head over heels for his mortal enemy, and she so filled up with the loathing that the only thing she could think to do was to fuck it out of him. But here now, in this little slice of unlife, being a sentimental fool was a fine thing. Or it would be once he got her back again.

“Come on Billy, get your ass up,” Faith’s voice intruded on his musings, dragging him back from his contemplation enough to realize that the plane had not only touched down and taxied over to the arrivals terminal, but was already hooked up to the gate. Huh, seemed like there were ways to make time pass more quickly after all.

He flicked his seatbelt catch open, reached down to snag his carry on luggage, and stood up, stretching out his cramped muscles before nipping into line behind Faith. Ahead of her were Rupert and Khatia, the little slayer coming home to play tour conductor and mountain guide. Behind him, came Tara, slipping up close and pressing her gentle hand to the curve of his back. Finally, Xander and Rowan brought up the rear. Such good friends these people were becoming, family, each of them holding a piece of his heart.

They shuffled along slowly in the queue, waiting to disembark. Spike stood in the center of their little group, and his eyes stung as he thought about how much these folk had been there for him over the last two days. Organizing flights, van rentals, hotel bookings, the practical stuff, but also the mystical stuff, Xander and Faith sorting out a small crate of weapons to take, and another of caving equipment, Rupert and Rowan sorting through a mound of magical texts, working out a whole raft of different spells, some of them pretty dark by the sounds of their discussions, anything that’d come in handy, then boxing up all of the candles and herbs and powders they’d need to pull them off.

And as for Glinda, darling Glinda. She’d been there to absorb the worst of his rages, hold him sweetly through the depth of his grief, stay by his side through all of his guilt and self-recriminations. When he’d gone on and on about wasted time, about how he should just leave the lot of them to be and strike out on his own, that he just needed to be there now, now, now, she’d reminded him that the rescue mission needed to be well thought out and well prepared if they had any chance of bringing Buffy home without harm.

And throughout all of that long day, the twenty fours from Khatia’s little announcement through to stepping onto the plane, she’d not left him alone, not once, even curling up next to him on Dawn’s bed, sharing with him that little respite from his constant despair about Buffy, to acknowledge Dawn’s absence, their fear about his sweet little Bit. He’d spent hours throwing accusations at her, asking her what use the whole Guardian deal was if they couldn’t do shit about keeping his girl safe. Then hours begging for her forgiveness, telling her what a bad, rude man he was to treat his dearest friend so badly.

Nothing had fazed her. She’d just smiled her little Mona Lisa smile and snuggled up next to him. God, the girl was more than an angel, she was a saint. Not to disregard his beautiful Buffy, especially in this time of crisis, but he almost envied Red and Wolf. What a cozy little arrangement they had, with the luscious Ms Tara squeezed in between them each night.

The shuffling bit was finally over, the queue dispersed and their baggage heading towards them on the carousel. Xander organised a couple of carts and they loaded them up. Clearing customs seemed tediously long but was no more than the usual rigmarole according to Rupert and Faith.

By the time they were through, it was almost six o’clock and night had already fallen. The Watcher had signed for the rental van at the desk inside and they picked it up from the commercial parking area and loaded their bags in the back. Everyone was quiet as Rupert followed Khatia’s directions to the motel that Cat had booked them into, probably all exhausted.

When the old man had told him that they were staying the night at Tbilisi, Spike had lost the plot, ranting and raving about lost time, screaming that it wouldn’t worry him if was dark, that he could drive through the dead of night as if it were midday. But Rupert wouldn’t budge. Said they’d all be tired and in need of sleep. Said they’d be strangers in a strange land, with only wee Khatia to guide them, and her not much past childhood, and nervous about her navigator’s role, never having been behind the wheel of a car herself. Let Spike know that their weapons and climbing gear and all their magical omnium-gatherum were still at the airport, cargo not being off loaded until after luggage, and would need to be inspected and then signed for in the morning.

He’d subsided at that point, reluctantly resigned himself to the delay. It turned out to be a late night anyway. After ordering room service, they’d pulled out the maps and numerous photos that Rowan and Khatia had downloaded, familiarising themselves with the lay of the land and finalising their game plan once more. Rowan and Tara had brought enough simple ingredients in their carry on luggage to perform another simple locator spell, but it still fizzled. Spike wasn’t surprised. The connection was still down for him as well.

He was surprised to find himself as exhausted as the others by the time he tumbled into bed. Glinda, done up in purple and orange p.js came padding after him, hopping under the covers and snuggling up to him with a grin on her face at his shocked expression. Thank god he’d pulled an old pair of workout pants on first.

“Are you sure Red and Oz would be okay with this pet?”

“Absolutely. They trust me.”

“But do they trust me?’ he asked, attempting as best as he could, while cuddled up to a pyjama clad guardian angel, to bring his Big Bad on.

Tara just giggled and slapped his chest. “Of course they do. And if they didn’t, well I certainly do. From the bottom of my heart.”

“Shit Glinda, you oughtn’t to say stuff like that. If word gets around, my reputation will be fucked.” Spike paused, listening carefully in the silence of the room. “So I’m guessing Red and Oz know, but when you gonna share your news with the rest of the gang,” he said, laying his hand gently on her belly.

“Oh,” she paused, and even in the darkness Spike could see the pink glow colouring her cheeks. “Oh. I suppose you can’t keep secrets from a vampire for long. We were going to do the big share this weekend, you know, during the Saturday night ritual. But it wasn’t the right time. Plenty of opportunity once we’ve got Buffy and Dawn back at home.”

“Sure pet, that sounds about right. We’ll have ourselves a good old knees-up. Be plenty to celebrate then. Another baby to join the crèche, my good girls home safe … s’s’safe and …” Spike broke down, turning away from Tara as he wept silently.

Tara spooned up against his back, wrapping her loving arms around him, pressing her cheek against his shoulder blade.

“I’m sorry,” he sobbed, “I’m sorry. It’s just that I’m so scared. I want to hold onto hope, I really do, but I just don’t know how. Not being able to sense her, to feel that little reassuring tingle that’s just always there, it just terrifies me. It’s like she’s really gone, you know? And then, to see that locator spell fizzle out tonight. I want to have faith, I really do, but when the only thing, the only thing, we’ve got to go on is some hinky dream from the great beyond, I just don’t know.”

“You know Spike, I wasn’t around at the time, but I got to watch a fair bit of it, and both Willow and Buffy herself have filled me in on lots of the details, so I’m pretty sure I’m an expert on this. When you were gone, and I don’t just mean lost or even taken, but gone, actually gone, in a big blazing bonfire, Buffy didn’t ever give up on you. Even though she watched you burn, even though everybody, and I mean everybody, told her you were gone, gone for good, and even though her Spike tinglies were gone, she wouldn’t let go.”

Spike turned around and stared at Tara, a flicker of hope on his face.

“The only thing she had to cling onto were her gut instincts and the dreams she had each night. But she never gave up. She sat by the edge of the Sunnydale crater until the others dragged her away and threw her on a plane, all under protest. When she found out about the prophecy, she yelled and demanded and stamped her foot until the others sat up and took note. She shook her fist at the world until it coughed you back up. She never gave up on you Spike. Don’t you think you owe her the same tenacious loyalty?”

“Oh fuck, fuck you’re right.” He struggled to sit up, was trying to get up. “I’m such a useless bastard. Promised her, didn’t I, that I’d protect her, keep her safe. To the ends of the earth I said. Now look at me, at the first hint of trouble, I fold like a pack of cards.”

He was standing there during the rant, trying to work out how to get his trackies off and his jeans on without Glinda seeing his wedding tackle. Was about to just go for it anyway, what with the witch being in the family way and all, thinking she’d be well acquainted with a bit of cock by now. And with the current climate of melancholy and self-reproach, it was pretty unimpressive anyhow, poor little thing.

“Spike, what are you doing?” Tara said patiently.

“I’m getting dressed aren’t I? Gonna head off and start hunting for Buffy. Not gonna ever give up on her.”

“Okay, well you start off now, and we’ll catch you up later in the day if you don’t manage to get lost along the way. We’ll just get the weapons and the gear and the spells and charms we’ll need, and see you some time after lunch, by which time you’ll be tired and frustrated, and beyond pissed, and no closer to finding her than if you’d waited for the rest of us.”

“Oh.” He said, slumping down onto the foot of the bed. “Guess I didn’t consider that. Not much of a team player really. Or a strategist. Never been known for my patience either. Just feel like the clock’s ticking, while all we seem to be doing is marking time like a bunch of bloody soldiers.”

“Fair enough, I get that you’re frustrated. But, I’ve been wondering, about the dream that you and the slayers had. Which, by the way, is totally unprecedented, you having a slayer dream. We've got to look into the whys and hows of that when we get home, check you're not growing boobs and shriveling up downstairs.”

Spike growled, but it was in good humour, and he was grateful to Glinda for trying to pull him out of his funk.

“Okay, you're still all with the manliness. But, I was thinking about the fact that slayer dreams are usually prophetic, meaning that they give you a heads up about events that haven’t yet happened, right?”

Spike shrugged, “Yeah, that’s the case as far as I understand.”

“So the dream from Friday night, it wasn’t showing you something that’s already happened, it’s giving you a glimpse into the future. The near future maybe, but the future nonetheless.”

“Oh. So what you’re saying is that Buffy is going to be in that place at some time, but maybe not yet? That maybe she’s still somewhere other?”

“Yeah. Maybe.” Tara shrugged. “And it kinda fits in with her not showing up on the radar yet, ours or yours.”

“Well, it’s as good a theory as any pet, as far as theories go. Makes me feel better too, more purposeful and less inadequate. And at this point, I’ll take whatever leg up I can get.” He paused. “Thanks Glinda. You're a bloody awesome Guardian, to forlorn vamps as much as to slayers, and an even better friend.”

‘Well Big Bad, you're an easy man to be friends with. Not that I've had that pleasure too often, of being friends with a man. After Daddy and Donny, I never had much to do with the ‘y’ chromosome.” Tara flicked back the bedcovers on Spike’s side of the bed. “Come on, get back in bed. You need a good night’s rest if you're gonna rescue Buffy tomorrow.”

Spike clambered back into bed and drew Tara in to pillow her head against his chest.

“Having more than a bit to do with the ‘y’ chromosome these days though, aren’t you my sweetling. Assuming Wolfboy’s the father an’ all.”

“Spike,” she squealed, “Of course Oz is the father.”

“Hmm, how’s that work out then, you being a card carrying member of the Sapphic Society an’ all?”

Tara peeked up at him and grinned wickedly. “As long as it’s him, ends up that it works out just fine. In fact, I've rather taken to it. Of course it’s better if I’ve got my girl alongside as well. Or above, or below.”

“Bloody hell Glinda, you're a dirty bitch,” Spike said admiringly. “And a greedy one too by the sounds. Good for you. Nice little set up you’ve got there. Lovely they are, the both of them.”

“Hmm, I didn’t know you swung in that direction Spike.”

“Vampire, sweet girl, we swing in every direction. Never taken it up seriously, never really had the time what with traipsing around after Drusilla like a lamb, but I’ve dabbled a little over the years. Sometimes reluctantly, sometimes of my own free will. Always found it to be scintillating.”

“Oo, I like that. I think I’m having myself a fair bit of scintillation these days.”

“Ha-ha, you’re a lucky girl all right. So, tell me about this pregnancy. It’s planned right, not the result of uncontrollable lust like Red’s one?”

“Well, there was plenty of lust, some of it pretty uncontrollable even, but yes, the pregnancy was definitely planned. In fact it took a little bit longer than I thought it would to join the baby club. But maybe that’s just what happens when you come back from being all ethereal and otherworldly. Takes a while to jump start your, ah, cycle again.”

“Can’t say it took you too long Glinda, you’ve only been part of the corporeal club for four weeks. Can’t expect to immediately get signed up membership of all the other clubs going at Ashdown.”

“Yeah, you're right. It’s just that Willow got pregnant after only one episode of coitus, and Buffy, Rowan and Cat were the same. Well not just one episode obviously, but one round with our special little fertility boost. I was practically wrapped around Sagaria while we were doing the wild thing. It made for some pretty whacky positions, believe me.”

“So this is gonna be another little Scion huh?” Spike said, sliding his hand down to rest on her belly again. “Another wee superbrat.”

“Just more fodder for the cause, ay?” Tara’s tinkling laughter filled the air. “Of course this child will be part of the new generation. I have no problem putting myself into the same situation you’ve all been placed in. In fact, I’ve made that decision knowingly. But Spike, I’m not having this baby just because I want to churn out another little warrior. I can’t wait to become a mother, and I happen to think I’ll be a damn good one.”

“Course you will sweetling, the finest mum any child’s had the good luck to spring from. You’ll teach the others a thing or two, I don’t doubt.”

“These children are going to be so blessed. Growing up together in the wonderful enclave that Ashdown is already becoming. Of course there’ll be dangers and challenges ahead, but we have a better chance of keeping them all safe and sound when we’re together. I can't wait.”

“I’ll take your word on that. Now’s rest time for all brood mares, so off to sleep with you my sweet girl. Hope my darling love is getting some rest too, wherever she is.”

“She’ll be doing what she needs to do Spike. She won’t give up. She knows you're coming for her.”

“That I am, Glinda, that I am.”

The room fell silent after that, and in the dark Spike could hear Tara’s heartbeat slow into its steady resting rhythm. Exhausted from all of the emotional turmoil, his eyes felt heavier and heavier, until they slowly drifted shut.

Suddenly he could hear a sound, a faint scrabbling noise. He opened his eyes again, peering around intently through the dark of the room. Glinda must have shuffled over to the other side of the bed; he couldn’t feel her warmth pressed up against him anymore. The noise came to him again, then a slight clank, almost as if something hard was grating against the surface of a rock.

Spike frowned and peered more intently into the gloom. He sat up, finally noticing that he wasn’t in his bed anymore. Shifting into vamp face, he looked around. Instead of a shabby but comfortable motel room, he found himself in a long, narrow, winding tunnel. It was too low to stand up in and very steeply inclined. His left hand was wrapped around a bright yellow nylon rope. As he peered through the gloomy tunnel, lit only by a small, and at times obscured, halo of light up ahead, he noticed the figure scrabbling up the slope in front of him.

He couldn’t pick out many details, just the muddy trainers and the small stature of the person. His heart skipped one of its slow beats, and he shifted, his demon-enhanced sight granting him the additional vision needed to confirm what his heart had begun to already suspect. The girl scrambling steadily along that steep passageway was his own. His own precious, darling Buffy, as hale and hearty as ever. His vamp hearing picked up the extra little heartbeat, drumming away merrily, verifying that all was well with mother and child.

Spike’s heart surged with elation, the sense of relief almost overwhelming. But slowly, as they continued plodding along, the realization that this was undoubtedly just a dream began to coalesce in his mind. Another one of those damn precognitive ones no doubt. Interestingly, this insight didn’t induce any sense of disappointment or anticlimax, didn’t send him plummeting back into the depths of despair. Instead he felt energized, infused with a sense of purpose and determination.

That feeling remained with him as he awoke the next morning, Tara still wrapped around him. Spike lay there in the early light of that new day, bathed in an aura of confidence and optimism, thoughts whirling around in his head as he planned what would need to happen and when. Gently, he shook Tara awake.

“Come on sweetling, time to get cracking, got much to do and miles to go before we can leap into that abyss and rescue my beloved.”

Tara yawned, stretched, then grinned sleepily at him. “Had a little revelation in the night did we?”

“Yep, I did, and you were right. This is gonna work, I’m sure of it. I’ll explain the whys and wherefores once we hit the road,” he said, leaping out of bed. “Come on pet, up and at ‘em. Feeling pretty impatient to be on our way.”

By the time they were dressed and packed and down at reception with Faith and Rowan, Giles, Xander and Khatia were back from their run to the airport, crates stacked neatly in the back and take out coffees and breakfast muffins on hand. Throwing the luggage in the back and clambering into their seats had taken less than five minutes, and suddenly they were on the road, the six and a half hour journey to the resort town of Gagra stretching out before them.

As soon as they’d eaten and recaffeinated themselves, Spike shared his dream with the rest of the team. They agreed that the various details, Spike following Buffy and the upward incline of the tunnel, indicated that the vision provided a glimpse of the rescue, a very promising preview of what was to come. When Rupert questioned whether they seemed to be on their own or in the company of others, the only thing Spike could recall was the flickering light source up ahead, as if someone with a headlamp on was leading the way up.

The dream led to their first proper discussion about the conditions in the cave – Krubera – and what the reality of the descent and rescue might be like. Rowan, Faith and Khatia had done most of the research on this topic, and Spike listened with a growing realization of how difficult this task would be, even for a vampire and a slayer, with their enhanced abilities.

“This is pretty astonishing timing Spike,” Rowan said, “Three months ago, in August, the Ukrainian Speleological Association organized an expedition that managed to explore the cave down to a depth of 1,840 meters. Then, just last month, they headed back down, this time discovering a lead into a new section that got them down as far as 2,080 m, the first time that a depth of 2,000 m has ever been passed in speleology. It’s cold, dark, narrow and challenging down there. Cavers have described it as like climbing Mt Everest but in reverse. I think you’ll find it one of the most challenging feats you’ve ever had to do.”

“I’m pretty sure that if a bunch of poncy scientists can pull it off, then I’ll be fine,” Spike said, with a bravado that was more surface than deep set.

“Hmmph! More like a bunch of extremely experienced and adrenaline charged cavers who have been training their whole lives for this opportunity and are backed up by swags of equipment and support crew,” Rowan said snippily. “Don’t take this lightly Spike. Not only do you need to find your way down into the bowels of the earth, through an extremely inhospitable setting, but you need to do it quickly, and with enough weaponry on hand that you’ll be able to fight off Buffy’s captors and then bring her all the way back to the surface.”

“Alright pet, fair enough. Just trying to keep myself positive and focused is all. So how am I gonna go about achieving this impossible task then?”

“The first challenge will be getting to the cave. Its entrance is set in the Ortobalagan Valley, high in the Arabika Massif. And I do mean high, over 2,000 m above sea level. We’ve contacted a guide that will take you by four wheel drive as far as the topography will allow, but from there you’ll have to hike uphill, a day’s journey to get to the valley. Your packs are loaded with sleeping bags, two-person tents, clothing, food, water, ropes, climbing equipment, weapons, everything you’ll need for the expedition.”

“Okay, so I take it I’m not going up to the valley on my own?”

“No. Faith, Khatia and Xander will accompany you, as well as the guide who will lead you all the way up to the valley and wait until you return.”

“Okay, but I’m heading down the hole on my own right?”

“No Spike,” Giles spoke up. “Faith and Rowan and I have talked at some length. Faith will accompany you on the journey through Krubera. She’s as strong as you are and almost as passionate about finding Buffy.”

“And itching for the chance to kick some kidnapping arse,” she said, winking at the vampire.

“Alright, don’t have a problem with Rogue traipsing along, long as she doesn’t hold me up any.”

“Okay, that’s settled,” Giles said. “We are meeting our guide, Alexander, at 7 a.m. tomorrow morning. Once we arrive in Gagra, I want you and Faith to use the time to familiarise yourselves with the layout of the cave, with the equipment and techniques needed for traversing its depths and for talking with Rowan about the spells and charms she’s sorted out for you to take with you.”

“Yes boss, sounds good,” Spike said cheekily. More quietly, as if to himself, he added, “Soon, Buffy, soon pet, I’ll be there. Hold on, I’m coming to get you.”

To-day unbind the captive,
So only are ye unbound;
Lift up a people from the dust,
Trump of their rescue, sound!Ralph Waldo Emerson

Connor paused, and tried to pull himself together. He, Willow and Oz were staked out in the backyard of semi detached, two storey house in the middle class suburb of Henbury. The houses, by the looks of them, had been built in the sixties, and without much TLC over the years, now sat on the shabby side of comfortable. The yards too were fairly scruffy, the gardens choked with unkempt shrubs and trees. Which, considering their need to keep undercover was actually pretty convenient.

They’d arrived in Bristol late on Saturday night, checked into the hotel that Willow had reserved for them and slept soundly through the night. The morning had been spent confirming the Felkin’s address and sorting out their cover story and the IT and magical backup they’d need. Connor had had to reign in the restless impatience that thrummed constantly through his nervous system, the desire, the demand to get on with Dawn’s rescue, but finally, finally, after a late lunch, they’d set off to navigate the unfamiliar streets of the historic English city and locate the Felkin’s home. That done, the team had been divided into three groups and without delay, they were off. Connor, partnered up with Willow and Oz, had been given backyard surveillance, with the added bonus of possible breaking and entering.

They’d had to sneak through an overgrown hedge that marked the border between the quiet little lane and the row of back gardens. That was difficult enough to manage stealthily, in the broad light of day, but then they’d had to scramble over a couple of rickety old fences as well. None of the tasks were physically difficult for Connor; any able-bodied teenage boy would be strong and fit enough to cope, let alone a super-powered whatever he was. But the subterfuge, the need to be quiet and light-footed and sneaky so they didn’t alert Dawn’s kidnappers, that was what was freaking him out.

He didn’t know much about his past, or at least his real past, but Connor was pretty sure that guile and deceit wouldn’t have been part of it. For a start, he couldn’t imagine that he’d be much good at being devious. Which is why he was hunkered down in some bush waiting for the sun to rise and the signal to be given, rather than sitting comfortably in the van with Wes and Fred. Apparently they were both sneaky and duplicitous enough (although they called it acting) to pull off the role of doorknocking Witnesses, there to spread the Good Word, and hand out a few relevant tracts.

They’d planned and practised their discourse, thrown in a few references to ‘glory and divine energy’ and how God’s truth would ‘light the pathways of the divine’, just enough to get the Felkins excited and hopefully invite them inside for a theological discussion. Connor had tried to spin the religious line along with his teammates, but he’d got so nervous that his eyes had bulged and he’d stammered and blurted out all sorts of nonsense. Wes had muttered “Liability” and Fred had patted him on the back and said “Never mind,” so when Oz offered him a spot on the ‘storming the backyard’ team, he’d gratefully accepted.

He could have stayed in the van of course, with Andrew, who was apparently in charge of ‘electronic surveillance’, which seemed to consist of tuning in the dials on a silver box and typing in stuff on his suped up laptop. But Andrew made him feel uncomfortable, what with his twitching and staring. So, hedge and fence scrambling duty it had been.

Which is why he was currently scrunched up uncomfortably under a prickly bush, trying desperately to slow his shallow breathing and calm his galloping heart. They were waiting from a signal from Andrew. Depending on whether or not Wes and Fred had successfully gained entry to the house, they were planning to either sneak into the house through the unlocked back door, or storm the premises. What he hadn’t counted on was the third option, retreat.

“Pull out, pull out,” Andrew’s breathless voice hissed through the ear bud of his wireless headset. “Mission is aborted. Immediate return to base. Repeat, immediate return to base.”

Connor’s already overtaxed heart skipped another couple of beats as he ran through the various ghastly scenarios that would result in a withdrawal. What he wasn’t prepared for a quick, whispered conversation between Willow and Oz, followed by a wry headshake.

“What?” he asked.

“Apparently Felkin’s not home,” Oz shared, “The boy’s out as well. And it doesn’t look like Dawnie’s there either. Mrs Felkin answered the door, and hers is the only life form in the house according to Willow.”

Connor sighed in relief, but before he had a chance to relax, the other two were off, crouched low as they dashed across the yard. He would have preferred to stick to the trees and bushes around the perimeter, but if he did that now he’d be left behind. So, a quick sprint it was.

Less than two minutes later they were scrambling through the van’s sliding door, tumbling onto the floor as Wes pulled away from the kerb. It was several minutes before they’d got themselves sorted and seated and belted in and could breath slowly enough to ask the relevant questions. Oz, who seemed to Connor an almost unnaturally calm sort of dude, was the one who asked, although in a more abbreviated way than the teen would have done himself, if he’d been capable of speech that is.

“So, what next?”

“Mrs Felkin volunteered the information that her husband was still at work. He rents a warehouse out in the Avonside Industrial Estate. Runs a plumbing supplies business out of the building supposedly.”

“Yes,” Andrew said, his fingers flying over the keys of his laptop as Wes eased the van onto a highway. “Avonside Plumbing and Supplies, registered to Mr David Felkin, ACIPHE Registered Plumber. Specializing in Commercial & Industrial, Contract Work, Domestic Heating, Domestic Plumbing, Sanitary and Drainage and Sheet Roofwork. Find us at Unit 4, Avonside Rd, Bristol.”

Wes nodded and turned left at the roundabout. It was 5.00 on a Sunday evening, so there was very little traffic about, and within another 10 minutes they were pulling up outside the brick and iron clad building. It was set well back from the road. Two cars were parked in the lot in front of a large roller door. Wes cruised past slowly, then made a u-turn and turned right, back onto Feeder Rd. He pulled into the entrance to a large carpark about 50 yards up the road, then drove back in the direction they’d just come from. After a sharp left turn he swung out and reversed the van into a parking space. They were hidden from the road by a hedge and several trees, and even better, they were parked right up against the rear wall of Avonside Plumbing.

Cautiously, Wes, Oz and Willow slipped out of the vehicle. Just before Oz slid the door closed, Connor gathered up his courage and clambered out after them. He was terrified, but something about the memory of Dawn’s big blue eyes and sarcastic little pout drove him forward. She was in trouble, and he would do whatever he could to help rescue her.

Scrambling over the chain link fence and breaking in through the back door was achieved surprisingly quickly, and with almost no sound, barring the reverberations of Connor’s thumping heart.

But before he even had a chance to panic, they were inside, creeping single file down a long narrow hallway, and then up a flight of stairs that Oz had indicated were the right way to go. That had been no surprise to Connor. Some instinct, some feeling inside was leading him forward, leading him upwards to where he could hear the faint murmur of voices and sense the faint prickle of what he guessed was magic. A rush of courage and determination and urgency washed over him, flooding his veins with fire. While the others stood outside the closed door, considering their next move, Connor shouldered them aside and pushed the door open.

The room was a long, plain rectangular box, the floor carpeted in dark blue felt and the walls painted white. Waning light filtered in from the high windows, its dirty glow revealing the tableau before him. Several dozen chairs had been laid out in rows, facing the far end of the room. An altar had been set up at that end, and various implements and artifacts were set out on the surface. The seats themselves were empty, as the dozen or so occupants of the room stood, forming a large circle, in the empty space between the chairs and the altar. They were robed; the gowns, of varying colors and design, were sashed and hooded. Collectively, the group was engaged in chanting monotonously (“Ah-tah”), and carrying out some sort of obscure, arcane one-handed isometrics. The room pulsated with the vibrations of their intonations and candles flickered in the gloom. All very ritualistic.

Directly in front of the altar, and facing it, someone who appeared to be the head honcho led the mantra (“Mahl-kooth”), while waving around a bright sword. As Connor moved closer, he could see that Dawn was lying in the center of the circle, an inert Sleeping Beauty, laid atop a large, sigil adorned rose cross. Even asleep or unconscious she was as stunningly beautiful as he remembered, a pale luminescence lighting up her fair skin and exquisite features. He recalled her haughty, dismissive attitude towards him, the way her blue eyes had flashed with disdain, and goose bumps broke out over his skin. She might turn her nose up at him later, but either way; he was determined to get her out of there.

Surprisingly, he hadn’t as yet been noticed, the robed initiates were so involved in their ceremony that they continued on unabated. Connor paused, his impulsiveness momentarily deserting him. Behind him, he felt rather than heard the others step into the room to join him. Finally, the worshipers, turning towards the door as they intoned the name “Rah-phay-el”, noticed that they were no longer alone. Pandemonium broke out and the Master stopped the ceremony abruptly, stepping towards them with his sword in hand.

“What is the meaning of this? This is a private gathering, on private property. You are trespassing. Leave now before I call the police.”

“Certainly,” Wes stepped forward, “Mr Felkin I assume?” He waited only long enough to witness Felkin’s frown and reluctant nod before continuing. “We would be most happy to leave you to your little ceremony, once we’ve recovered our friend. We would prefer to uplift her now, and without fuss or outside involvement. But if necessary, we have associates outside who can contact the police immediately. They’ve been searching for Dawn Summers for the last forty eight hours, and I’m sure they’ll be grateful to be able to solve this disturbing case of abduction and assault.”

Felkin shrank back, a look of panic crossing his face. Around him the other adepts shuffled and muttered, clearly alarmed to be connected in any way to such a crime. The rescue team were about to relax, and Connor got set to dart in between the robed postulants to grab Dawn up and spirit her away, when a large, florid faced man charged towards them. His features were twisted into an expression of fanaticism, and the glow of psychosis lit up his watery eyes.

“No,” the man shouted, globules of spit flying from his mouth as he spoke. “You shan’t have her. She is the Gate Mistress; she is the Key to the meaning of life. Through her we shall behold the truth, and our hearts and minds shall be opened,” he was ranting and gesticulating wildly, moving to stand between the Ashdown crew and Dawn.

Connor stepped back, leaving Wes to the negotiations. Willow had come forward, and stood shoulder to shoulder with the ex-Watcher, ready, if necessary, to use the magic she was so renowned for. In the meantime, the teenager snuck around behind the apprehensive troops, their confused murmuring and anxious shuffling an effective mask

The big guy, Mathers undoubtedly, started up again. “She has come to us from afar, a gift from the heavens. She is the Light that will deliver us from the darkness, the Truth that will bring us peace. Only the Key can open the door between this world and the next, and usher us through to that Glorious Realm where we will once again be made whole.” He stood now directly in front of Dawn, a wild beast zealously guarding its prey.

Wes stepped forward another half step, just enough to emphasize his composure and control, but not so far that he’d rattle the clearly unbalanced man further. “Seeking spiritual guidance and clarity is always a worthy pursuit,” he conceded glibly, “And I can only admire the dedication and sacrifice you’ve displayed to pursue your enlightenment to such ends.” At this point Wes drew himself up, his stance just a little taller, his voice and demeanor honed to a sharp edge, and infused with a grim authority. “But I can not condone nor even accept such actions as these, designed to exploit the gifts of another, an innocent, without consent or cognizance. These precepts do not align with the teachings of your order. This path will lead not to salvation, but to damnation and regret.”

Mathers froze, a look of such abject yearning and despair on his face that words were wholly unnecessary. Passion and fervor were one thing, but the ability to marshal his scattered mental energies together enough to counter such accusations was beyond the man’s capacity. He collapsed like a soufflé. Unexpectedly, given his earlier capitulation, Felkin stepped into the vacuum, an intuitive tag team substitution. “Now hold on a minute. I’ll grant we may have gone about this the wrong way,” he said steadily, reasonably “Swept away as we were by the excitement and anticipation of the auspices. But our intentions were pure, our veneration sincere. We believe she is indeed the Key to inner salvation, and the answer to all of the Mysteries.”

Felkin was calm, rational and determined, in a sense way more dangerous than Mathers because he could be quite implacable in his tenacity. Wes wasn’t about to surrender his high ground though. “You have no proof of that. And even if she does indeed possess abilities and powers that seem miraculous, those gifts are hers to share, to distribute as she deems fit. Yet to take her without consent, to attempt to harvest her power in this way, surely you cannot hope to attain Spiritual development through the unmitigated abuse of a mere child?”

The collective mood of the followers had become largely remorseful, hung heads and gasps of horror clearly communicating their shame and distaste, both for their own past sanction and for Felkin’s current arrogance. Tentatively a smaller figure stepped forward. Throwing the hood of his robe back, he revealed himself to be a teenager, no older than Dawn herself. Connor froze as he realized that this was likely the boy, Robbie Felkin, the chief’s own son. The kid placed a gentle hand on his father’s arm, the action equal parts appeasement and entreaty. Felkin senior started, jolted out of his intense debate with Wes, his tenacious defense of his actions, his beliefs, and turned towards the interjector. The boy spoke only one word; “Dad?” but the shape and tone of that word conveyed a wealth of unspoken emotions.

The father paused, rationality and basic instincts warring with the inexplicable sense of power and destiny that was currently flooding his psyche. David Felkin was a small man, ordinary, unremarkable, possessed of a boringly grey, normal life. This sudden proximity to such reserves of power, both mystical and political, had intoxicated him more thoroughly than any of the vaguely recollected, rowdy binge fests of his distant youth, or the solitary, late night, anaesthetizations performed with depressing frequency in his own front room. He loved his wife, his son, but he also felt trapped by them, hemmed into an endlessly long, tedious tunnel that had always seemed to lead in one direction, to one end.

Meeting Mathers, and reestablishing the Golden Dawn, had seemed to promise the possibility of an intersection, a fork, even, for God’s sake, a few s bends. But actually coming into contact with (after all, you couldn’t really call being in the company of a comatose person ‘meeting’) Dawn, just being in her presence, had impacted on him so strongly that it was as if a hole had been punched in the roof of his endless tunnel, and he’d been lifted, out of hopelessness, out of drabness, out of himself.

In the end, those paternalistic, nurturing instincts were washed away in a floodtide of greed and self-interest. This was his chance, his shot dammit, and he wasn’t prepared to throw it away, not for anything. Not for anyone. Even his own flesh and blood. Frowning, he looked at Robbie, a long, hard stare cementing his familial authority, and shook his head.

Having accepted his own stance, so effortlessly as it turned out, Felkin was not about to concede the treasure he’d worked so hard to recover. Never mind that he hadn’t really had to do much at all, beyond organizing a little band of earnest followers, providing transport, disseminating a little of his growing hoard of magic. Undoubtedly a side effect of the Key’s energy; his budding abilities were a delicious, addictive, flame, that could spread like wildfire through his veins and leap, arc-like from his fingers. There was no way that he was willing to let that slip through his fingers so readily, and if that meant keeping the girl where they had her, well so be it.

Desperation lent steel to Felkin’s backbone, and as he stepped backwards to stand abreast the deflated Mathers, the fire of fortitude lit up his features. “You are very much mistaken,” he said in a cold, distant tone. “We do not wish to abuse our Mistress, but rather worship and glorify her. For she is as a Goddess to us, and we her humble servants. You shall not take her, just to drag her back down to your own level, we will protect her with our very souls.”

It was a stirring speech, and it seemed to reignite a spark in Mathers, enough at least to steady the big man’s bearing. Felkin took heart from this and prepared himself for an outright attack. Magic floated around him, thickening the air with its tendrils. Desperately, arrogantly, he drew himself up and struck out, flinging a salvo of words and will in Wes’ direction. The magic flared, a shower of eldritch sparks, bright enough to temporarily light up the room, before fizzling out like cheap fireworks.

His parlor tricks had met the might of a true virtuoso. Unbeknownst to Felkin and his followers, one more powerful than they could ever imagine was in their midst, a being that was almost otherworldly in her might, but who had worked tirelessly to keep her feet on the ground. Willow worked hard at keeping the darkness at bay, at tempering genius with humility, but it was impossible to deny that she was fast becoming one of the most preeminent witches of the modern era. She was able to draw on a seemingly bottomless well of power, and her cunning and daring in crafting and shaping things to her will was finally matched by an understanding of and respect for the natural order and balance of the world.

Added to that, the gifts she’d received since beginning her Guardian training, not least of which was the addition of an almost transcendent aspect to her demeanor, and Willow was undeniably coming into the apex of her abilities. Now, here she was, up against a clutch of misguided fools, lead by a rank, arrogant amateur. An ironic little twitch graced the corner of her lips as she remembered Giles’ words. She guessed he’d been right in a way. He’d needed work on his delivery, that was for sure, but his intention, to guide her away from conceit and self-interest, had been pure. Now, in some small way, she could pay Giles’ advice forward, and try to guide Felkin away from the edge of the voracious pit of overweening pride.

He definitely had a natural, raw talent for bending the world to his will, undoubtedly some unexplored, inherent ability that had passed down to him as part of his birthright. But he had little in terms of power of his own, and had obviously never learned how to access and draw on the energy that exists all around us. Instead, finding himself in such close proximity to the super battery that was Dawnie would have not only roused those latent skills, but also awakened the electrifying, addictive thrill that accompanied such semblance of control and invincibility.

But it was only a façade, and a mere drop of power compared to the vast ocean at Willow’s command. She had blocked Felkin’s spell with little more than a blink of her emerald eyes and a single word, thought rather than spoken. The word had thrown a protective wall around Wes, Oz and herself, and Felkin’s little spell had dashed against it like a pebble against a mighty fortress. The shock on his face was almost amusing, or would have been if it hadn’t been so quickly covered over with anger and guile.

“So,” he said, “One of you has some skill of his or her own. I don’t think it will help you any, not when we have righteousness,” Felkin paused as he took another step back and dropped into a crouch, before waving his sword around in front of him, “And power on our side.”

It seemed clear that he was going to make a grab for Dawn, whether to use her safety as collateral, harm her in some way, or attempt to draw off her power was unknown, but the desperate lunge he made suddenly spurred everyone into action. Willow was first, throwing a command to ‘thicken’ at the air around Felkin, while Oz and Wes moved forward, ready to physically attack. The initiates gasped and scrambled backwards, pressing themselves up against the walls, desperate to distance themselves from their leader and his delusional behavior. The boy, Robbie, was caught in the middle, fear driving him away, even as concern for his dad stayed his retreat.

Willow’s first command did little to slow Felkin down. His final actions, grabbing hold of Dawn’s jumper with his left hand, while prescribing a protective pentagram in the air with his sword wielding right, served to shield himself from the major impact of the spell. Powered as it was by Dawn’s energy, his counter carried enough weight to block all but a small faction of Willow’s cantrip, enough that he could still move, albeit slowly, and use his blade to slash through the last of the directive.

The surge of triumph that welled up through Felkin’s body barely had time to register. Willow now stood directly before him. Calmly, almost gently, she flicked the adept’s shield away, exposing the man to both her own magic and to the physical threat of Wes and Oz.

“No,” he screamed, spinning to throw himself down across Dawn in a frantic, last ditch attempt to preserve his claim over her. Off balance and wild with despair, Felkin tripped, the sharp edge of his blade flying towards Dawn’s torso. The room seemed to move in slow motion, Willow’s scream as she raised her hand, Wes’s dive towards Felkin a flying tackle, while the congregation’s chorus of horrified groans and gasps provided the background accompaniment.

But it was Connor’s desperate lunge that really stopped everyone in their tracks. During the great showdown, he’d been slowly inching his way closer and closer to Dawn. Coming in from the left turned out to be beginner’s luck. Felkin, by attaching himself to the girl with his left hand, created a substantial blind spot to his right. Connor was able to noiselessly sidle in towards the action, so that by the time the man turned to strike, he was crouched directly behind, at Dawn’s outstretched feet.

He dove at Dawn the minute he saw Felkin spin round, his slim body darting at light-speed between the girl’s cataleptic form and the sharp edge of the descending sword. The displaced air and Connor’s leading arm caught the blade’s bite just before Willow’s ‘prohibere’ did, disrupting both it’s journey and it’s vicious intent. The steel tore into his right triceps, deep enough that he felt the sting, but not so far that it compromised the arm’s functionality. As Connor landed, atop Dawn, but slightly twisted to his left, he scooped her up and rolled, away from the now immobile Felkin and his inert weapon, away from the danger.

The stunned silence was almost instantly interrupted by the dull thud of Wes’ body colliding with Felkin’s as the ex Watcher took the immobile priest out with an impressive looking rugby tackle. Oz leapt over the tangle of bodies to dash in and retrieve the sword, and most of the congregation took the opportunity to hightail it out the backdoor, away from the fear and danger, and away from the sort of violence and chaos that they’d probably thought never to witness outside of their daily dose of televised drama. Just a handful remained, Robbie Felkin and Chuck Mathers amongst them, their faces full of shock, tempered by concern.

The clean up was pretty quick from that point on. Wes and Oz got Felkin propped up and cuffed before Willow lifted the immobility spell. The man seemed dazed and forlorn rather than vengeful, and cooperated fully when asked about Dawn’s catalepsy.

“Uh, yeah, its just a simple spoor spell,” he admitted, “Along with an impedia enchantment to block any attempts to locate her presence. I don’t really have the skill or the power to do much more.”

“So you’ll be happy to lift those right now,” Willow said snappishly, her expression and tone of voice suggesting that there was no room for negotiation.

“Yeah,” Felkin sighed, “No problem. Except, um hands?” He shrugged and shook his cuffs.

As soon as they were removed, he flung his hand out in Dawn’s direction, and uttered the command “Expergo!” Dawn, still cradled in Connor’s lap, slept on.

Felkin sighed and shook his head. “I don’t think,” he mumbled, “Don’t think I’ve got enough juice left to wake up a kitten.”

Willow strode up to him and took his hand. “Try again,” she said firmly. Felkin started and looked up at her, his expression full of wonder and enchantment. This time the command flew through the air, and almost immediately Dawn began to wriggle and stretch. Slowly her eyes fluttered open, long, sleepy blinks until she could focus on her surroundings. Staring up at Connor’s wide blue eyes and worried expression, she frowned and tentatively reached a hand out to touch his cheek.

“You?” she croaked, her voice rough from days of disuse. “You’re real? Where, where am I?”

~~~

Slowly, Dawn struggled to sit up. The boy, the floppy haired boy (and Oh My God, was it really him and what was he doing here, and why was he looking at her like that?), helped her, propping her up against his side, arm braced around her shoulders as Willow and Oz rushed over to provide her with a slice of familiarity. Willow skipped through an abbreviated explanation. A kidnapping, a ritual, a clash of magics and Connor’s life-saving lunge, just the bare details, not enough to understand why? or how? but more anyway than her flitty, floaty brain could currently cope with. Her eyes combed the room, cataloging the make up of the rescue team, and a small vertical line appeared between her brows, marking confusion as to the inclusion of some, the absence of others.

Meanwhile, Willow was back in Generalissimo mode, talking earnestly with Wes (why was he here?) about the fate of the small, rather pitiful looking man, obviously the bad guy, in front of them. Next to the Little Bad, an anxious teenager hovered, hanging onto every word of the conversation, nodding or shaking his head dutifully where appropriate, in a way that kicked the usual parent-child dynamic on it’s ass. The boy nodded again and glanced towards Dawn, and she was shocked to realize she knew him. Robbie! One of her Religious Studies classmates. Something drifted near the edges of her memory, something about the sick room at school. She had a funny feeling it all tied together somehow, but her synapses were obviously on strike. A side effect (hopefully temporary) of the stasis spell, no doubt.

Before she’d managed to connect the dots, Robbie was walking towards her. Dawn tensed up, and floppy haired boy, Connor, tucked her more firmly in against his side. Weird that snuggling up to a perfect stranger should somehow make her feel safe, but it was likely just more short-term spellage collateral. Bound to wear off before long!

“Um, hi Dawn,” Robbie said, “How, how are you feeling?”

Dawn frowned, irritation and disbelief replacing the earlier burst of anxiety. Her eyebrows reached up towards her hairline, leaching the warmth out of her gaze as they climbed. “How do you think I’m feeling Robbie? I thought,” the self righteous anger deserted her so quickly that she was left feeling sad and out of kilter, “I thought you were my friend!”

“Oh God Dawn, I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I just thought it would be so awesome, and that you’d think so too, and my Dad seemed so happy and kind of bigger or more or something, for the first time ever, and then things just got kind of out of hand. I think,” he paused, chewing his bottom lip as he frowned, “I think my Dad went a little crazy there for a bit, or even a lot. It was bloody scary, most of all because it looked like he was really gonna hurt you. And now I wish that I’d never, ever told him about you, or talked you into getting him to drop you off at home.”

Wow, being grown up really sucked, if it meant you had to be all magnanimous and forgiving. But then, he did look really remorseful, so she figured she could afford to be a little generous. “Ok Robbie, I guess I forgive you. But you’d better never do anything like this again, or I’ll be siccing witches and werewolves and vampires and crazy Amazon chicks on you faster than you can blink.”

“And me,” Connor said fiercely.

“Yeah, and him!” she agreed, adding, “Whoever you are!” under her breath.

It might have been a good time for finding that out, sharing the life rundown thing with one another. She still thought he was a bit of a weirdo, but apart from his name, Connor, which oddly seemed to ring a bell somewhere in the dark reaches of her muddled memory, she didn’t know anything about him, while he probably already knew heaps about her. She couldn’t even work out why he was here, although seeing as he was with Wes, maybe he was like a nephew or something. So that had to be a plus right? And okay, he was probably over the top annoying, but he was kinda cute, even with the floppy hair. Also, major bonus points for the saveage. Pretty white knightish!

But just as she worked up the courage to ask him about his background, Wes signaled that it was time to go. Willow had been speaking very sternly to Felkin the whole time, and he’d been nodding miserably, but now his expression was tempered by a dash of hope and determination, and colored by a flood of admiration, whenever he looked at Willow. Some sort of agreement had obviously been reached.

Connor scrambled up and immediately reached down to help Dawn to her feet. Unexpectedly and embarrassingly, her legs were still as wobbly as a newborn foal’s, and she slumped sideways as soon as she was vertical. Connor caught her and swept her up into his arms, his face a study of concern and pride. Undoubtedly, the attempt at standing, along with the sudden swooping, was responsible for the lightheadedness she seemed to be experiencing, and was the reason she decided it would be safer to wrap her arms around his neck.

She needn’t have worried. Connor held her gently but firmly and headed towards the doorway. As they neared the rows of seats, the guy who was sitting in the front stood up and lurched towards them. He was staring at Dawn, a light of rapture in his eyes.

Dawn eeped, and Willow, who’d been walking behind them, and had witnessed the man’s reaction, stepped forward. “Mr Mathers, we need to get Miss Summers home.”

The man, Mathers, nodded, but continued to just stand there, staring. “Pretty,” he crooned, reaching out towards Dawn’s shoulder, pulling back only at the last moment as Dawn shrank further into Connor’s arms. He blinked and shook his head, seeming aware once more, both of his surroundings and how his own actions might look. “I saw you back then of course,” he added, almost to himself. “Back when the Beast had you in her grips. You were the prettiest thing I’d ever seen, bright, glowing light. A message of such hope in the grey world I’d been dragged into. I’m awful glad she didn’t kill you, and even happier that the walls didn’t come down the whole way.”

“Um, thanks, I guess,” Dawn whispered, big cobalt eyes shiny with exhaustion and residual fear. It suddenly hit her who this guy was, what had happened to him. All because of her, in a way. “I’m sorry that Glory did the brain sucky thing on you. She was a real bitch.” They nodded at one another, mutual experiences bonding them.

“Willow,” Dawn asked, “Is there anyway that we can help Mr Mathers?”

Willow smiled and shook her head in amazement. Here was Dawn, fresh out of an abduction, and the first thing she wanted to do was help one of her kidnappers. “It would mean using a little of your energy, but yeah, I think we could give him a little boost, enough to realign his synapses anyway.”

“Okay, do it,” Dawn said firmly.

Willow put her right hand on Mathers’ head and held Dawn’s left hand in her own. She closed her eyes and muttered a few words under her breath, and the man’s head seemed to glow with a pale eldritch light. It only lasted a few seconds, but once Willow dropped her hand, Mathers blinked and opened his eyes as if awakening from a dream. Wonder and elation radiated from his overflowing eyes, and his tears spelt out the joy of rescue after so many years left wandering in the wilderness. It had been such a simple thing, but it gave a man back his life. Dawn wondered why they hadn’t thought of doing such a thing earlier.

After a rather effusive display of gratitude and promises of life long fealty, they finally escaped out the door and down the stairs. One of Ashdown’s vans was waiting for them at the front door and not before time. Dawn was exhausted, but she knew that Connor wasn’t doing much better, the fine trembling of his muscles as he held her signaling his fatigue. The back door slid open, and Fred appeared, another mystery addition to the team, then the driver leapt out, and there was Andrew gushing and fussing and extoling her courage and Connor’s heroics and making a bunch of comparisons with Princess Leia and Han Solo.

Finally, everyone was in the van and they were off, headed back to Ashdown, back home. Dawn sat in the back, next to Connor, on his left side so that she wouldn’t knock the freshly bandaged gash on his right arm. It had taken Fred to spot the boy’s injury, and Dawn had sat back, feeling selfish and clueless and guilt-ridden, while she watched him being patched up. Connor had grinned at her woeful expression, and held his hand out to her, pulling her into the seat next to him, not letting go as they belted up and set off.

It was late before she thought to ask. The waning moon was playing tag with a few scuttling clouds and her fellow passengers were silent, either sleeping or in a quiet, drowsy, contemplative state. “Um, guys, sorry to be a pain, but can anyone tell me where Buffy and Spike are?”

‘The gates of Hell are open night and day;
Smooth the descent, and easy is the way:
But, to return, and view the cheerful skies;
In this, the task and mighty labour lies.’Virgil

Spike took a deep breath and leapt into the abyss, the cold, silent darkness swallowing him whole as he hurtled down, down, down towards the very bowels of the earth, down to where his beloved lay, enfolded within the chilly depths of the planet’s mantle. Above him, he could pick the whine of rope passing through Faith’s friction brake as she rappelled after him. Their descent had begun, their own little journey to the centre of the earth.

They’d arrived at the foothills of the Arabika Massif at ten a.m. the previous day, the old army issue jeep they were travelling in coupled to a small horse trailer that was loaded up with an ornery looking donkey. The animal’s company had been necessary to haul the myriad equipment needed to make the successful descent into Krubera.

It had taken them another five hours to traverse the steep slopes of the massif, plodding along single file behind their guide. There was a well-trekked pathway, but as they climbed higher into the mountains, the remnants of a recent snowfall began to obliterate the track.

Alexander had explained, in his halting English, that they were very late in the year for such an undertaking, that most caving took place during August and September, although the Ukrainians had been there as late as October, had only just left three weeks earlier. Nevertheless, the guide and his donkey were obviously very familiar with the trail, both picking their way surefootedly around each bend and along each ridge, taking them ever higher into the alpine landscape.

They’d finally arrived at the foot of the Ortobalagan Valley just after 3 p.m. They’d hurried on, knowing that if they made good time it would still be light enough to spend some time exploring the mouth of the cave before it was time to set up camp. What they didn’t expect was to see another two tents pitched in the shallow depression of land just down hill of the cave entrance. Alexander was particularly surprised, not having heard that any of the other local guides were heading up at all.

Faith and Spike had immediately tensed, seeking out any hint of danger, wary of what the presence of others might mean. The tents were empty, but Spike’s senses had told him that three occupants, all human and all men, had slept them in only two or three nights previous. Food, gear and weapons were still stored inside one of the tents. It seemed likely that these men were also there for Buffy and her captor, and they had a day’s head start on them. This would now make their task even more challenging.

Alexander had led them over to the cave mouth at once. Peering down into the depths was like staring into the mouth of darkness. Because Krubera was a pit cave or vertical cave, it didn’t have the sort of entrance that one usually associated with caves. Instead it was not much more than a large, irregularly shaped crack in the ground. There was little that they could see without lights, but what they had noticed immediately was the nylon rope, securely anchored into the ground, dropping over the edge of the cave mouth and disappearing into the darkness.

“Looks like our friends have made things a little easier for us,” Faith said thoughtfully. “If they’ve laid out ropes the entire way, it will make the descent both easier and much quicker.”

“Yeah, but also trickier,” Spike had added, “Gonna have to be quiet as mice now, so’s they don’t know they’ve got company.”

Leaving first thing in the morning became a priority, so after checking and reorganizing their gear, they’d eaten and turned in for the night. It was still dark when they woke, and a light flurry of snow had fallen in the night, hence the coldness.

Spike and Faith were both warmly dressed. Even as a vampire Spike had always been able to feel differences in temperature. Since his upgrades, he’d begun to dislike the cold more than ever, and he knew the temperature down in the caves would be pretty chilly. So, each of them wore thermal leggings and undershirt, a full-length neoprene wetsuit, topped off with a Cordura oversuit. They both had neoprene socks and waterproof hiking boots on their feet. For once Spike didn’t care if he looked like a dork, he was so focused on what he needed to do to get to Buffy, that it was of little consideration.

After a substantial breakfast, they’d checked their packs and gear and got ready to leave. Not having to take as many ropes had given them more room for their sleeping bags, food, water, extra lighting and an oversuit and helmet for Buffy to wear on the return journey. They both had daggers strapped to their ankles, but they’d decided to forgo swords, the length of the weapons making their transport through tight tunnels unfeasible.

Once they’d clipped their climbing harnesses on, stocked their pockets with knives and assorted climbing paraphernalia, and slipped their waterproof gloves and helmets on, they were ready to go. Wriggling their way into the opening was tricky, but once they’d clipped their descenders to the rope they were away, swinging out and then straight down into the first shaft, a broad drop of almost 200 feet.

Neither Faith nor Spike had spent much time familiarizing themselves with the techniques needed for caving. Back at their hotel room in Gagra they’d used an online instructional video to sort out how to work the ascenders and descenders, what to do when they needed to change from one line to another and the basic safety rules. But they were pretty much relying on their preternatural strength and reflexes and the well-honed instincts that were part of both the slayer and vampire package deal.

But even with all of these advantages, plummeting into what felt like a bottomless pit, with only a nylon rope, some webbing and a lightweight aluminum clip to prevent critical injury or even death was a disturbing experience. Of course, it being Spike and Faith, it didn’t take too long for either of them to get the hang of things, and once the adrenaline kicked in, it was all they could do to stop themselves from whooping and hollering in absolute delight, as they zipped down the line at a precarious speed.

Once they reached the bottom of the first drop, they tugged on the line and Xander sent down two rope bags and a bladder of water. The broad shaft had been relatively easy, but now they had to negotiate the first of the steeply inclined pitches that connected the vertical pits. The tunnel was narrow and damp, and the only way to traverse it was by crawling through it on their bellies. Spike went first, always aware of the need to listen out for their rivals ahead. It was critical that they maintained the advantage that their unexpected presence would bring. But the henchmen were obviously well ahead, out of earshot of even Spike’s sensitive hearing.

Nevertheless, there wasn’t a lot of conversation, mainly because of the wriggling and squirming required to navigate the close confines of the meander took all of their focus and much of their breath. It had taken them only ten minutes to rappel down the first 200 feet, but it was another forty before Spike emerged at the top of the second big shaft, having literally inched his way forward through the tight squeeze at the end of the passage.

The crawling was slow, irritating, frustrating, but it was more than compensated for by the exhilaration of the pit jumps. Leaping into the dark was liberating after the restrictions of the tunnel, and adrenaline flooded his system. The only thing that could have improved the experience would have been being able to whoop and screech his delight out to the cave walls as he zipped down the line, and not having Buffy’s safety and very existence balanced on his shoulders as he did so.

Nevertheless, he took what enjoyment he could out of the situation, and by the look of Faith’s gleaming eyes and flushed cheeks as she touched down at the base of the longest single drop in the system, the 500 foot Big Cascade, it was obvious that the dark haired slayer was doing the same. According to their altimeter, and the cave profile map that Khatia had downloaded off the net, they were roughly 1900 feet below the surface, little more than a third of the explored depth of the cave. Spike felt certain that they’d have quite a ways further to go before they found Buffy, no doubt worming their way through much greater depths than any of the caving teams had achieved.

They stopped at that point for lunch, spreading themselves out on the flat rocky base of a small chamber that marked the final stage of a series of gently sloped tunnels. They’d been climbing for almost five hours, and at that rate, with many of the more difficult sections still to come, they knew they’d need to spend at least one, possibly two nights on the descent.

Faith hauled out a bag full of ubiquitous trail food, muesli bars and scroggin, the likes of which he’d never eaten before, and wasn’t too keen to again. Meanwhile, Spike fished out two metal cups, water and teabags and one of the spells Rowan and Tara had whipped up for them, a great little charm that could turn any rock into an instant hot plate. After they’d finished off their tea, they used the cups to heat up pouches of mac’ and cheese with diced up salami added for extra flavor and protein.

As they were refueling, Spike took the chance to quiz Faith on the state of play with his old Grandsire.

“So pet, how’re things going with you and Peaches?”

Faith screwed up her face at that, then shook her head and laughed. “Damn, I so wish I had lots of juicy details and kinky undertakings to share with you, or even torture you with by not sharing, but sadly there is zip to report on the Angel front. He just refuses to take the bait, no matter how hard I wriggle the hook in front of the broody bastard. And I’m not really big on patience. I swear the guy’s in training to become a monk; he’s as clean and pure as the driven snow these days, more’s the pity.”

Spike shook his head in disbelief. “Bloody tosser must be deaf, dumb and blind not to snap up a tasty morsel such as yourself. Forget about the big Irish mick, you're too good for the likes of him anyway.” Spike paused and looked intently at Faith. “Got yourself a bit of a hankering for a walk on the cold side have you pet? Need to be careful with that little fetish, most vamps would gladly kill you as soon as fuck you, especially if it’s a slayer they’ve got down on the mat.”

“Oh fuck off Billy,” Faith scowled, “I wasn’t setting my sights on Angel cos he’s a vampire. It’s just that we’ve always had this kind of connection, chemistry I guess or some such shit. And it’s not like I’m losing sleep over him.”

“Pleased to hear it pet. But just you watch that chemistry thing. There’s a very, very fine line between the danger tingles and the sexy tingles. I should know.”

“Yeah you should, and it worked out all right for you didn’t it?”

“That it did pet, that it did. Anyway, know you're a big bad slayer and all, just don’t want you getting hurt.”

Faith frowned at that, and mumbled, “Can look after myself,” but her eyes were suspiciously shiny in the light of Spike’s headlamp, and she gave him an awkward, wobbly smile by way of thanks.

Lunch and conversation finished, they cleaned up and stashed everything away in their bags, then hit the trail again. They spent the afternoon alternately, abseiling, scrambling or crawling. There were far fewer vertical pits to rappel down by this stage, and significantly more water, sometimes just trickling down the rock inclines but often cascading like small waterfalls. It made the surfaces they needed to negotiate not only slippery, but also very cold.

Subsequently, in spite of their preternatural advantages, it was two very tired, wet and cold climbers that slithered the last ten or fifteen meters down a damp, crumbly slope to an unoccupied temporary camp, one that had not only been used by the men ahead of them the previous evening, but was likely to have been set up by the Ukrainians. Whatever the case, Spike and Faith were grateful to be able to collapse on the small, level shelf, both of them too exhausted to do anything more than lie there.

Eventually, they roused themselves enough to use the hot rock spell again and put together a bland but nutritious meal. The campsite was too confined to do much more than pull off their boots and tumble into their sleeping bags fully dressed in their muddy, damp oversuits, but cleanliness really wasn’t a priority on this mission, and besides, they were both too tired to care.

The campsite was 4000 feet below the earth’s surface, and Spike contemplated this as he lay on his back next to Faith, staring up through the pitch dark of the passage they’d just negotiated, suddenly infinitely aware of his own insignificance and fragility, buried as he was beneath hundreds of thousands, maybe even millions, of tons of earth and rock. It was a sobering, and somewhat chilling thought for an immortal being, evoking that brief, terrifying, long ago moment when he’d awoken into his new life, interred beneath the soil of William’s burial plot.

That momentary flash of terror immediately made him think of Buffy again, not that she was ever very far from his thoughts. Her claustrophobia and occasional nightmares signaled the deep-seated dread of entombment that still haunted her. He wondered how she was coping with her fears, given that she’d been secreted away even deeper in the bowels of the earth than he and Faith were, and had been there for at least five days. Or maybe six, taking the time zones into consideration. He didn’t have a fucking clue.

The only thing he knew was that he wanted to be with his girl. He figured that she couldn’t be too far away, that right now he was probably closer to her than he’d been ever since she’d been taken. But close wasn’t close enough. He wanted to be able to wrap his arms around her, splay his hand out over her belly, and protect that precious life they’d planted there. He wanted to love her and keep her safe and hold her fears at bay.
He was scared for her, and scared for himself. And he just missed her so bloody much that the loss carved out a big aching hollow inside of him.

As he lay there, listening to Faith’s deep, steady breathing, tears pooled in the corners of his eyes until they overran and trickled down his cheeks. The need inside him grew, like a deep-seated yearning for the other half of himself, and it seemed that his soul was crying out in the dark for its mate.

Suddenly, Spike seemed to be floating above himself, looking down at Faith and his slumbering forms, wrapped up snugly in their puffy sleeping bags. For some reason he could see clearly through the pitch-blackness, as if he was still wearing his headlamp. He didn’t question any of this, nor the sudden, urgent pull back towards the tunnel. Instead, he just went with it, zooming off down along the rope marked trail, ducking and diving around bends, over cliffs, through the narrow, winding meanders, all in the blink of an eye.

He felt free, was free if he understood it, his soul or his spirit detached from his body, hurtling downwards, unerringly and effortlessly seeking out the quickest route towards the other half of himself. He guessed he was dreaming, or experiencing some sort of out of body experience. Whatever the case, he wasn’t concerned, and happily zipped onwards. The astral journey seemed to take no time at all; the rock walls a blur as he flew past them. Suddenly he came upon a camp, this one occupied by three sleeping men, one of them with a haunted, anxious look on his face, probably the guide, poor bugger.

Spike paused, hovering above the three sleepers, carefully scrutinizing them and their equipment for any clues, any hint of what their intentions might be. One of the goons had a gun beside his sleeping bag and the other a knife, so they were obviously not above using violence if pushed to it.

Turning away, he headed back down the trail, but only yards from the camp, the homing beacon inside of him drew Spike away from the main tunnel, and down a nasty, cramped, corrugated side passage. After a sharp horizontal turn, the tunnel carried on in much the same fashion for more than 300 feet. Spike frowned. The narrowness didn’t worry him in his current form, but it was definitely going to make unpleasant work in the morning.

Finally the shaft broadened out some, not much, but enough to be able to navigate the twists and turns more or less upright. Unless you were one of those big brutes asleep back at the camp. Spike figured they’d have to walk at a crouch. Shame that.

All the while, Spike glided smoothly onwards, deeper and deeper into the cave. The trail became consistently narrow, twisting and convoluted, with frequent branches and side passages forcing him to choose a direction. As he approached yet another fork, he slowed down enough to see that the tunnel to the left was marked out with bright yellow climbing rope, obviously the trail that the Ukrainians had taken on their record breaking expedition. But his instincts told him to take the right hand path instead.

The tunnels were frighteningly narrow in places, so constricted at times that he doubted the two big gorillas would even be able to wriggle their way through. He and Faith should be okay though. That would give them a definite advantage, as would the possibility that they’d initially try the left hand trail.

Still Spike went on, until he came to a flooded section. Being without a body certainly had its perks, as neither the undoubtedly freezing temperature of the water, nor the lack of oxygen bothered his non-corporeal self. Diving beneath the surface, he also found that he could see just as clearly as out of water, and quickly he followed the submerged passageway down.

The tunnel was straight, on a slight downward incline and very, very long, over 350 feet. It was also flooded along its entire length, which would provide somewhat of a problem. In order to travel lightly, they’d not brought any diving equipment. And although he could probably hold his breath for longer than the average human (or slayer for that matter), now that his heart pumped oxygen around his body, he did have to supply it with at least some air now and again.

What they did have was another one of Rowan and Tara’s nifty little spells. It utilized a simple oxygen facemask with bag and attached tubing. Instead of running to an oxygen supply, the tubing connected to a small plastic bottle that contained some sort of spongy green substance that would absorb the carbon dioxide out of exhaled air and convert it into oxygen.

It only needed a few drops of water and a short phrase of some foreign (dimensional rather than national) language to activate the ‘sponge’s’ properties. If used in only short bursts, allowing the organism to return to its naturally dormant state for at least an hour at a time, then the spell could be reactivated numerous times. But with only two masks, bringing Buffy back through the flooded passageway was going to be challenging.

While he’d been musing, Spike had arrived at the bottom end of the tunnel. It seemed to be a dead end. He checked, backtracked and checked again. There was no way through. Heading back up the channel, he noticed that as he retraced his steps, the little, internal Buffy-locked homing signal got stronger, then slowly began fading away again. After a few passes back and forth, he homed in on the little blip that marked the direction he needed to follow. A small depression in the waterlogged tunnel lay directly beneath him, a jumble of rocks and stones crowding its shallow cavity.

Passing through the seemingly solid rock wall was effortless for the disembodied vampire and immediately provided an explanation for the riddle. Once on the other side, he could see that the basin was in fact the top of a small side passage that had become blocked by layers of rocks and sand. A steady trickle of water still seeped through the small gaps and dripped down the side of a long, smooth wall.

Spike followed the narrow passage, until it ended abruptly, opening into the broad domed ceiling of a massive, vaulted chamber. The cavern seemed immense, an underground sanctum sanctorum, especially after the constricted tunnels and meanders they’d spent the past day in. From this vantage point he could see the whole room. And it was going to be a bitch to abseil down into.

By now Spike’s Buffy signal was pinging off the radar. He rocketed down into the cavern and across the room, following his instincts through the dark vastness, straight towards the two figures that he could now pick out through the gloom. He passed over the sleeping soldier boy first, a big lug, the mirror image of the two back up the tunnel. Then suddenly, he was upon her. Buffy was asleep, lying on a smooth rock, wrapped up in the silver thermal blanket he’d seen in his first vision. Hovering above her he could see that she looked thin and weary, the deep circles under her eyes testament to her exhaustion.

But otherwise she seemed fine. Her heartbeat was strong and steady and he could hear the baby’s rapid little pulse tapping away just fine. A yearning to hold her came over him and he sank down beside her, through the thin layer of aluminum-coated plastic sheeting, stretching out to lie alongside her.

He wanted to wrap his arms around her, but of course a slight shortage in the body department made that impossible. The experience reminded Spike of his release from the amulet, that heart wrenching moment when he and Buffy realized they couldn’t touch one another, couldn’t connect. But this was different, something temporary, something mystical. He decided to simply make the most of the situation, enjoy the astral experience that had been bestowed upon him.

And so he just relaxed, soaking in the wonder of being at Buffy’s side, rejoicing in the emotional and spiritual closeness he could sense between them, even if the physical connection was missing. He watched her face carefully, and guessed that even in sleep, she felt it too, the little sigh and beatific look that settled across her face testament to an inner joy and contentment.

Spike suddenly realized that this emotional attachment he felt was accompanied by an astonishing bonus, the return of their special connection, the very same that had been so conspicuously and devastatingly absent over the last five days and nights. He could once again sense her presence, her essence, the tingles running up and down his spine and reverberating through his body, his heart, his soul. Even more than the sight of her, this feeling, this link, absolutely thrilled him. It was so powerful, so poignant, so overwhelmingly sweet and right that he wondered how he’d managed to keep on breathing, how his heart had continued to beat, how he’d been able to function without such an essential part of himself.

Spike’s eyes filled with tears for the second time that night, this time tears of happiness. Suddenly he was overcome with a wave of exhaustion. His body, temporarily abandoned back up in the tunnels, lying peacefully beside a sleeping Faith, was undoubtedly worn out from the physical excesses of the day. But his soul, his spirit, was equally fatigued, battered about by the highs and lows of the last week. Finding Buffy, reconnecting with her soul, was such an emotional experience that it affected him deeply. But such depths of emotion were also very draining, enough that all he wanted to do was curl up beside his girl and rest himself, secure in the knowledge that their separation was nearing an end, that he would find her and bring her back to the world safe and sound.

And so, lying beside Buffy, he let himself go, drifting off into a gentle sea of slumber, allowing the healing and reenergizing power of sleep to work its magic over his battered subconscious.

Spike had no idea how long he remained in that state, but it didn’t seem long enough. He was jerked abruptly back to awareness, his spirit, his consciousness suddenly borne up and away from Buffy, violently drawn up and back across the cavern, up through the pit and the choke that blocked the drowned passageway. His journey down, through all the twists and turns of the pits, cascades and narrow rift passages had been rapid, by anybody’s measure. But this, this was dizzying, the walls passing by in a blur as he flew through the dark, seemingly faster than the speed of sound.

Then, as if between one breath and the next, he was slammed back into his body, going from over 100 miles an hour to zero in less than a second. It was bloody disconcerting, and slightly reverberating. Before he had any time to dwell on this, Spike realized that the vibrations were coming from without as well as within, Faith’s hand on his shoulder, shaking him awake.

“Come on Billy, we said we were gonna hit the trail early.” She paused and shook him again. “Damn you're hard to wake up. Not really a morning sort of guy are you.”

Spike grinned inside of himself, and almost immediately the grin transferred itself to his lips and his eyes popped open, a likely sign that his consciousness was firmly attached and back in the driver’s seat again. He shook himself and sat up, the sight and smell of the warm coffee that Faith had made signaling that his senses were operational, and after a bit of a stretch, undoubtedly his muscles would be too.

Hope surged in Spike as he felt that little shiver deep down in his soul that signaled Buffy’s presence. It strengthened as he pictured the way down to the cavern, each bend, each fork coming clearly to mind. Breakfast would be a hurried affair, they needed to pack and start back down the trail if they were going to time their descent so that they could pass the two goons before they got to the drowned tunnel. They had a long way to go and a hard road to hoe, but they’d get there, and the little, comforting hum in the depth of his being would keep him focused the whole way there and back.

‘I too have been in the underworld, as was Odysseus, and I will often be there again; not only sheep have I sacrificed so as to be able to speak with a few dead souls, but neither have I spared my own blood as well.’Friedrich Nietzsche


Buffy hmmed and stretched, a wave of warmth and contentment suffusing her body as she slowly swarm up through the layers of consciousness to greet the morning. As she neared the surface, she paused, the growing darkness and ominous chill ahead clouding her already baffled senses, and casting a shadow over the new day. Still loosely wrapped in Morpheus’ sweet embrace, Buffy hesitated. Sleep was good, warm, safe. And she’d suddenly been struck by the realization that awake was … not.

The trouble with realizations was that they tended to come hand in hand with consciousness, even if it was only the semi kind. And once you’re halfway there, no amount of scrabbling was going to sink you back into the blessed oblivion. There was little point fighting it. But she already knew that for some reason, the contrast between last night’s sweet dreams and this morning’s rise and shine was gonna bite like a bitch.

And it did. The cold, damp air nipped at her nose and brow, hunger plucked a familiar refrain in her belly, and fear, for herself, and for her child, played hopscotch up and down her spine. It was a rude awakening after the vivid sense memories of her time in Spike’s arms. To be surrounded by his adoration and protection, even if it was only the dream plane, had left her feeling so serene and so loved that waking up was a bit like stepping out of a hot bubble bath and into the chill of a dark winter’s night. The happiness that had seeped deep into her pores during her long soak in their shared joy was never going to be enough to stave off the reality of the harsh light of day.

Nevertheless, there was no putting it off. Her captor was grunting at her, “Kalkmak,” and prodding her. She wasn’t even sure what language it was, but after days of his simple phrases and physical back up, she’d sussed the odd word out. She struggled up, folding up the space blanket and stowing it in Devrim’s backpack before taking the packet of dry cereal that he handed her. It was a little weird that she was on a first name basis with her kidnapper, but she had to call him something other than Sneaky, and there was really no danger of her developing Stockholm Syndrome.

As she ate her breakfast and drank the mug of dark, bitter coffee that Devrim had thrust at her, Buffy took stock of herself. She was cold (although she knew she’d warm up once they started climbing), dirty (that was a given, she added layers beneath and on top, but otherwise she was still wearing the same clothes she’d put on however many weeks ago – ew!), hungry (even with the dry cereal half consumed) and a little achy (mostly legs, a bit of back pain, nothing to worry about). But otherwise she was feeling quite chipper this morning. She still had her strength, she could feel bubba wiggling around inside, obviously eager to hit the trail, and that little tingling thrill that zipped up and down her spine, the one that said ‘Hey pet’, was … there! Oh my God, she could, she could feel Spike’s presence.

She bit down on her tongue hard, trying to suppress a loud sob of relief. It wouldn’t do to get Devrim suspicious. But she couldn’t control her face muscles, couldn’t help the huge grin that broke out, or the quiver of excitement that rippled through her body. And she couldn’t stem the flood of pure joy that inundated her soul, or the tears of overwhelming emotion that painted silvery trails down her cheeks.

After weeks of being lost and alone in the dark, she could sense Spike. Which basically meant all kinds of good, like he was close at hand, he was coming for her, he’d never given up, and he’d kick this guy’s ass. But more than what it meant, was how it felt to Buffy. That warm bath feeling was back, enveloping her in love and belonging. The sense of connection that cascaded rightness through her body was back, back where it fit just so. It kicked her brain into another whole gear, lifting her head above the sea of depression she’d wallowed in for so long. Promise of rescue and escape was enough to make her take proper stock of her surroundings for the first time since they’d arrived late the previous evening.

The cavern they were in was huge, and the floor, for the most part, was rocky and dry. She could see a large pool on the far side of the chamber, and the wall behind it glistened in the light of their lanterns, the trickling water providing a constant background melody to their drama. But most of the room was hidden in the shadows; so vast was the space around them.

It felt like the Staples Center after the constantly cramped, steep, twisty tunnels Buffy had spent the last endless days and weeks scrabbling through. It had been cold, uncomfortable, and grueling, the endless, endless walking and crawling with no seeming end in site. Now and again they’d met a fork in the path, Devrim consulting a crumpled and almost indecipherable map before striding off in one direction or another.

Physically it was tough but manageable; even at six and a half months pregnant Buffy was fit and strong. But mentally, and emotionally, it was torture. She had no idea where they were going or why, apart from the ever present flashbacks of her baby loss nightmare. The similarities after all were undeniable; she was definitely living the nightmare.

She’d thought about killing Devrim, or even knocking him out, of course she had. But she had no confidence that she’d be able to find the way back, or the way forward, wherever that may be, and the thought of wandering endlessly round in circles, lost in a maze of tunnels miles beneath the surface of the earth was truly more terrifying than having to fight her way out of whatever situation awaited her at the end of their never ending journey.

Buffy knew they were a long way underground. When Devrim had marched her towards the edge of what had seemed like a bottomless pit, she’d thought her fate was to be pushed off the bridge and to fall endlessly to her death. She wished she could say that the thought had amused her in some way, prompted a mental ‘been there, done that’ quip or a request from the Powers for frequent fallers’ points. But it hadn’t. It had terrified her, striking such a huge chord of fear, so deep down in her soul that she’d frozen. Not quite to the level of inertia that she’d been in when Dawn was taken by Glory, but only one storey off. It had taken quite a lot of yelling and shaking from Devrim to get her responsive and moving again.

With plenty of time on her hands over the last however many days, and with little to do but walk and think, she’d reflected somewhat on her reaction, and how different it had been from being on top of Glory’s tower. She’d never suffered from vertigo before the tower jump, and she couldn’t strictly say that she did now. It wasn’t really the height that freaked her out. And it wasn’t necessarily the fall itself either. She’d had flashbacks of that long plummet quite frequently, the sensations, the emotions. But they weren’t of a nightmare quality; none of them set her heart to pounding or her stress levels through the roof.

Maybe that was because she still didn’t see the tower jump as a bad thing. She hadn’t been scared, she’d been finished, and if not happy to jump, at least she’d been reconciled to it. The jump itself wasn’t frightening, or even necessarily painful. If anything it was kind of surreal. Although the tower wasn’t freakishly high, the fall had seemed to last forever. Blinded by the eldritch light of the roiling, tearing inter dimensional rift, and buffeted by the howling winds of a thousand unlocked portals, she had plunged through space and time. The vast, colliding energies had screamed and roared all around her, dragging her this way and that, tugging at her hair and clothing and pulling at her very molecules. The enormous g-forces had pummeled her body, and driven her blood towards her feet, leaving her light headed and weak. The last thing she’e remembered before she’d blacked out was a sensation of weightlessness, of destiny, of fate fulfilled.

It had been a peaceful feeling; pride, in a job well done; relief, that Dawnie was safe, that the world was safe; and above all, acceptance, that it was her time, that she was ready to receive her gift. Death. She’d had no fear of it, no desire to stave it off, and she was ready to go gentle into that good night.

Which is undoubtedly what had her so fearflu on the bridge. The thought of dying now, of being taken from this world, was more terrifying to her than it had ever been in any of her previous incarnations. Her death, in this manner, would not only be senseless, it would also mean the death of her precious unborn child. Just the thought of that was so heartbreaking that she could barely breathe. And what would it do to Spike? It wasn’t hard to predict. He would barely survive her death, but to lose the baby too; she knew he’d as soon walk out into the dawn as live on without them, and that wasn’t even a viable option now that he’d been upgraded. But some way or another, he’d take himself out of this world.

And how would it affect her friends and family. Her previous death had been devastating for them, creating a whole raft of sadness and negativity that had spiraled out into a cocktail of control, addiction, desertion, abandonment and violence. It was a potent, but nasty little concoction, and it had taken a long time for everyone to recover from the hangover. Whether they would a second time was questionable.

As for the prophecy, the loss of the Light Warrior and the Child would lead to the failure of the Sagaria Prophecy. The baby Slayers, the Legion of the Light, would lose their newly activated powers, and without them the battle against the Scourge of Amroz would be futile. Even ignoring that outcome, taking the capital S Slayer, and one of the scions out of play, well who knew what impact that would have on the coming battles? No, going the George Bailey route didn’t even bear thinking about. So, bad for her, bad for Spike, bad for their child! Bad for the Scoobies and Amazon in general. And down the line, bad for the world! So basically badness all round!

Buffy didn’t want her death to mean so little, for it to create such unhappiness and ruin. But as much as she hated the thought of what it would do to the others, more than ever before, she hated the very idea of leaving the playing field herself. Above anything else, she wanted to live. This life she and Spike and the others had made for themselves was beyond her wildest expectations, far greater than the nebulous, picket-fenced future that her sixteen year old self had envisaged with Angel. She was happy; truly, deeply, joyously happy for the first time in her life. And damned if she was going to give that away.

So, she’d snapped herself out of her funk, determined to survive. She let Devrim guide her across the bridge, and over to a platform. In the far corner a pile of equipment was waiting for them, a length of rope, two climbing harnesses and two helmets, each with a mounted light. When her captor unlocked her cuffs, and indicated that she needed to suit up, she’d decided that compliance was preferable to a long, lethal plunge. Somehow she didn’t think that even her sigils would be able to protect her from the effects of a fall. So, she’d dutifully buckled herself into the harness and fastened the helmet’s chinstrap. Devrim had clipped one end of a length of rope to the back of her harness, out of her reach, and the other to himself. He’d sheathed his sword, shrugged on his backpack and they were ready to go. Impatiently he’d nudged her over to the edge of the platform.

Next to the wooden deck Buffy had spotted a set of metal rungs attached to the rock wall. They’d disappeared over the lip, and as she drew nearer, foot on the top step at her captor’s insistence, she’d looked down. The ladder had marched silently down the face of the shaft, its regiment of metal bars glinting dully in the eerie light that emanated from the abyss. Down and down it went, an endless millipede, its nether regions lost beyond sight.

Slowly, tentatively, and only at Devrim’s grunted impatience, she’d swung herself out and onto the ladder, and begun the start of what was to become an interminable journey. The rungs were spaced at 12 inch increments, a fair step for her short legs, and with her protruding baby bump necessitating a slight outward lean, even her level of strength and fitness was set to be tested. Still with Devrim above her, and the rope attaching one to the other, there’d been little she could do. She’d set off, determination propping up her cast-iron survival instinct.

Only seventy or eighty feet into their descent, they’d come to a thick band of swirling white light. Despite a lack of obvious light source, the glow had nevertheless filled the shaft completely for a distance of about twenty feet. Buffy had hesitated, and only her captor’s barked command and the prodding toe of his boot had started her going again.

As they’d passed into the light, the air had shimmered and eddied around them, and she’d felt a slight tugging sensation, not unlike the gentle wrench she felt whenever she stepped through Dawn’s doorways, or that time with the Shadowcaster’s portal. But that little fun fact had only really registered at a subliminal level. Because overwhelmingly, her mind, her heart, and her soul were screaming out in pain and anguish as the connection with Spike, with life, had just slipped away.

Later it had occurred to her that the light field was probably a portal of some kind, the gateway to another dimension, or more likely to some kind of pocket dimension within the planet’s normal space/time continuum. Or whatever. She kind of zoned out whenever Giles or Willow talked about that sort of stuff, so she wasn’t too sure of the technicalities, but it seemed right given the surroundings.

But at the time she’d been incapable of thinking about portals or dimensional anomalies. In fact she’d barely been able to breathe, let alone walk, talk or make her way down a ladder. The sudden disconnection of her link with Spike had hit Buffy like a freight train, knocking the stuffing out of her. Hit anew by the terror and abandonment of her baby loss nightmare, she’d faltered and frozen. As long as her connection to Spike had continued to hum away up and down her spine, she’d felt positive and hopeful, certain that he would find her, go to the ends of the earth to bring her and their baby home safe.

But now, now Buffy just felt small and scared, lost and alone in the dark. For the first time since she’d been brought back, she’d felt less. Less brave, less strong, less sure, less her. A thick black cloud of depression had descended over, wrapping her in its numbing embrace. Once again she’d been tempted to slip back into a catatonic state, where she didn’t have to acknowledge the pain of that huge gaping hole inside of her. And despite the realization she’d arrived at only minutes ago, for a moment, a tiny fraction of a moment, she’d considered just letting go, just giving into the despair and falling.

That little mental slip had shocked Buffy. Although the emptiness of lost connection echoed inside her soul, her reasons for fighting, for surviving, had not changed. She’d been on her own for years before she and Spike really connected; she knew could do this. And intuitively she understood that the link was down not because something bad had happened to Spike, but because of some sort of interference. The light field was probably blocking the inward signal.

For the first time she’d considered what it must be like on the other end of the bond. If the connection had blinked out at his end as well, Spike must be beside himself. With no idea where she was, it would be hard not to think the worst. But she knew that no matter how hopeless it seemed, he wouldn’t give up, he’d fight till the end of the world to get her and their baby back home safely. She owed it do him to fight just as hard to stay alive, even if she had to overcome the pain of debilitating loss to do it.

Finally, she’d been able to start moving again. Slowly, cautiously, she’d resumed her downward journey. Her limbs had felt numb and her fingers ached from clenching onto the rungs so tightly, but determination and downright stubbornness had flooded her muscles with a boost of energy. Down and down she’d climbed, more convinced than ever that this truly was a descent into hell. She wouldn’t have been surprised to have stumbled across Dante’s famous words etched onto a solemn sign: ‘Abandon all hope, ye who enter here’ for that is how it seemed to her. But she would cling onto whatever shred of hope remained, it was all she had left in that God forsaken place.

Once past the light field, the change in her surroundings had been startling enough to catch Buffy’s attention and distract her from her own plight. On either side of the ladder, balanced precariously against the walls of the shaft, stood two interminable stacks of crates. As with the rungs, the base of these towers lay beyond the field of vision, at a distance that was in all likelihood beyond reckoning. Hand after hand, rung after rung Buffy descended, into the pit. As she climbed she studied the huge chests. Up close they seemed to be of different sizes and configurations, constructed of varying materials and adorned in all manner of styles. Clay, wooden, marble, metallic, crystalline, decorated with carvings, gemstones, shells, patterns and arcane symbols marking out messages that no-one would ever now read.

At first she couldn’t begin to guess what they might contain, what they might be. But as she clambered past chest after chest, the air of death and decay that clung to their cracked, dusty surfaces spoke to her of an ancient malevolence, long since subjugated. Buffy shuddered as she finally realized exactly what these boxes purposed. They were coffins, hundreds, no thousands of them, piled haphazardly, one upon the other, like a colossal game of Jenga. They carried the remains perhaps, of some long forgotten army, or some extinct empire. She didn’t know who, or what, but she doubted there were any left to lament them, for the atmosphere that surrounded them was ripe with malice and a primordial foulness that sent fingernails skittering across the chalkboard of her soul.

There had been no way to escape the towering caskets. Above and below her, pressing in upon either side, the sarcophagi had hovered, a consortium of deadly departed. The pit was steeped in silence, and not even the air moved. Yet as Buffy continued her downward journey, she’d sensed the presence of evil. The towers’ tenants may have been silent, inert, but something told her that they weren’t gone, merely sleeping, waiting perhaps for some signal, some mystical alarm clock, to rouse them from their eternal slumber. To draw them forth, and grant them back the existence they had abandoned so long ago.

Passing through an atmosphere of such hostility was draining. Between the physical exertion of the endless climb, the emotional trauma of her lost link, and the psychological weight of wading through evil soup, Buffy was exhausted. Her muscles were yelling ‘Stop!’, her heart was curled up in the corner crying ‘Wah!’, while some instinctual part of her brain was screaming ‘Flee!’ but she fought it and continued her descent at a steady pace.

Eventually of course they did stop. Roughly every 1500 feet, a little platform, not unlike the one they’d started out from, was built out from the shaft wall, right next to the ladder. They’d passed the first one soon after travelling through the light field, then another about an hour later. The second one had been occupied, one of the freaky sarcophagi balanced precariously on its narrow surface. Buffy had shuddered as she’d realized what its presence meant. Someone, or something, was intending to remove the casket from the pit. For what purpose, she had no idea, but she doubted it was for the greater good.

The box was a huge, stone container, oddly shaped and tarnished with the patina of time’s passing. It squatted there, on the platform, a token of ageless evil and ceaseless menace. A visceral dread had chilled her bones as she’d passed the sarcophagus, and she’d hastened her steps in order to distance herself from the coffin and its contents. It wasn’t until the box was well out of sight that Buffy had begun to breathe more easily.

Finally, as she’d drawn level with the third platform, Devrim had called to her, indicating with his head that they pull over. She’d crawled onto the platform and crumpled, the muscles in her arms and legs spasming in near collapse. Almost immediately she’d fallen asleep, the physical and emotional exhaustion overriding her instinctual concerns about nodding off on the narrow aerie. She figured that Devrim had kept her alive for a reason; he wasn’t going to let her roll off of their little pit-stop at this stage.

And so the days had continued, as much as she’d been able to reckon them anyway. Devrim had provided food and water for the both of them, and a space blanket for Buffy to sleep under. But most of the time was given over to their never-ending downward journey, scrambling down the unceasing rungs one after the other. Several times she’d slipped, sheer exhaustion loosening her grip on the rungs and the normal surety of her tread. The first time it happened, her eyes had flashed wide in fear and an anguished cry was torn from her lips, as the possibility of her death loomed beneath her scrabbling feet. Luckily her fall had lasted only seconds, before the rope that connected her harness to Devrim’s pulled taut. Shocked, but unharmed, she’d dangled there, saved from an endless plunge into the interminable depths by a length of nylon rope.

She’d cried then, loud wailing sobs, overcome by the fear, relief and hopelessness that swirled round inside her. Whether moved to compassion, or merely responding to the situation on a pragmatic level, Devrim had reacted by anchoring himself to the ladder and gently lowering her to the next platform. She’d crawled across to the back wall and curled up in a ball, hands wrapped around her belly as she’d cried herself to sleep.

Over the days that followed, she’d accidently slipped another two times, each time the instinctive surge of fear kicking in just before the rope did. But she soon came to realize how safe and relaxing it was to complete the section descent by rope rather than ladder, her weary body cradled in the full harness, able to travel the distance in half the time with a fraction of the effort. So another few times she’d stopped and silently pleaded with Devrim to winch her down to the next platform. He’d frowned impatiently at her before nodding tersely and bracing himself for the task. She doubted she would have made the descent without those little breaks.

Even so, the climbing had seemed to go on forever. She had no idea how many days they spent clinging to that accursed rock face. At least four if the number of sleep breaks was any indication. And all the while, the glowering towers of coffins had loomed over her, silent denizens of the underworld.

Finally, at the 36th platform from the top of the shaft, over 55,000 feet below the surface of the earth according to her calculations, they’d stopped their descent. Both the ladder and the pit itself had continued, on into the endless depths, but set into the back wall had been the entrance to a tunnel. They were due to stop for the day, but Devrim had nodded her on, and into the passage she’d stumbled, her first horizontal steps in more than four days. The tunnel was pitch black, and without her helmet lamp, she’d have been unable to see anything. It travelled straight for a short way before sloping down into a broad flat cavern where they’d made camp for the night. Devrim had headed over to a corner where a fully laden backpack was propped up against the wall.

So after food, water, a change of clothes (well underwear at least, plus a set of thermal pants and long sleeved tee to put on under her trackpants and jumper) and a good night’s sleep, devoid of rolling out of bed nightmares, they’d set off. Devrim had led the way, confidently navigating the maze of tunnels that seemed little more than ragged fissures carved beneath the deeper layers of the Earth’s crust. He may have known where they were going, but to Buffy, the endless passages provided no indication of location, direction, or whether or not their destination was at hand.

The trek hadn’t been particularly arduous, well not in a physical sense at least. Okay, so it was hardly a walk in the park. The path meandered somewhat, travelling up or down at various times, but mostly with a gentle gradient. It was generally cramped, and at times narrowed to little more than a burrow, negotiable only at a crawl. But mainly it was dark, sometimes damp and very, very long. Endlessly so! It was often cold, but not excessively so. In fact the bedrock under her feet had seemed warmer, and somehow more alive than that which lay overhead.

The most arduous aspect had in fact been the emotional distress. Not knowing why she’d been taken, where they were going, how long it would take to get there or what would happen to her when she arrived had begun to sap her confidence, her spirit and even her strength. She had attempted to engage Devrim, by talking to him, behaving in a friendly, amenable way, in the remote chance that she could sway him into switching his allegiance and helping her to escape, or at the very least answering some of her questions. When that didn’t work she’d tried cajoling him, and then outright begging.

She’d even had a go at threats of violence and retribution, although obviously by this stage she was well below her scary best. The truth was, that at seven months pregnant, with only limited nourishment and such constant, high level demands on her physical reserves, Buffy had little or no energy to spare for thoughts of revenge, resistance or escape, let alone acts. Either way, her feeble efforts had amounted to nothing. Devrim was like an android, programmed to complete his task, delivering her to destination X, without benefit of communication or social interaction. Cracking his conditioning was beyond hopeless.

So she’d resigned herself to passive submission, meekly carrying out the inflexible daily routine that Devrim imposed, mainly walking and sleeping, with only brief stops for food and water as and when he’d scheduled them. But the capitulation had taken its toll on her state of mind. She was constantly scared, both for herself and her baby. The fear, the lack of any control, the absolute helplessness, and being cut off from Spike’s presence, both physically and psychologically, had left her emotionally bereft, and floundering in a pit of despair.

Many, many times, particularly over the last week, the depression had resulted in her feeling so sad, anxious and exhausted that Devrim had had to physically haul her to her feet to get her going. And he was no easy taskmaster. He’d kept them going at a cracking pace, expecting them to cover a significant number of miles each day. Buffy had no idea how many, but maybe 30 or 40. She just knew that the endless walking, the apparent futility of it, seemed more and more gruelling as the days and weeks ticked over. The mornings were the worst, getting dragged away from the peace and comfort of sleep. It was like the resurrection spell all over again, being snatched from blissful oblivion and shoved back into a nightmare world, but so much worse because, like Groundhog Day, it just kept repeating over and over and fucking over again.

Once she was up and going, the gentle wave of endorphins had usually been enough to stave of the worst of the bleak melancholia that dogged her. But not always! The day before they’d arrived at the cavern, she’d been ready to give up. Devrim had had to pick up her and half carry her for the first twenty minutes. Even then she’d managed little better than a slow unsteady stumble. As it had for the past week or two, the path climbed gently upwards, but as they rounded a narrow corner, Buffy clambering along on hands and knees, they’d reached the bottom of a steep shaft.

She’d blinked, her head tipped back as the walls of the pit stretched out above her. Stress and fatigue addled her brain so that she imagined they were back where they started, that the weeks of walking had lead them in some nightmarish circle, back to the hellpit she’d spent so many days descending. Hysterical laughter had bubbled up inside of her as she considered that maybe there’d been no point, no purpose to this torturous underworld marathon other than to drive her to the point of insanity. Perhaps her fate was to be trapped here for eternity, a tragic Persephone, abducted not by the King of Hades himself, but by one of his grim henchmen.

Her little moment of madness had passed quickly once she’d noted the missing pieces, namely the sarcophagi and the accursed ladder, and realized that this couldn’t possibly be the original shaft. Suddenly she’d been overcome with a flood of hope. They’d been climbing gradually over the previous two weeks anyway, and now here they were at the bottom of a massive shaft that was leading … up! My God, maybe, just maybe, the world was up there, her world, sunlight and flowers and air and Spike. Her world, Spike!

So, it was with renewed confidence and strength that she'd clipped herself back into the climbing harness she’d worn on the ladder. Devrim had headed up first, trailing a rope that was attached to a little locking device on Buffy’s harness. As he’d climbed up, he attached the rope to cams he loaded into various cracks and crevices. It was a long slow process, but eventually he’d reached a little rock shelf about 180 feet up the rock face. Once he’d secured himself, he’d winched her up to join him. Although she got to sit down on the job, she’d still had to work her way up the rock face, releasing the cams and clipping them onto her harness as she went.

Slowly but surely they’d inched their way up the length of the pit, 200 feet at a time. Sometimes there’d been a little shelf to rest on, but often as not Buffy had had to pay out the lead line as she’d dangled, mid-air in her harness. It was a long slow process, one they’d had to repeat up to a dozen times as they made their way up the steep rock face. It had been weird; after all the efforts she’d made to connect with Devrim, and get him to see her as more than just the contract he was carrying out, at such a late stage in their journey he’d been forced to rely on her cooperation and help in order for the both of them to reach the top of the shaft safely.

So they’d worked steadily, silent for the most part, but both focused on the same objective, making it out of the shaft. Throughout the day they’d toiled away, with little more than the odd drink and snack break to sustain them as they’d clung to the precipice. As they neared the top, they’d passed through another light field. It hadn’t been a surprise; the eerie glow of the portal had been visible from about half way up the shaft, a beckoning light at the mouth of the tunnel. But with fatigue pressing its heavy weight down upon her, body and soul, Buffy hadn’t paused to examine the impact. She’d just kept on, clinging to the rope with her stiff fingers and using her feet to ‘walk’ her seated self up the cliff.

Finally Devrim had hauled her up and over the lip of the pit. She’d been exhausted, weak and unable to stand. Her jailer had picked her up and carried her several feet away from the shaft, lain her down and covered her up. She’d been out immediately. So dead to the world, and then so immersed in the company of her dream lover, that she’d hadn’t stopped to consider exactly why that buzzy little jolt was back.

It was more than just the dream, awesome though that had been. It was probably passing back through the light field that removed the interference or whatever it was that had been blocking the signal. But whatever, it was an amazing way to greet the day. And as she submerged herself in the ecstasy of connection, she realized that there was a certain strength and urgency to the tingle that signalled not only Spike’s proximity, but also his fervour about her safe rescue. Oh yeah, he was coming for her all right. All she had to do was to stay safe, stay strong, stay alive.

Buffy thought that keeping that proviso shouldn’t be too difficult. As long as she kept her head down, followed the rules, and didn’t do anything to make Devrim suspicious, then Spike would come for her. And maybe, if they continued on with their upward journey, they’d meet up with him and his rescue crew sooner rather than later. It seemed reasonable. And possible. Even almost likely.

But what she didn’t count on was her kidnapper scouting out the area as if keen to set up for the interim. Neither did she figure on him re-shackling her into the on again, off again handcuffs. But the real surprise, the one that set alarm bells ringing and sent shards of ice pirouetting up and down her spine, was when he sat her down on a shelf of wet rocks set into a dark corner of the cavern. The light from the shaft was unable to penetrate the deep shadows of this isolated spot, and she knew that if not for the headlamps, she’d be plunged into utter darkness.

Buffy sat there in shock, disoriented by the sudden change of routine. Devrim’s demeanour was colder, more remote and harsh than ever before, and the contrast to the previous day’s teamwork was unsettling. Confused and off kilter, she was slow to react when he threw a set of chains around her middle, fettering her to the rock shelf. She struggled and kicked out at him, but he responded with a backhanded slap across her face and a murmur of incomprehensible words, unknown and yet somehow vaguely recognizable. Immediately a wave of sleepiness washed over her. As she began to drift towards unconsciousness, a disquieting thought bobbed on the surface, and her last waking thought was of the hard, uneven surface beneath her, and why it seemed so familiar.

'There is a tide in the affairs of men
Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;
Omitted, all the voyage of their life
Is bound in shallows and in miseries.’William Shakespeare

Spike could barely contain his impatience. They were packed, they were ready; he wanted to hit the trail now. Now. Buffy’s signal was coming through loud and clear. He wanted to be with her so badly, make sure that she and the baby were safe. It was time to go.

Breakfast had been little more than a gulp and a quick bite, black coffee and a couple of granola bars, consumed in fits and starts, crammed in around the garbled recapping of his nocturnal expedition. If Faith had been surprised by the tale of his out of body excursion, she didn’t show it. Instead, a determined gleam had lit up her eyes, and she’d shovelled equipment into bags in an even greater hurry.

Finally they set off, Spike leading the way down along the rope marked trail. Confidence and a renewed sense of purpose lengthened his stride and strengthened his bounds, and Faith was there with him every step of the way. The pits, tunnels and narrow meanders sped by under Spike’s calm direction, but the journey still seemed frustratingly slow after the turbo pace of the night’s astral trip. Even so, only three hours had passed by the time they reached the goon’s camp. After a quick break they were off again.

The going immediately became more difficult; as a lot of wriggling and squeezing and cursing accompanied their transit through the narrow, twisty meanders that forked off the main shaft. At times the tunnels would open up somewhat, enough for them to be able to crawl or even stand, making progress along the windy crevices at little more than a shuffle. At least he was able to confidently ignore the various tunnels and nasty little side passages that branched off the central path and lead Faith in the right direction.

It was slow, tedious, exhausting work though, travelling hundreds of metres along the twisty tunnels as they zigzagged back and forth through the base of the Arabika Massif, more than a mile below the surface of the earth. Their downward progress was less impressive, with barely another 200 metres of depth gained since the enemy camp. Still, Spike knew they were gaining on the trio, the scent of their passing increasingly fresh as the day passed.

It was late afternoon before they finally reached the long awaited fork. A careful check confirmed what he’d anticipated; the thugs had taken the marked trail, obviously following the ropes left behind by the Ukrainians. Hope flooded Spike’s chest as he led Faith on, down the narrow, windy unmarked tunnel that he’d traversed the night before. He knew the girl must be exhausted, her muscles tight and burning from the hours of crawling and crouching. But they’d reached the critical point, come to the one place that they could slip past their adversaries and reach the meeting point first. And on top of that, being so close to Buffy that he could almost taste her, Spike was adamant that they had to push on.

But finding themselves in another narrow crawl space was almost enough to tip the pair of them over the edge. As Spike dragged himself down the corrugated surface of the tunnel, he could sense what a struggle it was for Faith, utter fatigue limiting her descent to mere yards at a time before collapsing in a gasping heap. He knew she wanted to stop, needed to, but they were too close to the main path for it to be safe, and besides, they needed to find somewhere more comfortable to set up camp for the night.

Slowly, agonisingly, they descended another 600 feet of tunnel. Most of the last 300 feet was reasonably perpendicular, allowing for a vertical descent, with some sections even requiring ropes. Spike lowered a harnessed Faith down where he could, before scrambling sloppily after her.

Finally they reached a long, low, flat section of rock, the intersection of three tunnels. Faith collapsed on the first slab of reasonably smooth ground and immediately fell into a light sleep. Spike dragged her pack off and tossed her sleeping bag over her before heating up a cheese and salami pasta dish and making two large mugs of sweet, milky tea. Waking Faith was no easy task, but fluid and calories were as vital as sleep in order to repair aching muscles and replenish her energy stores. Groggily she ate and drank whatever Spike placed in her hands, then without a word, crawled into her bag and dropped into a deep sleep.

Spike was no less worn out than Faith, but the siren call of his girl drew him further down the tunnel, the need to know how far off they were outweighing his exhaustion. He left his pack behind, and after fixing a bolt into a surface crack and fastening one of their ropes to it, he threw himself down into the pitch-black shaft. The way was still narrow, but fairly smooth and on enough of a steep angle to be able to abseil rapidly down. There was still a short section that he had to crawl through, but it wasn’t nearly as convoluted as the sections they’d already navigated that day.

About 300 feet below their camp, Spike came to the submerged tunnel. Buffy’s proximity gnawed at him, the need to be with her, to hold her in his arms an agonising ache in his soul. But he knew that going on would be foolhardy. There was at least 250 feet of water to negotiate, the dammed outlet to unblock, the vast pit to descend and then the length of the cavern to traverse before he made it to his girl’s side, and no doubt they’d have to throw a pitched battle in there somewhere for good measure. He was exhausted, and neither prepared nor equipped for either the journey or the likely fight. Still, turning back so close to his goal was a bitter pill to swallow.

Wearily he turned and made his way back up the tunnel. The trip back took twice as long, the sorrow, frustration and sense of failure a heavy weight on his shoulders. Only a strange discovery near the end of the trek lifted Spike’s spirits any. It was at the base of the final slope up to the camp that he came upon it; a long roll of ancient cracked leather. It was jammed into a narrow crevice between two rocks, its dusty, lined surface a visual match with the slabs of stone either side of it. Even with his headlamp on, Spike would have bypassed it had he not, by chance, placed his hand upon its face to steady himself, the leather giving beneath his fingers in a way that rock never would. That, and the little jolt, almost like a buzz of electricity, that its touch sent along his arm.

Intrigued, despite himself, he examined the anomaly. It was about two feet long and five inches wide and fit snuggly into the long vertical crack. Taking hold of either end, Spike gently tugged, jiggling the cylindrical item back and forth to work it free. Slowly, he managed to gain some leeway, and with a concerted wrench, the object lurched forward, delivered from its ageless prison at last.

It was much bigger than Spike had at first assumed, having not only length and width, but also depth. Of a rectangular shape, and with two long straps keeping a front flap in place, he could see that it was a large holdall, fashioned somewhat like a modern messenger bag. The leather was old and dry, cracked in places and thin and threadbare in others. However the bag seemed not only intact, but also still fit for the purpose it was crafted. Judging by its weight and shape, it was far from empty, and whatever had been deposited within its leather sides was still in residence. Whether the contents were in any sort of condition to be serviceable or even recognisable was another matter, but Spike decided the grand opening would have to wait until he’d made it back to camp.

Needing both hands for the final climb, he unzipped his oversuit and shoved it down against his wetsuit. Once he’d re-zipped the jumpsuit and wound a short length of strapping around himself, the bag was secure. Climbing was pretty awkward, what with the bag lying almost groin to neck. Nevertheless, he scrambled up the steep slope with a renewed burst of energy.

Faith was dead to the world when he finally made camp. Spike sat down on his sleeping bag and quietly lay the leather container down on the ground before him. The first task was to get the bag open. Two worn leather thongs wrapped around the bag, holding the front flap closed and he plucked impatiently at the knots, eager to unearth the long buried treasure. Over time the leather had dried out and the knots had slackened, and with a bit of effort he was able to untangle the ties and unroll the bag.

The flap had been folded around the entire bag before being fastened in place. Carefully, Spike unfurled the soft leather and spread the bag out on the ground in front of him. He pulled the pouch open gingerly and peered inside. The light of his headlamp lit up the interior, and glinted back at him as it bounced off various metal objects. He felt a tug, a draw, as something in the bag called out to something in him. Reaching in with his left hand, Spike seized the first object he touched and drew it out.

It was a weapon, a short sword. He unsheathed it, and looked down in astonishment and delight at the short, straight, double-edged iron blade he held. A frisson of instant recognition shot through him. He knew this weapon and it knew him. He turned his hand over and unfolded his fingers, revealing the ornate, gold decorated hilt, the very same whose likeness was inked on his arm. Reflexively his fingers grasped the handle once more and a flood of heat and power flared up inside of him.

Emotions drifted close to the surface; wild aggression, fierce pride, boundless courage, quiet humility and profound gratitude. Shot through them all, like a rich vein of gold, was a joyous sense of inevitability, of synchronicity; as if right here, right now, the stars and the planets had aligned at last, and the bloody fates had finally got their arses into gear and granted him this weapon, his very own.

The blade itself had been searching for him, waiting through the dark, endless eons for its master to seek it out. Spike could feel its joy now, triumphant and pure, as he held it in his grip. ‘Mine’, his soul whispered, and the blade sang back, a melody of such sweet simplicity that it brought tears to his eyes. Suddenly, the words of advice that Atar had pressed upon him during the blessing ceremony sprung to mind. “Be ever watchful William, for your weapon will be forthcoming.” And indeed it had been.

Despite his earlier exhaustion, Spike felt almost too euphoric to sleep. But the thought of the long journey ahead, and the coming battle forced his head upon his pillow. After packing the bag away, curiosity about the remaining contents shelved for the meantime, he slid into his sleeping bag, and quickly drifted off to sleep, blade still in hand. The comforting hum of his connection with Buffy, and the warm caress of his blade in hand settled him more quickly than any sleeping aid could ever manage. He felt a sense of anticipation, of righteousness, wash over him and lull him to sleep.

It seemed that no sooner had his eyes closed, than they were open again. Spike shook himself wearily and looked around. He was back in the cavern, the self-same one that he’d found Buffy in the previous night. His heart leapt at the thought of seeing his love again, of holding her in his arms. Peering carefully at his surroundings, he noticed that he stood directly beneath the domed ceiling of the cavern, the one he and Faith would somehow have to negotiate in order to reach the cave floor.

The distance was truly daunting, far beyond anything they’d attempted on their way down, and with the breadth of the dome to also take into consideration, they’d be abseiling through open air for well over 600 feet. That not only made the descent difficult, but it also left them exposed and vulnerable for much longer than he was comfortable with. Even in the dark of the cavern, it would take astonishing luck to make it to the cave floor without being spotted. They’d have to eliminate that risk somehow.

Shelving those concerns for the meantime, Spike looked around, using his awareness of her to seek out Buffy’s presence. She’d shifted since the night before, was somewhere over in the furthest corner, hidden in the dark shadows. In his current form, he knew he could soar rapidly across the huge chamber, be at her side in a jiffy. But he also knew that he’d been granted this added visit for a reason, that he needed to carefully pace out the quickest, safest route and determine the best cover, in order to prepare for the morning’s raid.

Silently, Spike made his way towards that far off corner, sticking to the sides of the cavern, taking cover where he could. It made for a much longer journey, however caution needed to take precedence over swiftness when Buffy’s safety was at stake. But it didn’t sit well with him. Patience was hardly his strong suit.

Finally, her proximity dancing a salsa up and down his spine, Spike neared the site of Buffy’s current whereabouts. The stone formations in this corner created a circular basin, two rocky arms thrust out from the cavern walls to almost totally enclose the area. A small gap formed a doorway between the outcrops, and the guard dog had made his bed across the entrance. Although he could have undoubtedly passed through the rock, in the morning he and Faith would have to obey the laws of physics, so silently, deftly, he clambered up the rock face at the point where it met the cavern wall. The barrier was only about ten feet high, and with a multitude of cracks and crevices that acted as hand and footholds. Within minutes Spike was at the top of the wall, peering down through the darkness, lit up with both vamp vision and his astral light source.

What he saw stabbed icicles of fear into his heart. Buffy was laid out on a natural slab of rock, the shelf thrust up from the cave floor in the very centre of the circular chamber. With his golden girl motionless upon its surface, chained there by the looks, it appeared like nothing less than a stone altar. What’s more, it seemed to match, to a tee, the description she’d given them of the setting of her baby snatch nightmare. The kidnapper’s purpose became clear, they had taken his girl in order to steal their child, just as he had always feared.

Spike cursed his incorporeal state; the hands and feet that could do nothing to dispatch the fiend who dared to touch his beautiful girl, the body that could only watch on as she lay like a sacrificial lamb on this ghastly underworld dais. He howled and screamed his rage and frustration out, the power of his wrath sufficient to shake the very walls of the cavern, to strike the villain down in a flood of boulders. But even his voice lacked substance, and the eerie silence endured, an unspoken mockery of his powerlessness and futility.

Leaping down to her side, Spike’s hands hovered over Buffy’s pale, inert form. Guilt and despair ate away at him, and with a wail of defeat, he turned away and flew back across the cavern and up the long shaft towards the camp. The return journey was over in a flash, and the jolt as his ethereal self slammed back into his physically body shook him from sleep. But there was no peace on awakening, just a sense of horror and desperation. Panic driven, he scrambled out of his bag, anxiety rattling him so hard that he seized up.

Blindly, Spike thrust out his hand, the tips of his fingers alighting upon a raised metal surface. Instantly, composure and clarity flooded in, washing away the negativity that had had him in its grip. Ah, his blade! Obviously it had slipped from his grasp as his body had slumbered, but now that he had it in hand again, all was right with the world. Okay, so it wasn’t, but Spike knew it was within his power to put things to right. And he had to start by getting up and getting ready.

He leapt up and started breakfast, throwing together the equipment and weapons they’d need for Buffy’s rescue while the water began to heat. Bags packed, coffees made, food to hand. Now for the difficult part.

“Faith, wake up!” The dark haired slayer came to groggily, lines of discomfort and weariness etching their story on her face. In a reverse of the previous morning’s routine, Spike waited for her to sit up stiffly, ignoring her protests as he thrust a hot coffee and an oat bar in her hands.

“Hell, what’s the rush Billy? And did you get any sleep?” she grumbled as she sipped on her coffee.

“Yeah, I slept. Eventually. But not for long I’ll grant, and precious little rest came of what I did get.”

Faith eyed him sympathetically. “Had another little sleep trekking episode did you?” she asked softly. At his terse nod she roused herself and began rolling up her bag.

“Leave that,” he said, “Only gonna take the essentials. We’re not far from the cavern now, and I don’t plan on staying longer than it’ll take to sneak in, kick some ugly henchman butt, rescue a precious damsel and get out. Oh, might wanna check out the leather bag though. Courtesy of a little reccy run I made last night. It’s half full of various ancient weapons and artefacts. Mainly Rupert’s kettle of fish I’d wager, but there might be something that takes your fancy in there.” He paused and stroked the sheathed blade strapped to his left thigh. “I’ve got mine.”

“Okay, sounds like another crazy adventure I’ve missed out on as I whiled away my hours on sleep,” Faith said, shaking her head at the impetuous vampire. But curiosity got the better of her and she flipped back the flap and peered into the open bag. It was half full of … stuff, the dim light mainly veiling the identity of its contents beyond the odd gleam of metal or flash of gemstone. Most of the objects were dark, fashioned out of leather or wood, or partially concealed behind those that lay closer to the top of the pile. But something caught her eye almost immediately.

Made from a light hued metal, maybe silver, and with rubies set into its handle, Faith reached into the bag to grab it. Her fingers traced over the cool metal, and a warm wave, as of recognition, washed over her. As she closed her fingers around the hilt and drew the weapon out, a feeling of euphoria lit up her synapses.

“Holy shit,” she gasped, her eyes wide with awe and confusion as she gazed down at the sheathed dagger. It was about six inches long, and both the handle and the sheath were ornately engraved and inset with deep ruby red gemstones. “What the hell is going on here?”

Spike chuckled. “Yeah, its pretty freaky shit ain’t it?” He paused, suddenly unsure if it was excitement he could hear in the slayer’s voice or alarm. “Good though, right?” he asked hesitantly.

“Fuck yeah,” Faith grinned. “I don’t know what this is, but whatever it is, I’ll take a double. To go!” She turned the dagger over, frowning as she investigated the wide silver band welded to the back of the sheath. Engraved with the same arrangement of patterns that embellished the front of the dagger, and set with a curving arch of tiny rubies, the band looked much like an arm cuff. Had her arms not been smothered in layers of fleece, neoprene and cordura, it would have looked wicked adorning her toned biceps. What with all the bulky fabric though, she doubted it would even fit around her wrist.

But as she fingered the cuff thoughtfully, the metal seemed to warm and soften, unfurling and becoming quite pliable in her hands. Curiously, Faith placed the dagger against her left biceps. Instantly the wings of the cuff wrapped themselves around her arm, clinching her biceps firmly, but without pinching or squeezing unduly. In fact the cuff felt light and comfortable, as if perfectly moulded to her bulky arm. She wondered how much better it would work, and how much sexier looking the effect, if her arm were bare. Nevertheless, the result was perfectly functional. The handle lay just above her left elbow, and with a quick right handed grasp and yank, she could smoothly draw the dagger out of its casing.

Eagerly Faith tried the blade out. She stood, loose and at ease. Then suddenly, with a burst of deadly intensity, she twirled around, sweeping into a vicious spin kick before whipping her dagger out and slicing it through the air in a nasty, diagonal slash cut. The move was executed perfectly, with enough leeway between her fully extended leg and the cave walls that the manoeuvre should have been completed contact free. But instead, sparks flew as the dull clang of metal on rock rang out around the small space.

Startled, Faith froze. She stared down at the dagger. Its razor sharp edges, its gleaming, unblemished metal grinned back at her cockily, as if to say ’Can I help you?’ Bemusedly she took the two long strides needed to reach the rock wall, her left hand reaching out, her fingers tracing the shallow incision that diagonally scored the stone across its face. Faith swept her palm across the surface, dislodging the tiny slithers of freshly cut rock that clung to edges of the cut, brushing them carelessly to the ground like leftover breadcrumbs.

Dumbfounded, she stood there, her eyes darting back and forth between the slash mark and the dagger she was holding. She just couldn’t grasp the connection between the two, the six inch blade in her hand, and the slash that had appeared at least eight feet from where she’d been standing. Suddenly a grin broke out on her face. Who the hell cared how it worked, all she knew was that this pretty little blade, this knife that was hers and hers alone, could somehow extend its range by more than ten times its actual length. Awesome!

“Okay Rogue, if you’ve finished playing, can we hit the trail now?” Spike asked good-naturedly. He’d stood by quietly as Faith had been introduced to her weapon, forged a connection with it and become acquainted with its talents. The play of emotions across her face revealed a tale too astonishing to ignore. They echoed the very same passions and sentiments that had been visited upon him during the night.

“The weapon’s yours right?” Spike said. “Know the feeling,” he added, a slight sentimental lilt to his voice. “Right,” he snapped awkwardly, “Put the toy away, get your gear on and lets go.”

Less than two minutes later they were scrambling swiftly down the first shaft. Spike paused at the bottom to show Faith where the bag had been wedged in between the rocks, the empty space now a faintly accusing, gaping maw. They moved on quickly, reluctant to dwell where the sense of hostility lay so thickly in the air.

Before long they reached the flooded tunnel. Faith stripped her pack off and sat, staring at the water lapping at their feet gloomily. Spike had described the route, but it didn’t make the reality of the drowned passageway any less daunting. “So what’s the plan of attack for this little blockade?” she asked. “I’m hoping you’re about to reveal some ancient ancestral connection to Moses.”

“Can’t help you there, and I’m not one of the Five Chinese Brothers either. But if I can get the blockage undammed, the water should drain away of its own accord, leaving you with just a regular tunnel to negotiate.”

Faith nodded, “Are you sure you don’t need me helping with the unblocking?” she asked pensively.

“No pet. There’s not really enough room for the both of us down there. Sides, need someone up here to haul up the pack full of rocks once I tug on the line. You just get the gear packed up and be ready to move once the water recedes.”

Faith sighed in relief. She would have gone with Spike if she’d had to, but water was not her favourite thing. She’d never learnt to swim during the course of her fucked up childhood, and although she could keep herself afloat, just the thought of diving into that dark, icy cold, narrow underwater passageway had her on the verge of a panic attack. Not the coolest of things for a badass slayer to admit to, but cool or not, she was pretty delighted to be staying behind for now.

Spike in the meantime was getting ready to set off. He peeled off his hiking boots and Cordura oversuit, which left him clad in only his thermal underwear, wetsuit and neoprene socks. He left his helmet on; the waterproof lamp would be vital to his journey down the dark tunnel. He clipped his harness back on, attached it to one of the last two lines they had left, and clipped the other to his empty backpack before settling it onto his back.

Finally, after strapping his blade to his left thigh, and the plastic bottle to his harness, Spike activated the oxygen sponge, donned his facemask and waded into the black water. The chill hit him immediately; even the layers of polypropylene and neoprene weren’t enough to ward off the effects of the icy water. Checking the facemask’s effectiveness, he took a deep breath and sunk down beneath the water.

Slowly, legs kicking lazily and hands crawling along the tunnel floor, Spike began to propel himself through the water. Although he’d travelled the passageway before, being corporeal altered the experience hugely. The tunnel seemed darker, more eerie, and the silent world closed in around him, cutting him off from the rest of life. He was alone down there, both literally and metaphorically. It was an unsettling feeling.

Having to physically swim the route was also considerably slower than his night time journey had been. It was also more boring. The landscape, like many of the other tunnels, was monotonously regular, the shaft walls worn smooth by the passage of time and water, almost uniform in their symmetry. The only difference between this and so many of the other descents he’d made over the last two days was that he was floating above the floor of the channel instead of crawling on his hands and knees. So that was an advantage, no question.

It seemed to take forever, the darkness and isolation stretching the minutes out endlessly. So it was surprising that his watch had marked off only thirty of them by the time he arrived at the rock choke. Immediately he dragged off his backpack and started work, picking up rocks one at a time and cramming them into the bag. He’d only cleared a small mound by the time the bag was full. Fastening it, he tugged firmly on the line and felt an instant response, Faith tugging back, and then the bag zipped away from him as the slayer began her recovery job.

Without pause, he turned back to the task at hand. The first layer of stone had been reasonably easy to move, but the next layer were more firmly embedded. Thankfully he had a medium length, narrow blade chisel clipped to his utility belt, something he’d put to good use to gouge out holes to hang their expansion bolts from. It made a pretty handy lever, and with a bit of wrenching and prising, he was able to work one of the centre stones free. The surrounding rocks came away reasonably easily after that, and Spike made a small pile to the side of the dam, ready to pile into the empty bag once Faith sent it back down to him.

By the time the backpack came looming out of the darkness, he’d cleared the entire second layer. Eagerly, Spike stuffed as many as possible into the bag and gave Faith the signal, not even pausing to watch the bag go before he started on what he thought might well be the penultimate layer. A lot of sand and grit had been stirred up during the excavation process, and he got underway as much by touch as by sight. He’d managed to prise the centre stone out, and the surrounding five or six, when through the murky water he’d spotted the dull glint of something reflecting the light from his headlamp.

Reaching down into the narrow gap, Spike could feel a small, cube shaped stone under his fingers. Its surface was uneven without being rough to the touch. It was jammed in fairly tight and wouldn’t budge no matter how hard he pushed and tugged at it. He shrugged, ready to give up and start back on the third layer, when he decided to take one last look. With the headlamp focussed directly on the gap, its light shone straight onto the rock.

It was a gemstone. Even through the cloudy water, Spike could make out the deep purple gleam of the stone’s vitreous exterior. He poked the chisel down into the gap and slid it in between the gemstone and the rock next to it. Gently he wriggled the blade, delicately jimmying the chisel to and fro until, with a little shudder, the stone popped free. Spike expected the stone to almost float into his questing fingers, but he still had to give it a considerable yank to pull it out of its home, almost as if someone or something were holding it down, and a feeling of déjà vu washed over him.

Once he had it in his hand, he planted the chisel back into the gap so that he could use both hands to tuck the stone away safely in one of the pouches on his utility belt. By this stage Faith had sent the bag back down the line, so Spike started reloading it, musing to himself about the strange, yet somehow familiar sensation that had occurred as he pulled the stone up.

Suddenly, the association came to him. It had felt just like pulling a plug out of a bath tub. Spike laughed to himself as the irony of the comparison, but his amusement didn’t last for long. Unbeknownst to the vampire, the gemstone had in fact lain at the centre of last layer of stones. Over time that layer had sat wedged into place by the combined pressure of a ring of anchoring stones, thrust out from the sides of the narrow tunnel across whose mouth it lay. These rocks in turn, encompassed several smaller rings of stone, the whole acting as voussoirs for a naturally occurring dome. Capping off its construction was the keystone, the purple coloured gemstone that Spike had just prized out of its crucial position.

The dome had acted as a dam, holding back the hundreds of tons of water that flooded the tunnels above. When he plucked the gemstone out of its cosy little home, Spike found himself staring down through the oculus he’d just created, revelling in the unexpectedly quick and efficient solution to their dilemma. He’d unblocked the dam and scored a pretty little gemstone all in one go. Initially the aperture acted much like a plughole, the water above draining slowly down through the small gap into the dry tunnel below.

But as the volume of water passing through the hole increased, it began to loosen the stones either side of the opening. Within minutes, first one stone, and then another had been washed loose enough to be swept away in the torrent. Hovering over the hole, Spike felt the abrupt increase in suction, and reacted quickly enough to snag the line and clip himself on. But not quickly enough to be able to haul himself up the line and out of the way.

Suddenly, the dam fell away as one, the layers of rock and grit swept down the tunnels by hundreds of tons of water in a roaring, tumbling flash flood. Spike was caught up in the tumultuous surge, washed down through the narrow gap in a roiling, bucking mass of rocks and whitewater. He imagined it was like going over a waterfall, being caught up in the deadly current.

Had the tunnel been wider he would have no doubt been knocked arse over tit. But even so, sliding head first down the black water chute like a bloody customer at a water park, he was dashed against the rock walls and pummelled by stones and the pounding water.

Spike had no idea how long the tunnel was, but he couldn’t imagine it was very long, and before he knew it he was shooting out the end, flying into open air before coming to a halt at the end of his line. The rope attached to his harness snapped taut, flipping him back into an upright position, before it stretched several extra feet to absorb the sudden load placed on it. Finally it came to a halt, and Spike was left there, dangling like a fish on a hook, 600 feet above the floor of the cavern, while the endless torrent of water cascaded all around him.

‘The light struggled in through windows of oiled paper,
but they read the word of God by it.’
Ralph Waldo Emerson


“What do you mean Buffy’s been taken?” Dawn screeched, the decibel level so high that even she flinched, let alone her stunned companions seated around the table. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, reaching down within her core to find the well of composure and maturity that she’d been working so hard to cultivate over the last few months. Opening her eyes, she glanced surreptitiously to the right, quickly noting the slight grimace on Connor’s face before she dropped her gaze to her clenched fists.

Not that she cared what he thought, or where he sat, or why he was even here. And the way he constantly hovered over her, pulling out her chair, making sure she had a drink or a jumper or a shoulder to lean on, well it was really freaky. Well, freaky in a kind of sweet, annoying, charming way. Not that she thought he was charming, just that he did nice things for her. Like a boyfriend. Well not a ‘boyfriend’, just a friend, who was a boy.

She’d managed to make it to half way through breakfast (pancakes and syrup, but just round, not funny shapes ‘cos Willow made them; Tara being another one on the missing persons’ list) before she repeated the question she’d asked in the van the previous evening. There had been a long pause before Willow confessed that they didn’t know where Buffy was, just that she’d been taken, and that Spike and the others were busy tracking her down.

“Okay, sorry guys, let’s try that again shall we? Can anyone tell me what’s happened to Buffy?” she asked calmly.

Willow nodded, impressed by Dawn’s self-control, despite her rocky start. “Believe it or not Buffy was taken on the very same afternoon that you were. It happened while Spike and Giles were heading to pick you up from school, and because they spent all afternoon and half of the evening searching for you, it was hours before anyone realised she was missing.”

“Oh my God, so this is my fault?”

“No Dawnie, don’t be silly. The kidnappers may have been opportunistic, but they had obviously made careful preparations prior to the event. If not Friday, it would have been some other time soon I’m sure.”

“So, so,” Dawn paused, not sure if she wanted to hear the answer or not, “So where are the others now? Have they found Buffy or not?” The last sentence ended on a whimper, and without fuss or question, she found her hand tucked up in Connor’s, his touch lending her strength and courage.

“It’s a long, heroic story,” Andrew weighed in, “And one that’s taken them across the world to a remote mountain range in the former Russian country of Georgia. Tomorrow, our intrepid heroes, Spike and Faith are going to make their way down into the world’s deepest cave, a desperate journey to the centre of the earth, all for the sake of love.”

Dawn sighed and rolled her eyes, turning her back on Andrew in order to question Willow in more depth. “So Buffy’s in a cave? In Russia? Is that a joke?”

“Well actually, we don’t know if she’s in the cave,” Willow admitted hesitantly, “But Spike and a bunch of Slayers had this slayer dream, and based on that, we’re pretty sure that the place she’s being held in are these Krubera caves.”

“So how come you haven’t just done a locator spell?’

“We have, repeatedly, but we came up with nothing!” Willow admitted. “From what we can gather, we think she’s been taken through a dimensional door to somewhere other.”

Dawn opened her mouth in shock and terror. Then, a look of determination crossed her face and she closed her mouth and her eyes, reaching out across time and space to seek out Buffy’s signature with her key energy. The others watched silently, holding their collective breaths as they waited for the verdict. Finally she slumped and looked at her companions. “Nothing,” her voice wavered, “I can’t sense her at all.”

“Yeah, Dawnie,” Willow said softly. “That’s exactly how it’s been for us. Even Spike can’t sense her, and believe me, that’s rocked him pretty hard.”

“So how come you’re so sure that’s she’s down some hole? How do you know she’s not, you know, … gone, like she was before?” Dawn finished on a whisper, her eyes filling with tears.

“Well, because apart from the wholesale slayer dreamage, Rowan was adamant that Buffy’s still alive, that she can sense her in the same way that she could sense Spike when he was in the amulet. She’s out there somewhere, we just need to find her.”

“Okay, but shouldn’t I be able to sense Buffy? I mean what’s the use of this whole portal opening, dimension hopping, key shaped super power if I can’t even sense my own sister, just cos she’s in a different dimension?” Dawn was winding up to a whine.

“I guess you can open doors, but you can’t see through walls.” Willow said. “Now if we knew which dimension she was in, I suppose you could open the door, or even a window, and track her down. But we don’t so …” the redheaded witch shrugged her shoulders apologetically.

“At least can we get ourselves over to Georgia, over to where Spike and Giles and the others are? If we use one of my portals, we could all head through now. No mess, no waiting.” Dawn said enthusiastically.

“We’ll head over in the morning, first thing,” Willow said and the others nodded their own confirmation. At Dawn’s expression of protest, the witch continued, “We could all do with a full night’s rest, no-one has slept properly since Thursday, and there are some things I need to get sorted out for Giles before we go. Get packed and rested up. Tomorrow morning is soon enough after a magically induced coma for you to be throwing your weight around,” she added firmly.

Dawn slumped, disinclined to argue with a whole bunch of boring common sense. Her stubbornness, for once, arose out of fear for her sister rather than the teenage brattishness she’d so recently left behind. And as such, she couldn’t really disagree with Willow’s reasoning. In fact she was feeling kind of washed out, which seemed astonishing given the fact that for all intents and purposes, she’d spent the last three days sleeping. She could only suppose that being knocked out was somehow way less revitalizing than ordinary sleep.

As it was, the rest of the day passed pretty quickly anyway. She spent some of the time showing Connor around the estate, some of it packing and the rest napping. Between her afternoon nap and the early night they all had in order to be up early, Dawn found herself well refreshed and raring to go by seven the next morning. She closed her eyes, locked in on Giles’ essence, and after a moment’s hesitation, effortlessly opened a passageway between Ashdown and the little motel in Gagra that currently housed the balance of the Scoobies.

“Giles,” she yelled as the last of the troop nipped through the open portal and she let the door snap shut behind her. She ran into his open arms and he scooped her up, one of only two men in her life that was tall enough to still do so since her legs had gotten so lengthy. His hug was surprisingly fierce, and he topped it off with a kiss to the top of her forehead as he stepped back to look at her.

Dawn might have been shocked by the tears brimming in Giles’ eyes, if she had in fact been able to see them through the moisture that obscured her own vision, but it didn’t take 20-20 vision to see the existence of strong familial bonds and the fact that these two had missed one another very much.

“Dear heart,” he began, “I was so worried. If anything had happened to harm you, I don’t know how …” Giles pulled her into his arms again, as if physical touch alone could grant him the reassurance that Dawn was really there, was really safe. All the paternal emotions that he’d been holding in check over the last seven years, not just for Buffy and Dawn, but for the other children as well, seemed to have come bubbling to the surface ever since they’d made Ashdown their home.

It was as if, finally given the time and space and go-ahead to flourish, the feelings had inundated his heart. Cat’s re-entry into his life, as well as the conception of the twins had also played a significant role in the creation of this sensitive, new age version of himself. He suspected, that underneath all the reserve and stuffiness, this gooey, marshmallow centred Giles had always existed. And although it still embarrassed him a little to be so demonstrative of his feelings, mostly he revelled in the sense of freedom, freedom to express himself and his emotions without censure. And being able to wrap Dawn up in his arms after coming so close to losing her was heavenly indeed.

So too was having his wife back at his side. It had only been two days since he’d seen Cat, but it had seemed interminable to the besotted watcher. Too uncomfortable to easily travel long distances by plane, she’d decided to stay at home. But she’d jumped at the chance to portal hop, eager to re-join her husband. To have Cat, Willow, Oz, even that blasted Andrew join them, and for them to bring the newly rescued Dawn with them was a godsend. He waited until Dawn had caught up with the rest of their party before calling her back over towards the small lounge.

“Now my dear, come and sit down and we’ll catch you up on our progress so far.”

Dawn slipped into a soft, comfy armchair and Connor perched himself on the arm. In the end they all gathered around, the two teams reunited and now crammed in together in a setting somewhat reminiscent of their gatherings in Los Angeles. They listened intently, Tara and Rowan and Khatia adding their own two cents worth as Giles’ tale of their search slowly unfolded. Dawn’s heart filled with anguish as Tara briefly told of Spike’s despair at losing Buffy, but she threw her arms around the older girl in gratitude at her caring, sensitive support of the distraught vampire.

“So Spike and Xander and Faith have only headed off this morning?” Dawn asked.

“Yes,” Giles said, “In fact, they should be approaching the peak of the mountain before too long.”

“Couldn’t I maybe portal up there quickly, just so I can see Spike and wish him luck?” the young key asked hopefully.

“Let me think it over Dawn. In the mean time I suggest we go and find somewhere to eat lunch. I’ll also need to book another few rooms to accommodate the rest of you. And then I think I’d like to hear a bit more about your own adventures.”

As it was, those activities alone took several hours, and it was late afternoon before Dawn broached the subject of a visit to the mountaintop again.

“Well Dawn, I have given this some serious thought and I think it would be better if you didn’t go. I know that in many ways seeing you would settle Spike, taking at least one worry off his mind. But we can't afford for him to be too sentimental as he heads off on this mission. We need him focussed and fired up. A certain amount of wrath will undoubtedly spur him on.”

“Huh?” Dawn said, her eyebrows raised in incredulity. “That’s just dumb. Spike will be focussed and fired up out of love and concern for Buffy. Getting pissed off might help focus him during any coming fights, but as for the journey there, love is enough of a motivator for Spike.” She sighed and softened her tone. “If you don’t want me to go, well okay I respect that, but can I at least take a peek, see for myself that he and Faith are all good and ready to go?”

“You can do that?” Giles asked in astonishment.

“Yeah. I’ve been practicing with Tara for the last couple of weeks. It’s the same principle as opening a full portal, except that I don’t punch through to the other side. It’s kind of like digging a tunnel through a hill, but stopping just before you scrape away the final layer on the far side. Except in this case that thin layer is see-through. I can’t hear what’s happening on the other side, and they can’t see or hear me, but for me, it’s just like looking through a window.”

“Good grief Dawn, that’s astounding. What a very special and talented young lady you’ve become. I feel truly blessed to have you as part of my family,” he said, choking up a little on the last part.

Dawn threw her arms around his waist and hugged him tightly, both of them a little misty eyed at this point. Finally she’d calmed down enough that she could start on the window opening exercise. Tara joined her in a quiet meditation, helping to get the teenager calm and centred and controlled enough to complete the delicate task. With a bit of effort, Dawn got it right on the first go. Right there, in the middle of Giles’ hotel unit, they were able to see an image of Spike, Faith and Xander peering down through an opening in the snow-dusted field. They were chatting easily with one another as Spike tugged on a rope that disappeared into the earth.

She was able to hold the window open for long enough for everyone to catch a glimpse. Although the trio had only left that morning, it was great to see they’d arrived at their destination safely and that they seemed confident about the journey ahead.

Dawn felt a lot better for having seen Spike, even if she hadn’t been able to talk to him or burrow into his chest for a hug. But of course the worst part was still to come, the waiting. The following two days were excruciating for all of them. They had very little research material with them, so apart from scrolling online sites to check for the emergence of any new demon worshipping factions, there wasn’t much they could do in regards to finding out who Buffy’s kidnappers might be.

No-one felt that it was appropriate to check out the local sightseeing spots or enjoy the food or culture of this seaside town while Buffy was still missing. Willow and Rowan kept themselves busy finding out more about the caves themselves, while Giles and Cat posed as anthropologists and asked the locals about any regional myths or legends that might give them some insight into what they were dealing with. It was of course an ancient town, established as a Greek colony in historical Colchis. Colchis was home of the mythical Golden Fleece, and as such, was also the destination of Jason and his Argonauts.

Cat had of course excitedly regaled them with the fruits of their research.

“Sae that means that this was also th’ haem of the fire-breathin’, mythical bulls, the Khalkotauroi. But aside from them, we could nae find any evidence of other ancient demons or monsters.”

“None of the locals had heard any rumours of demon-worshipping groups or the like in the area,” Giles added. “However, interestingly enough, the historian at the museum stated that they’ve always viewed Colchis as the original homeland of the Scythian Amazons.”

“Gee,” Willow remarked, “Those Scythians really got around huh. And as for you Miss Khatia, I guess you’re doubly home now,” she added.

Khatia smiled and nodded vaguely, unaware of what the Amazon reference had to do with her, other than it being the name of the organization that oversaw Ashdown Academy. But the others in the room seemed to be in on the connection and were nodding thoughtfully.

They only thing that really broke the tedium were the twice daily observations that Dawn provided of Spike and Faith’s progress. But even that wasn’t very exciting – there was only so much armchair viewing of crawling and scrabbling through dark, dirty tunnels that a person could take before even that became boring. It seemed to drag on and on endlessly. At least they knew they were safe and heading in the right direction.

By the Thursday, they’d even picked up that Spike was excited about something, and eager to press on. Of course the lack of audio meant they had to rely on facial expressions and body language alone, but the way he was driving the two of them on seemed to indicate a level of urgency they hadn't seen up until then.

Then, on Friday morning, their view of Spike looked as though it had been filmed through an underwater camera. They’d watched entranced as the vampire, wearing some odd little breathing apparatus, had toiled away, clearing rocks from the floor of a flooded tunnel.

Dawn kept the portal open longer than usual, just long enough to see the water begin whirlpooling its way down through the hole in the floor of the basin. Balancing on the edge of exhaustion (keeping the portal ninety percent opening was much more draining than simply opening and closing a doorway), she teetered for a moment, wavering between allowing the window to slam shut and punching through the opening altogether (which would be fairly disastrous considering that there were several hundred gallons of water on the far side of the thin film that they were peering through). Finally, just as Spike wooshed out of sight, Dawn collapsed and the portal snapped shut above her.

Connor dashed to her side, checking she was okay before helping her up. The room was silent, shocked, fearful, about both Spike and Faith’s safety.

Then everyone began talking at once, half of them yelling at her to reopen the portal, the other half loudly exclaiming exactly why she couldn’t do that, and wouldn’t be physically able to for at least another hour or more.

“I must remind you,” Giles said firmly, “That Spike is a singularly resourceful fellow. He has got himself out of scrapes far worse than this one appears to be, as well you all know.”

“Yes,” Tara said quietly, “After all, being dust is pretty much the ultimate bad for vampires, and he still managed to come back from that.”

“In the meantime, I would suggest that we prepare ourselves to ride to Spike’s rescue should we be needed.” Giles pulled out his handy notebook and a pen. “What might he need us to bring, provided we can get to him?”

“Rope!”

“Weapons!”

“Sagaria!”

“What?” Dawn asked, “They didn’t take the scythe with them?”

“They debated the issue extensively, but the scythe is just too big a weapon to stow into a pack or wear comfortably on your back and both of them needed their hands free to be able to climb. Sagaria is here though and could be taken through the portal to them if needed.”

“Buffy’s probably the one that needs her the most.” Andrew mused. “If only we knew how she was getting on, or where exactly she is.”

Dawn nodded, then closed her eyes briefly as the chatter continued around her. She still felt pretty exhausted, she really needed to get some food and drink into herself and have a rest if she had any hope of recharging her batteries in the next few hours. But maybe she had just enough energy left to do a quick energy scry.

Quickly, silently she sent out her little scan signal, tuning her radar to pick up on Buffy’s particular signature. She didn’t really expect to pick up anything, so it was a shock when a little blip came through, faint but unmistakeable. She repeated the action, not wanting to get her hopes up until she was positive. The signal that came back to her was unquestionably Buffy’s.

Dawn smiled. Connor, sitting beside her as always, picked up on the change in her demeanour and took hold of her hand. Dawn opened her eyes and turned her gaze towards the boy. His devotion was kind of unnerving, but right now she was too stoked to care. Buffy was out there somewhere, who knew in what state, but alive nonetheless. Excitedly she threw her arms around Connor and pulled them both up into an impromptu little jig. It was time to saddle up and get this show on the road. Her sister needed rescuing, and she was feeling ready for action.

Well at least she would be, after a good nap!

‘It is the way unseen, the certain route,
Where ever bound, yet thou art ever free;
The path of Him, whose perfect law of love
Bids spheres and atoms in just order move.’ Jones Very


The torrent of water continued to cascade around Spike, battering him roughly with its pressure as he dangled in his climbing harness hundreds of feet above the floor of the cavern. The witches’ little breathing mask had been ripped away from his face the minute he’d been sucked through the hole and it wasn’t until now that he could drop his head down enough to create a little air pocket beneath his mouth and take a few small, life-giving, gasps of oxygen.

Air certainly helped, but he wasn’t out of the woods yet, or the waterfall as the case may be. It was pitch black in this corner of the cavern, and even with benefit of light he would have been hard pressed to see anything. The tumbling waters not only locked him into a position that made surveying his surroundings impossible, but they also obscured even his excellent vision.

And there was no way he could do anything to draw attention to himself. The dam bursting was undoubtedly loud enough to have drawn the guard’s interest. In fact, he was more than likely stationed below Spike’s feet at this very moment. Only the rushing waters and the dimness of the cave provided the cover he needed to remain unseen. But slowly, incrementally, he could feel the force and volume of the water begin to ease off, enough to know that unless he acted soon, he’d be stranded out in clear view with little more than a gentle trickle to conceal him.

But for the moment, longing and indecision paralysed him. The tantalising warmth of Buffy’s signature washed over him, more tangible to him by far than the icy cascade that beat down upon his head and shoulders. In such close physical proximity to her, it called out to him like a siren’s song, and he was sorely tempted to dash himself against the rocks below. Or the sandy floor. Not that it would seem any less rocky after a 600 foot drop. Undoubtedly a vampire could survive such a jump, but what sort of condition he’d be in, particularly if his landing should be witnessed by a burly, armed henchman, Spike didn’t know. Certainly in no shape to rescue an incapacitated slayer; that was for sure.

So, as quietly as possible, Spike began to hoist himself back up the dangling line. It wasn’t particularly easy given that the weight of the water increased the load on the rope enormously. But slowly, inch by inch, he began to make headway. The going got easier as the deluge continued to abate and it quickly became a race against time, the test to see whether or not he could make it back up to the mouth of the tunnel before the cover gave out.

He wasn’t worried about his safety, not really. The guard might be armed, but whether he’d be able to hit a moving target, in the dark, was quite another thing. And with his protection tattoo in effect, Spike was quite safe from that sort of harm.

In fact, it was unlikely that the guard was even considering the possibility of ambush. He would be expecting his colleagues and might suspect the dam burst was the signal to their arrival, either that or some freaky natural phenomenon, and as far as Spike was concerned he wanted to keep it that way.

The flood began to lessen further and Spike sped up his ascent as much as he could. Up ahead he could just make out the mouth of the tunnel exit and took a big breath so that he could dive fully into the water pouring over the lip. At the same moment he felt rather than saw a hand reach out of the darkness and grab him by the scruff of the neck. Bodily, he was lifted up and dragged into the tunnel.

Spike found himself lying face down over a pair of overall clad legs. His own legs still dangled in the roaring, rushing water below, while his head rested only inches above the surface of the watercourse. It was a pretty vulnerable position to be in, and the adrenaline pounding through his body only slowed down when he heard a sultry voice admonish him.

“Shit, you manage to get yourself into some seriously fucked up situations Billy. You're damn lucky I came after you. Give me Kakistos any day ahead of making my way down a flooded tunnel in the dark,” Faith hissed. “You owe me you bastard.”

Spike was still panting and spluttering, but he raised his head just enough to give the slayer a cheeky smirk. “Ta Rogue, didn’t know you cared. I owe ya. Pay you back in kind some day soon.”

“No you won’t you little shit, more’s the pity. But nevertheless you owe me all right.”

Faith was balanced across the width of the tunnel, about halfway up from what Spike could tell. Her back was pressed into one side of the tunnel while her booted feet were jammed up against the other. She was wet and soggy, but at least out of the water for the moment, as was a good percentage of the vampire lying prone across her legs.

Spike only allowed himself a few minutes of rest. They were both cold and wet and in serious need of dry clothes and hot food. To do that they had to head back up the tunnel to where their packs were. But the awareness that they were now only several hundred feet from Buffy was still a huge weight on his mind. He consoled himself with the knowledge that they couldn’t make their way into the cavern yet anyway, not while Buffy’s abductor was likely still down there, monitoring the opening.

So carefully, using the rope to anchor them both, they slowly made their way back up the slope to the drowned passageway. It wasn’t so drowned anymore. Only about six inches of slowly draining water covered the tunnel floor, which would have been shallow enough to wade through had the roof been high enough to stand in. As it was they had to crawl, but what was a bit more water when you were already soaking.

An hour later they were dressed and fed. The clothing issue had been the most difficult to resolve. In the three days that they’d been down the tunnels, neither of them had totally stripped off their multi layers of clothing. The long johns and wetsuits were equipped with strategically placed openings so that the most they’d had to do was peel down their oversuits to take care of any necessary business. And after having to use a poop bag to do that, well they didn’t have too much modesty left around one another.

Now, the most important layer to remove was the bottom one. Their thermals were very wet, but luckily they each had a spare set in their packs. There seemed little point putting the soggy wetsuits back on, so they each clambered straight into their cordura oversuits, Spike’s which was still dry as he’d left it behind when he’d waded into the flooded passageway, and Faith who slipped into the spare one they’d brought for Buffy. They’d have to sort out the clothing Buffy situation when they came to it.

They gave up worrying about dry feet, they were going to be wading through it again shortly anyway, but they did each manage to wriggle into the thin waterproof jackets they’d packed. So, after hot noodles, two big mugs of hot, sweet tea and a re-sort of their packs, they were ready to go.

They unhitched all of their climbing ropes and Spike coiled them up so he could carry them. Few of the tunnels up until the plughole were steep enough to absolutely require ropes as long as they were careful, and they were going to need as much rope as possible to get them the huge distance from the tunnel opening to the cavern floor. He was still very worried about how they were going to manage that without being detected, but when he mentioned it to Faith she just shrugged and said, “Guess we’ll use Rowan and Tara’s ‘obscurum’ spell.”

Spike had forgotten about that little gem. All it required was a sprinkling of some sort of herb mixture and the recitation of a few words. The slayer reckoned she had that covered. Hopefully there was enough juice to vanish the ropes as well as themselves. Of course the problem with invisible ropes was, they wouldn’t know when they’d come to the end of the line, except by touch. And if they were both invisible, that was going to create some difficulties down on the cavern floor. But there was nothing for it, it certainly beat being captured or killed before they’d even touched down.

The trip back down was quiet and tense, each of them aware of how far noise could travel in the enclosed spaces. They were both pleased to see that by the time they got back to the drowned tunnels, the upper half was completely drained, and the lower half only contained about two inches of slow moving, muddy water. But the floor was still very slippery. They were able to crawl the first half without getting too wet, and by crouching, they managed to shuffle their way back to the sink hole.

Once there, they prised away the rocks that remained around the edge of the hole and used them to build two small dams either side of the opening. The rock walls were high enough on the near horizontal floor of the tunnel to hold the remaining waters back for a while at least, leaving both the hole and the tunnel below it damp but free of actual water.

“Come on pet,” Spike said, “Let’s shake a leg yeah? Need to move it before the waters bust through again.”

They both slithered down through the hole and into the tunnel below, then carefully bottom shuffled their way down the slope until they reached the opening in the ceiling of the cavern. Spike busied himself with fixing a long expansion bolt into a vertical crack about two feet back from the mouth, while Faith got out the herb mix and made sure she was confident with the incantation.

Finally they were set. The three ropes, all that they had left of their original stock, had been joined one to the other with offset water knots, and the top end secured to the bolt with a carabiner. They hooked their harnesses to the top end of the rope, then huddled together, either side of the coiled rope so that Faith could do her thing. A quick but liberal sprinkling of herbs and a Latin phrase later and all three began to fade from view. Spike did a slow pivot so that Faith could check for any visible leftovers. Once that was sorted, he dropped the rope over the edge and leapt out after it.

That feeling of exhilaration, the adrenaline buzzing, spine tingling rush of ultra excitement laced with a big ol’ chunk of terror, flooded his system again. It was underscored this time by the sensory mindfuck of rappelling down an invisible rope. Freaky stuff indeed! Spike used his friction brake fairly liberally as he approached what he guessed was the 200 foot mark.

Not being able to see how much rope was left below before you came to the join was disconcerting to say the least. So too was the feeling (and sound) of Faith on the line above him but with zero visual contact. It didn’t hamper him too much though, and in due course he’d got to the knot, unclipped and re-clipped and after exchanging a few whispered words with the slayer, he’d headed off again.

He could see the floor of the cavern clearly by the time he hit the third rope. It was clear (no guard), but still seemed a long way away and the final rope was the shortest of the three. He’d tied a loop into the tail end, so that the descender would come to a stop, rather than just flying off the bottom. That halt came sooner than he would have wished, still about eighty feet from the ground. An easy enough jump for a vamp, and no problem for a slayer either, but it was going to make re-accessing the rope for their escape later a bitch.

Spike waited until he could hear Faith approaching, then quietly called her name. The almost silent murmur of rope friction halted.

“We’re at the bottom pet,” he whispered. “Gonna jump and then roll outta your way. Wait thirty seconds so I can get m’self clear, yeah?”

He didn’t wait for a reply. Unclipping his descender, Spike let go of the line and plummeted downwards. Silently he landed boots-first in a feline crouch. He rolled, absorbing the impact, and then in one fluid move, sprang upright. Behind him he could hear the slight displacement of air as the slayer followed his plunge then alighted almost as soundlessly. He reached back and grabbed her, pulling the girl towards him in a huddle. A little squeak was the only sign of fright she gave.

“Fuck you, you arsehole,” she hissed in his ear, “You just about gave me a damn coronary. Don’t do that.”

Spike’s body shook in silent laughter as she pulled away from her. Faith might be invisible, but he could almost see the heatwaves coming off her.

“Come on Rogue, didn’t mean it like that pet.” He stood quietly, waiting for her to come to him this time. She still hadn’t forgiven him he figured, when instead of reaching out for him, she just grabbed the back of his pack, wordlessly attaching a line to it before waiting for him to head off.

Spike shrugged, figuring she’d settle down once they hit the track. Standing quietly, he blocked everything else out while he situated himself. Then, with little more than a tug to signal his intentions, he set off, unerringly heading towards the corner where Buffy was being held. His knowledge of the cavern layout, and her pulsing signature, like a homing beacon in his head, guided him on.

They moved quickly, stealthily. In fact, although being invisible had certain drawbacks, now they were down on the cavern floor, the advantages certainly out weighed the disadvantages. Spike led them over to the wall anyway; it would keep them out of the way if the guard should suddenly decide to randomly run from one side of the cave to the other. But without having to constantly stick to the shadows, they made really good time. Before he knew it they were standing outside the walled in basin.

Spike’s heart beat in double time and the pounding, still so unfamiliar to him after all of these years, filled his head like thunder. So close now, so close. All he wanted to do was run pell-mell through the doorway, grab Buffy up and hold her against him, kiss her precious face. But now was not the time for his renowned impatience.

At least the entrance was henchman-free this time. Spike turned quietly to Faith, reaching out gently to grab hold of her, to draw her closer. Snit obviously forgotten, the dark haired slayer shuffled up alongside him.

“’K pet,” he whispered. “Gonna make my way over to the gap and take a gander. Might be able to …”

Suddenly his rousing speech was interrupted by a string of muffled sounds, a few thumps and distant shouts. The rescue squad turned and looked back the way they’d come. It was impossible to see in the dark, but the resident guard stumbled out of the chamber and tried anyway. He undoubtedly came to the same conclusion that they did, that the back up crew had arrived, and with sword in one hand and torch in the other, he dashed away towards the dome to welcome them.

“Quick,” Spike hissed, “This is our chance to get Buffy.”

“Right behind you, boss,” Faith replied.

They scrambled through the gap in the rocky wall. A single fiery torch bathed the room in a dull glow. Through the gloom, Spike could see Buffy, laid out, as before on the elevated rock slab. He could sense her signature through the link, and he could hear her heart beating steadily. But if not for those aspects, he might have thought her dead. She lay so pale and still, that a fairy tale princess sunk deep into the ravages of mystical sleep could not have seemed more lifeless.

Despair and grief threatened to overwhelm him once more, crush him in its paralytic embrace. Faith, oblivious to his unseen anguish, saved the day never the less.

“Shit B, are you okay?” she whispered urgently, moving swiftly towards her sister slayer’s side. Buffy’s hand floated up in the air, Faith clasping the cold fingers in her own unseen ones. “Spike,” her wobbly voice finally penetrated his distress. “She is … alright isn’t she?”

“God,” he shuddered, “I hope so Rogue. She’s obviously cold and exhausted and no doubt half starved but her heartbeat’s strong, as is the nipper’s. We just need to get her out of here, home to where she’s safe and warm.” Privately he was having some misgivings about how they were going to do that. She looked a lot worse than he’d imagined, not really in the best condition for an endless uphill scramble through this immense bloody anthill.

“Buffy, Buffy pet. Wake up precious. Ol’ Spike’s come for you my sweetling. Its time to come home, you and the bairn both.” He whispered his endearments, his pleas, as he pressed kisses across her face and tried to rub warmth into her hands.

Slowly, his voice and hands drew her back, out of the oblivion of sleep and towards the cold and dark. She frowned slightly and her breath hitched. His soft words and gentle touch soothed her fears, and her eyelids began to flutter, her inhalations turned into little gasps.

“Its alright baby, I’m here. Come back to me luv. Faith and I have come to fetch you home. Everyone’s waiting. Wake up pet.”

Suddenly Buffy’s eyes popped open. She frowned, blinked furiously, then glanced wildly around her in the half-light of the cold chamber. Tears filled her eyes, spilling over onto her pale cheeks. “No-o-o-o,” she sobbed. “Not real, not real.”

Guilt shot through Spike’s body, as he realized his mistake. Poor chit, driven half mad no doubt by the terror and isolation of her kidnapping, gets pulled outta blissful sleep by what must seem like a ghost. Wanker!

“Oh kitten,” he soothed, “Am real baby, just invisible. Just one of Red’s spells, so Faith and I could sneak in here past the bad guys. But I’m real precious, and I’m gonna get you outta here.”

Shakily, Buffy lifted one of her hands up towards the sound of his voice, towards his face.

“You’re real?” Her voice rasped painfully in the silence as she cupped his cheek.

Spike’s eyes filled with tears. “Yes baby, I know it’s a hardship not to be able to look at my gorgeous self, but I ’m really real and present and fully functional.” He grinned, “Although you’ll have to wait to test that out later. Can you sit up?” He threw the space blankets back, ready to help her into a sitting position.

“Whoa,” Faith said, her exclamation matching his own thoughts exactly as the blankets now revealed what their ruched up layers had previously hidden.

Two sets of chains were draped across her body, at chest level and across the top of her thighs, and fastened to the rock shelf on either side. Each chain was bolted directly into the rock on one side and padlocked to a bolt on the other. The chains certainly gave them pause, but what stunned both of them more was what lay between.

Buffy’s baby bump protruded starkly from the landscape of her thin frame. It had only been six days since they’d last seen Buffy, and she’d been almost six and a half months along. With her short stature and slim figure, she’d already been sporting a decent size baby belly, but in the week since she’d been taken, her bump seemed to have expanded exponentially. Faith knew very little about pregnancy, but Spike had been reading all the books diligently, and even he was taken back by such startling growth in such a short time.

Their musings were quickly sidetracked by Buffy’s raspy voice. “You came for me,” she said, a faint smile gracing her face. “I knew you’d come for me.”

“Of course I came for you sweetheart,” Spike said, shelving the mystery for later. He bent down and pressed his cheek alongside hers, whispering into her ear. “Will always come for you baby, never give up, till the end of the world. You know that.”

“Yeah,” she whispered, “I knew. I knew. I was waiting for you, so long, but I never gave up.” She gave a tremulous little smile as he pulled back to lean his forehead against hers. Their tears mingled together on her cheeks, tears of relief and regret and exhaustion, tears of joy at being in one another’s arms, and tears of fear at the uncertainty still to come.

Their touching reunion was suddenly interrupted by shouts of anger and the sound of running feet, still some distance away, but closer than Spike would have hoped, and closing in on them even as they stood there frozen.

“Quick,” Faith hissed, “We’ve gotta get these chains off of her.”

Spike felt her unclip herself from his pack and brush past him. “I’ll look for the keys, you try and break the chains.”

He nodded; a gesture that seemed wasted given his lack of visibility, but helped at least to jumpstart his own actions. He reached down and grabbed the chain, near to where the padlock fixed it to the bolt. Pulling with all of his considerable strength, he was dismayed, but hardly surprised, at the total lack of movement. They’d been magically enhanced no doubt, given that they’d been specifically arranged for a slayer.

He pulled again, tugging furiously at the metal links. The chain remained indifferent to his efforts, cold and implacable in its inflexibility. Frustrated, Spike pulled out his new blade and tried striking at the metal at close quarters. Sparks flew and a loud clanging rang out, but the chain bore no evidence of any impact.

“Shit, shit,” Faith growled, “I can’t see a damn thing. I don’t think they’re here anyway. I’ve used my eyes and my hands but the cupboard is bare. Damn guard probably has them.”

She ran over to Spike and started pulling and tugging at the other chain, panic setting in at the seeming futility of their task. Outside the pounding feet grew louder, the guerrillas were drawing close to the chamber.

“Shit, I’m gonna go try and hold them off,” she said, and Spike felt her pull away from the rock slab, her quiet footsteps heading towards the opening.

“Be careful,” he murmured, but she was already gone.

Spike paused, undecided about what he should do. He wanted to stay by Buffy’s side and protect her, but he could probably do a better job of that by going outside to help Faith get rid of the goons. One of them had the keys no doubt, and he had his nifty new blade to try out. Mind made up, he stood up and began to slide the space blankets back up over Buffy’s torso to keep her warm.

“Spike, what … what’s happening? What are you doing?” He hated hearing the panic in her voice, his strong Slayer, so weak and scared.

“’S alright pet, I’m just gonna pop out and grab the keys for your chains. Won’t take me more ‘n a minute or two. You just stay here and keep nice and warm.”

“No Spike, don’t leave me,” she whimpered pitifully.

“God luv,” he embraced her prone form and kissed her sweetly. “I’m not leaving Buffy, promise. I’m just gonna see a bloke about a key and I’ll be right back. You won’t even have time to miss me.”

A little bit of the old fire came back into her eyes. “I’m gonna hold you to that you know. If you don’t come straight back, I’m so gonna kick your butt.”

Spike chuckled. “I’ll bend over for you an’ all if I stuff up. Right, hang tight Slayer, see ya in a bit.” He pressed a final kiss to her forehead and dashed over to the opening.

“While you’re at it, sort something out so I can see you, you stupid vampire,” she called after him, the last of her bravado deserting her as effectively as her rescuers had. With a weary sigh, she closed her eyes and let the silent tears fall once more.

~~~

Spike ran outside the chamber to the sound of clashing swords. The confrontation was taking place about 150 feet away. Even with his vamp sight it was difficult to see in the murky light of the large cavern. But as he eased closer, his first instincts were confirmed. Faith, still invisible, was fighting against two henchmen at once, engaging first one then the other.

They were big buggers; well over six foot each and built like props. She was probably just playing with them, but to be fair, the brutes had adapted quickly to parrying against an unseen foe and were standing back to back, swords outstretched. Sure it was purely defensive on their part, but apart from a nick on one guy’s leg, they both seemed fairly unscathed. And alive! Which was something in itself.

Spike stood watching until he could work out where Faith was, then stepped into the fray himself, drawing his blade and using it to introduce himself to the bad dude. It gave the guy a hell of a fright, but Faith worked it out immediately.

“Hey Spike, welcome aboard. The more the merrier.”

“Thanks pet. Having fun are we?”

“Yeah, it’s a hoot. You should have seen their faces when I first came roaring out. Didn’t know what hit them.”

“They still don’t I’d grant. Thought you’d have them finished off by now.”

“Well, I didn’t know if we were taking hostages or just disposing of the riff raff. Besides which, they’re wearing some sort of kick ass military style Kevlar protection vests. Slashed one guy across the front and he’s still fine and dandy.”

“Okay pet, good to know. And I guess the old man will want someone to interrogate, so we’d better just knock them out and tie them up. “

Their light-hearted banter had been woven in and out of a fairly lukewarm sword battle. They’d engaged one soldier each, but with their rivals effectively blindfolded, it was sandpit time, for the both of them. The decision to help themselves to a couple of prisoners set the outcome, and they both stepped up their games, the objective being to disarm their opponents, minor injuries quite acceptable.

Cutting loose, they’d used their newly acquired weapons to attack, slashing horizontal cuts from the left and then the right. Each followed with a little flicking upward drive and two swords went flying. It was almost disappointing. Spike was just starting to get into it, and strangely, the hilt of his sword was beginning to heat up pleasantly in his hand. He quickly overcame his disappointment by swapping his sword into his right hand, stepping in close and delivering a huge sucker punch to the guy’s jaw. He went down like a sack of spuds.

To his right, Faith had also knocked her opponent out, seemingly with a spinning sidekick. They stood for a minute, panting. Faith picked up the two discarded weapons while Spike dragged the two unconsciousness guys next to one another, ready for trussing. The dark haired slayer stood there, hands on hips frowning as she scanned their surroundings.

“What you looking for Rogue?”

“The other guy. Where’d he go?”

“The other guy?” Spike’s blood ran cold. “What do you mean the …”

His question was rendered obsolete by the scream of anguish that reverberated across the room, a scream that came from the chamber.