::Lonely in Your Nightmare:: by Bloodshedbaby

Challenge response from the Bloodshedverse.
Title taken from my new method of naming fics, picking a Duran Duran song title.

Summary: During an alternate season 2, Buffy is on the run to avoid recapture by the military group that had kidnapped and experimented on her. When she finds herself pregnant through artificial means, her desperation to stay one step ahead of them escalates. Yes, this is a vampire/slayer fic, and of COURSE it's spuffy.

As Buffy locked the flimsy door of the motel behind her, she realized it brought her no measure of relief. A lock meant nothing; it was something she engaged merely out of habit. She had forgotten what it felt like to be unafraid. To not have that edge of panic and paranoia curling around the edges of her senses at all times; her eyes systematically surveying her surroundings for any hint of the enemy.

All was quiet for now, and she allowed herself to relax a fraction, her hands unconsciously going to caress the growing bulge of her abdomen.

She had been running for so long, it took her a moment to remember where she was. Not that it really mattered. Buffy never stayed long enough in one place to gain an impression, either of the favorable or negative.

It had only been seven months, yet seemed a lifetime. Thoughts of her previous life tried welling up to flood her consciousness and Buffy battered them back frantically.

She didn't want to remember that time. It made her nostalgic, made her long for home, and that made her weak.

With a frustrated growl, Buffy kicked over the chair that had dared to block her way in the run down hotel room she had taken for the night. She'd be gone tomorrow.

A hint of tears tried to blur her vision and Buffy swiped them away angrily. Turning to the bed, she grabbed the tattered wallet that lay upon the faded blanket and checked the status of her funds, finding it lower than she liked.

Grabbing a stake, Buffy threw open the door to her room and slipped out, always on the lookout. One thing she had quickly come to realize was that it didn't matter what town, what state, even what country she was in, there were always vampires to be found.

Every sense heightened for both demonic and human signatures, Buffy slipped through a pair of rusty gates where she knew she would find something waiting for her. If nothing else, this experience had taught her how damn predictable vampires were. She had thought it was just Sunnydale vamps who haunted cemeteries, but she was so very mistaken.

Ten minutes later, Buffy let herself back into her room, her funds now well and truly replenished. It had never crossed her mind to rob the vamps she had staked in Sunnydale. But then again, her very survival had never depended on her cash flow either. Still, she was without guilt. She needed the money and by whatever mystical force that made vamps go poof, anything in their possession also poofed.

The thing in her belly was kicking, but she ignored it as she got herself ready for bed. Her steadfast refusal to think of it as a baby, as a part of her, was getting harder and harder as it grew larger and more active inside her. But she couldn't allow herself that luxury.

When she finally fell asleep that night, her living nightmare bled into her dreams, a habitual mental drain. Buffy had grown used to it, trapped in the hell her mind had recreated, blindly clawing to get out. It never failed. Total exhaustion was of the familiar for her these days. She had come to thrive on it.

Heart pounding, body glistening with sweat, Buffy attempted the deep breathing exercises that had been taught to her in her other life.

It was seven months since her life had been taken away from her. Seven months since she had been abducted by an unknown enemy on a routine patrol in Sunnydale. She had been sixteen years old and had grown up in the span of an evening.

To this day, Buffy still didn't have a clear identity of who, exactly, had abducted her. Her first impression upon waking from whatever they had tranquilized her with was of a white so blinding it hurt her eyes. Everything was white. Even the bastards who claimed to be there to help her had been clothed head to toe in white industrial suits, masks covering their faces from her view; steadfastly refusing to answer even the simplest of her questions. Male, female, she had no idea.

The Council had been her initial thought; her last meeting with them not having ended on the best of terms, but it didn't take long for her to question that assumption. She didn't know why she began to think differently, she just did. From their whispered mutterings, she realized that they were fully aware that she was the Slayer.

Drugged so her slayer strength was a moot point, Buffy lost track of how many times her wrists were shackled to a gurney, her heels placed in stirrups while the people in white knelt between her parted legs. Pleas of enlightenment went unanswered and resulted in being drugged with something that made her mind fuzzy, Buffy soon learned to keep her mouth shut. Her mind was the only thing she had left and Buffy refused to give it up to them.

But then came the degradation as gynecological speculums were unceremoniously shoved into her vagina and Buffy soon realized she wasn't a person to them. She was an experiment. That first time, there had been murmurs of surprise at finding an intact hymen, yet that gave them little pause.

Blinding, cramping pain that didn't end until the speculum had been removed and they were finished with whatever torture they were doing to her. Her palms were indented with half moon crescents from her fingernails digging into them as she lay there shackled to the table.

Having her mind altered should have made it easier for Buffy, but she wanted clarity. The drug that stole her strength was released into the air of her barren, white cell at regular intervals through a vent in the ceiling, and thus, completely unavoidable.

She had no idea how long she had been there when she awoke to the sound of running feet and a blaring alarm. Shouts and screams could be heard over the loud noise and it was only then that Buffy noticed something.

What she found outside that cell was pure chaos, but while her slayer strength may have been absent, her mind was all there. And her mind was pure Slayer.

Without daring to question why her door had been opened or what was happening around her, Buffy ran. She met no resistance to her flight, and once outside, she discovered she had been imprisoned in a hidden military base.

Finding the fence surrounding the base with the power shut off, Buffy quickly scaled it, calling on every reserve of strength she possessed.

Her first instinct had been to return home, an acute need to return to the safety and familiarity of her mother and watcher nearly overwhelming her. To be held in her mother's arms again, only then could she even begin to put this nightmare behind her.

Except it wasn't safe, and Buffy knew it. Since the compound had not been destroyed, Buffy had to assume they still wanted her.

She didn't need a test to tell her that she was pregnant, Buffy knew it as sure as her Slayer did.

Days turned into weeks; weeks into months and her body grew bigger. Buffy didn't fool herself to think that they had put a human baby inside of her. Her slayer side told her that it wasn't so, reacting to whatever supernatural origins her baby possessed.

No longer was she an innocent in any way, except one. Not that anybody would believe the truth of an immaculate conception.

Knowing that attempting to sleep again was futile, Buffy swung her bare legs out of bed and padded to the bathroom. Her appearance, something she used to take great pride in, refused to register anymore, and she ignored her wan appearance in the mirror. She'd changed her look so many times she had almost forgotten what she truly looked like.

The thing kicked her again, and her hand went to the swell of her abdomen, rubbing small circles almost tenderly before Buffy jerked her hand away realizing what she had done.

Firming up her resolve, Buffy went to the chipped desk and sat down in the chair, refusing to allow any maternal thoughts to penetrate. This thing inside her made her a target, it took away her life. She could never even entertain the notion of returning home until it was no longer a part of her.

Feeling the familiar rage of helplessness and the never-ending fear well up inside of her, Buffy looked at the bedside clock. Five AM.

a/n Oh don't worry, I actually have more written. Just let me know if you want it :P

In under ten minutes, Buffy had her meager belongings thrown together and tossed in the backseat of the beat-up Nissan, the latest in a seemingly endless cycle of used cars that she drove for a short time before moving on to the next one. Learning to drive wasn't a skill she'd have ever thought to master in her other life, but necessity was a powerful motivational tool, and the slayer had quickly overcome whatever trepidation she felt at being behind the wheel of a car. A fierce desire to put as much distance between herself and the ones that had done her harm provided added incentive to learn fast. Having wheels made her less of a target.

Her clothing these days came from second-hand stores or the local Walmart of whichever town she happened to be in. Gone were the short skirts and skimpy tops; her attire these days was utilitarian and plain. Her hair had been cut to shoulder length and fell in an uneven bob to frame her face. Her blonde locks were currently dyed an unflatteringly dark brown that made her blend in. She couldn't remember the last time makeup had touched her face. That girlie girl she had used to be belonged to another time, had lived in another world.

Turning the key in the ignition, the car gave one loud sputter before the engine turned over, noisy and obtrusive in the early morning hour. Reaching over to the passenger seat, she grabbed a scrunchie and twisted her hair into an unflattering bun at the nape of her neck, not bothering to check the results in the mirror.

Then she was off. On to the next town, to hole up in another out of the way no-tell motel.

Buffy had driven for a solid ten hours, putting as much distance as possible between herself and the last place she had slept; stopping once for gas and for much needed coffee with an Egg McMuffin at McDonalds. Her prenatal diet didn't concern her. To dwell on whether the “Thing” – as she’d termed it - in her belly was getting proper nourishment would mean acknowledging that it was truly a part of her. That it meant something.

And that was something she just couldn't allow herself to acknowledge. Ever. Something deep within her was guiding her actions, and Buffy gave herself over to it, knowing sub-consciously that it was her slayer-ness taking over. Thus far, it had kept her alive, and that was good enough.

An hour before dusk found her in another run-down town, just north of the Mexican border. Buffy was glad to stop, a headache brewing behind her left eye, the constant looking in her rearview mirror and being ever on alert taking its toll.

After paying cash and securing a room for the night, Buffy wearily unlocked the door to her room, barely giving the sparse furnishings a cursory glance as she walked in and dumped her bag on the bed. It was no better or worse than anything she had stayed in over the last several months, and at least this one had an air of cleanliness in its favor.

She eyed the bed longingly, wanting nothing more than to fall onto its welcoming surface and rest her weary body, but right now, her body needed fuel. Buffy had learned the hard way that towns such as these tended to shut down at an early hour.

'Just a few moments,' she told herself, unable to resist curling up on the bed. Her eyelids drifted shut as she fell quickly into slumber.

A scream stuck in her throat, Buffy jerked awake. There was always that profound relief in realizing it was just a dream, but with it would come the complete wrongness – the forced degradation - of what had been done to her. Then anger would take hold and Buffy found that emotion to be the most calming. It gave her strength, gave her clarity. Gave her the courage to go on, to resist the urge to pick up the phone and call her mom. And Giles. And her friends. Angel.

Yet she knew to give into that foolish impulse would be signing a warrant for recapture. And she highly doubted she'd be allowed to walk out of there once whatever was inside her had been born.

Buffy looked at the antiquated alarm clock and groaned, her window of opportunity for sustenance had already come and gone while she had been asleep. She swung her legs around and jerked to her feet, refusing to let her pregnancy impact her mobility.

Taking the time for a quick shower, she eagerly washed the stench of travel off her body and was out the door in under fifteen minutes. Her damp hair was piled messily in a scrunchie again and the large, oversize army jacket she wore masked the obvious signs of her pregnancy.

As predicated, the restaurants had long since closed, leaving only the seedy bars open for what existed of the town’s nightlife. With a heavy sigh, Buffy resigned herself to suffer that scene. Drunken red-necks had not proven to be the most astute of males, often times not wanting to take a polite no for an answer. Or a firm one.

Buffy opted to walk to her destination, not wishing to draw attention to her unfamiliar car. Far better for her to spend the extra few minutes on her feet than have to worry about one of the town’s inhabitants seeing her vehicle and the lone female driving it, and inadvertently giving her pursuers an advantage. And there was no doubt in her mind that she was being tracked. Hunted.

The night was warm, a full moon illuminating the way, and Buffy wished she could shed the bulky jacket. But, anonymity was the key. And while her rounded belly was most definitely showing, it was still easily hidden beneath her bulky clothes.

Three blocks later and she’d arrived. Bud's Place. Buffy's eyes instinctively rolled, a small hint of the girl she used to be almost peeking through before the loud rumbling of her stomach reminded her why she was there.

Throwing the heavy wooden door open, she was assaulted by a cloud of smoke and loud country music, mentally cringing at both. For a second, she considered leaving and scrounging around in her car again for a missed snack, but her insistent hunger prevailed.

Feeling as if all eyes were suddenly upon her, Buffy hunched her shoulders and strode forward, trying to appear as inconspicuous as possible. She reached the bar and slid into a seat, giving the bartender a thin smile of greeting as he appeared in front of her.

"Y'all serve food, right?" she asked, adopting a southern accent. Anything to mask her previous Valley Girl inflections.

A menu was thrust into her welcoming hands and it took Buffy exactly a minute to decide before ordering a hamburger and fries. With a side of ranch.

That was new, the ranch. She had tried to ignore it, recognizing it as a craving and not wanting anything to do with it, but thus far had been unsuccessful.

The Thing was kicking again with relish, and a stab of irritation went through her at this ever present reminder. She wondered, not for the first time, if she would have a normal gestation period, or if she would be forced to carry it longer than usual.

Her musing was interrupted when she saw the bartender give her order to one of the hard-looking, overly made-up cocktail waitresses that came up to the wooden slab to fill a drink order. Watching the woman walk away, her tray loaded down with bottles of beers, Buffy idly wondered if that was going to be her. Used up and soured, looking years older than her true age.

Her face expressionless, Buffy glanced at the man who had addressed her, barely able to curtail her lip from curling up in disgust as his foul body odor assaulted her nostrils, even through the thick cover of smoke.

She turned back to stare at nothing, effectively dismissing him. God she hated bars.

With a surly grunt, Jed stomped back to the pool table he'd been losing at all evening.

"Don't mention it. Your food should be up shortly." With a slight nod, he moved to attend to the others at the opposite end of the bar.

Letting out a pent up sigh of agitation, Buffy refrained from glancing around, keeping her eyes directed in front of her, her senses alert. It hadn't taken long to discover that even non-deliberate eye contact in places such as these was so not of the good. She cursed under her breath when she felt a familiar zap crawl up the nape of her neck.

Slaying was something she'd had to do with more stealthiness than usual, not wanting any reports of some slip of a girl killing baddies to get out. That's why she usually kept to the typical cemeteries for her nocturnal activities, finding an audience less likely to be present.

Just as her stomach was about to stand up and revolt with hunger, a huge plate was set down in front of her and Buffy flashed a genuine smile of gratitude at the waitress. She made quick work of the burger, dipping it into the ranch dressing with each bite.

From a dark corner, Spike kept his eye on the girl who had immediately piqued his interest from the moment she'd stepped foot inside the bar. After watching her literally inhale a tremendous amount of food, something began pricking at the edge of his consciousness. He knew her.

When she smiled once more at the waitress, recognition struck hard, causing a sharp intake of unnecessary breath. Her appearance was different, but it was her.

a/n-You guys like it, thank god! Thank you sooo much for all the reviews!! Mucho thanks goes to spikeskat for beta'ing this chapter

After Buffy took care of her tab, she wasted no time in leaving. The live entertainment that had just kicked off provided not the slightest bit of interest. She was no longer comfortable around people and craved the quiet solitude of her motel room.

Ignoring the leers and crude comments while making her escape, she breathed a sigh of relief as she pushed the heavy wooden door open and quickly exited, relieved that nobody had bothered to follow her. Her slayer sense was still firing, and her cool, accessing eyes immediately went to work surveying her surroundings. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, Buffy walked around the side of the building to check out the alley, misplaced nostalgia of the Bronze suddenly striking hard.

The alley was empty yet a foreboding feeling continued to spread through her. A flurry of kicks taking place inside her abdomen left her momentarily distracted, and that was when it happened.

She was suddenly slammed from behind, sandwiched between unforgiving brick and a hard, lean body behind her, the swell of her abdomen crushed against the solid wall in front of her.

With a growl, she threw her head back to butt her attacker in the face, but her bound hair was quickly caught in an unrelenting fist and her head yanked to one side, leaving her neck nice and exposed.

"Get off me!" she yelled, attempting to free herself from the bands of steel that held her imprisoned.

A low chuckle reached her ears and she gasped when her attacker ground his erection against her butt. "Nice to see you again, Slayer," a low British voice whispered into her ear.

"Got it in one, pet. Seems to me our last encounter over Halloween ended with us somewhat in this position," he commented mockingly, his hips moving in a slow circle against her ass once more. "Well, maybe not entirely this position."

Buffy closed her eyes and cursed the fates. She tried one more time to extricate herself from Spike's iron grip, only to find her efforts failed.

With the certain knowledge that these were her last moments on this earth, her regret was great. She would die without seeing those she loved again.

But then a tiny voice started whispering in her head that when her life ended, so would the life that grew within her and the constant flight, and suddenly death appeared as an inviting release. Making a monumental decision, Buffy breathed a sigh of defeat and forced herself to relax in the tight hold Spike had on her.

Spike sniffed the air, wanting to savor the sweet smell of her fear, frowning a bit when it was denied him. He grinned knowingly. The Slayer had herself a bit of a death wish. He'd seen it before; it was right there in the passive tilt of her head, the eyes that had fluttered shut.

But his third slayer.... Bloody hell, the stuff of legends. He was mildly curious as to what she was doing in this rat hole, but he quickly thrust it out of his mind. Gnawing at him was the knowledge that he hadn't bested her in battle, but that too went by the wayside. He no longer abided by his old rules of conduct.

Giving her one last opportunity to attempt to fight him, to try to steal this victory for herself, he slowly leaned in and nuzzled the bare expanse of neck, licking a moist trail down that tempting column of throat in a mocking parody of a lover.

The moment he touched her though, something began tugging at his senses. A tiny niggling that something wasn't right here, warning him to proceed with caution. His rising bloodlust only added to his confusion and Spike actually found his intent wavering.

He had the bloody slayer right where he wanted her, just begging to be bit, and he was hesitating. He looked over at her, eyes closed, just ripe for the picking and her passive acceptance of death suddenly angered him.

With a impatient snarl, he struck, his fangs sliding through the delicate skin with ease. He moaned against her neck in ecstasy as the warm, succulent sweetness of her blood came bursting into his mouth, his hips pistoning forward to grind his hardened cock against her backside. His internal struggle over taking her this way all but forgotten.

Attuned to every beat her heart took, he momentarily faltered when a foreign beat suddenly rose apart from hers, and it was at that very moment, the taste of blood changed. A subtle shift that had him ripping his fangs away and staring down at her bleeding neck in shock.

Confused green eyes slowly opened to stare up at him over her shoulder, silently pleading for him to finish the job. Because this suddenly made sense to her. If she was going to leave this world, it was only fitting that he be the one to do it.

But his fangs never returned, instead he suddenly tossed her aside as he backpedaled from their intimate embrace. In his haste, he stumbled to the ground where he remained, not bothering to pick himself back up.

Spike's demonic eyes melted back to familiar blue, his gaze burning a hole right through her as she slowly turned around to face him. Careful-like. As if any undue motion would trigger a repeat of his attack. Buffy looked down at the blond-headed vampire where he’d yet to move from the ground and could see a wealth of confusion swimming in their murderous depths. Her own gaze, no doubt, mirroring her confusion.

"S-spike?" Buffy found herself asking in a halting voice, wondering why she wasn't running away. Why she wasn't taking advantage of the fact that she wasn't dead. But the intensity of his stare kept her rooted firmly in place.

"In your blood...," Spike began heatedly, getting to his feet and stalking towards her, "I tasted...," his voice trailed off.

Buffy blinked as his revelation washed over her, bile suddenly making its way up her throat. "Oh god...." Her arms came around to wrap themselves around her middle, and Buffy attempted to push the nausea back.

Suddenly, Spike grabbed her upper arms in a vise-like grip, his eyes murderous as he glared into her face. "How?" he growled dangerously. "And don't fuck with me, Slayer."

Rage suddenly coursed through her, and Buffy knocked his arms away in an easy show of strength. She planted both hands against his chest and shoved him away from her, returning his glare with a heated look of her own. "Don't touch me."

Without ceremony, Buffy took a step back, her fingers finding the buttons to her coat. As she worked the buttons through the holes, she briefly wondered why this little show and tell was even necessary, why he hadn't heard the extra heartbeat and guessed for himself. Slipping the jacket from her shoulders, she unveiled the curve of her abdomen to his furious eyes and watched as his eyes widened with disbelief.

"Don't suppose you spent any quality time with the military lately?" she asked in a small voice.

It was at that moment Buffy realized Spike's bad ass exterior was just a front. The myriad of human emotions that flew across his face were as telling as if he'd suddenly started spouting poetry. Nothing that was supposed to be as evil as Spike had made himself out to be could be capable of such depth.

The tears that she had denied for the last seven months suddenly threatened to break free, and Buffy knew it couldn't happen here. Not in this alley. Not like this. She'd repressed far too much.

She hadn't taken more than two steps before his voice called out in angry disbelief, "Where the bloody fuck do you think you're going?"

"It's late. And I'm tired. I'm going back to my motel," she told him quietly without turning around, wiping an errant tear off of her cheek.

Spike saw the defeated bow of her head, heard the tale tell sniffles and cursed his softer side. She looked terrible and his bloodletting earlier hadn't helped.

awww, I'm so predictable...
Keep in mind that Buffy was 'kidnapped' just after season 2 Halloween, so she hasn't learned about anything Drusilla yet.

a/n-Once again, major thanks to Spikekat for the awesome beta job. And don't worry, I'm not bringing Dru in this story. I only mentioned it to explain Buffy's lack of inquiring where she was. Also, it's not exactly the Initiative, but that will be explained later.

With a growl of sudden possessiveness that managed to take even him by surprise, he snarled, "Not without me, you're not."

His tone chased her tears and any impending melt-down away, causing her to bristle in response to his overbearing tone. "Excuse me? You go from trying to kill me to Mr.'Tell-Me-What-To-Do' Guy?"

To her surprise, the fierce countenance he wore softened and he took a step forward to slide his cool palm into her much warmer one, lacing his fingers with hers. His eyes dared her to pull away. "Well, yeah. That's my baby in your belly, Slayer. Think that gives me a bit o' say-so."

It was on the tip of her tongue to argue that he had no rights whatsoever, but found she couldn't voice that particular lie. She instinctively tensed when his head tipped in her direction, but refused to pull away. When she felt his tongue gently tracing the throbbing mark on her neck, the sudden gasp that left her throat was unexpected.

Satisfied that his bite had been properly tended to, and that she was no longer in danger of losing any more blood because of his actions, he pulled back and gave her a cocky smile.

Not sure exactly how she should respond, Buffy decided to ignore what he had just done, and more importantly, how it had made her feel. She settled for tossing him a dirty look, yet didn't protest when he led out of the dark alley. Ignored, too, the security she felt with her hand nestled within his.

As they walked along the quiet streets, Buffy found herself reflecting upon the fact that her entire life had changed in the span of mere minutes, yet again.

No words were spoken on the short walk, and upon reaching the motel that was her home for the night, Buffy unceremoniously unlocked the worn-down door.

Knowing that an official invite wasn't required, Buffy merely waved Spike in and watched warily as he stalked into the dimly lit room, his typical swagger in full effect.

Buffy merely shrugged, refusing to meet his eyes. She shook off her coat and threw it over the back of the only chair in the room, feeling the intensity of Spike's gaze as it honed in once more on her abdomen.

Strangely, it wasn't the vampire side of him that was cause for her sudden discomfiture, even though his fangs had almost been responsible for her death earlier. Rather, it was the man that had been revealed to her when that cocky mask had slipped that was strangely unnerving. Buffy knew very little about him except what had been shared in relation to his prowess as a 'slayer of slayers'. Yet, there was something different about him. She had sensed it the moment she had locked her eyes on him at the Bronze that first time.

Buffy flinched when she felt the cool touch of his fingers tracing the brutal mark on her neck and she jerked away from the intimate contact angrily, her eyes flashing steely emerald.

He ignored her heated look. "Sorry about bitin' ya, pet. If I'da known, I wouldn't 'ave tried to off ya tonight."

Buffy snorted, finding a morbid amount of humor in that comment. "Yeah, well, if I would have known, I wouldn't have been letting you."

Spike looked at her in surprise, his intense blue eyes questioning, finding himself not wanting to read too much into what she had just said. Lowering himself down into the only chair that occupied the room, he kicked his feet upon the desk, his pose relaxed. He watched as the Slayer turned and headed to the small bathroom.

Buffy stilled and looked over her shoulder at him in confusion, not sure where his question stemmed from.

"If you had known it was mine," Spike began, his eyes searching the haunted green for a glimmer of truth, suddenly realizing that this was important. "...you wouldn't have been letting me have my one good day?"

It dawned on Buffy what he was asking, and the answer was so clear. "No, I wouldn't have. I was just...tired."

Buffy sighed. "Yeah. But it's going to have to wait. This thing is squashing my bladder." With that comment, she grabbed a change of clothes and disappeared behind the bathroom door.

When Buffy had finished with her bedtime ritual and changed into a pair of oversized sweats that she could still fit into, she found herself exhausted despite the lengthy nap earlier. As she exited the bathroom, she noticed Spike right where she'd left him.

She looked around and realized he had taken the only chair in the room, so she climbed onto the room’s only bed warily. The soft mattress was as welcoming as it had been earlier when it had lulled her into a lengthy slumber and the slayer curled up on her side, hugging a pillow to her chest. Buffy knew he hadn't taken that much blood, but combined with the typically anemic affects of pregnancy, she was exhausted.

Spike watched her, noting her pale complexion and the dark circles under her eyes. He could feel the intensity of her blood in his system, sharpening every sense. Making him feel like he was bloody alive. Only at the same time, it was making him feel ill. His eyes roamed over her tiny body, taking in her bulging tummy before returning to her face – and it suddenly came to him what it was.

He nodded. "Yeah, I can now. But it's not normal. Not like the beat of a human baby."

Buffy closed her eyes, her sigh heavy as she processed this new bit of information.

They flew open again when she felt the mattress dip next to her, her gaze questioning as Spike removed the pillow she held clutched to her chest and he settled on the bed next to her, lying on his side so that he was facing her.

Buffy didn't protest when she felt his hand work its way under her oversized shirt, fingers splaying against the hard swell. His skin was warm and she figured she could thank herself for that– her slayer’s blood no doubt providing the borrowed heat. But his touch was gentle and oddly, calming.

"Don't call it that," Buffy ground out, trying to push out images of a blonde haired baby with blue eyes out of her mind.

She watched his eyes turn cold, the previous wonderment and softness gone. "Why?" he demanded, old insecurities rising up and taking a chokehold. Of course the fucking slayer wouldn't want his bastard. How could he ever have fooled himself to think otherwise?

Desperate green eyes bored into his, pleading for him to understand. "Because I don't know if I'll be giving birth to something I'm going to have to kill, is why," she finally admitted softly.

He tensed, tossing her words around. For a vamp who'd prided himself on reading human emotion, he'd more than missed the mark with this one. The chit was bloody terrified of feeling anything for the wee one. "It's the man in this body that manufactures the semen, pet. Not the demon."

He shook his head, already knowing the answer to that. "No. But I reckon the demon will be in the backseat. And if not...," his voice trailed off. "Well, we'll cross that bridge later."

Buffy nodded, understanding what he wasn't telling her. It was his baby and she instinctively knew Spike would never let it be destroyed, no matter how evil it turned out to be.

Buffy wasn't quite quick enough to mask the instinctive fear and panic at the very mention of where she'd been held captive. It suddenly angered her to see Spike's sympathetic look and she lashed out at him, her words the only weapons she had at her disposal right now.

In a cold and clinical voice, she replied, "They drugged me on patrol one night and when I woke up, I found out they had stolen my slayer strength. They had me in a cage for over a month, and my only time out of that cell was when they shackled me to a gurney and shoved things up my cunt," her voice caught on the unfamiliar crudeness. "Their mission was a roaring success and I was knocked up by demon seed. Then I escaped. The end."

Spike was quiet and Buffy didn't dare look up. Couldn't stand to see the barest hint of compassion on the face of this monster.

The silence crept by, uneasy and tense. Finally, Spike broke it by quietly uttering, "I'm sorry."

If she hadn't been quite so exhausted, she might have dealt with his sincere apology a bit better. As it was, misplaced blame made her see red and she took it out on the creature who had tried to end her life tonight. "You're SORRY? What, sorry that I had my virginity stolen by the military wielding overzealous speculums? Or sorry that I was violated again and again so they could shove your sperm up inside me? Don't tell me, did they give you little porno magazines to read while you jerked yourself off?" Tears of frustration steamed down her cheeks. "Or did you have someone else do it for you?"

Spike's jaw clenched, the cords of his neck becoming more pronounced the longer Buffy lashed out at him.

Buffy could feel the anger practically vibrating off of him, and when his hands came up to grip her upper arms, her glittering hazel eyes locked in challenge with his angry blue.

"No, Slayer, it wasn't a pretty picture like that at all." Spike's voice was furious, yet controlled. "Those fuckers stripped me, chained me up, bloody well starved me, shot me full of I don't know what kind of drugs, then attached some of their fancy little toys to some very sensitive parts of my anatomy." He reached down with one hand and crudely cupped his crotch for emphasis. "They juiced my privates but good, then ordered me to wank off. When I told them where they could shove it, they turned the juice back on. And left it on."

Spike rose up on one elbow to stare down at her, his expression hard. "Sorry to disappoint, but if given the choice to wank off on command or suffer the most excruciating torture of my existence..., -and that is saying a lot because vampire here, we can handle pain. Well, it wasn't really that hard of a choice."

With one more hard look, Spike flopped onto his back, the barely repressed rage and helplessness he had felt during his capture now brought back to light.

He was shocked to feel the hesitant touch of a warm palm wrap itself around one of his tightly clenched fists.

"I'm sorry," came her hesitant apology, causing Spike's eyes to fly to her face. The Slayer was apologizing to him?

"Could have sworn that is what I said to you, then you got all hot and hormonal," Spike replied, studying her out of the corner of his eye.

Rather than the backlash he'd expected to receive, he watched as the slayer's face crumpled, silent tears quickly pooling over and streaming down her hollow cheeks.

Christ, she's so young, he thought, his hand moving of its own volition to wrap around her to pull her closer. Bloody tears... They got him every time. He was such a git.

Sniffling, Buffy allowed the contact and shook her head ruefully. "God, I'm not usually hot and hormonal, as you so eloquently put it. It's just been so...," her voice trailed off as her brain was unable to come up with a word that truly described what the past months had been like. "With the running and stuff."

"I know." And he did, recapture being his biggest fear. It had kept him quiet, not wanting to draw a bit of attention to himself, so unlike his previous Big Bad persona. It wasn't like him to hide. "And then you run into me in this shithole, and I almost off you, but instead you find out that it was my sperm they shoved inside you," he added.

Buffy lifted her tear soaked face sharply. "No, you don't understand. That's been the only good thing that has happened since I escaped."

At his questioning look, Buffy gave him a small hint of a smile. "I guess my bitchy Buffy routine didn't help, did it? See, they didn't tell me what they were doing to me. I had no idea what they had put inside me. We're talking some major freakage here. I had visions of giving birth to Baby Octo-Buffy or something. So to find out that it's yours?" Buffy shrug was deliberately vague. "As far as I'm concerned, that's totally of the good in this scenario. Because at least, hello, human." Before he could argue, she added with a small smile, "Or sorta, anyway."

a/n-hopefully this answered some questions! Have got to say THANK YOU for all the reviews on this, I'm so glad you like it!

Thanks to spikeskat for beta'ing (sooo glad you're out of school for the summer sweetie!) and to Megan for keeping me going with this one.

Even on the darkest night when empty promise means empty hand
And soldiers coming home like shadows turning red
When the lights of hope are fading quickly then look to me
I’ll be your homing angel,I’ll be in your head.

Because you’re lonely in your nightmare let me in...
And there’s heat beneath your winter let me in...

*Lyrics from Lonely in your Nightmare by Duran Duran*

After Buffy's revelation, they settled into a comfortable silence. Comfortable not being something that she would have ever associated with this hard edged, ruthless vampire. Yet, with Spike's arms wrapped around her, she almost felt... safe.

Held tight in his possessive embrace, the unfamiliar feeling of security invading her being, she had almost been lulled to sleep when she felt Spike's hand shift from her hip to her belly, as if affirming that the life growing inside her womb was his. Theirs. And she found herself instinctively leaning into his touch, rather than flinching away.

Spike was listening to the steady thump of the slayer's heart beating, trying to discern the subtle difference between hers and the baby's. The dual patterns almost hypnotizing in their synchronicity – before the vampire was caught off guard when he felt the slight kick beneath his hand from the child within the Slayer's womb.

Spike's hand stopped the slow, soothing circles against her bare skin. "Will that really matter?" he asked quietly, knowing instinctively it was too soon to ask that.

Always being avoidy girl, Buffy did just that, effectively changing the subject to something else just as unpleasant.

"Did you get away the same time I did? About six months ago? They didn't just let you go, did they?"

Spike snorted. "No, they didn't just bloody well let me go. I reckon I got out the same time you did."

"How did that come about anyway? What happened that we were just able to get away like that?"

"Would I be asking if I did?" she snapped before looking properly chagrined. "Sorry. No, I don't."

Ignoring her bitchy outburst, his fingers began rubbing her abdomen once more, reestablishing the soothing, gentle circles. "From what I was able to suss out, they made the mistake of capturin' a K'tilck demon. Nasty buggars. Its friends an' family weren't too happy about the incarceration and subsequent experimentation."

"Near as I can figure, they cut the power to the holdin' cells in hopes of creatin' a diversion."

"Can't say as I was really lookin' around. Nearly didn't get out, you know. Had to break a few necks to do so, which is bloody difficult when you're weak as a kitten, lemme assure you."

Buffy couldn't begrudge him the killing, knowing she would have easily joined in to gain her own freedom. The room grew silent as both Spike and Buffy fell victim to their thoughts.

Some minutes later, Buffy finally voiced what had chased away any hint of sleepiness, her gut churning as she thought of the future.

Spike caught the fear that the Slayer tried to mask from bleeding into her voice and his gentle ministrations to her abdomen stilled once more.

"On...?" Buffy asked, her bottom lip jutting out in her confusion, and Spike was unprepared for the sudden wave of protectiveness that seared him.

"On you, pet." He caught her questioning look. "I don't abandon what belongs to me, Slayer. Whether you like it or not, you're stuck with me now. How much you fight me...well, as I said, that is gonna depend on you."

At the uncertain look in her eye, he sighed with frustration. "Look. I was with the same bloody woman for over a hundred years, yeah? And she didn't have all of her marbles most of the time. So you can be sure it wasn't always a walk in the bloody park. It didn't matter though. I took care of her, watched over her, never once thought about throwin' in the towel when the going got too rough."

"What happened to her?" Buffy had picked up on the tinge of anger and hurt he had tried to hide behind an impassive tone, but his eyes had betrayed him.

"Fickle bitch," he ground out. "We were in Sunnydale, you know, when I was tryin' to off you. After I escaped, I tracked her down for our soddin' Hallmark reunion and discovered she'd already shacked up with a Chaos demon." He couldn't keep the disgust off his face. "You ever see one o'those? They're all slime and antlers. She wouldn't leave him, said I'd been tainted."

Spike tried to swallow the bitter taste of betrayal that talking about that particular wound had opened. Shaking it off, he fixed her with a penetrating look. "Anyway, I've got you now. I don't figure on makin' a return trip to New Mexico anytime soon, so you've got someone else to help you look over your shoulder... whether you like it or not."

He couldn't tell what she was thinking and offered her a lopsided smile. "Think you can manage to trust me enough to keep us from gettin' scooped up again??"

Buffy blinked, absorbing what he had just asked her. Trust? He wanted her to trust him. Months ago, she would have thought that concept absurd. The Slayer trust a vampire? Well, a vampire besides Angel, at any rate. Yet, at this moment, she didn't have to dig too deep for her answer.

A brief look of awe transformed his features, then was gone so quickly, Buffy thought she had imagined it. But as he smiled at her, the slayer realized it was the first time she had seen him do so without false pretenses. It struck her, yet again, how much humanity he seemed to have retained and a sense of relief began to grow and spread throughout her, gaining momentum as it hummed along.

It had been difficult, at the beginning, relinquishing her rigid control to Spike, her life having been so regimented up until the point that he'd crossed paths with her. But it didn't take long to realize that he was a vampire of his word. He took care of them and she gradually stopped questioning his every move and motive.

He was trustworthy. And the very fact that she could trust him, a vampire without a soul, with her life was something she found both unique and liberating.

In the months that had followed Spike's arrival into her life, a subtle shift had begun to occur. They became friends. He made her laugh. He left her alone when she needed the silence; yet instinctively knew when she needed his much welcomed company. The baby allowed them to drop their usual roles as Vampire/Slayer, and that found them surprisingly compatible; something Buffy never would have imagined.

Spike had relocated them to the safe haven of Costa Rica; a highly populated locale with an assortment of friendly demons, a country that she rapidly fell in love with.

Buffy had even trusted Spike enough to allow him to place a claiming bite on her, caving to his insistence that it was necessary for both their cover and for her protection. Once she'd consented, it had been done in the most chaste way possible, but it brought with it a profound realization.

And for the first time, she began to look forward to the arrival of their child, something she had not dared to allow herself before.

Putting down roots, even temporary ones, was nerve-wracking, but Spike had assured her they would be safe. And Buffy had come to trust him explicitly. As time wore on, her guard lowered. Spike had used some of his demon connections to assure their anonymity, and here in this paradise, she wasn't the Slayer. She was the pregnant human mate of 'El Diablo', as was Spike's earned title. If anybody suspected anything about the demonic origins of the child she carried, not a word was said.

The fierce reputation that Spike had cultivated for himself over the last one hundred years went a long way towards keeping loose lips from wagging, and Buffy had long since learned to appreciate the fear he inspired in others.

Now in her last month of pregnancy, she could no longer defy the lethargic pull the baby put on her body; she was awkward and suffering through every late-stage pregnancy woe known to women. Spike soon learned the true meaning of 'Bitchy Buffy' and had wisely removed anything resembling a stake from the cozy home they shared.

Buffy had adapted to Spike's nocturnal ways- more or less; sleeping during the day so she could be with Spike during the cover of night. Seeking the comfort the other gave, they shared a bed, yet had not moved their relationship further.

It hadn't taken Buffy long to figure out Spike's reluctance in that regard, his body giving away his desire to do more than just hold her at night and keep the nightmares away.

It was her sense of a woman's vanity that kept her from acting on her need; Buffy didn't want her first time to be while she looked and felt as huge as a buffalo. Without practically any effort, Spike had managed to slide into her heart and wrap himself tightly around it, squeezing more each day. Buffy was afraid of doing anything that might jeopardize that fragile thread that had developed.

Taking matters into his own hands, Spike scheduled a prenatal visit for Buffy as she neared the end of what would be a typical human gestation period.

His earlier pleas for her to obtain prenatal care had gone unheeded; Buffy's fear of recapture taking precedence over her desperation to allay their fears about the baby's health. Spike knew that she was counting heavily on her slayer constitution to get her through anything she might experience during delivery.

However, one of the main reasons he had chosen Costa Rica was because of reports he'd received of a very good, and discreet, demon clinic. And he'd be damned if he was going to let her win this particular battle. Spike knew that subjecting Buffy to a prenatal examination came with the threat of exposure and possible recapture, but felt the benefits far outweighed the risk in this case.

Because he needed the reassurance that she was all right. Losing Buffy was not something he could even contemplate at this point.

In the span of a few short months, she had become his world. It wasn't just the fact that she carried his child within her womb, or that she was barely out of his sight for any length of time.

In some bizarre way, he had realized she was his human equal. She complimented him. And while she had allowed him to claim her, he was looking forward to the time when he could bind her to him, good and proper. The fact that he was planning on taking a human as a mate refused to create within him even the slightest hint of panic or doubt.

Because she belonged with him. And once they finally got to the shaggin' part, he would be marking her permanently.

His cock swelled and rubbed against the metal teeth of his zipper at just the mere thought of plunging inside her warm heat, and he hastily refocused his thoughts on something unpleasant. Wouldn't do for him to walk in on her with his cock practically bursting from his jeans, not that it would be the first time she'd seen him straining his denim around her.

As a vampire who prided himself on his prowess in bed, it should have bothered him, the lack of true intimacy in their relationship. Yet, the frequent smell of her arousal kept him from seducing her, knowing full well he could accomplish that with little difficulty.

No, for once, he wasn't going to bollocks this up. He was going to leave it in her hands. When she was ready, she would let him know.

As Spike walked up the path to their temporary, funky, two-bedroom home, he passed by a new sign that now graced the front porch.

"Think you need to lay off the Pippi Longstocking, pet," he called out in greeting, instinctively listening for the sounds of beating hearts and quickly making his way to the kitchen. "It's pickled your brain, but good. If I find out you're thinkin' about gettin' yourself a monkey and calling it 'Mr. Nelson', we're going to have words."

He found Buffy sitting at the kitchen table with an empty pint of Ben and Jerry's ice cream in front of her. It was on the tip of his tongue to tease her more about her bizarre nesting habits, when he noticed the twin moist tracks that ran down her cheeks, telling their own story.

Striding forward, he threw himself down into the chair opposite her and took her hands in his own. "What's wong?"

Buffy sniffled and hastily wiped at her eyes. She had tried to get this latest crying jag under control before Spike had come home, but unfortunately, she was at the mercy of the hormone monster yet again.

He stared at her in that unnerving way she had quickly discovered that he possessed. "Don't need to lie to me, you know. You can tell me if somethin's buggin' ya."

Buffy was silent for a moment, then expelled a heavy sigh. "I was just thinking about home again, is all. My mom's going to be a grandmother and she probably thinks I'm totally dead."

Spike nodded knowingly, figuring it had to be something like this. "Well, since we both disappeared good ole Sunnyhell at the same time, they probably think I had something to do with it."

Buffy nodded sadly. "I just wish I could let her know I was ok. Just so I'm not thinking about her lying in bed every night worrying about me."

Unable to deny her anything, Spike's mind began to work on a way to grant her wish, regardless of the risks. Standing up, he pressed a kiss to her forehead, then disappeared out the door once again.

The next evening, Spike left the 'villa' as soon as the sun went down. Buffy didn't question his departure, completely , engrossed in her book. Reading had become a new passion, one that she'd had neither the time nor patience for in her previous life. But now, with literally nothing but time on her hands, losing herself in the pages of fiction was her favorite thing to do.

Spike entered the demon bar and went up to the bartender, holding his hand out expectantly. A cell phone was dropped unceremoniously into it, and Spike nodded his head in thanks. He wasted no time in exiting the establishment, eager for privacy.

"Spike..." Angel ground out, eyes flashing yellow as he realized who had set up the cryptic phone call. He was standing in the dank basement of Willy's bar, the steel-plated walls offering a sinister edge to what he had been sure was a set up. "What the fuck did you do with her?"

Spike sighed, knowing the call would go like this. "Listen, you ponce, I have some things I need to tell ya."

There was something in the tone of Spike's voice that warned Angel to drop the testosterone and listen, but he quickly ignored it. This was Spike - and that was all Angel needed to remember, not about to give his erstwhile grandchilde the benefit of the doubt. "I'm all ears," he said snidely.

Angel growled impatiently. "Well, if I knew what in the hell was going on, it might be a little easier. Where is she?"

Frustration began building up and he was tempted to hurl the phone against the wall rather than have to suffer through talking this out with the big poof.

"Is she still alive, Spike?" Angel asked dangerously when the silence extended a fraction too long.

"Yes, she's bloody well alive, you git!" When he heard Angel's roar of anger at the confirmation that Spike was responsible for Buffy's disappearance, he put the phone down and ran his fingers through his blonde hair in agitation

The volume hadn't improved when Spike returned the phone to his ear. "Where is she, Spike? What did you do to her?"

"Look, you over-inflated sack of crap, I told you I'd fill you in," Spike repeated only to be interrupted.

"So why are you calling? To gloat that you have her? Holding her for ransom, maybe? If you have hurt her in anyway, so help me...."

Beyond frustrated, Spike took the phone and banged it loudly against the wall three times. "Do I have your attention now? You interrupt me one more soddin' time, and I'm hanging up. Then you can go tell Buffy's mum that you drove me off because you couldn't keep that blowhole known as your mouth shut for longer than a second. You got me?"

Hearing Spike call the girl he loved by her given name infuriated him, but acknowledging the amount of emotional horror Joyce had suffered in the months Buffy had disappeared, Angel managed to stifle the retort on his lips and remain quiet.

"Right. First off. To clear up a few misconceptions; I did not snatch the Slayer. You can bloody well thank the military, the good ole’ US of A, for that one."

"And you just what... happened to disappear at the same time, is that what you're saying?"

"Well, Buffy wasn't the only one those wankers snatched, so yeah, I guess that is what I'm saying."

Again, the use of her given name by Spike, of all people, sent a bolt of fury through Angel. Yet, it was the lack of hatred and venom in Spike's voice when referring to Buffy that allowed Angel to finally put aside his issues and listen. In a far less accusatory tone of voice, Angel remarked, "So, the military kidnapped both of you? Why? To serve what purpose?"

Spike's body relaxed a fraction when he heard the shift of the poof's tone. "Experimentation. Cloning, I think."

Angel's gut clenched at the thought of Buffy being experimented on. But now he could no longer deny Spike's sincerity, and that just made his anguish more acute. "Where is this base? She's not still there, is she?"

"New Mexico. Don't ask me where, wasn't paying too much attention at the time. And no, she escaped the same time I skipped out; going on eight months, maybe."

There was silence. "So, why are you calling me and not Buffy? Why hasn't she come home?"

"Her mum. Slayer wanted her to know she was ok." Spike sighed heavily on the phone. "They...did stuff to her in there. They won't have given up looking for her. She can't bloody well come home, you lot have probably been under watch from the get go. The second she steps foot in good ole Sunnyhell, she'll be snatched up faster than anythin'."

Angel slumped heavily onto a crate, finding his legs unable to support his weight. He couldn't remember the last time he and Spike had spoken so civilly to one another; it was unnerving. "So, what aren't you telling me?"

Thank you AGAIN for all the reviews that have been left for this fic. *stunned* I'm sorry I haven't responded to each one, but I just want you to know how very appreciated it!

Angel's eyes squeezed shut as Spike's news washed through him. The girl he loved was going to be a mother. Fatherhood wasn't something he'd ever considered, always finding children more on the annoying side than anything. Especially since he'd been cursed with a soul. As Angelus, they had been nothing more than an amusing food source.

But this was Buffy. He hadn't realized just how much she had come to mean to him until she had disappeared, and there wasn't a day that went by that he didn't regret the fact that he hadn't allowed himself to take their relationship further. The past ninth months had been excruciating. If the price of getting her back included having to deal with a baby, then, well..., he'd do what needed to be done. This time, he'd do the right thing.

    Having mentally prepared himself to accept the responsibility for the unborn child, Angel sucked in an unnecessary breath and allowed his emotions to bleed into his voice. The fact that it was Spike on the other end had lost the heated impact in the wake of his unselfish revelation.


      "Tell her that's it's... ok, Spike. She doesn't have to be afraid to come home. She won't be alone in this," he offered bravely. "Her mom will be there for her, and... so will I."

Spike ripped the phone away from his ear and gave it an incredulous look. He'd always thought Peaches was slow, but this was downright pathetic.

"What part of 'being experimented on' did not penetrate that oversized melon of yours? The military isn't gunnin' for her just cos' she's the bleedin' slayer who slipped through their fingers! They want the baby they planted in her."

Demon experimentation. Cloning. Pregnant. Buffy. Those words suddenly began looping through Angel's head on continuous replay to the disturbing theme of the X-Files, and he had to visibly shake his head to clear it.

It wasn't a human baby. Fear struck a wide path through every cell of Angel's body, and his very devotion and resolve to be there for Buffy and her child suddenly came to question.

"What...," Angel had to pause to clear his throat before he could continue, finding it suddenly too constricted and dry to allow any type of recognizable speech. "What, uh... what did they impregnate her with?"

Angel's head dropped back against the wall as he absorbed Spike's announcement, somehow anger not taking the primary role in his careening emotions. Rather, it was something almost akin to relief he felt. A vampire/slayer hybrid. No, not just that. A child of Spike and Buffy. His Buffy.

The ensuing silence snapped Spike's last nerve and he began a rambling monologue, each statement hitting Angel like a blow to the head.

"Look, I didn't know, alright? Ran into the bint in some dive in god knows where. Hardly even recognized her, you know? So I followed her outside, we scrap a wee bit, and then I went in for the kill. 'Bout nearly dusted when I soddin' well tasted me in her blood."

"You tried to kill her?" Angel's voice was suddenly cold as he processed that bit of information; even as he tried to remember the last time he'd heard Spike so unnerved.

"Well, yeah. It's what I do, you know? Bloody Slayer of Slayers here." Spike paused and took a deep breath, knowing he was rambling and not helping his case any. "Look, I only called to let you know the Slayer was safe. Don't know exactly when I'm going to be the proud papa, but she's due any day. She's been all teary as of late because of her mum, and I figured you could pass along the news."

There it was again - that unfettered hint of sentiment in Spike's voice that managed to chip away at Angel's fury, sending another wave of reassurance through him. Even Angel couldn't deny the younger vampire's devotion when taking care of those he had feelings for.

"Somewhere safe," Spike replied, finding himself shocked at the lack of venom in Angel's voice. It was unexpected.

"I got us set up somewhere. We're safe. I'm... takin' care of her, ok? Just tell her mum that she loves her and she's goin' to be a grandmum soon."

With that last rush of instructions, Spike pushed the end button and smashed the phone beneath his boot, hoping that he hadn't just set something in motion that would turn around and bite him in the ass.

Back in Sunnydale, Angel had yet to move as the full impact of Spike's news hit him. Then, with a heavy sigh, he picked himself off of the crate that had borne his weight and headed towards 1630 Revello Drive. He didn't need Spike to tell him that caution was necessary here.

Luckily, he was experienced in dodging surveillance techniques, finally realizing that was why Spike had chosen him to call rather than Joyce herself, or Giles.

With a short stop by his apartment to gather some necessary supplies, Angel headed over to Giles' .

It took the watcher a moment to reach the door after the loud buzz of the bell sounded throughout his flat. He was struck once more with the hope that it would be Buffy on the other side, only to be disappointed.

"Maybe a little one," Angel replied as he passed easily over the threshold, his hands shoved into his pocket. As Giles turned away, Angel slipped one hand out and smoothly palmed a note into Giles' unsuspecting grasp.

Giving a slight jerk of surprise, Giles pinned a questioning look on the vampire, who feigned nonchalance. Mentally questioning the vampire's odd behavior, he turned to his sidebar and discreetly opened the note.

Bloody hell, even the vampire's notes were vague and cryptic, Giles mentally lamented. He could feel his heart swell at the mention of Buffy, his curiosity all but overwhelming, but he played along.

"So, Angel. Can I inquire as to what brings you out tonight?" Giles asked casually, handing a tumbler of brandy over.

Angel shrugged, taking the proffered drink. "Just out and about. Thought maybe I'd see if you wanted to go over and visit with Joyce. Figure she's a bit lonely these days."

The watcher nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, that sounds like a capital plan. I know the disappearance of Buffy has been quite hard on the poor woman."

Angel nodded in agreement and they made the pretense of sipping their drinks in a companionable silence. Not soon enough for Giles, they finally headed out the door.

Giles attempted to question Angel en route to Revello Drive; however, a nearly imperceptible shake of the head from Angel quickly silenced him. He had come to know the souled vampire rather well since Buffy had disappeared; and while always broody and morose, Angel was certainly quite a bit more so this evening. He cursed under his breath at not being able to barrage the vampire with questions regarding his missing charge.

In a tension-filled span of fifteen minutes, Angel had performed the necessary spell that had been taught to him during World War Two, the curious eyes of the two mortals present watching his every move. It was a spell that had been used to scramble surveillance equipment, regardless of the sophistication, and Angel was confident it would be effective in this instance - if indeed they were under surveillance. Joyce had watched Angel in stunned silence, not quite buying the cover story of the vampire mixing together an assortment of potpourri that he was hoping to market.

However, she was smart enough to keep her mouth shut once Angel shot her a black look when she attempted to uncover the true reason for the non-aromatic mix of herbs.

For extra precaution, Angel directed them into the bathroom where the shower and sink were quickly turned on. Only then, did he feel it marginally safe to impart the news he had.

"Oh thank god...," Joyce cried, her hand flying up to cover her mouth. "Where is she?"

"How did you come by this information?" Giles asked, his relief clearly palpable in the sudden sag of his posture.

Giles ripped his glasses off. "Good lord. You mean to tell me that Spike called to gloat?"

Angel shook his head. "That was my assumption at first, but he...," he looked at Buffy's mother, who had aged years in the months her daughter had been gone. "He just wanted me to tell Joyce that Buffy was ok and that she loves her."

"So you didn't actually speak with her? How do we know this isn't another one of his games?" Giles asked angrily, desperation fueling him.

Angel's sigh was audible over the precautionary use of water. "Because he wasn't the one who took her, that's why."

"What happened to her, Angel?" Joyce asked, homing in with a mother's uncanny radar bullshit for bullshit that there was more to this than he wanted to tell.

"The military kidnapped her. For...experimentation purposes, apparently," Angel finally revealed. "She escaped."

Joyce's gasp of dismay was muffled by Giles' heated curse. It had not been an easy task for him to tell Joyce that her missing daughter was the Slayer and the suspected kidnapper a vampire who had come into town to with the sole purpose of orchestrating her demise. The Council had been unsuccessful in determining if she was indeed alive or deceased, the Slayer line becoming jaded once Buffy had died at the hands of the Master.

"Apparently, they've both been on the run since their escape, and they happened to meet up," Angel admitted before pinning a serious look on the Watcher. "There's more, Giles, and I don't know how long my spell is going to last. Buffy's pregnant."

"Oh..., why isn't she coming home? She could come home. She doesn't need to be ashamed," Joyce cried, unaware of the undercurrent that had developed in the crowded bathroom.

Giles carefully replaced his glasses, his face growing cold as he read Angel's body language appropriately. "Does this have something to do with the experimentation?" Angel nodded morosely. "I see. Is it...human?"

The look on Angel's face gave Giles the answer he was looking for, and he could feel his anger simmering and coming to a direct boil.

"What are you talking about? Why would you even ask if it was human? " Joyce asked in confusion. "How could it be anything but?"

"Was apparently taken the same time as Buffy and was used as the donor," Angel replied stoically, again struck with a lack of fury at this revelation.

Giles felt a small measure of relief upon hearing that it was Spike's child that Buffy carried. At the very least, Spike was a known variable, but he feared for the baby and his slayer.

"What are you saying, Angel?" Joyce asked. "That she's having a vampire's baby?"

When Angel looked at Giles helplessly, the Watcher ripped his glasses off once more in agitation. "Yes, it would appear that way."

Angel mumbled something under his breath and broke eye contact, suddenly finding the running water fascinating.

"I said, he actually sounded like he cared about her," Angel admitted. Seeing the needy look on Joyce's face, he elaborated. "He said he was taking care of her and that the reason he got in touch with me was because Buffy had been upset about you not knowing she was alive."

Joyce turned teary eyes in Giles' direction. "Rupert, something must be done. What can be done about this? I want my daughter home!"

The look on his face was serious. "Angel, I don't suppose Spike said where they'd been held, did he?"

Seeing the look of grim determination enter the Watcher's face, Angel asked, "What are you planning?"

The smile he offered was like nothing Angel had ever seen, it was chilling. "I do believe I'll take this matter up with the Council."

When Spike quietly entered the villa hours after his disturbing conversation with Angel, his mood was decidedly resigned. He knew that he had set something in motion by placing the phone call, yet couldn't find it within himself to regret what he’d done.
.

He found Buffy sprawled awkwardly on the large, plush sofa in their cozy living room that was just off the kitchen. She had evidently fallen asleep again while she read, the way her book was collapsed haphazardly on top of her enlarged bosom a telling sign.

Spike took a moment to watch her, something he found himself doing a lot lately. That familiar feeling of affection and protectiveness welled up inside of him, and a tender smile found its way to his full lips.

She looked so bloody young and innocent laying there, her lips slightly parted as she breathed in a slow, unhurried rate - indicative of her deep slumber. They had recently celebrated her seventeenth birthday, and Spike thought about how much she had changed since he'd almost taken her life in that seedy alley.

He knew she had been haunted, as he had been, by the horrifying experience inside of the military compound. That constant threat of recapture, coupled with the unwanted and unknown pregnancy, had slowly been draining her life away. Almost as surely as he had himself attempted to do to her . It had just been recently that her eyes had finally lost that haunted edge, and Spike intended to keep it from returning.

Buffy hadn't been the only one walking around a mere shell of her former self when their paths had crossed that fateful night. It typically took a lot to break a vampire; especially one that had suffered Angelus' sadistic whims like he had as a fledgling. But the torture and degradation he had experienced during his involuntary incarceration had managed to strike its way to the very core of his being, carving out his insides until there had been very little of himself remaining.

Somehow, Buffy had managed to fill him back up. Had given him purpose. Had given him life. And being the one to chase away her nightmares had kept his own tortured dreams at bay, and that suited him just fine.

Gently scooping Buffy off of the couch, he cradled her gently against his chest. Even with her stomach swollen with child, she weighed practically nothing, and Spike easily carried her down the narrow hallway to their bedroom.

Drawing back the bright, tropical-printed quilt, he carefully laid her down on the firm mattress before stripping off his own shirt and jeans; throwing on a pair of cotton gym shorts before slipping into bed behind her, his arm immediately snaking around her middle to rest against the evidence of his legacy.

The fact that she didn't wake during his transfer told him of her exhaustion, and he leaned over to kiss the scar he had left upon her neck, ignoring the sudden bloodlust that engulfed him at the close proximity to her unguarded throat.

He still fed from humans, but abided by the rules that Buffy had set for him in that regard. He remembered well the argument that had ensued about his feeding habits, but had finally come around to her way of thinking: no killing and his victims had to be male, and low profile. It made it much harder to feed, but he found that if he stuck with a certain class of citizen, their lack of credibility pretty much ensured that any claims they made about being bit would not be well received or investigated.

Spike had quickly come to find that Buffy was a bossy little chit, and wondered if that would prevail past this pregnancy.

With Buffy snug in his arms, it didn't take him long to drift off to sleep, finding himself suddenly exhausted by the events of the evening.

He was awoken a mere hour later by the sensation of the mattress dipping down as Buffy heaved herself back into bed.

Spike bit back the grin at the adorable expression on her face. "Bitty Spike tap dancin' on your bladder again?"

Scooting herself back so that she was once again spooned up against Spike, she grabbed his arm and brought it snugly about her middle. "More like the whole damn dance troupe. And would you stop calling it bitty Spike? We're not even sure yet if it's a boy or a girl."

"Spike could be a girl's name," he teased, his fingers burrowing under her top to caress the taut, smooth skin of her abdomen.

Buffy snorted indelicately. "Yeah right, I can sooo see that. As in, not." She sighed in contentment when Spike began rubbing her belly. "So... where did you go tonight?"

Even though there was not the slightest hint of accusation present in her voice, Spike tensed.

Reading him accurately, Buffy suffered through the difficulty of turning over in the bed so that she was facing him. "Spike..., what did you do?"

Mind scrambling, Spike reached for the first thing he could come up with to avoid having to answer her. "I, uh... made you an appointment to be seen at that clinic I told you about."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Duh, I know. They called here to confirm it, stealth guy."

"Oh." Seeing the slayer staring at him with one eyebrow cocked in silent question, Spike broke under the pressure. "Oh, bloody hell, all right. I called Peaches."

Buffy's eyes widened in incredulity as both fear and elation filled her. "You did WHAT? Why?"

The silence that followed gave her the answer and she was suddenly overcome with emotion. Tears snuck down her cheeks as she reached up to gently cup Spike's well defined cheek.

"Oh, bloody hell! That is why I did it in the first place, you silly bint. Needed to put an end to these soddin' waterworks every time I turn around," Spike grumbled. "I seriously hope you aren't like this after the..."

His attempted tirade was effectively shut down when a sweet pair of lips tentatively touched his, curtailing any words that had been on his mind.

Unsure at first, Buffy soon became more aggressive when Spike moaned into her mouth, his fingers finding the curve of her hip and hauling her against him; unmindful of the large barrier of belly that was pressed against his. It was the first time she had kissed him in passion, the previous chaste pecks not meaning anything beyond mere comfort.

Teasing her lips with tiny nibbles, he wasted no time in demanding entrance with his tongue, another moan issuing when it was granted. She greeted him eagerly, her tongue dueling for dominance as the kiss moved into the realm of something more serious.

Buffy could feel his hardness digging into her belly, not that it was the first time she had felt it against her. But it was the first time that she had been deliberately responsible for it, and it gave her a wicked thrill of feminine satisfaction to feel how much she affected him. When Spike's fingers moved from her hip to trail teasingly up her torso, to find their way under her shirt, her breath hitched in her throat. He quickly sought the ripening weight of her breast, molding his palm over the firm mound and that was when the first hint of doubt began to creep in.

When Spike slid his hand back down to grip the hem of her shirt and attempted to pull it over her head, that doubt became a full fledged panic.

With all of her slayer strength and speed, Buffy ripped her mouth away from his and grabbed her t-shirt from his grasp, playing tug-o-war with the cotton fabric that left her undeniably the winner, and her face red with embarrassment.

"Oh god, I'm sorry!" she cried, suddenly able to not meet his eyes as she attempted to scoot away from their intimate position. She could still feel the hard length of him jutting impressively from his shorts, and that caused her to back peddle more furiously; an awkward feat in her highly pregnant state.

His hand clamped down on her hip to still her movement. "Keep movin' around like that, pet, and we're really goin' to have a problem on our hands," he told her while gritting his teeth against the delicious sensations of Buffy moving against his engorged member.

Buffy instantly stilled, her eyes wide with mortification. "I'm sorry," she repeated.

"No, I mean, I am really, REALLY sorry. I started something here, then went all Schizo-Buffy on you. I'm just so...HUGE and I feel ugly," Buffy admitted, with a glare down at the offending belly. "Uber ugly. I just...don't feel desirable right now."

When Spike felt he had himself under control, he let go of her hip and tipped her chin up to meet his eyes with his index finger. "Look, pet. I admit I'm more than a wee bit disappointed here. You got me hard as a rock, yeah?" He thrust against her for emphasis. "But I'm thinkin' I don't really want you right now, not like this."

Buffy threw him a dirty look. "Oh you big... vampire jerk! That was the part where you were supposed to say that I wasn't huge. That I was just very pregnant and beautiful."

Spike couldn't help the smirk that curved over his lips. "That right? Well, you are. Pregnant and beautiful, I mean," he added with a rush when he caught sight of another black look sent his way. "No, the reason I don't want you this way is because when we finally shag …” He paused a moment, waiting for her to look at him. Really look at him. To see the desire he barely managed to keep in check around her. Once he was sure he had her undivided attention, saw her mouth make that little “o” in realization he continued, “When we finally shag, I am gonna make you give me everythin' you got. Won't accept anything less."

Buffy gulped at the sensual tone of Spike's voice, instantly growing wet at the erotic images his words evoked. "Oh."

He snorted and gathered her in arms. "Yeah, Oh. Gonna make you bloody well scream, luv. Gonna make you come so many times, you won't know when one stops and the other starts. All. Bloody. Night. Long."

Another gulp. "Pretty sure of yourself, aren't you?" Not that she didn’t doubt his claim, not for one second, but appearances had to be maintained, right?

"Oh, you'll be making it up to me, don't you worry your cute little arse over that one."

"Oh, that's a soddin' promise you can be sure I'll be keepin' you to," Spike replied, closing his eyes and cuddling her close as he tried valiantly to ignore the raging hard-on that persisted.

There was a decidedly ominous feeling in the air that soured the next couple of days. Buffy's nerves were strung tighter than ever and the added mix of her volatile pregnancy hormones were cause for one very miserable slayer. Spike escaped gratefully at dusk each night, eager for a spot of violence to calm his own anxieties.

Four days after he had placed the call to Angel, Spike returned home to find Buffy engrossed in a child birthing book; her pose relaxed as she sat on the overstuffed couch with her feet propped up on the coffee table. When he heard her muttering under her breath, he smiled and settled in to eavesdrop.

He watched as one hand idly rubbed tender circles on the large expanse of abdomen she’d just exposed. Her face suddenly scrunched up in disgust, and he realized she wasn't talking to herself, but to the baby.

"Ew! It says here that there is normally between 2.1 to 5.9 cups of amniotic fluid for a full-term baby," she commented, her hand ceasing its motion as Buffy looked down at her belly sternly. "But since you're spawn of Spike, you'll probably double that, won't you? Just to increase the major ick factor for me." Buffy felt the kick that answered. "Yeah, that's what I thought." Her hand began the soothing motion again as she buried her nose back in her book.

Buffy jumped at the sound of Spike's voice. "You jerk! You totally scared the crap out of me! Don't you know you're not supposed to go around scaring pregnant women?"

"Sorry," he remarked, although his smirk told Buffy that he was anything but as he joined her on the couch. "What are you doing?"

"I was having a conversation with your spawn. What does it look like I'm doing?" she teased, her head lolling over to rest against his welcoming shoulder.

Spike's larger, cooler hand covered hers, and together they watched as her abdomen rolled and shifted by unseen feet and limbs.

"I know I didn't say it before, but thank you for making that appointment for me. I'm just... gah! I'll just be so happy when this baby is born, you know?" Buffy posed, not expecting a reply. "There are just too many unknown variables right now, and that just gives me the wiggins. I don't LIKE unknown variables."

Buffy struggled to her feet and began to pace in an ungainly waddle. "I mean, I've got the whole birth thing to get through, and we are so totally not even prepared for that. Then there is the whole 'is it good or is it evil' theme going on..."

Spike got to his feet and blocked her path, his arms going around her to draw her close. "Hey, evil here, and you're not that bad off."

Buffy nestled the side of her face against Spike's chest, inhaling the utter maleness of him. "And that is what I'm counting on."

Spike pressed a kiss to the top of her head, relieved to hear her talking about the baby as if it was a reality that would be impacting their day to day life, knowing that she had finally come to terms with the forced pregnancy. She was accepting them both and that was more than he had ever expected.

Her prenatal appointment was the next day and Spike was eager to see how Buffy fared through it. One thing he knew; he would be right there by her side for the entire thing.

Seated across from Quentin Travers, the head of Watcher's Council, Giles found himself experiencing a profound sense of relief in addition to his ever-present trepidation. While he’d made his travel plans to return to London, the continued threat of inadvertently alerting whoever it was that had them under surveillance that his slayer had made some type of contact, and that he – as well as a few others - were aware of what had been done to her. Fear of being found out, and thus subjected to capture themselves, had stretched taut their already frazzled nerves. Now, a continent away, Giles could only hope that the others were still managing to hold up under the strain.

After learning from Spike what had been done to the slayer and the vampire, and the lengths the military would no doubt go to secure their recapture, the three decided that to share any news with Xander and Willow would be inviting sure disaster. And while Giles felt a small measure of guilt in that regard, he would do whatever was necessary to make sure Buffy's fragile hold on anonymity was not compromised.

Due to the excellent security at the Council headquarters, Giles felt fairly comfortable disclosing the information he had flown halfway across the world to impart.

While he and Travers had not seen eye-to-eye on quite a few things regarding the current - albeit missing - slayer, Giles prayed he was not making a grievous error by taking the matter to the Council. However, the watcher felt he had no other option. Something had to be done and the Council had the means to accomplish it.

"So, you are telling me that some secret branch of the US military had the very nerve to abduct our slayer?" Travers summed up, his flaring nostrils the only indication of his rising fury.

"And you believe this to be true?" Travers questioned, to which Giles did not hesitate to nod his head. "Yet, by your own admittance, the source of this information is highly suspect. If I recall correctly, one of the demons involved was even implicated in Miss. Summers disappearance."

Again, Giles nodded. "I realize that. However, from what we witnessed firsthand of William the Bloody, he is rash and compulsive. Even the numerous volumes that refer to him all depict a vampire who is not known for his patience. Waiting almost ten months to contact us does not fall under that category of reckless and impulsive. No, I am inclined to believe it is the truth... until we are presented with facts that state otherwise."

"You know he was cursed with a soul. He has... feelings for Miss Summers, and I simply cannot see him orchestrating something of this nature. He has proven himself an ally, aiding us while we have been without a slayer these past months. The Hellmouth would be quite overrun if we’d not had his assistance."

Travers' face gave nothing away. The reports he had received matched this information, but Mr. Giles did not need to know that. "So you trust that this an accurate account?"

Finally, there was a break in the composed British mask, and Travers' eyes darkened with anger. "This will simply not be tolerated. I will not have my Slayer line compromised by the United States government, of all people." It was said with a sneer, and Giles knew it was time to drop the other shoe.

Travers placed the phone he'd just lifted in his hand back down in the cradle, and gave him a pointed look. "Well?"

This was the tricky part. "Before I continue any further, I must insist that no harm come to any of the parties involved until we know exactly what we are dealing with here."

It was on the tip of Travers' tongue to argue that fact when he realized that there was more to Rupert Giles than meet the eye. A sliver of apprehension passed through him at the cold and savage look on his employee's face; a look that promised a slow and painful demise if crossed and Travers found himself reluctantly agreeing to Giles' demand.

Giles nodded, wishing he could keep this part to himself, but instinctively knowing that the Council would be hard-pressed to eradicate the threat without this information. Taking a deep breath, he announced, "Apparently, Buffy was used as part of a breeding program, and the military found a measure of success in their, er... breeding attempt."

That caught Travers attention, his eyes widening as the implication hit him. "Ms. Summers is with child?"

"Am I correct in assuming that this is the true reason as to why you are here?" Travers questioned.

The watcher didn't bother trying to deny it. "It is. Her mother wants her home. The Hellmouth needs the slayer. That is just not possible with the threat of recapture following her. Spike informed Angel that, for now, they were someplace safe, and that he was taking care of her."

Giles smiled as he realized he'd saved the best news for last. "Yes, Spike. A.K.A William the Bloody. The self-professed slayer of slayers. Apparently, he was the one used to father the child."

It gave Giles a small sliver of reassurance to see anger and outrage on the face of the Council head, rather than the calculated cunning he'd expected, upon receiving the news that the slayer was pregnant with the child of a vampire.

Travers appeared thoughtful, then picked the phone up once more. "I have some phone calls to make. We shall reconvene in oh... let's say, an hour's time, shall we?"

"Very well." Giles stood up and turned towards the door, before turning back to regard his employer. "Oh, and Travers?"

A sinister smile transformed Giles' face. "Believe me when I tell you that you don't want to double-cross me." With that parting comment, the watcher left Travers alone to make his phone calls.

Giles returned to his superior's office at the appointed time, and could tell immediately by the grim set of the other man's face that there was news to be shared.

"We have confirmed your report," Travers began without preamble. "Our contracted team in California found the presence of multiple high tech surveillance units at your flat, your place of employ, and the home of Joyce Summers..., as well as various other locations. In light of this, I have authorized our teams of investigators to drop all projects and focus on locating this secret laboratory. Once we have an exact location, we will begin our own counter-surveillance."

"And Buffy?" Giles couldn't help but ask, a confrontational tone creeping into his voice.

Travers' eyes gave nothing away. "Once this military operation has been pinpointed, we will focus our efforts on her whereabouts. Beyond that, I am not prepared to share any more with you at this time."

"Mr. Giles, you have to realize that I cannot give you my word when I do not know what, exactly, it is we are dealing with here. I assume you are not in possession of all the fact either. What I can tell you is that my priority includes getting our slayer back home... and in one piece. Anything beyond that, well... I just don't have an answer for you."

    Giles nodded, not hearing what he would have liked to, but appreciating the frankness. "Very well. You will keep me informed?"


     "Of course."

It took a lot to unnerve a century old master vampire, yet Buffy had managed to do just that. Her continued silence since leaving the clinic had managed to set his fangs on edge. Yet, her persistent dazed affect was familiar - because it mirrored his own.

It wasn't until he had unlocked their front door and disabled the sophisticated security system, allowing them to finally enter that Spike found he could not hold back a moment longer. Keepin' his mouth shut wasn't somethin' he was known for, after all.

Buffy slowly brought her eyes up to meet the midnight blue that seemed to burn brightly with a gripping intensity, and she couldn't help the small shiver that rolled along her spine. Those beautiful blue eyes managed to shatter the self-absorbed world she had retreated to since leaving the clinic. Her slow, leisurely smile teased the vampire as much as her silence and he suddenly realized she was glowing.

"We're having a little girl, Spike." Her soft voice was a sharp contradiction to the radiant smile she was gifting him with.

Spike smiled broadly in response, and Buffy was once more struck by the sheer beauty of the man. This demon. With sudden clarity, it dawned on her that she wouldn't have wanted another man - and Spike was truly that - to have fathered this child she carried.

Feeling rather chuffed himself, Spike didn't dare mention that it was technically the military that had done the deed, knowing that without whatever drugs that had been pumped into his undead corpse, there would be no way he could have ever been capable of this little miracle. It was also the first time he was able to think of what had been done to them without experiencing a burst of homicidal rage.

Like a young child, Buffy began bouncing on the balls of her feet with newfound energy, giddily holding up the ultrasound picture that immortalized their baby. "See?"

He grinned indulgently, glancing down at the black and white photos that showed their baby and not some abstract picture of an alien life form. "I see that, pet. Was there for the whole bloody thing, remember?"

Her face settled into a mock pout. "Party pooper." She turned to make her way towards the kitchen. "Do we have any of that yummy chocolate cake left?"

Spike caught up to her in two strides, his fingers closing around her upper arm gently to still her forward progress. "I'll get it. You go set yourself down nice and comfy, yeah?"

Flashing him a grateful smile, she leaned up and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. "Thank you," she murmured against his mouth before heading for her favorite spot in the living room.

Spike could feel the sweet burn of her lips against his as he made his way into the kitchen, a sappy grin on his face. After their new intimacy the night before, Spike had been nervous about Buffy's reaction to the next level their relationship had reached. To his surprise, however, she displayed no awkwardness or regret. In fact, she had become increasingly demonstrative with her affections as the day wore on.

Her good mood had lasted until it was time for her prenatal appointment. As they walked through the door that led them into the clinic's plush waiting room, Spike was sure the bones of his hand were slowly being crushed by the sheer force of her desperate grip.

After a very brief wait, the two had been led to an examining room, and Spike helped her to undress and change into the open-backed gown. Luckily, they had provided two gowns - one for the back and one for the front - and once garbed in the highly unflattering garments, Spike had settled the slayer onto his lap to wait for the doctor’s arrival.

Spike had never quite seen the particular look of fear upon Buffy's face as was present during her exam; her anxiety palpable, the dread in her expressive hazel eyes barely contained. Yet, the mere fact that the necessary pelvic exam had been conducted in such a different manner as her previous violations, allowed Buffy a small measure of comfort. Spike found the staff friendly - procedures were explained, questions were answered. Nothing like the time she’d been incarcerated by the military.

As promised, Spike had refused to leave her side, murmuring encouragement that had assisted in abating the waves of panic that had threatened Buffy's peace of mind. After it was over, Buffy found herself angry at the weakness she had displayed and vowed that her time for panic was officially over.

When it had come time for the ultrasound, Spike had steeled himself for disillusionment. However, Buffy'd managed to shock the hell out of him.

He had anticipated her first question to revolve around the presence of any demonic attributes that might be visible by ultrasound, but it was as if that thought had never crossed her mind. And the doctor had never mentioned it, concentrating, instead, on the baby’s sex and health.

The doctor and ultrasound technician had assured both of them that, as far as they could see, nothing was giving either a cause for concern. To their credit, they did not even mention the way the baby's heart rate kept in direct time with her own - when in actuality, the rate should have been beating at approximately double of Buffy's. If her baby had been entirely human, of course.

And now he was going to have a daughter. Unbidden tears blurred his vision as the vampire stood in the kitchen and stared down at the remnants of cake that Buffy had all but devoured the previous night. Worry began seeping through his hardened resolve. Buffy's body was getting ready to deliver, evidenced by the thinning and dilation of her cervix, and Spike found that he was bloody terrified. The clinic was sending over a midwife to assist with the home birth, but not even that small measure was doing much to alleviate his concern.

"You better not be in there eating my cake, Spike! Where is it?" Buffy whined playfully from the other room. "Both of your girls are hungry!"

Giles had the choice of staying in London or returning home to Sunnydale - opting to choose the former. He reasoned that if the Council made a move, he wanted to be there to lend a hand.

Knowing that he was most likely under some sort of surveillance, but this time by the Council, Giles executed his next move with extreme caution. His paranoia over being watched and overheard was increasing with each moment, and the watcher could only guess at what Buffy's life had been like these past months.

At the designated time, Giles moved to one of the Council's extensive libraries and situated himself in an unused, dusty corner. Palming the newly-obtained cellular phone, he turned the power on and waited for it to ring. He didn't exactly know why he was taking such strenuous measures, was merely following a gut feeling.

While he waited, he began to flip through the books he had pulled from the library’s shelves that made mention of personal relationships between a slayer and vampire. It didn't take long before he soon found himself engrossed in the material available. So much so, that he visibly started when the phone suddenly vibrated, alerting him that there was a call.

"Did I mention how much I hate this basement?" Angel grumbled on the other end, eyeing the steel walls of Willy's basement once more. His displeasure at remaining behind in Sunnydale was clear with every word he spoke.

"Yes, yes, of course," Giles replied dubiously. "Everything is just right as rain here. I had no problem with the flight whatsoever."

Angel sighed and shook his head. How he, the once great and powerful Angelus, had fallen. "Fine. I'll call again same time tomorrow night."

"Very well. I shall look forward to it." Giles stood up and prepared to leave. "I will talk to you on the 'morrow. Get some rest."

"Yes, dear," Angel replied mockingly, pulling out the piece of paper that Giles had written down the code phrases and what they meant. This was ridiculous. A brood was forthcoming, Angel could feel it. He'd just shaken off the last one.

Giles pushed the end button and returned to his room, taking with him the volumes he had retrieved. He felt rather like a dashing James Bond, and a spring suddenly crept into his step.

Buffy snuggled deeper into Spike's embrace, her body instinctively seeking the comfort of his as she wavered on the very cusp of waking and dropping back into a deep, peaceful slumber.

That deep oblivion where she didn't have to go pee every five minutes. Where her boobs didn't seem to suffer from some sort of growth disturbance. Where the Tums tablets weren't turning into her typical after-dinner mint.

Sleep had just won the tug-o-war, and Buffy's mind and body were just heading back to that blissful nothingness when Spike suddenly stiffened beside her, causing her eyes to shoot open in response.

Too late for anything, but regret, as she felt a sharp sting strike her arm. The last thing Buffy saw before a not quite-so-welcomed oblivion took hold was the terrified look in Spike's eyes as, he too, succumbed to the inevitable.

a/n- I am sorry for the last cliffie. No really. Anyway, I just want to assure everyone that I don't plan on anything occurring in this fic that will cause you to sit and shout "NOOOOOO!!!!" at the monitor. Because well, I just don't go there. :P Thank you to spikeskat again for the beta job!

The Council seemed to employ a certain mold of secretary - frumpy and asexual. Such was Giles' musings when he was delivered a message while selecting more books from the library the next day. His presence was required in Travers office immediately, and that did not bode well.

Once again seated before Travers, the head watcher lording over him behind his huge monstrosity of a desk, Giles was relieved when the man wasted no time getting to the point.

Giles waited for him to elaborate, gesturing impatiently for him to continue. "And?"

Travers took his time in answering. "Apparently, it is located near the quite infamous 'Area 51'. As of yet, we cannot ascertain if the two are affiliated. We are in the process of establishing our counter-surveillance measures, as we speak."

This took the watcher by surprise. It wasn't something he'd expected. "Area 51, you say?"

Giles shook his head ruefully. "This is beginning to have a very ominous 'X-Files' tone to it, I'm afraid," he pointed out, not surprised by the blank look on Travers' face following his comment. He knew that the man wouldn't bother cluttering his mind with things of a science fiction nature; not unless it had direct bearing on his line of work.

"Well, we can only hope that they have limited their experimentation to earth-bound creatures. Dealing with an extraterrestrial aspect would be most unpleasant," Giles added distastefully.

When compared with the possibility of the military mucking around with combining slayer and either alien DNA or that of a vampiric nature, Giles found himself seemingly grateful for Spike's involvement.

"What is the proposed course of action?" Giles inquired, his question going unanswered as Travers private phone line began to ring.

Even before Travers replaced the hand set back in the cradle, Giles knew the news was not good, the harsh look settling over his employer's face preparing him for that fact.

"We appear to have a problem. This military group in question seems to have taken Miss Summers back in custody," Travers announced grimly.

Buffy's eyes fluttered open slowly, her mind sluggish as she tried to piece together what had happened. When her vision cleared, she was greeted with a blaring depth of white, and she wanted to scream with frustration.

Panic began rising within her, fast and furious, as Buffy fought through the remaining fog that insisted on clinging to her brain. Three months ago, this sight would have broken her.

She lifted one arm to confirm that her strength was no longer working in her favor, but found her mobility hampered by the familiar thick metal clamped around her wrists.

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me," she grumbled, pulling on one chain that effectively shackled her to the bedrail of the hospital issue bed. The next thing she noticed was the absence of Spike's black t-shirt that she had worn to bed before being so rudely awakened. In its place, was the type of hospital gown that opened down the back, except the bastards didn't offer the same courtesy as the demon clinic, and she knew she wasn't fully covered. Most likely her ass would be hanging out if she ever managed to get out of this bed, she thought sourly. Looking over the bulge of her belly, she noticed the final injustice - the clear plastic tubing between her legs that snaked over the side of the bed. That one was new.

Determined to look on the bright side, she attempted to placate herself by acknowledging that at least she had been unconscious when they had inserted the urinary catheter... and whatever else they had done to her while they were down there. It worked - slightly. Buffy fought off the tears of helplessness that tried to pool in her eyes, especially knowing 'they' were on the other end of the two-way mirror, watching her every reaction. Well, she wasn't going to give them tears, that was for damn sure.

Looking around, Buffy realized she was in a different type of cell than the last one. This one was bigger, and the bed to which she was currently chained was a step up from what she’d been made to endure before. It was still the same sterile white though; white floors, white walls, and white ceiling. Buffy vowed upon her escape, her home would never bear anything so sterile.

Spike. Oh god... Buffy didn't dare think of what they were likely doing to him, knowing she would not be able to keep her composure if she allowed her thoughts to go in that direction.

She heard a click outside her cell, then the door slid open. Buffy's lip curled instinctively and her eyes flashed. They may have broken her once, but thanks to Spike, she was broken no longer. She wouldn't allow them to do it again.

But the unexpected occurred. Spike was dropped unceremoniously on the floor of her cell without them ever having set foot inside.

"Spike!" she cried, struggling against her restraints, desperate to get to him. Against the white backdrop, Spike almost blended in - if you discounted the startling contrast of his blue cotton gym shorts that he had worn to bed and the array of bruises that riddled his body.

It seemed to take every ounce of his strength to lift his head off of the ground; but once he did, the relief that shone in his eyes had Buffy's tears flowing in earnest.

"Oh...Buffy..." he breathed, as he slowly and painfully climbed to his hand and knees. Buffy gasped when she saw his condition - there wasn't much of him that hadn't been bruised or bloodied. It seemed to take him a lifetime to reach her side. Once there, Spike managed to muster one last show of strength and tumbled beside her on the bed. He was clearly exhausted and suffering considerable pain.

He opened one bleary eye to look up at her and managed to give her a lopsided smile. "I got a wee bit mouthy, is all." Regret shadowed his face. "I let you and the tiny bit down. I didn't keep ya safe, did I?"

But Buffy refused to let Spike blame himself, shaking her head furiously at him. "This is so not your fault."

Spike sensed her frustration and let the matter drop. "You ok? They haven't done anythin' to you, 'ave they?"

Buffy shook her head. "Other than being chained up, I'm just peachy. I just can't believe they put us together like this, you know?"

Spike's eyes closed wearily as he nuzzled his face against Buffy's shoulder, breathing in the scent of her. His gut clenched at the lingering scent of her fear that soured the air. "Bastards wanted to see if I'd cuddle with ya or try to off ya, is why."

Buffy was silent, her mind whirling at a rapid pace. She didn't need to ask Spike to know that he had been drugged, his strength depleted as well. But they didn't have him chained up, which seemed totally unfair to her. A thought came to mind, and she grabbed hold of it.

Knowing he still possessed his acute sense of hearing, Buffy spoke in a voice inaudible to humans or microphones, "Spike, you need to bite me."

His eyes flew open and the look he gave her was filled with incredulity and horror.

Still speaking softly, Buffy interrupted before he could even argue. "No, Spike, listen to me. If we are going to have any chance of getting out of here, you need to be better. And strong. You need my blood."

Buffy sighed in frustration. Didn't he get it? "Spike, they will take the baby from us if we don't get out of here. There will be no baby. You need to do this. It. Is. The. Only. Way." Her eyes filled with tears of frustration. "We can't let them have our baby, Spike."

A shudder wracked Spike's tortured frame at her words. Buffy's lips parted to plead with him once more when she felt the subtle shifting of his body until he was positioned on his stomach leaning against her. The shackles on her wrists kept her arms positioned away from her body and Spike buried his face into the inviting space between her bicep and her ribs. To the casual observer -or spying military personal - it appeared as if the vampire was merely seeking comfort.

But Buffy felt the sharp ridges of his forehead dig into her sensitive flesh, and her breath caught in her throat.

But pain was not really an issue, as the razor-sharp teeth gently sank into the tender flesh of her bicep and into her brachial artery. He had chosen a good spot, she realized, it would be hard to spot the marks on her inner arm, unless they took the time to examine her. Buffy expelled her pent-up breath slowly.

Trust was not even an issue here. Buffy trusted Spike with her life, and this was no different. Her entire body was on alert for a different reason, expecting their captors to come storming through the door at any moment, taking Spike away. Or worse. She looked down and noted with relief that his ridges were out of sight, still feeling his mouth pulling the blood from her body.

When she felt his tongue begin to attend to the marks he had made after too short of a time, she panicked. "No! More. You need more, Spike."

She felt, rather than heard, his growl of frustration, but experienced again the sensation of his throat muscles working to swallow the large mouthfuls of blood he was taking. He wasn't exactly going easy on her, and she appreciated that - wanting him to have as much as possible in the event this feeding was interrupted.

But Buffy could practically feel his agitation and knew instinctively he wasn't enjoying it.

In another time, another place, Buffy realized that this was something she could enjoy. This feeling of Spike taking life-giving sustenance from her body. It was the very intimate of acts. But for now, everything about the way in which it was occurring was wrong.

God, she hoped this worked. That her blood counteracted whatever drug Spike had been given that robbed him of his supernatural strength. It was their only chance.

Seated in the Council's own private aircraft, Giles found himself unable to appreciate the amenities of the plush jet. Anxiety and concern continued to dig in their savage claws, manifesting themselves and reducing him to near physical illness. Knowing it would only exacerbate the problem, yet craving the potential oblivion, Giles took advantage of the impressive bar that was onboard.

It didn't help. Merely served to be the depressant it really was, while adding another layer of fire to his already flaming stomach lining.

Giles was terrified that they would be too late. That Buffy would be lost to him. To all of them. It was an agonizing feeling, nearly crushing him under its cruel reality. As with Angel, it had taken Buffy's absence to allow his true feelings to come to light, where those emotions had been hidden behind layers of crusty British reserve. He loved her with a father's intensity, regardless that she wasn't truly his own flesh and blood.

Since they had taken off from Council headquarters, Travers had continued to be closed-mouthed regarding his plan for rescue, merely assuring the watcher that he had the situation well under control.

Unused to being kept out of the loop, Giles could no longer rein in his acute desire to be involved in every intimate detail of Buffy's rescue.

"I must insist on being briefed on the details of what will occur when we land." Giles let a hint of his more formidable alter-ego bleed into his voice to alert Travers that he wouldn't allow himself to be trifled with, yet again.

Travers glanced up from the newspaper he had been perusing, accurately interpreting the dangerous tone of the watcher's voice and sighed heavily. Folding his paper carefully, he set it beside him on the empty seat. "Very well. If you must know, I have scheduled a meeting with those in charge of this particular base."

Giles could do nothing but stare in response, certain that he must have heard wrong. "Are you completely daft? They are aware of our impending arrival?"

Giles' head slowly shook his head back and forth in utter disbelief. "I seriously have to question your judgment in this matter. What could you have possibly been thinking? To actually schedule a meeting with these bastards?"

Travers voice hardened that one of his “underlings” would dare question how he saw fit to handle things. "I was thinking that in order to penetrate this base, it would require significant manpower. While that in itself is not a problem, the breech would most assuredly result in fatalities, potentially even the one we are attempting to rescue. From our surveillance measures, we have been able to ascertain that there are typically no more than a hundred men assigned to this particular detail, and at the moment, there appear to be considerably less."

Travers shook his head ruefully. "I am afraid I do not possess the answer to that particular question, and therein lies the problem. It is quite possible that the scientists involved with this particular project are merely civilians. To storm the compound using excessive force, and from a foreign intelligence no less, might very well incite an international incident that the Council cannot afford to be a part of."

Giles sighed heavily, not wanting to find favor with the Head Councilman’s reasoning, but could not find fault with his logic. The reality of Travers' concerns had the potential for backlash that would endanger the entire future of the Watcher's Council. "Your plan is to meet with the military heads, is that correct?"

"Do you really think that is wise? Throwing yourself at the mercy of the enemy?" Giles felt compelled to point out.

"The Council has undue influence. I strongly believe this is our best recourse," Travers replied, a touch of his typical arrogance coloring his voice.

"And I feel that perhaps you are overestimating the Council's influence," Giles replied. "I do not believe either of us has any idea precisely what we are dealing with here." Government cover-ups and conspiracy theories besieged the watcher's mind, and he now knew the paranoia associated with them.

Travers retrieved the newspaper from the empty seat beside him and opened it back up to the article he had been reading. "That is a risk I feel we are going to have to take, unfortunately."

"So, your plan consists of us walking in and merely telling them that you, as the head of the Watcher's Council, demand that they release your slayer?"

Giles' sense of foreboding deepened. "Surely a better plan could be set in motion?"

"As I said, the Council has considerable influence, Mr. Giles. I feel quite certain that they will not possibly dare attempt anything sinister, also eager to avoid public scrutiny."

"I rather feel as if we are serving ourselves up on the proverbial platter," Giles muttered almost to himself, the acid eating at his stomach now moving up toward his throat. "There is no way they will simply allow us to just walk out of there."

Travers shrugged indifferently. "I would rather resolve this without the use of necessary force, as I said. That would only draw undue attention to all parties involved. However, since you think I am being truly naive in this matter, I feel it necessary to point out that I do have a back-up plan."

"My men are under orders to storm the location if I am not in contact within twenty-four hours. And if it comes to that, we will be positioned on the inside."

Giles felt a small measure of relief with that revelation, but didn't hesitate to mention that in twenty-four hours, they could both very well be dead.

However, Giles knew that Travers was well aware of the possibility of the rescue turning into a suicide mission and appeared resigned to his decision, and couldn't help the stab of admiration.

It didn't mean he had to be a sitting duck, however. Giles excused himself to the loo and pulled out his cellular phone, not expecting to find that he had a signal.

He was pleasantly surprised however, and made the most of this good fortune, not daring to leave anything up to chance.

Buffy couldn't remember a time when her body had ever felt this weak. In recent weeks, her pregnancy had been in an unending state of physical discomfort and ungainliness, but she had always been able to count on her slayer power to back her up.

The blood that Spike had taken from her would have sapped her on a good day, but adding that to the iron-sucking pregnancy, and her situation had moved well beyond the realm of so not even funny. Since she had forced Spike to drink until her hemoglobin was practically weeping, she could only hope her slayer healing was still part of the package, despite the missing power aspect.

It infuriated Buffy to know that her baby was being exposed to an unknown drug, and she just prayed that it hadn't harmed her in any way.

Time was something that she had quickly lost possession of, a clock not being provided in the not so comfy accommodations. It could have been mere hours since they’d been recaptured, or days - she had not a clue. She resisted struggling against her restraints, knowing it was futile and would only waste precious energy. Helpless rage churned through her at the ache in her lower back, and she cursed the bastards for not even allowing her the luxury of turning onto her side. Laying flat on her back was killing her, and she knew firsthand from all the books she’d managed to read that it wasn't the position of choice during late-stage pregnancy either.

She was comforted, however, by the reassuring movements from inside her womb. As long as the baby was still inside of her, they would be all right.

Buffy turned her head to witness Spike's sleeping form beside her, even in sleep adopting a protective position. Buffy was not under the delusion that Spike was allowed to interact with her because of any significant change of heart on the military's behalf. It was merely another experiment; Spike apparently proved too interesting a subject to pass up. She added being watched and studied like a freak to the long list of grievances she held against her captors. However, she'd moved it to the bottom of said laundry list because not having to be alone in this nightmare because Spike was at her side won her jailers the slightest smidgeon of favor.

As if sensing her probing gaze, Spike's eyelids slid open and his gaze immediately found her eyes on him, worry creasing his healing features at her pointed look.
.

She watched as Spike stretched and tested the status of his muscles. The subtle smirk on his face alerted her that the willing sacrifice of her blood had not been in vain.

"I can break ya outta those," Spike told her quietly, looking at the manacles around her wrists, a fierce burst of rage quickly gutting him at the thought of her being restrained like this. These fuckers were going to pay.

Buffy's eyes widened with panic and she shook her head vehemently. "No! It's... ok," she lied.

Spike nodded, knowing she was right. Giving their position away so early in the game would be foolish.

The barest hint of sound scraped along the outside cell door, and they both instinctively tensed as it slid open with an ominous silence. Spike immediately growled in warning, shifting on the bed to make sure his lethal form was between whatever came through that door and Buffy's pregnant bulk. In order to curtail his demon's inherent nature to attack first, ask questions later, Spike kept his hands fisted tightly against his sides. Their only edge was the element of surprise, and Spike was damned if he was going to give it away before major damage could be inflicted.

These military bastards had no soddin' clue the beautiful carnage a pissed off vamp could inflict, and he hoped to bloody fuck that they got the chance to find out.

If this group of meddling scientists wanted Buffy, they would have to go through him first. Rage on Buffy's behalf tainted his forced calm, and his fangs itched to get a hold of the fuckers who had done this to her. During his own capture, his tormenters had all worn the drab fatigues that had identified them as military, and more importantly - the muscle. The masked goons in white had not bothered with him beyond a degrading cursory exam, and of course, his reluctantly produced deposits. Apparently his semen was the only thing they found worthy of their attention.

But Spike knew what had been done to Buffy... For that, they would pay. Their deliberate faceless embodiment never allowing Buffy the satisfaction of giving her tormentors an identity, further exacerbating the helpless panic she had suffered at their hands.

Oh yeah, he'd see to them, all right. The fuckers in white would be first, immediately followed by the soldiers who had taken satisfaction in inflicting their sadistic torture on a helpless vamp.

His fangs were itching for action, and he took comfort in Buffy's calming hand on his arm.

His bloodthirsty mood became pensive, however, when he took a gander at what passed timidly through the door. Rather than the burly soldiers or the scientists who didn't dare show their faces, the one who entered their prison had fear stamped plainly on a tiny, pixie face. She was garbed in the usual standard issue camouflage which only served to accentuate the petite form, looking nothing like a soldier whatsoever. Her dread was palpable in the wide, expressive brown eyes and Spike knew without a doubt exactly what she was. And more importantly, what her purpose was.

In her unsteady hands, was a tray bearing food and Spike noted it with relief, knowing Buffy needed somethin' in her.

Spike could smell the overwhelming scent of fear flooding the air and he sat up carefully, keeping with the guise of being terminally weak. A pair of doe eyes across the room followed his every motion, and when he sat himself carefully on the edge of the bed, the girl balked and spun to the door.

Spike watched as the girl's narrow shoulders suddenly slumped, her entire posture screaming a resigned acceptance of her fate.

Spike exchanged looks with Buffy, confirming that she too had read the situation accurately, and another layer of hatred was added to the ever-increasing pile.

With resignation pouring from every cell of her body, Christine turned to face her executioner. She wasn't stupid. She knew why she had been locked in here. She wasn't deaf either - contrary to what her superiors assumed - as she worked among them, the nameless soldier on janitorial duty.

Christine had been keeping her ears open and had heard the grunts and murmurs of surprise at the atypical behavior this vampire had displayed around the pregnant human. There had been a whirlwind of shock when it had been ascertained that the vampire and this human girl had been apparently co-habiting together, the rather unusual circumstance had been the cause for much debate. There had been talk of vampiric thrall and various other supposed myths.

She hadn't thought it had anything to do with her, but the moment she had been ordered to report to the holding cells, Christine knew what they were doing, what they wanted to accomplish. Shake up the mix, get the vampire to react. And that is what she had been reduced to, Christine thought bitterly.

"Bring the food over 'ere," Spike demanded gruffly, his hand reaching behind him to rest protectively against the swell of Buffy's stomach.

Christine's eyes flew up to meet the piercing blue of the battered demon who sat warily on the edge of the bed. Confused, she looked behind him to meet the gaze of the girl shackled to the bed, pity finding its way through her escalating terror. Christine had sympathized before; had identified with the teenager, for some reason. Not that she could do anything about it, of course, so she had been forced to observe from afar. But she was probably the only one on base who had been happy to learn of her escape.

Christine took a hesitant step forward and Spike growled with irritation. "Don't have all bloody day, ya know."

Actually, he did, but Christine wasn't about to argue. This was not what she had enlisted for. Where was the world travel? The college bonus? This was supposed to be the one thing she had in life that offered her a sense of security, and now look at her. She was nothing but a big, fat worm on a hook, just waiting for something to come along and take a bite.

With a sigh of resignation, Christine crossed the room and tried not to flinch when the tray was ripped out of her hands. "'Bout bloody time," the vampire grumbled, glaring at her. "Don't know what you're so soddin' uptight about. At least you volunteered for this gig."

"I didn't volunteer for you to kill me," Christine shot back, wondering where that little bit of nerve had been hiding.

He smirked at her as he popped a straw in the carton of orange juice she had delivered on the tray.

"Spike, leave her alone," Buffy told him quietly before making eye contact with the newcomer. "Don't suppose you have the key for these things?" she asked, holding up one shackled arm.

Both Spike and Buffy could see the genuine regret in the girl's eyes as she sadly shook her head. Spike snarled in a show of his increasing irritation before asking, "You got a name?"

"Do you know why I'm being kept chained up?" Buffy asked her, finding that the shackles were pissing her off more and more. Spike having to hold the juice while she sipped it was just a bit too invalid and helpless for her liking.

"Uh... I think... maybe they are afraid you are going to do something to the baby," Christine replied, flinching when the vampire went through a chorus of 'bloody hells' and 'soddin' wankers.'

Buffy rolled her eyes at Spike's predictability, then called out to address the people behind the glass. "Military people! Hey! I'd really appreciate being unchained from the bed. Because this having to lie flat on my back? So not good for the baby."

Of course the slayer didn't get the courtesy of a reply, and Christine decided it was time to see if she would get some type of response from her superiors.

Figuring she was somewhat safe in turning her back on the vampire called 'Spike,' Christine crossed the cell to position herself in front of the door, where she stood with an expectant look on her face.

Any lingering hope to which she might still had cling to began spiraling down to nothing as the door refused to open and allow her passage. Again, she voiced her request and waited expectantly.

Can I just say THANK YOU for all the wonderful reviews I've received for this fic!! It's just... WOW!!! *hugs everyone* Thanks once more to Spikeskat for the awesome beta-age.

Buffy was eventually allowed the freedom of her wrists. And even better, she received the pillows she had asked for. It was a sad state of affairs when that was the highlight of her day. Being able to roll herself over onto her side and shoving a pillow between her knees had never felt so good. What she wouldn't give to have her full length body pillow that Spike had bought for her... But no... Yet one more thing these buttheads had stolen from her, and Buffy added this latest one to her mental laundry list of grievances.

Those small concessions didn't come without a price, however. Spike detected the acrid scent of yet another round of airborne medication being sprayed into the cell, and Buffy's weakness and lethargy quickly became more pronounced. The only bright side - if drugging his girl actually had a bright side – was that the vampire was able to determine the effects of the gas. It was now readily apparent that the unknown drug worked by targeting the slayer make-up, as evidenced by the fact that both he and the human girl remained immune to it.

What it did to the muscles of Buffy's uterus and his unborn child were unknown, however, and that bloody well brassed Spike off. That these wankers had willingly endangered the life of his baby enraged him, and knowing he needed to calm the fuck down, he attempted to distract himself.

Spike found himself staring up at the ceiling as he listened to the slow steady respirations indicative of Buffy's heavy slumber; the reassuring pounding of his girls' heart beats muted and comforting in the background.

Just hearing those cheering sounds helped, and Spike could feel the sharp edges of his fury melting away.

The soldier girl had settled across the cell, as far away from him as she could possibly manage in the small confines.

Spike had to admit to feeling a wee bit sorry for the bint - something that would have been laughable just a few short months ago. He dismissed the telltale hissing coming from the ceiling and shifted his gaze to study the girl where she sat cross-legged on the floor, steadfastly refusing to make eye contact.

Just a few months ago, Spike would have taken what the wankers had so clearly left for his eating pleasure without a second thought. Even knowing that the attack would probably lead to pain - and lots of it, if not his outright dusting.

But now? He couldn't fool himself into thinking that he just wasn't hungry, sated by slayers blood. Thing was, that wouldn't have mattered before.

"You want one of these extra pillows?" Spike found himself asking, mentally berating himself for the offer. He was still the Big Bad, for fuck's sake...

Christine flinched at the sound of his voice, and Spike growled at her reaction. "Look, you stupid bint. Not sure exactly what your problem is, but I could do without the bloody cringin' every time I say anythin' to ya."

"Why?" The question was quietly posed, Christine's curiosity getting the better of her.

"Why wot?" He knew what the girl was asking, but chose to play dumb, hoping the question would just go away.

Christine lifted her chin defiantly, sick of being at the mercy of those she had trusted without reserve. How naive she'd been when first stationed here, all enthusiasm and eagerness. Why would she doubt them? This was the United States military and she had been ecstatic and honored to serve her country.

Even if her country thought her talent was best served with a mop on a tiny obscure base that nobody even knew about, rather than the preferred combat billet she'd requested.

It had taken a bit of time for her security clearance to clear her for the restricted 'top levels' access, but once elevated, what she'd found behind those secretive doors was enough to make her whole-heartedly wish that she had never joined the military. Quickly becoming disheartened and disillusioned in her outlook on her future career.

She'd found herself cleaning up after things that weren't supposed to exist - except in the science fiction and horror genre. She hadn't been offered any explanations or consideration, aside from the veiled threats about breeching security and what would happen if she spoke of the horrors she had witnessed. Three levels of 'holding cells' where unspeakable things were done, all in the name of 'science' and 'national security'.

The top level where she was currently imprisoned was by far the group that suffered the worst. This is where the cloning and cross-species breeding occurred. Christine soon figured out that the scientists were forever searching for that 'secret weapon' that would give them the edge in battle - and didn't care how much pain and suffering they caused their subjects in order to find it.

Christine had been able to assuage her conscious by telling herself that these creatures were only demons, and that they had different coping mechanisms than humans. They didn't feel things like human could.

But then Buffy had been brought in and locked up. No matter what other 'powers' she possessed, she was still clearly human... and a teenager. It was witnessing her inhumane treatment that caused Christine's faith in the military to crash; her patriotism severely disillusioned.

Bait for a science experiment - for no other reason other than it allowed the secretive scientists to sit on their asses behind the window and study this particular vampire. Why? Because he behaved like nothing they had ever witnessed.

He behaved like a human rather than the monsters that they were accustomed to. They wanted to see what made him tick, how far they could make him go before he eventually gave into his need for blood.

Oh, she might get saved in time; Christine didn't think they were THAT sadistic.

"Don't suppose you plan on answerin' me sometime today?" Spike snapped, finding himself irritated by her lack of response rather than relieved.

Christine sent him a glare before she could stop herself, thankful when it prompted a smirk rather than an attack. " Ok, fine. Why aren't you attacking me?"

But the vampire didn't answer her, merely shot her sinister grin, and Christine shook her head in angry disgust. Stupid military. Of course, they kept her locked up in here under the guise of needing her to play nurse to the pregnant girl. Except the vampire wouldn't even let her near Buffy... and that was pretty much fine with her.

The pillows and key had been slipped into the room by an invisible compartment that had opened up in the wall, where they dropped noisily to the sterile floor without pretense. Christine had tried several times to gain her freedom since her initial request had been denied, all to no avail.

'Buffy get pillows, I get the threat of death,' Christine grumbled internally, immediately berating herself for the unfairness of that statement.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as the vampire studied her, taking note of the bruising across the demon's pale torso. Christine idly wondered if she would be able to take him when he actually got around to attacking her, knowing that her superiors had drugged him to render him weak.

The feminine voice startled her for a moment. Christine hadn't realized that Buffy was awake, having watched her fall into a deep sleep soon after they sprayed the room. Christine looked over the vampire's shoulder and found curious hazel eyes watching her, waiting for a response to her question.

"Um...Arizona originally," Christine finally replied. After a pause, she added, "You?"

A shadowed look crossed Buffy's petite features. "California." An uncomfortable silence ensued.

Spike was hard-pressed to maintain his invalid routine, craving the small bit of physical release that pacing the small confines would offer him. That, coupled with the intense craving for nicotine he was being denied, was taking every bit of his self control to keep still.

He watched the girl stare down at the floor again and Spike felt the sudden urge to go shake her up a bit. Anything to divert his attention from this hell of indecision. A war was being waged with his common sense; his impulsive side wanting to go break down the sodding door while his rational side told him that to do so, would be inviting sure failure.

He glanced over at Buffy to see how she was holding up and caught her staring quizzically at the girl. Before he could open his mouth to ask how she was faring, Buffy broke the lingering silence to pose a question to Christine.

What the bloody hell was she talking about? Spike had heard of the brain doing loopy things during pregnancy, and didn't even want to think about what the drugs were doing to her mind.

But obviously, soldier girl knew what was being referred to because the corner of her lips suddenly quirked up and she nodded.

"That chick! You know... the one who was in Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure? The Joan of Arc chick?" Buffy told him. "Jane something or other."

Suddenly, the atmosphere in the room seemed to warm up twenty degrees and it had nothing to do with military involvement. There was a hesitant friendliness in the large, expressive brown eyes that regarded the captives on the bed, and Spike found himself hoping that she wouldn't become a casualty of this fucked up war because he had no plans to do the expected deed. He recognized something within her that he found familiar, having lived with it himself for a hundred plus years, up until he met up with Buffy.

tbc

A/N- Yeah, I know, not much happened. Do not fret however, I actually have more chapters written, they just are not ready to be beta'd yet.*worships at the alter of Spikeskat* Also, I'm vagueing up the military subplot on purpose. It's not the Initiative (so don't be looking for Maggie or Riley behind the masks) because I'm keeping everything as 'canon' as possible through season 2's Halloween. And since the Initiative wasn't around then, think of this as some bizarre X-Files cover-up thing crossed with an alternative Initiative. I'm also writing the Council quasi-canon through early season 2, so Buffy hasn't had her bad experiences with them yet. It's not quite the "you can't trust the Council' as it was in later seasons. Please let me know what you think of how it's going!

Thank you Spikeskat for doing a fantastic beta job this chappie!! And the reviews? Can I just say...WOW!! Thank you!!

The sequence of events that had taken place since landing played a repetitive loop inside Giles' head. It had seemed like a lifetime ago, when in all actuality no more than eight hours had passed. He couldn't help but ponder the likelihood of an alternate conclusion if things had been handled in a different manner.

Now... hours after the Council's jet had landed on a secluded restricted runway in the vast desert and both he and Travers had been locked inside what amounted to little more than a conference room, Giles found himself exhausted - both mentally and physically.

Upon landing, their aircraft had been met by armed personal, which hadn’t been entirely unexpected. They'd been shuffled into some officious-looking vehicles and driven miles into the desert. Once arriving at their destination and gaining entrance to the base, the watcher could see why it remained so secretive.

It had all the appearances of a lone energy station on the outside, secluded and out in the middle of nowhere. The few outbuildings were benign in appearance, the gate surrounding the compound was large and unimposing. But once through the heavily, but discreetly, monitored exterior, it became apparent that the premises were guarded almost as well as Fort Knox – if not more so.

Looking around at the vast openness surrounding the base, Giles honestly didn't know how Buffy had managed to make good her escape the first time around, and his respect for her grew.

The entrance to the secure laboratory was hidden within the largest industrial building that lay surrounded by a few other nondescript structures. Giles was highly suspicious of the fact that they'd been allowed to witness this top secret location, increasing his keen sense of foreboding as to the outcome of this confrontation. He would have felt far better if blindfolds had been insisted upon once landing, even if that touch was cliché'. He could only hope that Travers knew something that he, himself, did not, and they weren't blindly walking into a trap.

Under the watchful eyes of their armed escorts, Travers and Giles had been secreted inside a room that could easily have passed for an executive board room - except for the visible security cameras in several corners.

They had been given curt instructions to merely wait here before the armed personnel quickly departed, refusing to answer any of their questions.

However, it was the sound of the electronic lock on the outside door being engaged that had proved to be Giles' undoing.

Giles had glared at Travers, blaming him for their current predicament. His fury simmering just beneath the rigid control he kept on his emotions, almost ready to boil over. It was not known if the US military had any inkling of who exactly they were dealing with, and this stall tactic was most likely a direct result.

And even though they’d been locked in a room, Giles had held hope. Buffy was here, and they were a step closer to seeing her freed.

It still hadn’t saved Travers from the brunt of his anger, however.

"How could you have been so... foolish?" Giles had finally snapped, his long legs eating up the length of the room in a few strides.

His typically ageless boss now appeared ancient; the cool, unexpressive mask having slipped the moment the lock was engaged. He, too, had taken it as a metaphor for their well-being. Slumped at the head of the table, a position he placed himself in without thought, regret had ravaged stark lines onto his face.

"The council holds considerable power with the military..." he'd begun to justify once more before being cut off angrily by the watcher.

"Maybe within the typical hierarchy of power, yes. But this is not typical. Wouldn't you agree?"

    Travers had sighed heavily. He wasn't under many delusions at this point, having realized the significance of being allowed to witness the location of a highly secret government agency.

     With nothing but time on their hands, their future uncertain, the two had settled in to wait... and pray that the clean-up crew would find them still alive. Travers realized that he'd had made a grave error in time management. No more than twelve hours should have been allowed to pass without communication, especially in light of the fact that both he and Giles had been stripped of all communication devices and weapons upon entering the base.

The mutterings from the watcher regarding trusting no one and conspiracy theories had suddenly began to make a whole world of sense to Travers, and he couldn't help but sigh heavily in response.

Whereas before the stony silence had bothered Spike, now it was the idle chit-chat between Buffy and the soldier girl that threatened to drive him insane. Forced to suffer the guise of a limp biscuit, Spike could practically feel the constrained energy coiling within his body, once more willing himself to ignore it. Ripping out G.I. Jane's throat was sounding more and more appealing though as time wore on.

However, when he realized her blathering was keeping Buffy entertained, he forced himself to suffer through this latest form of torture. If the slayer was talking to soldier bint about girly stuff, then she wasn't thinking about where they were - and he’d endure hell itself to give her that peace of mind.

Spike had been right about her, the soldier girl. Her eagerness for trivial conversation was almost sad to watch. He'd bet her life hadn't been a bed of roses. Buffy's own forced isolation since she'd found herself on the run and pregnant with only a vamp for company had left its own mark, and Spike watched as a tentative bond of friendship was being forged before his very eyes. The soldier was only a handful of years older than his slayer, if that.

Somehow, over the last few hours, he had been banished to the floor, and the new bird had taken his place on the bed next to Buffy, their conversation now progressing at a more muted tone. That suited him just fine. Idly, he wondered what the scientist wankers thought of this new tableau, and was satisfied with the knowledge that irritation most likely played a key role.

Spike closed his eyes and tipped his head back to rest against the wall, his body screaming for the familiar calming influence of nicotine. But when the sound of footsteps stopped just outside the cell door, his body underwent a subtle shift as he prepared himself. Growling low in his throat, his first instinct was to protect Buffy, and he shifted into a poised crouch just as the door slid open. Before he was given time to react, unknown amounts of electricity were sent through his body by a soldier wielding a stun gun, the blast riding along every cell in his body, sending his pain receptors into complete overload.

Another blast from the tazer forced his body into reactive spasms and the sound of Buffy screaming his name was the last thing he heard before sliding into oblivion.

It happened so quickly, that it took Buffy a moment to comprehend what had just happened as she witnessed Spike's uncontrollable jerking upon the floor.

The room was suddenly flooded with the scientists garbed in white and the typical guards, leaving Buffy with no absolutely no time to react, even if she had been capable. It had been a well planned takeout, she had to give them that, mentally cursing herself for not considering the possibility of Spike being taken out of the equation. One thing she knew with blinding clarity - being removed from this cell would be very bad.

Per usual military operating procedure, she was not offered an option. With a keen sense of deja vu, her wrists were once again shackled with a calm efficiency and Buffy turned her pleading hazel eyes in Christine's direction.

Christine had jumped up the moment the first blast struck Spike and had slunk herself to the corner while looking on with horror at what was being done. She swallowed heavily, eyes locked on the vampire's broken form splayed out upon the floor and tried to force her brain into thinking of a way to make this better. Her hesitation had nothing to do with her sense of duty, merely a testament to the blaring uncertainty of how she would best be able to fix it.

"Uh... permission to accompany the prisoner requested," she found herself asking, cringing at the label she'd placed upon the pregnant girl.

With a quick kick to release the brake on the standard issue hospital bed, one of the guards had guided it towards the door, the vampire was unceremoniously kicked out the way like yesterday's garbage.

"Permission denied," one of the scientists snapped. Several of them may be civilians, but Christine knew who really gave the orders around here. "Your orders are to guard the vampire."

She didn't dare point out that there were others present that were much more suited to the assignment than she.

With a chaotic flurry of orchestrated white poetry, the scientists disappeared while Christine watched helplessly. The soldier's throat swelled up with the backlash of her unaccustomed emotions as she watched the pregnant blonde transported out of reach, futilely fighting against the restraints.

Helpless rage dug a huge well in her gut, and she swallowed hard against it. Again, she knew why she'd been denied passage. Even in light of the potential delivery, the scientists were not finished with their little 'bait and trick' experiment. She couldn't even fault them for their curiosity. Her life had been spared thus far, but upon the revelation that Buffy had been removed from the cell, Christine didn't delude herself into thinking Spike wouldn't hesitate to satisfy his need for revenge, for blood.

But it wasn't a far leap to see this secret military group for what they really were.

She believed that now with every fiber of her being. Only monsters would be setting up to deliver the baby of the seventeen year old girl that they had kidnapped, terrorized, and inseminated. Christine knew that Buffy and Spike wouldn't be allowed to walk away after this.

She wouldn't either, regardless of how she fared when Spike came out of his juiced stupor.

And she found herself doing something she hadn't done since getting kicked out of her first foster home at the tender age of twelve after the tragic death of her parents.

Spike swam towards consciousness slowly, his body resisting every effort to return to the land of the unliving as pain slammed through him relentlessly. With a low snarl, he pushed himself through it; his demon screaming at him to get his ass awake. That something needed his immediate attention.

Once more, pushing his way through the pain, his eyes desperately searched the small cell for reassurance, only to find that there wasn't any to be found.

See, I didn't leave you too long! Thank you once more to spikeskat for being my beta goddess!

Spike could only stare at the spot where his slayer was supposed to be, his entire being freezing up with a profound sense of agony at the discovery of her absence.

"They took her," Spike heard a soft, feminine voice call out in the silence and his head snapped towards the girl huddled in the corner. His agony became slightly easier to bear as his demon reacted to the cold finality of her words – filling his body with rage and forcing out all other emotions. Like despair.

Christine finally got to see his true monster revealed, watching with detached fascination as the sapphire blue of the man's tortured gaze faded into the furious amber of his demon.

Even drugged of his strength and suffering the aftereffects of being tazed, this vampire was still lethal and dangerous, and Christine came to a decision.

Her country had, after all, served her up to him, practically on the proverbial silver platter.

He wouldn't hear her plead, though. When she had enlisted, her life was something she had willingly signed over for the sake of serving her country. Maybe it made her an idiot, but growing up without the benefit of a family had skewed her outlook on certain things.

Christine wondered how long he was going to stare at her, finding this interlude almost surreal, and she took a moment to study the furious face in front of her. She had expected his glowing eyes to be merely fathomless windows of evil. Yet even with the ridges and fangs, easily identifiable were emotions that Christine easily recognized as being very human in nature.

She wasn’t quite sure how long she sat and watched the wheels practically burning rubber in his head as he decided on the next course of plan, but she’d settled into a calm tranquility that was at such odds with her current situation.

When he slowly pushed himself to his feet and prowled in her direction, Christine stuck out her chin defiantly and refused to look away.

"I'm not going to fight you," she announced firmly, confused momentarily by the look of pure irritation he threw her way.

Spike wasted no time in wrapping his fingers around her biceps and hauling her up to her feet, the female soldier offering no resistance to his man-handling.

When Christine was effectively pinned against the wall, a cruel smile distorted Spike's lips. "Thanks pet, 'preciate that an' all. 'Specially since I'm not quite up to snuff 'ere," he mocked, his hand fisting a handful of her short brown hair and jerked her head to the side. "Figure you can 'elp me with that little problem."

Christine may have decided to not fight back, but found herself scared to death despite her best intentions and questioned her very sanity. She was allowing this... why?

Spike could here the soldier bint's heart pounding away and the scent of her fear drowned out the lingering scent of Buffy's.

Despair struck him with a relentless force and with a heated snarl, Spike wasted no time in sinking his fangs into the girl's neck, ignoring the yelp of pain that accompanied his actions.

True to her word, she didn't fight him, and finally Spike growled with irritation. With the ability to form speech impaired by his teeth firmly embedded in her flesh, Spike still managed to grumble, "For fuck's sake, would ya bloody work with me here?"

"What?" Christine questioned, confused by the fact he was talking to her rather than finishing the deed.

Realization dawned on her the same moment she recognized that he really wasn't... drinking from her, his fangs were just kinda... stuck in her neck?

Spike knew she got it when she started struggling to get away; an ear-piercing scream flying past her lips that had him cringing and wanting to drain her for real.

"No! Please no!" Christine cried out, attempting to free herself. Even though she was a girl and not a very strong one at that, Christine knew that the lone hand curled around her bicep, the other still fisted in her hair, held more strength than they should have, and she had to force herself not to smile at his duplicity.

Christine knew this impromptu ruse worked when she heard the door slide open. In anticipation of what was to follow, she allowed Spike to spin her around to be used as a human shield. It would be kind of worthless if they managed to taze him again.

The teeth that had been embedded in her neck were smoothly removed; although he seemed to want to keep up the ploy of feeding, his lips hovering over her neck. Christine couldn't help but tense when she heard the sound of booted footsteps enter the cell, but what followed transpired so quickly that Christine could barely grasp that it had even occurred.

The mere second that her 'saviors' were within striking distance, Spike was a sudden flurry of motion. Tossing her none too gently to the side, the vampire reached for the first soldier and snapped his neck, before making quick work of the other two.

Christine stood there in shock. Three men killed right in front of her in less time then it took her to tie her shoe. She grasped for the sense of horror and guilt she knew should be eating away at her conscience at witnessing Spike's brutality, but it wasn't there. In its place was a profound sense of relief.

Still struggling to come to terms with her fractured emotions, she watched as Spike reached down and yanked the tazer gun away from the first man he'd killed, wondering idly if it was finally going to be her turn. Her neck hurt like a bitch, but right now, it seemed like the least of her problem .

She watched as Spike stripped one of the corpses with swift, economical movements; donning the uniform that was similar to her own.

Like the predator he was, Spike stalked towards the door that had been left blessedly open before he turned back to pierce her with a discerning look.

Christine's eyes widened at his query, completely thrown off guard for a brief second by the unexpectedness of it. Buffy's stricken features came to mind, and with little hesitation, she nodded her head.

"Oh yeah, I'm coming." She stopped briefly on her way to the door to grab a second weapon from one of the fallen soldiers before following the vampire out through the door.

Another world devoid of color greeted Spike as he stepped out into the hall, the oddly reassuring steps of G.I. Jane right behind him. It chilled him that no reinforcements had been dispatched as yet. Their lack of detection told him that there was something happening elsewhere that garnered more attention than winning the pool of how long it would take before the vampire finally offed the female guinea pig.

Extending his senses, he tried to hone in on anything that would help him pinpoint her location, growling instinctively when he felt a hand upon his sleeve.

Spike's penetrating eyes suddenly captured hers, and Christine could easily read the desperation the vampire couldn't quite mask.

Christine nodded and slung the strap of her pilfered gun over her shoulder, setting a careful path down the hallway as she fumbled for her ID to open the security door. For the first time since joining the military, she actually felt like a soldier and she didn't know exactly what that said about her.

Thank you to spikeskat once again for the beta job! And thank you soooo much for all the reviews I have received for this fic!!

Once the security door slid opened and Spike and Christine carefully passed through, they were greeted with a small hint of color. Gone was the blinding sterile white of the holding cells; yet Spike neither noticed nor cared. His single-minded purpose to gain the slayer’s side was the only thought that consumed him.

The pair kept to the shadows, Christine taking the lead so that she could point out the numerous security cameras. Spike nodded each time he was shown one, ears attuned for the sound of any approaching footsteps as they made their way towards the passageway that would lead them to Buffy

Halfway down their chosen path, a lone scientist stepped out from one of the many door littering the hallway and began walking in their direction; his identity as the enemy easily established by the white jumpsuit and lab coat. Spike tensed, ready -and eager - to dispose of him the same way he had the others. However, a barely perceptible negative head shake from his new sidekick halted his murderous intent.

Christine knew this particular scientist and was confident in her assessment of the man. He was an idiot, by far one of the worst offenders, blind to anything but his work and the soldier was sure he bore no threat.

The scientist breezed right by them, not once attempting to make eye contact. Spike had to admit, even though his demon was practically chomping at the bit, that the lack of blood spilled in this instance was far preferable than tipping their hand too early.

Giving the soldier a small nod of acknowledgement, Spike gestured for her to continue on their way. When she noticed him stop abruptly and sniff the air, Christine gave him a quizzical look which he promptly ignored.

Christine shrugged and kept moving, leading him towards the final hall that would reunite him with Buffy; her own unease growing with each step.

When Spike paused once more and turned back towards the long hall they had just left behind, Christine couldn't help but question his distraction.

"But they wouldn’t have taken her that way. The experimentation arena is the most likely place for the birthing," Christine argued, remembering the new additions to the unit that she had seen the day before. An incubator being the most prominent thing that came to mind.

An icy feeling washed over Spike at the term she used and he struggled to contain his rage before it took over. A clear head was needed here and he knew from experience that his demon didn't always react logically. That just wouldn't do in this situation.

Without another word, Spike turned around and quickly made his way back to the other hallway, Christine shadowing him, her confusion continuing to mount as they moved further and further away from Buffy.

Spike did another one of his unexpected halts, this time in front of one of the compound's meeting rooms that doubled as an 'interrogation chamber.'

Christine nodded and swiped her badge through the electronic keypad. A green light signaled that the door was unlocked and her security clearance hadn't been suspended. Yet.

Apprehension did not even begin to describe what Giles was feeling when he heard the sinister sound of the electronic lock being disengaged. 'This is it,' he thought. The watcher was under no delusions as to why they had been left sitting for so long. Oh, they'd been told that they needed to be involuntarily detained in this room for their own 'protection.' The latest update from their 'escorts' had informed them that they were waiting for some big wig to fly in from Washington to fully 'debrief' them. However, Giles knew that was just a ruse.

Giles peered at Travers and realized that he, too, was aware of this fact as well. Resignation and regret had already done a one-two punch to his increasingly haggard-looking face.

The door slid open and Giles gripped a chair. If he was facing his execution, he would do so fighting.

First came the flash of camouflage, the uniform familiar, and the watcher's body froze with dread.

Then his eyes made it to the lead soldier's face, and Giles suddenly struggled for breath, clutching the chair in earnest now. He had only seen a glimpse of the vampire during the Parent/Teacher night that had gone to hell. At the time, the face before him had been distorted by evil. Still, there was enough similarity that he would have recognized this 'soldier' anywhere, even minus the platinum locks.

"Spike," Giles acknowledged warily, not daring to forget even for a moment that this WAS William the Bloody standing before him. Lethal and deadly, now wearing a mockery of patriotic symbolism.

Spike tipped his head in silent greeting, his intense blue eyes probing. Giles was unprepared for the wealth of emotion that sparked behind the vampire's gaze.

Christine stopped next to Spike, her face tense and silently questioning the vampire’s reason for risking their detection. She looked at the two men who were staring at Spike as if they couldn't figure out if he was their savior or the devil incarnate.

"Is... Buffy all right?" Giles broke the silence and dared to ask, his gut clenched in preparation for the answer.

Spike's face clouded with fury, and his eyes sparked amber, causing Giles to take a firmer grip on the chair under his hand.

"She bloody well better be," the vampire snarled before whipping around and disappearing into the hallway with the female soldier not far behind. The door had been purposefully left open.

Giles exchanged a look with Travers before rushing after the vampire and his comrade.

"You're... following him?" Travers asked as Giles reached the door, after having been oddly quiet during the exchange.

Giles paused briefly and turned to give his employer a rueful smile. "Something tells me our chances of survival are far better with William the Bloody than remaining behind here." With that parting comment, the watcher moved out of the room, not at all surprised when Travers hurried to catch up with him.

Once again, the hallway was conspicuously empty and Christine confirmed the direction his thoughts were taking. "It's weird. There is usually more activity around."

Hearing the quiet approach of the watchers he had set free, Spike turned abruptly to face them, his face set in a hard stare. Not even the sudden jump of their pulse rates and the fear that permeated the hall gave him any satisfaction.

Ignoring the shorter one, Spike focused his attention on the one he knew was Buffy's watcher. "Just wannna get one thing bloody well clear 'ere. When I find Buffy, I'll be killin' anyone who is with her. You got a problem with that, you either sod off or try to stake me right now." The smile that twisted his lips was anything but reassuring, but Giles could see fear lurking behind the menace. "I can assure you, try will be the operative word 'ere."

Giles didn't hesitate. Spike's terms were more than acceptable. "Can we count on our own continued survival?" he felt compelled to ask however, ignoring any input from Travers.

"You won't die by my fangs," Spike remarked sardonically, a look of understanding passing between the two. "S'far as I'm concerned, we both 'ave the same goal 'ere. Not bloody stupid enough to off any potential backup."

Travers gestured towards Christine, eyeing the bite marks that were still bright and angry on her neck. "And what about her? Can we be assured of her compliance, as well?"

"Huh? Me? You're worried about me?" Christine couldn't help but ask, her eyes searching Spike's in confusion.

"She's human, you git," Spike informed the head watcher, watching as his eyes widened with shock at the realization that William the Bloody had apparently left a victim alive.

Travers was curious to discover the details that had occurred before they had been set free, but had to content himself with watching as Spike once again spun on his heel and headed towards the door at the end of the long walkway, the human in question falling in line right behind him.

Yes, Travers found this vampire quite intriguing. The two watchers fell into line behind the stealthy duo in front of them as they continued to make their way cloaked in the shadows.

With their sight focused solely on the door at the end of the walkway, it was some cause for alarm when the door in question suddenly slid open, allowing several soldiers to pass through it.

Flattening himself against the wall, Spike held up a finger then pointed at himself to communicate that he would take care of the threat.

When there was no argument from Travers, Giles found himself surprised at his employer's willingness to put their safety in the hands of a vampire. Perhaps stepping out of the Council's remote offices for once would go a long way towards changing the head councilman's views.

If there had been any doubts regarding Spike's competence as a killer, it was put to metaphorical dust when the two men witnessed the speed and pure lethalness that were employed as the vampire easily killed the soldiers when they marched past him.

In any other scenario, witnessing such brutal violence at the hands of the demon would have filled each human with dread.

One piece of metal barring him from the girl for whom he'd willingly give his unlife. The mother of his hopefully not-quite-yet born child. Again, regret struck that he hadn't initiated a proper mating; the intimate connection he could have been sharing with Buffy would have gone a long way towards soothing the terror building within him.

The vampire felt Christine at his side and turned to look at her, finding himself oddly calmed by her quiet presence.

"Can you open it?" Spike gestured to the higher level security door, finding the retinal scanner imposing.

The raw need in his voice that Christine found mirrored in his eyes was staggering; the capacity this vampire had for heartfelt emotions no longer suspect. She nodded in response to his question.

Acknowledging her nod, Spike turned to Giles and handed him the tazer gun he had nicked from the dead soldier whose uniform he now wore. Travers had already helped himself to weapons from the corpses Spike had just left down the hall.

"Won't be needin' it." Spike told the watcher as facial features shifted, his forehead erupting with the harsh ridges of his demon, teeth elongating from his gums. "Shoot anythin' that moves."

In another time, seeing this vampire's true face emerge would have created a flurry of panic. Now, Giles merely nodded and readied the weapon that had been placed in his hands, eager to see what lay behind the door.

Recognizing the hardened edge that lurked behind the watcher's calm reserve, Spike quickly found himself identifying with it. Gold eyes, serious in their intent, regarded Buffy's mentor. "Need you to get to Buffy. We'll be goin' in shootin', but if anythin' happens to me, I need you to get her the bloody fuck out of 'ere," Spike announced brusquely. "Can you do that?"

Finding himself oddly touched by the vampire's obvious sincerity and unselfishness, Giles nodded curtly. "You have my word."

That seemed to satisfy the vampire and he stepped back to allow the female soldier to step up to the highly sophisticated retinal scanner. A cool hand on her arm stilled her momentarily.

"You don't have to go in with us, ya know. You've done enough." Spike left it unspoken that it could very well turn into a suicide mission rather than a rescue.

Christine knocked his hand away while she gave him a dirty look. "Yeah, right. I think I'll be teaching these fuckers that I'm nobody's guinea pig bitch."

She heard an answering snicker, then a murmured, "You're a bit of all right, Jane." Ignoring the new nickname, she positioned her eye in front of the scanner and allowed the laser to read her retina, breathing a sigh of relief when the computer informed her that access had been granted, the door sliding open without a sound.

Their eyes were drawn to the middle of the room where they found Buffy shackled to a modified birthing table, her face a study of agony.

Completely exposed to every clinical, and not so clinical, male eye that was upon her, no attempt at modesty having been attempted. Her heels were shoved in gynecological stirrups and another pair of shackles had been clamped cruelly around her ankles, leaving her thighs widespread.

Pain had dulled Buffy's consciousness to the barest minimum, her mind seeking the comfort of oblivion from both the physical and mental torture her body was being subjected to. The gown she had been given before had been stripped from her frame, leaving her more exposed and violated than she had ever been in her life.

And to think she'd been so worried about just having her ass hanging out before. Now, she was splayed wide for any Tom, Dick, and Harry that felt like taking a gander. This was so beyond the realm of not cool, it wasn't even funny.

Now, however, she had faces to go with her torturers, and longed for some mind-numbing narcotics to dull her imagination. That was one more thing she added to her list of grievances - the lack of quality drugs to make her labor easier. Sadistic bastards.

Their whispered words Buffy had overheard were just as revealing as their faces, and she had quickly learned of their intentions.

She was to become another causality once her baby was born, supposedly dying during the rigors of childbirth. From what Buffy had been able to piece together, something - or someone - had them spooked, and she had a strong suspicion of whom it could be.

Not that the potential for their interference held any reassurance. Out of the frying pan and into the fire was the only thought that continued to ring through her brain of the totally stressed. She couldn't imagine Quentin Travers would be much better than the stupid military.

To say her regret was acute was an understatement, and she had already wasted a lot of tears and energy lashing out verbally.

Now she was exhausted, and the reality of giving birth this way continued to terrify her. Refusing to give up hope, she held onto the one thing that did have the power to get her through this.

But she found herself barely hanging on, pain and the sacrifice of her much needed blood to Spike hitting her with a stunning intensity. Her contractions were fierce and unrelenting, and she nearly screamed as the labor-inducing medication was turned up, the IV flowing faster.

Despair seemed inevitable and she found herself succumbing, trying to battle it away by imagining the grisly demise of every person in the room with her.

Her heart suddenly jumped, and hope fluttered to batter at the ravaged surface of her emotions.

Buffy watched as the vampire who had vowed to protect her slipped practically undetected through the door that led to the making of her worst nightmare; she was only mildly surprised to see him flanked by Christine. But her throat suddenly closed up at the sight of her watcher following directly behind the pair.
.

However, it was the last person in their small group that brought up the rear that managed to utterly shock her.

Never had Buffy thought she'd be happy to see the sight of Quentin Travers, but seeing the way he fanned out with the others along the perimeter of the room, weapon in hand, clearly indicated that he was there with Spike to help.

In another time, she might have laughed at the irony - Quentin Travers and a vampire working together - but this was most decidedly not a laughing matter.

Spike's golden eyes searched the room immediately, his demon roaring with the need for vengeance when he found Buffy shackled to the table, her body on full display to all those who chose to watch. Instinctively leaping forward to snatch her away, Spike found his movements halted by a firm grip around his wrist.

Spinning around with a snarl, he prepared to launch himself at his restrainer. Spike's furious eyes were met by the irritated brown of Christine. Glaring at the vampire, she whispered, "God, can you chill? Buffy will kill you if you blow it now."

The immediate need to get to Buffy's side fled in light of the soldier's reminder and Spike was able to regain control of his volatile emotions.

With a gaze that was now cool and accessing, Spike's eyes flickered around the room, grateful for the hum of machinery that masked their presence. He noted an almost equal number of soldiers and scientists, and his lip curled with anticipation. Blood would be shed here, and his demon roared with impatience. This impending birth of manipulated supernatural origins was apparently a cause for much celebration and anticipation because the ambiance of the room was surprisingly non-hostile.

Making eye contact with each member of his allies, Spike gave them the signal to move in. The party that consisted of one vampire, two Council members and a renegade soldier attacked. Silently and lethally, they struck, and in a matter of seconds, the area became a virtual war zone.

Spike was determined to inflict a maximum amount of damage in a minimum amount of time, each throat ripped apart only slightly appeasing his demon's rage.

Heeding Spike's earlier request, Giles utilized his stun gun and cleared a path that took the watcher to Buffy's side. His forehead pinched with concern when he realized that she appeared to be in labor.

She hadn't noticed him yet; her eyes screwed shut as what appeared to be a contraction rode through her body, evidenced by the painful gasping of breath and the artifact showing on the machines she was hooked up to.

Familiar hazel eyes sprang open at the sound of her name, tearful and filled with pain, finally calming as the last part of the contraction worked its way through her.

"Giles," she panted. "It's really you." Suddenly her eyes darted over her watcher's shoulder and in a voice that confirmed her slayer status, instructed "Giles, behind you."

Before the words had even completely left her mouth, she watched as her mentor spun around and shot the soldier that was coming up behind him. They both watched dispassionately as the injured soldier fell to the ground.

"We have to get out of here, " Buffy announced, her intense eyes searching some sign of for Spike. Hope filled her when she saw him fighting next to Travers, with only a handful of military left.

"You're in labor, Buffy," Giles informed her gently, knowing not only how inconvenient this development was for them to make good their escape, but also the potential danger at moving Buffy during such a crucial time.

"Duh, I think I know I'm in labor." Her hazel eyes flashed. "But I am so not having my baby in a military base, Giles."

Giles finally realized that Buffy was laying there completely exposed, her nudity not having registered in the shock of finding her about to give birth. The watcher looked around to assess the situation and found Spike across the room; his fury still palpable with every neck twisted and each jugular ripped out. Yet, Giles couldn't find it in himself to disapprove of the sheer violence being displayed, actually finding himself wanting to encourage it.

****
Realizing that there were only two of the enemy remaining, Spike left them for Travers and G.I. Jane to finish off, wasting no time in closing the distance that kept separated him from his girl.

His eyes met those of his slayer's and in their hazel depths, Spike found himself reassured that she was all right. They shared a small smile that spoke volumes.

"Thought you were gonna get her outta here," Spike snarled, glaring at the watcher upon his approach. He grabbed one shackle and snapped it as if it was made of paper, doing the same to the others. "Don't just bloody stand there. Get something to cover her up."

Finding himself flustered, Giles shrugged out of his tweed blazer and spread it out atop of her, belatedly realizing how mortifying her nudity must be.

"Thanks," she muttered gratefully. "Not really liking the all-exposed part of this scenario."

With more gentleness than Giles would ever have given Spike credit for, the vampire tore of the attached wires and scooped Buffy up off the hard clinical table and headed towards the door where they had come in.

"Let's go, kids," he called derisively over his shoulder, ignoring the carnage they were leaving behind. The death toll was high, but not nearly as high or destructive as it would have been if Spike had had the time to give it the proper effort.

Still, to have Buffy safe in his arms, her pregnancy still viable, more than made up for the lack of satisfying violence.

Travers and Christine brought up the rear of the small procession out of the room.

Before they could make good their escape, a soldier that the head watcher, himself, had tazed roused himself out of his paralyzing stupor with enough energy to pick up his stun gun and fire his weapon.

Despite the soldier's injured status, his aim was accurate and the target was hit.

tbc

Major thanks once again to spikeskat for beta'ing this chapter and QUICKLY!! *hugs kat*

With a sharp cry, Christine went down.

"Bloody fuckin' hell," Spike snapped, only slightly mollified when Giles returned fire with his own weapon almost immediately, finishing the job his superior hadn’t. "Pick her up," the vampire ordered a transfixed Travers, who'd failed to respond immediately. "We're not leavin' 'er here."

Realizing the vampire’s words were having no effect on the head councilman, Giles stepped in and swiftly hefted the slight girl over his shoulder. He was somewhat, perplexed by Spike's insistence about retrieving the fallen soldier, their escape already hampered as it was. Gesturing with his head for Travers to snap out of it and move, Giles hurried after Spike, who was managing to make good time down the long hallway - even with the awkward package of a very pregnant slayer in his arms.

With their most reliable source for navigation now unconscious, Spike was forced to rely on the watchers to guide them towards the exit, his own previous escape prompting no memories that would help in this instance.

The small team had managed to work their way through the corridors, and making it as far as the level with the familiar holding cells level before running into their first snag.

With the sound of military-issue boots headed leisurely in their direction, Spike cursed under his breath as the noise drew steadily nearer. Though he did note that their unhurried pace was a good indication that their massacre obviously hadn't been noted as of yet. However, with Buffy in his arms and in the middle of another contraction, he sussed out the only one with free hands was the head Council wanker himself. Quickly pressing himself into the shadows, Spike hoped that he had enough time to unload Buffy before they were set upon.

The soldiers were too close, however, and Spike prepared himself to do battle with his slayer cradled against his chest. He tightened his hold on her and signaled to the others, alerting them of the incoming enemy.

Before the vampire could take care of this latest threat, Travers darted into the path of the approaching soldiers, using the element of surprise to his full advantage. Raising his stun gun, the head watcher managed to bring the leader down with a sharp burst of electricity before turning to face the other soldier, who was attempting to discharge his own weapon. A quick chop to front of his neck effectively took care of the problem .

Hands scrambling to clutch at his throat, the wounded soldier tried desperately to pull air into his tortured lungs, a dawning horror spreading over his face at the inability while peering helplessly into Travers' impassive face. Unable to get the oxygen his body required in light of his crushed trachea, the dying man sank slowly to his knees, his coloring quickly changing to the mottled blue of the terminally asphyxiated.

Giles watched admiringly as Travers, face devoid of emotion, leaned down to grab the dying soldier's head, twisting it savagely. With an audible crack, the body was dropped uncaringly to the ground, and Travers calmly reached down to remove the hand-held radio from the dead man's holster.

"Nice bit o' work, that" Spike commented, gesturing to the bodies on the ground.

Travers acknowledged the compliment for exactly what it was, as one killer to another. A hint of a satisfied smile shadowed the Englishman's face. "Yes, well, I wasn't always head of the Watcher's Council, you know. Granted, it's been a few years, but some things you just never forget."

Spike didn't need Travers to tell him that they needed to hustle; the vampire was well aware that the conspicuous lack of radio contact was bound to raise suspicion, sooner rather than later. This time, Spike let the head watcher take the lead, confident in his abilities to see them out of this hellhole.

Spike looked down at his precious cargo, worry creasing his brow. Buffy's eyes were shut as her body worked through the internal agony of childbirth. She seemed to be in no condition for this type of escape - much less going through the actual birthing process. There had been a glimmer of hope that her contractions would have stopped once the labor-inducing IV drip was no longer being pumped through her veins, but soon realized that their luck hadn’t held that long.

The prolonged contraction she was obviously experiencing proved that her labor hadn't gone anywhere, and Buffy thrashed her head against the wall of his chest while groaning softly.

"Spike, stop. Please stop," Buffy begged, her agony acute and growing by the second as her uterus hardened and squeezed.

As much as he'd had trouble denying her every whim in the past, this was not a request he could give into. "Can't do that, pet. We gotta get out of 'ere."

Spike didn't want to think about when he had escaped before and almost perished in the desert when the sun had come up. A cave had sheltered him in just the nick of time.

"Spike, it hurts," Buffy whimpered softly, her entire body rigid with pain as they continued along.

Spike would have given anything to allow her the comfort of ceasing the movement that he knew was exacerbating the agony.

A blaring symphony of sound suddenly filled the air, a harsh alert that their duplicity had been discovered, and Spike knew that stopping now was impossible.

"We're almost there," Giles wheezed, recognizing the way.

Just beyond that - freedom.

Now on a high level of alert, the base seemed to come to life. The soldiers who hadn't had the necessary clearance to the experimental levels having obviously been dispatched without regard for security, and Spike could hear the pounding of their feet as they headed in their direction.

Right now they needed a miracle.

Spike picked up his pace to a run, and Buffy's moan of agony cut straight through his unbeating heart. But he couldn't slow down now.

Spike looked behind him and checked on the others, noting that Buffy watcher was looking a wee bit peaked, the dead weight of G.I. Jane obviously proving to be too much for him. The shorter Council head was in bad shape too, even without hauling extra weight.

Bloody humans.

The vampire knew with startling clarity that they weren't going to make it.

He could feel the daytime tickling his senses and cursed the inconvenience. One more strike against an already impossible task.

Regret and anguish slammed through him as he ran. He was never going to get to meet his daughter. If they were recaptured, it was almost assured that he would not be allowed to live.

Not after massacring practically half the base.

The alert continued to blare, and the sounds of the approaching soldiers grew louder.

Spike found himself offering a prayer to a God he had forsaken - pleading for that miracle.

Even if he didn't expect to get one.

The straggling group had made it as far as the motorcade and Spike eyed the ramp that would take them towards freedom longingly, before searching for a getaway vehicle. Despair struck when he saw the only vehicles available were open-topped military jeeps. Still, if it gave Buffy and his child a chance... he would willingly give it to them.

Resolution flooded his body, his stagnant veins filling with determination as he headed for the row of vehicles, not bothering to find out if the others were still following behind.

Before the vampire could reach his intended destination, his sensitive hearing picked up another sound over the continued blaring of the alarm - the screech of tires against asphalt.

Frustration screamed through him at the swift realization that they were under attack from the opposite direction, and Spike slowed to take precious seconds to search for overlooked opportunities, his demon clawing within him to survive.

Their outlook appeared bleak, and Spike roared with despair. To fail when they were so close to freedom was excruciating. He resumed his course towards the vehicles, instinctively knowing he would never make it in time. The sound of approaching soldiers informed him that they were close.

Too close.

Again, Spike ignored Buffy's tortured whimpers and kept moving.

The screech of tires sounded closer and Spike's determination hardened, snarls ripping through his throat as he waited for the final blow. But a subtle itch began crawling through him that had nothing to do with rage, hopelessness or despair.

It was the itch of family.

When an armored truck swung into sight, tires leaving the ground as it navigated around the last turn, the significance could no longer be denied.

The sound of rubber leaving marks on the ground drowned out the loud military alert, and the truck screeched to a halt as the doors flew open.

And all Spike could think as he raced towards those open doors was that he had never, in his entire existence, been so happy to see the bastard that was his grandsire in all of his existence.

Angelus.

Not quite the miracle Spike had been expecting, but it would hopefully do.

TBC

Thank you once again to spikeskat for the beta! this chapter is for lilmamaday, my very first friend in the fandom when I first started posting on ff.net (seems like forever ago, but really only about a year and a half) Happy birthday Dana, albeit a little late!! *warning- this chapter isn't as Spike/Buffy centric as most of the others*

When Angel had received word from Giles while he was en route to the secret military installation, he had been certain that the rescue mission would be fraught with peril. There were too many unknown variables to ensure a smooth, risk-free extraction. But the brooding vampire knew why his assistance was needed.

He was the back-up plan - set in motion by Giles after having discovered the Council's agenda for handling the matter of retrieving “their” slayer. The very fact that the watcher had gone to the trouble of sneaking into the cramped aircraft bathroom in hopes of not being overheard, Angel knew that he, too, was anticipating trouble.

Angel was also well aware that of the small group who had assisted Buffy in the past, he was the only one who could be considered expendable - at least from the watcher's way of thinking. And the vampire found himself oddly all right with his mentality. It was for Buffy, after all.

Angel had, however, been taken by surprise by Xander's insistence in accompanying him. Not even his graphic, and no doubt a very realistic picture of what was most likely to occur had done a thing to dissuade the boy. There was an air of determination, an unfailing hope that his friend was still alive, that had resided within the teen since Buffy's disappearance first came to light. That they were so close to having her back, Xander had refused to take a back seat and wait patiently for her return.

The usually annoying teen had responded to his every argument with the same steely-toned delivered mantra. "I'm helping Buffy with or without your help."

Eventually, Angel had stopped trying to discourage him, a grudging respect replacing his typical lack of tolerance for the teenager.

It had especially come as quite a shock that Xander had turned out to be a help rather than the expected hindrance in the frenzied planning stages of their assignment. His attention to detail and foresight of possible surveillance scenarios had been shrugged off as residual knowledge from Halloween, but Angel had the distinct feeling that it went deeper than that.

Whatever the source, Xander's suggestions were appropriate, and his idea for the rescue vehicle had been truly inspirational. Through Willy, they were able to arrange things quite easily. After a few terse questions early on that Xander answered almost as if by rote, Angel had stopped testing him at every turn. He’d quickly realized what a valuable asset the boy was, and set aside his pettiness and got down to the business of planning Buffy’s rescue. Plus, it was nice having someone to share in the decision making.

Because if they were unsuccessful, that meant they had failed Buffy. And being able to shoulder the blame with someone else was something that would be both welcomed and potentially necessary.

Using the information that Giles had passed along, Xander and Angel had been able to narrow down the location of the base to a specific area. Once arriving by chartered aircraft to said location, they'd obtained the truck they had made arrangements to have waiting for them. With no other resources available, the pair had employed Angel's keen sense of smell and the begrudging aid of the sire's bond the vampire shared with Spike to navigate them towards the correct destination.

It had been a primitive tracking measure, but it had been successful, nonetheless. After traveling miles into the desert, the pair had encountered the unembellished energy plant. To the outside person, the grounds looked empty and auspicious. But to Xander and Angel, well... they had looked past the benign ruse and seen the place for what it really was.

Before their oversized vehicle had even come to a complete stop, Xander and Angel had found themselves accosted by what were clearly soldiers in plainclothes, forcing Angel to fully embrace the role of the bumbling fool to buy them some time.

But when Angel's sensitive ears had caught the sound of a military alert being sounded from beneath them, he had a very good idea what had caused it.

Easily pushing away years of crushing guilt and his desperate need to atone for his past atrocities, Angel had not even hesitated in bringing his demon to the surface. When one of the guards had reached for his radio and weapon, the vampire tapped into his killer instincts, and had easily taken the lives of the men before him.

When the silence of pulsing heartbeats had greeted his ears, Angel had dropped the last body before daring to meet Xander's gaze, sure he would find condemnation and disgust.

Instead, he had been greeted with a look of admiration and relief, and Angel couldn't help the small, conspiratorial smile that had lit across his distorted features.

Moving in unison, the unlikely pair of heroes took their place back in their getaway vehicle and proceeded to ram the gate, again using Angel's vampiric bond as their homing beacon.

What Xander hadn't expected was for Angel to suddenly accelerate to an excessive rate of speed and slam through an outbuilding, a ramp now revealed that headed down into the bowels of the unknown.

"Uh, do you know something that you aren't sharing here?" Xander asked, his seat belt becoming a priority as the truck flew around a corner.

"I think they need help," was the only cryptic response Xander received. And rather than dig for details, he had thought it far wiser to allow Angel's concentration to be focused on keeping all four tires on the ground. Or at least making sure they returned to the ground in a timely manner, as the truck lurched to the side while Angel spun them around another sharp curve and down the seemingly endless circular roadway.

Angel had felt his grandchilde’s panic, could practically feel it crawling through his skin and infecting every non-living cell in his body. He didn't even bother to identify the cause, just knew instinctively that time was of the essence.

The dark-haired vampire knew they were headed in the right direction when the feeling had intensified, his face settling into a grim, determined mask as he prepared himself to execute the last curve - and for what might lie just beyond it. His senses were now extended to their fullest capacity and almost painful with the sheer intensity of his focus.

The truck screeched around the last corner, the inner sanctum of this military now breeched by their attempt at heroism.

But he could honestly say that there was nothing that would have prepared him for the reality of the scene that was to play out before him in seemingly slow motion.

With the truck protesting its rough handling with a plume of smoke near its back tires, the smell of burnt rubber clogging the air, Angel brought the truck to a grinding halt, his eyes searching and accessing.

And the oddity didn't end there. Angel recognized Quentin Travers, head of the Watchers Council, hot on Spike's heels - and in an apparently non-lethal manner.

Angel wasn't surprised to see Giles in this odd group, but an instant of confusion dared to infiltrate his brain at noting that Spike wasn't the only one with arms laden, Giles' own damsel apparently military and unconscious.

Angel exchanged a look with Xander, and in unison, the two burst from the truck, weapons in hand and ready to do battle. It only took an instant to realize that there was a group of soldiers in hot pursuit, and when bullets began to fly past him, Angel felt his face change and he roared, throwing himself into the fray.

He watched as Spike managed to successfully dodge the incoming fire, the bullets whizzing by his head more of a warning – a means to make them stop - than an actual intent to do harm. Even at this late stage, Angel would bet his very last fang that this group of misguided military wouldn't want to jeopardize the viability of the baby that Buffy was obviously still carrying.

"Get in the back," Angel yelled as Spike neared, throwing open the back doors to the armored truck that had thus far served adequately.

"Go help the watcher with the girl," Spike called out as he passed his grandsire and with one last graceful maneuver, leapt inside the back of the truck before collapsing to the floor in pure exhaustion. He didn't need to hear Buffy's whimpers to know that he had caused her considerable pain during their mad dash, and only hoped that he had not caused undue damage in his less-than-gentle treatment ever since escaping with her nestled tightly in his arms.

Xander shouldered his rifle confidently while covering Angel as the vampire dashed toward the struggling watcher to relieve him of his unconscious burden. Even he could hear the pounding of feet as the soldiers began to close the scant distance between them, his eyes narrowing in anticipation. No way would failure be an option when they were so close to seeing this mission through.

Xander grinned inwardly at his entirely military mentality and rushed forward to assist a severely out of breath Giles. The military training from the previous year had been lurking in the deepest recesses of his mind, and was now screaming though him with an awareness that brought everything into startling focus.

With Giles' arm slung over his shoulder, Xander half-dragged the man to the back of the truck, noting idly that JerkWad Travers had already made it inside. Using little finesse, Xander practically threw the watcher into the welcoming interior, not caring that he landed in a sprawled heap atop of the unconscious soldier.

Per the tentative plan they had made, Xander hopped in the back while Angel raced around to the cab, throwing himself behind the wheel.

"Hang on," Angel shouted, the huge truck roaring to life from its previous idle, and with a screech of tires, Angel steered them towards the ramp that would take them out of this hellhole.

A grim silence had prevailed in the interior of the large, bullet proof truck, adrenaline and pure exhaustion overwhelming.

"Shut the door!" Giles managed to gasp to Xander, not quite registering the significance of his presence.

"Not yet. Got one last little thing to do," Xander announced determinedly, lifting up the bench seat and grabbing the special weapon he had stashed there.

He leveled it to his shoulder, the confidence with which he handled the grenade launcher bringing about a few surprised looks.

Xander waited until he heard the tell-tale screech of rubber than signified the military's pursuit before discharging his weapon, his precision belying his teenaged years. The doors to the back of the truck were then slammed shut, effectively decreasing the possibility of being hit by flying shrapnel.

Xander's intended target was destroyed, and the smile that brightened his features was wide and smug as he witnessed the most convenient method of exiting the base explode into a cloud of pure orange fury.

The blast rocked the truck, but the vehicle's heavy weight kept it well-grounded, and they continued on their way.

Pride clearly etched on Xander's face, he gave Giles a self-satisfied smile. "You know, I almost wish I could send your old buddy, Ethan, a thank-you card. I just can't tell you how useful all my retained military information from Halloween has been."

With the adrenaline coursing through his veins now ebbing, Xander was suddenly hit with the blinding reality of the situation. They had succeeded. Or were well on their way to that success, anyway.

As if by their own accord, Xander's eyes greedily searched out his friend, desperate to assure himself of her wellbeing. And upon seeing her huddled form, he was forced to accept the truth.

He had known that, of course. But the visual held so much more impact than his imagined musings of Buffy with a flat belly.

A sharp cry from the girl in question effectively served to tear his eyes away from the abdomen that was anything but flat, to the contorted grimace of her face.

Because this girl, one of his best friends, who had also happened to star in many of his personal fantasies, wasn't just pregnant. There appeared to be a disturbing lack of clothing involved, her form barely covered by the tweed jacket that was of the ugly and familiar.

a/n-yes I know, highly Xander and Angel centric. But I thought the 'story' would be told best through their point of view.

The skillful competence that had seemed to take hold of Xander during their rescue mission fled in light of this terrifying revelation, and he could help but watch - with morbid curiosity - as the vampire who had previously almost made him crap himself in terror, did his best to offer moral support to Buffy while she suffered at the cruel hands of mother nature. The vampire's murmured words and the soft strokes of his hands upon her hair were gentle and soothing in nature, and at such odds from the demented cruelty Xander had witnessed before.

Xander could appreciate now that Buffy had become the bloodsucker's entire focus; the aftermath of their harrowed escape not fazing him in the least as he concentrated solely on the slayer’s well-being. Oh, he had been all about the issues and the disbelieving when Angel had told him that Buffy was with Spike WILLINGLY - figuring that Spike couldn't possibly care about Buffy. That the vampire was only in it for his own sick purposes.

But all that denial went flying out the window as Xander watched the way Buffy reacted to Spike's touch while crying pitifully against his chest.

Not much in the realm of possibility, no matter what had happened to her. She couldn't have changed that much.

It wasn't like he and Giles weren't sitting right there, either, because the supportive best friend thing was all always of the good, no matter how long Buffy had been gone. Xander had the feeling that even if her mom or Willow were sitting here, Buffy would still be in Spike's lap.

Judging by the tears that were now staining the vampire's ashen cheeks, this was heavy. Really heavy. Like 'buh-bye Angel, hello Spike' heavy.

And after what they had already gone through today, Xander thought he just might be ok with that.

The interior of the truck was suddenly filled with a plethora of unspoken emotion, nobody knowing quite what to say as the adrenaline rush gave way, leaving behind tired, shell-shocked people. Silence seemed the best option, each of them battle weary and on the last of their reserves. The truck continued to speed away from the military compound at a rapid clip; the longer they went without being set upon by the military, the better their odds at escaping unscathed.

After a brief glance around the truck, Xander couldn't help but resume his study of Buffy, taking note as the inescapable pain of labor left her pale features contorted in a twisted mask of agony. There was no denying the worry that Spike felt for the girl in his arms as he continually smoothed the hair from her face, his gaze remaining locked with hers – like he could will away her pain with a look alone.

A small twitch of movement from the unconscious soldier alerted Xander that she was waking, and he tore his gaze away from the unlikely couple sitting on the floor and watched the slight spasms that affected the stranger's limbs as the tazer gun’s affects wore off.

"She's coming around," Xander announced unnecessarily, more to break the unnerving silence than anything. "Uh...should we be thinking of tying her up?"

"Whatever for?" Giles snapped, finding this sudden irritation with the boy familiar - and oddly comforting.

"She's not a hostage?" Xander asked, confused as to the girl's role in this situation.

Xander held up his hands in mock surrender. "Sorry, G-man, was just trying to help."

"And you did help - quite well, actually." This praise came in the surprising form of Quentin Travers.

Xander felt his chest swell with pride at the comment. He really had helped. He wasn't just Xander Harris, the Boy Wonder, donut-fetcher any longer. He had worth. A purpose. And damned if he didn't feel a few tears of his own pricking at the corner of his eyes.

"Is everyone ok back there?" Angel called back to the sedate group. The truck had just exited the gate that they had crashed through what seemed like a lifetime ago - the bodies of the soldiers still undiscovered and lying beside the guard house.

Silence greeted the vampire's inquiry, nobody quite knowing the appropriate response.

The armored truck dipped suddenly and when Spike felt Buffy stiffen with pain against him, he yelled angrily over his shoulder. "Bloody hell! Mind your driving, Peaches."

At Spike's scathing tone, Angel immediately bristled. "Sorry, Spike, I'm only trying to drive us to safety here." Even with the tempered windshield and sunglasses, the sun's rays were harsh against his sensitive eyes, and Angel had to wonder why it had been agreed that he would be in the driver's seat.

A low moan filled the interior before Spike could shoot back an appropriate come-back.

"Ow... gawd dammit..." Christine rolled over on her side and tried to ignore the outcry of seemingly every muscle in her body.

Spike nodded knowingly as he looked down at soldier girl lying next to him. "Yeah, hurts like a sonofabitch, don't it? Especially those first few minutes."

At the sound of a voice, Christine's eyes shot open and flicked around in confusion before finally settling on the only familiar thing she’d encountered. "S-Spike?"

Carefully pushing herself up on spasming muscles, Christine tried to remember what had happened - but came up blank. "Uh... Where am I?"

"Back of a truck. It's somethin' called the soddin' cavalry. Used to make me heave, but now, can't say I quite mind the way they always seem to ride to the rescue and save the bloody day," Spike informed her, his own glance encompassing the others with a brief look of gratitude.

Christine stared at Spike for a moment, hoping for more clarification than he had just offered, but realized that was all she was going to get. Her confused eyes found Buffy's and she smiled, finding herself glad to see her new friend here. Wherever 'here' was.

"Are you ok?" Christine couldn't help but ask, noting the wan appearance of the girl in front of her.

Buffy gave a derisive snort. "Oh yeah, thanks. This laboring thing in the back of a moving truck? So not much with the fun."

"But it's got to be better than where we found you, right?" It suddenly dawned on Christine that they were no longer in the base, and were in fact speeding away from the military compound. She looked from Buffy, out the back window - where she saw the glaring desert speeding by, before fixing a shocked stare upon Spike. "Wait... you got me out of there?"

Spike looked uncomfortable. "Wasn't me. Had an armful of pregnant slayer, ya know? Watcher did."

"Ok, obviously I'm missing something here... and since you're not a hostage, I'm going more with the help-age scenario," Xander announced, wishing someone would explain things to him. Obviously both Spike and Buffy knew this soldier, and Xander had already noticed the bite marks on the girl's neck - and didn't even want to acknowledge where his mind was racing.

But before Christine could reply, an anguished scream from Buffy had wrenched its way past her throat.

"Is Buffy ok?" Angel tossed back from the front, torn between the desire to keep putting as many miles as possible between themselves and the wreckage they had left behind, and pulling over to make sure Buffy was all right. This feeling of uncertainty was not welcome at all.

Spike rolled his eyes, even though he knew his grandsire couldn't see him. "No, she's not bloody all right. She's in labor, you nit!"

Spike heard the heavy, put upon sigh that floated back to him. "Well, that's just great," Angel muttered, the urge to pull over growing stronger.

"Hey! It's not my fault!" Buffy shot back at Angel. "Because believe me when I tell you, that as far as labor experiences go? This has pretty much just sucked all the way around."

Before Angel could respond to Buffy's rant, he heard the voice of the previously unconscious soldier.

"How far apart are the contractions?" she asked, concern evident even through Angel couldn't see her face.

"Not far enough apart, let me tell ya," Buffy replied in a bitchy tone. When she noticed everyone looking at her, their expressions ranging from shock to outright terror, she couldn't help but sigh with irritation. "God, what am I? Buffy, the walking, talking, pregnant, freak show?"

"What?" Buffy demanded crossly, giving Xander a dark look. He was, after all, male. He couldn't possibly understand her pain.

"Nothing. I'm just... all with the happy at seeing you again," Xander replied, still grinning like an idiot. "Because... it's like really you."

"Yes, well, usually I do not find myself in agreement with Xander, but I, too, share his sentiment," Giles announced. "You were missed."

Buffy's eyes filled with tears once more, her surliness fleeing in light of the heartfelt emotions of her friends. "I missed you guys, too."

"I'd suggest the group hug thing, but something tells me I wouldn't live through it," Xander commented.

"Got that bloody right," Spike mumbled heatedly. "But uh... just wanna say... 'ppreciate the help back there." He ducked his head self-consciously, obviously uncomfortable with expressing sentiments of gratitude.

But Spike knew they would not have made it out of there if it hadn't been for the unexpected rescue. And for that, his grandsire and this boy had his thanks.

A/N-oh she's close... so very close...
A/N-I know, I know, it's been a while between updates. I will do my best to make it better. I have the next chapter written, for the most part, just have to rework it and send it to be beta'd.

Xander stared in shock. Ok.... this was the same vampire from Parent/Teacher night and Halloween, right? He took a closer look, sure that there had to be some mistake; that there was some other British bloodsucker named Spike that Angel had been talking about.

But... no. Even without the lumpies and dressed in camouflage rather than the familiar black that Xander was used to seeing... there was little doubt.

Just a much more sincere and nicer version. Housebroken, like Spike had accused Angel of being that night the souled demon had offered Xander up for a snack.

And hey, he could so live with that. "Er... don't mention it," Xander finally replied, realizing the silence had extended far longer than appropriate, and Spike's 'nicer' face was now clouding with undisguised irritation.

But Xander wasn't the only one doing a mental comparison between what was known about William the Bloody and what was being witnessed before their very eyes, actions speaking much louder than the written word.

As head of the Watcher's Council, Quentin Travers considered himself quite knowledgeable on the subject of vampires. An expert, actually. Yet, he found himself thoroughly confused and intrigued regarding the subject of one William the Bloody. It had not escaped his notice that he was in the company of two very notorious and dangerous vampires - only... did not feel his life was in jeopardy.

Bringing his internal musings to a close and getting down to business, Travers requested the use of a cellular phone; his own cellular phone and the various other electronics he’d been carrying earlier having been stripped the moment they had entered the base.

Angel tossed back a secure cellular phone that had been obtained in the same manner as their get away vehicle, wondering what Travers had in mind. It wasn't in him to trust Buffy's boss - yet, found himself with no other option available. However, if Travers dared to double-cross them in anyway, Angel vowed the man would be introduced first hand to the torture that would be met at the hands of a sadistic vampire - soul or no soul.

Unaware of the dark thoughts consuming the vampire, Travers lost no time in ringing the Council, setting in motion a new set of plans. This is what he excelled at - giving orders and having them followed without hesitation or question. This was familiar territory for him these days, the head watcher's previous days of violence buried deep in the past.

But it hadn't been forgotten. His body had remembered the lethal moves with stunning clarity. It was comforting to know that his edge hadn't been lost behind a desk.

Once Travers had been assured by his men that the matter of the base - and those inside - would no longer be a threat, he allowed himself a moment to reflect. Settling himself upon one of the uncomfortable benches that lined either side of the utilitarian truck, Travers wasn't surprised when Giles joined him and questioned his intent. Neither wanted to admit that seeing their slayer in such a state had made them both highly uncomfortable, and by turning their backs on her pained features and barely covered body, the two watchers could pretend, for just a moment, that a birth was not most likely imminent.

Before the plan could be discussed, the cellular phone he held in his hand rang and Travers spoke into it tersely before terminating the connection. His usual emotionally-devoid features held a glimmer of satisfaction as he regarded the other occupants of the truck.

"We have managed to destroy their satellite. Any outgoing means of communication and surveillance will be quite limited from here on out."

Christine couldn't keep the incredulity from flooding her voice, knowing how huge a feat that was. "You have the capabilities to accomplish something like that?"

The look Travers gave her in response was more indicative of the man the others were familiar with - arrogant and self-assured.

"Yes, quite. The resources the Watcher's Council has at its disposal are innumerable. However, this was merely the beginning."

It was clear by the tone in Travers voice that he looked upon the double cross as a personal affront, and the others who were actually listening could only be thankful that they were on the "giving" side rather than the much more typical receiving end.

Christine nodded thoughtfully, her head forming a clearer picture of what exactly the 'Watcher's Council' entailed. She realized it was why they had been locked in the comfortable board room and not in a containment cell; her military superiors probably needing the time to investigate the implications of their arrival.

Buffy's tired voice filled the confined space. "If it's safe... can someone call my mom and let her know I'm ok?"

Giles looked questioningly at Travers, whose curt nod confirmed that this request could be met.

"You don't wish to speak with her?" Giles questioned, while the Council was once again contacted.

Buffy shook her head, too weary to even think about going through the emotional battle of talking with her mom.

A man of few words, Travers was soon able to assure Buffy that her mother would be notified that she was on her way to a safe, secure location, away from the prying eyes of the US government; finding himself heartened by the fact that he had managed to extract a small smile from her. He cursed his own stupidity for not having the foresight to station his men closer to the base - finding this frantic flight across the desert an thoroughly unnecessary expenditure.

"Oh god, here comes another one," Buffy bit out, her face scrunching up with pain.

Christine glanced down at her watch, concern shadowing her face. It hadn't been that long since Buffy's last contraction, and while she wasn't the most knowledgeable when it came to pregnancies, she did know that the brief time between contractions did not bode well. Never had she thought she would appreciate being the labor coach for her best friend in high school as much as she did at this moment, since it was clear nobody else had a clue.

But that teenage birth had taken place in the controlled, yet chaotic, environment of a county labor and delivery unit.

Christine glanced over at Spike, who met her gaze. "I think we need to start getting things set up," she announced quietly to the distracted vampire.

The look that shimmered in Spike's eyes was piercing with panicked intent, a keen desperation hovering just around the edges. Christine picked up on the subconscious plea and sighed heavily, a slight frown marring her features. Her own body wasn't feeling too good with the after-effects of being tazed, and this wild ride over uneven ground wasn't helping. She couldn't even begin to imagine how it must be for Buffy.

The contraction seemed to pass, but left a thoroughly exhausted slayer in its wake. Buffy lay boneless against Spike, her head lolled to the side and pillowed against the hard chest behind her.

"Oh god, I'm going to have my baby in the back of an armored truck, aren't I?" Buffy moaned. "But hey, compared to the alternative, I'll totally take it."

"What? You're having the baby? Now?" Xander yelped, eyes bugged as he turned around from the front passenger seat where he'd moved to speak to Angel.

Buffy rolled her eyes, taking a moment to appreciate the comfort that came with the familiarity of Xander's off-the-wall comments. "Not so much with the right now, but let's just say, this 'labor thing' isn't going away," she was able to retort, managing a hint of quippy repartee to seep into her voice.

Christine's sense of apprehension continued to escalate. "I think we need to get you a bit more comfortable."

"I am comfortable," Buffy informed the soldier, moving was the last thing she wanted to do. "As comfortable as I can be, anyway. Spike makes a comfy pillow."

Christine heard the snort that came from the front seat, but ignored it. She gave Buffy a pointed look.

"Oh, my bad. That was code for Buffy gets to expose herself to the world again, wasn't it?"

Christine nodded ruefully. "Yeah. Sorry." She took a quick look around. "Does anybody know anything about delivering babies?"

The silence that accompanied her question was expected. "Yeah, that's what I thought." Christine risked a quick glance at Spike, finding herself wanting his permission before proceeding further. "Um... do you want one of the others to do this? Because I'm like the stranger here and..."

Spike's head shook curtly. "What, think I want anymore blokes taking a gander at Buffy's privates?"

When Christine still looked unconvinced, the vampire gestured to Buffy. "Do it."

"Ok. But you had better not attack me for touching her, you got it? You're all possessive and growly. It makes me nervous," she informed him.

Spike snorted derisively, but nodded. "I'll keep my fangs to myself. That what you wanna hear?"

"Yeah." Christine took another quick glance around, panic trying to build once more. Shrugging it off, she looked at the man who she had only heard referred to as 'Travers' and 'the Head Wanker.' "I don't suppose we can stop, can we? Find a nice hospital to check her into?"

Travers shook his head ruefully. "My security experts have advised me against it. My men are getting into place, as we speak. But unfortunately, we still have approximately an hour before we will be under Council protection. Until that time, we need to keep moving."

Anticipating the heated argument to the contrary, Travers added, "If absolutely need be, we will not hesitate to seek medical treatment, I assure you."

"Yes, unfortunately." Travers took a moment to cast an apologetic look at his exhausted slayer and the vampire she lay against, actually managing to surprise himself with his sincerity. "I'm truly sorry, Buffy. I know this is not an ideal situation for you. However, we have just made some formidable enemies, and until we can get that threat under control, we are forced to tread carefully."

Buffy nodded knowingly. "Yeah, I get that. I'd just as soon avoid being snatched by the military again, thank you very much." Her hands slid over her swollen belly in a tender caress. "Plus, I have something they want." Her gaze suddenly found Travers and grabbed hold, fragility and fear bright in the pleading, hazel depths. "Please make sure they can't at us again... I know I haven't been the best slayer, but-"

Travers held up one hand to cut off Buffy's heartfelt ramble. "Rest assured that I will do everything in my power to make certain that you, and those close to you, are protected." His smile became brittle. "I have my own score to settle against those who abducted you, never fear."

Spike's eyes met Travers' and held them. "I'll hold you to that. But if she gets into trouble with the baby, all bets are off, ya get me? We'll just have to take our chances."

Travers found himself nodding in agreement, once again intrigued by this legendary vampire. He only hoped he'd be able to garner a few moments in order to properly interview William the Bloody. Perhaps then he would be able to fathom what change of heart had occurred that resulted in the vampire coming to his aid, rather than ripping his throat out.

The situation inside the truck had grown decidedly terse as the miles slipped by. Angel couldn't help but worry about the strength of the glamour spell that had been used to transform the exterior of the armored truck into the unassuming guise of a recreational vehicle the moment they had fled from the base, unsure whether it would hold until they reached their destination.

In the back of the truck, Christine had taken charge. The situation was something new for her, typically being more comfortable taking orders rather than giving them. But she'd taken to it with surprising ease. Wanting to assure herself of Buffy's comfort, Christine had asked Spike to relocate the pregnant slayer to a pile of folded blankets that had been placed on the hard floor of the truck, hoping the makeshift mattress would provide more padding and help ease the pain in her lower back. The watchers had been directed to face forward in an attempt to give Buffy a bit more privacy than had previous been afforded her. Christine replaced the tweed coat Buffy still wore with another blanket, doing her best to ensure that the girl wasn't exposing anything more than necessary.

Confident that she was the only one in the back who would see anything of an intimate nature, the female soldier turned towards the front of the truck to make sure Buffy's spread-eagle position wouldn't be visible to others in the rear view mirror.

Christine's eyes narrowed as she squinted into the reflective glass, sure that what she was seeing was some sort of optical illusion. Shifting her body, she peered into it from another direction, starting slightly when her own reflection came into view.

Spike caught the panicked look Christine sent in his direction. "What's got your knickers in a twist, eh?"

Christine worried her bottom lip between her teeth. "Ok, at the risk of sounding completely retarded.... You do know the guy driving the truck doesn't have a reflection, right?"

A small ghost of a smile appeared on Spike's face. "Well, yeah. That there is Peaches."

"Spike..." the vampire in question growled in warning, eavesdropping easily from the front seat.

"You could make your own bloody introductions," Spike grumbled, tossing a hard look over his shoulder

Christine's eyes darted between the figure seated in the front cab and the vampire who could have killed her - but hadn't. "So... he's like you?"

"No!" Both Spike and Angel denied vehemently, leaving Christine even more confused.

"But... you're both vampires, right?" she looked helplessly at the two Englishmen for an explanation, knowing that this was their field of expertise, yet finding them engrossed in their own conversation and steadfastly ignoring everything else.

"Oh." Christine tossed that around in her head for a few seconds, finding the revelation far less disturbing than it should have been. She didn't know exactly what that significance held, but after everything she had been through in the past twenty-four hours, the idea of Spike not having a soul just lacked the conviction to bother her. From what she could tell, he didn't seem to be missing much with the absence of one. But it did bug her that she couldn't see Angel's reflection in the mirror and just hoped that he couldn't actually see anything since she couldn't very well tell him to shut his eyes.

Xander had grown unnaturally silent while he sat next to Angel. The combined effect of coming to terms with his friend's pregnancy, the almost unsuccessful rescue, coupled with the slowly dawning realization that he was going to be there when Buffy had her baby had managed to silence him as not much else ever had.

Both Giles and Travers couldn't help but view the impending birth with a profound sense of trepidation - yet the academic implications of what they were about to witness could not be denied. The child of a vampire and a slayer. Slayers didn't typically live long enough to have children, and the supernatural origins at work here went far beyond the typical span of normal delivery concerns.

Travers found himself in an unusual position, something that hadn't happened ever during his tenure at the Watcher's Council.

His usual consideration for slayers had never extended beyond their skill and competence. Certainly, he had never allowed himself to form any type of a personal attachment. One of the many things the Council instilled in their employees was to never form attachments, the typical British reserve making that an easy task. However, from the day that she had been called, Buffy Summers had defied tradition, bringing her normally reliable watcher down with her. Travers had frowned upon the close relationship Rupert had developed with his charge, and had even considered re-assigning Buffy to someone else.

Timing and Buffy's disappearance had curtailed his plans, however. He'd experienced no real regret at Miss Summers' abduction, merely a tempered annoyance that the Hellmouth was without a slayer to protect it, and subsequently lacking the means of securing a replacement. To his surprise, Rupert and the souled vampire, Angel, had stepped in and taken care of any situations that arose; and Travers had been able to ignore that the slayer had gone missing, merely waiting until he had received word of her death once a new slayer was called.

But now? Now he was beginning to appreciate what Rupert Giles had tried to tell him time and time again - something that he had refused to acknowledge.

He was suddenly shamed by his previous callous treatment of her - and those who had come before her. It was not easy for him to admit when he was wrong, but this was something he could finally admit to himself.

From an academic standpoint, observing the interaction between Buffy and William the Bloody was beyond fascinating, and Travers settled in to observe more closely, wishing he had something with which to document this unusual event. Furtively, he turned his head to check the slayer's progress.

Buffy's contractions quickly became more intense, stealing her breath and sapping her strength. Travers kept a close eye on the map and clock, again cursing his ego that had assured him that stringent precautionary measures were unnecessary.

It was a race against the clock. A harrowing journey to remain out of the military's clutches while ensuring the continued well-being of the laboring slayer.

With a look of utter panic, Buffy's eyes frantically found Christine's at the peak of another contraction.

Christine nodded and with a warning look at the males present who were attempting to avert their eyes, brought Buffy's knees up and gently parted them so she could take a look. Modesty had long since taken a back seat, and Christine was doing the best with the supplies that had been located in the truck's storage spaces. Fortunately, the armored truck, with its mystical convergence, had been used as a getaway car on multiple occasions and was well stocked with useful items. The interior had been completely stripped except for the barest necessities, offering more room to work with, and for that, Christine was grateful.

But upon inspection of the first aid kit, she realized there was not much in it that would be of assistance during a delivery. The need for bandages and antiseptic not as high up on the list as other more specialized supplies.

But now was not the time to lament on what the kit lacked, instead Christine found her heart skipping a few beats when she peered between Buffy's parted thighs. Buffy had been right, this was it. They were too far away from their rendezvous point - and with nothing but miles and miles of desert surrounding them, time had become their enemy.

Looking up, Christine captured Buffy's pain-glazed eyes. "I see the top of the head," the soldier announced quietly, hoping her panic wasn't being reflected in her voice.

Fear and relief stamped itself on Buffy's face and Christine took a deep breath to get herself pulled together. Her friend didn't need freaking out right now; she needed an air of confidence that Christine really knew what she was doing.

The silence inside the truck became telling, as if everyone was holding their breath in unison, all of them not able to help the thoughts that ran through their heads that they were glad they weren't the ones about to give birth.

Christine drew her eyes away from Buffy's to look at Spike, wanting to make sure he knew that this was the final overture. She owed him this; instead of killing her as had been the plan, Spike had essentially spared her life, and ended up saving it as well. His quick nod to her was reassuring.

Taking another deep calming breath, Christine prepared herself to deliver their baby.

After an addition twenty minutes of excruciating contractions, Buffy dug deep to give a final push and delivered a baby girl into Christine's waiting hands, coming just as Christine had been about to inquire how far away the nearest medical facility might be. The strength-stealing drugs the slayer had been given at the base had made bearing down to push the baby down the birth canal an almost impossible task, but she’d managed to persevere in the end, calling on some hidden strength of mothers round the world. Christine didn't think that Spike was even aware that he had gone all fangy and had grown increasingly growly during every contraction while he whispered encouragement into Buffy's ear. In light of everything else that had happened, Christine found herself not the least bit threatened by this brutal reminder of exactly what Spike was.

With one last order for Buffy to push and a harsh cry from the girl in question, a lusty cry reverberated through the van as the baby was thrust from its warm secure environment of its last nine months and rewarding their efforts with a tiny cry.

Hands shaking and tears streaming down her face, Christine quickly wrapped the newborn in a blanket and gently laid her on Buffy's stomach. Using a piece of twine, she tied off the umbilical cord in two places and severed it with the trauma sheers that Xander had sterilized; fervently hoping that she was doing it right.

When nothing changed in the quality of the baby's cries, Christine gave a sigh of relief, her panic over having done something wrong beginning to diminish slightly.

"It's a girl," Christine announced unnecessarily, catching Buffy's eyes for a brief second, choking up as she watched Buffy and Spike greet their daughter for the first time. Carefully, Buffy scooted up just the slightest bit so that she could hold her baby.

"We knew it was girl," Buffy remarked softly, barely able to comprehend that this had truly happened, that she was getting to hold her child. Her face transformed into a mask of serene bliss, the pain of the birth already slithering away to be buried into her sub-conscious. She looked up at Spike with a soft smile. "We have a baby girl."

Spike's ridges and fangs melted away, and his own blue eyes were suspiciously bright. Gathering Buffy into his arms, he pressed a tender kiss to her forehead, suddenly incapable of the speech.

They’d had every intention of following Christine's orders to keep their backs to Buffy, but the allure of the impending birth grew too much and both Travers and Giles had found themselves turning around as the slayer struggled through her final stages of labor. They couldn't help but watch with an almost morbid sense of fascination, finding themselves studying William the Bloody and his participation in the birth with an almost reverent regard. His interaction with their slayer was truly remarkable.

When the cellular phone invaded the tranquil silence following the birth, Travers gave a slight jump of alarm. When he was assured that the compound -and those inside - had been eliminated, he informed the others dispassionately. In light of this most recent miracle, it seemed almost anticlimactic that their enemy no longer posed as much of a threat.

In the wake of such an intimate event, a profound silence settled throughout the interior. Except for the female soldier, none of the hardened men, or the lone teenage boy, had ever bore witness to the miracle that is childbirth. There was a heavy cloud of awe in the air, each overwhelmed with the part they'd played, and the fruit of that labor that was still crying mightily in her mother's arms.

That was until the high-pitched creak of a lowered window and a sudden burst of wind erupted through the confined space with all the subtly of a champagne cork welcoming a New Year, as the van raced ever onward.

"What the hell are you doing?" Xander yelped, as he threw the vampire behind the wheel an incredulous look.

"Just... need... some... fresh air," Angel mumbled, and it was at that moment that Xander realized the demon seated next to him was sporting a full set of ridges and fangs.

"Well, turn up the air conditioner then! What in the holy hot dog buns is wrong with you? Open window bad... remember? Makes glamour spell go bye-bye?"

"Put up that bloody window and pull yourself together, you fuckin' sod," Spike yelled from the back, arms still wrapped around Buffy as he held her against his chest, their daughter cradled protectively in the slayer’s arms, knowing that her body heat was crucial for the baby. He couldn't stop staring at the tiny features, unable to believe that this was his living, breathing flesh, swathed like a burrito in the slayer's arms.

His slayer.

"She's still bleeding," Angel growled back, practically salivating at the smell - and hating himself for it.

"Stop thinking with your bloody fangs, you wanker," Spike grumbled, noting that Christine flinched at the reminder of exactly whose company she was in, but doing nothing to assure her. The succulent aroma of slayer's blood was almost over-whelming, even for him - and he had lived with it for the past months. It was everywhere, forcing its way down into every sense the demon inhabited, taunting, teasing... Spike couldn't even blame Angel for his lack of control. Not that he'd ever tell him that, of course.

"I... uh... think it might just be the placenta," Christine replied, her voice wobbling with sudden panic as she shoved a towel between Buffy's legs to catch the new onslaught of blood flow. Her eyes searched Buffy's face for any signs of strain that might indicate possible decompensation, but found her friend doing surprisingly well considering the ordeal she had just suffered through; her features were relaxed and bore the awed expression of post partum mothers everywhere. Aside from an unnatural pallor, it would have been impossible to tell that she had just suffered an excruciating and terrifying labor.

"Do we need to get her to a hospital?" Angel asked, having thrust his burgeoning bloodlust behind his accursed shiny barrier of humanity, his voice now low with worry.

Christine took the towel away and gave a sigh of relief when she noted the bleeding appeared to have slowed and something icky that could only be the placenta having joined all the other yucky stuff on the pile of blankets under Buffy. "It's ok, I think it's getting better."

"Maybe we should find a hospital..." Spike mentioned, worry setting in. "The girl needs a bit of blood in 'er."

"Spike, I'll be fine," Buffy opened her eyes long enough to argue, her body just wanting to rest. No, not just wanting - pleading for rest. Buffy couldn't remember ever being so exhausted and sore in her entire life, and the lure of sleep was becoming almost painful to evade.

"Pet, not sure if you are fine," Spike argued, fear of losing her now after all they had gone through practically paralyzing him. "With your pregnancy anemia... then with me taking it from ya-."

Xander was quick to pick up on the meaning behind Spike's words. "You bit her? Drank her blood? When she was pregnant?" he accused, any respect that had grown for the vampire in the last hour was in danger of being seriously forfeit with that little admission.

Before Spike could respond, Buffy buoyed herself up to confront her friend, well aware of the prejudice that was most likely in place. "Can we so not do this right now?" Buffy pleaded tiredly. "It's really not as bad as it sounds, ok?"

Something clicked and understanding dawned in Christine's eyes. "Ah! So that's how you were able to counteract the drugs this time, and not be all handicapped vamp," she announced, admiration shining in her gaze.

Spike's nod of admission was curt, not quite able to cloak the small shadow of guilt that lurked behind the vivid blue backdrop of his eyes.

"That was pretty crafty," Christine told him. "Bet those morons never even thought of that possibility."

"Don't think they really had a soddin' clue what a slayer was, much less what slayer's blood could do for a vamp."

Angel sighed heavily at the continuing reference to slayers blood. There was only so much he could take. "So do we need to stop or not?" he asked, his demon much quieter under the rigid constraint of his soul. But if he was honest with himself, it wasn't just the weight of the soul. It was the knowledge that Spike had taken care of Buffy when she had needed him; and although his demon was screaming for him to rip the younger vampire away from Buffy and establish himself as her mate, he now had too much respect for what had been done to even entertain acting on his inherent impulses.

No matter what had occurred in the past between the two vampires, Spike now had Angel's respect.

Spike opened his mouth to voice his opinion but Buffy cut him off. "We're not stopping," she said firmly, cradling the now slumbering bundle more firmly in her arms. "We can't risk it."

Spike looked ready to argue but Buffy turned her head to capture his eyes and gave him her best resolve face. "Don't even start with me. You know I'm right. What are we supposed to tell them? Because having to explain a virgin birth and baby that is half vampire is not something-"

"You're still a virgin?" Xander blurted out, his head swiveling around from his position in the passenger seat. That disturbing declaration, by far, the most shocking thing he had heard thus far.

A hint of crimson colored the unnatural pallor of Buffy's cheeks and she cast her eyes downward. "Um..."

"What the bloody hell is your problem, you git?" Spike's expression was murderous as he regarded the boy who had probably saved his undead ass earlier. "That is none of your soddin' business."

Xander held up his hands in an attempt at peace. "You're right, my bad. Forget I asked. Because the visual there? So don't need it."

Any further conversation was quelled by the frantic cries of the baby, and Buffy's eyes widened with panic as she looked down into the angry red face of her daughter.

The baby books Buffy had practically devoured during her latter stages of pregnancy had not even begun to prepare her for the reality that was motherhood, and she was terrified.

"What's wrong with her?" Buffy asked frantically, her thoughts working hard to penetrate through the thick cloud of lethargy and come up with a logical reason for the sudden torrential outcry.

"The 'bit is probably 'ungry," Spike announced, his voice tinged with a comparable level of panic, quickly discounting any previous experience with babies he may have had in the past. While he had never actively killed an infant, he had not hesitated in supplying Drusilla with a ready supply when her fickle mood for young blood had struck. Something akin to guilt tried hammering through his already fractured emotions, and looking down at the reddened face of his child, he refused to follow the path his memories were trying to take him. He didn't have time for guilt, and he sure as fuck didn't want it. Instead, he focused on the matter at hand, namely putting an end to his child’s ear-piercing cries.

With the volume rapidly gaining in intensity, each person present seemed struck with the same affliction; a profound immobility that allowed them to do nothing more than stare with wide-eyes and horror. Christine couldn't quite hold back the roll of her eyes at this validating display of the complete and utter uselessness of males. She couldn't find it within herself to begrudge Buffy's own seeming inability to offer a solution, knowing that the girl had just suffered through more than any normal person could handle.

When Spike finally moved to take the swathed bundle from Buffy's arms, Christine intervened. "Let me help," she announced, taking possession of the newborn. Settling herself at Buffy's side, Christine pinned a warning look at the dumbstruck watchers. "You think you could give Buffy some privacy?"

"Huh? Why?" Xander called back in a confused voice, after hearing the soldier's sarcastically posed request. He swiveled around in his seat to make sure he wasn't missing anything of importance. "I thought the naked part was over."

Giles cleared his throat uncomfortably and finally answered Xander’s question when the female soldier didn’t bother to elaborate on her pointed demand. "I believe she means for Buffy to... er... um… that is to say…Buffy might need to… nurse the baby," he finally mumbled. Just the thought of using the word breast and his slayer in the same sentence had his face flushing profusely. As it was, he had seen far too much in the past hour that the images of her giving birth – and the intense labor preceding the actual delivery – would no doubt torment him for many years to come.

"Ooo... kay... Think I'll pass on a visual of that one," Xander commented quickly, doing an about face in his seat. Like Giles, he'd already seen more than enough of Buffy's nubile flesh to scar him for the next decade. And while a year ago, passing up an opportunity to get a gander at his not-so-much-with-the secret crush's "rack" was something not even within the realm of possibility, the situation had drastically changed. Now he'd rather gouge out his eyeballs than risk getting another peek at the super-sized melons Buffy was now sporting. He much preferred to remember them as they had been. Firm. Rounded. Perky, even. Enough to fill out her skimpy tops and spill over the tops of her C cup without looking obscene. And he was so getting off topic...

However, luckily for him, the reality of the current situation hit home once more with the voice of calm reason.

"I kind of remember the lactation nurse doing this for my friend," Christine explained to Buffy awkwardly, positioning the baby so that the tiny mouth was aligned with Buffy's nipple.

"I don't think she likes me, " Buffy commented tearfully a moment later when nothing had happened except an increase of lung capacity and several decibels as the tiny mouth steadfastly refused to recognize its source of nourishment and became even more enraged that her demands were not being met.

Suddenly it was all too much for Buffy. Being rejected by the very being that she had fought so hard to bring into this world was the last straw, and streaks of moisture ran unchecked down her cheeks as helplessness overwhelmed her.

Rejection was an emotion that Christine was well versed in, and she sent imploring eyes in Spike's direction, hoping that he could do something to alleviate Buffy's torment. But she found the vampire's entire focus on that of his squalling child and knew he didn't have what it would take to bring Buffy the necessary reassurance.

Desperate to wipe the stricken look off of her friend's face, she suggested hesitantly, "Um... I think you just need to guide your... uh... " she gestured with one hand in the direction of Buffy's heaving bosom, "um, nipple into her mouth..."

Hazel eyes that spoke of unknown trauma and pain lifted to meet Christine's uncertain gaze, and the soldier gave her a brief smile and a reassuring nod that alerted Buffy to the fact that at least one person knew what she was going through. And could sympathize.

Buffy took a deep breath, finding herself strangely soothed by Christine's calm, supportive demeanor. Still fighting the affects of the delivery and blood loss, Buffy cupped her own breast and touched the tip of one nipple to her daughter's cheek, not knowing what to expect.

In the span of a few seconds, tiny lips that had been pursed with outrage, unexpectedly closed around the dusky areola.

A swift burst of maternal pride found its way to the surface as Buffy stared down at her baby girl. "Oh....wow... she's nursing," she uttered softly.

Buffy tore her eyes away to capture Spike's gaze, smiling through the tears that continued to collect and fall, at the look of awed wonder that had transformed the vampire's face. A tender smile was shared as they both turned back to watch their baby nurse at Buffy's breast. Neither needed to voice the acknowledgement that this miracle had almost not taken place, both realizing how close it had truly been. They owed a world of gratitude to these people who had risked their lives to ensure their safety and the continued viability of their child.

Buffy broke her gaze away from the beautiful sight of watching her daughter to encompass the others, needing them to know the extent of her gratitude.

Her mouth parted in preparation for speech - when a sharp, pricking sensation had her eyes widening with disbelief and flying back to her feeding bundle of joy.

"Um... She just bit me," Buffy replied softly, still not fully comprehending what had just occurred.

Christine nodded knowingly, imparting what little wisdom she had procured, pleased with herself that she had managed to get Buffy this far. "I remember my friend's nipples were so cracked when she first started nursing that she would practically cry when it was time for her baby to eat. I think there is some stuff you can get to make it better though."

All eyes swiveled around to gape at the child nestled at Buffy's breast, unmindful of her modesty as the significance of the words were interpreted. The baby had been delivered with all the appearances of a normal, mortal child, and in chaotic aftermath of the birth, there had been no time to discover otherwise.

"Do you mean to say-" Travers began, staring at the now blessedly quiet baby feeding contendedly.

Buffy nodded warily, and Spike reached out one finger and gently lifted up on the corner of his daughter's upper lip. A slow smile of pride worked its way onto his face before he spoke.

Spike couldn't quite keep the satisfied smirk off of his face as he watched the miracle of Mother Nature at work. Well, with a little extra zing, at any rate. Tiny little teeth that seemed to serve no other purpose than to jab into the tender flesh of Buffy's spectacular tit. His smile broadened as he once again raised the corner of his daughter's mouth, wanting to see those beauties for himself once more.

"Ok, I just have to say it. These things are absolutely the most adorable thing I have ever seen," Spike commented smugly, knowing he sounded like a true git. But the sight of those tiny shards of pearl poking through baby pink gums just made him... giddy. And it further validated that he was indeed responsible for this utter miracle that was snuggly wrapped in a second hand blanket.

"Adorable for you, maybe," Buffy grumbled with little heat, turning her head to shoot him an indignant look. "You're not the one being chewed on."

"Oh, piffle." Spike waved off her complaint good-naturedly. "She's not even breaking the skin. Or trying to. She just has these cute little fangs... did you see them? They're bloody priceless."

"So you keep saying," Buffy complained wearily, finding herself undisturbed by the fact that she had given birth to a daughter with very defined incisors. There would be more time for reflection on that significance later, Buffy decided, as she shifted around to gain a more comfortable position on the floor of the truck, not even noticing when Spike moved to take the full brunt of her weight. Fatigue was becoming a battle that she could no longer fight and expect to come out the victor, as lethargy unlike any she had ever experienced fully overwhelmed her. Everything was tired. She would bet that even her hair was tired, if such a thing were possible. And her weariness seemed to have little regard for the baby biting her boob, or the truck that continued to bounce along a seemingly unending road.

"Go to sleep," Spike uttered softly, trailing his index finger gently down a cheek that was much too pale. "I'll watch over the two of you."

"I know you will," Buffy mumbled instinctively before succumbing to the inevitable, her head dropping back unexpectedly against the pillow of his chest and her body abruptly becoming lax. The steady thump of her heart and her deep, even breathing were the only things that gave Spike any measure of comfort that this abrupt transition was merely a deep sleep Buffy had fallen victim to rather than anything of a more serious nature.

As gravity caused Buffy's arms to fall to the side, Christine's own capable hands were there in an instant to keep the nursing newborn in place; preventing a disturbance in the first feeding process, if not an outright fall to the hard floor.

Christine shrugged uncomfortably, not accustomed to being acknowledged for her troubles. "Yeah, well, don't really want to listen to that shrill shrieking again," she returned quietly with a small grin. "What's her name, anyway?"

"What do you mean you don't know?" Christine asked, aghast. And just when she was beginning to think he was ok for a vampire.

"We'd just found out she was a girl, you know. Right before they got us. Hadn't had time to suss it out yet," Spike admitted. "Figured we'd have time to talk it over."

"Oh." Christine appeared thoughtful as she gazed down into the sleepy features of the baby that had already inadvertently been the cause of so much death and chaos. Fangs or no, she was just an innocent in all of this, and Christine felt another round of tears pricking at the edges of her vision as an unfamiliar feeling of protectiveness grew within her. She was meant to die at the hands of the very vampire whose daughter Christine now held against her friend’s body, and yet here she was. Alive.

No thanks to the very military institution she had pledged her life to serve... and the more she thought about their duplicity, the more it just plain pissed her off.

Yeah, she knew where her loyalties lay. And for the first time in her military career, going AWOL didn't seem as unfathomable a reality as it had previously.

Luckily, a concerned voice coming from the occupant of the driver's seat broke the spell of her increasingly irate inner tirade. "Hey, is Buffy doing ok?"

Taking a deep breath to calm down and clear her head of lingering anger over her country's betrayal, Christine waited for Spike to answer the question. Rather than a response, however, the question merely garnered an irritated scowl sent over his shoulder and a muttered 'wanker'.

Not even wanting to question the apparent animosity, Christine took it upon herself to answer. "Seems to be. She's sleeping." Out of habit, she glanced up into the rear view mirror as she spoke, only to be brutally reminded that a reflection was not going to be found. Now, she couldn't help but wonder what the other vampire looked like, only able to see a portion of his profile from her position on the floor. Mostly she saw a wall of brown hair and a forehead and not much else.

Turning her attention back to the task at hand, Christine discovered that the baby with no name seemed to have headed in the same direction as her mother; the tiny bud mouth now slack with all signs of nursing ceased. Drawing her away gently, Christine couldn't help but snicker at the tiny indentions left on either side of Buffy's areola; thinking they looked more like the marks of an overzealous kitten than a baby of questionable demonic attributes.

"See? You think it's cute too," Spike announced as Christine pulled the tweed jacket that still adorned Buffy's torso up to restore some semblance of modesty.

Christine couldn't quite wipe the cheesy smile off of her face. "Ok, ok. You're right. It's cute. She's just a little powder-puff."

"Hey Christine, you want some of this beef jerky?" Xander called back, thrusting a bag back in her direction. "Even Dorkhead Driving likes it."

Snickering at the accompanying pained sigh that she was coming to learn was standard issue for the other vampire, Christine did not hesitate to take Xander up on the offer. "Yeah, thanks. I'm starving," she answered truthfully, handing Spike the burden of his daughter as she leaned over to grab the bag dangling just out of reach.

Settling himself as comfortably as he could, Spike hugged his child close with his one free arm, pressing a light kiss to her soft cheek as he watched her sleep, a genuine look of awe settling on his own exhausted features.

A notoriously ruthless and evil vampire, tenderly holding his newborn child securely in one arm, while the other was wrapped protectively around the baby's mother, who was also sleeping deeply against him; both completely vulnerable to any potential attack. That the girl happened to be a slayer, bent on destroying his kind, seem inconsequential.

And yet nobody felt the need to intervene. There was no necessity that required them to save the two females that were nestled in the deadly vampire's embrace.

The watchers studied the trio before them, mentally cataloguing each look, each gesture. Both coming to terms with what had been set in motion by the secret branch of the military who had mucked around with genetics and DNA. Yet, at this moment, observing this wondrous outcome, neither could feel much trepidation. Even the confirmation that the child shared at least some demonic DNA with her father refused to bring about the level of panic that it truly might deserve.

And as much as their stringent backgrounds and ingrained beliefs tried interfering and telling them otherwise, neither Travers and Giles could deny the obvious.

Never believing that such revelations would ever be made and doing their best to come to terms with it, the watchers continued to study the scene before them; noting when Spike's head tipped back and his eyelids slid shut for just a moment, obviously in danger of forfeiting on his promise to watch over Buffy and their child as they slept.

The quiet that settled became almost uncomfortable, and it was a relief when the vampire finally broke the silence, still appearing as if he had also succumbed to exhaustion.

A spark of irritation shot through Travers, having already covered that aspect of the journey. "Well, as I previously mentioned, we will be met by a team from the Council and be under armed escort back to Council headquarters."

The brilliant blue eyes that Travers suddenly found cast in his direction caused an instinctive shiver to roll down his spine, the sheer intensity of that piercing gaze frightening.

Spike cocked his head in silent challenge, keeping his penetrating stare on the man he was being forced to trust.

"Are your men going to greet me with open arms? Or is my reception going to involve the sharp end of a stake, eh?"