Origins: Revelations
Niamh

[A/N: In every story, there’s a beginning, a middle and an ending. This then is the middle; whether or not this also constitutes the end remains to be seen. So much for a break in between these two stories. The title comes from that English band, you know the one – four guys?; and the quotes are as attributed. You should all know the drill by now, I own nothing, it all belongs to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy and all those other big corporations that own a piece of the Buffy empire.]

Previously: Almost a month and a half ago, Willow did the highly improbable and brought Buffy back from the dead, ripping her from heaven in the process. Unfortunately, Willow neglected to retrieve her nicely, forcing Buffy to dig herself out of her own grave. Spike found her immediately following and brought her home. They are now openly living together, with the blessings of Giles and Dawn, while Tara and Willow’s relationship has hit the skids. Willow was forced to leave the Summers’ house, after giving Angel a head’s up about Buffy’s return, her manipulation of Tara being the real reason behind their split. This opens up. . . well, you’ll see.

Book Two, Chapter 1. A day in the life


The true harvest of my daily life is somewhat as intangible
and indescribable as the tints of morning or evening.
It is a little star-dust caught, a segment of
the rainbow which I have clutched.
Henry David Thoreau, Writings, vol. 2, p 239

He hath a daily beauty in his life.
Othello, act v, sc. 1



Three weeks of peace amid the onslaught of life on the hellmouth. In that time, those precious three weeks, life in their house had settled into a semblance of normalcy. Well, as normal as a household consisting of the Vampire Slayer, her vampire boyfriend, her Key sister and an every-day garden variety witch could be.

Not long after Willow had moved out, Tara had opted to move into Spike’s basement bedroom just to get away from the memories, and with Spike’s help she’d transformed the room into something a bit more her style than his.

Joyce’s old bedroom was now empty, devoid of all furniture and the two girls were still trying to come to an agreement about what to do with the room. Spike was doing his best to stay out of the argument, knowing if he were to side with either of the sisters his love life would get that much more complicated.

Dawn had been uncharacteristically quiet in the last few weeks, which was prompting his current mission. She was once again locked in her room ignoring everything and everyone around her. Spike had no idea if this was normal for Dawn or a teen-aged girl, just adding to his unrest about the whole situation. Didn’t matter, because either way he was more than a little concerned and since Buffy was out with Tara, he figured it was a perfect opportunity to get Dawn to open up to him about what was bugging her.

Which was why he was knocking at her door, just before three in the afternoon. “Dawn?”

He tried again, “Niblet? I know you’re in there, wanna talk to you ‘bout somethin’.”

The stereo lowered and then the floor creaked under her feet, the lock clicked open and there she stood, hip thrown out to one side and a slight defensively defiant look on her face.

“Need to talk to you Bit, got a moment?” Spike leaned against the door jamb, his arms crossed over his chest, waiting for her to invite him in to talk.

“Spike, I’m in the middle of doing my homework, is this important?” Dawn shifted from one foot to another avoiding his direct gaze.

Not accepting her implied dismissal, Spike pushed past her into the bedroom. He glanced once at her bed, taking at face value the spread of books and paperwork strewn across the covers, not bothering to look any closer.

“Bit,” he started, then turned around, peering at her closely, “is everythin’ okay?”

“What do you mean?” She sat on the edge of her bed, trying not to disturb the papers.

“Been awfully quiet lately. Somethin’ eatin’ at you?”

“Nope” then, changing her mind, she said, “well, school’s kind of hard, I’m not . . “ she shrugged trying to convey part of her confusion.

“Not fittin’ in?” He rested back against her desk watching her closely.

“Partially, still got Janice and . . well, Kirsten’s not in any of my classes, in fact I hardly see her anymore and Janice has a boyfriend and I don’t really like him and I get this creepy feeling sometimes that someone’s watching me and I just don’t fit in and all my classes are super hard and just . . . “ her voice trailed off into nothing and she kept her head down studying her feet.

He was silent for long minutes waiting for her to spill whatever else was bothering her. He knew there was more to this, just by the way she was holding herself.

She’d read three of the four journals cover to cover and had a fairly extensive amount of notes on other slayers and Spike. But little on her own background. The most recent journal she had ended before Buffy was born, so she doubted there was a whole lot of information in that one. She was just about to start reading the last journal when Spike had knocked on her door.

Dawn kept her eyes down, away from his all too perceptive gaze. The absolute last thing she wanted to talk about was really the only thing on her mind – well, that and Buffy.

“You’re not upset about me movin’ in are you?” Spike, for once, didn’t know what was wrong with Dawn and since she wasn’t talking, he could only guess that it was their living arrangements that were bothering her, especially since she clammed up about the same time Willow officially moved out.

“No!” Dawn looked up at him then, “you’ve been here all summer, why would it bother me now?”

“Because of where I’m sleepin’.”

She snorted, “gee Spike, how long have you been in love with Buffy?” Waving off his retort, Dawn giggled, “so not upset by that. Saw that coming when you brought her back and she was all cling-to-Spike girl.”

Giggling harder at his look, Dawn said, “not so worried ‘bout that, just glad she’s back, you know? Just wish she wasn’t so. . . is she gonna get any better?”

So that was her problem – Buffy. His girls weren’t as close as they were before and Dawn was feeling the lack of sister time.

“Getting better every day, Bit. Still hard for her and with Rupert going back home for a bit, its bound to bother her.”

“She doesn’t talk about things with me.” Dawn’s disappointment was hard to disguise not that she was trying all that hard.

Spike sighed. “Sis doesn’t like to talk about it at all. S’like its jus’ too hard. Can’t imagine what heaven must have been like, don’t imagine I’ll ever find out either.”

Moving around a bit, Spike continued, “give her time, Bit, she’ll open up.” Looking at her once more, he said, “is ‘at all?”

“Well . . . there is a guy. . . “ and giggled at the look on Spike’s face.

He growled once, then said through semi-clenched teeth, “bring him round. Lemme suss things out, yeah?”

“I’m hoping he’ll ask me to homecoming.”

On his way out the door, Spike repeated, “bring him round. Then I’ll think about it.”
Once he was gone, Dawn locked the door behind him, diving back into her notes and the last journal.

The one thing weighing heavily on her mind – though she’d never tell Spike, at least not until she had more proof than she had right now, was that she was convinced Spike was her father. Her biological mother was still not certain. It could have been either Joyce or Buffy. She was thinking – hoping it wasn’t Joyce.

Not that there was any doubt in her mind about how the monks had done it – it had to have been magic, because as ar as she knew, vampires couldn’t have babies.


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Five hundred years of existence, or nearly so, had not prepared her for any of this. Hands, feet, legs, everything – belly, god what a belly, every last little part of her ached. But for all that pain, this was such a miracle. And it was all in danger. By her very nature she put this child inside her in danger’s path. Once the infant was born, his soul would remain with him and she would once again be herself.

Soulless.

Once upon a time she’d killed infants like the one she carried, slain their mothers while the babies struggled within their wombs or cried helplessly amidst the slaughter, blood and gore. She hadn’t known.

Hadn’t understood what she’d done.

Darla understood it all now.

The enormity of over four hundred years of murder and wanton destruction weighed heavily upon her. Crushed her with near constant waves of overwhelming guilt and grief. Tears were her ever present companion – no solace to be found anywhere.

No absolution.

No forgiveness.

Her belly thumped, a hand or foot pushing against her taut skin, stretching it further out from the inside. Darla ran a soothing hand over the lump, humming softly to herself and the baby through her tears.

Time was running short. This baby, this boy-child created by her and Angel . . . this completely undeserved miracle – would be born – and soon.

And Darla didn’t want to let him go.

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Buffy was meeting Tara at UC Sunnydale, since the Slayer had decided she might want to think about going back to school for the next semester. Just thinking about it. She wasn’t really sure she was ready for it.

There was a lot she wasn’t ready for, but having everyone’s support was a big help – from Giles giving Spike a job to Tara cooking nightly to Dawn not acting out, it was good.

The myth that vampires slept all day had been shattered by Spike’s ability to function on a couple of hours every morning. So he was usually up when she woke up, though he was prone to napping around eleven, he was awake again no later than two. Since Giles had offered him the job, Spike was at the Magic Box by three, working until seven or so. Soo, if they kept to that pattern, come the next semester, provided she got scholarship money, she could take classes from ten until three, which fit in nicely.

But it was a huge if. Right now, Buffy thought, if I have to make a decision, it’s a world of no.

UC Sunnydale wasn’t a huge campus, not by a long shot, not by anyone’s standards, and yet here she was, in the main quad completely overwhelmed and trying to stop herself from wigging. Too many people milling around, bumping into her and Oh! God! Parker Abrams, that slug had just walked right by her. Thank god he hadn’t seen her.

“Buffy?”

Oh no no nonono. . . Whirling around at the sound of her name, she stopped short, literally, at the sight before her eyes.

“Oz?”

“Hey” and he smiled slightly at her stunned expression.

“Hey. How are you? When did you get back - where’ve you been? What have you been doing?” Nervous babbling filled the air around them.

Pulling on his arm she moved them out of the flow of foot traffic. His replies were mumbled as they moved. “Okay. Couple of weeks.”

At her confused look, he just raised an eyebrow. She smiled brightly, relieved to have found a familiar safe face to stave off the panic.

“Sorry, I’m babble-girl.”

He gave her his patented Oz grin, consisting of no more than just a mere raised lip and sat down on the bench next to her.

“Got back a couple of weeks ago. Hooked up with the band. Been playing some gigs.” He squinted into the sunshine then continued, “what’s new?”

Buffy giggled nervously – what a can of worms that question was. “Um . . well, lots. Where do you want me to start?”

There was one thing on his mind and both of them knew it, but both were afraid to bring it up for completely different reasons.

It was into that awkward moment that Tara stepped into view, calling, “hey Buffy.”

Oz stiffened beside her, recognizing the other girl.

“Oh.” Tara shared a look with Buffy then greeted him. “Hey Oz. H. . how are you?”

“Good.” He started to get up, but Buffy placed a hand on his arm. “Oz, this is Tara” and blurting out what was suddenly on all their minds, “Tara who is no longer Willow’s girlfriend.”

“Whoa.” It spoke volumes that Oz actually raised his voice a bit.

Tara ducked her head smiling at Buffy’s blunt declaration.

“Hey.”

They sat there, frozen for a moment until Buffy said, “come home and have dinner with us.”

Looking from one girl to the other, Oz thought for a moment, then shook his head in agreement. Free food sounded good. “Sure.”

“Gotta make a stop first and then we’ll head home, okay with you?” Buffy asked cheerfully, happy now that this was going better.

“Sure.” He shrugged, pretty much willing to go with the flow.

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Spike was in the basement, packing orders, getting them ready for shipping when he heard the bell tinkle upstairs indicating some new arrival. Glancing at the clock on the wall, he dropped one last handful of bio-degradeable filler into the box, sealed it with packing tape, slapped an address label on it and headed up the stairs to greet his woman.

Buffy was chattering animatedly to someone he couldn’t see and his nose couldn’t identify. It wasn’t Tara because he could see her talking with Giles, while Anya was finishing a sale. Spying him before anyone else, she smiled then went right back to the customer.

He watched his golden girl, a smile playing on his features. Whoever she was talking to she was comfortable with, apparently considering whoever it was a friend, because she was chattering away like he hadn’t seen her do since before her mother died.

Leaning against the counter, Spike just watched her, drinking in her presence. Every day he marveled at her, how she accepted him into her life and how far she’d come since those first awful days back from the dead.

Buffy paused in her almost monologue, no longer ignoring the tingles his presence set off within her. Deciding she wanted to tease him a little, Buffy flipped her hair, then wiggled her hips a little, stretching her arms up over her head.

That strip of skin at the small of her back exposed by her stretch beckoned him. Her scent engulfed him as her emotions strengthened. Stalking up behind her, Spike knew she felt him because her body shifted, urging him closer.

Still standing away from her, Spike reached out a finger, running it across that stretch of skin. Goose bumps raised themselves at his touch and Buffy fought the shiver of arousal running through her muscles.

His hand brushed around her waist, pulling her back against him. Nuzzling into her hair, Spike whispered, “hello cutie.”

Buffy leaned further back against him, her hand caressing his, their fingers entwining.

Watching the display in front of him, Oz realized things had really changed. He wasn’t sure at first, but as he watched them his eyes confirmed what his sense of smell had deduced. Oz almost didn’t believe it when he’d caught a glimpse of Spike watching Buffy, a different kind of predatory gleam in his eyes.

Sighing a bit, Buffy turned in Spike’s embrace, her arms automatically spiraling around his neck, her whispered, “hello yourself” sending a thread of arousal through him.

Realizing their audience was staring, Buffy kissed Spike then reluctantly broke from his embrace.

“Spike, you remember Oz, right?”

Ahhh, now he did. Willow’s dogboy.

“Oz, I’m sure you remember Spike.”

Spike leaned over to shake the other man’s hand saying, “welcome back.”

If Oz was surprised by the change in Spike it didn’t show. But then, Oz was never one for huge expressions.

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The last journal was finished. She’d read it from cover to cover. Unfortunately, it did nothing to further her quest. The good news was Giles was leaving tomorrow, going back to England because the Council was demanding his presence. That meant she’d be able to sneak into his apartment and steal another couple of books.

He wasn’t happy about it, but he really didn’t have much choice, since he was going for two reasons that she was aware of anyway, only one of which the Council was aware of. She’d overheard Giles telling Spike he was going to try and get the Council to give Buffy a stipend so that she wouldn’t have to go get a job, not that Spike wasn’t earning enough, but so that things would be a bit better.

Between Tara’s housing grant, Spike’s weekly poker winnings and now the job with the Magic Box, money wasn’t so tight. She got a check monthly from Social Services, but the adults had decided not to dip into what they were calling her college fund unless things got dire.

Which was cool.

But right now Dawn was frustrated. And so not happy. So when the phone rang, she wasn’t at all pleasant-girl, until she realized who was on the other end.

And when he asked if she wanted to go to homecoming with him, she played it cool, until she hung up the phone. That was when she squealed high enough to shatter glass 

tbc

[A/N: Don’t worry, I’m going to get to all the juicy stuff soon, oh, and yeah, there will be some sex also. The title comes from the poem in the last chapter (here I go again re-using sources; but this time I paraphrased it a bit. Quotes as attributed, and everything belongs to someone other than me, except for the plot, that’s all mine]

Previously: Normal life goes on in Sunnydale, almost like the calm before a storm. Oz has found his way to the house on Revello Drive.

Book Two, chapter 2. Clutcthing stardust

Any idiot can face a crisis – its day to day living that wears you out.
Anton Chekov

Unbeing dead is not being alive.
e. e. cummings

Life is easier than you’d think;
all that is necessary is to accept the impossible,
do without the indispensible,
and bear the intolerable.
Kathleen Norris



Filling Oz in on what had been going on since his departure had left the werewolf more than a little confused. But, in typical fashion, he’d just taken it all in stride without commenting on any of it.

During the course of dinner, Oz discovered what had happened to Faith, learned about the arrival and subsequent departure of Riley (at least more than he’d known before); about Dawn and Glory. Hearing about Joyce had made a small frown appear on his face, but hearing about Buffy’s death and Willow’s part in her return had disturbed him nearly as much as it had the others. And now, Spike was living here, openly part of a couple with Buffy. But for Oz, the really wiggy part of the whole evening was discovering how much he actually liked Tara.

There hadn’t been much opportunity for bonding during his last visit, hadn’t been much desire for it either. He’d watched her while they ate, seeing how comfortable everyone was, how much they were a family unit. Tara was the glue that held them together. He liked that, could appreciate it even.

And found himself wishing it wasn’t time to go when dinner was done and Buffy and Spike were getting ready to patrol.

Which kind of explained how he and Tara ended up talking most of the night, until it was nearly one in the morning, and why Buffy invited him to sleep on the couch when they’d gotten in a few minutes later.

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They still hadn’t been able to dispatch the Cwn Annwn, though the nightly attacks had begun to dwindle. The number of bodies had dropped also, down to one or two per attack, nstead of the four or five previously.

Further research was another reason Giles was returning to England and despite Buffy’s protestations otherwise, Giles knew he had to go.

Besides, it wasn’t a permanent move. This was just, at least in his eyes, a fact finding trip. The Council wanted a report from him and he needed information from them. Unfortunately his list probably exceeded theirs by about five. Wesley had requested Giles scan the library for vampire pregnancies, which Spike had seconded, then there was the Cwn Annwn and Willow’s ritual and . . . . he needed also, to know what, if anything, the Council knew about the monks.

What he’d read so far convinced him that the monks had predated Christianity by at least a millennia, subverting themselves by allowing their absorption into the Church for protection during the Middle Ages – when the Inquisition was in full swing. The order had been formed, or so it seemed, for one purpose, to guard the Key and the gates from Glorificus and any other being with enough power and hubris to try wielding the Key.

Though the Council had stated they’d shared what information they possessed, Giles was not convinced of their honesty, which was why he had no intention of revealing everything he needed information about.


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Oz woke to the sound of slightly raised voices. It sounded like Spike and Dawn were going at it in the kitchen. Unable to fall back asleep, Oz listened, getting an idea about how close they were. They sounded like any parent and child discussing dates, which was kind of weird, considering Spike wasn’t Dawn’s father.
“Told you, wasn’t going to say yea or nay wi’ out meetin’ the boy.”

Something landed hard on a counter and Oz winced at the pitch of Dawn’s voice. “Why do you have to? Its not like I’m gonna marry the guy. Its just homecoming.”

“Dawn, what’s his name?” It was hard to miss Spike’s exasperation with the teenager.

“Casey.”

There was silence then a sigh, and the girl spoke again. “Fine. I’ll do it. But no going all ggggrrrrr on me okay?”

“Let you know about that.”

And apparently the conversation was over, because silence once again reigned. Oz rolled over and went back to sleep.


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They took turns getting up in the morning, making sure Dawn got up in time for school, and this morning it had been his turn. Dawn had ambushed him about homecoming once she was dressed and ready to go, telling him only that the boy she wanted to ask her had.

Trudging back up the stairs to curl in beside Buffy, Spike ran a hand through his hair. He knew what Dawn was up too, it was fairly obvious. With his approval it would be that much easier to get Buffy to agree, but he wasn’t going to cave on this issue. Spike was adamant about meeting the snot first and if he made it through his ridiculously long check list, Spike would allow her to go.

Sitting on the side of the bed, Spike untied his boots, dropping them heavily on the floor, trying but not to wake Buffy. She stirred, moving under the blankets but didn’t wake up. Sliding off his jeans, Spike lifted the cotton sheet and blanket off her. Flesh colored lace with a faint tinge of lilac barely covered her rounded butt cheeks.

He grinned at the sight, his fingers grazing across the slope of her upper thigh, whisking over each globe. Buffy shifted one leg, bending it upwards, lifting her ass in the air. Spike took it for an unconscious invitation. Playing his fingers gently over her skin, Spike allowed his other hand to push up the scrap of lace she dared to call a nightgown. It barely covered her, leaving little for his imagination, constructed of two thin strips of ribbon and nothing but lace, it was one of his favorite articles of her clothing.

Moving closer to her, Spike grinned as she moved into him, her face turning toward him. Barely there touches grazed her from behind, raising gooseflesh all over her back. Her legs twitched, her mound pressing against the mattress, a tiny whimper escaping her throat. His grin widened. Teasing both of them he ran his fingers over her softly, slowly, his fingers moving ever closer to her molten core. She was liquid fire, especially there, burning hot. Buffy’s hips shifted again quivering under his touch. The whimper morphed into a soft whine as she swam toward waking.

Spike wiggled two fingers around her center “god kitten. . . so wet. . . “

His words breathed across her shoulder, answered by her murmur. “Open up for me love, let me in. . . “

Shifting a bit so he was looming over her, his mouth by her ear, he rumbled her name deep in his chest. “Buffy.”

Sleepily she responded to his intimate touch, her eyes drifting open as he slowly, almost lazily thrust his fingers inside her. Her eyes opened, his name escaping from her lips, seeking his.

“Mmmm. . . There she is. . . my sweet one.”

Buffy gasped into the pillow beneath her, arching her bottom into the air, writhing slowly with each thrust. “Spike,” she practically moaned his name as he knelt between her thighs, his hand lifting her.

“Want you . . . want to be inside you . . . gonna let me in?” He leaned over her back, his words spoken against lace covered skin interspersed with nipping kisses. “C’mon beautiful girl . . . “

“Spike . . . please.” She was barely awake, sensations drowning her, his touch igniting her from the inside.

Still using only his fingers, Spike brought her to the edge, drawing her back as he raked his fingers from her warmth. Buffy’s hips were churning, seeking friction, penetration . . . something. . . “please Spike. . . “

Pulling her back over his legs, Spike opened his knees, spreading her legs apart. His cock nudged at her from behind, making her whimper with need. His strong hands held her still, lifting her onto his hard length.

His name hissed in the air, ending in a half shriek as he slid all the way inside her. “Spike. Oh god. . . oh. . . “

The grunts in her ear were driving her insane, his voice repeating her name over and over as he drove into her from behind, filling her up, hitting . . “oh god, Spike . . . please. . . need . . to. . “

Buffy grabbed the iron bars in front of her holding on. He was pounding into her now, hard and fast and “Spike. . . oh. . . “

A deep growl sounded from her throat surprising him into stilling his movements. A breathless chuckle sounded in her ear as he nibbled on the nape of her neck.

“Love . . . “ he thrust hard, “come with me.”

“So . . . god kitten. . . love you.” Slow, hard grind of his pelvis into hers.

She writhed against him, seeking more, “please . . . now. . . Spike.”

“Buffy . . . love you . . . beautiful girl. . . “ Thrusting hard and fast again, Spike lost all pretense of control when her inner muscles constricted around him.

His blunt teeth bit down hard on that spot where her neck met her shoulder and Buffy groaned in response. “Spike . . . wanna see you. . . “

Growling low in his throat, Spike slid from her depths, and she rolled over to face him. Spike’s mouth was on hers instantly, their tongues battling against each other, his hard length sliding into her again. Wrapping around, her arms encircled his neck, holding on tight.

“Look at me kitten.”

“Oh god. . . oh god . . . Spike. . . need you. . . want. . “ For nce, Buffy was nearly as vocal as he was.
.
Her eyes never leaving his, Buffy bore down, convulsing around him. Staring into each other’s eyes, they exploded together. His whispered words echoed around her, “love you so much Buffy.”

Sliding down sideways onto the mattress, Spike lifted her hip over his, pulling her against his chest. “So much.”


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Oz woke up for good sometime mid-morning to find the house quiet again. There was a note on top of his clothing from Tara. Reading it, he finally understood what had attracted Willow to Tara. She wasn’t the hottest looking girl around, but looks weren’t much really if you weren’t a beautiful person underneath. And Tara was.

There were homemade muffins and fresh coffee in the kitchen. All he had to do was turn the coffeemaker on.

Wandering into the kitchen he found everything where the note said it would be. She’s really thoughtful, kind, caring. I get it now, with Willow. Tara was not safe, but comforting. Something about her just drew the other person in, making the other person feel terribly important.

The phone ringing pulled him from his reverie and he thought about answering it, but he didn’t want to overstep his bounds. Didn’t really matter, because it stopped after three rings and the answering machine didn’t pick up, so he assumed that either Buffy or Spike had answered. Ten minutes later feet pounded down the stairs and Oz wasn’t surprised when a slightly disheveled Spike entered the kitchen.

“Hey.”

“Mornin’” moving toward the refrigerator, Spike motioned to the coffee pot, “how much is in there?”

“Dunno. Tara set it up.” Oz watched him pour some blood into a mug then pop it into the microwave.

“Right, should be enough for all of us.” Waiting a beat, Spike asked, “sleep all right?”

“Yeah.”

“Good then.”

They stayed in comfortable silence until Buffy made her way downstairs, water dripping from her almost dry hair.

She smiled in appreciation when Spike handed her a mug of coffee, exclaiming, “ooh, caffeine-y goodness.”

Spike rolled his eyes, hiding his grin at her good mood behind is own cup, figuring now was as good a time as any, he mentioned Dawn’s impending date, then watched his girl panic.

“What?” Huffing a bit, she said, “a world of no. She’s not ready . . . no. I’m not ready.” Blowing cool air across the surface of her mug, Buffy said. “No. So not ready for this – does she have to?”

“Bit wants to go. She’s bringing him round so we can meet ‘im.”

Buffy made a face, thinking about this. “Spike, she’s too young.”

“She’s fifteen. ‘s not too young.” Spike waited for her to get to the point on her own.

She huffed again, giving in before his steady gaze. “All right. We’ll meet him.” Grabbing one of the muffins, Buffy turned her attention to Oz, asking, “did you sleep okay?”

“Yep.”

“We’re headed to Giles’. He’s going to England today. You need a ride?”

“That’s cool. You can drop me near campus.”

Spike locked the back door then rinsed out his bloody mug and headed for the stairs, saying, “car should be unlocked but check before I run out there.”

Buffy went out the front door, opened the driver’s side of the DeSoto, then ran back into the house. Oz followed out the door, watching their crazy ritual. Every window on the DeSoto was blacked out, with bare strips in the windshield and on the side and rear windows, so that Spike could see out the mirrors.

Spike dashed out the door, covered in a dark blanket, hit the seat and slammed the driver’s door behind him. Buffy giggled a bit at Oz’ expression, saying, “its an adventure” as she locked the front door behind them.

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Xander was running himself ragged. Between his job, planning the wedding – that was still a secret – with Anya, and now trying to spend time with Willow, he didn’t know if he was coming or going.

And he didn’t know if it was his imagination, or just the weirdness of life in Sunnydale but it felt like stuff was going on around him that he just didn’t understand. Stuff with Willow, coz she was just getting more and more un-Willowy. She was talking to Amy – Amy the rat and sometimes he thought she expected an answer. And Willow was always reading, okay, so that wasn’t really unusual, but he wasn’t so sure about what she was reading.

A couple of times he’d picked up special packages for her and the return address labels kind of spooked him – like this last one that was sitting in his car – was from Haiti and well, he didn’t think she knew anyone from there. . . And didn’t they practice Voodoo down there?

He just wasn’t sure what she was up too . . And he was kind of concerned, but he really wasn’t sure there was anyone he could talk to about all this – coz, well, he’d only seen Buffy a couple of times since they threw Willow out and Spike was always with her and he still didn’t trust the guy.

Anya didn’t want to hear about Willow either, or rather she was so focused on their wedding and Giles leaving that he just couldn’t talk to her about it.

In fact, he was finding it hard to talk to Anya at all.

He wished he had someone to talk to, because all this was just confusing him too much.


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Buffy watched as Giles walked toward the boarding area, her hands clenched together in front of her, a pained expression on her face.

Spike wrapped his arms around her from behind, his chin resting on her head. “He’s comin’ back. Only goin’ for a month or so.”

“Is he?” Her voice was papery-thin and bleak.

“Said he was. Got no reason to doubt him.” He pulled her closer, his arms tight around hers. Buffy relaxed into his embrace gathering strength from his proximity.

“Yeah. I guess you’re right.” She sighed but didn’t move at all, just basking in his nearness. Tilting her head to the side, she glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “Have I thanked you yet?”

“For what?” She had his attention now.

“Everything you do for me. And Dawn.” Buffy turned slightly in his arms, her head resting on his shoulder. “Dunno how I would’ve managed. Don’t think it would’ve been pretty.”

“You’d’ve figured somethin’ out pet.” He kissed the end of her nose, saying, “c’mon Slayer, I’ve got to go to work. Demon girl’s looking for a night of girl stuff.”

They headed out of the airport, toward the dark parking garage, not knowing about the wispy redhead following them.


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She was meeting Casey at five and then together they were going into the Magic Box so Spike could meet him. That meant she had an hour to get into Giles’ and find some new journals. This time she was going to be very specific about what she took.

Dawn was done with taking chances. She needed to know. Sooner rather than later.

Unlocking the door, Dawn cautiously let herself into the apartment. She loved it here, it always smelled so good. But she supposed that was because Giles always had good things around him. Old books, good tea and not so stinky cologne, not like some other men.

Would’ve been hard not to miss the books, but since there were so many Giles had put them into a steamer trunk. The trunk was against the inner wall, close to the television, but far enough away from the window so that no one would notice them.

Kneeling down on the floor, Dawn quickly opened the trunk, pulling out volumes, sorting them by language and year, she rapidly found four fairly current volumes, but not the last one – the one she needed the most. Spying a small one nearly at the bottom of the pile, Dawn grabbed it. Opening it up, she glanced at a random page and stopped.

Blinking a couple of times, she went back to it.

Her sister’s name stared back at her and the date on the entry was Halloween two years ago. Snapping it closed, Dawn grabbed the others, stuffing them into her backpack. Shoving the rest of the books back into the trunk, Dawn had to force herself to calm down. Gulping in deep breaths, she finally calmed herself enough to stack the journals exactly as they’d been.

Locking up behind her, Dawn set off to meet Casey and after that to brave the lion’s den.

[A/N: I swear, I’m getting to the good stuff. Trust me. Title is a paraphrase of Oscar Wilde (oh that man was a wit – the quote reads “Questions are never indiscreet. Answers sometimes are.”) and the quotes are as attributed, and nothing belongs to me but the plot and some minor characters, otherwise it all belongs to someone else.]

Previously: Giles has gone back to England with a list of things do. Oz and Tara have bonded; Dawn’s traded the first set of journals for another. This picks up shortly after the last chapter.

Book Two, chapter 3. Indiscreet questions and answers.

An ounce of blood is worth more than a pound of friendship
Spanish proverb

A child can ask questions that a wise man cannot answer
Anonymous




Anya had left detailed lists of instructions on such diverse topics that Spike had no recourse but to smile. Buffy was reading one of the lists, an occasional giggle escaping her. They currently had the shop to themselves, it being too early for the after work crowd just yet and the after-school college kids and suburban moms ending their days.

Spike looked around surprised at how empty the shop was. But it was good, because he didn’t want to have a rush.

“Love?”

“Yeah?” She peeked over the edge of the list she was reading, a smile on her face.

“You okay w’Niblet doin’ this?” He had no idea why he was harping on it, but sometimes his mouth ran ahead of his brain.

“I guess. Just wasn’t really ready, but hey, its gonna be sooner or later, right?” Buffy made a little face her unreadiness showing. “She’s gonna be okay, right?”

“Yeah.” Spike was fully prepared to not allow Dawn to go if the boy proved unworthy, or if something was off, even just a little something.

He was still thinking about just what kind of things he could do to the boy when the phone rang. “Magic Box.”

“May I speak with Rupert Gi . . Spike?”

“Oxford?”

“Yes, its me. How come you are there?”

“Giles left this mornin’.”

“Damn. I was hoping to catch him before he left. He’s got his cell with him, right?”

“Yeah. Oxford, what’s goin’ on?” Spike had picked up on the anxiety in Wesley’s voice.

“Darla’s in labor.”

Spike released a long breath. “What . . Is everythin’ normal?”

Buffy had gotten up, coming closer, listening to his side of the conversation.

“Unknown. We think its normal but we can’t be sure.”

“Keep us posted.”

“Will do.”

They hung up simultaneously.

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Wesley wasn’t sure what constituted normal labor for a vampire – nor had he ever been present during human labor. He had no idea about the mechanics of the process and none of the others were prepared. However, unlike some of the other members of AI, Wesley had at least read a book on the subject. According to their calculations, Darla was about at term, give or take a week. Unsure what to do next since Rupert was currently incommunicado, Wesley consulted “What to Expect When You’re Expecting” and figured they needed to eliminate false labor pains.

Forcing Darla into the shower, Wesley waited, hoping this wasn’t the moment.

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They were sitting at the table talking about Wesley’s phone call, when the doorbell tinkled, signaling a new arrival. Both of them looked up, Spike automatically getting to his feet, while Buffy stared at her sister and the boy behind her. It was obvious to the older two that the teenagers were very nervous. The boy stood to Dawn’s left, his hands stuffed into his pockets, while Dawn shifted her feet, her eyes darting between the two people who held the most control over her.

Taking pity on her sister, Buffy said, “hey Dawn.”

Returning the greeting, she started down the steps toward the table. Throwing a glance over her shoulder to her prospective date, Dawn smiled at him and he followed her slowly. “Buffy, this is Casey.”

The boy Dawn was introducing had sun-streaked blond, kind of wavy hair, dark blue eyes and braces. He was taller than Dawn, about the same height as Spike, kind of on the thin side. His features were even, nose not to big, forehead not to pronounced, chin not too weak. Casey was, all in all, a typical normal teen-aged boy. Taking him in from top to bottom, Buffy had to suppress a giggle. He was so clearly nervous because he wouldn’t look her in the eyes at all, just kind of politely said hello.

“Casey, this is my sister Buffy,” and glancing once at the still form of Spike, continued, “and her boyfriend Spike.”

At the name, Casey’s head reared up, eyes widening slightly at the sight of him. Reaching out a hand, Spike was pleased when the boy took the hint and extended his in a handshake. “Hello sir.”

Buffy suppressed the inappropriate giggle that was threatening. Sensing her amusement, Spike just said hello back to the boy, then sent her a pointed look. Better the boy fear him than think he was a pushover, because this one was all human, not a scent of demon about him, and that meant Spike couldn’t do anything other than intimidate the hell out of him. Which wasn’t hard.

His raised eyebrow was enough to get the boy talking, because he said, “Dawn talks about you. Well, both of you.”

As if embarrassed about mentioning it, Casey looked over at Dawn, smiling at her. She was struggling not to scream at both of them to not make this any harder than it already was, but she grinned a little bit when Casey realized she was struggling with her backpack and he helped her.

Two, well, almost three points in the boy’s favor. Spike was quickly re-assessing his original thoughts about the boy, worried that Dawn would have brought home, at worst, someone with demonic origins, if not an outright demon. In one respect it would have been easier, because he could take care of demons but on the other, it wouldn’t have been good for Dawn or Buffy.

Casey shifted his feet, nervous now that there was no conversation, unsure of what to do or say. Throwing a nervous glance at Dawn, he sat down after she did, his hands clasped loosely on the table in front of him.

God this is so awkward. Why did he want to do this? Dawn sent a frosty glance at Spike, which he completely ignored. Instead, he tried to come up with something to talk about.

It was Buffy who finally broke the ice. “Casey, did you grow up in Sunnydale?”

“No, we moved here from New York about six years ago.”

Spike’s ears perked up at that. “Where ‘bouts in New York, I lived there for a bit, long time ago.”

“Um, outside of the city. We lived out on the island.”

Leaning against the ladder, Spike said, “lived down in the village.”

Buffy cleared her throat, forestalling any real sharing of Spike’s memories of the village, and he just grinned at her, knowing full well what she was doing.

“When’s this dance, Ni. . . Dawn?” Spike was done with the conversation, moved to let the boy off the hook by the expression on Dawn’s face, when things started getting uncomfortable again.

“Saturday” was Casey’s answer, which surprised everyone, including himself.

“Doesn’t give you much time to get ready.” Buffy looked at him, wondering how much money this was going to cost both of them, and how much they actually had to spend on this.

“I was afraid Dawn was going to say no.” The boy looked a little embarrassed to admit it, but the smile on Dawn’s face was enough to tell Spike that he had been foolish to worry about it.

“Can we go?” This was torture and she had to get out of there, otherwise she was going to end up shrieking the shop down, piercing eardrums for a five hundred yard radius.

“To the dance?” Spike looked at the pair of them, then Buffy. Waiting for a signal from her that she was okay with this, Spike smiled when she reached for his hand. “One condition.”

“Spike.” Dawn’s soft whine was all she would permit herself in front of Casey, but it got her point across.

“No debatin’ it.” He crossed to where Buffy was sitting, his hands dropping to her shoulders, an implacable look on his features.

Sighing loudly, she gave in. “Okay what is it?”

“I’ll pick you up when its time to leave.”

At least he’s not insisting to be there the whole time. “That’s it?” It was better than what she’d first thought he was going to say or what he might have said to Casey. Looking toward her date, she wondered what he was thinking about all this, but he stayed silent, looking to her for an okay on this condition. “Okay Spike.”

“Good.” He squeezed Buffy’s shoulders, gazing down at her, a smile playing about his lips. “You girls goin’ shoppin’ then?”

Knowing he’d managed to please one of the girls in his life, Spike did what he could to ease the thoughts of the other. “C’mere, pet.”

Effortlessly helping her to her feet, Spike led Buffy over to the counter, whispering the whole way. “Watcher left some extra dosh in case we needed it. Got it here. Take her out for a bit, and I’ll worry ‘bout the rest later, yeah?”

Winding her arms around his neck, Buffy kissed him, whispering back, “thanks for not going so hard on her about this.”

“I get a reward for bein’ good?” He leered at her, his tongue against his teeth, mischief clear in his eyes.

“Later. . . . promise.”

“C’mon Dawnie, we’re going shopping.” Buffy collected her bag, motioning for her sister to get up. “Casey, it was really nice to meet you.”

“Thanks.” Looking at Dawn, Casey said, “I’ll call you later, okay?”

Spike watched as the girls walked out the door. Calling the boy back to talk to him for a minute, Spike waited until the girls were gone before speaking.

“Dunno what she’s told you ‘bout me, but you don’t wanna get on my bad side. You take care of my girl, treat her right an’ you won’t have to worry ‘bout it. Hurt her, an’” he didn’t let the demon out, but Spike got a flinty look in his eyes, “you won’t know what hit you.”

To his credit, Casey didn’t back down, didn’t flinch at all when Spike started speaking. His only comment to Spike was, “I’ll do my best.”

And Spike let him go, knowing it was the best he could do.


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Instead of heading to the mall, remembering the disaster that was their first shopping expedition, Buffy headed to some of the smaller dress shops that were on Main Street, not too far from the Magic Box. Dawn was trailing behind her, watching over her shoulder for Casey to leave. She was kind of worried what Spike was gonna say to Casey when he was alone with him, knowing the vampire wasn’t going to let things go as easily as they had. He’d just been playing nice for her sake, to not embarrass her in front of him.

Finally realizing Dawn wasn’t walking beside her, Buffy turned around and headed back to where the younger girl was standing. “Dawnie?”

“He’s still in the shop.” Turning to her sister, Dawn asked, “do you think he’s gonna scare him?”

“Maybe. Just a little bit?” Buffy wasn’t sure either, but as they were discussing it, the shop door opened and Casey walked out, in one piece and not looking too scared.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Dawn watched as he headed off toward his house, never once realizing the girls had been watching for him the whole time. “Let’s go.”


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Dealing with the smaller shops had been a smart move. They found a dress for Dawn in the second shop, shoes and the rest in the next shop. Easier than last time. Buffy was so embarrassed about that, she’d made Dawn promise she wouldn’t ever tell anyone, not even Spike. Bags in hand and a plan for dinner, they made their way back to the shop, chattering excitedly at each other. But in the back of her mind, Buffy was still thinking about what had happened that first time, realizing she was making progress.

Then, the bright lights and all the people had sent her into a panic, causing her to hyperventilate and nearly pass out in the middle of the mall. The really embarrassing part was that she had just stood there, crying, unable to tell Dawn what was wrong and the whole time every bit of her had been screaming silently for Spike. Dawn hadn’t known what to do either and in her confusion she’d started yelling at Buffy and the situation had just gone from bad to worse. “Dawnie? I’m sorry about last time.”

“No biggie. I goofed too.” Smiling over at her, Dawn made a face. “Guess you weren’t ready then.”

“Nope. But I had fun tonight.” With a cheerful answering smile, Buffy continued, “major shopping goodness, since we got everything you need.”

“Yup. Do you think Spike’s gonna wig when he sees the dress?”

“Dunno. We’ll just have to hide it from him until Saturday.”

Dawn had found a dress, but it was blue, which just brought back memories of Glory and she’d balked until they found a similar dress in red, well it was more of a wine color. She just hoped Spike wouldn’t give her a hard time about it.

Three days until the dance. “OH! What about my hair?”

Putting their heads together, the girls headed into the shop, talking about hairstyles and makeup.


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Willow had watched them say goodbye to Giles in the airport, a calculating look upon her face. She’d followed them to the Magic Box then left to head back home.

One support gone. Giles leaving was of the good. He’d set up wards around the shop and his apartment and started setting them up around Buffy’s house. All they did was prevent her from wandering in as invisible girl, so they weren’t even all that elaborate.

But they existed. And Willow knew they were aimed specifically at her.

It wasn’t time yet. Soon enough and she’d prove to Giles that his little wards weren’t enough to keep her out and then she’d prove to Buffy that Spike was only playing at being a good guy.


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Rupert couldn’t help thinking that he was leaving too much undone. Even though he’d checked everything more than once. He still had that tingle at the back of his neck that always signaled bad news. Perhaps it was just what had transpired the last time he was on a plane or perhaps it was trepidation over dealing with the Council.

Or maybe it had been the look in Buffy’s eyes.

She was obviously very upset at his leaving. And nothing he’d said had reassured her in the least. Thank heavens for Spike. If the other Englishman wasn’t around Giles’ fears over leaving would have increased immeasurably. His unwavering support of Buffy in the last couple of weeks solidified Giles’ belief that the vampire would do anything to keep the girls safe.

When he’d first pitched the idea of him working, Spike had just kind of looked at him strangely. But as he’d laid out his reasons to the younger man, Giles had seen the moment Spike understood.

He was only asking Spike to do it for now, while Buffy got used to being back, and then Buffy would take over. This way, she’d have some money coming in and she wouldn’t have to worry about the utilities or the mortgage. It would also put the mail order and the shop in trusted hands.

Rupert focused on the list, instead of that sense of impending doom. It was going to be hard enough keeping things from the Council without the added distraction of worrying about what he’d left behind.

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They were out patrolling. Tara was downstairs studying. It was now or never. The wait had been too long anyway. Dawn locked the door to her bedroom and fished out the last journal.

It was easily the smallest and latest of all the books she’d chosen so far. Closing her eyes in a silent prayer that the answers would be found within, Dawn settled herself on the bed and began to read.

Four hours and thirteen minutes later, she found what she’d been searching for. It was there. The answers.

And it had been just as she’d suspected.

The damn monks had engineered it all somehow.

From the placing of the Gem of Amara in Sunnydale – to Spike’s discovery of it; from the Initiative capturing him – to their taking of all sorts of DNA samples.

They’d done it all.

Taken something of Spike’s and something of Buffy’s . . . . and magically constructed her.

Now that it was there in black and white and in Prior Raymond’s handwriting, Dawn almost didn’t believe it.

She was theirs.

Their flesh.

Her blood.

Dawn laid down on her bed and cried.

[A/N: Here we go folks, things start to get bumpy from here on in. Parts of this chapter are taken directly from Angel the Series, episode 53, written and directed by Tim Minear, because to do anything else would take away from the writing and the performances of the actors. All praise goes to Julie Benz, who took words given to her and transcended them, giving an absolutely sublime performance. The title is from the poem of the same name by Robert Louis Stevenson (ah yes, another Scot and another re-used source). And the quotes are as attributed. Disclaimers are in full force and effect and I don’t own anything.]

Previously: Dawn brought Casey to meet Buffy and Spike, who gave their okay about Homecoming; Darla’s in labor and feeling the weight of her past. This starts the afternoon of the dance. . .

Book 2, Chapter 4. Farewell, fair day and fading light

But what minutes!
Count them by sensation,
and not by calendars,
and each moment is a day.
Benjamin Disreali

You must have been warned against letting the golden hours slip by;
but some of them are golden only because we let them slip by.
James Matthew Barrie




Spike was downstairs watching a repeat of an old Premier League update that was at least half a week old. It was the second time he’d watched it, but he would rather be doing what he was than dealing with the hen party upstairs.

They were making his Niblet into something else and he wasn’t so sure he liked the idea. It was only four in the afternoon, he couldn’t imagine what was going to take this long, the dance wasn’t until seven. No one needed three hours of prep time. Especially not someone as pretty as his girl.

He must have fallen asleep, because Premier League wasn’t on any more, some other inane program was on and the sun was already down. Glancing at the time on the television, Spike realized it was nearly time for the pup to arrive.

As if on some sort of cue, the doorbell rang. Running a hand over his face, Spike got up and answered the door. There he was, decked out in a penguin suit, flowers in hand.

“Lo.”

“Hello sir.”

Purposely not saying the words necessary for an invitation, in case the boy’s status had changed in three days, Spike just gestured him in.

Casey walked inside the door, clearly nervous. “My Dad’s outside waiting for us.” Then he made a face and admitted, “actually both my parents are here.”

This was such unfamiliar territory for Spike but he knew what was proper and what wasn’t. “Bring them in.”

Casey bounded out the door while Spike bellowed up the stairs. Tara’s voice floated down as Casey and his parents came to the door. They followed the boy in and Spike introduced himself as Will.

“Girls ‘ll be down in a minute.”

The father, Jim, declined the offer of a drink, but the boy’s mother, Loretta, accepted his offer of iced tea.

Retreating to the kitchen, leaving them alone in the living room, Spike took his time. The longer the girls took the more agitated he was becoming. Finally as he was done stalling, he heard footsteps on the stairs.

Glinda.

Breathing an unnecessary sigh of relief he wandered back into the living room with the mother’s drink. Introducing Tara only ate up a few moments, but by the time he was finished, Buffy was on her way down the stairs, Dawn a few steps behind her.

Glancing up at the stairs, Spike could see the strain on Buffy’s features though she tried to hide it. He could also smell the distress . . . and pain his girl was in.

“Buffy?”

She smiled at him, which was clearly taking an effort and mouthed “later” at him.

Motioning behind her, Buffy moved out of the way, revealing an all too grown up Dawn. Spike gulped.

“Niblet?” He almost didn’t believe his eyes.

She was nervously biting her lip, waiting for his reaction. Reaching out a hand to help her down the last steps, Spike whispered, “you’re beautiful, pet. All grown up.”

And she was.

Her hair was a mass of curls, lifted away from her face, which was made up perfectly. The curls cascading down her back were held up by jeweled clips artfully arranged around her temples. The dress was a high neck halter gown of deep wine red and she had a matching cashmere scarf draped around her shoulders. A tentative smile crossed her features at his words and she glanced at Buffy who smiled in answer.

The next few moments were a blur of flashbulbs and good natured laughter, all of which sped past him too quickly, and then the teenagers and parents were gone.

Buffy slumped against the wall while Tara sat on the stairs. Spike looked between the two, unsure what to do next. He watched in disbelief as Buffy crumpled to the floor, a soft sob breaking from her throat.

“Kitten?”

“That was so hard.” Looking up at him from her spot on the floor, Buffy gave into the tears she’d been fighting all day. “And I really don’t feel good.”

Crouching down in front of her, Spike reached out to pull her into his arms. “What’s wrong, sweets?”

“Cramps.” She sniffled once or twice, expecting him to get it. Unsure for a moment, Spike inhaled and immediately understood. “Aww, sweetheart, c’mere.”

Gathering her into his arms, Spike lifted her up from the floor. “C’mon goldielocks, into the shower with you.”

Tara moved away from the stairs, letting them pass. Watching the two of them, she called out, “I’m heading out, I’ll be home later.”

And they were alone.

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It was dark now, only the bright artificial lights illuminating the night sky. There was a steady breeze up here, but that was only because of the height of the building. Darla watched the night sky around her, hand cradling her huge belly, tears in her eyes. She felt him approach, his scent assaulting her over-sensitive nose.

He spoke without looking at her. “You always did love a view.”

She returned the favor, her eyes on the distant lights, the faint smell of car exhaust and palm trees wafting in the air around them. “Can you smell it? This world. This horrible world. Why would anyone want to bring a baby into it?”

He sighed a little bit, turning to look at her. “To make it better, maybe?”

Darla laughed ironically. “Or to destroy it finally.”

Angel got irritated with her, just as he’d been getting with everyone else, since word of the ‘prophecy’ had surfaced. He wasn’t so sure the prophecy even applied to this baby, so why was everyone else insisting it? “Why is it everyone insists on planning my son’s future before he’s even born?”

Moving away from him Darla tried to escape his presence, escape everything. This is not what she had thought would happen, never even dreamed it once, probably not even when she was human, all those long centuries ago. And recently? She’d had a few other things on her mind more pressing than babies and a future. “It doesn’t have a future. Not with me.”

“Angel I can’t have this baby.”

He was floored. It was a little late to be thinking those kind of thoughts. “What?”

“I can’t let it out. I . . just. . I can’t.” The tears she’d been fighting finally surfaced, pooling in her eyes. At his look, she continued, “I know. It wants out. I can feel it. It’s ready. It’s time. . but I just can’t let it. I can’t let it because. . . because. . “

Angel finally understood. Or at least thought he did. “You love it.”

Shaking her head in agreement, Darla fought the tears clogging her throat. “I don’t think I’ve ever loved anything as much as this life that’s inside of me.”

It was almost funny. If the situation had been any different, Darla admitting she loved their baby would have been funny. But it wasn’t. “You’ve never loved anything or anyone, Darla.”

“I never did, til now.” She brushed aside his somewhat nasty comment, knowing it was the truth, but no longer having the strength to fight about it. “I don’t know what to do.”

“You do what you have to do. You’ll have it and then . . . “ he was a loss for a further explanation. He knew what he wanted, what he hoped for, but he wasn’t sure at the moment that any of this was possible. It hardly seemed impossible either.

She snorted a little bit in disbelief at his naivety. “What, we’ll raise it? Be a happy family?”

“Why not?” His response almost made her laugh.

“Why not? Angel have you been paying attention? I’ve nothing to offer this child. Nothing. Nothing but an ugly death.” He was so blinded by the miracle that he wasn’t seeing anything in terms of reality. It was her job, her responsibility to point those things out. She had too, for the sake of this baby.

“No. What I do know is that you love this baby. Our baby. You’ve bonded with it. You’ve spent nine months carrying it, nourishing it . . . “

Darla laughed through her tears. “No. . . no. I haven’t been . . I haven’t given this baby a thing. I’m dead. I can’t nourish him. Its been nourishing me. These feelings. . . that I’m having, they’re not mine. They’re coming from it. . . “

Angel was willing to dispute that. He knew she had some feelings, he was sure of it. “No. You don’t know that.”

Shaking her head in disagreement, Darla said, “of course I know it. We both do. I don’t have a soul. It does. And the soul . . that soul is inside of me, but soon it won’t be and then. . .”

Her tears finally, completely broke, sliding down her face. Her voice sounded a soft sob and she looked so wretched and distraught there was nothing for it but to hold her. “I won’t be able to love it. I won’t even remember that I loved it. Won’t remember how to. . . and I want to remember. Oh god. Angel. I want to remember that I love this baby.”


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By the time he got her up the stairs and into the shower, Buffy had run the gamut of emotions, one second weepy, the next complaining and then finally back to weepy again, as she whispered against his skin, “sorry I’m psycho-Bufffy.”

He grinned, wondering what her reaction would be if he described some of Dru’s frequent less-than-lucid moments. She’d never apologize again for being psycho anything. “‘s all right love. No worries.”

Shouldering his way into the bathroom, Spike dropped her onto the vanity. “Gonna get you set up and you should be fine, okay?”

Turning woeful eyes up at him, she nodded yes, but he knew it wasn’t all right. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Everything. I dunno.” She sniffled into his shirt, her hands fisted in the soft cotton material. “Not sure. Just. . . sad.”

“Anythin’ in p’ticular?” He kissed the top of her head and turned away to see to the taps and get the water hot enough to make a difference for her. She was silent, content for a little bit to just watch him. He was so . . . he enjoyed this, Buffy realized. He liked being needed and taking care of someone.

“No” she huffed, realizing she sounded like a little girl. “Just not feeling so hot.”

Spike looked at her for a long minute, not saying anything. The shower sounded like comfortable rain in the background, the warm air curling around the two of them, reeling them in, increasing the intimacy between them.

“Want me to wash your back?” He wasn’t leering at her, but it was a near thing, she could tell by the tone of his voice.

Wrinkling her nose, Buffy said “eew Spike, I’m all . . . it’ll be messy and bloody and . . “

“Buffy. . . vampire here. Bloody and messy is fine. . . . more than fine.”

She looked down at her feet, trying to hide the blush that was staining her cheeks, but he could smell her, every last little thing about her, smell the shampoo she used this morning, the makeup and scents she’d used with Dawn, and under it all, the scent of her growing arousal mixed with the heady fragrance of her blood. Moving closer, his voice just a gravely murmur, Spike stood between her legs, his hands reaching out to caress her skin. His hands tugged on the loose ponytail, releasing her hair to float all around her, fingers massaging the back of her neck. All thoughts of tears were gone, dried up in the heat surrounding them, his touch driving away the momentary sadness. He engulfed her, sent her outside of herself, away from all fear and pain, no sadness, no regrets, the sorrow at being back here long gone in the face of his devotion and care and his touch. He grounded her, brought her back from the brink time and again, giving and giving, never once worrying about how much she had to give in return. He asked only for her nearness, her acceptance.

Buffy looked down at herself, seeing her bared breasts in his strong hands, calloused and scared, watching as he molded them, almost feather light touches raising gooseflesh everywhere. His mouth captured hers and she forgot to think, nearly forgot to breathe. Spike’s hands were still molding her breasts, his thumbs flicking across her nipples. Arching her back she broke the kiss to watch his hands on her. Wet kisses trailed from her lips down her neck, nipping gently on her skin. Her eyes never left his face, gazing at him as he wrapped his tongue around a hardened nipple. Blunt teeth bit down tugging at her gently.

Leaning further away, one hand gripping the edge of the vanity, Buffy was almost offering herself up for his mouth to taste. More kisses trailed downwards. At her waistband he moved sideways, nipping at her exposed flesh. Glancing up at her, Spike was surprised to see her eyes opened watching him. Mischief flickered in his and before Buffy could prevent him from going any further, Spike began nuzzling his way further down her body. His bites, even with her clothes between them, were electric.

Big hands pulled her forward so his face could nudge closer into her. “No . . Spike. . . “

Sliding his fingers down the back of her waistband, Spike bit hard at the apex of her thighs, sending a jolt of want straight through her. Whining his name softly, Buffy bucked her hips closer to him, wrapping her legs around his chest. Dropping to his knees, he pulled her to the edge of the vanity, his opened mouth bites trailing over her still clad mound.

“Spike . . . no . . . god. . . Spike.”

Her free hand fisted in his hair, holding him close and trying to push him away. This was so . . . “Spike.”

He was drunk, wanting nothing more than to drink her in, reeling from the scents surrounding them, the heat, her little gasps and whimpers of protestation and want, lost in the moment. “God . . . . kitten. . . please. . . let me. . . “

“Want you . . . all of you. . . please, love. . . “

Whispered deep pleadings rang in the air between them, his fingers digging into the soft skin of her butt. Her heels pressed into his back, belying her words of protest, urging him closer.

Tiny fingers pulled at his hair, holding him against her, her whimpers of pleasure overtaking her deeper protests. Pulling away from her, Spike nipped her knee, then moved her off the vanity. His head slumped against her belly, swimming in the scents covering her. His hands pushed down her loose pants, exposing her, giving him more skin to nuzzle.

She kicked off her shoes, her hands reaching for his shirt. Leaning into him, Buffy let her arms wrap around his now bare shoulders. Spike rocked back, lifting her clear of the pants pooled at her feet. His mouth captured hers and he let go of her when his back hit the floor, letting her hold herself up away from him.

Their hands tangled together as they both reached for his boots and jeans, desperate now to be skin to skin. A deep chuckle sounded in the air as they managed to get him half naked, but one boot stuck as the jeans slid down his hips.

Rolling Buffy off his chest, Spike sat up, practically ripping the laces open and violently kicking off his boot, sliding off the jeans in one swift movement. Leaning over her, Spike’s mouth captured a nipple, sliding his free hand down her torso. Wasting no time, his mouth followed its earlier path downward.

“Spike” but before he allowed her to stop him, he sucked her clit into his mouth, grinning as his name ended in a little shriek.

Buffy’s hips lifted, arching into his mouth, her hands fisting in his hair. “Oh . . god. . . Spike . . . don’t. . . stop. . . oh. .. “

She tasted like nothing he’d ever had before. Rich wine, smooth whiskey . . . virgin’s blood, nothing compared to the taste of her. His hands gripped her thighs, fingers digging in, holding her open for his mouth. Tongue circling her clit, Spike groaned into her, feeling her muscles begin the dance signaling her climax.

Buffy was beyond speech, beyond thought, beyond anything but the feel of his mouth, his tongue, his teeth on her. His tongue was circling around her core, lapping at her like cat, gathering all the moisture. Her shrieks nearly pierced his ears when his tongue finally penetrated her, the bathroom echoing with the sound of her voice, the mewling cries of release. She was shaking, writhing under his touch, her body his to play.

“Oh . . . oh. . gaaaah. . . Spiiiiike . . . “

Seeking something to hold onto, her hands scrabbled over the floor, over her own hips, squeezing his fingers, pulling on his hair. Nothing worked, she couldn’t gain purchase, couldn’t find anything solid to hold onto. His nose butted against her clit and she softly screamed his name. Using blunt teeth, Spike nibbled at her clit, sending her over. “Oh . . god. . . Spike. . Oh. . . oh god. . .”

She was still convulsing when he slid his erection into her pulsing warmth, pumping into her hard. “Love you . . . “ wet kisses rained over her face, “so fucking much. . . always.”

Her legs came up around his waist, her arms encircling his shoulders, holding him close.
“Spike . . . please. . . inside me. . . . please.”

Locking her ankles, Buffy held him in, allowing him only short shallow strokes that hit her clit every time. Her mouth tugged on his earlobe, her voice scarcely more than a ragged whisper, “please Spike. . . cum inside me. . . now. . . please.”

Pounding furiously now, Spike groaned, her pussy tightening around him, “love. . . Buffy. . . now. . . kitten. . . . . with me. . now.”

Her third orgasm slammed into her, seizing every muscle in her body, her fingernails leaving bloody marks on his shoulders, sending him over the edge. His balls tightened painfully and Spike exploded into her, his grunts filling her ears, her name on his lips like a prayer.

Slumping together in an exhausted tangle of legs and arms, they were both undone.


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Dawn was having the time of her life. Everything was perfect. The dance was okay, the music wasn’t too bad, Casey brought the right flowers, his parents didn’t stick around to watch them enter the gym, and best of all, Spike hadn’t wigged completely when she came down the stairs.

She had spent all the time while Buffy and Tara worked on her hair and makeup, silently pleading with the Gods of First Dates that Spike wouldn’t lose his mind and make her change her clothes when he got a look at her in the dress. Not that it was all that revealing. It had a low open back, but the collar was high and the bottom long, the side-slits weren’t up to her thighs, only cut to just above the knees, and she wasn’t made up like a hooker. Not that her sister and Tara would’ve done that to her anyway. But she’d still breathed a huge sigh of relief when Spike had said she was beautiful. And all grown up.

The look in his eyes had been awed and amazed at the changes the other two had made to her everyday look. She’d tried so hard to look sophisticated and not like a little girl, hoping that Spike would acknowledge it, at least a little bit. Thank you Gods, thank you. .. . thank you. Now let the rest of the night go just as well.

Looking over at her date, Dawn figured she had one thing in her favor, coz he was just the cutest boy she’d ever seen.

This is for Wolfspider, because tomorrow is her birthday and she asked so nicely for this. My thanks to everyone who's reviewed (it all means so much) but special thanks to Addie, Ariadne, AmyB, Bloodshedbaby, Slaymesoftly and Wolfspider. . . and a real special thanks to the couple of people who emailed me out of the blue with very nice reviews and kept me going during a really dark week. It almost all came crashing down this past week, but you guys kept me sane, each in your own ways. Slainte. . all of you. So when you get to the bottom, please, please let me know what you think. . . it really does help.
Nia

[A/N: Okay, so I lied, sort of. That last chapter was supposed to be longer (and a bit different), but um, my muse? That blond vampire? He wouldn’t take no for an answer, so . . . wouldn’t leave me alone until I wrote that chapter the way he wanted it. So blame all that on him. I swear its not my fault. Dialogue again take from Angel the Series, episode 53, written by Tim Minear (same as the last chapter). And the ritual described herein is not complete, do not attempt anything like this at home. Title is Audioslave, only because the song was echoing in my head when I started writing this. . . perhaps it fits also. Quotes as attributed and I own nothing. Not even the computer this was typed on.]

Previously: Dawn has gone to the Homecoming Dance; Darla’s in active labor; Buffy and Spike have just shared a rather intense moment, and Tara’s out on the town. . . this picks up shortly after the last chapter.


Book Two, chapter 5. Last remaining light.


He either fears his fate too much,
or his deserts are small,
that dares not put it to the touch
to gain or lose it all
James Graham, Marquess of Montrose

the moment of a miracle is unending lightning . . .
Dylan Thomas, On the Marriage of a Virgin

Curl like smoke and breath again
down your throat inside your ribs
through your spine in every nerve
where I watch and wait and yield to the hurt

And if you don’t believe
the sun will rise
stand alone and greet
the coming night
in the last remaining light.
Chris Cornell, Audioslave,
The Last Remaining Light, eponymous album



They ran out of hot water half way through the shower. It hardly mattered to him, because the slight changes indicating they were running low on it didn’t register with him, and Buffy was shielded under his shoulders, so she didn’t notice them until it was too late. They’d wasted enough of it before they even stepped into the shower. He didn’t much care, but Buffy was complaining half-heartedly because her hair was still full of conditioner, so he pulled her into his arms and let the water rinse off her head.

Her teeth were chattering by the time they emerged from the cold water, her fingers and toes blue at the tips. Spike toweled her off, ignoring his own discomfort, anxious to get her comfortable.

Giving in to his curiosity, Spike asked while she was towel drying her hair, “‘s it always like this?”

“What?” Her hair covered her face, making her look like a bedraggled waif, causing a smile to grace his features.

“The bleedin’ pet, ‘s it always this way?”

She sighed, “yeah. Lasts for about forty-eight miserable hours, all crampy and bleah and I can’t go out because, hello, vampire magnet . . and its just. . but yeah.”

Tilting his head, Spike watched her run a comb through her hair, struggling with some of the tangles. Taking the comb away from her, he worked it through her hair, as she wrapped a large towel around her torso. “Had a problem with vamps before?”

“Couple of times. Enough to make me rethink patrolling.”

Dropping the comb onto the vanity, Spike turned to watch her face, “and the other?”

“Huh?”

“The pain, love. Cramps and, “ he wasn’t sure how to phrase this part of the question, because he’d never had to encounter this before. When he was human, suffering under the heavy morals of Victorian England, body parts were never mentioned much less bodily functions. After turning, he’d never spent much time with humans except to drink, so this was new information. He was struggling with how to ask the question, Buffy watching him closely, finally just blurting it out, “the amount, I guess.”

Bright pink blush bloomed on her cheeks, traveling across her shoulders and upper breasts. Not looking into his eyes, she just nodded in response.

“Hey? ‘S me, vampire, no need to go all missish on me now love.” His finger reached out to lift her chin, forcing her eyes upwards. “Tell me.”

“Just a benefit of being the Slayer.” She shrugged, feeling a bit uncomfortable with the conversation. Riley never wanted to talk about this, staying away from her when the mood swings got too rough, or worse, just pretend it was all in her head and that she should ‘buck up and take it like a man’.

Spike wasn’t stupid. Accurately guessing what path her train of thoughts followed, he pulled her into his arms, resting her head against his bare chest. “‘S all new to me, kitten. Wasn’t exactly talked about in my day, yeah?” Brushing a kiss against her temple, he murmured, “jus’ wanna make it better, don’t like seein’ you this way.”


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For the first time in a couple of weeks, easily since before Buffy came back, Tara was having a good time. As in a really good time. She hadn’t told anyone else where she was going, almost afraid to tell any of her housemates where she was going and more importantly who she was going out to meet. It was weird enough in her mind, no doubt it would e impossible to explain to anyone else.

Glancing over at her companion, Tara stifled a giggle. He wasn’t at all like what she’d thought on their first meeting. There’d been so much going on that time, she was afraid she was going to lose Willow and worried about being outed so violently to all Willow’s friends. It didn’t matter so much to her, since she’d always been quietly open about her preferences. Wasn’t like she was flamboyant, not at all, but it was more like she didn’t hide those preferences from people observant enough to notice.

So all things considered, it was kind of hard to imagine getting along with and even liking her current companion. But Oz was a likable guy, if a bit laconic and taciturn to a fault. He did have a wickedly dry sense of humor, which she appreciated, and he wasn’t hard to be around, not like some other guys. It was amazing the number of guys who would try to pick her up, despite knowing she was gay. What wasn’t surprising was the number of guys who wanted a threesome, but Tara wasn’t going there.

Thankfully, Oz was different. There was zero pressure, just . . . a weird bond they shared because of Willow. Through Oz, Tara got a glimpse into what kind of made Willow tick.

They were sitting in the Bronze, waiting for a band that Oz wanted to hear start their first set. The noise was escalating, the music pounding out a very dance-able beat and Tara couldn’t stop her feet from responding. Catching her restlessness from the corner of his eye, Oz took pity on her, asking, “wanna get out there and cut a rug?”

She was up off the chair before he’d finished talking, “let’s go” wafting over her shoulder as she walked toward the dance floor.

“After you,” he said to her back, a very slight smile on his face.


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Willow had laid out everything she would need for the summoning. All the herbs, all the right candles, her small cauldron, even an offering for the gods. It was all ready, waiting for her to cast the circle and start the ritual.

It was a sending and a summoning at once. She was going to prove to everyone that Spike was a liability, that it was dangerous for him to close to everyone . . . to Buffy and Dawn.

Deciding which gods to invoke had taken more time than she’d thought. There weren’t many directly associated with vampires, a few Egyptians and Celts aside, so she’d settled instead on invoking task-specific – Mercury for the messenger, Gwyn ap Nudd for the Wild Hunt (because Spike was, after all hell bound); Isis and Osiris because he ruled the underworld and Isis had raised Osiris from the dead with help from Anubis, among a few others.

She wanted to send a message, specifically to Buffy, but to the universe in general that Spike was dangerous – and she was summoning warriors to prove that to Buffy.

Concentrating hard, Willow closed her eyes, drawing in a deep breath and began invoking the gods and goddesses she sought help from.

Standing in the middle of four candles, each at one of the corners, a fifth candle at her feet, Willow opened her eyes and called them forth. . .

“Deities of the north . . . “ and the flame sprung to life in a bright spark of light.

“Deities of the east . . . “ the north candle flared, arcing over to light the eastward candle, then receded.

“Deities of the south . . . “ this time both lit candles flared, met in the air above her and sparked the third candle to life.

Without turning around, Willow chanted again. “Deities of the west . . . “ three candles sparked, triangulating, joining together and igniting the last directional candle.

“Deities all . . . “ the four lights flared high, arcing over her head, arrowing down to ignite the candle at her feet.

“Hear my plea, heed my cry. Give flight to my message, let the arrows fly. True nature be revealed, let scales fall from every blind eye.”

Taking a deep breath, her voice faltered but didn’t break, “bring forth those enemies that can defeat him. Let Buffy see Spike for what he truly is – let them all see his true nature.”

Drawing her athame across her palm, Willow let three drops of her blood fall over the candle, landing directly in the flame. She bent down, grabbing the candle with her still bleeding hand, then set flame to the contents of her caudron.
“So mote it be.”

The candles flared, flames touched the ceiling then extinguished. Willow slumped to her knees, repeating, “so mote it be.”


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Dark fathomless ancient eyes focused their gaze upon the gaping mouth of hell. Amusement played about within the eternal, elemental consciousness and a rather ironic thought wafted back once the request was received.

Have a care what you wish for.

Prayer granted.


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Somewhere on the desolate high desert plains above what used to be part of Iran, a black robed cleric turned pleased eyes upon a warrior with a blue runic tattoo upon his brow. “We have located her. Your men are ready?”

“They are” was the terse reply.

“It is time. Activate them.”

Turning away from the elderly cleric, the warrior gave the command.

And over four thousand miles away, several teams of men got into position.


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Buffy was on the couch, feet propped up on the table, heating pad at her lower back, drinks, popcorn and chocolate all within easy reach. Spike was standing there at the kitchen doorway watching her.

She couldn’t remember if she’d ever been indulged like this. Looking down at herself, she thought hard to be all grumpy girl when I’m being pampered Buffy. Catching sight of him standing there leaning against the door jamb, she smiled. Who’d’ve thunk William the Bloody would be all caring guy. I really am kind of lucky.

He was trying not to laugh at her. She looked like a little kid, sitting in a too big chair surrounded by goodies. Pigtails, popcorn, big eyes, she was utterly adorable at the moment. And what made it even cuter were her expressions. He could always tell when she was talking to herself, she’d be a terrible bluffer, if she ever learned poker.

He could almost see the mental conversation just by her expressions alone. Suddenly a dreamy expression crossed her features and a Mona Lisa smile graced her features, her face aimed in his direction. Before he could ask, Buffy called him.

“Spike?”

“Yeah?” He stayed where he was, leaning against the doorway, ankles crossed hands in pockets, one shoulder against the wood.

“Spike?” Her voice had a bit of a whine to it now, but she was still too cute for words.

“Yeah?” He crossed his arms over his chest, a smile on his face.

“Spike” she was really whining now, but her eyes were smiling.

“Yes dear?” His smirk crossed over into genuine smile and his eyes were crinkling at the corners.

Her lower lip came out and he lost it. Deep chuckles sounded over the low hum of the television and he tried not to laugh as he asked “somethin’ you wanted pet?”

“Ahuh” fiddling with the throw blanket over her, Buffy lowered her eyes teasingly, deliberately keeping the pout in place.

“Gonna tell me what?” Oh gods, the little girl routine was gonna kill him.

Twirling one of her pigtails, Buffy whispered, “ahuh” then, “wanna kiss. Can I have a kiss?”

All playfulness was gone now, replaced with instant hot pulsing need. His nostrils flared and he moved away from the door, flowing toward her like a panther on the prowl. “Always. Any time.” A heartbeat pause. “Anywhere.”

His body was humming, every nerve ending fired with need for her. This was a first . . . Buffy making the first move. . . initiating this . . . between them. His brain was reeling, she wanted him, thoughts scattered. She wanted him almost as much as he wanted her.

Standing over her, Spike looked down, really looking at the woman-child before him. Sometimes she was so . . childlike, so innocent, uncertain, unsure . . . And then there were moments when she was pure wanton, world-weary hardened and cynical. And he loved each one of those moments, all of them.

Buffy looked up at him, watching while he struggled to keep his desire to pick her up under control. She realized, as he struggled for breath, that he was probably the most controlled person she knew, despite his inability to stick to a long-term plan, but that wasn’t what she . . . loved about him. What she did love was his loss of control around her.

Her hand came up, running up his thigh, tugging on his tee shirt, pulling him down toward her. “Are ya gonna kiss me?”

She was up in his arms, his hands cupping her ass, her legs wrapped around his waist before she finished speaking, her ‘kiss me’ whispered directly into his mouth.

Nose to nose, Spike stared into her eyes and finding his answers in the deep emerald-gold depths, slowly captured her mouth with his.


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Her feet hurt and the beautiful curls were drooping, she was all sweaty and tired, but none of that mattered, because she was having the best night of her short life.

Casey was everything she’d thought he would be – funny, cute, considerate, cute, did I mention cute? Okay so he wasn’t Spike or Brad Pitt or Jude Law or Paul Walker or . . . Wesley, but he was her own age and like knew she was alive. Coz, while two of those guys knew that about her, one was her biological father and the other was just . . . way above her and also, way way too old.

Dawn stopped those thoughts. Wesley thoughts were not of the good, especially not while she was standing here supposedly listening to Casey. Go away Wesley thoughts. Focusing on what Casey was saying, Dawn never noticed the exits being blocked, nor the men poised at the windows, about to enter.


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Breaking away from Buffy, Spike gently dropped her onto the couch. “Time for me to go, princess. Gotta get Niblet and the Sprout.”

This time the pout wasn’t a tease. She didn’t want him to go, but he’d insisted on getting the two teens when the dance was over, and since it was now almost midnight, it was time.

Wasn’t hard to miss her disappointment. “Princess?” He was torn, she shouldn’t come with him, she wasn’t kidding earlier about the bleeding, and he wasn’t comfortable leaving her alone. “Wanna come with me?”

Shaking her head no, Buffy said “its okay. You won’t be gone long, I’ll be fine for a few.”

“Buffy? You sure?” He could feel the combination of emotions rolling off her.

“Seriously. Go.” Waving him away, Buffy said, “leave now, back quick.”

“All right love, back in fifteen.”

Stealing another quick kiss, Spike was gone in a flash.

Buffy threw a pillow across the room, hitting the television.


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Willow came to, slumped on the floor, surrounded by puddles of hardening wax and a sickening stench in the air.

Her muscles were strained, feeling like they’d been over-stretched and then folded up, not allowed to pull back to their natural state. There was a constant in-between-radio-station hum in her ears.


Pushing up off the floor, Willow realized her legs wouldn’t support her slight weight. Giving into the weakness, she crawled her way over to her bed, slumping against the side. She barely made it on top when she collapsed onto her pillow.


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There were people running away from the school when Spike pulled up in the DeSoto.

Not good was his first grim thought, followed quickly by where the hell is she? Leaving the keys in the ignition, Spike pushed his way into the fleeing teenagers, minor shocks from the chip going off when he bumped into people. Didn’t stop him, his only thought was to find Dawn and get her out of here.

Making his way toward the gym, Spike’s battle sense went into overdrive.

Something was very wrong.


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Darla was panting for breath, trying to escape the pain wracking through her body. Her belly was heaving and every muscle in her belly area was constricting. “Angel, our baby is gonna die right here in this ally. You died in an alley. . . do you remember?”

“I remember.” His face was grim, averted from Fred’s eyes and staring down at Darla.

“I wanna say I’m sorry. But I can’t.” Tears were sliding down her face, and he fought the urge to cry right along with her. “Aren’t you gonna tell me everything’s gonna be okay? That its okay?”

“No Darla, I can’t. No.” He shook his head, unwilling to look at her, unable to not look at her.

She sighed, facing some things about her long unlife that she’d never wanted to face, never had to; but the soul within her, burning her from within, was forcing her to take stock. “We did so many terrible things together. So much destruction, so much . . pain. We can’t make up for any of it. You know that, don’t you?”

He couldn’t answer her, couldn’t lie to make it better. “Yeah. I know that.”

Her hand caressed her belly. “This child, Angel, it’s the one good thing we ever did together.” His hand reached out to hold hers, lifting it to his lips and placed a tender kiss on it. “The only good thing we ever did.”

With her hand still in his, Angel’s unneeded breath broke on a sob.

“Make sure to tell him that.” Before he could react, Darla had grabbed a stray piece of wood from the destroyed door and buried it in her chest. Angel gasped, staring as she turned to dust before his eyes.

Her dust mixed with the rain, falling lightly back down to earth, covering the crying infant laying exposed on the cobbled street.

Ignoring everything and everyone around him, including the vampire hunter with the crossbow aimed at his back, Angel gathered up his crying son, getting slowly to his feet. Purposely turning his back further to Holtz, Angel took the jacket Fred was holding out to him and wrapped it loosely around the baby, then walked toward where Wesley and the others were waiting next to his car.

The baby in his arms whimpered a little, cold, wet, needing warmth and something to suckle. Angel could only provide him with shelter from the rain. He stopped for a moment, adjusting his jacket around the baby and then stopped all movement.

This wasn’t just any baby.

It’s a miracle.

His miracle.

His son.

Darla’s son.

A gift from the gods, the universe. He’d never done anything to truly deserve such a gift. Angel stared down at the innocent shining countenance of his barely-minutes old son and every emotion he’d ever felt roiled up within him. Bubbling, churning, conflicting and dizzying in their intensity.

He had a son.

So many emotions were swirling about, he’d never thought he could have children, never wanted them when he was human, not thought about the prospect in hundreds of years of existence. This was a part of him, part of Darla . . A magical, mystical part of them both.

Pride, fear, the weight of responsibility, disbelief, confusion, helplessness, but above all, through it all, with each conflicting and accompanying emotion there was overwhelming love. And the love over-rode and consumed every other emotion – subsuming them all within the unconditional, deep love. . . and a wellspring of such joy and happiness that . . . Angel faltered . . . felt something rip from his chest – and in a vain attempt to reel it back, he clutched the infant close – then stepped forward to Wesley.

Thrusting the infant at him, Angel stumbled, caught himself, stumbled again – looking at Wesley with agonized eyes, saying, “call him Connor” then gasping, sucking in unneeded air, growled out, “keep him safe.”

Uncertain what was happening, Wesley nearly dropped the baby . . . but when Angel’s words finally registered with him, Wesley’s eyes widened in horror.

Backing away from the prone and writhing vampire, Wesley calmly, cooly caught everyone’s attention. “Run. Hide. Split up . . . now.”

No one understood until the vampire laughed.

“I’ll find you.”

Cordelia’s voice was as calm as Wesley’s had been, as she cocked the crossbow at the vampire. “Not if one of us gets to you first Angelus.”

Gunn slammed his boot down on Angelus’ ankle, breaking at least one bone.

The AI team, using the advantage Gunn had given them, scattered.

N: Is this complicated enough yet? Oh wait, I can make it even more complicated. . . and don’t you just love me for it? I don’t remember where I saw the “knights who say key” first, but I know it was another fanfic, my apologies (for borrowing it without permission) to the witty author who first coined it and a heartfelt thanks because it’s a great Spikism. Another thing – I don’t know if I’m the only one who ever noticed it, because I’ve never seen anyone say this, so anyway, Joss once said that Giles and Spike were very alike – I’m going to throw Wesley into that mix. William, geek Wesley and Giles – Spike, post-Buffy Wesley and Ripper - - tell me they aren’t all the same guy at different points in development and I’ll . . . *thinks* . I’m not sure what I’d do, but I don’t think anyone could prove me wrong. Title is from the Scottish Play, act iv, scene i, and the quotes are as attributed. Disclaimers still in full force and effect; I own nothing.]

Previously: Darla gave birth and while holding his miracle son, Angel found a shining moment of happiness. Willow’s cast a summoning/sending and the effects of that are about to be felt . . .

Book two, chapter 6. A charm of powerful trouble

All things truly wicked start from an innocence.
Ernest Hemingway, A Moveable Feast, ch. 17

Dire combustion and confused events
new hatch’d to the woful time
Macbeth, act ii, scene iii





Wesley hadn’t waited for anything. The minute Angel’s . . . . Angelus’ attention had shifted to Cordelia, he backed into the car, placed the baby on the floor of the front seat and drove off.

He had to put as much distance between father and son as humanly possible as quickly as possible before Angelus had time to start tracking.

Buggering hell.

Bloody buggering fucking hell.

Wesley had no idea where to go. It was after midnight and while he was sure he could at least get diapers, he couldn’t risk it while still in LA. Had to get out – find a safe place to . . . Sunnydale.

Cutting across four lanes of traffic, Wesley turned the car south, toward Sunnydale.

Toward the only two people who could possibly protect this baby from his father.


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The gym was barricaded from the inside. He couldn’t get in by conventional methods, not even through a window. . . unless . . . circling around toward the athletic field, Spike slipped into game face, sniffing out the hostage takers.

Fuck.

Humans. Every last fucking one.

No matter. He could probably still get in, get Dawn and the Sprout to safety and let the authorities clean up this one. Opening an unguarded locker room window, Spike let himself in. On silent feet he prowled through the smelly locker room, freezing when one of the hostage-takers came closer. Bloke was doing his own searching, trying to be all stealthy, but Spike could hear his elevated heartbeat and echoing footfalls. Turning a corner, Spike got a look at him, swearing in his head upon his glance.

Buggering hell.

Bloody fucking buggering hell.

Thought we beat the knights who say key. What the fuck are they back here . . . . Dawn. No fucking way in hell.

Without thought of the chip, hoping if he picked them off one by one it would lessen the effects, Spike reached out and snapped the sentinel’s neck. The pain blinded him momentarily and he tried willing it away by breathing deeply.

It took him longer than he was willing to wait for the pain to subside. Fuck it. Not gonna wait.

Pushing away from the lockers, Spike made his way steadily toward the gym, fully prepared now to do whatever necessary to get Dawn out of there and home.

Laid out flat on the floor, Spike pushed open the door, thankful that the woeful knights had kept the dim lighting scheme. Idiot wankers pro’ly can’t find the bloody switches.

Sliding along the floor, Spike got to his feet behind one of the tall speakers, inhaling deeply, he tried to pinpoint how many people were currently in the room. Ten. . . fifteen . . . twenty-two . . yeah, twenty-two people. . . He had no way of knowing how many were the bloody knights.

Dawn was here.

Not more than a dozen steps away.

Surrounded by other heartbeats.

Risking a look, Spike leaned around the amp. The boy, to his credit, had Dawn firmly by the waist, not letting go. Dawn was hanging onto him also, another good sign. Not so good was the group trying to separate the two. There were four of them.

He had one chance.

No more than that. One opportunity to get them out of here.

Thinking quickly, Spike ripped apart the thin fabric covering the amp. Disconnecting wires and quickly threading them together, Spike soon had two garrottes ready for use. Two down. . . he’d leave it to Dawn to take care of one. . . three down. Figuring he could get one good solid kick in while he was choking the other two, Spike had no choice but to go with the makeshift plan. He waited. . . then, when the Sprout elbowed one of their attackers, Spike struck.

“Nice work Sprout. Up for more?”

Slipping one noose over the elbowed knight, Spike yanked, turned, flinched visibly, then slipped the second noose down around a short knight’s neck, he yanked again. Pain blossomed in his head, worsened at Dawn’s ear and glass shattering shriek of his name, which thankfully enabled him to garrotte the second victim, but unfortunately alerted everyone to his presence.

Grunting through the pain, unable to see, Spike ground out, “quiet sweets, gotta get us outta here.”

Dawn kneed her current attacker in the groin while Casey, quickly catching on, sucker punched the fourth knight in the kidney, then when he arched back in pain, slammed his knee up into the man’s balls.

Holding his head and hunched over from his own pain, Spike pushed them toward the locker room, hobbling behind them. His mouth was running, trying to break through to Dawn, who was babbling and crying. “Niblet . . . Dawn. Shut up, listen. Keys in car. Get home. . Get Buffy.”

Two knights grabbed him from behind and ignoring the pain, Spike threw a left at one, striking out with a kick to the other in a follow up motion. Instead of yelling in pain, Spike howled with fury, diving into the fight.

Casey was pulling her toward the door, while Dawn screamed out Spike’s name.

Grabbing a folding chair, Spike slung it at another knight, yelling at Dawn, “get out! Now!”

Somehow Casey understood this was about keeping Dawn safe and he bodily picked her up and ran for the doors.

“No . . . No! They’ll kill him!!” Dawn’s voice was panicked, real fear lacing her tones. “Spike! SPIKE!!”

He was braced at the doorway, doors to the locker room at his back, four knights ranged in front of him. Pain was cresting in waves through his head and Spike knew he had only a few precious seconds of consciousness left, but every second counted, gave the two time to get away, to get home, so that Buffy could at least avenge his dusting. He knew this was it.

The knights knew what he was; each one of them holding a makeshift stake in hand, but Spike was doing his best to avoid that final plunge, holding them off with a folding chair.

Fucking hell.

Did not wanna die at the hands of Society for Creative Anachronism rejects.

Fuck.

The door swung open behind him, and Spike turned to face this threat when they closed in on all sides. Something hard and metallic slammed into his head, then he took another hard blow to his right and he tried fighting back, praying to a god – any god that he could hold out longer, when a tiny blond blur streaked in under an upraised arm. His blurred vision thought it was Buffy but the stance was different, the figure smaller.

Lifting the chair, Spike mentally shrugged, no time to worry about who or what she was, then slammed it into one of the knights. Together he and his unexpected ally fought, but with each blow Spike struck and landed, he weakened. He was faltering and he knew it.

There was another hard blow to his right from a sword, raking down his entire torso, and he felt and heard bones snap and as he was trying to recover, a whoosh sounded past his ear and everything went black.


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Dawn was screaming his name, fighting against Casey’s hold, trying to get back to Spike somehow. “Dawn. . . Dawn. . . stop! He said get your sister. We have to go.”

Casey just kept repeating the words until finally Dawn understood what he was saying. Gulping in a deep breath she said, “I’m okay. . . I’m okay. . . yeah. We gotta go now.”

Taking off her shoes, Dawn grabbed Casey’s hand, heading for the back of the locker room. Spying an open window, Dawn scrambled up and out, spying the DeSoto while Casey escaped from the school behind her.

“Can you drive?” At his answering nod of yes, Dawn said, “good. Let’s go.”


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He should have been back already. Buffy looked at the clock on the wall, then down at her hands. Could just be Dawnie didn’t want to leave the dance or her date. Could be . . . so then how come she was having these little niggling thoughts about . . . something going wrong?

She threw aside the blanket, searching around for her sneakers. Upstairs. The sense of urgency grew, intensifying the longer it took to find her sneakers and get some weapons.

Buffy stood still, her weapons bag at her feet, staring off into nothing. Was she over-reacting? Was this just her over-active imagination?

Was it?

Her slayer sense was telling her something was wrong about tonight. Something gone wrong. Shaking off the inertia, Buffy slipped a stake into the back of her pants, then grabbed a short sword.

She was running down the steps when an upset and crying Dawn burst through the front door, calling her name.

“Buffy! Spike . . . school . . go!!” Doubling over, trying to catch her breath, she blurted out, “knights came. . . Casey drive. . . go! GO! GO!”

“Stay inside Dawnie. Lock the doors. Call Tara. Don’t let anyone in but us.” Buffy was out the door and staring at Casey who was standing at the door of the DeSoto. “Drive now.”


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Wesley checked the speedometer, then flicked a glance at the gas gauge. His eyes drifted toward the sleeping infant on the floor. He needed to get gas, but couldn’t risk leaving the baby in the car all alone.

His mind was completely blank. Having no idea how the others had gotten away, Wesley only hoped everyone survived, at least through the night. He was staggered from the events of the last couple of hours.

Darla had staked herself so the child could live.

Angelus was returned.

Angelus was back.


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Be alive. Not dust. Just be there. Not dust. Not dust. NOT DUST.

Not dust.

The drive felt endless, Casey trying to stay within the speed limit yet drive fast. Buffy was afraid to even open her mouth, for fear of nothing but screams emerging.

Her hands were clenched in an iron grip, jaw tense and frozen. The two thoughts kept repeating over and over, looping in her head. Be there. Not dust. Not dust. Be there.

She was out the door before they hit the parking lot behind the locker rooms, her only words to Casey, “don’t leave” flung over her shoulder as she ran toward the building.

Unknowingly following Spike’s earlier path, Buffy went in, practically diving through the window. The locker room was eerily quiet, not even her footfalls made a sound. Stepping over a corpse, Buffy wasn’t surprised when she saw the tattoo – but grimly thought, good. He got one.

She ran quickly to the gym doors, not caring about stealth anymore.

Swinging open the door, Buffy quickly surveyed the scene before her. A little blond girl was standing over a huddled bloody mass of black . . . oh god. . .

Spike.

That bloodied mass of black was Spike.

Oh god.

Without another thought, Buffy ploughed into the fight raging around the little girl, knocking out one of the knights and hacking at another’s arm. Grim faced, scared and highly pissed, Buffy set about to free Spike from the warriors.

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The band was almost done with the first set when her phone went off. Glancing down at it, Tara thought about ignoring the call, but when the main house number flashed, followed by the number one, Tara quickly changed her mind. Motioning to Oz, she walked toward the bathrooms and flipped open the phone.

Dawn was crying, that much was clear, but nothing else made sense, until Tara filtered away the tears.

“Dawnie. We’ll be right there. Stay put.”

Turning back toward her companion, Tara sent up a quick plea to the heavens to keep everyone safe. Oz raised his eyebrow at her gentle yet urgent touch. “I have to go. Spike’s been hurt and Buffy’s had to go rescue him. Dawn’s alone. . . the knights are back.”

He didn’t say anything, just left his beer on the table and followed her out the door.


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Three more. Only six now surrounding the three of them. Buffy was afraid to look down, afraid to break her concentration. Afraid – because if she looked, she’d break.

Still here. Not dust.

Not dust.

Unaware she was muttering those words out loud, Buffy was surprised when Spike’s rescuer joined in. Flashing the blond girl a look, Buffy was taken aback when teary blue eyes gazed back at her.

Those eyes were kind of familiar, but Buffy had to fend off a blow aimed at the other girl’s head, nearly decapitating the knight. Jumping over Spike’s inert body, Buffy switched off with the girl, idly noting she fought left-handed, something she was used too.

Her world narrowed, all time for thought gone.

Hack. Lunge. Punch. Kick. Not dust. Punch. Slash. Not dust. Punch. Kick. Not. Slash. Dust. Hack. Not. Stab. Dust.

It was done.

The last knight was bleeding out on the floor. Buffy dropped the sword, crumpling to her knees, facing away from where his battered body lay inert. Blood was pooled everywhere, soaking into the knees of her pants. Stifling a sob, Buffy retched onto the floor, adding to the mess.

A hesitant call of her name brought her attention back to the forms behind her. “Buffy?”

She spun around, responding to her name from the unknown girl. “How do you know me?”

“I know lots of things. I’m Kirsten.”

Somehow that wasn’t a surprise.

There was a groan from the bundle of dark clothes, drawing Buffy’s attention away from the girl, kneeling at her side. “Spike . . . “

Scooting over to him, Buffy searched for an unbloody part of him to touch. “Spike. . . . Spike can you hear me?”

His hair was red, there was so much blood on him. His face was barely recognizable, swollen, battered, bruises all ready forming.

“Oh god. Spike.” Her hand covered her mouth, afraid to again to move. His legs were at odd angles, his lower right arm broken through the skin, the bone bare and exposed. . . this was as bad as Glory’s beating.

“Buffy. We need to get him out of here.” From her position on his other side Kirsten wiped away her own tears.

“Blanket . . . something to lift him. . . “ looking around Buffy spied a small gymnastics mat and was up dragging it over before Kirsten could move. “Help me lift him.”

Together they moved him without jolting him too much. Working remarkably well and in relative silence, the two moved toward the door, Spike’s prone body on the mat between them.

Emerging from the gym doors, Buffy was surprised to find Oz waiting for her instead of Casey. At her questioning look, he said, “sent him to your house. Dawn called Tara.”

As if that made sense Buffy just shrugged. Oz hopped up into the back of the van, grabbing one end of the mat, sliding it in. Buffy hopped up beside Spike, while Kirsten closed the doors.

Climbing in beside Oz, Kirsten said, ‘we should be safe at Buffy’s. Tara’s got stronger wards up now.”

Neither one of the adults thought her comment was strange.
 

thanks go out to everyone that has reviewed. Each and every one of you is the best. Slainte, Nia



[A/N: I’m making these chapters longer (has anyone noticed?), but there’s probably going to be more action. Title is from Franklin Delano Roosevelt – in a speech he gave July 2, 1932 (“the only thing we have to fear is fear itself”) and the quotes are as attributed. Disclaimers still in full force and effect, because I still don’t own a damn thing.]



Previously: Spike protected Dawn from the knights and got severely beaten for it: Kirsten stepped in and saved him until Buffy got there. Wesley is on his way to Sunnydale with the baby. This starts immediately where we left everyone.



Book Two, chapter 7 Fear itself



Fear makes us feel our humanity

Benjamin Disreali



A tragedy need not have blood and death: its enough . . .

that it all be filled with that majestic sadness that is the

pleasure of tragedy.

Jean Racine, Berenice, preface



I will not fear. Fear is the mind killer.

I will face my fear and I will let it pass through me

Frank Herbert, Dune







There was no sound in the van, except for the sounds of three people breathing. Buffy sat in the back, huddled next to Spike’s still form, trying to stop the bleeding. Tears were sliding down her cheeks, dropping onto his bruised face. He hadn’t made a sound since that groan in the gym, and his chest was still. She knew he wasn’t in danger of dying, but it didn’t help the fear gripping her insides, nor the hammering of her heart. Two different Buffy voices in her head were alternately screaming and chanting. Screaming in fear and grief and chanting in prayer and thanks. He’s not gone, still here, not dust and the other just a primal howl of grief echoing in her head, drowning out the soft chant of saner Buffy. Her tears were washing away the blood from his bruised features and she gingerly touched his battered cheek.



One eye flickered open, searching around for her. Settling his gaze on her, his eye closed again, and a soft growl sounding in the air between them. It wasn’t his usual strong, forceful growl, more the whimper of a lion in mortal pain. Closing her own eyes, Buffy reached a decision.



“Oz. Stop by the hospital.”



Without a glance back or any other acknowledgment that he’d heard her demand, Oz changed direction and headed for Sunnydale Memorial. He had a feeling he knew what she was going to the hospital for and he had thought of it himself, but hadn’t wanted to make the suggestion. The little girl sitting next to him jerked to attention, turning around to look at the older girl. “We need to get to safety.”



“He needs blood more. . . And I can’t set his legs or his arm. Someone has to do it.” Buffy wasn’t going to argue with her, not for any reason.



“They’re gonna tell you he’s dead.” Kirsten wouldn’t look away from Buffy.



“I know that. I can’t . . . “ Buffy wiped away some of the tears, smearing Spike’s blood across her cheek. “He needs someone to set his legs. And his arm . . . “



Oz spoke for the first time since getting in the van. “Want me to get one of the docs I know?”



“Yeah. That would be. . . one that knows you’re a werewolf?” Buffy shouldn’t have been surprised by this, but somehow it had never occurred to her that some of the people in Sunnydale had to be aware of what was going on in this town.



“Yup.” Pulling into a deserted part of the hospital, near the morgue entrance, Oz jumped down from his seat. “Right back.”



It wasn’t a long wait, not nearly what she’d expected, but it was long enough. Spike was groaning softly, his left hand clenching and unclenching. Buffy ran her hand over his face, wiping more of the blood away, soft little whimpers of sympathy filling her throat. She was rocking back and forth on her knees, her other fist against her mouth. Buffy was watching his face so closely and so intently that she was unaware of almost anything else. Their faces were inches apart, her breath rushing over his still features, one hand cupping his face. She didn’t feel it at first, the slight tug on her hair, but then it became insistent. Spike’s fingers were entangled in the ends of her hair, holding on tightly.



“Spike” she whispered to his face. “Spike, I need you to be okay. Please be okay.”



The van doors opened revealing Oz and some other guy, and a woman. Turning her blood and tear streaked face toward them, Buffy just looked closely, trying to decide if this was a good idea. The woman was all business, holding out a hand to Buffy, “lets get him out of there and inside.”



It took her a long moment to make a decision. She knew he needed more assistance than she could give him, but she wasn’t sure she trusted this woman. Looking at Oz once, Buffy raised an eyebrow.



Pretty sure he knew what was going on in her head, Oz stepped up into the van beside her. “Its cool. She knows all about this stuff.” When Buffy didn’t move, Oz gestured at her, “she’s my aunt Maureen.”



“Its okay, her son’s the one that bit me.” Buffy focused her attention on the woman, taking in her appearance, really looking at her.



“Must you Daniel?” His aunt made a face, clearly indicating she wasn’t happy with his blunt admission. “Let’s get him inside.”



Buffy held out a hand, to stop Oz, then pointed at the other man. “Who’s that?”



Maureen answered, “that’s Dr. Thomas. Ray Thomas. He’s going to work on your friend.” The doctor smiled, nodding at Buffy.



“He knows?” Buffy looked him up and down, taking his measure. Ray Thomas was fairly tall, with sandy blond hair and non-descript features, but he had a kind face with nice blue eyes that were currently looking at her over wire-thin framed glasses.



“Sure do. Let’s get him inside so I can work on him.”



“What about taking him home?” Buffy wasn’t willing to let him work just yet, still unsure of the strangers. Spike’s fingers tightened on her hair, a sure sign he was listening, or at least she hoped it was.



Doctor Thomas and Oz’ aunt exchanged glances. “He can’t stay here. He’s going to have to go with you when we’re done.”



Giving in, Buffy nodded her head, then moved to help Oz lift the end of the gym mat, while his aunt and the doctor held up their end. Kirsten got out of the front, coming round to help the two normal humans and between them, they got Spike inside the morgue entrance without any mishaps.





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Sometime after one in the morning, and forty-five minutes outside of Los Angeles, Wesley couldn’t go any further without pulling over. The gas gauge was on empty, and had been for close to five minutes, and the baby definitely needed something warmer than Angel’s jacket covering it. The infant was still sleeping, otherwise his already sharp nerves would be cut to the quick. There was a gas station within sight, thankfully one that was open 24-hours and Wesley had to take a chance.



It had to be far enough away from Angelus, though he was sure that one of the first places the vampire would look would be in Sunnydale, at least for the time being. Coasting into the gas station on fumes alone, the car finally came to a stop precisely where he’d aimed it, next to the petrol pumps. Breathing a sigh of relief at one thing going correctly, Wesley contemplated how to get himself and the baby inside without anyone being the wiser - and avoiding the surveillance cameras – which were no doubt monitored by Wolfram & Hart employees.



He believed it would be impossible to disguise his appearance right now, but he had to hide the baby at all costs. Switching off the engine, Wesley leaned over to lift the baby up in his arms. Poor little one, he thought, no parents, no one to love him.



Grabbing the jacket, Wesley discarded his first idea. The baby was small. Small enough to . . Thinking quickly, Wesley unbuttoned his shirt partially, tucking the boy inside, the tiny head resting against his belly. What had Angel said to call him?



Connor.



The baby’s name was Connor. Cradling him close, with his arm along the baby’s body, his hand cupping and supporting the wobbly head, Wesley figured this was the best he could do. Making quick work of re-buttoning his shirt, Wesley half zipped up his jacket. Connor settled in, reacting to the warmth of the body next to him. Gingerly getting out of the car, he made his way toward the mini-mart.



The kid at the counter ignored him as he entered, not even looking up. Walking down the aisles quickly, Wesley spied some necessary supplies. Diapers, formula, a small bottle and nipples, and in a burst of creative thinking, sanitary napkins, tee shirts and a few other things. Laying his purchases on the counter, Wesley said, “and a full tank.”



Just grunting his acknowledgment, the kid rang up the items and held out his hand for the payment. Without exchanging another word, Wesley left the mini-mart.



He filled the tank, his eyes constantly flicking around, watching the dark night for signs of pursuit. The stop hadn’t been more than twenty minutes, but the longer he stayed in one spot the more dangerous it was, at least until he got to Sunnydale. It was imperative he get there before sunrise, without having to stop again, and that was provided the baby cooperated. Wesley figured he’d get to Buffy’s in just over an hour.



More than enough time to ask for sanctuary.



Long enough to batten down the hatches and prepare for Angelus.



Lifting the nozzle back into the holder Wesley secured the gas tank and got into the car.





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Cordelia had run away from Angelus, muttering under her breath the whole time about stupid vampires and shaky souls.



She’d deliberately lagged behind, giving Wesley as much of a chance to escape as she dared. Gunn had grabbed Fred and headed in the opposite direction from her. At one point Lorne had kept up with her, but when they’d thought Angelus was behind them, they’d split up.



Cordelia had no illusions that she wasn’t on Angelus’ list of people to torment. She knew she was. And she knew why. Angel might not be willing to admit to his growing feelings and in light of Darla’s sacrifice leaving Angelus no one else to torture, she was it. He’d come for her first, then go after Buffy.



Creeping her way toward her own car, Cordelia thought about heading back to Sunnydale once she had transportation – figuring Wesley might head there. Cordelia decided it wasn’t a bad plan. Double checking that no one was around, Cordy ran to her car and screamed when big hands closed around her shoulders.





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His clothes had been cut from his body and in deference to Kirsten’s presence and at Buffy’s insistence they’d covered him with a sheet. Oz’ aunt had washed the blood away from his wounds and set up an IV drip of human blood into his left arm.



It was the only part of him that wasn’t in some way injured. The list was frightening in its length, fractured skull, broken jaw, compound fracture of his right arm, one broken femur and two broken shins, in addition to the long slice running the length of his torso from right nipple to hip, and various broken ribs, Spike was lucky he was already dead. As it was his injuries could still take weeks to heal.



But the IV drip was helping, because the smaller wounds were already closing, lighter bruises fading. Buffy stood by the Gurney, her hand clutching his good one, squeezing rhythmically.



There was nothing they could do for the fractured skull, but Dr. Thomas had re-aligned his jaw and then set his broken legs. “No point in proper casts, a couple of splints should keep him contained for the next forty-eight hours.”



Dr. Thomas had taken one look, giving Buffy an explanation of sorts, “once he has enough blood, he’ll start healing. He’ll still be healing faster than a normal human being, which means no casts because the legs weren’t so bad.”



All the while Dr. Thomas was speaking, Buffy stroked his hand, re-assuring herself that he was there, solid beneath her touch. His fingers tangled with hers weakly, tugging her closer. Spike inhaled deeply then, letting her scent wash over him. He couldn’t talk and his eyes were just slits due to all the swelling, but Buffy knew he was in there, knew he could hear her voice. “Spike, I’m here. Not leaving. Please be okay, please.”



She leaned down to say the words in his ear, her hand still holding onto his and when he turned toward her, new tears flooded her eyes. “Spike, I’m here.”



His eyes closed again, pain tightening his features as the doctor pulled the skin around his arm together. Using staples instead of stitches, the doctor made quick work of putting him back together.



A thump sounded by her feet, and Buffy turned to look at what caused the noise. Oz’ aunt had dropped a styrofoam cooler at her feet, packed with blood packages and a bag of bandages was in her outstretched hand. “You’re going to need all this.”



Straightening up, Buffy smiled tearily at the older woman, whispering “thanks.”



Transferring Spike back onto the gym mat, they headed out to the van, carrying him gingerly.





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Despite the lateness of the hour, every light was on at Revello Drive when Wesley pulled up at the curb. The baby had slept the entire trip, and was only stirring now, soft cries sounding in the car. Lifting Connor up to his shoulder, Wesley headed for the door and was surprised into dropping the bag when the door swung open before he got to the steps.



Tara and Dawn were standing at the door, watching him closely, staring intently at the bundle in his arms.



“Wesley?” Tara’s voice was quiet, but he heard her clearly.



“Its me. I need some help.” That was an understatement. He wasn’t quite sure what to do now. He’d gotten a diaper on the baby, and wrapped him in a tee shirt, keeping him warm.



“Is that a baby?” Dawn was staring at him, not taking her eyes off the two approaching.



“Yeah. Its Angel’s son.” Looking down at the baby in his arms, Wesley missed the startled looks the two girls shared.



“What?”



“That’s not possible!”



“Actually it is. Can I bring him in? I need to get him safe and” sniffing the air about the baby, “he needs a change and a bottle and to get warmer.”



Tara looked at him, accurately gauging his awkwardness and taking pity on the helpless Englishman, said, “c’mon in Wes, we’ll get him settled.” Stopping him at the doorway, Tara took the baby from his arms, motioning toward the car. “You might want to hide that in the garage and get his things.”



Dawn was peeking in at the tee shirt that was wrapped around the baby, cooing at him. “Oh he’s gorgeous. Look at him.”



With Dawn trailing behind her, Tara made her way into the kitchen, issuing instructions on the way. “Dawn, run upstairs and get some bath gel and some towels and . . . oh, start a pot of water boiling first.”



“Ahuh. Sure.” But Dawn stayed put while Tara slid the baby out of the tee shirt, watching as he reacted to being cold again. “Dawnie. I need you to do this.”



“Do what?” Wesley’s voice sounded from the hallway, his footsteps sounding loud in the quiet house.



Her gaze still on the wriggling infant in her arms, Tara listed once again the things she needed done before they could settle into explanations. “He’s cold and needs to be washed and fed and I need Dawnie to get me some things.”



“Right then. Do we need . . . what?” He placed the bag of supplies on the counter, a bemused smile settling on his features as he watched the two girls with the baby.



“Boiling water. Towels, some bath wash and dry diapers.”



“I can get the water going but not sure where to . . towels upstairs?” Moving about the kitchen, Wesley got the water going then looked toward Tara to see what else she needed, when it struck him what time it was and why they were all up and awake. “Tara? What’s going on? Where are Buffy and Spike?”



He was taken aback when Dawn looked up with tears in her eyes, and her face crumpled, as she tried to answer him.



“Spike got badly hurt when the knights tried to attack Dawnie. We don’t know . . . when she left him, to come get Buffy, he was still on his feet, but” and Tara stole a glance at the teenager at her side, “she’s been gone over two hours and there’s been no word.”



“Oh dear gods.” He slumped against the refrigerator, his posture defeated. “Oh dear god. Angelus is back.”



“What?” Both girls stared at him, the baby almost forgotten.



“Darla. . . staked herself, so that the baby could be born and Angel. . . I’m not entirely certain what happened, but Angel was holding the baby and . . . suddenly he wasn’t Angel anymore.” Wesley didn’t know what to do. He’d thought by bringing the baby here that there would be some sort of assistance from Buffy and Spike, but now, with their status unknown, “perhaps I should just get him fed and cleaned up and then head someplace safer.”



“Oh no you don’t.” Dawn looked over at him, Summers’ determined look on her suddenly very old features. “Nope. You and he are staying put. We don’t know anything. And Spike,” she fought a tear or two, “he’s tough, he’ll make it.”



Neither one of the adults wanted to contradict her.





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Loading Spike back into the van hadn’t taken long, and just like earlier, the trip was again conducted in silence. Dr. Thomas had given them the strongest drugs he could find, so that Spike wouldn’t move around while his bones were knitting. Buffy was most concerned about his jaw, because he couldn’t bite until it healed and she wasn’t going to wait around for it to heal before letting him drink from her. She’d not said it to anyone else, wouldn’t dream of sharing something like that with virtual strangers, but it was sitting there in her mind.



Oz murmured something that Buffy didn’t hear, wasn’t even paying attention too, but she heard Kirsten’s quiet response. “Your parents know where you are?”



“Um. Yeah. They know.”



In her tired and other-focused mind, Buffy didn’t think anything of Kirsten’s answer, turning back to Spike when a groan emerged from him.



“Right here, Spike, I’m right here.”



The van lurched, then swung around, slowing to a stop. Oz jumped out, his unnecessary announcement of “we’re here” sounding over his shoulder.



Buffy emerged from the van to find Wesley and Oz waiting to help her, with Kirsten and the other two girls hovering in the back behind the men. Tara had an armful of sleeping baby, and Dawn was crying again. None of it made any sense to her, and she wobbled a bit once she got her feet underneath her. Oz and Kirsten hopped up into the van, lifting one end of the mat while Wesley and Buffy handled the other.



She almost dropped her end of the mat, the emotional upheaval finally reaching her, and Buffy burst into fresh tears when Spike groaned at the disturbance. Handing the baby to Dawn, Tara grabbed the mat next to Buffy’s hands and motioned everyone toward the house.



“Let’s get inside. Everything can wait until we’ve all slept.”

N: I’m probably on everyone’s hate list right now . . aren’t I? Trust me, I know what I’m doing, at least most of the time. Title is from Edgar Cayce (don’t know who he is? I could tell you to google him, but he was a noted psychic and medium and the full quote is “dreams are today’s answers to tomorrow’s questions” . . . and the quotes are as attributed. Disclaimers in full force and effect.]

Previously: Spike got hurt badly by the Knights of Byzantium who were trying to take Dawn. Angel’s soul is gone and the AI group has scattered to the four winds, although Wesley has sought refuge in Sunnydale, believing that only Buffy and Spike can protect the infant from his father. This picks up immediately from where we left everyone.

Book two, chapter 8. Tomorrow’s questions

Dreams are toys.
Yet for this once, yea, superstitiously,
I will be squared by this.
A Winter’s Tale, act iii, scene iii

roving dreams –
over charred fields,
the wind’s sound
Onitsura, untitled haiku




Wesley and Oz had carried Spike upstairs to their bedroom while Buffy followed behind. Everyone was reeling, stunned from both events of the night, not a single one of them had gone unscathed, not even the newest one.

Putting Spike on the bed had taken a bit of skill, but the two men managed without her assistance. Buffy stood at the end of the bed watching him. Maureen Osborne had added morphine to Spike’s IV blood drip and right now he was blissfully numb. There was no guarantee how long that would last. They had no way of knowing how Spike’s body would absorb the painkillers.

In addition to the blood, there were three more IV bags of morphine, plus some medicines Spike could take orally once he was a bit better. All of it was now in the refrigerator, courtesy of Tara.

But Buffy almost didn’t care about that.

Buffy didn’t care why Wesley was here or why he’d brought a baby. She didn’t care how Kirsten had managed to hold off six knights alone, saving Spike or why she wasn’t worried about getting home . . .

She wasn’t concerned about any of it.

Her world had just narrowed. Had just collapsed on itself. Her rock, her strength, her unwavering support was on precarious legs. On broken legs. Her best friend and worst nightmare, her world since coming back was lying on her bed, broken, battered and more than dead.

Buffy didn’t move when Oz and Wesley walked past her, didn’t acknowledge either of them in anyway. Her eyes were fixed on Spike’s still form.

It took her long minutes to realize they were alone. Even longer for her to gather her courage, her wits and approach the bed. On soft feet she moved, slowly going forward. His head rested on his favorite pillow, the hospital sheet wound around him. Both legs were splinted and his right arm was loosely bandaged with a soft cast on it. Kneeling down on her side of the bed, almost bent double, her head resting close to his left shoulder, Buffy let the tears fall freely, her words washing over him.

“Need you so much. Was so scared when Dawnie came home. . . “ her hand brushed over his torso, resting lightly on his belly. “Can’t die on me Spike. I need you.”

Soft sobs whistled through her lips, “can’t do this alone. . . god Spike I need you so much.” Laying her head partially on his shoulder, Buffy whispered, “I want you to . . . need you to know. . . can’t do without you. . . My heart would break. . . be not fixable. . . don’t break me again.”

His left hand moved, inching toward the arm covering him. Holding on, Spike squeezed her wrist, his fingers digging into her skin. She leaned closer, brushing her lips against his shoulder. He swallowed noisily, kind of clearing his throat, then ground out in a bare whisper from behind clenched teeth, “love you. . . not going.”

Smiling through her tears, Buffy half heartedly hushed him. Resting her head against him, she kissed his shoulder again, then stretched out beside him, cuddling close.


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Tara sent the two teenagers to bed after Oz and Wesley came back downstairs, despite their protests otherwise.

The baby was sleeping again, in the middle of her bed surrounded by pillows. The doors between him and the first floor were all open, although Tara had set a simple ward around him to sound his cry louder throughout the house.

Oz was staying the night again, on the couch, while she and Wesley were going to share her bedroom with the baby. They just weren’t going to bed just yet.

Not that Tara didn’t need to sleep. It was closer to four than three and babies were notoriously light sleepers, needing to be fed at short intervals.

That wasn’t why they weren’t going to bed right away. No, not at all. She had to do a disinvite spell just in case – and – she also had to strengthen the wards around the house. And since Wesley was here, he could add his voice and talents to hers. Hell, she was prepared to use Oz – and she still might.

These wards she was about to set had to be the strongest she’d ever done – shields, wards, cloaking, no matter – anything she could think of to keep them all safe, until everyone was healed.

Grabbing her sage and athame, Tara went to get Wesley.


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Spinning around, Cordelia smashed her assailant in the face, realizing too late that it wasn’t Angel.

“Damnit. Look what you made me do.” Shaking her sore hand a few times, Cordelia resorted to kicking Gunn’s shins. “Why’d you do that?”

“I think he was tryin’ to keep a low profile.” Fred spoke up softly from the front of her car.

“Well it was stupid. Should’ve just called my name.”

Gunn had his hand to his nose, trying to stop the bleeding. “Packing a punch there. Don’t think I have to worry about you.”

“Why are you guys back here?”

“Charles thought we should get some supplies before we hide from Angelus. Is it really that bad?”

Huffing a bit, Cordelia fished around her pockets for the keys, “yeah. Its that bad.”

Holding up a hand, she stopped either of them from talking. “If I don’t know he can’t make me tell him. Just go. Keep your cell phones charged. We’ll keep in touch that way.”

Cordelia slid into her car, not watching to see their reactions. “Stay together as long as you can.” Nodding at Gunn, she waved a hand in Fred’s direction, “watch out for her.”

Motioning to the hotel, Cordelia said, “if you go in now, he’s probably not back yet, but be careful in any case.”

“Broke his leg, he ain’t moving anywhere fast. But I hear ya.” Gunn lowered his hand, wiping away the blood.

Exchanging a look with Fred, Cordelia repeated her earlier statement. “Be careful.”

Starting the ignition, Cordelia drove off, watching them in the rearview mirror.


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She hadn’t meant to fall asleep without cleaning up first. The blood on her clothes was mostly dried when she jerked awake, startled by an unfamiliar noise. She didn’t think she’d been asleep all that long, because it was still mostly dark out, and the morning birds hadn’t started singing yet.

Spike groaned, pulling her attention to him. “Uughh. Buffy. . . “

“I’m right here. Right here. . . . “ she brushed a hand over his face and he turned slightly toward her, a pained look on his features. “What do you need?”

A strangled sort of noise came from his throat and Buffy panicked until she realized his head needed elevating. Lifting him up as gently as possible, she arranged the pillows under his head better, getting him more comfortable, all the while muttering under her breath. “Gonna make sure you get better. . . get you back on your feet. Deal with all the other stuff later, when you feel better. Can’t . . not doing this again.”

Searching his face for signs of consciousness, Buffy stared down at his swollen face. “Can you swallow? Don’t have to bite me, but can you? Do you wanna try?”

His eyes opened up slightly, pain-filled and slightly unfocused, but the good sign was he was reacting to her voice and what she was saying. “If you take a little bit whenever you can. . . it should help right?”

She wasn’t pretending that he didn’t need her blood to heal. He needed it desperately. He needed it more than he needed painkillers or needed regular human blood. She couldn’t have him . . . didn’t want him lying flat on his back taking forever to heal because she was too squeamish to bleed for him. And maybe she was being selfish in wanting him back by her side, but she wasn’t ready to do this on her own. Might not ever be again.

Memories of heaven struck her at the oddest moments, no matter where she was or what she was doing, they just surfaced and she couldn’t stop them. Didn’t want to fight the memories. The closest she came to that feeling of safety, completeness and unconditional love were those moments spent in his arms sheltered from the rest of the world. Buffy didn’t want to lose that, didn’t want to trade that for anything. And she wasn’t going to.

Buffy got up from the bed, trying not to jostle him too much and reached down into her weapons bag, looking for one of her smaller knives. Rummaging about, Buffy listened for signs of distress from him giving any indication that he was uncomfortable in any way, but he was silent. His eyes were open though, mere slits in his swollen face, but Buffy could see that he was trying to follow her movements. Keeping up a running monologue about what she was doing, Buffy saw his muscles relax as he heard her voice.

Finding the knife she wanted, Buffy was back on the bed in mere moments, telling him, “gonna do this on my wrist, is that best?” Not waiting for a response that wasn’t going to come, Buffy kept talking, “yeah, this is best, just gonna have to make sure I cut deep enough to do this.”

Taking the knife in her hand, Buffy made a cut on the inside of her wrist, then waited. And waited. Sighing deeply and mentally berating herself, Buffy tried again. This time, she actually put some force behind the cut and managed to really break the skin. Laying her arm against his lips, Buffy snuggled next to Spike, her right arm around his head, her breasts against his ear. “C’mon Spike, swallow. . . c’mon take this.”

Weakly at first, he swallowed, letting too much of it trickle down his cheeks, but eventually after just a few moments, Spike managed to open up his mouth and he latched onto her arm. His left arm came up, his hand gripping her arm to hold her in place, his fingers curling around her wrist. He didn’t drink long, didn’t take much, but it didn’t matter. If he managed to take more every time, she would be able to gauge how well he was healing.

His tongue licked her wound, closing it off as his eyes drifted close. Those deep chest rumbles that she loved so much echoed through him, warming her up from the inside. For long minutes they stayed like that, his hand holding her arm against his mouth and her body almost curled around his head. Spike drifted back into sleep and she knew the moment he surrendered, because his fingers went lax and his head drifted to the side, facing her. Slowly she moved back away from him, reluctant to move to quickly in case her movements caused him discomfort. She needed to get clean. Blood and vomit was all over her and she felt decidedly dirty.

The water was blindingly hot, stinging needles against her battered muscles, soothing and numbing all at once. Buffy rested her head against the cool tile, wishing that it was Spike’s chest. The desperate fears she’d tried so hard to keep at bay were crowding her, swirling about in her head and heart. He’d almost been gone. He’d almost been dust.

She wasn’t ready for him to not be here. She didn’t know if she’d ever be ready for him not to be here. Dropping down to her knees, Buffy rocked herself, the tears falling from her eyes, mixing easily with the shower. Sobs broke through, wracking her, doubling her over in their intensity. God. . . oh god . . I wish he was here. . . he’d know what to do. .. He’d hold me and I wouldn’t feel so .. . lost . . . so alone. Spike. . . need you so much. . . don’t leave me.

She cried for so long that she had no more tears, no more fluid in her body to give toward the grief, and finally just in a moment of pure surrender, raised her head to the water and let it wash over her. His voice, that heady blend of aged whiskey, dark pleasure and pure sex sounded in her head, his words soothing her, his presence in the next room calling to her. “C’mon kitten, be right as rain soon enough, no worries, yeah? Get to your feet and come back to bed, need you.” It was so real in her head that she imagined he was standing behind her, urging her to get up, find her feet and come lay beside him. Obeying his voice in her head, Buffy took a deep breath and did just that.

Buffy barely dried off, wrapped another towel around her head and without getting dressed again, she climbed back into bed beside him. Laying her arm over him, Buffy kissed his shoulder once more then closed her eyes.


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Tara was curled up on one side of her bed, the tiny baby cuddled next to her, with Wesley on the other side of him. She was sleeping lightly, more than aware of the unfamiliar bodies in the bed next to her, unable to get completely comfortable because of it. The baby was on his belly, tucked into her side, her arm resting lightly over him, protecting him from the world. Wesley stirred beside her, his body jerking from tense muscles and over-wrought senses.

She shifted, trying to get more comfortable, the vague sense in the back of her mind that she was going to need this sleep, because come daylight, she was going to have to hold it together for everyone. Especially Buffy.

The look in the slayer’s eyes had been hard to miss, gauging how close she was to breaking down. Wesley’s news wasn’t going to help. Tara shifted once more, brushing a hand over the baby’s head when he also shifted. “Shhhhhh hush now” she murmured whisper soft. “Sleep little one.”

Closing her eyes again, Tara followed her own advice.


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It was raining, the soft sounds of pittering and pattering splatted and splooshed against the sides of the house; against the pavement. She was tired of rain, tired of being cooped up because of . . . rain. Looking out the window she peered down the long rainy street. Strong hands reached out to close the curtains, a low voice sounding against her ear and there was a very solid presence behind her.

“Not time yet, love. Too soon for them.”

“Don’t want to wait. Want them now.”

Those strong arms wrapped around her, pulling her close to the body behind her. Linking fingers together their hands rested just beneath her heart. “Be here soon enough, pet. Then we won’t have time to think.”

“Thinking’s not good.”

He chuckled then, his voice low and seductive in her ear, as he nipped it between each of his words. “Can’t exactly do anythin’ ‘bout that just now. Couple o’ days love, I’ll see to you proper, yeah?”

She smiled then, hugging him tightly to her.

“Promise?”

“Promise kitten.”

“Kay then.” Settling against him, Buffy rested her head on his shoulder, content to stay put.

His voice sounded again, this time clipped and controlled. “Need you to listen now pet. Gotta trust us – what we feel. Stronger together.”

Turning around to face him finally, Buffy was surprised to find him in game face.

“Mine you are as I am yours.” His features faded back to human, his voice continuing, “he’ll come for us – for the sprog. Oxford will help Dawnie, but we’ve gotta help him first.”

A frown appeared on his features then cleared again. “She’s ours too.”

Thunder sounded, crashing loudly all around them. “Shadows fallin’ now pet. Can’t get free. . . we need to stay inside.”

Her hand reached out to touch his face, his hand covering hers. “Gotta watch them. They’ll all be one of a kind.”

Thunder crashed around them, lights went out, flickered on, his face bathed in shadow, here, gone, game faced then not.

“Rest now kitten . . . battles yet ahead . . . Rest. . . rest. First ones ‘ill be here soon.”

He pulled her into his embrace, his arms linking around her, his kiss against her temple. “Yours princess, always.”

Buffy came to slowly, trying to remember all the details of her dream. Reaching for her dream journal, she flicked on the bedside lamp, then gasped when she saw Angel standing beside the bed in game face, his hands dripping blood.

She lunged up, and realized when she woke to half light, that all of it had been a dream – even that last part. Her heart was pounding, racing in her chest and she was gasping harshly for air. Spike groaned beside her, reacting to both her jerked movements and her elevated heart rate.

“Buffy. . . kitten?” His voice was a bare whisper but she reacted to it, turning to face him. His eyes were open, the swelling down visibly and though tired looking and pain-filled, his blue eyes were clear. Reaching out with his left hand, Spike wiped away the tears she wasn’t even aware of shedding. “Tell me.”

“Was a dream” clearing her throat, she continued, “a slayer dream.” Reaching for his face, she ran a gentle finger across his lips. “Give me a minute. I’ll tell you.”

Leaning over him, she kissed his face, saying nothing. She had no words for what she was feeling. Could only show him.

Too soon for his emotional liking she pulled away, but only far enough to get out her journal and pen. Sitting next to him, Buffy narrated the dream as best she could remember as she wrote it down.

When she was finished, the sun was just coming up and he was back asleep. Closing the journal, Buffy curled against him again, wondering if he’d heard the last bit, about Angel standing in their bedroom with blood on his hands.

It was a long time before she fully went back to sleep.

 

[A/N: Did anyone jump when Buffy saw Angel standing in their bedroom with bloody hands? If you didn’t I’m not doing my job right, and I’ll have to try harder to scare you. Title is from the soundtrack for The Lost Boys (can we all just. . . sigh over the hotness that was Keifer Sutherland in that movie?), from the song of the same title and the quotes are, as always, as attributed. Disclaimers in full force and effect.]

Previously: Buffy has had a slayer dream, but hasn’t interpreted it yet. Wesley, Connor and the rest of those living at Revello Drive plus two others are all safe and sound. The wards around the house have been strengthened. This picks up immediately following the last chapter..

Book two, chapter 9. Don’t cry little sister

It is some relief to weep; grief is satisfied and carried off by tears.
Ovid

Tears are the safety valve of the heart when too much pressure is laid on it.
Albert Smith

Grief has limits, whereas apprehension has none.
For we grieve only for what we know has happened,
but we fear all that possibly may happen.
Pliny the Younger



It was ridiculously early to be up when she’d only had a couple hours of sleep, but she couldn’t stay that way. Nightmares kept waking her. Disturbing images of the aftermath of her first real date and Dawn couldn’t shake them. Images of Spike as he’d been when Buffy brought him home, others of Buffy coming home alone – shattered, beyond reaching, grief-stricken and bereft. Dawn remembered all too well what it was like in the days just after Buffy’s jump – could never forget them. The burning aching hole in her belly that got caught in her throat whenever she thought about it, it was back. It was what wouldn’t let her sleep, wasn’t allowing any rest. She wanted to vomit, she wanted to cry. . . . to scream, to yell at someone. . . she wanted to put her head against Spike’s chest and cry. Let him hold her. Tell her he was gonna be okay. That he didn’t blame her.

Not that it would help at all. This was all her fault. If she wasn’t the key, none of this, absofreakinglutely none of this would have happened. Except for Joyce dying and Riley leaving, everything else bad that had happened in the last year had been her fault. Because she was the Key. Not anyone else’s fault. Hers.

It was all her fault. Glory beating on Spike, Tara’s getting her brain sucked, Buffy . . . jumping. And now this. Dawn stared up at her ceiling, Kirsten sleeping quietly beside her and wondered what her purpose was. Am I just gonna destroy everything and everyone . . . . piece by piece, one at a time? Why am I here if that’s all I’m good for?

Tears welled up in her eyes. The house was quiet, too quiet for a house with so many people here at once.

Getting up, Dawn looked at her companion. How she had gotten involved in this Dawn had no idea, but every time something weird or bad happened at school, Kirsten was around. Which kind of set off slayer-type alarms.

I’ll just be Scarlet and think about that tomorrow. One last look at the other girl and then Dawn was out of her room and opening the door to Buffy and Spike’s room before she realized it.

Opening the door to their room just wide enough to slip through, Dawn gently closed the door behind her. Neither of the figures on the bed moved, but then again, she hadn’t expected either of them to. Spike was flat on his back, his right arm resting on a small pillow, his head leaning to his left, close to her sister. Buffy was curled up next to him, wrapped up in a big bath towel and nothing else. Her towel-wrapped head was nearly resting on Spike’s uninjured left shoulder. Their left hands were clasped together, laying across his belly, Buffy’s smaller hand nearly swallowed up under Spike’s larger one.

Just looking at their hands made the lump in her throat travel. She wished she was a little kid, then it wouldn’t be freaky if she climbed into bed with them. Part of her wished the monks had made her smaller – little enough to enjoy being theirs. Climbing into bed would give her some reassurance, something she desperately needed, especially from Spike.

Dawn stood at the foot of the bed, shifting her weight from one leg to the other, uncertain about what to do. Should I go? Leave them alone? Don’t want to do that. Just want to stay. It was only when she shifted that she realized she was crying, probably had been since she’d walked in and seen them both.

Giving in to her sudden need to touch them both, Dawn crept closer to the bed. They looked so . . . . despite the bruises and bandages, they looked cute . . . no. Not cute. Right. They looked right together. And cold.

Taking the light comforter that was folded up at the foot of the bed, Dawn spread it over them. Her hand covered their entwined fingers, nearly jerking away when Spike’s hand twitched. He didn’t wake up, though, which almost disappointed her.

She needed to see his eyes, needed to see that sparkle he had, just to reassure herself he was still with them. Dawn’s hand hovered over theirs. She was torn between touching and not touching. Unable to stand it any longer, Dawn laid her hand gently over theirs. Spike’s usual coolness was replaced with a slight warmth, definitely borrowed from Buffy but instead of bothering her, it gave her some comfort.

Without much conscious thought, Dawn walked around to the opposite side of the bed, coming round to where Buffy was curled up against him. Kneeling beside her, Dawn couldn’t resist any longer. The tears were clogging her nose and streaming down her cheeks. She slipped down behind her sister. Silent sobs wracked her and she curled into Buffy’s smaller body.

It was barely eight in the morning - the sun already begun its ascent into the sky when Dawn laid down beside them and barely a half hour passed before Spike stirred. She wasn’t asleep, was in that sort of in-between state, just sort of numb. His low groan caught her attention and she could feel him shifting and stretching from her position. Buffy automatically adjusted, her answering murmur a soft exhalation of sound. Spike inhaled loudly, Buffy’s name escaping from him. Dawn smiled, listening to the two of them shift and stir, instinctively reaching out for the other. Buffy’s arm moved and she shifted closer to Spike.

Dawn felt like she was . . . not intruding, but getting a glimpse into how things really were between them. Buffy stirred again and Dawn nearly jumped out of her skin when Spike ground out, “mornin’ Niblet. You okay?”

A half sobbing laugh sounded from her throat. “I’m fine. . . you. . how’re you feeling?”

“Truck run over me.”

“Oh god Spike, I was so scared. I thought. . . “

“Not going like that. Not now. Not ever.”

“Dawnie. . . . let him sleep.” Buffy’s sleepy voice sounded between them. Taking away the sting of her words, Buffy disengaged her hand from Spike’s and reached around to touch Dawn. She grabbed her sister’s wrist and with an indrawn breath Buffy pulled away quickly. Dawn grabbed her again, this time lifting her hand up to look at her wrist.

“You should put a band-aid on these.” Then after a second, she asked, “would mine help? Being the Key? Would it be better than regular human?”

Buffy sat up slowly, trying not to jostle Spike who was listening to their quiet conversation. “I don’t know Dawnie. Not sure what your blood would do. We know mine is best.” Now a bit more awake, Buffy unwrapped the towel from her hair, facing her sister. “You aren’t wigged . . . how come?”

“Its not that big a deal is it? Spike needs it. You’ve got it.” Thinking about it Dawn continued, “Xander would wig big time. Tara not so much and Giles?” She shrugged. “Do what you think is best Buffy. Not my decision. But I wanna help.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to just blurt it out and tell them both what she’d found out – but no one knew she even had the journals, much less read them. She couldn’t tell them like this. So she bit the inside of her cheek to remind herself of that.

“Oh Dawnie. . . maybe when he’s a bit. . . “

“No. Not biting you Nib. Not now. No.” Spike wasn’t going to argue it not now, but he’d explain later. . . maybe.

Dawn sat up, insulted and hurt. “Gee Spike make me feel wanted.”

Guessing what was in Spike’s head – about crossing a line with her sister and creating a need for a vampire’s touch within Dawn, Buffy had to agree with him. “Dawnie, let’s talk about this later okay?”

“Love you Nib, don’ wan’ t’ hurt you.” He waited a bit, then repeated himself. “Love you.”

Dawn’s face crumpled, her sobs shaking her shoulders. Buffy looked down at Spike, seeing his barely opened eyes looking back at her, a wealth of understanding in their unspoken communication. Turning to her sister, Buffy pulled her into her arms and let her cry.

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Dawn was still the only one awake when Giles called to check in and report on his progress or lack thereof. He knew immediately that something was wrong just by the way she’d hesitated before telling him that Buffy was still asleep.

“Tell me Dawn. Don’t leave anything out.”

And she didn’t, spilling it out for him in horrifyingly minute detail without her usual girlish side commentary. Which also told him how bad it truly was.

There was absolute silence when she’d finished, then, “I have to stay at least a few more days Dawn. There are things I must see to. But I won’t waste time. When Buffy wakes tell her I’ll be back as soon as possible. I’ll call back at,” and she could hear him fumbling for a watch, “three your time.”

‘Okay Giles. I’ll make sure she’s awake.”

“Dawn?”

“Yeah?”

“Spike is tough. He’ll pull through this.”

Tears clogged her throat and all she could manage was an “ahuh.”

“Dawn. He’s a vampire. Takes more than what happened to kill him.” Didn’t stop her from feeling guilty about what happened.

She whispered back, “I know.”

“Take care Dawn. Speak with you in a few hours.”

Giles disconnected the call and mentally re-arranged his itinerary and his priorities for the rest of this trip. Changing his mind, Giles tapped on the driver’s shoulder, directing him to the Council’s headquarters instead of going back to his hotel. No time to waste unwinding and spending a lazy Sunday afternoon doing nothing until the morning before resuming his research. He was needed back home.


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After hanging up with Giles, Dawn grabbed some cereal and headed for the living room – stopping short when she spied Oz’ sleeping form. What, is everyone sleeping here now?

Wrinkling her nose, she turned around and walked right into Wesley. His hands reached out to steady her and Dawn hid the squeal of-my-god-its-him that was threatening, instead she settled for the squeal-of-startled-surprise. “Wes!”

“Sorry Dawn. Phone woke me.” He turned back toward the kitchen. “Need some coffee. Any here?”

“Yeah its all set up. Tara usually does it before she goes to bed.” Flipping the switch, Dawn smiled at him. “How did you sleep?”

Looking at his disheveled state and the two day stubble gracing his features, Dawn figured it was a stupid question, but she couldn’t think of anything smart and intelligent to say to him. He usually did that to her, made her all tongue-tied and feeling very foolish and very, very young.

“Actually, all things considered, I slept fairly well. Just not long enough.” He searched around for a coffee mug, his gaze averted, which gave Dawn ample time to just stare at him, and asked her “and you?”

“Huh? Oh. Um. . . okay I guess. Kinda worried about Spike.” She hid her blush when he turned around to look at her by dipping her head down and focusing on her cereal. But Wesley caught her pink cheeks and ducked his own head. He’d never been the focus of a teenaged crush and he had no idea how to react or even if he should. He liked Dawn, she was a cute little . . . looking at her intently, Wesley realized she wasn’t a little girl anymore, wasn’t nearly the same little girl he falsely remembered from a few years back. She was at that age when men his age got into serious difficulties by looking. And it was worse because Dawn was growing into his type of woman. . . . tall, smart and beautiful. Wesley realized he was going to have to be very careful around Dawn. Very careful indeed. Temptation was not something he wanted right now. And god knows what Spike would do to him if he ever found out.

“He’s going to be fine, Dawnie.” Tara’s voice came from the basement doorway, a mewling baby held in her embrace. “We’re going to make sure he’s fine.”

Turning a grateful glance at the older girl, Dawn motioned for the baby and when she had him in her arms, began cooing at him. “We need to get lots of supplies while the sun is up.”

Wesley looked down at himself, noting his days old clothing and the need to be clean gripped him. “Both the baby and I are going to need things. I don’t know where else to go with him.”

Bottle and formula in hand, Tara stopped what she was doing to look at Wesley. “You did the right thing by coming here. If Angelus is back we have to stay together. All of us.”

Without looking up from the baby, Dawn said, “this time we need to just stake his sorry ass and not worry about re-souling him.”

Neither one of the adults had an argument against that statement.


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Every inch of him was in pain. He ached all over, with parts that were throbbing in screaming counterpoint. The morphine was wearing off and he was reluctantly waking up. Sleep would be easier. His head was a mass of pain, sharp, spine-bending, ice-hot shards of shrieking pain in his head. Groans of complaint fought for release in his throat and he tried vainly to suppress them. Brief flashes of last night’s events circulated in his head, moments only, mere blurbs, a punch, a kick. No more than that. Later flashes, strange voices, different hands on him and much later, Buffy’s touch, her kisses and the sweet taste of her blood.

A soft groan sounded and she was instantly awake. “Spike?”

Her head lifted away from his shoulder, a light touch against his skin. “Kit . . kitten.”

“Shhhh. I’m right here. Gonna take care of you. Want some pain killers? Need blood?”

He blinked, focusing on her, his eyes shifting to look at her, “yeah.”

“Okay. I’ll be right back with the painkillers.” She slipped on one of his tee shirts, and a pair of shorts, nearly flying out the door.

Spike closed his eyes, straining his ears to hear what was going on. The girl’s voices were easy to pick out, but there was a deeper voice, that he didn’t recognize at first, but then he heard a phrase and knew it was Oxford. Not catching the implications of that, Spike was glad someone else was around to help the girls.

He must have drifted, because Buffy was shaking him awake, a morphine bag and a straw in one hand. “I’m not sure how much to give you. I don’t know how much they gave you last night. I . . “ her voice broke and she wiped away a tear.

His left hand lifted to cup her cheek. “Half” he managed to croak out.

She let her cheek rest there for a bit, just grateful he was awake and still with her. Her eyes watched him, drinking in his presence. Finally she lifted her eyes to meet his, a soft smile on her face. “So glad you’re here.”

His eyes sparked, glittering in their intensity. “Love you.”

As an answer she kissed his palm, then reluctantly broke away from his touch. “So drugs or me first?”

A chest deep growl sounded from him and Buffy suppressed her smile. “Drugs. Best last pet.”

“Thought you would say that.”

Poking a hole in one end of the bag, Buffy stuck the straw into it, offering it to him. Memories of him chained in the bathtub came back to them both, and Buffy giggled, saying ”no teasing this time. I promise.” Then growing serious, “I want you to be able to bite me.”

The look in his eyes spoke volumes and Buffy’s heart beat picked up. When he was better. . . oh yeah. She thought about the two other times he’d bitten her, feeling her whole body flush.

Lost in each other’s eyes, they didn’t realize he’d practically inhaled just under half the bag in record time. “Okay Spike. . . ready for some extra special Buffy goodness?”

His smile was much more of a grimace, but his whispered “please” sent shock waves through her whole body.

Buffy froze for a moment, wishing he could act on the promise implicit in his husky whisper. She needed to show him. . . to prove to him and herself that this wasn’t one sided. . . that she cared about him. . . that he was in her heart.

Resting against him, Buffy kissed his shoulder, her right arm beneath her. Raising her left wrist to his mouth, Buffy asked him, “do you wanna try biting or should I do like earlier?”

“I’ll try.” Opening his mouth, Spike kissed her, at the spots marking where he’d drunk earlier. His tongue came out, little licks running over her skin, just tasting her. Spike closed his eyes, his tongue tip playing over the flesh of her wrist. Buffy’s breath hitched and she fought a tiny gasp as he slowly, gently bit down, pulling at her skin.

Her heartbeat double raced, pounding against her ribs. He tugged on the skin just above her biggest vein as his tongue circled on that tiny bit of flesh. Her blood pulsed beneath the healing cuts, leaping toward his mouth, aching to be part of him.

Buffy’s eyes drifted closed her senses narrowed on that tiny strip of flesh inside his mouth. His left hand dropped, no longer holding her arm against him. He fisted his hand, his knuckle rubbing against her mound. In response she writhed, seeking any contact with his body. His face shifted, his canines elongated once the overpowering scent of her arousal filled him and she lifted her hips, Spike gently, slowly sunk his teeth inside her flesh. Her gasp of pleasure echoed loudly in his ears, “Spike. . . oh. . . “ her breath was hitching, trying to get in enough air to whimper his name.

He drank slowly, not wasting a drop, as she curled closer into his side. The morphine kicked in and his muscles relaxed, his face shifting back to human. Buffy rested her head against the side of his face, brushing small kisses on his skin. Long before she thought he was finished, Spike licked the cuts, closing them off. “Thank you kitten.”

Drawing in a deep breath, he rested his left hand down alongside hers, both of them across his belly. Contented gurgles rumbled in his belly and Spike sighed. Buffy stirred beside him, entwining their fingers together. She whispered something against his bare shoulder, sounding suspiciously like ‘sleep now’ and he drifted off in a jumble of thoughts filled with Buffy and home.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


The first thing they decided was rather than scramble about for whatever they could remember they needed, was that they needed to be working from a list. Wesley was at a loss about what they needed for a newborn, but Tara proved to be a wealth of information, apparently from first hand expertise. Wesley was acting as scribe, writing down everything Tara said to, while Dawn fed the baby.

When Buffy had come down the stairs earlier to get supplies for Spike, she’d just stared at the baby, muttering “thought I imagined that last night.”

A hasty explanation from Wesley had brought her somewhat up to speed, but Buffy had shaken her head, unable to focus on what might be coming until Spike was at least sitting up. Instead she had gazed up at Wesley, noting his tired eyes and almost defeated stance, saying, “not worried about him right now. Its daylight and he can’t travel between here and there.”

Turning to Tara, Buffy asked, “can you do a disinvite?” Then thinking again, “we’re gonna need weapons from Giles’. Can you guys pick those up also? And anything else we might need from the Magic Box.”

Exchanging looks, Tara and Wesley both answered at the same time, “we can do the disinvite,” then Tara continued, “we’re gong to have to split up. This way we aren’t going to be caught out after dark. Its already after two.”

Buffy looked up at the clock, disbelief on her face. “Is it?”

Dawn picked up her head, looking at her sister for the first time since she came downstairs. It was clear Buffy had been crying and she looked like she hadn’t slept well at all. “Buffy? How is he?”

A deep sigh sounded in the air, and Buffy tried to control the tears that were threatening, saying, “he’s awake and most of the cuts have healed. I’m not sure about anything else. He is talking, so I guess his jaw is healing too. Hard to tell right now.”

Her sister relaxed but not enough, Dawn’s body was still tense, and her worry was clearly evident. “Can I see him again?”

“Maybe later Dawnie, okay?” Buffy grabbed a straw, then headed back toward the stairs, her voice trailing behind her, “let me know when you guys leave.”

Once Buffy was back upstairs, the other three pointed shared looks. Neither of the two adults had said anything about re-doing the disinvite, but then again, Buffy hadn’t waited for a response. Tara was the first to recover, going over the list Wesley had been writing, asking him to add all the things Buffy had mentioned, plus whatever else she was going to need for healing and warding.

Dawn was still cuddling the baby close and as he started falling asleep, she asked, “who’s going to take the baby?”


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


She wasn’t asleep, not really, just in a sort of fugue state, where she wasn’t really awake. Spike was breathing beside her, his chest rising and falling in time with hers, but he was deep asleep. Right after he’d done so, Buffy had checked his right leg, which hadn’t been broken badly, just a fracture and the swelling was all gone, the bruising subsided from the livid dark purple nearly black they had been to a less intense purple-bluish color. It was a good sign.

He’d been able to talk a bit also, another good sign. She was mostly worried about his right arm, since that was the one that had broken through his skin. Right now it was propped up on a pillow, but she was afraid to unwrap the bandages to look at it. It had stopped seeping blood earlier while they slept the first time, and she wasn’t looking forward to changing those bandages. He was mostly clean, though they hadn’t washed his hair, Oz’ aunt Maureen had made sure the blood was cleaned up from his body after the doctor had patched him up. Getting his hair clean would have to wait until he could get into the shower, which wasn’t going to be at least until sometime tomorrow.

Their hands were still entwined, resting across his belly, which was free of bruises now. Buffy was watching the dust motes dance across the room, the late afternoon sunlight hitting her mirror, causing cross beams of indirect light, the only illumination in their room. The idle thought crossed her mind that she was going to have to redecorate, adding dark drapes, so that Spike wouldn’t get hit by stray beams of sunlight. This was their bedroom now, it was only right that he be able to enter it without worrying about bursting into flame issues.

Buffy was mulling over ideas, not really thinking seriously about anything, in a half droused state, when there was a soft knock on the door.

“Buffy?” Tara’s voice sounded from behind the closed wood and at her sleepy muffled answer, the older girl opened the door. “How’s he doing?”

“Sleeping now.” Placing a kiss on his shoulder, Buffy loosened their hands and rolled over to face Tara. “What’s up?”

“Well. . . “ Tara started fiddling with the sleeves of her blouse, a sure sign she was hesitant about what she was about to say. Taking pity on her, Buffy said, “tell me.”

“We can’t take the baby when we go out. He’s got no clothes and we can’t spare the hands.” She wouldn’t look at Buffy’s face, afraid the Slayer would be angry.

Instead, Buffy just sighed, “bring him in here. He can stay with us.”

“You sure?”

“Tara, you guys need to do lots of stuff, having to carry him around is just gonna slow you down. Bring him in here.” Making a face, she continued, “think I can take care of both of them?”

That comment elicited a soft giggle from the taller girl. “Shouldn’t be too hard. He’s sleeping most of the time and we just fed him. He’ll be good for a couple of hours.”

“Okay.” Then she laughed sadly. “Sounds like both of them.”

Spike stirred, a groan passing through his lips and Buffy focused her attention back to him. He didn’t wake, though, and she motioned Tara to go get the baby and bring him back.






Gonna give me some more sugar? Let me know what you're thinking . . . . please?


You guys have all been so great, I can't thank you all enough. If I were to list everyone who reviewed the last two chapters it would take up all my space, but something tells me you'd rather have the story. (I hope). I'm kind of nervous about this one, so please, let me know what you think.

[A/N: This is moving much quicker than I had expected, which I suppose is a good thing, since this is going to be rather busy. . . er, full of action? Yeah, that sounds better. Anyway, the title is from a duet sung by Maire Ni Bhraonain of Clannad and Bono from that other Irish band (the one just inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame) and appears on the Clannad album Macalla. The song is entitled In a Lifetime and gods above its just gorgeous. Go, download it now, its worth the listen, trust me. The quotes are as attributed. Disclaimers in full force and effect.]

Previously: Buffy had a slayer dream, Spike’s recovery is moving forward, due mostly to his ingestion of Buffy’s blood. Wesley, Tara and Dawn are talking about getting supplies. This picks up where we left everyone.

Book Two, Chapter 10. A light shines in you

I will not ask from you
anything that you were not capable of giving
I would not ask from you
anything but that which I truly need
and I would not take from you
without giving equal value in return
Javan, Footprints in the Mind

And as the rain (begin again)
falls heavy in my heart (as the storm breaks through)
believe the light (so the light shines)
in you (in you)
(without color, faded and worn)
torn asunder in the storm (torn asunder in the storm)
(unless the sound)
(save your body’s soul)
(Unless it disappears)
first the thunder (selfish storm)
then the storm (cold on the inside)
torn asunder (one life)
in the storm (in the storm)
in a lifetime
Clannad with Bono, In a Lifetime




Oz woke up just after Buffy had gone back upstairs and he’d been enlisted to help them get all the necessary supplies. His van was empty, except for the two seats in the front, and it would enable them to make one trip for everything, instead of having to use both the DeSoto and Angel’s convertible. Having been brought up to speed about what was left of the day’s prospects, Oz characteristically remained mostly silent throughout Tara’s list of things to do, only speaking once to say, “how soon do we leave?”

Which was answered by Dawn, “as soon as you’re ready.”

“Then let’s go.” Oz fished his keys from his pocket and dangled them in the air. “Where too first?”

“The mall, we need supplies for the baby and Wes.” Tara answered.

“So we go from there to get the stuff from the Magic Box and then we need to go to Giles’ to get more weapons.” Dawn’s voice sounded from the hallway closet as she grabbed a light jacket.

Tara headed up the stairs with the baby, calling down, “I’ll be right back.”


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Spike woke to the sound of Buffy’s voice singing lullabies softly in the very late afternoon light. He had no idea how long he’d been asleep this time but he felt much better. His headache was mostly gone now just a fuzzy dull ache in the back of his head. One leg was relatively pain free and his ribs felt like they were all healed. A smile graced his features, listening to Buffy’s singing, and he stretched gingerly, taking care not to disrupt his healing bones.

Buffy looked up from the chair and he realized why she was singing. “Somethin’ you wanna tell me kitten?”

Her smile was blinding and he almost looked around to see who else she might be looking at. “Buffy?”

“Hey you. How’re you feeling?” She got up from the chair, lifting the infant in her arms to her shoulder, walking over the bed.

“Better. Who’s this then?” Spike watched her carefully.

“Wesley brought him. You want the good news or the bad news first?” She laid down next to him, the infant between them, waiting his response.

“Does it matter?” He wasn’t quite sure what was going on here and was feeling completely confused.

“Nope” her voice was quiet, mindful of the baby sleeping between them, “not much is good.”

“Tell me then.” He shifted, trying to get more comfortable, moving almost onto his mostly uninjured side to face her. “This Angel’s sprog?”

Her hand brushing over the baby’s back, Buffy looked at him, a little laugh in her voice, “if by that you mean if this is his son, that’s what Wesley said.” Sobering quickly, she continued, “Wes also said he’s lost his soul and Darla is dust.”

“Fuck.” Spike knew this was worse than he’d expected. “Gimme the rest of the news love.”

“I’m not sure this rest is really news. Oz was with Tara last night,” and at his raised eyebrow she giggled, “don’t think it was like that you pig. Do you remember what happened?” At his nod, she continued, “Kirsten is gone. She slipped out while everyone was asleep and Dawn was in here with us. She fought last night.”

“Yeah I seem to remember that. Chit saved me, did she?” Looking at her closely, he said, “thought she was you at first. She reminded me of you the first time I saw her.”

“She’s too strong to be just a regular girl. She fought off almost six knights before I got there.” Buffy’s face took on a pensive look. “Could she be like me? Maybe a could-be-slayer?”

“Dunno pet. She’s somethin’ else, dunno if its that, or” he hesitated, trying to find the words for what his brain was thinking, “she sounded like you, not just . . . somethin’ ‘bout her, love.”

“Well she was here, until sometime this morning.” Buffy watched his face for signs of fatigue and pain. “Are you feeling any better?”

“Yeah. Head’s not so fuzzy. Fractures are doin’ better.” The baby mewled, drawing their attention away from Spike’s injuries, “Sprog have a name?”

Buffy looked up, a horrified yet amused look in her eyes, “I didn’t. . . oh my god. . . what kind of . . . I never even asked. How horrible am I?”

Spike grinned at her, a laugh threatening in his eyes, “pro’ly jus’ slipped your mind. We’ll jus’ call him Sprog for now.”

Buffy had looked back down at the baby, missing the laughter in his eyes but at his words, she gasped, saying, “Spike we can’t . . that’s”. She shifted her gaze to look at him, only then realizing he was teasing her. “Not funny Spike.”

“Yeah it is. Peaches’ get w’out a proper name, leavin’ it for me to do.” Spike’s eyes gleamed with further mischief, “think I’ll call ‘im Spawn.”

“What? That’s . . . why would you call him Spawn?”

“Cause he’s Spawn of Angelus and Darla.” He tried holding back his mirth, but it was impossible. “What else could he be?”

Buffy finally responded to the teasing glint in his eye, giggling softly along with him. “So not nice Spike.”

“‘m evil, love. Can’t expect better from me.”

She ignored his statement instead focusing on the baby sleeping between them. Her hand smoothed down his back, running over his head. She could smell his scent from where she was . . . he smelled so sweet. A wave of longing unexpectedly surged through her, catching her off guard. Buffy fought the tears, hiding her expression from Spike, not wanting him to think the tears were because this was Angel’s son. That was something she almost didn’t care about. It was just the fact of a baby, and them, lying in this bed, that was enough to cause the longing. She had no idea where the emotion had even come from, but suddenly it was there, clawing in her throat. Trying to hide the tears, she sighed, shifting closer to the two of them.

But Spike was watching her closely, knew when she started to fight tears, knew when her breathing hitched. He thought he had an idea what was running through her mind, but was afraid to call attention to it. This was Angel’s son after all, the child of her first love, and the one thing she’d never expected to see. Part of him hoped that it was just a baby she was reacting to, and it would have happened with any baby, but a bigger part of him was convinced the tears were because it was Angel’s. He gingerly rolled onto his back, grimacing with pain and emotions he didn’t want to face.

Her hand reached out to touch his face, running over his cheekbones and down along his jaw line. The tension and pain that had bloomed with his movements eased with her touch and he closed his eyes both to hide from her concern and from the emotions swirling between them.

Spike wanted to mark her as his in so many ways that the sheer number was staggering. He wanted to bite her, claiming her as his, he wanted to brand himself into her soul so that long after he was dust and she was gone, they would still be bound. He wanted to be so indelibly marked on her that everyone, demon, hellspawn, human, everyone she came into contact with would know that she belonged to him. He wanted it with a presence that was as real as the miraculous infant sleeping between them. He wanted that baby . . . to be theirs. Wanted to see her . . . gods she was sunshine and light now . . he couldn’t imagine how much more incandescent she would be.

Her warm hand stopped moving just over the spot where his heart used to beat, pushing aside the sheet that covered his skin. His good hand came up to capture hers despite his brain’s inclination to keep some distance between them at this moment.

He’d gotten his crumbs.

He’d gotten more.

Now he wanted everything.

Spike stopped breathing, when her fingers ghosted once more over his lips, her words a breath in the air between them. “Should be ours.”


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Once at the mall, Wesley had handed Tara a stack of bills, saying, “I’ve got more if you need it.” Then they’d split up, Dawn trailing after Tara and the guys going off together.

They made short work of the mall excursion knowing that time was now their single biggest enemy. While Angelus might have temporarily been slowed by the breaking of his leg, none of them was willing to take the chance of being caught outside without some more substantial form of protection than what they had now.

The trip from the mall to the Magic Box was undertaken in silence, each one of them lost in their own thoughts. Dawn and Oz were the only two with first hand knowledge of what Angelus was capable of, but both Wesley and Tara had heard the tales. Wesley also had read the Watcher’s Journals, and his mind was grimly focused on going over Angelus’ weaknesses, if there were any.

Dawn sat in the back, her legs crossed, going through some of the baby things she and Tara had picked up. They’d gotten the basics, plus another package of diapers and a case of formula, and Dawn had insisted on one little extra. There was a blue baby blanket that she’d thought was just adorable and had quietly whined until Tara gave in and allowed her to throw it in their basket. She was holding it now, running her fingers over the satin edges, hoping that everything was fine at home. And also hoping that the baby’s father stayed far, far away.

Tara was running through more of the practical things that were going to be needed, extra food, formula, diapers, the supplies from the Magic Box and any thing else to keep her mind on the present and not worry about what might be coming for them in the next few nights. She had no real comprehension of what Angelus was capable of, had only one thing really to balance against it, and from what little she had gathered, Angelus was on a Glory-level of badness. And that was bad.

Just how bad she almost was afraid to ask.


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She couldn’t possibly have said what he’d thought she said. Spike kept his eyes closed afraid to make a sound. Well, Buffy had always had the ability to render him speechless and senseless. Her fingers were back on his chest and he could feel her eyes on his profile.

Buffy was equally stunned. She hadn’t meant to just blurt that out. Hadn’t meant to say that out loud at least. Not that she didn’t mean it – because she did – but more because she was afraid he felt differently. A baby. . . . their baby would prove to him that she felt just as strongly as he did. But if he didn’t want that . . . she just knew that it would be one more way to bind themselves together. One more thing to make him want to stay and never leave her.

The enormity of what he’d done last night, fighting off humans to save her sister, wasn’t lost on her. He’d known, going into the fight that he was going up against something he couldn’t fight and still he hadn’t hesitated, apparently hadn’t even thought to do otherwise. It was just further solidification for her that his feelings ran very deeply both for herself and Dawn. Maybe she should just tell him what that meant to her. Try to tell him how she was feeling, what she was feeling. Could. . . she actually say the words? Or would that be the end for them? Would he disappear . . . not because he wanted to but because that was just what happened when she loved someone? Could she take the risk?

Did she trust him enough with her heart?

His chest was warm beneath her hand, stealing heat from her, solid and strong. Even without the beat, just being close to him was comforting, was . . . safe. There was safety in his arms, safety knowing he was with her. She’d already faced that, accepted that, known that. He’d taken the leap before her, placed his unbeating heart in her hands, laid it out and given it to her. Trusted her with his love. And that was no small thing. Not something to be sloughed off and made light of, it was as big a deal as her . . . loving him back. To love her, to be with her, he’d turned his back on everything he was, everything that made him what he was.

Spike was a demon. No soul like Angel to set him apart, nothing but his own sheer force of will, from other demons. Pure, unadulterated demon. And yet he walked that shadowy place between light and dark far better than Angel ever had. He fought beside her for the best of reasons, for truly the only reason there was to fight. Spike fought for love. Because he loved.

And the chip? The chip was nothing more than a piece of hardware designed to stop him from hurting humans. The chip didn’t stop him from ordering minions around, didn’t stop him from getting other demons to do his bidding. And the chip sure as hell didn’t direct him to take a beating to protect Dawn – take two beatings. Neither did the chip make him go out and patrol for her, all summer when she was gone and then again recently, before she was ready to do it on her own. The chip was just a hindrance. Last night, had the chip not been there, she wouldn’t have had to worry so much, wouldn’t have had that fear choking her the entire night. He’d have been able to fight off the humans, and those humans? She so wouldn’t have minded if he’d killed more than the couple he did. She would have been happy if he’d killed them all.

Giles said he trusted Spike with or without the chip. Could she do any less? How silly was it that she slept beside him and pretend that she didn’t trust him. She let him bite her . . . and there’d been no question of him hurting her, but he could still drain her – every single time he bit. But he didn’t. He always stopped himself, usually long before she thought he was done. Even earlier this morning, Spike hadn’t taken alot. He’d taken barely enough to start his healing.

He fought her battles because he loved her. Not because it was expedient to do so, not because it served his purposes, but for one simple reason – her. He loved her. Told her so all the time – showed it, god how he showed it, every day. Some days, like yesterday, and was it really only yesterday? He more than proved it.

Sure he didn’t always have the best of ways to show it, at least not in the very beginning, that moment when he’d tied up her and Drusilla, in an effort to make her see that something was brewing between them, always came to mind. And she’d thrown it back in his face, told him the only time he’d had a chance was when she was unconscious. And he’d begged for something, a crumb. . . well, she’d given him crumbs. Given him cookies, cakes, sweets, whatever it was he’d been asking for a crumb of. . . But now there was so much more.

The words ached to be said, caught in her throat, choking her with their intensity. Her fingers flexed on his chest and his came up to entangle with hers. A soft smile graced her features as she realized he always instinctively knew just what she needed, sometimes, even before she herself knew it. His eyes were closed, the dark lashes resting against his pale cheeks, only the slight tensing of his muscles there an indication that he was still awake and not sleeping. He’d been uncharacteristically silent for a long time, far longer than she’d ever imagined he could be in a moment like this. Buffy watched his face, almost amazed at this man, and yes he was a man, who gave everything for her.

Taking a deep breath and more than aware she was about to make the biggest leap of faith in her life, even counting the jump from Glory’s tower, Buffy tried to get the words out. She was more afraid of this . . . of admitting her feelings than she was of facing down an entire nest of vampires, or a swarm of fyarls. Maybe. . . she could build up to it. Tell him . . just. . . “Spike.”

He angled his head toward her, looking at her from beneath his lashes, his eyes hidden from her. “I was so scared last night. . . didn’t. . . I don’t know what I’d have done if . . you had. . . “ her voice broke, the harsh whisper full of unshed tears. “And you were all broken. . . but at least you weren’t gone. Were still with me.”

Opening his mouth to speak, Spike felt her fingers cross his lips, holding his words silent. “Wait, please? Let me try.” Gathering her courage, Buffy cleared her throat, swallowing back the tears that kept threatening, “I need you so much, can’t do this alone. Don’t know how to do this alone anymore.”

Spike was watching her now, his eyes wide open and concerned, focused on her. Her eyes were a brilliant green, shot with gold and silver, and he was lost in them. His lips pursed against her fingers in a kiss and her answering smile was radiant. Her eyelids fluttered closed, then opened again, “Spike . . . you . . . you.”

“Shhh, kitten.”

Shaking her head again, Buffy whispered, “my heart Spike. . . its . . . in your hands.”


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Anya was on the phone with Giles when the group walked into the Magic Box. Wesley was the first in the door and he mumbled a greeting at the former demon. Motioning him over, Anya said, “Wesley just walked in now.”

She handed him the phone and faced the other three, taking in their drawn and tired expressions. With characteristic bluntness, she launched right into her concerns, “you all look like crap. Rupert said that I should make sure you have everything you need and that I’m not to charge you. I want you to know,” as she huffed somewhat indignantly, “that since its so important I was going to give you a discount. We can’t possibly make a profit this week if I give you everything for free.”

Tara and Dawn shared an amused look, while Oz tried to figure out what whirlwind he’d just walked into. This was like old times gathered around the library, and he was struck with a sense of deja vu. There were a few new faces and some missing from the old days, but the situation was, ironically enough, quite similar to what used to happen when they were in high school.

The girls knew Anya was just blustering, but sometimes she could be shrill and a bit off-putting, especially if you didn’t know her all that well. Tara walked over to Oz, whispering, “she’s like this sometimes, you just have to get used to her.”

Despite the former demon’s protests otherwise, both girls knew that she’d give them whatever they needed, even without Giles’ say so. This was an emergency and Anya never really quibbled about those.

Anya walked over to where Dawn was sitting at the table, then sat down beside her. Dawn was playing with one of the books that had been left out, not really focused on what was in her hands. “Dawn?”

When the younger girl glanced in her direction, Anya continued, “you do know that unless you use a stake or cut off their heads, vampires always recover. Eventually.”

“I know that.” She knew Anya was just trying to be comforting and helpful, but she really wasn’t being either of those things. Dawn looked away, then mumbled, “its all my fault anyway.”

“Because?” Anya had heard her, despite Dawn’s efforts to not be heard.

“Because I’m who I am. Because I’m the Key.” Dawn slammed the book down, then got to her feet to escape from Anya’s pointed questions. “Its all been my fault. All of this.”

Dawn headed for the training room, tears threatening, when Wesley hung up the phone and cut her off. “Dawn.”

“Leave me alone Wes. Just . . don’t.” He’d reached out a hand to stop her forward movement but she pushed him off.

The adults watched her go, none of them sure of what to say. Tara turned to Anya, about to say something, when she caught the look on the other girl’s face and realized there was nothing she could say to Anya. There were tears in Anya’s eyes and it was obvious whatever had transpired between the two struck a chord with Anya. “She thinks its all her fault.”

“Her fault?” Tara and Wesley spoke at the same time.

“That’s what she said. That its because she’s the Key.” Anya’s answer was muffled.

Before Tara could react, Wesley was at the door to the training room, listening intently for any sounds from within. Motioning the others to quiet, Wesley opened the door and stuck his head in. Dawn was huddled on the couch, curled up on herself, crying softly.

He slipped into the room, watching her intently, “Dawn?”

“Leave me alone.” She said from behind clenched teeth, her hands fisted against her knees, her shoulders hunched over. “Just go away.”

“Dawn.” Wesley was at something of a loss. He wasn’t sure how to approach this, but part of him wanted to try. He liked Dawn and didn’t want her blaming herself for all of this, even one tiny little bit of it. “Let me ask you a question. Angel’s lost his soul, because of the baby’s presence. Granted the baby doesn’t know that now, but do you think that when he gets older he’ll feel any differently than you do at this moment?”

She didn’t say anything. He wasn’t even certain she was even listening to him. Wesley shoved his hands down into his jeans pockets, waiting for her to respond. Shifting his gaze about, Wesley took in all the equipment around him. This really was a remarkable set up that Giles had going. The shop out front was definitely pulling in a nice little profit, given the number of customers that had been leaving when they arrived, and this room was simply marvelous. Attention caught by the knives on display over Dawn’s head, Wesley almost didn’t hear her response to his question.

“Would you tell him that? Would you tell that little baby that he’s the reason why everything went wrong in his life? That his mother killed herself so that he could be born and that other people died so he could live?” Dawn couldn’t look up at Wesley, didn’t even want to be having this conversation with anyone, much less him.

“I don’t know.” He sighed a little, absently kicking the couch, then walked about the room, his attention on the things around him, but his focus definitely on her. “You see, he’s really innocent. He didn’t ask to be brought into this situation, it just sort of happened that way.”

He paused, trying to gather his thoughts on the matter, “much like you. You didn’t ask to be brought into this situation and you don’t have control over every factor that causes these results. You and Connor are only,” and he paused again, trying to be logical and yet sympathetic at the same time, “perhaps pawns is not the best word, but it’s the only one I can think of at the moment.”

Dawn sniffled at bit, wiping her eyes with one hand. She looked at Wesley, seeing how hard he was trying to balance the equation for her, help her understand it all and perhaps put it into perspective and she was grateful for his logical side at the moment, because she couldn’t deal with emotions. “Still. Doesn’t mean I’m not gonna feel guilty about it. Spike wouldn’t have gotten hurt. . . if I was just nothing special.”

“You can’t know that. Something else might have occurred to put you in harm’s way and Spike would have gotten hurt just as badly. Something else might have happened to cause Angel to lose his soul.” Wesley was facing her now, watching her every move. “We can’t be certain of the future. Nor can we blame ourselves for everything that happens around us.”

Wesley moved closer to her, scrunching down on his haunches to look in her eyes. “And Dawn,” he said, reaching for her hands, “I really don’t think Spike would want you to do this to yourself.”

She shook her head in agreement, “he already said . . . “ and her tears fell on their joined hands, “he already said. . . that he loves me. And . . . and that it wasn’t my fault.”

“He’s not the type to lie. He meant what he said Dawn.” His arm came around her awkwardly, then he helped her to her feet, continuing, “and I don’t think he’d want us wasting time worrying about things over which we have no control.”

He hugged her once, then waited while she wiped her eyes and they moved back into the shop area. Wesley hoped to hell and back that Spike would be up and around soon, because he didn’t relish facing Angelus on his own with a distracted Slayer and precious little other back-up.

Please, let me know what you think . . . .

[A/N: As a writer, some chapters are harder to write than others. Some just seem to flow from the pen (or keyboard) and magically appear on the page before them. And some just resist all efforts to be expressed. The first nine chapters of this story were primarily the first – easy to write and easy to get through. That last chapter was a bitch. I’m not sure if it was because of the emotions or because I wasn’t feeling so hot for a week; or the fact that I cursed myself by saying this had all been going easily. Either way, its done. Hopefully it was halfway decent and readable. The title is from Anais Nin, from Incest, a Journal of love (5 February 1934 entry) and the quotes are as attributed. (Full title quote is I seek the real stuff of life. Profound drama.) Disclaimers in full force and effect.]

Previously: Everyone is out getting supplies. Buffy has taken a leap of faith with Spike and told him how she was feeling. This takes place immediately following the previous chapter.

Book Two, Chapter Eleven. The real stuff of life.

Oh, God, I know no joy as great as a moment of rushing into a new love, no ecstasy like that of a new love. I swim in the sky; I float; my body is full of flowers, flowers with fingers giving me acute, acute caresses, sparks, jewels, quivers of joy, dizziness, such dizziness. Music inside of one, drunkenness. Only closing the eyes and remembering, and the hunger, the hunger for more, more, the great hunger, the voracious hunger, and thirst."
Anais Nin, May 30, 1934 from Incest





He knew she didn’t confess her feelings easily. That it was hard for her to admit the way she felt. She had such capacity for love, could give herself over to it completely, could drown in it – if only every single time she’d done so in the past hadn’t gotten her poor little heart stomped on.

Spike looked at her, saw the fear lurking in the green depths of her sparkling eyes and his own heart nearly broke. The wariness crept in the longer he remained silent, afraid to trust him, afraid not to. “Buffy?”

His good hand came up to brush against her cheek. “You’re my world love. ‘M yours.”

She’d closed her eyes when he’d said her name, unable to hold his direct gaze. But she’d opened them again when his knuckles brushed against her skin. Her eyes grew impossibly wider when Spike’s words echoed the ones he’d said in her dream.

Was this it? Was this the moment the dream was foreshadowing? Buffy stared at him, a growing. . . . something . . . awareness in the pit of her belly. She had the feeling that this was one of those moments in life, that if she didn’t follow her instincts – that, if she didn’t leap – this chance would never come again. And if she didn’t, things would change between them . . . and eventually he would leave her. . . not because he didn’t love her, but because she wouldn’t trust herself to love him back.

Buffy opened her mouth and the words came tumbling out. “Yours. I’m yours. . . I don’t want anyone else. . . you . . . only you, Spike.”

His hand froze against her, his eyes burning into hers. Spike drew in a deep breath. “God woman. . . . what you do to me. . . Always . . . always, yours.”

“Love you.”

He smiled crookedly at her, unable to be any more eloquent than she’d been. His mind was racing, kept coming back to one thing, how she’d looked when she’d said “yours”.

The simultaneous cry of the baby and the phone ringing broke their focus on each other. Neither one was sure what to do, then Spike said, “give me the phone, you take the sprog.”

Buffy handed him the phone then lifted the baby into her arms. He settled down almost immediately, allowing Buffy to hear both sides of the conversation. It was Tara, giving them an update and letting them know they’d be a bit longer, because Anya wanted a disinvite spell and wards put on the shop, designed specifically for Angel.

Spike had rolled over onto his back to hold the phone to his ear and Buffy eyed his bare chest. It made such a comfy pillow. With the baby tucked into the crook of her arm, Buffy laid her head down on Spike’s shoulder, her back to his side, moving his arm until she was more comfortable. He grunted when she nearly knocked the phone from his hand and the baby sent up another wail, this time a more insistent one.

“Think he’s a bit hungry?” Buffy sat up again, taking the phone away from Spike and looking around for the bottle Tara had left with her earlier.

Spike’s stomach growled loudly and Buffy fought a giggle. “Must be. Both babies are hungry. Need some nummy treats?” The last was said to a now fully crying baby and Buffy got up from the bed. “Ssshhhh. All right . . . baby. Gonna get the bottle.”

There was another answering growl from Spike, causing outright laughter from Buffy. “So didn’t know vamps did that.”

“Quiet missy. When I’m back on my feet . . “ he mock growled at her, amusement twinkling in his eyes, then he winced at a particularly piercing wail from the baby.

“Oooohh the Big Bad is gonna get me?” Buffy was searching frantically, until she remembered that they’d put the bottle in the bathroom sink to keep it warm, since they had no idea when the baby was going to need to eat again. Her laughter floating behind her, she headed for it, saying “I’m soooo scared. . . . can’t you see me shaking?”

“Jus’ you wait little girl. Big Bad’s gonna give you what for.” He rumbled back at her, his eyes staring at her backside as she left the room.

“Promise?” She was standing at the doorway, infant and bottle in hand, gazing into his eyes.

“Yeah.” Their teasing had taken a serious turn and the promise of intense lovemaking lay between them.

“I can wait then.” She made her way back to the bed, reclaiming her spot next to him. As she was getting settled, Buffy asked, “can you reach my neck from here?”

“Buffy? You want to do this now?” Spike rolled over to cuddle against her, his injured arm resting on her hip and his good curling up under her head.

“Might as well. Gotta stay still for the baby and,” she sort of shrugged, feeling her shoulder brush against his, “you need to eat as much as he does.”

“Do you know how much I love you?” Not really expecting an answer, Spike leaned closer, kissing her shoulder. “Any idea at all?”

“Think I’m getting the picture.” She smiled as he continued to lay kisses on her shoulder. She shifted her head, dropping it down from the pillow to rest only on his good arm, exposing her neck for him. An almost purr rumbled from his upper chest and Buffy felt the vibrations all the way through her body. She couldn’t help the answering wriggle from her hips nor the soft “mmmmm” from escaping her.

He chuckled against her neck, whispering, “baby likes that?”

His answer was a soft exhalation that suspiciously sounded like a breathy moan of “yes.”

Spike licked her pulse point, Buffy moving closer and he tried holding her still. “Princess, can’t do more than this. Need you to stay still. Don’t need to give the sprog an education this early.” He breathed heavily against her neck, fascinated as the goose bumps rose on her skin, “but by god, kitten, I want you so much.”

“Spike.” She whined his name softly, unconsciously hugging the baby tighter.

“Love you.”

She could feel him shift behind her and knew the second he nuzzled against her with extended canines. He kissed her one more time and then gently, slowly sunk his fangs into her neck.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He hadn’t expected them to stand up to him, they were after all, swayed by emotional ties and had been caught by surprise.

Obviously happiness came in more than one form. The grin widened across his squared features. Wasn’t that a kicker . . . the great soul wrenched free by a tiny little baby.

Unfortunately for them that little stunt – Gunn slamming his huge boot down on his ankle – hadn’t done what he’d obviously intended. His leg wasn’t broken just badly bruised. They weren’t his first prey though, no, not by a long shot. So he’d let them all go, let them stew in their fear, worry about who was going to be first. . . . Let them wonder. He knew where he was headed.

He had to eliminate the one person he knew who could restore the soul. Once she was gone – his sights were set on the Slayer. And her traitor.

Oh yeah. The traitor was going to die.

But not until he watched all of them suffer and beg for release first.

First little Willow.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


It took her a more than full night’s sleep but the backlash from the summoning had finally worn off. She still felt groggy and a little fuzzy but for the most part she was feeling much better.

Making her way to the bathroom, Willow figured a hot shower would help. Ducking her head over the sink Willow didn’t notice until she stood up and faced the mirror. Blinking at her altered reflection, Willow shook her head once more. Huh. . . need some sunlight, I guess.

Shrugging the changes off as a trick of the light, Willow stepped into the shower.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Between them, Wesley and Tara came up with wards that would work to keep Angelus from doing harm if he ever managed to get into the shop, Tara had left an opening for Spike but she wasn’t entirely certain it would work. They’d worked quickly, trying to get as much covered in as quick a time as possible, knowing they had to get back to Revello Drive before full dark. It was now nearly six and sundown was less than an hour away.

Anya was closing the shop at six and heading directly home. Until the Angelus situation was resolved she wasn’t keeping the shop open passed six – on Giles’ orders, and – again on Giles’ orders, the mail order business would take priority. Live customers could wait. He’d actually prefer if she wasn’t in the shop alone, but he didn’t want Buffy or Wesley to leave Spike alone.

Though, Tara thought, can’t imagine that Spike will be in bed longer than a couple of days. There was no doubt in her mind that Buffy wouldn’t let Spike drink from her. Tara was positive she’d done it when the hounds had nearly severed his wrist. There couldn’t be any reason why she would refuse him now. Her intuition was telling her that Giles knew it also. In this case it was the best course of action, they had too many unknown assailants, the knights, Angelus, the hounds . . . the number kept growing. If they didn’t get some good luck soon, Tara wasn’t sure they’d all survive.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Buffy was watching the baby drink, his tiny lips wrapped around the nipple, formula pooling at the corners of his mouth. He was a cute baby. Hard to tell right now who he resembled, though Buffy thought he had more of Darla’s looks than Angel’s, but his dark hair had to be from his father. She smiled, imagining what her own might look like. The probability of her having a blond baby was unlikely, since she was pretty sure Spike’s natural color was not bleach white.

Damn it.

She was trying not to think about him while he was . . . feeding , because his bite. . . Oh god his bite was intoxicating, taking her away, transporting her some place. . . It was almost like being. . . in that other place. . . memories of heaven were getting dimmer everyday, but being with him was akin to that feeling. Safe. Loved. Protected.

Involuntarily, Buffy’s hips wriggled again and Spike tried flexing his fingers around her hip, silently asking her to be still.

Lifting his head away from her neck slightly, Spike said, “kitten, please. . . can’t. . .” his breath was warmed by her blood and still it caused shivers down her spine. “Wan’ t’be inside you, love, to feel you aroun’ me, warmin’ me, surroundin’ me . . . I wan’ tha’ more than I wan’ to get up an’ walk.”

He licked her neck, closing the wounds. “But I can’t, love. . . can’t be where I wan’.” Slapping her butt with his closed fist, Spike play growled. “So stop wrigglin’ an’ givin’ me ideas, woman.”

Buffy giggled but did as he asked. “Did you get enough?”

“Yeah. ‘M not taking any more.” He sighed, resting his head against hers.

“Why?” She turned her chin, brushing against him. “Spike you need more.”

“Buffy. Can’t have you too weak either. Won’t do anyone any good if we’re both too weak to fight.” He nuzzled against her, “I’ll still be up and around quicker than you think.”

“Are you just telling me all this Spike? Or is this the truth?” There was a sort of amused exasperation in her tone, but he picked up on it.

“Buffy, headache is gone, ‘m talkin’, which means the fracture and broken jaw are healed. There’s only a bit of an ache in m’right leg.” He flexed the fingers of his right hand, feeling the skin stretch beneath the bandages. “The rest will take a bit more time, but should be better by week’s end.”

“Promise?”

He pushed up as much as he could, using his uninjured arm. “Promise, love.”

“Okay.”

That show of strength was too much and Spike had to drop down heavily unto the pillow.

“How soon?” She asked again feeling the bed dip from his weight.

“Buffy. Let it go. Be up soon.”

She could hear the growing aggravation in his voice, but she was concerned. Didn’t want him just telling her he was going to be okay when he wasn’t.

“Don’t tell me what I want to hear, Spike, tell me the truth.” There was an edge in her voice that she couldn’t fight.

“What’s today?” His rising irritation wasn’t hard to miss.

“Late Sunday afternoon.”

“An’ how many times today have I drunk from you? Three? Four?”

“Something like that. Three.”

“Plus yesterday.” He couldn’t hide the leer in his tone, then he quickly sobered, “‘m all ready healin’ kitten. Can feel the bones knittin’ together. Everythin’s right itchy.”

He shifted, rolling onto his back, easing the pressure on his left leg. “Should be up for a shower in the mornin’. ‘Specially if I get more from you.”

“So yeah, be up an’ around by the end o’the week.”

“Okay.” Resignation was clear in her tone and he knew she was just humoring him.

There was one other thing on her mind but she wasn’t sure how to bring it up, how to tackle this subject at all. Because she was sure not everyone was going to agree with her. She had to make sure Giles wasn’t just saying ‘chip or no chip’ to placate her, because she was going to put that to the test. The chip. . . .

It was coming out. As soon as she could arrange it. Whether she had to go to the Council or to the Initiative, that chip was coming out.

Spike wasn’t Angel, wasn’t likely to go on some ugly psychotic fish and friend killing spree – wasn’t going to stalk her or her friends, well . . . He might put some fear into Xander, but hey, he probably deserved it. He might threaten, might even throw a few punches, but Buffy didn’t believe for one second that Spike would kill Xander.

Or anyone that really didn’t deserve it.

The chip was their biggest weakness – their huge Achilles heel and she couldn’t allow that weakness.

Anyone bent on destroying them had a way to defeat them. All that had to be done was separate them and send humans after Spike – eventually he’d be unable to even defend himself . . . then he’d be . . . gone. . . and it was so fresh in her mind that her breath caught on a sob and new tears sprang to her eyes.

“Kitten?” He heard the sob and felt her breath catch.

Instead of answering, Buffy sat up, lifting the now full and very sleepy infant to her shoulder. Turning to face him, she stared into his concerned eyes, wiping her tears on the baby’s back. Blowing out a breath, she gathered her courage. “It has to come out.”

At first he had no idea what she meant, but the expression on her face, the set to her shoulders hinted what she was getting at.

There was no keeping the surprise from his voice. “What?”

“The chip.” Her jaw flexed, clenching a bit and her hold on the infant tightened. A look he’d seen often enough crossed her features, telling Spike this wasn’t just a whim or spur of the moment decision. Deciding not to question the what further, he tackled the why.

“Been thinkin’ ‘bout this have you?” He shifted, moving his left hand behind his head watching her closely.

“Yeah, I have.” Loosening her hands from around the baby’s back, Buffy didn’t flinch from his gaze. “Last night just kind of decided it for me.”

“What ‘bout me being a serial killer in prison?” He’d objected to that statement the first time she’d thrown it in his face and he was now returning the favor.

“You feel the urge to drain anyone lately?” She had a feeling he was going to bring that up and she was kind of prepared for it.

Before answering her, he gave the question the thought it required.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Wesley and Dawn were in the truck, waiting for Oz and Tara to finish grocery shopping, not really talking. He was staring into space, his mind still focused on finding a weakness for Angelus. There weren’t many. He realized, however, that they currently had an untapped source of information about Angelus and how he fought and what, or rather, who he was most likely to target first.

There was a possible list of candidates he kept rearranging in his head, going over the permutations of who was the mostly likely first target. Any one of the AI team could be it; so to, could any one of the scoobies; Holtz was also a possibility. A chilling prospect would be if Angelus were to connect with anyone of the employees of Wolfram and Hart – including, quite possibly Lilah Morgan. Which would give him an advantage they might not be able to overcome. Another thing Wesley didn’t want to contemplate.

Dawn cleared her throat, then rested her head against the back of the seat Wesley was sitting on. She was tired, exhausted and the lack of sleep was beginning to tell. Wesley shifted, looking over the back of the seat to look down at her. “We’ll be home soon.”

“Ahuh.” She looked up at him, noting his exhaustion equaled or exceeded her own. “I’m so tired.”

Smiling down at her, Wesley laughed a bit. “I know just how you are feeling.”

A tired little twinkle entered her eyes. “Oh. I bet you do Mr. Former Watcher guy.” She laughed a bit, “you know, you used to be a real geek.”

“Thanks Dawn.” He winced, remembering just how badly his first stay in Sunnydale had been, “wasn’t exactly a shining moment for me.”

“Was it so bad? “ Dawn wanted to know, how things were from his perspective, since what she remembered wasn’t real. “Was it all bad?”

“No. It wasn’t all bad.” Looking back, it really wasn’t, there had been some moments when things were settled, but then either his own overblown sense of importance and insecure need to force Giles out of the picture would surface and he’d destroyed whatever inroads he’d made. “But it really wasn’t very good.”

“Oh, vague it up a bit more Wes.” She stuck her tongue out at him, completely catching him off guard. “Still with the cryptic talk.”

He froze, realizing she was flirting with him, all at once unsure what to do. She was attractive, but good heavens, she was only fifteen years old. Without any idea how to behave, Wesley was at a loss. Falling back on his strengths, he launched into an excruciatingly detailed account of what it had really been like, at least from his view.

Dawn listened, letting his voice wash over her, his presence giving her a bit of security.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Oz was hovering by the meat section, trying to decide what they needed more of, steak or bacon, while Tara was getting other stuff. Wesley was outside with Dawn, both of them nearly out on their feet. Once more he’d just handed them both a handful of bills, weariness etched on his features.

He knew what he wanted to get and that would probably be okay with Spike and at least one of the girls but he wasn’t sure his wishes counted in this instance.

Contemplating his options, Oz smiled a little when Tara’s voice sounded in his ear. “Get both. We have a lot of people to feed.”

“Hey.” Glancing at her, Oz shrugged a little, “not sure everyone eats it,” he lifted the steaks, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m the only one that won’t. But,” she whispered, leaning closer to her, “if this is around, I’m not responsible for what happens.” As she spoke she grabbed the bacon from his hand.

He smiled again, moving away to grab another package when an oh-so-familiar voice spoke.

“Tara?”

Turning around, Oz saw a stricken wounded look cross her features then she steeled herself to face the form of her ex-girlfriend. He froze, aware that Willow hadn’t seen him yet.


Please let me know what you think. Good, bad or otherwise, I need to know. Thanks.

[A/N: No, I’m not losing interest in writing this story; No, I’m not going to just end it with a half-assed end; and most emphatically NO I am not leaving this incomplete. I have been in a fair amount of pain and also been unable to spend countless hours typing this up. But I promise, this will be finished and will hopefully have a satisfactory conclusion. The title is from Henry Stimson and the quotes are as attributed. Disclaimers in full force and effect.]

Previously: The foursome has gone out to get supplies; and Buffy has asked Spike a rather serious question . . . . what’s his answer going to be? This picks up where we left everyone.

Book Two, Chapter Twelve. A man trustworthy

What is done out of love always takes place beyond good and evil.
Friedrich Nietzsche, Beyond Good and Evil, Aphorism 153

The chief lesson I have learned in a long life
is that the only way to make a man trustworthy is to trust him;
and the surest way to make him untrustworthy is to distrust him and show your distrust.
Henry L. Stimson

I count him braver who overcomes his desires
than him who overcomes his enemies.
Artistotle, In Stobaeus, Florilegium



He finally closed the book, his head swimming from the stuffy atmosphere of the library and the crabbed handwriting of some of the journals. Giles took off his glasses with one hand, resting his head in the other. He was the only one in the library on this late Sunday night, the rooms silent and hushed. Thankfully the particular information he was searching for was readily available. The myth of vampires having the ability to impregnate women was more than just that. While it had been nearly three hundred years since the last reported case, there had been more than one.

Each case was fairly well documented and in each case it appeared that Angel’s theory was borne out. Giles grimaced at his own internal pun. In the six cases he’d uncovered, the women had all been dead and then mystically resurrected. His mind raced through the possibilities – Darla, and well, now Buffy. Not that she was pregnant – yet.

Interestingly enough, so far all the cases had something else in common – every vampire involved was an Aurelian. However it was entirely possible that the only reason the diaries mentioned Aurelian vampires was because of their status. Very few Aurelians sired minions indiscriminately, thereby preserving the bloodlines, additionally the Aurelius line produced an inordinate number of master vampires.

It had come as no great surprise that there was considerable mention in the Council’s libraries of Aurelian vampires, as a whole they were indeed, a “master race”.

What also hadn’t really come as much of a surprise was the rise of the William the Bloody. Giles had suspected much of the information, his findings merely confirming his suppositions.

Sired by either Drusilla or Angelus around 1880 (and he knew for a fact it was Drusilla); rose to master status in less than ten years – defeated his first Slayer in 1900 – the diaries mentioned other battles with Slayers – spanning nearly a century and the globe – Spike had set out to prove himself. By attaining his status as master, Spike had also elevated Drusilla to the same.

What struck Giles was the difference between the two vampires he knew well. While most Aurelians did not sire minions, Angelus had done so freely, twice in the last one hundred years, the first time immediately following Spike’s turning and then again recently, when the soul had been removed. Another marked difference was – Spike preferred outright battling – open warfare while again Angelus chose to stalk and frighten his prey – much as he had done with Drusilla.

There was a certain amount of chilling honesty in William the Bloody’s behavior. No subterfuge, no hidden agenda, just open face to face confrontations. His willingness to face his opponents said much for his character. If he said he was going to do something he did. His loyalty was unquestionable and there was a rather gallant air about him. Oddly enough, there were little records of him torturing his victims while in Angelus’ case there were copious references to his brutality.

Giles sighed, feeling the strain of hours of research spent in an uncomfortable chair. Whatever had driven Angel away from Sunnydale, and Giles was beginning to suspect that while Angel claimed it was because of the futility of his relationship with Buffy, that was merely an excuse and not clearly the real reason. He suspected they might never know the real truth.

If he were being honest with himself, Giles would be happy if Angel were to take up residence somewhere else. Some place further away . . . like the inactive hellmouth in New York or London . . . or Singapore. . . or another dimension.

Once more going over his mental to-do-list, Giles added another item as an addendum; Find a neurosurgeon capable of performing surgery on a vampire.

There’d been no discussion of this with Buffy or Spike, but after speaking with her earlier, Giles had to at least be prepared for the possibility that she would be open to having the chip removed.

The chip was a liability.

Spike knew it. Giles knew it. And he was beginning to wonder if Buffy might know it as well. If they were going to be a truly effective team, neither Buffy nor Spike could afford such an obvious weakness. The chip was far too exploitable, leaving Spike far too vulnerable to attack.

And if the possibility of parenthood were thrown into the equation, with a further possibility of more human assailants – then, well, Giles was certain that the chip would need to be either removed or neutralized. He had no doubts at all that either the Council or Wolfram & Hart would be tempted to get their hands on any child produced by the two.

Any child of a slayer was destined for scrutiny by the Council; should that child be also half vampire, Giles had no idea what the Council’s reaction would be. Wolfram & Hart would be just as . . . curious. Which was, he thought, a rather mild word for the amount of interest such a child would garner.

Getting up from his chair, Giles headed for the listings of known demon surgeons.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Anya was just locking the door and setting the alarm before slipping out the back door, heading directly to the apartment she shared with Xander, when she realized just how late it was.

The only illumination was from the street lights on Main Street and there were only a few people out walking. Most of them were going to or coming from the Espresso Pump so she wasn’t really paying attention to faces or forms.

She had every confidence that the warding and the disinvite that Tara and Wesley had done earlier would be more than adequate. She’d also sent a quick plea out to D’Hoffryn, although protection was not strictly his expertise, she knew he’d watch out for her. Which kind of explained why she didn’t flinch when a dark hulking shadow came up from behind her.

However, when a heavy hand clamped down on her shoulder, her shrieked surprise had her boyfriend covering his ears.

“Gee Ahn, did you have to try and wake the dead?” Xander winced at the pitch of her voice.

“Xander! Why did you do that? I’m here all alone and you . . . “ she swatted him on one shoulder. “Not good Xander! You made me shriek and I hurt my ears.”

“You hurt your ears?” Xander looked at her in disbelief. “Ahn. . . I called you twice before I came closer, didn’t you hear me?”

“No. I was thinking.” Realizing Xander didn’t know what was going on, she said, “Wesley was here earlier. Something happened in Los Angeles and Angel’s lost his soul.”

Xander wasn’t sure he’d heard her correctly. He wasn’t quite sure what to say. He’d always had this sneaky suspicion that someday Angel would slip and the soul would disappear. Staring at her for a few moments, Xander just tried to process the information. “Why was Wesley here?”

“He brought word from Los Angeles.” They hadn’t said anything to Anya about why Wesley had come and not just called, nor did she know how Angel had lost the soul.

“So who was the unlucky girl? Do we have to worry about an Angel groupie too?” Xander grabbed her hand, pulling her after him toward the back door. “What did Buffy say?”

“I don’t know Xander. Buffy wasn’t here. She was home with Spike.” Completely missing the disgust on Xander’s face, she went on, “Tara and Wesley put up stronger wards and they also did a disinvite. Angel’s never been to our apartment so we don’t have to worry about that. Oh, and Giles called, he thinks he’ll be home before the end of the week, but he doesn’t want me in the store alone after dark.”

Xander was more than half listening this time, but his mind was still focusing on Angelus. “Ahn? Did Wesley say why Angel lost his soul?”

“No Xander. I don’t believe he did.” Anya huffed at him, clearly peeved that once again he wasn’t paying attention to her. “Sometimes I don’t know why I talk to you.”

“Me either.” His words were a half attempted response to her, but an extremely unthinking and hurtful one.

Small tears sprang to Anya’s eyes while she bit her tongue. Staying uncharacteristically silent, Anya kept her thoughts and wounded heart to herself. She really was beginning to question her relationship with Xander.

She silently fumed the whole way home, not even questioning Xander when he changed his mind and turned the car towards Revello Drive.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


“Tara?” Willow’s voice wavered, emotions leaking through, pain and loss coming through in bell-like clarity. Oz winced, knowing he was witnessing something he, above all people, probably shouldn’t be.

“Hello Willow.” For some strange reason, Tara wasn’t nervous or upset or drawn in by the sound of Willow’s voice. The butterflies were there, but they weren’t crippling her and she wasn’t . . . feeling at all . . . apprehensive.

“Hey. How . . . how are you?” Willow, on the other hand, Willow was very nervous, Tara could clearly see it. She was fidgeting, her hands fluttering at her sides and she was shifting her weight from one foot to another.

“Good. I’m good.” Knowing she expected it, Tara asked, “how about you?”

“Okay I guess.” Willow clearly didn’t know what to do next. A flash of pity surged through Tara, but she quickly squashed it. Despite outward . . . Tara finally looked at her ex-girlfriend.

Willow’s normal complexion was gone, that almost sun-kissed look gone, replaced by a paler version and was that? Yeah. . . Willow’s hair was darker, the red shot through with almost black highlights. Tara’s internal alarms went off and her back stiffened. Whatever internal changes the paleness and hair marked, they weren’t good changes. Taking an imperceptible step back, Tara said, “that’s good then.”

Opening up her senses, Tara tried to get a reading on Willow’s aura, but her own emotions were blocking her. Drawing in a deep breath, she tried centering herself and realized that Oz was close, unobtrusively watching them. A sudden flash of insight let Tara know should something happen, Oz would come to her aid – and not automatically side with his ex-girlfriend. Taking another deep breath, Tara focused inward, drawing power and strength from the universe in, and on her exhalation, reached out with all her senses, reading Willow.

What she discovered was not good.

Willow . . . Willow what have you done? All is not what you think. . . be careful what you wish for. . . oh gods, Willow. . . my gods. What have you done? Poor Buffy . . . poor Spike.

Tara’s horrified thoughts were halted when Willow’s tentative, wavering voice interrupted her. “Tara? Do you think maybe we could talk? You know just . . . talk? With coffee? Or something?”

Tara recoiled violently, the ugliness that was creeping into the other girl revolting her. Back stepping away, Tara started shaking her head in denial, unable to form words.

Oz perked up from his spot just out of Willow’s line of sight, his nose getting a scent of Tara’s that was . . . not so much fear, but . . . covering his own mild apprehension, Oz stepped out from behind the Hostess display, pretending he didn’t know what was going on.

“Thought I’d lost you,” taking the bacon from Tara’s hand he tossed it into the basket.

Willow’s shocked “Oz?” rang through the store.

Turning to look at her, he dead-panned, “hey Will. Didn’t see you.”

“Tara? Oz?” Confusion and pain and panic warred within her and each emotion was reflected on her face. “Oz?”

Ignoring her for a second, Oz touched Tara’s arm in a way that had Willow gaping further, but gave the blond a moment to recover. “We got everything?”

When she nodded then ducked her head to give him a silent thank you, only then did Oz shift his attention back to Willow.

“Hey. How’ve you been Will?”

She was gaping at them like a fish too long out of water. This was . . . . Willow couldn’t even wrap her mind around this. Oz and Tara? Oz. And. Tara. Were talking like they were all . . . . domestic.

“We need to get milk and eggs. Oh, and tortilla chips and salad stuff,” Tara said while smiling at Oz.

“Um. Yeah. Tara? I?” Willow couldn’t complete a thought, much less a sentence. “How?”

Smiling at each other and sharing a look that had Willow reeling off balance even further, Oz said, “ran into Buffy. She introduced us. Been hanging ever since.”

Deliberately keeping it vague, yet with enough innuendo to trigger further incoherency, Oz kept his expression neutral.

Willow couldn’t breathe. . . couldn’t. . . she felt like she’d stepped into an alternate dimension, but couldn’t remember how or when. This was so far beyond bizarre her brain couldn’t possibly process it.

Oz and Tara. Grocery shopping. Together. Maybe it was just . . . errands for Buffy. Yeah. That had to be it . . . and that line of reasoning was shattered by Tara’s next question.

“Do you remember if we have enough soap in the bathroom?”

What? Laundry soap and bath. . . and milk? Eggs? Willow couldn’t . . . this just wasn’t . . happening.

Having gotten enough time to compose herself, Tara faced the other girl. “Willow? I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to have. . . to get together right now. I’m just not ready.”

“Please? Just. . . please, baby? I miss you so much.” Tears of confusion sprang to Willow’s eyes. ‘Can we just, you know, talk for a bit?”

Relenting a little, Tara said, “maybe. I’ll let you know. . . just . . not now.”

Oz touched her arm again, cocking his head toward the registers and by unspoken agreement, the two spoke at the same time, ‘we gotta go, Willow.” “I’ll let you know. . . okay?”

And before she could respond or really even recover, the two loves of Willow’s life were gone, leaving her in tears, without either of them sparing her a backwards glance.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


She was watching him carefully, noting the bruises that dotted his arms and chest, the black eyes he was currently sporting, waiting patiently while he thought. He was usually so animated, so alive that it was sometimes hard to watch him being this still, when his chest didn’t rise and fall with unneeded breath. Not tonight though, tonight she was grateful to have him in any shape. Breathing or not. Walking or not. Buffy almost didn’t care. As long as he wasn’t dusty, he would recover.

He was watching her just as carefully, from underneath partially closed eyes, noting the changes marking her. Her body had filled out, she was no longer so painfully thin, her hair curling over her shoulder almost down to her waist. The baby was sleeping against her shoulder, his tiny form snuggled against her, her strong arms cradling him gently. She was unusually quiet right now, though there were times in the past when he’d seen her this still, whatever she was thinking was no doubt serious.

A soft sound escaped from the baby, breaking their contemplation of each other. She’d asked him just moments ago one of the more serious questions of his life. Would he?
Would he go out and kill everything in sight? Opening his eyes, resting them on her slim form, Spike had to admit if he did go on a rampage the burden would fall to her. Buffy would be forced to not only slay him but she would be alone, probably for the rest of her short life. Did he miss the hunt? If he were being completely honest with himself the answer was, yes, at times he did. Was what he and Buffy did every night, patrolling and being a white hat, was that enough to replace the hunt? Yeah. Reluctantly admitting it, Spike quickly re-evaluated his life.

If they removed the chip, he’d have no restraints but himself.

If they kept the chip, more instances like the one from last night were likely to occur.

The chip kept him vulnerable, made them both vulnerable. At this point it was far more of a hindrance than a help – because looking at the woman standing in the doorway, Spike was so completely certain of his feelings for her that he didn’t ever want anything to alter the life he had now, except for it to get better. He wasn’t about to bollocks that up. Not for the taste of fresh blood. Besides, he had the best stuff in the world right here, why on earth would he go hunting for something that was of lesser quality? He knew, too, with sudden clarity that if he were to lie to her, there would be an indefinable change in their relationship. And they stood the chance of losing everything.

“No.” His voice was strong and steady and without any hesitation at all.

Spike waited a beat, wondering if she were going to say something to make him clarify his ‘no’ but she remained silent, her eyes fixed on his. “Why would I do that? ‘M not some fledge that can’t control himself. No need.”

Buffy left her position by the door, walking toward the bed, her hand unconsciously stroking down the baby’s back, her eyes still not leaving his.

There was a look in his eyes that she’d only seen once before – that look he’d had a very long time ago – and suddenly she remembered when it was.

She’d followed him out the front door, watching as the coat flared behind him. “Spike? You promise to keep Giles safe?”

The vampire had whirled around at the sound of his name, a nasty comment at the ready, but the look on her face had stopped him. Instead of spouting something glib or nasty, he’d closed the distance between them, his hand reaching out to cup her cheek.

A look entered his eyes, resolve, promise and strangely tenderness, combined into a look of such fierce. . . . Buffy couldn’t put a name to the emotions flickering in his eyes, but she knew on a gut level that she could trust that look, would always be able to trust that look.

It was that moment – standing on the porch, Angelus on the loose, that moment and that look that started it for Buffy – the trust she had in Spike.

Sitting down on the bed facing him, Buffy realized that look was back. It was the same look and she knew now what she hadn’t known then, what he might not even have known back then, that other indefinable emotion in his eyes? All those years ago – it was love.

He’d loved her then.

Very deliberately, she laid the baby down on the bed, tucked up against Spike’s side, then she raised her eyes to his.

Her voice was low, almost hushed when she spoke. “How long? When . . . how long have you loved me?”

Drawing in a deep breath he searched her wide hazel green eyes. By way of answer he moved his good hand from behind his head, reaching for her, tugging on the ends of her hair. “From the first . . . moment I saw you.” His voice was equally low, husky with promise. ‘Didn’t know it. . . But was there. . . “

She curled into his hand, kissing his palm. A smile cracked his face and she whispered his name. “When did you . . . suspect?”

“Probably that night, come to find you when Angelus was . . . when he had Rupert. So fierce you were . . . yeah. Then.” Watching her nuzzle his had, Spike asked, “why?”

“Because that was the night I started trusting you.”

“Ah.” Smiling a bit, Spike said, “big night that was.”

“Yup.”

They lapsed into silence, both of them lost in their thoughts. Buffy laid her head down on Spike’s chest, his arm curling around her from the side.

“Sweetheart? You’re serious about this?”

“As a heart attack.”

“Right then. How’re we gonna do this?” His arm tightened around her and Buffy leaned down to kiss his chest.

“Spike?” She hesitated, then rushed into what she wanted to say, “just promise me before you kill Xander you’ll wait.”

He chuckled a bit. “All right.”


Its been a really rough week. Really, really rough. Any kindness you can send my way would be greatly appreciated. Please, let me know what you think about this one.

like to thank everyone that reviewed that last chapter and especially those of you who de-lurked to bring a smile to my face. I don't think you understand how much that helped. In any case, I don't think I can convey it anyway. Thank you all.

[A/N: Updates are going to be a bit slower and I’m not so happy about that, but I just can’t do anymore than I am. The pain has not decreased any, so its very hard for me to spend lots of time writing/typing. Please bare with me on this. I promise I won’t keep you waiting too long, but it really depends on the pain. That being said, for those of you that keep asking about whether or not I have more stories out there – I am working on getting my original fiction back up on the web. Hopefully that will be sometime soon. Title is from Ralph Waldo Emerson, “Montaigne; or, the Skeptic” and the quotes are as attributed. Disclaimers in full force and effect]

Previously: Willow saw Tara and Oz together; Giles is working diligently in London; supplies are all gotten and Spike has answered Buffy’s question. This follows shortly after the last chapter.

Book Two, Chapter 13. Half a dozen reasonable hours..

Clouds now and again
give a soul some respite from
moon-gazing – behold.
Matsuo Basho, untitled haiku

Reason, the prized reality, the Law, is apprehended, now and then,
for a serene and profound moment, amidst the hubbub of cares and
Works which have no direct bearing on it;
Miss then lost, for months or years, and again found,
for an interval, to be lost again.
If we compute it in time, we may, in fifty years,
have half a dozen reasonable hours.
Ralph Waldo Emerson



They were still unloading the supplies from the van when Xander and Anya pulled up to the curb. Knowing they hadn’t told Anya the entire story – what had caused Angel to lose his soul or why Wesley had sought shelter in Sunnydale or why Spike and Buffy hadn’t been the ones to warn Anya – really, they hadn’t told her much of anything, they all braced for an epic outburst.

“Hey guys, what’s up?” Xander got out of the car and walked to where the van was in the driveway.

“Xander.” Wesley stuck his hand out while shifting bags with the other.

They shook and Xander reached out to help him. “Need a hand?”

“If you wouldn’t mind?” Gesturing toward the back of the van, Wesley continued, “there’s still more there. You don’t mind do you?”

“Nope. This is easy stuff.” Moving as he spoke, Xander didn’t hesitate to grab the bags, not realizing what was in them.

Anya had gone right into the house, trailing after the girls, for once lost in her own thoughts. She really wasn’t sure what was going on with her and Xander.

Dawn was emptying the grocery bags, putting everything away, while Tara sorted through the baby things, getting bottles and nipples boiling and gathering up the clothing so that it could all be washed before they got him dressed.

Oz was carrying the box containing the small crib up the stairs when Anya realized what the majority of the supplies were. “What’s all this stuff for?”

Both of the other girls froze sharing a look.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Neither one of them had moved in the long minutes after his promise not to kill Xander, content to just be together. Buffy was so grateful that he was here with her that she finally had nothing more to say. Everything that she could say had been said.

Spike was thinking much along the same lines; except he would be content to stay like this, here with her for the rest of their days. Which would be a very long time from today. He wasn’t going to . . . he was going to see to it that she lived a very long life and when she finally died of a very old ancient age, he was going to go with her. They’d face that together. And maybe, just maybe, he’d be granted a gift. . . . but he wasn’t going to bank on that . . . Spike just wanted here and now. After could take care of itself.

His morbid train of thoughts was halted when there was a knock on the door. “Company love.”

Grumbling slightly, Buffy got up and opened the door to find Oz standing there a huge flat box in his hands. “Whatcha got there?”

“Baby crib.” Trying to shrug, he ended up dropping one end, narrowly missing their feet. “Not sure where to put it.”

Sharing a look with Spike, Buffy motioned him in. “Best place is probably here.”

There wasn’t much room, but Buffy looked around, trying to find a good location for the crib. Spike pointed a finger at the corner by the window. “Put him there for now.”

While they were working, Oz said, “ran into Willow at the market.”

As the other two shared a look, he continued, “something’s not right. Got a whiff of something . . . “ he shrugged. “Tara might know more.”

“She saw you two together?” Buffy stared at Oz while Spike waited for his answer.

“Yeah. She got all flustered.” He reached for a slat, “think she jumped to a weird conclusion.”

Spike laughed, “gave Red somethin’ to think about?”

“Yeah.” Turning his attention back to the crib, Oz didn’t catch the looks passing between the couple.

Buffy was confused. “But you’re just friends, right?”

“Yeah.”

She stared at him for a few more minutes, but Oz didn’t say anything else.

Between the slayer and the werewolf by the time Xander and Wesley had finished unloading everything else from the van, they had the crib set up and ready for the baby.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

it was long past midnight, but Rupert wasn’t ready to return to his hotel. There was still so much to be done and his time here in London, must, as a necessity, be short. Too much going on back home in Sunnydale for him to comfortably stay here.

Were we never going to get a break? Just once, Rupert thought, could we forego a weekly crisis? Seemed like it always happened like this. Whenever there was a lull, it never meant a cessation, it was merely the hellmouth taking a time out.

Maybe it was time to think about closing the hellmouth.

Rupert shook off that thought, realizing it was not now the time, because the research on that alone would take far more time than he currently had. Right then, gaffer, back to the matter at hand.

Vampire pregnancies – found; sidebar to demon-friendly neurosurgeons, found. Housing and/or living expenses for the Slayer - he’d presented that proposal to Travers more than two days ago, the day after his arrival. The senior staffers were discussing the matter, they’d have an answer for him by Tuesday. Which was good, because he’d just made up his mind to depart for home on Wednesday. With or without all the information he needed.

So far the Council archives had yielded little information about the monks. He was beginning to believe that omission wasn’t the result of ignorance or even a case of misplaced records. Truth was, the journals were missing and quite possibly deliberately so. The monks had already proven to him, through their own journals that they were more than adequate sorcerers and they had, up until very recently, controlled an inter-dimensional Key. Perhaps, in their spare time they’d figured out time travel.

A very real rational part of him was able to dismiss that notion almost outright. Problem was another equally rational part believed it was entirely possible. Which presented its own set of problems.

If, in fact, the monks could do so, then Giles had to wonder how much of their “history” was real and not constructed. He also had no way of verifying whether or not they were even humans that originated in the dimension they currently inhabited. Giles realized with a start that all of this was pure conjecture on his part and, at the moment, counter-productive with regard to his search. And it would be time wasted that he needed to focus elsewhere.

The monks were, at the moment, a lost cause. But quite possibly more information was contained in the monks journals.

Right. Wasn’t there something else? Giles fought the fatigue but was forced to concede to it when he found himself reading the same paragraph for a third time.

Pack it in for the night old man. Gathering up his books and replacing them on the shelves, Giles made his way out into the waning hours of the London night.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


The baby was asleep and Spike was drifting off after another dose of morphine and some other than Buffy blood. They were both on the bed, the baby on his belly and Spike flat on his back. They are, she thought watching them settle in, adorable. Spike’s chest was rising and falling needlessly. She wondered if maybe he did this because he was still in pain and unable to hide it in sleep.

Brushing a kiss across his forehead, then doing it again for good measure, Buffy smiled. It was getting harder and harder to fight her feelings. And really, why should she be putting so much energy into fighting the feelings? Wasn’t like there was something to hide – and if she were being truthful about this, she was pretty much in love with him anyway, so why couldn’t she tell him that? Well, that wasn’t entirely true either. Because earlier, when they were talking – she had told him how she was feeling. She just hadn’t said those three words. Maybe she could just – build up to them. Practice saying them. Sort of like memorizing something for school. . . like MacBeth’s speech. . or a poem for English. Yeah. That’s what she’d do. Leaning over him one more time, Buffy brushed a third kiss on his forehead, whispering very softly “I love you Spike.”

Reluctantly heading for the door, Buffy never saw the slight smile cross Spike’s face, nor the hitch in his breathing as she left the bedroom.

On her way to the stairs, Buffy was hoping there was something ready to eat. She was tired and hungry and really not looking forward to all the questions and problems.

Stopping at the landing, Buffy very nearly went back up into the bedroom. That room was . . . sanctuary. Safe.

Numerous voices sounded from the kitchen and she could hear Dawn and Tara talking, Wesley’s voice and Xander. When did Xander get here? Is Anya with him? Hesitating once more, Buffy stood indecisively on the stairs, half turned back to the bedroom. She was poised to do just that when Xander’s voice caught her attention.

“Hey Buffster, how are ya?” Xander looked up at her from the bottom of the stairs.

Blowing out a breath, Buffy said hello, then headed down toward him.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Humans were ridiculously easy to kill. He’d forgotten that fact and the fact that they were, as a whole, pretty trusting, which just made things all the easier for him. It was full dark now and he’d already drained two. Nothing compared to the taste of human blood right from the source. Fresh blood zinging through his veins, Angel stalked through the streets of Los Angeles, heading straight for the Hyperion, for some insane reason. He really didn’t know why he was heading this way. There was probably nothing there for him.

Wesley wasn’t stupid, neither was Cordelia and it was more than likely they’d gone undergound and were now hiding. Even so, he needed a few things from there – clean clothes and . . . son of a bitch. Wesley had his car.

He need to get himself some wheels. Jumping from building to building was fun, but really, it wasn’t like this was London or Paris where in the older sections the buildings were closer together, no this was LA, where the buildings were artfully designed with space in between them and, really, he needed a set of wheels. Watching the street, Angelus started picking out the kind of car he wanted. Something flashy . . . something. . . and hey, this was Los Angeles . . flashy was de rigeur . . .

Spying a Viper stopped at a light, Angelus smiled. Yeah. A Viper would do. Sprinting toward it, Angel smiled again. It wasn’t pretty.

Killing was simple.

Killing was easy.

And he was really going to enjoy destroying everyone’s lives – stripping away everything dear to them first. Filling his mind with how and who and when, Angel pressed the accelerator of his newly acquired ride.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Figuring everyone was hungry and knowing it was going to be an early night, Tara hastily got pasta and sauce going after starting a load of baby laundry. Bottles and nipples were sterilizing away on the back burner and Dawn was chopping vegetables while Anya roved about. She and Dawn had asked Anya to wait until Wesley and Buffy were in the kitchen before they told her and Xander everything.

Once the supplies had all be unloaded, Wesley had headed right for the shower, since he was now working on three days in the same clothing and he really needed to be clean.

She heard Xander call up to Buffy, while Oz was coming in the back door. “Everything’s secure.”

Anya’s ears perked up and she knew something very serious was going on – perhaps even more serious than just Angelus being on the loose.

Xander preceded Buffy into the kitchen and it was fairly obvious that the Slayer wasn’t happy. Whether it was the situation or just the fact she would rather be hovering over Spike, Tara had no idea. But she kind of guessed that if it were her lover upstairs near death, she’d want to be close, damn all other responsibilities.

“He sleeping?” Tara looked up from making sauce to catch Buffy’s eye.

“Yeah. He’s exhausted.”

“Buffy?” Dawn stopped what she was doing to watch her sister. When the older Summers girl looked up, Dawn asked, “how is he?”

Her smile was genuine, but still very tired, “better. He says the headache is gone and he’s talking so his jaw is much better. Says the ribs are healed and that he’s all itchy.”

Shrugging a bit, she snagged some of the vegetables that were on the counter, “I’m so hungry.”

The other two girls shared a look when Xander snarked, “what happened to the bleached wonder?”

Again it was Tara that answered, but halfway into the story, Buffy started speaking. “He saved Dawnie from the Knights of Byzantium last night. He . . . “ she paused, trying to swallow her tears, “he took. . . he got badly beaten for Dawnie. Again.”

‘What? I thought the knights went buh-bye when the portal got closed and we beat Glory? How come they’re back?”

“Not sure Xander. Don’t really know why we thought Dawn’s danger stopped with Glory. Just because that skanky hellbitch is gone doesn’t mean someone else won’t try to open up another doorway using Dawn.” The fatigue was evident in Buffy’s voice.

Dawn’s hand was clenching and unclenching around the knife, a muscle in her cheek jumping. If anyone were to look closely at her, the resemblance to her real father was remarkable – but no one noticed.

Anya caught her hand, releasing the knife. “Let me Dawn.”

“This isn’t good, Buffy. What does Giles say about all this?” Xander leaned back against the refrigerator, his arms crossed.

Before anyone could answer Xander’s question, Anya’s voice filled the silence. “What about Angelus? Wesley didn’t tell me anything. And how did Giles know all about this?”

Wesley’s footsteps sounded on the stairs and the now familiar sounds of a wailing infant accompanied him. Fumbling apologetically, Wesley said, “Spike’s awake again.”

Anya gaped at the infant in Wesley’s arms while Xander said “whoa! What the hell is that?”

Throwing an exasperated look at Xander, Buffy reached for the baby, rescuing Wesley. “That is just what it looks like, Xander. It’s a baby.”

“Sounds like gas. Try rubbing his back.” Tara glanced over at Buffy, noting she’d already thought of that. Sniffing a bit, Buffy said, “he needs a change of clothes too.”

Grabbing the diapers and wipes, she headed for the living room.

“Who’s baby is that?” Anya’s voice was quiet yet strangely wavering.

Buffy’s voice wafted in from the other room, “your turn Wes.”

“Yes. Well. Its . . um.” Wes hesitated, clearly at a loss. “Connor is well, he’s the child of Darla and Angel.”

Buffy’s muted, “so he does have a name,” was completely over looked because of the clamoring in the kitchen.

“What!” Xander’s outburst rang through the house. “That’s not possible. Vampire’s can’t . . . . and wait! Darla was dusted years ago.”

“She was mystically resurrected by Wolfram & Hart, who represent many of, well, they are lawyers and” Wesley was trying to explain when Anya interrupted him.

“They represent demon clients and very unscrupulous humans. Wolfram & Hart are a force to be reckoned with and they have offices all over this world and quite a few in other dimensions as well.”

“Impressive people.” Oz had been quiet up until then.

“You have no idea. Their resources are endless. And their influence is immeasurable.” Wesley had gained his equilibrium continuing, “how they managed to resurrect Darla I’m not entirely certain, but the means appear to be quite different from Buffy’s case.”

“You’re sure of that?” Buffy came back into the kitchen, handed the baby off to Wesley, threw out the diaper and headed for the sink to wash her hands.

“Reasonably. I know they used something called the Urn of Osiris, but beyond that I’ve not been completely able to discern.”

Standing by the sink, the water still running, Buffy turned to look at Wesley. “You mean to tell me there’s more than one way to resurrect someone?”

His answer was stark and chilling. “Yes.”

Turning back to the water, Buffy muttered something under her breath that no one heard fully.

“That still doesn’t explain the baby.” Xander’s brain was reeling. This was all so. . . so far beyond what he’d come to expect as normal that he didn’t know what to say.

“Angel and Darla had relations. More than once.” Looking down at the baby in his arms, Wesley said, “Darla left Los Angeles for a while and when she returned she was heavily pregnant. Connor was born last night. Darla . . . I believe Darla was deeply affected by the baby’s soul. She didn’t want to, she didn’t want to forget that she loved him. She staked herself so that she wouldn’t harm him after his birth.”

Buffy hadn’t known this and found herself strangely moved by Darla’s decision.

“That must have been hard.” Tara’s soft tones broke the silence and at Wesley’s nod she took the baby from him. “So Darla sacrificed herself for the baby.”

“She did.”

“But how did Angel do that? I thought vampire’s couldn’t have babies.” Dawn’s tone was curious.

Wesley and Buffy shared a look, each uncertain but for different reasons, about sharing Angel’s theory. But Anya’s next words took the option of keeping silent from them.

“Because they can have babies. It takes a certain set of circumstances, mystical return from death and an intense relationship between the recently undead woman and a male vampire and then the stork comes.” Anya looked around at everyone, smiling brightly, “I knew this girl once who fell in love with a vampire. She was killed and he forced some witch to bring her back and the next thing you knew – she was pregnant.”

All eyes shifted from Connor to Buffy, who held up her hands. “No. . . um. . nope.”
Not that I don’t want to be. . .I’m just not. Yet. Maybe.

Dawn sighed a little but kept silent, because what she wanted to do was yell hooray because if that meant Buffy could get pregnant – that meant she might someday have real-honest-to-god siblings.

Xander on the other hand was freaking out. ‘This is not good. We don’t know what this kid will be like – he could be a bloodsucker, he could be an evil little demon. So not good.”

“We don’t know enough Xander, none of us can tell yet what these babies are going to be like.” No one but Tara caught Buffy’s slip of the tongue, but the witch didn’t point it out.

“Spike says it doesn’t matter where you come from, only what you do with the present and future that matter.” Dawn piped in with her comment.

“Right and he would say that because he doesn’t want anyone looking too closely at his past.”

“Really? Sounds like a positive outlook to me, makes sense actually.” Wesley was shaking his head in agreement.

“Spike’s not the only one who has to worry about a past. I was a vengeance demon for over a thousand years, Xander. There’s lots of stuff I did.”

“That’s different, Ahn. You have a soul now. You’re human.” Xander shrugged off her past.

With an apologetic smile at Anya, Tara said, “so its okay because she’s human now, but its not okay for Spike because he’s still a vampire?” She paused for a moment, waiting to see if Xander would try and defend himself “ Even with all the good things he’s been doing – none of that matters?”

“He doesn’t have a soul. He’s not going to keep this up. All he has is a chip that keeps him from killing everyone.”

“So Spike couldn’t go out and get minions to do all his dirty work? Couldn’t set up situations where all of us die?” Buffy was getting more and more angry with his attitude.

“Well, I guess he could do those things.” Xander didn’t want to concede the point.

“Right. So?” And Buffy’s further comment was forestalled by the sound of the doorbell.

It had them all confused until Buffy moved toward the door first. She wasn’t really prepared for the sight before her. Her face broke out in a smile and a giggle slipped past her lips. The “c’mon in” she half-laughed while trying to get out a “Dawn” was impossible.

Still laughing, she motioned the figure to follow her.

“Dawn?”

The teenager picked up her head and gasped out a surprised “Casey?”

She wasn’t sure it was him, because all she could see was a hand and a pair of legs. His voice sounded from behind the fistful of balloons. “Hey Dawn.”

“Casey?” Dawn got up from her chair and circled round the balloons.

What had Buffy laughing so hard was the assortment of balloons. They were mostly mylars – and there were ‘over-the-hills’, ‘get-well-soons’, ‘happy-birthdays’ and ‘congratulations it’s a girl’ and Buffy pointed at them, nudging Tara.

The two girls were smiling and Tara whispered, “why don’t you take a couple up to Spike. Dinner won’t be ready for a bit.”

Dawn must’ve had the same thought, because she took the balloons from Casey, explaining to him that Spike had gotten hurt and he was upstairs in bed. Handing off the balloons to her sister, Dawn steered Casey out into the backyard where there weren’t so many prying eyes.



Kind of nervous about this one. Please let me know what you think about it. Slainte, Nia

 
I just found out I got nominated for Best Author at Love's Last Glimpse. Whichever one of you lovely readers did that, you have my thanks. I'd love to know who did it. . . . so I can thank you personally.

[A/N: I just want to thank you all for being so patient and for all your lovely reviews. Your kind words mean a lot to me. Okay. So can anyone tell me how come the first thing Angel always does when he goes “bad” or loses his soul he puts on leather pants? Leather pants aren’t necessarily evil. . . . anyway. Another thing is soul-free doesn’t necessarily mean emotionless – it just means (in my opinion) that there is no emotional attachment to any “bad” or “evil” act – no guilt, no remorse, nothing. There might however, be some affection towards others, but that is minor. The title is from Cindy Lauper’s tune (but really, its just a cliche and the lyrics don’t really apply) and the quotes are as attributed. Disclaimers in full force and effect]

Previously: Everyone’s back at Revello Drive, except for Willow. Angelus is on his way to Sunnydale, determined to remove the one obstacle to his soul’s return. . . . this picks up shortly after the last.

Book Two. Chapter 14. True colors

Though I cannot be said to be a flattering honest man,
it must not be denied but I am a plain-dealing villain.
Much Ado About Nothing, act I, sc. iii

the pulse of the hero beats in unison with the pulse of
nature, and he steps to the measure of the universe;
then there is true courage and invincible strength.
Henry David Thoreau, A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers


He decided he was going to keep a running body count. This way he’d know it was a good day by the number of drained humans he left behind. Today was shaping up as a good one – well technically it was night.

Three dead in Los Angeles. Two dead on the highway. And who knew how many more after he got to Sunnydale.

This was fun. The kind of fun he hadn’t had in years. Not even the last time – well Drusilla had been . . . he closed his eyes for a moment, sending a call through the bond. She might recognize it. Hell, she might even come . . . and wouldn’t that be another kick. If she did – if Drusilla did come, he’d be assured of some very fine cocksucking. Not that Drusilla wasn’t a good lay, but her true talents were elsewhere. The best benefit of not having to breathe – hours upon hours of oral sex. And Drusilla was the best – well second best cocksucker he’d ever had the pleasure of being with.

So if Drusilla responded to his Sire’s call, good. Even if she didn’t that was also good. Either way – because once he’d taken care of everything in Sunnydale, he would have all the time in the world to find her.

Teach her not to disobey a Sire’s call. Discipline Daddy’s little girl.

His sneer turned into an outright smug leer.

Oh yeah.

He was looking forward to some discipline. Maybe he’d keep Buffy alive while he disciplined Spike – remind him of some things he’d apparently forgotten.

Flipping the radio stations, Angelus finally found one he liked, singing very badly and uncaring of that, he drove on toward Sunnydale.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Leaving everyone in the kitchen, Dawn dragged Casey out onto the back porch, without a word or sparing anyone else a glance.

Plopping down on the top step, Dawn tucked her long legs under and looked up at Casey. Sitting down next to her, he stole a glance from the corner of his eye. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” The tone of her voice made that statement the lie that it was.

“I was worried, you know. Called you earlier and no one answered” he shrugged a bit, playing with the frayed knee of his jeans.

“We had to go out for a bit. Had to get stuff.” Thinking quickly, she said, “Wesley’s place was destroyed in a fire last night and his, well, everything is gone.”

“That sucks.” Casey leaned back, resting his weight on his elbows. “How’s Spike?”

He’d thought it was a simple question, but instead of answering, Dawn just started quietly crying all over again. ‘Dawn? I’m sorry. What happened? Hey c’mon. He’s okay, right?”

Dawn couldn’t answer him. She was trying so hard not to cry that the tears just kept falling.

“Dawn? Is he gonna be okay?” Casey was really concerned now, so he leaned up and touched her back.

And she crumpled, resting her head against him, her hands fisted awkwardly against his stomach. “He’s my . . . like my father, you know, my big brother and he’s like . . . he’s . . . He’s the strongest person I’ve ever known and the stupidest and he could’ve gotten killed last night and he was trying to protect me and . . he’s a jerk, you know?” Taking a hiccupping breath, she went on, “he’s Spike, you know, he’d do anything to keep me safe and those wa. . wankers that hurt him should die and they should all just freaking die.”

Casey put his arm around her shoulder, just holding her, listening to her until she finally couldn’t talk any more.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He wasn’t really awake, more like drifting in a haze, especially since Wesley had come in and taken the sprog. At least he thought it was Oxford. Could’ve been his brother Gordon. . . no, Gordie died when he was eight, wasn’t him. . . Wasn’t Ripper. . . Spike knew his brain was fried. Morphine was great. . . . bloody great good stuff for pain. Itchy no more. Some stupid tune was running through his brain and he couldn’t remember the damn words. Where’s Buffy? Didn’t like letting her out of his sight, not since she’d come back. . . his girl wasn’t gonna get hurt again, not ever. Sunshine she was, light in his dark . . given m’everythin’. Love her. Can’t get that damn song outta m’head. Bloody tune.

Humming only slightly off key, Spike thought he was dreaming when he heard her voice calling his name. “Buffy . . . my Buffy” he chuckled, imagining she was kneeling on the bed, her hands smoothing the sheet and pulling up the . . . . hey. “Buffy? Not dreamin’ am I?”

She giggled a bit. His ramblings were actually cute and she wondered if she should tell him that he’d said all of that out loud, including the bit about his brother. “No Spike, you aren’t dreaming, but it’s a good thing for you all those thoughts were about me.”

“Love you kitten.” His words were drawled, each one drawn and husky, sending shivers down her spine. “F’r’ever. Always. ‘Til we’re ol’ and gray.”

Despite his almost drunken state, Buffy knew he hadn’t meant that to be cruel. “We aren’t gonna get old. You won’t age and I’ve got an early expiration date.”

“Nope. Not gonna let you go alone. You go, I go. Pair. Mates. F’rever.” He pulled her close, his arm lacking its usual strength. “Love you kitten. Gonna grow old. . . figger it out. Love you.”

She found herself listening more to the sound of his voice than his words, but somewhere in the back of her mind, Buffy heard them. And as crazy as it sounded, she believed him. He’d come up with some crazy, insane, hair-brained idea and somehow he’d make it work. Her head was against his chest, her face in the hollow of his throat, his arm clamped around her body. She kissed his skin and Spike felt the ripples warming hm.

That damn tune was back in his head and he couldn’t help humming it.

“Spike? Do you realize you are humming Patsy Cline?” He could feel Buffy’s smile against his skin and he didn’t care what caused it.

“‘S a good song.” He didn’t care, it was just the damn thing was in his head and he couldn’t shake it. “Heard her sing it once, jus’ b’fore she died. Nice voice.”

They lapsed into silence, the only sounds drifting up from downstairs and the muted voices from everyone in the house. Everything was hushed, the October breeze ruffling the curtains on the open windows and the moonlight just starting to spill in through the glass. Her arm curled up around his shoulder, the other one resting against his injured right arm, her hand worming its way underneath his shoulder almost of its own volition. Spike’s good hand began running up and down her back, his fingers sometimes getting caught in loose tangles of her hair.

There hadn’t been many moments like this in her life, where she was just content to sit still and be – there’d always been something else to cause a distraction, some other thing needin her immediate attention. Even with Riley, she hadn’t been able to really relax, to trust in what they had enough to just let go. Come to think of it, had she ever really trusted Riley? Not the same way she trusted Spike. Because despite all the good things, Riley had done some really, really bad and hurtful things to her – in fact, their whole relationship had started out with lies, on both their parts, but she wasn’t supposed to tell people about being the Slayer. The cheating on her didn’t help Riley’s cause either. Sleeping with Faith while they’d been body swapped – that was so not good that, even now, almost two years later, it still hurt. The vamp whores? No . . that was not good either. That was so far from good it was in another country. And the bit with him blaming her for going to the whores? She wasn’t quite sure how that worked, because in her mind, it had still been cheating. You don’t cheat on your partner, you either split or you work things out.

Spike was humming again. She wasn’t sure this time what the song was, because she didn’t recognize the melody at all, but apparently it was one he remembered. His chest was rising and falling again in time with her own breathing. She wondered if he knew he did that or if it was just his body’s unconscious way of adjusting to the closest person. She kind of liked the idea of him breathing in time with her, no matter who else was in the room, made them more . . . joined. Or something like that.

Somehow the universe was playing a huge joke on her because the truly evil vampire, the one without a soul, the self-professed Big Bad, was the only guy she’d ever been round who hadn’t lied to her. Not once. Not ever. Even Giles had lied to her. And Xander’s lies? She could write at least a chapter on Xander’s lies - starting with the little forgotten moment when he’d tried to rape her, and then lied about not remembering it.

The man lying in bed with her had not ever lied to her. He’d been threatening, angry, violent, but never ever had he lied to her about anything. Not his intentions, his plans or his feelings. He valued honesty, which was just even more ironic, because demons weren’t big on truthfulness. Most of them anyway.

His eyes were closed and he was just lying there, enjoying the peace and quiet. There was no one that mattered but the two of them and he didn’t care what else was about to happen. What was coming for . . . he felt it. . . that unconscious instinctive call, the one sent out through the blood line. Fuck. Angelus. He hadn’t forgotten, but in light of his own situation, he’d pushed the issue of Angelus aside. Bloody bastard comin’ here. He didn’t want to do this, didn’t want to disturb the peace. . . “kitten? He’s headin’ this way. Comin’ for us.”

A heavy breath blew across his neck, warming him yet chilling him at the same time. ‘Sort of knew that. Figured he’d take out his people first.”

“No, sweetheart. He’s on his way now. Need to get Oxford and Glinda up here. Need to talk about this.” Spike drifted for a long moment, long enough for her to think he’d fallen asleep, so his voice startled her, “should get the bot out patrolin’. Maybe the whelp can go w’it.”

Buffy laid there for a few more minutes to see if he was going to say anything else and when he stayed silent, she asked very quietly, very strongly, “how much would you have to take to be up and around?”

He knew damn well what she meant and he didn’t want to get into this now. Not tonight. Not again. He should have known this wasn’t settled. “Too much. Don’ ask me again.”

Oh he was angry. She could feel it. His entire body had tensed up and she could see his jaw clenching and unclenching as he held his temper in check. Getting up from her spot, Buffy placed her hands on either side of his head, staring down at his face, noting the softness of his gaze as he looked up at her. “Spike. I . . don’t want anyone else with me for this. You and I can do this together, he’s not strong enough to take both of us. . . and he’s alone, right? No one’s with him. . . “

“Near as I can tell. He” and he hesitated a bit, reluctant to admit to her that he could feel this, “used the Sire bond callin’ to Dru, but he’s the oldest of the line. . . we all feel it.”

Another deep breath blew against him “Right then. So he’s alone.” Thinking a minute or two, she tried to remember everything about Angelus. “He won’t come for us right away – he’ll try to pick us off one by one right?”

“Yeah. No one goes out near dark alone. No one.” Thinking hard, Spike said, “rather you keep Niblet home, not let her out a’all.”

“Good idea.” Then in a rush, “how. . . if you drink again tonight and again all day tomorrow – how soon will you be up?”

“Will you not let this go?” God she was a stubborn bitch.

“No. I’m not going to until you give me a better answer.” She got that look in her eye he hated, that Slayer bitch on wheels look, the one that made him want to slug her.

Closing his eyes and praying for patience, Spike ground out, “three more good feedings, or so. Not much more than that, all right? Happy now?”

Her left hand cupped his cheek. “Look at me, Spike, please?” Her thumb brushed over his lips, tracing the lines, her eyes searching his face. “Spike. . . Slayer here, remember? I’ll be fine. I need you to be fine also.”

“Buffy. We have time to wait. He won’t come except to taunt us, at least not right away. We’ve got time for me to rest a bit.” Thinking a second, he said, “m’promise, kitten, he wants us scared enough to make mistakes. ‘M not making any.”

His good hand brushed away a tear and he pulled her down to his lips. “Love you. Now go get Oxford and Glinda.”


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Anya had Connor now, his head resting on her shoulder, while Tara made the final preparations for dinner. Wesley was questioning Xander on what he remembered of Angelus last time, while Oz listened, sometimes adding his own comments.

Deciding not to wait for Buffy to come downstairs, Tara set out plates and transferred full bowls to the counter. Sticking her head out the door, she realized Dawn was crying and Casey was a bit overwhelmed.

“Dawnie?”

“Hey” the younger girl wiped her eyes and pulled herself away from Casey. “Sorry. Guess I’m tired and . . sorry Case.”

Smiling at her shyly, he said, “I’d be a really crappy boyfriend if I complained. Don’t worry about it.”

Dawn ducked her head, a blush spreading across her face.

Tara found herself smiling at the two of them. “Dinner’s ready, you’re welcome to stay, Casey.”

“Thanks. That’s cool.”

Giving them a few minutes, she slipped back inside, to find everyone eating, including Buffy, who was trying to talk and eat at the same time. “No one goes out alone, unless its broad daylight. If its close, we travel in pairs. We need to come up with some kind of survival . . self-defense thing so that if he does get one of us, we can get away.”

“You mean like crosses and holy water?”

“Yes Anya, that’s exactly what I mean.”

“Emergency kits. And we all have cellphones, right?” Buffy was gesturing with her fork, trying to eat as fast as possible.

“I want one of these. This is wonderful.” Anya looked at Xander. “Can we have one please?”

“One what?” Xander was suddenly very afraid of what she was going to ask for.

“A baby. I want babies Xander. Can we have one now?”

A very pained look crossed his features, something akin to a grimace and embarrassment. “Can we not talk about this?” He threw a quick look around the room, but no one was actually willing to meet his eyes.

“Why? Why can’t we talk about this?” Anya was at a loss. What was wrong about talking about having babies?

“The timing isn’t right, Ahn. Maybe we could talk about this later, after we get home, okay?” He was desperately trying to change the subject, anything to get away from this topic.

“Fine Xander Harris, you always want to talk about things later. What about when I want to talk about things? Does it matter to you that I want to talk about this now? Or that I want to talk about this in front of Buffy?” Anya bristled when he tried shushing her, moving away from his gesturing hands.

Xander took hold of her arm and Anya pulled away from him, misjudging the strength of his grip and she teetered off-balance, trying not to lose the baby or fall at the same time, and she was in real danger of falling hard when Wesley reached out a hand, bracing her against him.

“Xander!? What are you doing?” Everyone stared at him, while Anya got her bearings back, trying to comfort the scared and crying baby. “What is wrong with you? Can’t you see I had the baby?”

Anya moved away from Wesley, thanked him for helping her, then purposely turned her back on Xander and went into the living room to sit down. Her legs were shaking badly and she couldn’t get a deep breath. What just happened had scared her, badly. She needed to do some thinking.

The other four adults shared a look over Xander’s bowed head, none of them willing to comment too closely on what had just happened.

“I didn’t mean to grab at her.” His low voiced comment elicited no response, because not a one of them could really believe what they’d just witnessed. It had looked, from almost every view, like Xander was going to shake Anya, whether she had the baby in her arms or not. And that was not good.

There was a long painful silence in the kitchen, when finally Buffy said, “Tara? Wes? Spike wants to talk to you both. When you’re done eating maybe you should come upstairs.”

Dumping what was left on her plate into the garbage, Buffy left the kitchen to go back up to her bedroom, more than Angelus on her mind now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


She never shuts up. Always talking about things at the worse possible times. Why does she always have to bring up our relationship when everyone’s around? Xander stared at his hands as they flexed against the counter. Sometimes he wished she’d just keep her mouth shut. What the hell did she want to have a baby for? He was only twenty-one, he wasn’t ready for any of this – a girlfriend, yeah – full time sex, yeah – fiancee, he wasn’t so sure, but, well, he’d already asked her, but that didn’t mean they had to get married right away – they could have a long engagement, really long. But babies? Nahuh.

And why the hell was she cuddling that demon brat anyway? Kid shouldn’t even ben possible, and now Buffy could – the same thing could happen to her. How disgusting was that? And why would she want to? Xander figured that was probably the worst thing she could do.

Buffy wasn’t like that. All this Spike stuff, he couldn’t – refused to think of it as love – had to be the result of some side effect of the spell Willow had done to bring her back. Couldn’t be because she actually liked him or anything. So when the after effects wear off, she’ll toss Spike out on his ass and the worthless blood-sucking bastard will leave. And that’s good.

Firmly convinced once more that all this was going to end soon, Xander apologized to the other two adults. None of them, not even Xander himself, was really sure what he was apologizing for.


Okay, lemme know what you think about this one, becuase it nearly got completely scrapped.

Previously: Angelus is on his way to Sunnydale, searching for the one person he thinks is capable of restoring his soul. Spike is getting better after taking blood from Buffy and everyone is just in a sort of holding pattern. This picks up immediately after the last installment.

Book Two, chapter 15. A hard day’s night.


O that a man might know
the end of this day’s business ere it comes!
Julius Caesar, act v, sc. i

This day I breathed first – time is come round,
and where I did begin, there shall I end.
My life is run his compass
Julius Caesar, act v, sc. iii



Spike was sitting up in bed, his injured right arm propped up on a pillow, Buffy on the bed next to him, their heads close together, voices low and muted. She’d left the door open partially, but Wesley knocked anyway, pushing it open further when Buffy responded, then stepped aside to allow Tara entry.

“Oxford.” Spike looked up at his fellow Englishman, noting the bloodshot eyes and fatigue. “Glinda. Where’s the wolf?”

“Went home to get some sleep” was Tara’s soft spoken answer.

“How are you feeling?” Wesley took catalog of the visible injuries. This did not bode well. But it was encouraging that he was up and talking.

“Been better.” Tara came round to the far side of the bed, looking closely at his swollen face. Smiling at Buffy, she glanced at Spike, asking, “may I?”

Cocking his head to the side, the vampire looked at the witch, “gonna work some good mojo?”

Shaking her head yes, Tara motioned for him to lean forward into her hands. Muttering a soft incantation, Tara’s hands warmed considerably, the heat passing into Spike’s skin. The bruises around his eyes faded to yellow and those on his chest lightened considerably. Taking a step back, she smiled again. “I’ll do it again in the morning.”

Spike smiled in response, gratitude evident despite the pain.

Motioning her to the chair, Wesley leaned against the crib, remarking, “you sure this is the best place for the baby? You need your rest.”

“Should be up an’ around this time tomorrow. Won’t be completely healed, but I’ll be on m’feet.” The blond pair on the bed studiously avoided looking at each other and both were surprised by Wesley’s next words. “So I can assume Buffy’s blood is helping greatly then?”

Two pairs of glittering eyes stared at him, but Wesley was already gesturing at them, “relax. I meant no censure. It was merely a statement of facts. You had to have some thing more potent than regular human blood. Given your relationship, to find otherwise would have been more of a surprise.”

Spike’s low growl sounded in the room, prompting Wesley to once more apologize. “I’m very sorry. Watcher training is sometimes hard to overcome.”

Laying a hand on Spike’s arm, Buffy said, “its still kind of private for us. Not everyone would be so practical or so non-judgy.”

And that was a nice way of saying that most of her friends wouldn’t approve if they knew.

“Right then. I’m sure this isn’t why you wanted us up here. My guess is Angelus?”

“Yeah. Last time he got all stalker-guy. Got into my room. Left creepy hand-drawn pictures of me sleeping and lots of other stuff – dead flowers – he killed Willow’s fish . . . “ Buffy ran through the list of his actions in her head, ‘things kept getting scarier and scarier and he tried to kidnap Mom. But then he killed Jenny and well, this part wasn’t real but we all remember it that way – he took Dawn, but Spike brought her back, before he could get to her.”

“He was busy tendin’ to Rupert. Was savin’ the bit for after.” Spike waited for a minute,
“point is, he’s not comin’ the way I would – he’s gonna try an’ pick us off one at a time.”

Wesley interrupted, “any idea which of us might be first on his list?”

Reaching over to clasp Buffy’s hand, Spike thought for a moment. “No way of knowin’. What’s more important, he need to decide about restorin’ the soul.” He knew he didn’t care one way or the other, save that dusting Angelus left him as the head of the Aurelius line, Spike knew it mattered to Buffy and possibly Angel’s crew.

Picking at some imaginary lint on her jeans, Tara added, “I don’t have the spell, Willow does. I could ask her but I’m not sure she’d give it to me. We might have to find it ourselves.”

“Its too early to call Giles, to see if he can get anything out of the library that might be helpful.” Wesley double checked his watch, mentally calculating the time difference. “But he’ll be up in a couple of hours, I’ll call him before I retire for the night.”

“What about minions?” Buffy asked but Spike was shaking his head.

“Doubt it. He did it last time an’ all he got was trouble from them. He’s too long away from runnin’ a nest for it. It’d be easier to do what he’s already done.”

“What’s that?” Wesley had his hands stuffed into his jeans pockets, trying hard to keep his eyes open. He was suddenly exhausted.

Spike sighed, reluctance a clear emotion. “Used the Sire’s bond, an’ seein’ how he’s the head of the blood line, we all felt it.”

That woke him up. “So you’re telling us that Sunnydale is about to be over-run with Aurelian vampires? And you aren’t fit to fight?”

“Easy Oxford. Nearest Aurelian is me, an’ I’m not answerin’ any call Peaches sends out. Now or ever. ‘Side from me, Dru was in Brazil, Penn’s dead and there’s a few others, but it’ll take time before anyone gets here. Don’t imagine that we’re gonna have to worry ‘bout the others before, well, at least a week.”

Tara gripped the chair arms. “So we have a little than a week before Angel starts – what about the Huntsman?”

Blowing out a breath, Buffy said, “with any kind of luck, he’ll get what he’s here for and leave.”

Wesley shared a look with Spike. “That’s one of the things Rupert’s gong to London for, to find information about the Huntsman. Hopefully his research will support my theory.”

“What’s that?”

“That the Huntsman won’t leave until the traitor is judged.”

“The traitor?” An unbidden image of Willow flashed in Buffy’s brain and unknowingly it also surfaced in other’s heads.

“Once the traitor begins to . . the process of betrayal, the Huntsman usually appears, and when the final act of betrayal is complete, traditionally that’s when the Huntsman strikes. The hounds retrieve the traitor, and they go before Gwyn ap Nudd for judgment.

“So your theory is that the Huntsman is here to actually do some good? What about all those dead girls?” Buffy’s voice held a bit of disbelief, but it was clearly more of a procedure than real.

“That, I believe, was in response, in payment for releasing you from heaven.”


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cordelia was more than halfway to San Francisco when she abruptly changed her mind about her destination. Checking her rearview mirror, she made a quick u-turn and headed back toward Los Angeles. If she was going to hide out and be inconspicuous, she was going to do it in a warmer spot than northern California. San Diego was good. Tijuana might be better.

Either way, she was guaranteed more sunlight than San Francisco would provide and right now, sunlight was her new best friend. Glancing down at the gas gauge, Cordy figured she’d stop for the night at the next exit. There was no way anyone would find her there.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The kitchen was empty when they finally headed inside, dirty dishes piled in the sink and food warming on the stove. Dawn could hear the low murmur of voices in the living room, but she couldn’t tell who was in there.

Grabbing a plate, she motioned for Casey to get one, then started piling spaghetti on her plate. She was really hungry and the events of the last twenty-four hours and the emotional roller-coaster were beginning to tell on her. She was tired. Really tired.

They had just sat down at the counter when Anya strode into the kitchen. The baby was mewling loudly, his I’m-hungry-feed-me-now cry piercing the silence. “I don’t know what to do for him. He just started crying.”

Before Dawn could answer, footsteps pounded on the stairs and Buffy’s rapid words were countered by Tara’s slower drawl. “So that worked well didn’t it? Way better than one of those baby intercom thingies.”

‘Well, I forgot I had it in place. But yeah,” and Tara’s proud smile lit up the room, “its pretty cool. It was only on an emergency basis though. Should wear off sometime tomorrow.”

“Hey. How’s the hungry boy?” Tara smiled at Anya, motioning for the baby, which the ex-demon reluctantly relinquished, despite his wails of hunger.

Anya watched Buffy and Tara, one holding the baby and the other getting his bottle ready and uncaring of the two teens in the room, burst into tears. Grabbing the sponge, Anya did what she always did when she was upset, she cleaned.

Unsure of how to approach her, but knowing somehow that Anya needed to talk and figuring that she desperately needed a friend, Buffy motioned the two teens inside. “Anya?” The slayer stood at her side, while Tara stuck her pinky in the baby’s mouth trying to calm him a little while they waited for his bottle to heat.

“I just don’t understand, how come its not okay to talk about things when other people are around? How come? Is it wrong? Am I thinking incorrectly?” She wiped away a tear, leaving a streak of foamy bubbles across her face, “and why would that make him angry enough to do that?”

Neither of the other two had an answer, but at this moment Anya wasn’t really looking for one. “Babies are cute and warm and fuzzy and cuddly and holding them is wonderful and sometimes they smell so sweet and what is there not to like?”

Tara grabbed the bottle from the pot, testing it against her wrist, then stuck the nipple into Connor’s mouth, which gave her enough time to come up with “I think men don’t feel the way we do about babies – or at least some women do.”

“I’m not even sure I want to marry that man right now. He asked me you know.” She blew out a breath, disturbing an errant curl that was drooping across one eye. “He even got me a ring, but I just don’t know.”

Buffy finally found her voice. “Xander asked you to marry him?” She paused, thinking hard, “when? How come you didn’t say anything?”

Anya huffed again, blowing out another breath hard enough to disturb the mound of soap suds in the sink. “He asked me the night we,” she paused, avoiding Buffy’s suddenly earnest gaze, ‘the night we fought Glory.”

“Oh” Buffy’s face fell a bit, but she recovered quickly, “still, this is happy news, right?”

Anya’s voice dropped to a near whisper. “I don’t know anymore. I’m just not sure.”


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The clarion of alarm echoed in their room, startling them all. Spike’s “what the bloody hell?” Was drowned out only by Buffy’s unintelligent yowl.

Tara waved a hand and the noise stopped. Sheepishly she apologized, “sorry. I did that last night for the baby. Its supposed to sound when he’s in a different room from me and crying. He’s probably hungry.”

Buffy got up from the bed, saying, “well let’s go get him,” and turning back to Spike, “you want more blood now?”

Thinking to himself for a minute, realizing the more he drank now, even regular stuff, the quicker he’d heal, Spike said, “yeah, please, kitten.”

“Back in a bit.”

The girls were out the door and halfway down the stairs, voices trailing behind them before either Brit realized it.

“I would have thought Buffy had no interest in children.” Wesley’s dry observation pulled Spike’s attention away from contemplating his blanket and his thoughts.

“Tha’s an infant. Bit different from children. Babies, all females go crazy over ‘em.” Spike’s assessment was nearly as dry as Wesley’s had been.

Wesley shifted, taking the chair Tara had just vacated. He was rather reluctant to broach this subject, but he’d come to think that he and Spike had something of a friendship and he felt compelled to discuss some things with him. But he really didn’t want to disturb his recovery.

Spike, for his part, was watching Wesley, waiting for him to spill whatever it was that had him looking so sour. He was about to prod him a bit when Wesley broke his silence.

“I owe you an apology Spike.”

A furrowed brow, oddly reminiscent of Spike’s vampiric guise met his words. “How so?”

“Bringing Angel’s son here. It was wrong of me, I shouldn’t have.”

His further comments were cut off when Spike interrupted him, “what’re you on about? Couldn’t rightly go elsewhere could you?”

He gaped at the blond for a second, then recovered, “bringing the child of Buffy’s former boyfriend isn’t exactly good form.”

A rather inelegant snort sounded in the air. “You git.” He softened the insult with a laugh. “Thinking wrongly on that one. ‘S not a problem. But thanks for the apology. ‘S not many that would.”

Before Wesley could get on that subject, Spike continued, “sides, where else were you thinkin’ of goin’? You know a whole lot of people with enough knowledge of Peaches to keep the sprog safe?”

Gazing at the other man and completely surprising himself in the process as well, Spike said, “did the right thing, Oxford. Can’t have Angelus killin’ his own flesh an’ blood. Killin’ demons is different, vamps are different – that sprog’s a bloody miracle. Shouldn’t die because his da is wrong in the head.”

Staring at him and trying to process what Spike had just said, Wesley was forced to a realization that both Buffy and Giles had already had to acknowledge. William the Bloody was far from the average vampire.

His mouth was open and the words flowing out in an uncharacteristic moment, long before he could take them back, “that’s not the chip is it? That’s. . . You don’t think Angel would come after the boy? “

“‘S not what I said.” He stretched his legs for a moment, testing the healing, “he’ll come after the boy. He’ll come after all of us. ‘M probably first or second on his list, tied up with the slayer. Jus’ dunno which of us he’s gonna come for first.”

Wesley steepled his fingers, thinking deeply. “You have ideas who else will be a target?”
“You. The sprog. Niblet. An’ then there’s the extras, ones he’s not lookin’ for specifically, but wouldn’t mind takin’ jus’ to worry the rest of us, make us scramble tryin’ to rescue whoever it was.”

‘Add Cordelia to that list. And probably Fred.” At Spike’s quizzical look, Wesley explained, “Winifred Burkle, we rescued her from Pylea when Cordelia got trapped there. She’s been with us ever since.”

“Didn’t know the cheerleader was that important to him.” Spike shifted on the bed, his muscles jumping and flexing from the healing and his arm was itching badly again. Obviously the morphine was wearing off. Might need more if he was going to try and sleep tonight. He was tired and nearly every inch of him hurt. Tara’s touch had helped some and he thought the swelling was down, but the dull ache in his head was back, his right arm was actually jumping, the muscles were anyway, his back ached and his chest was itchier than all hell and his legs kept cramping on him. This was a bitch, the side effect of rapid healing was the internal violence with which it occurred. There was no bloody way he was going to get through the next twelve hours without nearly all the morphine.

“Oxford, have Buffy bring up the morphine, would you?”

Wesley studied him for a moment, noting the drawn and exhausted look, the grey tinge to Spike’s normal pallor and the lines of fatigue bracketing around his mouth, realizing what he was seeing.

“Right. I’ll send her up and get everyone else settled as you said, this can wait a bit. Besides Angelus can’t get in here, so we are safe for the moment.”

Spike closed his eyes, clenching his teeth against the pain blossoming in his head after Wesley left the room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He passed the State Highway patrol officer doing eighty-five just before the Sunnydale exit. For half a mile he ignored the lights and sirens, but he finally stopped at the off-ramp. Wasn’t like he cared much, but he really didn’t want a passing motorist calling in a complaint about a dead CHP officer on the side of the road. Because that would mean he’d have to ditch the Viper. And he really liked this car.

Angel waited until the cop leaned down to ask for his license and registration and then struck with cobra swiftness. His fangs were in the cop’s neck before he finished speaking and the taste of anger and authority was so delicious, he was drained and dumped in short order.

He rolled into Sunnydale just after nine, according to the Viper’s clock, time enough to establish his presence, let people know he was here.

Angel grinned, slowly driving through the streets of this sleepy little town. Sleepy. Hah. Pulling into the driveway of the old mansion on Crawfurd street, Angel grinned once more. He really did like this place. Liked its proximity to – well – the hellmouth, and the Slayer and. . . . well, everything.

Whistling tonelessly Angel sauntered to the doorway.

Oh yeah it was good to be home.

Grinning broadly, almost laughing in anticipation, Angel crossed over the threshold and howled with pleasure.



Okay, unlike that last chapter, this one I actually liked, but that means probably no one else will. In any case, if you like it or hate it, please let me know. Coz, I'm really not sure.
[A/N: Sometimes inspiration won’t come at all which makes trying to write frustrating beyond belief. I’ve been going through something of a dry spell coupled with lots of residual pain from my dislocated shoulder (which makes typing problematic). Perhaps I just need to watch certain episodes of the show all over again and get aggravated with the writing and dangling plot threads . . . . yeah, and chalk it up as research. Anyway, I’m struggling a bit here, so any thoughts (kind hopefully) you can send my way would be greatly appreciated. The title is from Phil Collins from the album Face Value and the quotes are as attributed. Disclaimers in full force and effect. I own nothing but the plot and a few minor original characters.]

Previously: Spike is recovery not nearly fast enough to please Buffy and everyone else is waiting to see what happens. Angelus has arrived in Sunnydale.

Book Two. Chapter 16. Coming in the air tonight.

I’ve seen your face before my friend
but I don’t know if you know who I am
well, I was there and I saw what you did
I saw it with my own two eyes
so you can wipe off that grin,
I know where you’ve been
its all been a pack of lies.
Phil Collins, In the Air Tonight




It hadn’t taken very long for everyone to settle down once those not living at Revello Drive departed. Dawn was the first one to go to bed, aside from Spike, who’d never left his, since she was practically asleep on her feet by the time Casey left with Xander and Anya. The conversation had been guarded around the teen, but he knew something was wrong, since Xander insisted on driving him home, even though his house was in the opposite direction from their apartment.

Dawn was followed rapidly by Tara, who first got bottles ready for middle of the night feedings and brought the baby upstairs, settling him in Buffy and Spike’s room. Wesley had tried staying up, guarding the house, but by eleven o’clock, he was sitting on the couch, fast asleep. The first time Buffy had to go downstairs to get a bottle for the baby, she’d tried waking him up, but when he didn’t budge, she just took a throw blanket and covered him.

Everyone was out cold when she woke the second time, the house still and silent. She could hear various snoring sounds coming from Dawn’s room on her way down the stairs and it brought a smile to her face. She didn’t blame Dawn for any of what had happened, because, really, none of it was her fault. She laid the blame squarely on the shoulders of all those nameless, faceless monks that had conspired in some way to bring all of this about. If not for them and Glory, she wouldn’t have had to jump. But she also wouldn’t have Dawn. It was kind of a tough call there. She wouldn’t trade her sister for anything and really if she had to do it all over again, she probably would have done it . . . . well, no, might not have done everything the same. Would’ve trusted Spike a little bit more. Might not have reacted so bitchily if she knew then . . . And so would have dumped Riley sooner.

Buffy giggled a little bit, the sound strangely muffled in the quiet house, listening to Wesley shift and mutter in his uncomfortable sleep. This was her favorite time of night, when everyone else was asleep and the night’s patrol was over. Glancing at the clock she realized it was close to three and it was about the time she and Spike had been getting back home after patrol lately. He’d roused a little bit when the baby woke up crying, though still groggy from the effects of an entire bag of morphine, and Buffy figured she’d warm him up some blood and make him drink while she fed the baby.

She was standing in the kitchen, watching the microwave heat up Spike’s blood and keeping an eye on the bottle on the stove, when the first tingles of awareness shot through her spine. Her back stiffened, the hackles on her neck rising, but she gave no outward indication that she was able to sense anything different. Buffy was certain he couldn’t get in the house, since the disinvite had been done earlier and she was also fairly certain that even if he somehow managed to get an invite, he couldn’t do any violence. It didn’t help her nerves though. She was the only one awake, and the only one strong enough to take him on.

The microwave pinged, drawing her attention, and in that moment, she had something of a plan forming in the back of her mind. She grabbed both the mug and bottle, wandering sleeping back into the living room. Checking the big picture window, Buffy didn’t see anything, but the feeling didn’t dissipate any. Mug and bottle got placed very carefully on the table next to Wesley’s sleeping form, as she leaned over close to his ear. “Wesley. Wake up. We have company.”

He didn’t stir the first time, but when she whispered in his ear the second time, Wesley slowly opened his eyes, whispered just as softly back, “he can’t get in the house.”

“I know that. I think he’s circling the house trying to figure out how many of us are here.”

“You aren’t thinking of going out there are you?’ When she didn’t answer, he grabbed her wrist, holding on as forcefully as he could. “Buffy, you can’t. Its not safe.”

“No, I know that Wes. I just want to see if I can figure out what he’s doing.” There was the creak of a floorboard from behind them, and they both whirled around, but it was just Tara, silently making her way toward them.

“He’s outside. Just got here,” was what she said by way of greeting. At Buffy’s questioning look, she explained, “sort of like what I did with the baby, only geared for him. Lets me know when he’s nearby. It just woke me up.”

“How come we didn’t hear anything?” Buffy had grabbed the taller girl’s hand, pulling her down to crouch beside them.

“For me only, remember?” Tara’s hair fell in front of her face and she brushed it aside. “So now what do we do?”

“Can you pinpoint where he is from the alarm?” She felt rather than saw Tara’s response of no. Buffy kept her eyes on the front window, while Tara focused on the back door. Motioning Wesley with her hand, Buffy got down on her knees, skittering to the front door. A low growl sounded from the second floor and all three of them scrambled for the stairs. Running full out now, Buffy crouched low before entering her bedroom, wary of what might greet her on arrival. She was not prepared for what she saw.

Standing on wavering feet, Spike was in game face, the baby cradled in his injured right arm, a cocked crossbow in his left. The bow was aimed at the window. She was aware of Wesley behind her. Tara was still racing up the steps. Cautiously she inched around the doorway, still crouched low to the ground. Careful to stay out of the line of fire, Buffy edged closer to Spike. Once inside the room, Buffy could see what had gotten Spike up and out of bed, not that she needed visual confirmation. Angel was standing outside their window with a wide leering grin on his features.

Her breathing sounded very loud in her own ears and she could clearly hear the sounds of the two breathing deeply behind her. Spike’s voice was just a rumble in the air, his “stay down,” unnecessary but it managed to calm her. Okay. First thing. . . Get the baby.

She was about to open her mouth to tell Spike she was coming to get the baby, when Tara’s softly hissed “Spike” got their attention.

Without waiting to worry about whether they were listening or not, Tara continued to whisper. “Just get the quilt off the bed Buffy and be ready to cover Spike.”

Only Spike questioned the instruction, Buffy already moving away from the wall toward their bed. “What are you plannin’?”

“When I say so, just drop down, okay?” He had no idea what the hell she was thinking, but it damn well better be good.

“Buffy?”

“Yeah. Got it.”

“Okay.” She paused, whispering something in Wesley’s ear and then, “go!”

Wesley walked boldly into the bedroom, drawing Angel’s attention away from Spike, and Tara stood behind Wesley, muttering an incantation, while Spike collapsed to his knees and Buffy swirled the quilt over him and the baby, a bright blinding light filling the bedroom.

Angel howled in anger, his hands coming up to shield his eyes and he stepped back away from the light, falling off the small piece of roof outside the window.

There was complete quiet in the room, then, “oh my god. Oh my god. Spike? Spike? Are you okay? Oh my god. Grab the baby.”

Tara dropped to her knees, speaking the words to end the incantation, then moving quickly to get Connor and Spike out from under the quilt. Wesley double checked the window, making sure it was locked and secured, then as he stepped away, he said to Buffy, “I’m going to make sure everything is secure in the rest of the house.”

Before either of the girls could respond, he was making his way methodically through the house, starting with Buffy’s bathroom.

Spike had passed out, still holding the squirming infant against his side. Tears were filling Buffy’s eyes and she passed the baby to Tara, trying to re-arrange Spike’s sprawled limbs until they were aligned straight enough for her to lift him back into the bed. The baby continued to cry and Buffy finally remembered what had woken her up. “I left his bottle downstairs and blood for Spike.”

“I’ll get them both. Is he okay?” Tara was on her feet, preparing to head downstairs when Buffy hauled Spike up in her arms.

“Oof. He’s heavy.” Drooping him on the mattress, Buffy grabbed hold of his good arm and pulled him toward the head of the bed. “Yeah, just too much for him I guess.”

Tara nodded heading out of the room. Encountering Wesley in the hallway, he accompanied her down to the first floor. By unspoken agreement, they retrieved the bottle and mug and headed right back up the stairs to Buffy and Spike’s room.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So that’s where they were. Wesley had acted quicker than he expected. How very smart of the ex-watcher – running to the Slayer for protection. And wasn’t that a nice surprise.

What he didn’t like at all was the witch. He hadn’t been prepared for that occurring, using a bright sunlight spell to temporarily incapacitate him.

The traitor.

His signature was all over the house, on the grounds surrounding it. His anger with Drusilla’s whelp had grown the second he neared the Slayer’s house, which had prompted his foray onto the roof. He was there in bed, in her bed, where the infant was . . . He’d watched while Spike had gingerly gotten up, nearly laughing in glee when Spike realized who was standing casually on the roof, staring at the window.

That look on his face had been worth the trip to Sunnydale and oh, how the not-so-mighty- have fallen. Angel had always known the bastard was weak, his reaction just now proving it. Little Spike was afraid for his humans. . . .

And he should be.

Oh yeah, he should be.



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


“Obviously we need better wards around the house or a better warning system.” Spike swam toward consciousness to the sounds of Wesley’s voice. “Do you think you can adapt that spell further to alert us if Angelus enters the property?”

His comments had to be directed at the witch, because he heard four heartbeats in the room and one he’d recognize if he was dust, “I can try. I’m not sure how much energy it would require and I’m really not sure about my ability to keep it going.” Tara’s voice was low and filled with self-doubt.

“Can we find an alternate power source, like maybe electricity or something?” Buffy’s voice sounded close to his ear and Spike realized his head was in her lap and it was her fingers that were brushing back and forth across his face. He couldn’t stop the groan from emerging from his mouth, nor could he fight the muscle tremors rippling through his legs. “Spike? Are you okay?”

“Payin’ for m’own stupidity” was his wry comment. “Fuckin’ hell that hurts.”

“What happened?” No point in denying he’d passed out from a combination of pain and excessive amounts of morphine, not when they’d all seen him hit the floor, which is the last thing he remembered.

“Tara did it.” Buffy’s voice held a note of pride that he’d never noticed before. The witch must have silently protested, because the next words out of Buffy’s mouth were, “Tara actually did it all tonight. She’s got this great alarm thing, like the baby thing, and, she’s got a ball of sunshine spell. How cool is that?”

Evidently Glinda must’ve done something else to protest, because Oxford added his penny’s worth of praise. “It really was quite remarkable. You’ll have to instruct me how to use it.”

“Good. So the wanker’s gone, right?” His question forestalled anymore comments on the witch’s talents and then he remembered, “didn’t drop the sprog did I?”

“No, Connor’s fine.”

He grimaced and Buffy immediately moved to try and make him more comfortable. “Tha’s his name? Connor? Suppose Peaches did that before his soul went walkabout?”

There was a short silence then Wesley said, “it was the last thing he said to me before he changed.”

Spike heaved a long drawn out sigh, sounding muchly put upon, then saying, “suppose we’ll have to call him that then. Still think spawn was the better choice.”

“Spike. That’s not nice.” Buffy tried, but Tara’s giggles were infectious and even Wesley managed a little laugh.

“How long was I out for?” Spike finally opened his eyes to find himself exactly where he thought he was, his head pillowed on Buffy’s lap as she rested her back against the headboard.

“Not long, only about ten minutes.” Wesley’s voice answered.

“Right then. Need a drink kitten.” He hated to admit it, but he felt worse than he had earlier.

There was a rustling of noises and Tara laid the baby down in his crib while Wesley got to his feet. “We should be all right for the rest of the night, good night all.”

And he was gone, followed quickly by Tara, who whispered a soft, “sleep sweet” and then she too was gone.

Lifting Spike’s head up so she could move to lay down next to him, Buffy stared into his eyes. “No more fighting about this. You have to take what you need.”

“Buffy, you keep insistin’ and I say no.” He steeled his features, trying hard to stick to his guns. He knew she was going to argue with him. He just wasn’t entirely sure how she was going to play this. He thought he was prepared for any argument she could come up with. He was wrong.

“Spike? What if that had been our baby – what if . . . “ his look of utter disbelief stopped her flow of words.

“Buffy, wha?” Pausing, he tried to gather his thoughts. “What are you sayin’?”

“I think its pretty obvious. I’m trying to talk some sense into you.” She moved closer to him, one arm around his waist, the other tucked under her head. “You can be so stubborn, you know that?”

He chuckled, intoning, “you wanna be the kettle or the pot?”

She pinched his ass in partial response. The spoken one was, “I’m being serious here, Spike. You know it’s a possibility. What would have happened then? And what it the attacker had been human? What then?” She paused once more, letting her words sink into his thick head. “Spike you can’t keep sipping. Two or three mouthfuls aren’t enough and you really aren’t going to drain me so stop worrying about it.”

His eyes watched her as she spoke, trying to gauge her conviction and sincerity. They weren’t going to agree on this subject. Maybe if he hadn’t know how badly she bled during her monthlies he might not be so stubborn about this and . . . he inhaled deeply. The smells coming off her were delicious. Anger. Fear. Arousal. Buffy. Mate. And still bleeding heavily.

“Sweetheart. Listen to me. I’m not putting both of us at risk.” He could feel the dissension rising within her, the argument coming back around to it again, but he cut her off before she could continue, “no. Listen. C’mon kitten.” Spike nudged her with his bad right hand, getting her to look up at him. “He’s looking to unnerve us. Knows you’ll cave before I do.”

“Cave?” Her whole demeanor changed, her back instantly stiffening with pride and some other emotion Spike wasn’t quite ready to identify. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He paused, suddenly unsure of what to say and how to say it, without one of two things happening. The first and the lesser of the two would be Buffy getting angry and taking it out on Angelus, the other being with him sleeping on the couch or worse, tossed out on his ass. Drawing in very unneeded air, Spike looked into her eyes and for a split second thought about not answering her question, but then she leaned in and brushed a delicate kiss on his chin. “He knows a part of you sweetheart, knows how strongly you protect those you love and he knows you can get rattled when your heart is involved.”

“He doesn’t know me anymore.” Buffy ran her hand up his injured arm, finally curling around his neck. “He doesn’t know me half as well as he thinks he does. No one’s known me quite as well as you. Even before you were chipped, you knew me.” Resting her head against his chin, Buffy got as close as his numerous injuries would allow. “So, since you know me so well, what will I do?”

He barked a little short laugh, his left hand worming its way down to cup her hip, then his lips brushing a kiss over her hair. “Probably what he least expects. He knows something’s up with me, tha’ I’m not full strength.

She thought for a minute, nestled in the circle of his arms, just breathing deeply. “You know . . . he knows now you’re hurt for some reason. He also knows about the chip.” He just listened, knowing instinctively that she was just thinking out loud. “So. . . we play it like that, that you’re injured and still have the chip. In the meantime, we heal you as quickly as possible and make arrangements to get rid of the chip.”

Spike didn’t say a word waiting patiently for her to finish. “How long do you think it’ll be before any of the Aurelius vamps come visting?”

“Not sure. Could be a week at the earliest, but tha’ depends on who’s closest. If its Dru, last I knew she was back down in Brazil. No one else is here in the States.”

“You sure about that?” Her tone was gentler than the question but he wouldn’t have taken offense anyway. It had been a long time he’d been away from his side of the killing fields, his information could be wrong.

“No way of knowin’. I know Dru’s not nearby. Can’t tell so much o’ the rest. Only Angelus is near.” He wasn’t going to lie to her, they’d know the truth soon enough.

“‘Kay.” Little kisses were laid on his bare chest, warming him all over. “So. How do you wanna get the chipectomy? Wanna use a demon-friendly surgeon or call the Initiative?”

Despite his earlier stupidity, he’d been feeling kind of okay until she brought that up. What a choice. A surgeon who could easily botch the job or the sanctimonious bastards that had rendered him useless. “Dunno. We got a time limit on this?”

“Don’t you want it out?” She was mystified by his unenthusiastic response.

“I do. Jus’ don’ wan’ to be a vegetable after.” Spike wanted the damn thing gone, did he want it badly enough to possibly face another of her exes? They’d already survived the biggest hurdle of all – and it wasn’t Angel – for some odd reason he still couldn’t fathom – it was Xander. If Buffy could face his daily disapproval, maybe seeing Cardboard wouldn’t be so bad. But – there was a bigger hurdle to his getting the hardware removed. That impediment was one fellow Englishman – one Rupert Giles – ex-watcher and current father figure.

Spike knew he had to mention it, knew it wasn’t just about them. This affected everyone in the house. “What about Rupes? Your watcher is liable to have somethin’ to say. And Dawn? What about her and the witch?”

“Let me worry about Giles.” She didn’t brush him off, but clearly she wasn’t worried about it. “Dawn and Tara will be okay with it.”

“Not so sure the Watcher is gonna be okay with this.” Spike was too tired to argue, which for him, had to be a first. “Where’s m’blood, woman?”

Placing a kiss on his cheek, Buffy got up and helped him to a semi-sitting position. Handing him the cooled mug of twice warmed blood, Buffy said, “I don’t think Giles is gonna be all that hard to convince.”



[A/N: I’ve been in lots of pain lately, for a couple of different reasons and its just been a major pain in the ass. The biggest bright spot has been all the wonderful reviews. Things are going to start heating up again, those last couple of chapters were really sort of like a calm between storms. So, here we go. . . . The title is from Herman Melville (I paraphrased it somewhat) and the quotes are as attributed. Disclaimers in full force and effect. I own nothing.]

Previously: Buffy and Spike have talked about chips and blood. Angelus stopped by the house to say hello, but didn’t get a chance to speak, because Tara came to the rescue. This picks up later the next morning.

Book Two. Chapter 17. The ragged edges of truth

Truth titillates the imagination far less than fiction.
Marquis de Sade, L’Histoire de Juliette,
ou les Prosperities du Vice, pt. 3.

Truth, like light, is blinding.
Lies, on the other hand, are a beautiful dusk
which enhances the value of each object.
Albert Camus, The Fall, p. 126

The truth is a snare; you cannot have it, without being caught.
Soren Kierkegaard, The Last Years: Journals 1853-55

Truth uncompromisingly told will always have its ragged edges.
Herman Melville, Billy Budd, Sailor.



Even though they’d given her permission to skip school, Dawn was up early. The baby’s cries had woken her and she couldn’t really get back to sleep. She could hear everyone else moving around downstairs, and she knew Spike was still in bed, but there was no reason for her to be up. It took her a while to finally decide she was getting up and by that time Buffy was in the shower, both the baby and Spike were sleeping again.

After using the bathroom in her mother’s old room, Dawn snuck inside Buffy and Spike’s room. The baby was on his belly, a tiny little lump in the middle of the crib, his dark hair the only spot of color against the pale sheets and blanket. Spike, on the other hand, was sprawled out on the bed, left arm flung wide while the right one was still propped up on one of the pillows. He was sound asleep, his breathing very slow and steady, occasional rumbling noises emanating from his chest. Dawn stood in the little patch of sunlight just watching him, weird thoughts running through her head.

I wonder if that’s why I sleep that way when I’m really tired. . . . does he dream? He stirred, his injured arm jerking with a muscle spasm, then settled quickly. I really hope he’s not mad at me. I don’t want him to be. I can’t believe he got this hurt trying to protect me. Is he crazy? We could have just run away. . . . he didn’t have to stay. . . oh god. He could have been gone. Dust. Tears pooled in her big blue eyes and Dawn sniffled loudly in the quiet room.

There was no change in his muscles, no change in his breathing to indicate he wasn’t anything other than asleep, but Spike’s voice broke into her musings. “Mornin’ Platelet.”

“Ack.” Wiping the tears from her eyes, she sort of griped back at him, “geez Spike, you scared the hell out of me.”

“Nice to know I still can.” His groan of pain seemed to come from his toes and he stretched a bit, trying to ease the healing itch. He hated this part of the rapid healing. Felt like fire ants were crawling around inside his skin for days. Least this time he had morphine to help. When that bint Glory had taken her frustrations out on him, he’d had to keep himself inside a bottle of whatever he could find, but this time he had the good stuff. Right now he needed another shot of it. His skin felt like it was on fire.

“Are you feeling any better?” He’d almost forgotten she was still in the room.

“Eh. Sort of. All itchy.” He was about to ask her to go get him something to soothe it, when her voice caught his attention.

“Why did you do it?”

“Do wha’?” He struggled to lift his head up and she scooted to his side, lifting him and piling the pillows behind him so that he was no longer flat on his back.

“Stay and fight. Why?” She sat down on the bed, one leg folded underneath her, staring at his still battered features.

She had a look on her face that was so reminiscent of her sister he wanted to laugh. He would have too, if it wasn’t the look he hated. “Needed to make sure you were safe. Couldn’t let anything happen to you.”

“But why?” She looked away from him then, mumbling softly, “it might be better if I wasn’t here. No one would get hurt then.”

Without his enhanced hearing, he never would have heard her, but her words went straight to his heart. “Dawn. Look at me.”

The eyes that focused on his were swimming with tears and a very dark blue. “Don’t think like tha’. Your sis couldn’t take ‘nother thing goin’ wrong. Couldn’t forgive m’self if somethin’ were to happen to either of you.”

Her head shook in denial. “Why? I don’t do anything but make people hurt. Glory beat your ass and sucked Tara’s brain because of me. Buffy . . . . “ The tears that had been threatening finally slid down her cheeks and when he reached out his hand to wipe them away, Dawn flinched. “You shouldn’t. . . why did you do it again to protect me? I’m not. . . . I shouldn’t even be here. All I do is destroy everything around me.”

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. This couldn’t . . . “Niblet? Wha’ are you thinkin’? Wasn’t your fault at all what happened. Not then an’ not now.” This time when he reached for her she didn’t flinch, she just collapsed against his side, her head resting on his chest. “Not your fault, sweets. None o’this.”

Running his hand down her long brown hair, Spike wished for a moment that he could really put his arms around her, letting her cry on his shoulder like he did before Buffy came back. Hugging her tighter with his arm, Spike kept up his litany, trying to comfort her. She mumbled something else through her tears and he pushed her back a little, searching her face for signs of what she’d just said.

“Dawn? C’mon. Its not your fault.” Using his thumb to wipe her eyes, Spike tilted her face so that she couldn’t avoid looking back at him, “love you. Do you know that? Love you like no one else. You’re my Niblet.”

He’d thought that would have calmed her, thought she was settling down, but at his softly worded declaration, Dawn burst into fresh tears. She pulled away from him, getting off the bed, her hands balled into fists. “Don’t love me. It will just end up . . . just. . . how can you love me?”

“Because I do.” His voice was calm and deep with emotions he rarely showed anyone. She was so upset she was shaking and he started to get up out of the bed realizing abruptly he was still bare-assed naked under the sheets. “Dawn, c’mere. C’mon.”

Despite her shaking her head no, Dawn sat back down on the bed, this time perched on the edge. Spike reached for her hand, lacing their fingers together. “I love you Niblet. Not the same way I love your sis, but, I love you. Have to take care of the ones I love an’ tha’s you. Both of you.”

Her chin lifted in stubbornness, Dawn refused to look at him, almost growling out, “doesn’t mean you’re supposed to die for us.”

“Yeah, it does. If tha’s how I keep you safe, then tha’s wha’ it means.” He wasn’t going to fail either one of them ever again. If he had to dust to keep them safe, he would.

“No dammit! Don’t you dare die on me. I need you. Stupid vampire. I need you. . . . “ her voice trailed off, after the outburst, her free hand brushing away more tears. “You can’t die. I need you.”

“Niblet. You don’ need me. You’ll be fine without me if it comes to it. You did fine . . . this summer.” She stared at him, not really believing what he was saying.

“No. I didn’t . . . I wasn’t fine all summer. My mother was gone. . . my sist. . . god you are so stupid! Joyce was dead and she. . . and Buffy and. . . the only one of my family that was left was you! I wasn’t fine. I needed my mother!” Her voice had risen to an almost shriek, uncaring about the baby or anyone else overhearing. “Damn you Spike. I needed both my parents! My mother and my father! I needed my mommy and my daddy. And all I had was my father.”

The words had spilled from her in such a rush that she had no idea what she’d said, until she looked up into his face and saw that he’d heard her.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Hot water. Yeah for showers and hot water. Buffy was in an okay mood, well, a way better mood than yesterday. After Angel’s . . Angelus’ late night visit, they had stayed up a little bit longer and Buffy had finally convinced Spike to take more blood from her. They’d also reached a decision about the chip. They weren’t going to make inquiries, either about surgeons or the Initiative, until Giles came home and they had a chance to confer with hm. For some odd reason, Spike insisted on telling Dawn and he also wanted Tara to know before they got it removed. Buffy had an idea that it was because he cared for the both of them and valued their opinions.

She wasn’t stupid enough to think Xander was going to agree with it at all. But right now, not so sure I care what Xander thinks.

The bathroom door was open just enough in case the baby woke up or if Spike needed her and her train of thought was interrupted by a sound she hadn’t expected. Unable to hear clearly because of the running water, she quickly rinsed off, closing the taps.

Dawn’s voice came through the open doorway, but her words were muffled, her voice low, then she heard “doesn’t mean you have to die for us.”

Grabbing a towel, Buffy stepped closer to the door in time to partially hear Spike’s response, “if tha’s wha’ it takes to keep you safe, then tha’s wha’ it means.”

Resting her head against the door jamb, Buffy almost had to hold herself up. I’m an idiot, coz I know he loves me and god, I do love him back. Dawn was speaking again, well almost shouting, “stupid vampire!. You can’t die on me. I need you.”

You tell him Dawnie! I need him too. Stupid vampire is right. Can’t die on us. We need you too much. Buffy heard his idiotic reply and then Dawn was shrieking at him, only this time it was things Buffy hadn’t heard from her sister before now. Her own tears were sliding from behind closed eyelids as she listened to her sister. “I wasn’t fine all summer. My mother was gone. . . my sist, god you are so stupid! Joyce was dead and she. . . and Buffy and. . . the only one of my family that was left was you! I wasn’t fine. I needed my mother!”

Buffy had to stuff her fist in her mouth to stop her own sobs and she slid inside the open door, her eyes barely able to see the pair on the bed through her tears. “Damn you Spike!. I needed both my parents! My mother and my father. I needed” Dawn’s voice broke and she collapsed in a heap, “my mommy and my daddy. And all I had was my father.”

Buffy’s head snapped up in time to watch Dawn realize what had flown from her mouth.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The words had poured forth from her mouth in a torrent, heedless of the consequences, like water held back too long by a dam.

Dawn realized a split second too late what she’d just said. Tears stopped and every muscle froze. Spike was staring at her, almost studying her features. Afraid to move, afraid to stay, Dawn felt the air behind her change, and before she could get up and run, Buffy was there with one hand on Dawn’s shoulder and the other clutching her towel. Involuntarily Dawn dropped her head down, completely missing the look shared between the two adults.

Why can’t I ever learn to shut up?

No one said a word. The room was very silent, the only sounds the rapid breathing of the two youngest occupants.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


He knew when she’d turned off the shower. When she stepped onto the rug. When she’d grabbed the towel. When she started listening to Dawn. When her own tears started to compliment her sister’s. When she’d come back into their bedroom.

But she wasn’t the focus of his attention. Dawn was. Her words, her pain and her heartbreak were his focus. And it narrowed even further at Dawn’s slip of the tongue. He’d nearly said something harsh about Hank Summers, then the gist of her words caught him. Dawn wasn’t talking about Hank – she was talking about him. And she obviously never meant to say it out loud, because her face was more shocked than his.

Searching her face, Spike took stock of her features. It had been a very long time since he’d seen himself in a mirror, but he knew his own face, knew when it looked back at him. Why the bleeding hell didn’t I see this before? Am I just as blind as the rest of those idiot scoobies? Dawn looked like his mother. Raising his eyes to the green depths of his heart, Spike also saw Buffy’s features within her sister. . . . no. They weren’t sisters. Not really. The sudden conviction of that notion wouldn’t be shaken.

Over Dawn’s head, Spike stared at Buffy, his eyes on hers. He smiled, then mouthed, “I love you” on her answering smile and whispered, “I know” he turned his attention to . . . their child.

Reaching out his hand, Spike traced a finger down her nose. “That’s mine.”

Dawn jerked her head up so fast she nearly ended up with Spike’s finger in her mouth. Her raised eyebrow and expression weren’t his, which he pointed out by remarking, “that’s all your. . . Buffy.”

“My Buffy?” Dawn finally found her voice.

He thought hard for a second, unsure what to say, just settling on, “not sure how you wan’ to word it, Pet.”

She was silent for long minutes, then finally on a deep indrawn breath, Dawn said, “you’re my parents. My real honest-to-god-parents.”

When neither one said anything to refute her, Dawn continued, “its in the journals Wes brought. I had to know.”

They shared another look over her head, while Spike said, “you took them from the watcher’s. Stole ‘em.”

Lying wouldn’t pay, not at this point. “Sort of. Wasn’t going to keep them. I put back the first set I took.”

“Its okay Dawnie. I guess I understand.” Buffy sat down in front of Dawn, next to Spike, “I think I would’ve done pretty much the same thing.”

Spike remained silent, knowing his actions probably would’ve been worse, but for once letting common sense rule his tongue. Buffy leaned against his shoulder, her hand reaching out to hold onto her, well, sister really doesn’t fit any more does it?

“So what did you find?” Buffy was curious now.

“They’ve been tracking Slayers for a really long time, and they’ve been trying to give them the key for almost as long, but, uh, something kept getting in their way.”

Somehow knowing this was going to end up as his fault even if it wasn’t, Spike asked, “an’ wha’ was that?”

“In the beginning it was because the Slayers weren’t strong enough, or they died just before the monks could come up with a form for the key. But then it was because of a Dark Warrior who was destined to help a Chosen One.” Dawn caught Buffy’s eye and they shared a smile. “A Vampire who kept battling and defeating the Chosen Ones.”

“Been readin’ far too many of the watcher’s books, there, sweet bit. Lay off with the forebodin’ language, will ya?” Spike had grimaced at her intonation, looking away from both the girls.

“I counted seven Slayers you fought – were there more? Oh!” She peeked at Buffy, but went on, “some Slayer you fought just before World War I? She died of her injuries later. So really, you already have a third.”

He growled at her then – a real honest to goodness growl. Dawn realized she’d overstepped a line but wasn’t really sure what it was. Was he more upset about killing the slayer slowly or something else?

“How long have these blokes been followin’ me?” He was aggravated, but he wasn’t really sure about why.

“Since the Boxer Rebellion.” She couldn’t look at either of them, wary now about their reactions to what she was telling them. The tension within Spike had grown considerably, especially since she’d mentioned him fighting slayers, and her sister. . . no, Buffy was just sitting there quietly taking all this in, not saying a word. Which had her more wigged than she wanted to be.

“Bloody fucking hell.” He was. . . he felt . . . he didn’t know what he was feeling. Didn’t mind so much about being Dawn being a part of him, but he really didn’t like the fact that the monks had been following his actions for years.

“Its all in the journals. Well, as much as they knew. I wasn’t sure it was you until they found you again in New York, all decked out in leather and bleached hair.” She tried for being as nonchalant as possible and somehow managed to achieve it.

“Niblet. . . “ his warning was clear.

“What? What am I . . . ?” His eyes shifted to the side, toward Buffy and Dawn finally realized what they’d been talking about. “Oh. Sorry Buff. . .. ” she stopped talking, then in a very small voice said, “Mom?”

But Buffy had only been half listening to their conversation, instead she’d just been watching the two of them, and hadn’t really heard what Dawn had just said. They really do look alike. It was really scary how alike they were. “Its okay, Dawnie. . . I know. Its okay.”

She and Spike had talked about his past some, in the dark hours when they were the only two beings awake in Sunnydale. He hadn’t been all true-confessions, but she knew him well enough to read between what he said and what he wouldn’t say. This information from an independent source wasn’t that big a deal. She wasn’t stupid, he couldn’t possibily have killed the only other two slayers he’d ever fought, he was good, but killing every slayer he’d fought would mean he was the vampire equivalent of a slayer. Although. . .

What had startled her was their resemblance. Without much of a warning, and completely off topic from their prior conversation, Buffy blurted out, “you look just like each other. You didn’t get anything from me.”

And if it wasn’t so serious, Spike would’ve teased her about the petulance of her tone. “She did, Love. Got plenty from you.”

Buffy was shaking her head in denial. Looking at the two of them with a new perspective, she had to admit it. “How did we miss this? Your noses, eyes, pretty much the structure of your faces, and Dawnie got your height.” Her pout was adorable but Spike was ignoring it for now, beginning to point out all their similarities.

“Her mouth is all you kitten. Attitude. Mannerisms. She may look like me, but her personality is all you.”

Opening her mouth to protest, Buffy was interrupted by Dawn, who snarked at both of them, “sitting right here, in the room. On the bed with you.”

“Sorry. Our bad.” Buffy glanced over at Spike who was watching Dawn with a strange look on his face.

“You look like m’mum.” He smiled then, a bit sadly, continuing, “she had hair like yours, only with more of a curl to it. Long and dark, always wore it up. Took it down only to brush. . . . it was down past her waist.” His voice trailed off and both girls held their breath, hoping he would continue, but he kept his silence.

Spike looked away, his eyes on a long dead vision, his mum with Gordie and Janet and. . . His da, before they were all gone and just the two of them were left. Buffy tilted her head at Dawn, silently asking her to move and when she did, Buffy shifted so she was facing Spike. Her left hand reached out to cup his chin gently drawing his gaze back to her. For long seconds he was still not seeing her and Buffy was afraid he was going to shrug her off, when suddenly he was looking at her. His brilliant blue eyes gazed into hers and Buffy’s eyes filled with tears at the expression on his face.

“Family. Spike, we’re a family.”

“Yeah.” He shook off the memories of his first family, smiling at her. “Yeah.”

His hand wiped away tears she didn’t remember shedding and Buffy nuzzled a kiss into his palm. Very slowly she inched closer to him, her words for his ears only. “Yours Spike. We’re yours. I’m yours.”

Resting his forehead against hers, his big hand still cupping her cheek, her hand now resting on his shoulder, Spike rumbled softly, “I love you Buffy Anne Summers. F’rever.”

Pulling her close, tucking her head under his chin so that her breath warmed the spot where his heart used to beat, Spike breathed deeply, raising his eyes to where Dawn stood watching them.

“C’mere you.” He rumbled at the teen, gesturing her forward with his left hand. Buffy moved her legs, creating a spot for Dawn, who just put her head down on Buffy’s hip. Spike smoothed out her hair, slipping the brown strands through his fingers. Dawn wiped the tears from her eyes, while Buffy curled her arms around Spike.

His voice was low and deep, curling like warm liquid chocolate through both of them, the words a promise and an oath “love both of you. My girls.”

They were quiet for a long time, none of them willing to break the silence, until there was a rustling of sorts and the baby started crying.


There's some parts of this one that I'm not sure about, so please, let me know what you're thinking about this

[A/N: Plots and stories are funny things. The author gets this idea, and it sort of sits for a while, germinating, while the author goes about their daily routine, sort of like a pea (and we all grew them at a certain point for science), until it breaks through its shell and starts this wonderful process of producing flowers and then finally, it produces some fruit. You can’t push the process any faster, you can’t magically make a plot grow in mere minutes and no amount of nagging or prodding or pleading will speed that up. You kind of just have to go with the flow. When that process is impeded by outside sources, it sometimes stalls, creating that wonderful state we all know as writer’s block. I know, I’ve suffered from it. Plots sometimes get advanced in very subtle ways, very often without the reader realizing that the plot actually has advanced while the action seems very slow. Character interaction plays a very key part of most stories, and I’d like to think this one in particular. Okay, I’ll get off my soapbox now, because I know you want to “get to the story and move the plot along” since apparently, I’m not doing enough of that. Title is from Spandau Ballet, only because the damn song was echoing in my head so I figured what the hell (the song is Communication) and the quotes are as attributed. Disclaimers in full force and effect.]

Previously: Oz and Tara ran into a changed Willow, who isn’t quite sure how to deal with what she saw; Angel stopped by and knows about Spike’s current state of health; and Dawn accidently let it slip about her parentage. This is later that same day.

Book Two. Chapter 18. Communication got me down.

The communication
of the dead is tongued with fire
beyond the language of the living.
T.S. Eliot’s memorial inscription, Poet’s Corner, Westminster Abbey from Little Gidding

Seldom, very seldom, does complete truth
belong to any human disclosure;
seldom can it happen that something is not a little disguised,
or a little mistaken.
Jane Austen, Emma

Women’s propensity to share confidences is universal.
We confirm our reality by sharing.
Barbara Grizzute Harrison, Secrets Women Tell Each Other


He’d gotten precious little sleep. He hadn’t expected to get much in any case, the news from home giving him more than enough reason for concern. But there was a sense of impending doom that Giles felt he needed to avert that was causing him the most amount of worry. Just over five hours ago, he’d been sitting in this same library, in nearly the same damned chair and the uneasiness hadn’t dissipated at all. In fact, it had grown bigger, sort of like a spill of dark liquid leaching into a pristine white tablecloth.

An hour ago, he’d gotten a phone call from Wesley, updating him on everything. Nothing was good. The old adage no news was good news was being tested in this case. There were no new developments and the status was still piss-poor. Giles was beginning to think they were heading into deeper troubles rather than coming out of it all.

He also wasn’t quite sure what they should do about Angel. Angelus.

It was almost beginning to not matter what they called him. Neither one of his appellations fit him. There was nothing angelic about the vampire. But, really, old man, he could hardly walk around being called ‘satan’ or ‘devil’. Even if those names fit him better.

Glancing down at the weighty book on the table before him, Giles shook his head and focused once again on the matter at hand. At the moment he was searching out possible mentions of the monks or the Key in the Slayer Annals. So far, it was a waste of his time, and he had no reason at all to continue searching, and he really . . . . didn’t. . . what the bloody hell?

It wasn’t possible. Had to be just a coincidence. He was frozen in place, staring at the name on the page in front of him. It was the list of Slayers from the year 1603 to 1699, including some potentials. It couldn’t possibly be the same girl. Had to just be a misprint or a similar name. But the hair on his neck was rising and his stomach was telling him it wasn’t just a similar name, wasn’t a misprint. Ignoring the looks his increasing agitation was garnering, Giles got to his feet and headed directly to the books he’d been reading the night before.

Flipping quickly through the pages, at first he past right by the information he was looking for. Heading back to his seat, the book in hand, the pages rustling loudly in his haste, Giles was mumbling to himself under his breath. “Can’t be. Got to be wrong. Has to be wrong. Just a . . . “

There it was. 1623. Isabeau de la Fontaine, delivered of a son, after dying in the year 1622.

Looking down at the book on the table, there it was again. Isabeau de la Fontaine, potential, identified in the year 1619. Never called as a Slayer.

Ripping off his glasses, Giles flipped a few pages back in the smaller book, finding another girl who’d given birth to a vampire’s child. Bryn of Rhuddlan, died 1587, gave birth to two children, first in 1588 and then again in 1591. Searching through the Slayer Annals, Giles found her identified as a potential in 1585.

Only two so far. Might just be a coincidence.

Could be.

But he really didn’t think it was.

Sitting down heavily in his chair, Giles got set to cross reference all the girls.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Buffy?” Tara’s voice broke into the other girl’s musings, drawing her back into reality.

“Hey. What’s up?” Damn. Cornflakes are all soggy now. Wrinkling up her nose at the lumpy mess, she got up from the counter, dumping the bowl’s contents into the garbage.

“Last night? At the supermarket, Oz and I ran into Willow.” Buffy looked at her, waiting for her to continue. “She’s changed.”

“What do you mean?” Pausing, she rambled, “Willow’s, Willow, always the same. Well not so much, she did change from high school to college girl and,” catching sight of the bemused look on Tara’s face, Buffy said, “never mind. Tell me.”

“I’m not sure what she did, but she’s not the girl I dated.” Trying for composure, Tara inhaled deeply, continuing, “the thing is she’s done something. She’s darker, you know?”

“Tara?” Try again, coz I’m not following you.”

“Right. When we saw her I checked her aura, because, well, she looked different. Her face was all white, all her color was gone and, and, her hair is shot through with black. So I checked.”

She now had Buffy’s full attention. “Go ahead, tell me.”

“I got a glimpse of what she’d done. Its not good. She did something to call forth. . . I’m not certain, but whatever she did isn’t working the way she thinks it is.” Tara took a deep breath. “Whatever she did – the goddess – the response was ‘be careful what you wish for’.”

“Oh no.” This didn’t sound too good. “So this means?”

“That Willow’s either not prepared for the answer or, or she’s gotten exactly what she’s asked for.” Tara was fiddling with the breakfast dishes, not really looking at Buffy while she explained her impressions.

“Which is?” She’d stopped what she was doing, her attention fully focused on the other girl, realizing she was about to hear something she didn’t necessarily want to know about the girl who used to be her best friend.

“Something really not good.” Purposefully unloading the dishwasher, Tara missed the narrowing of the Slayer’s eyes, her own agitation increasing every time she thought this through. She’d spent half the morning debating with herself about telling Buffy and Spike her suspicions over what she’d inadvertently discovered about Willow and earlier, when she’d stopped outside their room, she’d heard Dawn’s voice, Tara had thought better of interrupting them.

“Tara? What aren’t you telling me?” Buffy had been watching her, realizing that Tara was very upset about what she was about to say.

Blowing out a breath, Tara said, “I think the reason why Spike got hurt is because Willow summoned the knights.”

Buffy stared at the witch, a hundred different thoughts racing through her head. No, she wouldn’t do that, my Willow wouldn’t. . . you so sure about that Buffy? This is the same Willow that hurt your sister and her own girlfriend and brought you back from heaven. . . and who else has she been hurting? What else has she done that you don’t know about? This isn’t the same girl you first met five years ago. . . this is someone else. Buffy got a faraway look in her eyes, staring into nothingness, not seeing the girl in front of her.

“Does she hate me that much?” Unaware that she’d said the words out loud, Buffy was startled back to herself by Tara’s soft hand on her arm.

“I don’t think its you she hates. I’m not sure what she’s feeling anymore.” Tara watched carefully as Buffy snapped back to herself, concern for the other girl overpowering her own sense of unease.

“So why would she do something like that? What’s the purpose behind summoning the knights?” This was bewildering, Buffy couldn’t understand why someone else would do something like that. “The knights were there to hurt Dawn, why would she summon them?”

Drawing Buffy toward the back door, Tara tried to settle her thoughts. They were the only ones downstairs at the moment, Dawn was out with Casey, Wesley had gone to the Magic Box and Spike and the baby were still sleeping upstairs. It was as good a time as any to talk about what she’d seen in Willow’s aura. Before they knew it, the girls were seated on the back step, basking in the late October sunlight.

“I’m not sure, completely sure about this, so you have to, to just trust me on this, okay?” Tara looked at Buffy, unconsciously wringing her hands, trying to come up with a way to voice her concerns. Without waiting for a response, she tried again, ‘I just, the thing is,” she sighed deeply, stilling as Buffy’s hand touched her arm, then Tara blurted out, “her aura is dark and not good dark, sometimes dark can be good, like dark purple or dark gold or, dark blue and, and dark green. But this was dark red and dark black and . . “

The steam seemed to go out of her and Tara slumped down further on the step she was sitting on, her hands clenched together tightly. Bowing her head, hiding her face in her hair, her voice sounded very softly between them. “I think Willow is trying to hurt Spike. I think she tried to get his true face to show.”

The air was very silent, the street noises so very far away in that moment, like they belonged to another place and a different time, like the noises of everyday had no business being part of the conversation taking place on the back porch. Neither girl moved, each of them lost in the enormity of what one had just confessed to the other.

The truth isn’t always kind, nor is it caring of what was before or what will come after, only that it is heard. Truth never has an easy birth. But once it arrives, there is a feeling of rightness, a sense of having known what the truth is before it is even uttered, an inescapable moment, when the speaker and the witness know, deep in their souls, that the truth has been revealed.

Buffy shivered, a chill working its way up her spine, dancing across every nerve. Her voice, when she spoke after so long a silence, was even and uninflected, almost devoid of emotion. “She wants to hurt him because of me. Because I’m not what she wants me to be. Because I haven’t gone to her or accepted what she did. Spike may have been the target of her anger, but she’s really pissed at me. Why else would she do what she did?”

There was no question about believing Tara, Buffy knew as soon as the other girl had spoken, that Tara was speaking truth. Willow had done the summoning. Had set into motion events that she couldn’t control . . . but hadn’t Willow always done that? How many times had Willow felt slighted or wronged or betrayed in some way only to lash out when control of a situation escaped her? When Oz left and she had no control over anything, Willow had lashed out and caught them all up in a spell that had colossal impact. . . and then, when she’d jumped . . again, there was Willow with the non-acceptance.

“Oh god. Tara. . . she’s. . . oh my god. She’s going to keep going until something bad happens right?” Buffy turned wild eyes to the other girl, her hand clenching and unclenching around her wrist. “What . . she can’t. I can’t lose him. I . . “

Tearing herself away from Tara, Buffy was through the back door before the other girl even realized that she was gone. The sound of feet pounding up the stairs was audible outside, then the sound of a door banging open echoed through the backyard. Barely able to make out their voices, Tara could guess what Buffy had done upon entering the room.

Dropping her head down into her hands, Tara tried to stop the tears, even all the while knowing it was futile.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He’d taken the last of the liquid morphine after Dawn left the room earlier. There hadn’t been all that much anyway and it was mostly just to calm the muscle spasms that had been wracking him since he’d drunk from Buffy at first light. He’d gotten a concession of sorts from her, when he’d agreed to drink – he wasn’t going to take more than just little bits until her – on the condition she agree to wait – until her courses were done. She hadn’t liked his condition, in fact had almost started another argument about it, but he’d verbally boxed her into a corner and she had no choice.

They had enough human blood on hand anyway that he could, if he wanted to, gorge himself on, but strangely enough he wasn’t all that hungry. What he was, was itchy and sore and he could really use a good soak and he needed to wash his bloody hair.

It was easier right now to focus on the physical ailments rather than the other things that had gone on in the last forty-eight hours anyway. At least the physical reminders were fading. The other stuff . . . Spike groaned and rolled over onto his side. Pretty much everything was healing, although he was still hovering near the halfway healed mark. Buffy’s blood would do the trick.

The baby shifted in his sleep, rustling the blankets a bit. Spike didn’t know much about babies, but he did know that two day old ones weren’t supposed to move around. They were just supposed to lay there. This one was restless. Shifting about, snuffling in his sleep, he was unusually active. Fair enough, child was of supernatural parentage, stands to reason something would be different about him. His parents were both master vampires, no doubt he’d gotten something from both of them, since they weren’t normal.

Which brought him back to thinking about his own . . . Dawn. From the first moment he’d laid eyes on her, he’d known there was something about her that called to him, something on such a deep level that he’d never questioned it. Just known she was somehow part of him – he’d never imagined that she literally was part of him. She was his.

His daughter.

Part of him was beyond angry that the monks had planted the Gem here, specifically for him, to lure him in, then engineered other events of his unlife to suit their purposes. He didn’t mind so much being love’s bitch – but he resented the hell out of being destiny’s plaything. Part of him hated the monks. They’d stolen something from him – and from Buffy, using The Initiative to do their dirty work, in turn stealing the blood and tissue samples from Initiative labs and. . . creating Dawn.

His anger didn’t matter then.

Wasn’t at all important.

Because every wrong thing the monks had done was outweighed by the one good thing they had done.

They’d given him Dawn.

His daughter.

And through her, the monks had given him a second blessing, because of Dawn’s appearance, he’d gotten the unattainable girl. He’d gotten Buffy.

So the anger wasn’t important at all.

Spike just let it go, and like vampire dust drifting away, the anger disappeared.

When the baby had cried, after Dawn had dropped the bombshell on them, he’d realized yet another benefit. Because of the monks, and Dawn, he and Buffy had the same chance that Angel and Darla had been given – and that, that was something he’d always wanted. Home. Wife. Family.

Opening his eyes to stare at the crib, Spike watched Connor shift around again. He was getting ready to let loose a full throated cry when big cool strong hands lifted him up to an equally strong cool chest. Crooning softly, Spike laid back down on the bed, Darla’s son cradled protectively in his arms. The baby settled down, mewled once, going right back to sleep.

“Your mum had the right way of it. Rather than hurt you, she did the right thing, to protect you.” His low voice rumbled in his chest and it wasn’t until his breathing hitched that Spike realized he had tears in his eyes. “Much as I hated your mum half the time, she did the right thing. Only thing she forgot was taking your idiot father with her. But tha’s all right, got old uncle Spike to watch out for you.”

Brushing a hand down the baby’s back, he said, “Promise to the memory of your mum, and my daughter, I’ll do m’best to keep you safe.”


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Her feet hit the steps at a dead run, pounding at the same rate as her heartbeat. What Tara had just said to her chilled her to the bones, coupled with what Wesley had said last night, Buffy was nearly in a full blown panic.

She knew it had taken a lot for Tara to admit that it was all Willow’s doing, to face the realization that Willow was at the root of what was happening now, that the reason Dawn was in danger, that Spike had nearly been dusted. In fact, save for Angel going homicidal again, almost all the bad stuff that had been happening lately was all Willow’s fault. Even the Huntsman’s appearance was her fault.

Buffy slammed through the door to their room, gasping breaths sucking in much needed air, her panic receding somewhat at finding the two of them curled up together on the bed. Connor was sleeping in the crook of Spike’s arm, his nose pressed up against the vampire’s chest, Spike’s right hand resting lightly on his back. Tears welled up in her eyes and she really wasn’t even sure why they did so.

Spike’s voice was soft in the room, trying not to disturb the baby sleeping in his arms. “What’s wrong?”

“I. . . Tara thinks Willow cast a spell, did something to bring the knights here.” Agitation was clear in Buffy’s voice and Spike opened his eyes to find her wringing her hands and pacing the room.

“An’ you came charging up here because?” He wanted to know the real reason her heart was pounding like a trip hammer and her breathing was off.

“Spike, she wants to hurt you. She wants you gone. I can’t. . . I’m not, I can’t let that happen. I don’t think I could survive that.” Buffy hadn’t stopped moving, unable to sit still or calm her panic.

“Kitten,” he paused waiting for her full attention. “Buffy, c’mere.” Almost reluctantly she moved toward their bed, still unable to stop hyperventilating “‘Member what you said ‘bout me? That I wouldn’t go away even if you sent me? How I’d keep at ya ‘til you took me back, Buffy, c’mere.”

Holding his arm out, he gestured for her to come closer. “Buffy. I love you more than you understand. If somethin’ were to happen – even if I got dusted I’d find a way back. ‘M not leavin’ you, kitten, ever.”

She moved onto the bed, Connor snuggled tightly between them, his arm covering them both, his hand firmly on her butt. Buffy looked into his eyes, seeing again the look of fierce tenderness he held just for her, “I love you. Have from the first. Not goin’ to waste any more time. Got you, Niblet and spawn here to worry over. Not goin’ w’out a fight.”

Her hand reached out to cup his cheek and Buffy felt the walls around her heart crumbling away to nothing. “God, Spike – how could I not love you?”

Spike’s slow grin warmed her heart. Not quite how he wanted them said, but he’d take this until she was ready to say the others.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


The phone ringing was an annoyance her sleeping mind didn’t want to deal with, so she tried ignoring it. It would ring for a while, then stop for a little bit, then start ringing again. Really, couldn’t you just leave me alone?

Groaning and rolling over at the same time, Willow finally gave in and reached for the phone. ‘What is it now Xander?”

There was silence for a moment, then his voice drifting over the line asked, “how did you know it was me?”

“Xander? It’s a witchy thing.”

“Oh. I thought maybe you got caller ID.” There was a hint of a tease in his voice, but Willow wasn’t in a playful mood.

“What do you want Xander?” Her exasperation was clearly audible, even to Xander.

“Geez, Wills, you could be less happy to hear from me you know.” Slight hurt came over clearly despite the phone line and Willow winced a bit. She was being a little too mean to him.

“Sorry Xand. Have a bit of a headache. Not feeling so chipper.” Sitting up now, Willow twirled the phone cord around her fingers, “but what’s up?”

“Dunno if anyone’s called to tell you, but Angelus is on the loose and possibly on his way to Sunnydale.” Willow’s entire body stiffened, every nerve on alert.

“What happened?” Willow’s voice was eager, impatient for Xander’s explanation.

As he launched into what happened, Willow sort of turned him out, the beginnings of a plan formulating in her head. Angelus is back. I’m the only one with the restoration spell, and . . . . he’s going to come looking for me. He’s going to try and kill me.

“Xand? Does anyone have an idea if he’s coming here soon?”

“I haven’t talked to Buffy since last night.” Not wanting to tell Willow about what had happened between him and Anya, he focused instead on something else that bothered him enormously. “Wills? Are you sure you did this spell to bring Buffy back correctly? She’s all on board with the Spike is good train and I don’t get it – unless its some spell you did that went all wonky.”

Willow’s anger coiled and wound through her, rattling the edges of her nerves. The snap in her voice got his attention though, penetrating his usually slow wits. “No Xander. That’s not me. I didn’t make any mistakes.”

“Okay. No need to get all huffy with me.” Xander’s voice held a trace of fear, but he knew Willow would never hurt him. “Just thought you should know.”

“Thanks Xander. Nice to know someone is still my friend.” The bitterness in her voice was clear and something Xander couldn’t let go unremarked.

“C’mon Wills, you know I’ll always be around.”

“I know Xander.”

With a promise to meet him later at the Magic Shop, Willow hung up the phone, her mind running through numerous situations and scenarios. How to keep Angelus off my back with out becoming dinner.

Focusing a bit, Willow held out her hand, willing a small ball of sunshine into existence. Not satisfied with that, she breathed out some Latin, changing the sunlight to flame, watching it dance across her hand. Closing her hand into a fist, Willow smiled slightly.


I'm sure you guys all know by now, reviews are the bestest thing ever. Please let me know how you feel about this one. . . please?

[A/N: Sometimes you just have to take a step back, away from some things and then whatever it is sort of falls into place and everything works. That sort of happened here. Sort of. The plot points of this story are all done, its just a matter of getting it all on paper, or screen or wherever. I’m working on it. This chapter is a time compressing one, meaning that its going to be little snippets of moments in the next coming weeks, until it slows down again. Title is from Bonnie Franklin in the New York Times (An unhurried sense of time is in itself a form of wealth) and the quotes are as attributed. And the disclaimers are in full force and effect.]

Previously: Giles has come home with loads of information; Angel’s presence is being felt and everyone’s trying to find a way to get the chip removed.

Book Two, chapter 21. An unhurried sense of time.


Time is an illusion. Lunchtime doubly so.
Douglas Adams


We've erased a lot of the distinctions between night and day,
between weekday and weekend.
Our notions of time and space are collapsing.
Susan Orlean, Saturday Night in America


On Saturday, when Giles had been home for a couple of days, Spike showed up alone at the Magic Box, with a couple of books in hand and something obviously on his mind. It was fairly early for him to be up and around, which indicated something of importance. He’d come in through the tunnels, using the fairly busy underground routes in and around Sunnydale. The girls were meeting him here later, after they did some shopping. Buffy knew he was going to tell Giles about Dawn, and they’d told Dawn together what Spike was planning.

Giles was, for once, alone in the shop, Anya giving him the flimsy excuse of needing some girl time to herself and requesting the day off. He’d obliged, noting that something was bothering the girl, but secure that when she felt up to it, she’d no doubt tell them all what was on her mind.

“Rupert.” Spike rarely used given names in proper forms and when he did, the person always knew there was something important about to be said. “Niblet got into your flat when you were gone. Took some of the books Oxford brought.” He placed the set of four on the table, laying the smallest on the top. “She read them. Searchin’ out how she got here.”

The older man walked around the counter toward the books. “What did she find?”

Expelling air in a deep sigh, Spike sat down with his arms across the back of chair, unsure how to just say this. “She found out who she is.”

“What? Spike what do you mean she found out who she is?” Giles was confused. “Just tell me.”

After their talk the other day, when Dawn had slipped and told them, Spike had asked her for the journal so that he and Buffy could go over it. She’d given it to them and they’d read the thing together, picking up things that Dawn had missed, instances that she wouldn’t have known about.

Spike gestured toward the smallest journal. “Need to read that one Rupert. Should answer all your questions.”

Not wanting to wait, Rupert asked him again. “What’s in it?”

“Jus’ read the bloody thing. Answers are all in there.” Done with his questions, Spike got up and went back downstairs to start filling mail orders.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two and a half hours later, Giles closed the journal and wiped his eyes, answers to nearly all his questions regarding the Key filling his head. The journal also supplied a few other answers, unfortunately those answers were for questions Giles had never bothered to pose before. He’d known, after they destroyed the Sunnydale branch of The Initiative, that human and demon experimentation had been an ongoing practice in the labs. He’d known and hadn’t once thought that samples might have been taken from either Spike or Buffy. Hadn’t even thought to look for them in the aftermath.

Giles was now faced with the truth that it wouldn’t have mattered even if he had thought to go back; however, he was also realizing that somewhere, someone had the samples that hadn’t been destroyed. Sometime in the future, some bizarre hybrid like Adam could be reconstructed from those samples. He stared off, not really seeing his surroundings, instead letting his mind drift back nearly two years. Defeating Adam and the Initiative had taken the combined strengths of all of them, and at the end, even Spike had been of some assistance. There was no telling what they might face in the future, what madman could possibly dream up with the samples. It almost didn’t bear contemplating.

His supposition about the monks had been correct, which in hindsight was of little comfort. They had been capable of manipulating energy with far greater skill than he’d ever seen or encountered and it appeared they were not originally part of this dimension. But the vessel they used to house the Key was something else entirely. The vessel was purely human – as much as the child of any vampire and slayer could be – and although she had been manufactured – she was most definitely the child of Buffy and Spike.

Which explained so much. The irony of the situation was that all summer, Spike had stayed to protect Buffy’s sister, never once imagining that Dawn was something more. That Spike harbored feelings for Dawn and they were reciprocated was never a question, at least in his mind. Now the information in the journal was doubly important, but Giles doubted any of them but him were aware of that fact. If the child of a slayer and a vampire was strong enough to house an eternal elemental energy, there’s no telling what else that child or other children were capable of, what other strengths they would exhibit.

The coming months with Connor were going to be enlightening ones.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


It was domestic and very coupley of them; something that Buffy had never done with any of her other boyfriends, but everyone else was out doing their own thing and well, they needed to do some shopping. The house was dangerously low on groceries. But at least they had money to do the shopping with, because Giles had come through in a big way.

Unbeknownst to her, Giles had gone to the Council asking them for some financial support for their only active slayer. Citing the need for her to maintain her own household, since she had a dependent sister, Giles had pretty much effectively blackmailed the Council into providing housing expenses and incidentals. The Council had, in typical fashion, asked for concessions from Giles on her behalf and he’d resisted, refusing to budge on his position of requesting the necessary funds. But the Council had conceded the need for separate households, and understanding that the sister in question was not just another teenager; so they’d made arrangements for the payment, in full, of the mortgage that was still outstanding. All other household expenses, including the electricity and water bills, would be paid monthly out of an account Giles would manage. Anything else that was needed would have to be supplied by the Slayer herself.

So here they were, in the supermarket, her and Spike with the baby, shopping. Picking out foods. Buying diapers. Getting formula. Doing stuff she never ever thought she’d be doing, with probably the last person she’d ever thought to be doing all those things. But it was fun. Spike had a weird way of making everything easy. He was tossing boxes of pasta in the cart, while Buffy held the baby, dragging the cart behind him, grumbling all the while good-naturedly about how this was ruining his image.

Connor was resting against her shoulder and Buffy tried to reach for a jar of sauce that was over her head and she nearly brought down the whole display on top of the two of them. A little old lady who was in the aisle with them gasped, drawing Spike’s attention and he was there, holding the jars up, before any of them could fall. He got them back up on the shelf, then shifted his attention to her. He was all set to yell, but the look on her face stopped him short, so instead he gathered her into his arms, holding them both close.

“All right, sunshine?” He kissed her forehead, his hand cupping Connor’s as he let her lean into his chest.

“Yeah. I think so.” But she was shaking and he could feel it, so he knew she wasn’t really okay.

“How’s m’sprog?” Spike lifted the baby up onto his shoulder, wrapping his arm around Buffy. She was overreacting and they both knew it, but he wasn’t going to mention it. And they both knew it was because of the baby.

Neither of them was paying attention to anything around them until the old lady whose gasp had alerted Spike patted Buffy on the back. “Its okay dear. First baby’s take a bit of getting used to. You’ll learn.”

Buffy lifted her head to gaze into the kind face and sniffled. “I’m not used to this.”

“Its okay dear. You and your husband will find your way.” She smiled at the two of them, patting Buffy again, then laid her hand on Connor’s back. “It’s a boy, yes? I’m sure he’ll grow up big and strong, just like his daddy, here. Congratulations and good luck.”

With that, the little old lady walked away, but not before winking at Spike.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cordelia was sitting on a lounge chair, listening to the waves break gently on the Mexican shore when the buzzing of her cell phone interrupted. Grumbling half-heartedly, she flipped open the phone without looking at the incoming number.

“Hello Cordy. How’s my favorite girl?”

His voice sent shivers down her spine and she didn’t speak, almost didn’t breathe.

“C’mon, Cordy, don’t forget to breathe.” The false sincerity in his tone was her undoing and she gasped in a few quick puffs of air.

Listening to her strangled gasps, Angel chuckled. “You know what’s great about cell phones? You never really know where the other person is calling you from.”

Despite the fact she knew he couldn’t be that close, since the nearest shelter was five hundred feet behind her, Cordelia whirled around, looking for him.

“Know what else is great about cell phones?” He paused, waiting for his question to sink in. “You can track them.” He laughed then, the sound going right through her.

The connection ended and Cordelia was left staring wild-eyed all around her, goosebumps erupting all over her skin.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Tara had gone on a date, with someone that Oz had introduced her to, and that was slightly weird, at least to Buffy. Spike was out playing poker and she was kind of at loose ends, although Connor was a handful. He was on the floor, playing with the toys everyone kept buying him whenever they went out, while she folded laundry. I am domestic Buffy. Go me. She smiled a little, wondering when she’d become a mom and how it didn’t give her such a weird feeling.

Connor was a sweet baby, as long as he wasn’t howling to be fed, and he was generally quiet. When the clothes were all folded Buffy watched Connor for a minute, as his plump little fist waved around the rattle. Aren’t babies his age supposed to just lay there and do nothing? According to the book Wesley had gotten – What to Expect the First Year – Connor wasn’t supposed to be moving or doing anything other than sleeping and eating. Instead he wriggled around and held things, grabbed at all sorts of stuff they waved in his face; he recognized them all too. He knew whenever Spike was in the room, sometimes crying until the vampire caved and picked him up, reacting whenever he heard Spike’s voice. Thinking for a moment, Buffy decided to try something. Very softly she called out his name, watching him as he stilled. She did it again and it was very clear that he heard her. The third time, he was struggling to move in her direction.

Buffy got up, walked a bit toward the front door and called him again. His arms and legs went crazy, flailing as he sensed she’d moved further away from him. She could see his face screw up into a bit of a scowl, which was adorable on his tiny features. Buffy moved closer and called his name. If a baby could snap his head up and look directly at someone, Connor did. Buffy called his name a third time and his little legs pumped up in the air like he was trying to run to her. Buffy laughed and Connor did it again. Dropping down to her knees, scooting over to him, she leaned down and nuzzled him.

“How’s my big boy?” Play nibbling on him, she blew raspberries onto his cheek and when Connor grabbed at her, Buffy cooed at him, “there’s my baby.”

“No. He’s not yours. Projecting much?” Dawn’s voice came at her from the kitchen and Buffy looked up into the angry eyes of her sister. No. She’s not my sister. That’s my daughter.

“Hey Dawnie. How was the movie?” Not realizing that Dawn was brewing for a fight, Buffy went right back to the baby without waiting for her answer.

“He’s not yours you know. Not really.” Finally Buffy heard the words Dawn was saying and she picked up her head to look at her.

“Dawn? I know that. I’m just playing with him.” Dawn made a face and Buffy waited for the outburst.

“But he’s not yours.” Oh, okay, that’s what’s bothering her.

Leaving the baby where he was, Buffy got to her feet, walking closer to Dawn. “I know who his parents are Dawnie. But its not fair to him to treat him like he’s unwanted. He didn’t ask for any of this.”

Dawn looked away, a set look on her features, “he’s still not your baby.”

“No. He’s not.” Buffy reached for her, pulling Dawn’s chin so that the teen had to look at her. “I don’t pretend that he’s mine either.”

Dawn’s eyebrow raised and her hip thrust out and oh boy does she look like her father right now, and Buffy could see Spike in her so clearly and she was just watching her not really hearing the words her sis. . daughter was speaking. “You sure about that?”

“Am I sure about what?” Buffy was confused.

“God are you even listening to me? Do you even know I’m here?” Dawn’s voice rose in volume, climbing toward ear-splitting levels.

“I know you’re here. Dawnie, why would I pretend that he’s mine?” Refusing to let her pull away, Buffy wrapped her hand around Dawn’s wrist. Dawn tried pulling away, but Buffy held on.

“Why wouldn’t you? Its Angel’s baby. . . isn’t that what you’ve always wanted?” There was real sarcasm in her tone and Buffy though perhaps Dawn’s reaction was partially for herself and partially for Spike. Does she think that I’m doing this because Connor is Angel’s? Knowing that she’d already had this discussion with Spike and he knew how she felt, but that no one else did, Buffy quickly realized that everyone might be thinking the same thing.

“No. I don’t want his baby. Honestly? I don’t want anything to do with him.” Buffy looked into Dawn’s eyes, trying to make her understand. “I’m so over Angel.”

Big tears sprung into Dawn’s eyes and Buffy pulled her close. “What’s really wrong?”

“Nothing.” Her jaw clenched and she pulled away from Buffy.

“Dawnie. Something’s bugging you. So dish.” Buffy grabbed Dawn’s hand and pulled her over to where Connor was on the floor. She sat down, then looked up at the teen and said, “c’mon, sweetie, sit down here with me.”

“Its just, you know, I see you with him and it seems like all you want is to take care of him and you know, what about Spike? And what’s with the baby? I mean I thought you didn’t want . . . you never said you wanted babies and now all of a sudden Angel’s baby is here and now you’re all oohh baby and aww and how come. . . its just not fair.”

Buffy hid her smile, because Dawn hadn’t breathed through any of that halting explanation, which didn’t even make much sense at all. The last words struck a chord, though, so Buffy focused on them. “What’s not fair?”

Finally breaking down, Dawn choked out, “because he gets to be a baby and I . . . I don’t . . All my memories about that are false. None of them are real and it . . would have been . . . “

Oh. That’s what’s this was all about. “It would have been different if at least part of them were real?” Buffy wasn’t sure what Dawn was getting at, or really trying to say other than she wished she’d been given memories of growing up with her real parents.

Dawn wiped her eyes, not looking at Buffy. “Yeah. If you know, the monks had planted memories of you and me and Spike as, you know, what we really are.”

“Would’ve been way complicated, don’t you think?” Buffy thought about it for a moment, then blurted out, “but couldn’t you just picture the look on Giles’ face? He’d have headed right for the books.”

Dawn let out a watery giggle. “What would’ve been even funnier would have been Xander’s reaction.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Patrolling with the Buffybot was enough to drive him round the bend. Spike was not looking forward to being out there, trailing after the robotic image of his love, but they had all decided that one of them should be home at all times with the baby. Connor was thriving, had grown like a weed in the last two weeks, and was constantly wriggling around; doing things a normal infant didn’t do until much later. Things at the house had settled down also, Wesley had moved out to join Giles at his flat, since sleeping on the couch was decidedly uncomfortable and Buffy and Spike were contemplating a move into Joyce’s old room.

It was nearly time to get out there and patrol, and since it was his night to go, he was restless and pacing around like a panther without enough room to roam. Spike was also missing Buffy, since sleeping with an insatiable infant wasn’t his idea of fun. Probably as a side effect of his growth spurts, Connor was still eating every couple of hours, which left their sex life suffering. Not that Spike minded, well, he did, but the spawn came first, much as he hated admitting it. He didn’t care much as long as the sprog didn’t yowl at the top of his lungs, in the ear splitting howl he seemed to have perfected, whenever his belly wasn’t full.

There were moments too, when Buffy couldn’t soothe the boy and only Spike’s touch would settle him down. His theory was that the infant was used to the lack of a heartbeat and it in some way comforted him to be held by Spike. So there were long nights when he and the sprog were up and everyone else was asleep. Spike realized how funny it was when he was up late, the television on and he found himself with the infant in his arms and he was talking out loud to the baby. It had been the most surreal moment of his unlfe; William the Bloody, the Slayer of Slayers, watching late night infomercials with a two week old infant in his arms, one he had no intentions ever of harming. It was enough to cause him a serious case of, as Dawn or Buffy would put it, the wiggins.

Everyone was gathered in the Magic Box; Giles, Wesley and Anya arguing over some obscure point of demonology, Buffy was holding Connor and making faces and noises at him, Oz was hanging out by the front door, waiting for Tara to come back from classes and Dawn was also due to arrive in any minute. But he was restless. There was a itch along his spine that no amount of scratching would alleviate. He couldn’t shake the feeling; it was like a hum just beneath his skin, a nagging sense of some impending disaster.

He snorted mentally, ticking off the number of things that could explode in their faces. The Huntsman and the hounds had effectively stopped hunting the innocent or nearly innocent; Willow had drifted in and out of their lives, meeting here and there, accidently running into Tara, who still put her off about having a real discussion and then there was Angelus. That at the moment was his biggest worry. Angelus had been too quiet in the last couple of weeks, leaving subtle reminders of his presence.

The scariest moment had been when he’d tailed Tara home just a couple of nights ago. But that was nothing, really, in the scheme of things. Spike knew Angelus better than any one else, and he knew this was all part of the game, lulling them all into a sense of security and then he would strike. And strike hard.

He stopped pacing, turning on his heel to watch Buffy, his head cocked to the side. She was not classically beautiful, not like some other women he’d known, there was too much character in her face for that, but there was a beauty all the same. A smile traced across his face, as he stood just watching her, he completely was unaware his actions had garnered his own audience. Anya nudged Giles, who was standing behind her, pointing her chin in their direction.

Spike was standing on the upper level of the store, his eyes trained on Buffy and the baby, an expression on his face that Giles had never seen before. The soft lighting of the area at the table complimented Buffy but it was also clear that it wouldn’t matter what light she was bathed in, because it was obvious that in Spike’s eyes Buffy was everything. Anya sighed softly and Giles glanced down at her, catching the sadly wistful look in her eyes.

Anya had been unusually and uncharacteristically quiet since the arrival of Wesley and Connor. There were times he wanted to question her about why, and he’d heard from Wesley about the incident when Xander had frightened her, but he was fairly certain the reason behind her introspection. Even before his successful trip to England, Giles had begun to notice a rift between the former demon and her boyfriend, however he’d chosen to stay out of their situation. But the sadness in her eyes as she watched Spike eyeing Buffy called to him.

Giles laid a hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently, silently lending her some support. Spike moved, breaking the spell they were all under, leaning down to say something that only Buffy could hear and Giles made a snap decision. Buffy’s face lit up, her eyes glowing as Spike’s hand reached out to ghost along her cheek and she leaned into his touch. Watching the two of them, Giles knew he had to do what the crazy notion in his head was telling him to do.

Once more Spike leaned down, whispering something into Buffy’s ear that caused her to blush hotly and swat his arm. The leer on Spike’s face left no illusions about what he’d said or what was on his mind but somehow that didn’t really bother Giles.

“Buffy? Why don’t you go with Spike tonight,” and glancing down at the woman standing next to him, Giles continued, “Anya and I will stay with the baby.”

With a quick glance up at Spike, Buffy asked, “you sure? You don’t mind?”

“No. I don’t, but, well, I didn’t exactly. . . “ he hemmed and hawed so much that Anya finally came to his rescue, announcing, “I don’t mind. I’ve nothing else to do.”

“There. Its settled. You and Spike go patrol and we’ll sit with the baby.”


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wesley was heading to Los Angeles – in the quest for a demon-friendly surgeon – they’d run up against a brick wall. Dr. Thomas wasn’t a neurologist, was in fact an orthopedist who’s first choice in medicine had been obstetrics and the only other surgeon in Sunnydale was another obstetrician. Two others they’d contacted had refused, so Wesley had volunteered to try and get his contact at Wolfram & Hart to give up more information. The good news was they now had x-rays of Spike’s head, so that Wesley could use those to show them what the situation was.

Giles had privately told Wesley that it appeared they were going to have to contact the Initiative, which everyone had agreed was a last resort.

He was leaving as Dawn and Casey trooped in the door; his meeting with Lilah Morgan scheduled for nine. Dawn watched him go, a question in her eyes, but because Casey was present she never voiced it.

Anya’s greeting was subdued and Dawn knew there was something bothering the ex-demon but she was in the dark about that too. She was beginning to think that no one trusted her at all, when Buffy said, “Dawnie? Giles and Anya are gonna stay home and babysit tonight.”

“I don’t need one.” She very nearly stamped her foot, stopping when she realized how very childish that would be.

“Not for you – for Connor.” Buffy rolled her eyes.

“Oh.” Shrugging her shoulders, Dawn said, “okay then.” She thought for a moment, realizing Buffy was supposed to be home that night and Spike was supposed to patrol with the Buffybot. “Where are you going?”

“Out with Spike.”

They’d told Casey that Connor was Spike’s nephew, and that his mother had been badly injured in an accident and wasn’t going to recover. Since Spike was her only family, he got custody because the baby’s father was a jerk and in jail. The story wasn’t far off the mark and explained why Buffy and Spike had the baby.

“You kids have fun.” Dawn giggled when she realized Spike was tugging her sister toward the door, his impatience evident. “Gee Spike, you’re not gonna wait until full dark?”

His “no” was said as the door was closing behind them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


So far, patrol had been a huge bust, pretty much the way it had been since Angelus had come back into town. It was so dead in fact, that Spike was beginning to question why they were even bothering anymore, because even the humans seemed to have noticed. There were more people on the streets than he remembered seeing in a long time, and Spike looked over at Buffy, who was walking to his right, a somewhat distracted air about her.

“How come everyone’s out and about?” He was bored and if something didn’t show up soon, the itching along his spine was going to drive him round the bend.

“Thanksgiving is next weekend.” Buffy scrunched up her face, thinking about the holiday. ‘First one without Mom.” She sighed. “I guess I’m gonna have to figure out how to not ruin a turkey and learn how to make a decent pie.”

“Seem to remember that last one wasn’t so bad.” He swung around to watch her, walking backwards.

“Please, that turkey was overcooked and the only thing that came out perfectly were the mashed potatoes. Everything else was bad.” She made a face at him, more than willing to admit she wasn’t up for cooking an entire Thanksgiving meal.

“Ah. . . sunshine, you were also fighin’ a whole tribe of mystical Chumash that day.”

He paused searching his memory. “Yours truly was tied up and unable to help, Red was going on about exploitin’ the natives an’ the whelp ended up all sickly. It’s a wonder anythin’ turned out well.”

She stared at him, looking for any sign of sarcasm. When she found none, Buffy nodded. “There was a lot going on. I don’t remember though, why it was so important that everything turn out perfectly. It was only us, the only new one was you.”

Spike stopped walking. His eyes were on her and Buffy couldn’t fight the blush that bloomed across her cheeks. Dark blue eyes bore into hers and she didn’t want to blurt something out that would further embarrass her.

“So the only thing different was me.” He reached out to touch her chin. Deciding to leave that one alone, he thought about the time he’d spent with Giles. Knowing she’d never share her real feelings unless he was up front about it first, Spike whispered gruffly, “never did thank Red for that spell.”

“Thank her?” Buffy looked up at that, her eyes fixed on him. “Why’d do you wanna do that?”

“She gave me somethin’ I’d wanted.” He paused, watching as what he was saying registered. “Didn’t wanna admit it then but yeah, I wanted you.”

The truth was there, easily broadcast by his eyes on her. “Spike? Promise you won’t laugh?”

“Won’t laugh.” He kissed her forehead, waiting for her to speak.

“I thought you were the best kisser in the world.”

His smirk was back and he swaggered, then swooped back to tug her along. “Would’ve shagged you senseless if it had gone on longer. Then Cardboard wouldn’t have been around.”

Thoroughly surprising him, Buffy said, “I was trying to be normal. Riley was normal.”

Spike snorted out something too low for Buffy to make out, turning an innocent look on her. “Nahuh, Spike tell me.”

“All right. Should’ve . . . just. . . dunno. Soldier boy got off on the pain. Liked bein’ miserable.” He ducked his head, not looking at her, aware that this was a potentially dangerous subject for them to be discussing, but as usual, his mouth was moving before he realized it. “Didn’t like not bein’ the strong one. Tried to make you feel like you weren’t good enough.”

Buffy was quiet for so long that he thought she was building up for a good fight, but when he stole a glance at her, she was staring down at the ground, watching where they were walking. In a very small voice, she said, ‘I guess I missed that. I thought I needed normal. Everyone said that. . . . normal was what I was supposed to want.”

He made some sort of grumbling noise, but she was speaking again, “only one person ever saw me. Only one person that ever really got me.”

“Oh?” Half expecting her to say Willow or Angel, Spike was surprised when she flicked his arm. “What’s that for?”

“Yep. Only one.” She looked up at him, the soft moonlight playing across her features, her eyes dark and twinkling. “Imagine that a vampire understanding a slayer.”

Spike didn’t say anything, just watched her from under his lashes, waiting for her to speak. “Angel never really understood me. Did lots of things that . . . He made decisions on what he thought was right. But only . . .it was you. You were the only one who got me.”

Buffy stepped closer and his arms automatically curled around her. Reaching up, she curled her arms around his neck and Spike grinned. “I know you Slayer. That’s why.”

She whispered back at him breathlessly. “Yeah. I guess you do.”

He was about to lean down to kiss her when a voice came out of the shadows. “Really, that’s just. . . So sweet.”

They broke apart, going into an anticipatory stance, their figures almost back to back, waiting for Angel to show himself. He didn’t disappoint, emerging from behind a crypt, deceptively at ease. “Nice night, moon’s shining down ever so softly, and two lovers are out for a stroll. Makes a pretty picture.”

Unconsciously they shifted, moving so that their dominant hands were on the outside, standing almost side by side.

“You two are soo adorable together. Just cuter than anything. But I have to ask, who’s home with the baby? Did you just leave the two kiddies alone? Or is Willow’s girl there? Hhmmm?” Angel leaned back on his heels, his hands in his pockets.

Neither one of them spoke, for once Spike holding his tongue. But there must have been some change in his expression, because Angel started speaking again. “You know Spike, this won’t last. She’s human and, well, fickle. Can’t decide what she wants, can’t keep a man. You’ll get tired of her and leave.”

Without warning, about ten or so of Angel’s minions jumped down from the tops of nearby crypts and they were surrounded. Angel drifted off, knowing they would make short work of them, uncaring of the losses.

They were fighting, punching and staking right and left, and suddenly Buffy realized she’d gotten separated from Spike. Dusting the last of the minions she’d been fighting, Buffy searched around looking for him. Moving back toward where she last remembered seeing him, she didn’t start to panic until he wasn’t there, and there were only piles of dust scattered around. Moving faster, she half ran toward his old crypt, her eyes sweeping over the grounds of Restfield. Spying a dark spot and seeing something move in the shadows, Buffy set off in that direction, only to skid to a halt when she recognized what she was looking at. It was Spike leaning over someone, talking and gesturing wildly.

Buffy walked closer, then caught a glimpse of who Spike was talking to.

It was Drusilla.


[A/N: Thanks to everyone who waited oooh so patiently for the story to get to this point. Everything that I’ve thrown into the cauldron is going to start bubbling and boiling and. . well, we’ll see whether this will be a bitter brew or something more savory. . . . The title is from a quote by Peter Ustinov, (Love is an act of endless forgiveness, a tender look which becomes habit) and the quotes are as attributed. Disclaimers, as always, are in full force and effect.]

Previously: Wesley has gone to meet with Lilah Morgan regarding surgeons; Dawn had a moment with Buffy about Connor; and Drusilla is back in Sunnydale. This picks up exactly where we left everyone.

Book Two. Chapter 22. Tender looks becoming habit.


At the touch of love everyone becomes a poet.
Plato

Love is something eternal, the aspect may change, but not the essence.
Vincent van Gogh

To love and to be loved is to feel the sun from both sides.
David Viscott

Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind,
And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.
A Midsummer Night’s Dream, act I, sc. I


There was something interesting that happened to females when infants were introduced. Even females that had never expressed an interest or desire or any other concern about children became enamored with infants. The tinier the better it appeared. Giles was fascinated by the entire process. Buffy was constantly holding the boy, Dawn was usually eager to play with him, Tara was downright motherly and, lo and behold, even the former vengeance demon Anya was reduced to googly eyes and sotto voce behavior. It thoroughly mystified him.

And while he could admit that the baby was kind of cute and appealing, he didn’t see the need to get all starry-eyed over his presence. What was interesting and perhaps of some importance, at least in his opinion, was the boy’s development. He reacted differently when certain people were around, and it appeared his sense of smell was acute, because whenever he smelled his bottle, he howled piercingly, until the bottle was put in his mouth. It was a wonder Spike hadn’t purchased earplugs to block out the sound. And it wasn’t crying. It was howling.

Like he was doing at the moment. Anya was in the kitchen, fixing his bottle, while Giles tried to calm the infant. It was proving unsuccessful. Connor was wriggling in his grasp, howling his displeasure to everything in the general vicinity, including dogs. Giles almost wondered if there was more than vampiric blood shared between Dawn and Connor, because the pitch in each of their shrieks had to be identical.

He was fumbling, awkwardly holding the baby up to his chest, trying to rub his back and pat him at the same time, while trying not to crumble to his knees because of the damage to his eardrums when Anya finally came back into the living room. “Giles. What are you doing?”

“Apparently nothing. Is that bottle done?” The frustration in his voice was evident and he unceremoniously thrust the baby at her. “Here. You take him.”

Anya cocked her head to the side, taking the baby and giving him the bottle all in the same motion, talking to the boy, making insane noises, but her words were directed at him. “Silly Poppa Rupie. . .he doesn’t know how to take care of hungry little babies. . . such a silly old man.”

Giles huffed a bit, when his brain registered what she was saying. “Really, must you?” He took off his glassed, peering at her intently. “I’m not old. Nor am I Poppa anything.”

Anya laughed. It was such a happy sound, one that she hadn’t made in quite some time, and it made him smile in return. She’d been so quiet lately, quite unlike her usual self, and it pleased him now to see her in a better frame of mind. “Giles. You need to lighten up and smile more. Makes you look younger.”

His retort of “well laughter suits you much better than brooding does,” was out of his mouth before he could censor it, and the look on his face made tears well up in Anya’s eyes.

“I haven’t had much reason to smile lately. I just don’t understand.” She looked away from him and he laid a hand on her arm, squeezing gently. He remained silent, waiting for her to elaborate. “If you love someone you shouldn’t say mean things. And tell them to be quiet all the time, right?”

“And your relationship shouldn’t be something to hide either.” She looked up into his eyes, trying to find some enlightenment there. “Am I thinking wrongly? These emotions. . sometimes I just don’t understand.”

He was beginning to, understand that is. So he told her. “I think you aren’t wrong. In fact, you’re quite right in believing that being in love shouldn’t be hidden. Its something to celebrate.”

“I used to think so. But now I’m not so sure. I think love hurts too much.” Anya sat down on the couch in a huff, jarring the baby a bit.

“Perhaps you’ve just gone about this all wrong.” He stood in front of her watching her closely.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” Anya flushed and looked away from him.

Rupert smiled slowly. “Because I’m just now realizing that you’re an amazingly attractive woman.”

Her gaze snapped up to his and he thought the blush blooming across her face was terribly attractive and distracting. “You are?”

“Yes. I am.” He smiled crookedly at her and sat down on the couch beside her, reaching for the remote. "Shall we watch some television?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Realizing belatedly that Angelus’ minions were deliberately herding him away from Buffy, Spike tried repeatedly to break through and get back to her. His worry for her was uppermost in his mind and even with his superior strength, he couldn’t break through the number of minions blocking his way. It was only when he realized they weren’t fighting him that he actually stopped.

The hum just beneath his skin had become a near shout and Spike whirled around thinking it was some new threat that was causing it. Should have fucking known. Expected it so, why didn’t I recognize it? She was cradled, ironically enough, in the outstretched arms of a winged marble angel. Cradled? She’s bloody lounging there like the bleeding Queen of Sheba.

The sight of Drusilla, ivory skin clad in scarlet and black lace, against a backdrop of pure white marble, normally would have moved him. Would have had him aching to be buried inside her, surrounded by crimson blood. Now, looking at her posed, he felt none of the old pull, none of the old attraction. No pulsing need to join with her. Just a naggingly real fear that something had happened to Buffy. He scrambled mentally, trying to think of a way to extricate himself from this situation.

Playing for time, Spike paced in front of Drusilla. He waited for long moments, wondering what she was up to and why she would plan something like this. And as usual, she didn’t disappoint. “Hullo Spike.”

“Dru” was all he said, his eyes narrowed dangerously.

“Are you cross with me?” She pouted and where once it would have had him running to smooth things over or on his knees making it up to her, Spike just rocked back on his heels.

“Oh you are. . . . whatever for? Can’t be because I left you William, after all you left me first. Taken by sunshine.”

He remembered the first time she’d said that to him, a very long time ago, long before they’d ever decided to come to Sunnydale. He’d scoffed at her then, completely dismissing her. But he had been taken by sunshine. Call her that all the time. ‘S what she is. My sunshine.

Before he could say anything, Dru slithered away from the statue, flicking her fingers at the minions, dismissing them.

“Why did you come Dru?” He swung his arms wide. “Why bother? For him?” He couldn’t keep the bitterness from his voice. In the days and weeks following his escape from the Initiative labs, he’d tried everything to get some help – his distress sending reverberations through the bloodlines – yet none had responded, not even her. Instead he’d been forced to seek shelter and asylum from the Slayer. It had been the right thing, but his sire should have cared. “I needed you then and you ignored me. He calls once and you drop everything?”

“Miss Edith said you were already lost.” Drusilla tried placating him, but Spike was beyond caring.

“Fuck that soddin’ doll, Dru.” He looked at her, eyes hard and unfeeling, his nostrils flaring. “For once in your life, Drusilla, just tell me the truth, in plain English.”

“The truth? The truth is a whisper on the wind, a ray of light in the dark. The truth is not for the likes of us.” She was shaking her head, swaying a bit. “The truth already knows you, William. Sunshine and baby flowers. Precious little strawberries.”

Buggering fuck. “Drusilla you are mad as a hatter.” He flung out an arm, gesturing wildly, pointing her eastward. Spike stepped closer, until he was within touching distance. “He will be dust Dru. Leave now while you still can.”

She snapped at him, then giggled. “So brave and gallant, my knight, always protecting his lady fair.”

Spike rolled his eyes, loudly growling his aggravation. “Not yours Dru. Not for a long time.”

Drusilla curled into him, her hands on the duster’s collar. “Always mine Spike.”

He pushed her away, hard enough to make her stumble to her knees. “No Dru. Not then and not now.” He loomed over her, about to say something else when his attention was pulled away. That mouth-watering scent filling his senses was enough to tell him that his Buffy was on her way, he didn’t need her pounding hearbeat to know how close she was.

“Spike?” There was a quavering tone to her simple question, but he heard the tension clearly. Right then, she’s already seen Dru. How’re you gonna fix this one, eh, mate?

“Sunshine?” It took her half a dozen steps to reach his side, but as soon as she was in striking distance he hauled her closer, his eyes roaming over her, checking for obvious injuries. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” The hurt and fear were clearly audible in her tone and Spike knew it was because of the vampire behind him. She must have seen enough to misunderstand, or worse heard Dru’s last comment. He wasn’t hers. Had never really been hers, even when they’d been together. Spike stared down into Buffy’s eyes, his hands holding her shoulders so that she couldn’t possibly turn away from him. At first she wouldn’t look, wouldn’t return his gaze, but he shook her just a tiny bit and she finally looked up at him.

The emotion in his eyes humbled her. And yet there was still that tiny seed of doubt lingering in her mind. This was, after all, Drusilla she had found him with. Had it been Harmony, Buffy wouldn’t have felt it at all. But it wasn’t Harmony. Drusilla was the one constant in his life. And when she was gone. . . would it be Drusilla that he’d run too?

Drusilla was singing softly, swaying in time to a beat only she heard, her voice a bare whisper in the wind, and yet Spike felt no desire to turn away from the woman in his arms. His eyes bore into hers, midnight blue into forest green and he knew, oh yeah, nothin’ was worth losing her over. Not a bleedin’ thing on earth.

Without taking his eyes from Buffy’s Spike said to Drusilla, “go back to where you came from, princess. There’s nothin’ here for you.”

She couldn’t smile at him. Couldn’t make her face change expression. The only thing she could do was let the tears that had been held off by sheer force of will, well up in her eyes.

Sparing neither a glance nor another word for the vampire behind them, Spike moved closer to Buffy and kissed her forehead. Breathing out against her skin, he said, “c’mon kitten, let’s go home.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dawn was spying again. She stopped at the top of the stairs, straining her ears for any sound from the two adults downstairs, but she couldn’t hear anything. It was driving her crazy, not knowing what the heck was happening in her own house. And this was crazy, whatever it was between Anya and Giles. Well, not in the sense that it was icky, coz it kinda wasn’t. But more crazy because Xander was gonna lose his mind when he found out about it. And really, Giles should know better than this, coz he’s like old. And hey, it was way better than Giles and Joyce getting together. Dawn suppressed a giggle when she realized that had been one of the couples she had thought might have been her real parents. Nope. Sooo glad it wasn’t Giles and Joyce.

Once she’d found out the truth, it made complete and total sense to her. She’d never questioned it, about Buffy and Spike, never even thought to question it. It just made sense. In the hellmouthy, nothing really makes sense sort of way. There were some couples that just made sense to her and some that . . . she couldn’t see. Like Tara and Willow made sense in the same way that Willow and Oz had made sense. In a really weird way, Oz and Tara made sense too, but not in the smoochies kind of way. They sort of just fit together.

Like Buffy and Spike. If there were ever two people who fit together better than those two, Dawn had never seen them. Even though they’d only been together since Buffy came back, it felt like forever. Felt like they belonged to each other. It was so different from when Riley was here. He constantly belittled everything, without even realizing it. He dismissed her friends as useless, even while he tried to be a part of them, and he treated her and Joyce like they weren’t real. Dawn wrinkled up her nose. But hey, Riley was way better than Angel. At least Riley had just treated her like a stupid kid. Angel had treated her like a cross between a meal and an alien. Even knowing that those memories were fake didn’t do anything to making them any better.

Her ears pricked up and Dawn heard movement downstairs. Giles murmured something, then it sounded like he got up from the couch and walked into the kitchen. Taking the chance that he had, Dawn got up from her seat on the floor and made her way noisily down the steps.

Anya was changing Connor, after the chow hound had downed another full bottle and looked up when Dawn stopped at the doorway. “Hello Dawn.”

“Hey.” In preparation and as a cool cover, she had a full laundry basket in hand, using her chin, Dawn indicated the laundry. “I’m just gonna head down to the basement and you know, do some wash.”

“Okay. That’s a productive thing to be doing.” Anya nodded her head, then went back to her task.

“I’ll just do that then.” Dawn sauntered away, intent on her next target. Giles was in the kitchen, fiddling with the teakettle and obviously searching for something for them to snack on. “There’s cookies in the jar.”

He stood up so quickly that he nearly whacked his head on the cabinet, but managed to miss it by less than inches. “Dawn. You really shouldn’t sneak up on people.”

“Right. Coz I was being all stealthy.” She rolled her eyes and pretended insolence. She shrugged. “Anyway. There’s sweet stuff in there. Plus I think Spike has some chocolate hidden somewhere.”

“No. I was just looking for some biscuits.” Giles folded his arms across his chest, contemplating the teenager in front of him. He started to say something, then thought better of it. Judging by the look on his face, Dawn had an idea of what it was, and she decided to stop that idea from blooming into full fledged research.

“I don’t want to talk about it. About Buffy and Spike. Okay?” She moved toward the basement door, then looked at him over her shoulder. “I just wanted to know who I am. Who I really belonged too. It wasn’t anything more than that.”

“All right Dawn. I won’t bring it up unless you want to talk about it.” He understood her need to discover who she was, and who she was part of; it made perfect sense.

His easy agreement seemed to soothe her nerves, because she smiled at him and he was forcibly reminded just who her parents were when the smile ended in a slight smirk. “Thanks Giles.”

She was gone in a swirl of long dark hair, the sound of her feet thudding down the stairs countered by the light tap of Anya’s heels on the kitchen floor. Pausing to wash her hands at the sink, she turned to face him. “Connor’s asleep.”

“Oh good.” Giles suddenly didn’t know what to do with his hands and he was relieved when the kettle whistled. “I fixed us some tea.”

“Are you nervous?” Anya studied him carefully, her eyes watching his every move.

“I am.” He fiddled with the kettle, filling the teapot and placing it slowly back on the burner.

“Why? Am I making you nervous?” She smiled brightly at him. “I don’t mean to make you nervous.”

“Its not just you.” Deciding to take the bull by the horns, Giles stopped fiddling and looked directly at Anya. “Its me also. I’ve . . . I’ve developed. . . that is . . . “ oh buck up you git. “You are a beautiful and attractive and intelligent woman Anya. And you deserve much better than Xander Harris could ever give you.”

There. He’d said it. But he wasn’t prepared for her reaction at all, because when Anya burst into tears, Rupert Giles was at a complete loss. On the other side of the basement door, Dawn was silently screaming at him, give her a hug, c’mon Giles, just do it. Somehow, in the cosmic way of things on the hellmouth, he must have heard her, because Giles took two steps toward her and then folded her into his arms.

Peeking one eye through the partially opened door, Dawn pumped her fist once in the air, then with a huge grin, jumped down the entire flight of steps.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They were quiet the whole way home, both of them wrapped up in their own thoughts, neither one of them willing to share at the moment. Spike had a feeling he knew what was bothering her, but he wasn’t really sure he wanted to start this discussion anywhere but inside the safety of their own home.

For Buffy, seeing Drusilla had dredged up lots of memories and emotions she didn’t want to face. Not for a very long time. Drusilla had the love of both Angel and Spike and she feared that she would never, ever be able to compete with that, to carve out a place for herself. She’d known, deep down inside, in some way that Angel was more in love with her image than the real deal, but she wasn’t always so sure about Spike. Not that she doubted he loved her, but. . . sometimes the doubt about how long and how deeply would creep in. He’d been with Drusilla for over a hundred years. That was, in itself, an incredible feat. How could she hope to measure up to that? She wasn’t even going to have twenty more years with Spike. And that hurt. Because right now she wanted a. . . lifetime. A real lifetime. She wanted to be able to see Dawn grow up and have kids; hell, she wanted to see Connor grow up. But she wasn’t going to get that. And Spike would have a really long time to forget about her. A really, really long time.

Trudging in the back door, they missed the hurried movements and guilty expressions on the faces of the other two adults, wrapped up in their own thoughts. Giles and Anya bid them a hasty goodnight, slipping out the front door within moments of their arrival, barely imparting that Dawn was downstairs doing laundry and Connor was asleep in the living room.

Spike went to the basement door, telling Dawn they were home then locking up, while Buffy silently collected the infant and drifted up the stairs with him. Normally, since they were home so very early, Spike would have settled himself in front of the television and watched some movies or something, but tonight he didn’t even look at the television. He locked all the doors, left a light on for Tara and followed Buffy up the stairs.

She was just putting Connor in his crib when he walked in the doorway, and he stopped to watch her for a long moment. He knew she was upset about Drusilla, knew it was bothering her but he suddenly couldn’t think of a way to get her to open up. The only light in their room was from the small bedside table lamp and he thought, while watching her, that she was the most beautiful sight he’d ever laid eyes on. Figuring he might as well tell her that, Spike quietly murmured as he closed the door behind him, “you know she can’t hold a candle to you. You are the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.”

For once, he must have said the right thing, because she swung round to face him, her hands on the sides of the crib, her heart in her eyes.

“You are you know.” Seeing the denial on her face, Spike forestalled any vocalized refutation by closing the distance and repeating himself. “Trust me, kitten, she can’t compete with you at all.”

“Really?” Her voice was small and flooded with disbelief.

“Really.” He was standing close to her, nearly chest to chest, his hands resting on hers, his gaze focused intently on her. “Yeah. Really.”

Her eyes drifted closed and Buffy drew in a deep breath. His scent surrounded her, pulling her in and she swayed closer to him, just a little, but it was all the invitation he needed. Swinging up into his arms, Spike moved toward their bed, his words low and gruff against her ear. “If I have to prove it all night, I will.”

Arms around his neck, she nuzzled against the duster, wanting really to feel his skin. She must have made some noise, because he shifted her higher and her mouth sucked on a bit of his skin. He stopped in his tracks, inches from the bed, every nerve in him pulled taut. “Oh god, kitten. Don’t. . . not now.. . jus’ gimme a . . . “

His words ended in a growl when she nipped at the spot just under his ear. Spike couldn’t think, just wanted to feel her under his hands, responding to his touch. His brain was screaming at him to slow it down, but his body wasn’t listening. He moved his hands to grip her by the waist, rubbing his thumbs in circles on her skin. “Love you so much. . . so bloody much.”

Spike kissed her then, his mouth hungry and needy on hers, nipping at her lip, tongue curling against hers. She broke away, pushing the duster off his shoulders. “Spike. . . “

The momentary break gave him clarity. There were some things he needed to say to her, things she needed to understand. “Buffy. . . love, look at me.

He shrugged off the duster, tossing it on the chair behind him, stilling her almost frantic hands. “Hey, sunshine, listen to me. . . “ he caught the fear and tears in her eyes and he knew he had to speak before they got lost in each other. “Kitten, lemme hold you a moment. I want you to understand something.”

She nodded against his chest after burying her face against him, inhaling deeply. “I did love her.” He felt her stiffen in his embrace, but he knew he had to finish this. “I said did. .. . but it wasn’t anywhere near the way I feel about you. She freed me from being nothing, gave me enough to set me free of who I was. But she . . . much as I loved her, I wasn’t first in her heart. Not then. Probl’ly not ever.” Spike knew he was about to lay himself bare for her, but he didn’t care any more. He loved her, every inch, from her shampoo commercial hair to her incredibly powerful little feet; and it was time he made her understand what that meant.

“Dru was my way out. But you kitten, you . . . “ he smiled at her, a real genuine smile and tears welled up in his eyes as he looked at her. “You are everything. You make me feel things I’ve never felt, never thought I wanted to feel. You make me want things I told myself I couldn’t have anymore. I love you an’ I will never stop lovin’ you. Not if I live forever.”

Buffy pulled away from his chest, looking back up at him, tears sliding down her face. “I’ll love you even if you never love me back, kitten. I can’t help it. Don’t want to. Told you once I was drownin’, I meant it.”

Her hands slid beneath his shirt, curving up around his sleek back. She could feel the tension in him, feel that he was nervous about all this and Buffy just couldn’t fight it any longer. “I don’t want to lose you Spike. Not for any reason.”

“You’re not gonna sweetheart.” Inhaling deeply, Spike took one last gamble, and prepared himself for the rejection. “I . . . Buffy. . . “ he had to clear his throat, because the emotion was clogging it and he couldn’t force the words past his tongue, couldn’t even get them to form. . . but then a memory of another time he’d asked her something similar crossed his brain, and Spike grinned internally. Maybe. . . “I love you kitten. An’ I’m askin’ you to hear me out, before you say anythin’.”

Buffy smiled at him, then settled down on the bed, pulling him up after her. Her head hit the pillow and she waited patiently. He hovered over her, held away from her body by the strength of his arms, his face inscrutable. “The bond Dru an’ I shared was only Sire and Childe. . . nothin’ more. She wouldn’t . . . didn’t want to make it anythin’ deeper. An’ after a while I stopped thinkin’ about it.” Spike paused when she started to speak, saying, “Shush. I asked you to wait, yeah? Right then.”

“Stopped wantin’ anything deeper with her. With you, though, its different. All I want is more . . . somethin’ deeper. Something permanent. I want you with me . . no, not turnin’ . . . never that. But, kitten, I want . . . I’m askin’. . . : He slumped a little, his forehead resting against hers, unable to force the question out. Christ, why was this easier hopped up on magics than now? Coz now, you git, it means more.

“Spike?” Her arms were around him and he nearly couldn’t think anymore. “What are you saying?”

He blew out the breath he didn’t need to hold and ruffled her hair in the process. “I’m sayin’, Buffy, that I love you more than anythin’ else and that I want to make this permanent.”

Buffy brought a hand up to cup his cheek, forcing him to lift away from her forehead and look at her. “What are you asking me Spike?”

“Stubborn bint. Gonna make me spell it out for you?” He rolled over then, getting himself into a sitting position against the headboard, then pulled her over onto his lap. “All right then. Not gettin’ down on bended knee, already did that.” Taking a deep breath and not looking away from her, Spike finally spoke. “Guess I should have planned this out better, but . . . Buffy?”

Her smile was soft and full of love, something he never expected to see. “Spike? Would it help if you already knew the answer?”

Without thinking, the words shot out of his mouth, “bloody right it would. Never thought askin’ you to be mine would be this hard.”

Her giggle lit up the room and he realized belatedly what he’d just done. “Oh bollocks.” Spike watched her, then just finally said what he’d been thinking all along. “Wanna make you mine, kitten, want you to be my Mate. That means forever. Always. No matter what happens. We’d belong to each other.”


Please leave a review. I have no other validation than what you give me that this story is any good at all, that anyone likes it, that anyone thinks its worth continuing. I'm struggling with these chapters, because I really don't think they are any good, that any one thinks they are worth posting. So please, please, let me know. Just one little sign that you like it, that's all I ask. Thank you. Nia

[A/N: That last chapter wasn’t supposed to be so long, but somehow it became that way. The urge to write was on me, and well, I let the muse control it. I just copied down what he wanted. Blame it all on him. The title is from the Bard of Avon, Sonnet CXVI and quotes are as attributed. Disclaimers, as ever, are in full force and effect.]

Previously: Giles and Anya have bonded; Spike and Buffy had their first meeting with Drusilla, which prompted some heavy thoughts from both of them. This picks up immediately.

Book Two, chapter 23. An ever fixed mark.

For you and for me the highest moment,
the keenest joy,
is not when our minds dominate but when we lose our minds.
Anais Nin, Feb. 1932 from Henry and June

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O, no! it is an ever-fixed mark,
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.
Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle’s compass come
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error, and upon me prov’d
I never writ, nor no man ever lov’d.
Sonnet CXVI




Her smile faded a bit when she heard him say forever. “Spike, I don’t have forever.”

He grabbed her shoulders and held her still. “We don’t know that. Gonna have as long as I can give you, an’ even then it doesn’t matter. I’ll love you for the whole five minutes I have after you’re gone.”

Buffy’s brow wrinkled as she said, “five minutes? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Coz, sweetheart, I’m not living if you aren’t. Not going through that again. Chances are no one’ll be stupid enough to try an’ bring you back a third time.” He held on, his fingers almost digging into her muscles, willing her to understand what he was saying. “I couldn’t. . . not even for Lil Bit.”

“Oh. You . . . love me that much?” Her small hand reached up to run down his angular cheek, her eyes on his.

“Yeah. Been tryin’ to say that.” His hold on her eased a bit, letting her relax in his arms. “So?”

“So. . . you are asking me to . . . asking if I want us to belong to each other?” She was stunned, in a way. He was – the few times she’d paid attention when Giles was going over claims and mating, she understood that it was unbreakable, that it was powerful and that it was forever, more binding that any ring or legal documents could ever be – asking her to take a monumental step in their relationship.

It had only been a few months. . . since her return, since they’d become a couple. Was she ready for this? This was a huge commitment, bigger than anything she’d thought. She and Spike had sort of just drifted into this relationship, bypassing the dating thing she’d done with Riley. Unfair comparison Buffy, Spike is completely different from Riley. . . and stop thinking about him. Pushing him out of her mind, Buffy focused on Spike. He was pretty much everything she ever wanted but didn’t know; everything she needed and hadn’t realized. So what if it was only months. . . she had the sudden feeling that it wouldn’t have mattered if it was only days.

Buffy was silent for so long that Spike braced himself for the rejection he believed was coming. He looked away from her, his jaw clenched and body poised to get up and leave her alone, because he didn’t think he could sleep next to her if she refused him. She opened her mouth and Spike’s every muscle tensed.

“You want me to be yours. You want to be mine. That’s what you’re asking me, right?”
She wished he would look at her, because this was just so hard to say, so terrifying to admit.

“Yeah. ‘S what I’m askin’.” Her finger traced over his lips, and he unconsciously kissed the tip.

“Then maybe you wanna look at me when you get your answer.” Her words were a bare whisper between them.

Spike glanced down, prepared to look away quickly when he saw denial and was instead trapped by the love he found swimming in her eyes. Her hands pulled his forward, linking their fingers together. She opened her mouth, to say it, when her answer got caught in her throat and all she could do was nod her head in a yes. “Is that a yes, kitten? Coz I need to hear it.”

His voice was as quiet as hers had been and she finally managed to get it out. “Yes. That was a yes.”

The rumbling in his chest vibrated through her and Buffy melted into his arms. “Love you kitten, I do. Always.”

“Me too Spike.” She leaned closer into him and he could feel every inch of her against him and that was no longer enough. He needed to feel her around him, letting him sink into her depths.

Seemed like they both had had enough of talking, because the same instant his hands snaked beneath her shirt, hers wormed their way under his tee shirt lifting it up so that she could feel his skin. When they were both naked from the waist up, Spike leaned forward, reverently kissed both her nipples and then latched onto one of them. His hands caressed her and Buffy held him to her, her fingers smoothing up and down his sleek back, then resting in his curls.

His lips traced a path across her breasts, finding her other nipple. One hand wrapped around her, settling into the small of her back while his thumb made lazy circles over her puckered nipple.

She was melting, falling into him, wanting more when he moved, lifting her away from his mouth and hands. Buffy whined his name and Spike grinned a little, growling, “kitten, wanna be inside you, but this isn’t gonna work with clothes on.”

Standing her up, Spike popped the buttons on her pants, sliding them down to her feet in the same motion. One hand trailed up her inner thighs, parting her legs. His low rumbles of pleasure went right through her and he could sense the shift in her.

“C’mere.” he growled out as he pulled her closer. Buffy drifted toward him, gasping a little as two fingers slid up into her warmth. All her attention was focused on his fingers, the sensation of him gliding in and out of her, his thumb pressing on her clit. She wavered on her feet, her knees buckling at bit, forcing her to hold onto his shoulders.

One handed Spike somehow managed to get his boots undone and was working on getting them off his feet, trying to work the buttons on his jeans at the same time. Buffy broke free of the haze of want surrounding her to realize that he was struggling to get naked. Her small hands slid down his torso, cupping his ass under the denim. He stood, his fingers trailing wetly up and around her breasts. Buffy’s hand traced up his hipbone, over the hard planes of his shoulder and chest, finally resting on his face, her thumb tracing patterns over his lips. A soft smile bloomed across her features and one word slipped from her.

It was all the signal he needed. She’d done it. Said she wanted it and now. . . “Yeah, kitten. Yours.”

He closed the small distance between them, his erection hard against her belly, his arms reaching out to hold her close. They met each other in the distance between, lips melting together, tongues clashing. His hands were under her ass, lifting her up and Buffy wrapped her legs around his waist. “Need to feel you kitten. . . need you.”

Spike laid them down on the bed, his cock teasing at her entrance. “Now Spike, please.” She panted into his mouth, begging him to take her.

Shifting his hips, Spike pushed up and in, kissing her deeply at the same time. Buffy opened herself, guiding him in, her breath hitching when he finally slid in all the way. A tiny grunt of pained pleasure was forced from her and she whispered softly, “oh. You . . fill me.”

“Buffy. . . “ he was thrusting hard, angling deep, his forehead resting on hers. “Love you. Love you. . . . love you.”

Tears sprang to her eyes and she dug her fingers into his back, holding on. “Spike. . . Spike. . . “

Hard and fast he pounded into her, unable to slow down, thrusting out of control. His hips were pistoning into her and Buffy was writhing beneath him, holding on, her legs against him and Spike was going to. . . his balls were tight and hard and he knew she was close because she was frantically moving in time and his fangs were itching to taste her and he reared back, lifting her with him and he licked a path across her throat once and struck.

Buffy shrieked once as her first orgasm hit, then clamped her own teeth down on his neck and Spike was lost.

Her blood was on his tongue, inside him and he could feel her. . . every part of her, knew when her tears stopped then started again. His hips stilled, their gasping panting breaths filling the air, her tears pooling in the hollow of his shoulder and Spike felt his own tears welling up. He licked his marks closed, savoring the feel of her everywhere on him, her coppery sweet taste in his mouth.

Spike looked into her eyes, both wet with tears, his hands cupping her head, whispering softly, “mine.” He inhaled deeply, breathing out, “always. Forever. Mine. Till everything fades away an’ there’s nothing left.”

Buffy’s smile wavered a bit, fresh tears falling again. “Yes. Yours.”

His lips were gently on hers, then he whispered, “your turn.”

Her smile broke through the tears and she asked, “this means you can’t ever leave me, right?”

“Means I won’t. . . but yeah.” He waited, wondering what she was about to do.

Her arms circled round his head and she gave a good imitation of his growl, saying, “mine. . . mine. . . mine.”

Spike laughed then from sheer relief, then said back to her, “yours. Always. F’rever.”

Buffy’s head dropped down onto his shoulder, her breath warm against his skin. They were both quiet, neither one wanting to break the silence, Connor shifted in his crib, let loose a soft howl, then stilled again.

It seemed to break the silence between them and Buffy kissed the broken skin on his neck, feeling him shudder. His movement caused ripples through her and Buffy shifted a bit on his lap. “I’m not gonna get all fangy, am I?”

Spike laughed again, this one hard enough to forcefully remind her they were still intimately joined. “No. Though no one’s ever claimed and mated a slayer before. According to Rupert they were only potentials. Don’t rightly know what this is gonna do.”

“Spike?” There was a strange note in her voice.

“Yeah?” He leaned back a bit to look down at her.

“Can you never ever mention Giles again when we’re. . . . “

His laughter rumbled through both of them and he fell back, bringing her with him. She landed hard, and his hips bucked up, flexing in reaction. Instantly his expression changed and Spike reached up to cup her breasts. “That’s it kitten, need you again.”


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They had practically run from the house, barely taking time to say good night to the two blonds and give them an update on the whereabouts of the two children. Giles didn’t question them on how patrol went, eager for once to escape the scrutiny of the normally too perceptive vampire. But Spike hadn’t noticed anything amiss, hadn’t picked up on the awkward atmosphere between himself and Anya, which was a blessing in and of itself.

He was quiet on the drive to the apartment she shared with Xander, unsure of what to say or how to broach any subject. Giles had come to appreciate much about the ex-demon, including her wit and drive, and he was beginning to suspect that he might harbor more than friendly or co-worker affection for the girl. But there was the very real complication of her current romantic partner. Until she gave him some indication that they were no longer a couple, Giles had to operate under the assumption they were. And he wasn’t a poacher. He’d wait until she was free; If she ever decided to cut the boy loose.

But until then, he wasn’t going to make a move.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dawn heard them come in, heard Spike’s voice from the top of the stairs telling her they were home, then the slam of the front door indicating Giles and Anya had left quickly. Anya was strange, but she was cool, and since life was pretty good, Dawn wanted everyone to be happy.

Finishing up her laundry, Dawn headed for the living room, fully expecting to find Spike settled and already channel surfing. Instead the room was dark, only one light on and he was nowhere to be found. That was a surprise, because it was barely midnight and he rarely went to bed this early. Shrugging her shoulders, Dawn flipped on the television, curled up on the couch and prepared to watch bad late-night shows.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Buffy was draped over him, one leg curled over his hips, his cock still nestled in her depths and she was snoring lightly. Spike was wide awake though, his thoughts on the girl in his arms, one hand making idle circles on her bare back. He couldn’t sleep. Almost didn’t want to. He was listening to the sounds of Buffy’s and Connor’s breathing and heartbeats, his mind on what he and Buffy had just done.

It was the single most important moment of his existence. He had no words to explain to Buffy what it meant to him, how important her acceptance and yes, he could admit it now, her love meant. Buffy shifted, her mouth brushing against his skin in an unconscious kiss, and he fought off a shiver. Spike ran his hand over her from hip to shoulder, watching her as the skin of her back almost rose to meet his touch. She was gold and sunshine, her whole existence warming him, everything about her . . . There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for her. Wasn’t anything . . . he’d go out and slay demons for her every night, protect those she loved – anything she wanted. Emotions clogged in his throat, choking him, and Spike felt a sudden need to look at her face, to look into her eyes and tell her what he was feeling.

Rolling over gently, Spike rearranged their bodies and limbs so that he was laying over her; his arms going round her head, his hands ghosting through her hair. He studied her face in the dark, the only light now from a candle he’d lit much earlier, that was beginning to gutter, casting wavering shadows over her features. “I love you. So much. “

He’d slipped from her warmth during the shift and he wanted back in; wanted to stay inside her forever, become part. . . they were a piece of each other, half of a whole that had been broken for so long. Spike didn’t necessarily believe in the idea of soulmates, but he understood that there was more in heaven and earth that defied description. They defied description. He also didn’t believe in fate or destiny, life and unlife had thrown him too many curves to believe any longer, but he knew there was life after death, hell he was unliving proof of that. . . but the other kind of life after death; finding a piece of heaven when you least deserved it or least expected it. He’d found it, here, in her arms. With her. Sometimes he wondered if maybe he should still believe in destiny. . . .

He sat up a bit, looking down at the still sleeping woman beneath him. Of their own volition, his hands stroked over her every curve, feather light and reverent. His eyes drank in her appearance. That this. . . was granted to him, when he’d least deserved any being’s kindness humbled him, altered him in ways that he might never begin to fathom, made him more than what he was, more than the failed poet, more than the violent demon. . .

Following his fingers, Spike laid gentle kisses in a path from her belly to her breasts, unaware of the tears that pooled in his eyes. She’d been gone. Taken from him, from all of them. He’d never thought to see her again. Her light had gone out, extinguished too soon, in fight to preserve everything she loved. And he’d wept. Mourned her loss. Flung his tears and anger at the heavens, raging at a universe that had taken the one beautiful thing in his life, leaving him bereft. Empty.

His love was a fierce feral beast inside him, raging against what had been torn away, unable to truly wreak the havoc he’d wanted too when she was gone.

He’d raged, using the only things he had, fists and fangs, destroying the only things he could – his own kind. And his one fervent prayer – the only one he could ever remember saying for a very, very long time – his only request of the universe, had been granted.

Never had he wanted it granted in the way it had been, would have preferred to let her be in peace, but that wasn’t to be. She’d been given back to a world that didn’t appreciate her, didn’t know what it had in her – and to him.

She was back, flesh and blood and warm. . . oh god, warm beneath him, breathing, living. But she was broken. Broken by her journey back, broken by the heartache that had gone before; by life and heartbreak. And yet, she’d begun the inevitable process of healing. Starting with him. Buffy had wanted him, needed him – took strength from him.

And now here he was. With her. In their bed, their house.

Spike felt the pull of the poet he once strove to be raging through him, urging him to put pen to paper and compose something, anything to convey to her the breadth and depth of his emotions. Tamping down that urge, instead, he let his body worship hers, his lips reverently tracing every part of her, his words, meager as they were, a benediction, a plea, all whispered in gratitude for what they had now. “Love you, Buffy. So much.”

Kisses interspersed with words flowed from him, washing over the still form of his mate, his entire being focused on her. “Always. Forever.”

So intent upon her was he, yet still he missed the signs, missed the wakening and missed the tears falling silently at his hushed words of adoration; until warm hands reached to cup his cheek, tracing their own patterns on his alabaster skin.

She didn’t speak, listening instead to his deep rumbling tomes wash over her. Lines long forgotten from an old Scottish poem he barely remembered his grandfather reciting to his grandmother flashed into his head and he used it to tell her what he was feeling.

“You are the star in my every night.” His lips trailed across her belly, his hands caressing her gently.

“You are the brightness of every morning.” Spike licked and suckled at her nipples. “You are the face of my sun.”

His mouth licked a path upwards, toward her mouth. He caught the look in her eyes and all words, all thoughts fled. “‘m yours. All I ever was, ever will be. . . love you so much.”

Buffy threaded her fingers through his hair, holding him to her. “Spike.” She couldn’t talk, couldn’t think of anything to say that would compare to his words. So she showed him.

Her lips sought his, her hands slid across his sleek muscles, her body that called to his.

Following his earlier actions, Buffy laid soft kisses over his shoulders, tiny little teasing things, designed to drive him mad.

“Kitten. . . need you . . . need inside.” Suiting action to word, Spike nestled between legs, his cock bumping against her clit. “C’mon love, lemme in.”

Buffy shifted, opening herself, tilting her hips so that the head of his cock was wedged tightly just inside her. Spike was panting, his breath washing over her while Buffy was desperately trying to gain control. “Spike. . . love me.”

“Oh god.” And as he slid inside, the control he’d been relying on deserted him. “Fuck.”

His hips thrust hard into her, his hands clenching around hers, and there was nothing but the feel of her around him, the liquid heat enveloping him. . . the silky slide of her. . . Surrounding him, bathing him in her warmth. He groaned, unable to think, unable to be any. . . every nerve was on fire.

Buffy clung to him, her hips moving with his, her legs wrapped around his waist, anchoring them together. He was hard and solid, filling her, his cock bumping against her and all she could do was gasp and whimper.

He could feel the pressure building, gaining in intensity and speed, his thrusting increasing in speed, his balls tightening painfully and he was gasping out her name, breathing into her mouth, aching for her and he felt the fluttering, the spasming, the tightening of her pussy around his cock and Spike was lost. His orgasm rose up, engulfing both of them, breaking like a wave within her, shattering his world and reforming it into something new.

[A/N: I’ve had a couple of weeks from hell. Literally. I’ve been unable to type, the pain in my arm so intense that nothing’s been helping it. I’m so sorry about not being able to update. I feel so badly about it. I promise to make it all up to somehow. Please don’t be angry with me. The title is from Aristotle as quoted by Diogenes Laertes in Lives of Eminent Philosophers, and the quotes are as attributed. Disclaimers in full force and effect.]

Previously: Drusilla is in Sunnydale with Angelus. Spike and Buffy have claimed each other as Mates. This is three weeks after their encounter with Drusilla.

Book Two. Chapter 24. Hope is a waking dream.

What reinforcement we may gain from hope;
If not, what resolution from despair.
John Milton, Satan, Paradise Lost, bk. 1

There was no hope, but everyone felt the courage of despair.
Rose Wilder Lane, The Ghost in the Little House

And thus it is that in the depth of love there is a depth of eternal despair,
out of which springs hope and consolation.
Miguel de Unamuno, The Tragic Sense of Life




She kept waiting for things to change, little signs that something was different about her since she and Spike had exchanged claiming and mating bites, but aside from feeling him all the time and at times being able to key into his emotions and thoughts, there were no outward signs. Everything was normal. Well, as normal as their lives were.

That didn’t stop her from searching her face in the mirror, three weeks after they’d mated, looking for signs of bumpies or fangs. Nope. Nothing there.

Spike stood in the doorway of the bathroom, watching Buffy go through the funniest thing he’d ever seen in a long time. At this precise moment, she was lifting her lips over her gums, looking for signs of elongating canines. She was adorably funny and he was having a hard time suppressing his laughter. She hadn’t seen or sensed him yet, but that was only a matter of time.

He’d come up here for something else entirely, but had gotten sidetracked when he’d caught a glimpse of her antics. Connor was sleeping in his crib and the rest of the household was gone, Dawn and Tara both at school.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Spike tried to stop the laughter that was bubbling up inside him. “I’d imagine your reflection would be bit hazy if all that other stuff were to happen.”

Buffy turned, blushing furiously at being caught in the act of checking her own mouth. “How long have you been watching me?”

“Long enough, goldilocks.” His eyes held a spark of mischief. “If you’re looking for fangs, love, don’t think its gonna happen.”

‘Why not?” She paused, realizing how jealous that sounded and how weird that was. “Um not that I really want fangs and bumpies, coz, um, not so nice, but how come?”

Spike moved further into the bathroom, almost closing the door behind him. The usual scents assaulted his supernatural sense of smell, but Spike tuned them out, narrowing on Buffy. He’d come upstairs to get something from his wallet but her crazy behavior, combined with her mouth-watering scent distracted him. There was something about her that was different, newer. . . .

“Coz, kitten, I’d have to turn you for that and ‘m not likely to be doing that anytime soon.”

“No?” She pouted a bit, her lower lip jutting out, teasing him.

“Not bloody likely.” He ran a finger over her lips. “Course I’d still be your willin’ slave, but I like you this way. . . warm and . . . “ he nuzzled his face into her hair, nudging at her with his nose. “You smell fuckin’ delicious, sunshine. Wanna eat you all up, little girl.”

Her arms reached up around the back of his neck, holding him against her as his words set off tiny explosions in her. “Delicious?” His arms encircled her from behind and Spike ground his erection into her ass. “Me?”

“Fuck yeah.” His fangs grazed his mating marks on her throat and tiny droplets of blood rolled around his tongue. “Yeah, richer, stronger. Fuller. . . .” Spike sniffed her again, this time not with the intent of seduction. Spike spun her around, his eyes intent on her, searching her face.

Dropping down to his knees, Spike pulled her close, inhaling deeply. He’d smelled something like this before. . . Raising his eyes to hers, Spike grinned at the question in her eyes. He got to his feet, then lifted her up in the air, dropping kisses across her torso.

“Spike, what are you doing?” His growling laugh caught her attention and she pulled his head away from where it nestled between her breasts. ‘Spike? What is wrong with you? What are you doing?”

The pout was back and Spike dropped her onto the bathroom counter, attacking her pouting lips with a fervor. Breathless from his kisses, Buffy forgot his weird behavior.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dawn was sitting in the cafeteria with Janice waiting for Casey to get there so they could eat together.

“Christmas is less than a week away. Do you know what you’re gonna get him?” Janice asked, trying to figure out what she should get her own boyfriend.

“He said he wanted some game for the PS2.” Dawn scrunched up her face. “But I gotta get Buffy’s too, and something for Giles. I’m done with everyone after that.”

Janice sighed, grousing. “You suck. I haven’t even started. Not fair. How come you’re nearly done?”

“Spike gave me money over the weekend. Figured I might as well get it done. It was easy shopping for him.”

“Yeah? Whadidya get him?” Janice was curious.

Dawn snickered. “I got him music. The essential Clash and um. . The Buzzcocks.”

“Cool.” Casey’s voice came from behind her and he kissed her then sat down. “Remind me to ask him if I can copy them after Christmas.”

A light went on in Dawn’s head and she smiled at him. “Sure. I can do that.”


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Everything was cold. She was cold. Tendrils of wet hair wrapped themselves around her throat and she couldn’t move her hands to get them away. Her fingers, when she tried flexing them, were swollen and battered and at least two of them were broken. Her once perfect nails were ragged and she was pretty sure a couple were bleeding sluggishly. Her skin felt like it was stretched out, sucked dry and every nerve ending was dulled and aching. Her left wrist was sore. There were small, razor thin cuts running the length of her arms, stinging her every time she moved. Her skin was hot there and across her butt, but everywhere else she was cold.

Whatever clothing she’d been wearing was long gone and there were no blankets to cover her. Not that it mattered. She couldn’t see anything but the ceiling above her, or, if she angled her head down, the tips of her breasts and the bed she was tied to. But she didn’t want to think about that, about what was anchoring her here and now, so instead she focused her gaze upwards, staring at the ceiling. She imagined all sorts of things, counting bumps and crevices in the flat surface above her, finding interesting patterns.

There was no way of knowing how long she’d been tied up; no way of remembering what had gone on before. She was nothing. There was nothing beyond the hurt, and the smell of burning hair and the coppery metallic scent of blood. Her stomach no longer growled, it had been days since she’d had anything resembling real food. . . was it days? I don’t remember.

Her once flawless skin had been shredded and torn, mottled and bruised, every inch sporting some mark, some new flaw. . . Tears were an indulgence, something she permitted herself only when she knew she was alone, when those tormenting her left her alone. She was crying now, silent salty tears sliding down the side of her head for what once was, what would never be again.

I’m gonna survive this. Gonna. . .not going to let this kill me. Not going let either of them kill me. A sob welled up in her throat and she gritted her teeth, trying to force the sound down and away, so that her captors wouldn’t hear her.

Little tingles of awareness shot down her spine and she knew what it meant. Since the first night, she’d tried to retreat, to shrink away from the pain, to escape away, all to no avail. The pain dragged her back, kept her mind tied to her body, aware of every cut, every bleeding, seeping wound. There was no hiding.

Not even her mind would go away. . . . leave her body behind, let them do what they would to it, because the shell no longer mattered, the skin wasn’t important.

She grimaced, hearing the first noises that heralded her captors arrival. Thin leather straps circled her wrists, others binding her legs to the posts of the bed; strips that were once wet with water and allowed to dry were now slick with her blood, tightening and digging into her bleeding flesh. Despite knowing resistance was only spice to his torture of her, she couldn’t help writhing on the bed, twisting and trying to loosen her bonds in a futile effort to get away from the monster walking down the hallway toward her.

Scrabbling like a rat in the cage, she whined and pulled at the bonds holding her tight, bringing blood to the surface, letting it drip down onto the bed below her.

Her nerves shorted, muscles tensing and flexing with anticipation when she caught a glimpse of him in the doorway. His pants were riding low on his hips, arms crossed over his barrel chest, a malicious grin lighting his dark features and a feral twinkle in his eyes. She stilled, knowing something was different. . . . he was different right now.

Fear welled up, seizing her, catching in her throat. Her heart was pounding in her chest, breaths hard and drying her throat. No . . . no . . .no . . no. . . not this. Not now. . . she wasn’t aware of her whispered pleas to a god that had forsaken her, to a monster without a soul; for a moment of compassion that would never come.

Rough calloused hands brushed across her broken and bleeding skin, smoothing over the puckered and pebbled softness, a low rumbling growl erupting from his chest as she shrunk away from him. Sharp nails scored over her nipples, raising welts from illusory gentle hands. Blood welled up from the marks left behind, pooling on her, running down the hills of her breasts toward her neck.

The mattress dipped below his weight, as he settled between her legs, watching her try and close her thighs against him, words she didn’t understand, didn’t want to understand spewing from his mouth. No no no. . . her mind was screaming at her now, knowing instinctively that he was about to commit the final act of violation on her. .

Without further warning, his fingers shot straight into her core, dry thrusting into her, nearly lifting her ass from the bed.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Wesley and Giles were working tirelessly, trying to find a complete copy of the translation of the Romany text Jenny had made before she died, and trying to find a surgeon who was willing to travel to Sunnydale. The night meeting he’d had with Lilah Morgan had been a miscalculation on his part, since Lilah had done nothing but try to recruit him for Wolfram & Hart from the moment he sat down in the restaurant. It had disconcerted him no end, especially how she had phrased the offer. He’d been so focused on obtaining assistance about the chip that she had caught him off guard when she pitched the idea. Because of her demeanor, once Wesley got his bearings, he held off mentioning the purpose of his request for the meeting. His guard had been up, his inherent suspicion of anything from Wolfram & Hart setting off warning bells that Wesley had just clammed up and held his tongue. So that was one avenue of chip removal that he refused to pursue further.

According to rumors, or so Willie had said, Angelus and Drusilla had skipped town two weeks ago, searching for lost lambs. Both men were afraid they were looking for the other members of the AI team, especially since they’d lost contact with Cordelia.

She’d called a couple of times, checking in and letting them know she was safe. Gunn had also called in, informing Wesley that he and Fred were hiding out in the underground of Los Angeles, living on the streets. Even Lorne had checked in, from Las Vegas, where he was working in one of the casinos. But nothing from Cordelia in a couple of days; which just increased Wesley’s distraction.

The two Englishmen had just exhausted their last contact, the last surgeon on their list, refusing to remove the chip. They were sitting in Rupert’s office, neither one of them in the best of spirits.

“Do we have a way of contacting the Initiative?” Wesley’s voice finally broke the silence.

Giles looked up from his contemplation of the text in front of him. “I believe Buffy knows how to. I tried to disassociate from that aspect of her life.”

Wesley nodded, then got up to pace around the small space, “We’re going to have to tell them. Might as well be tonight.”

Rupert grimaced. “Happy bloody Christmas.”

“Indeed. I take it this will not be received happily.”

“Not likely.” Giles feared that would be a gross understatement.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Willow was pacing outside the lecture hall. Tara’s presence called out to her from behind the closed doors, but she had no idea if her sudden appearance was going to be welcomed. Doesn’t matter any now. Don’t care. Need to see her. To feel her. She’s mine. My girl.

The class broke and suddenly the hallway was full of people emerging, laughing, chattering and going about their day. Tara was one of the last to leave the lecture hall, surrounded by a group of smiling people Willow didn’t know. Placing a hand up, Willow muttered “mute” and all the noise receded.

“Hello Tara.” Willow’s voice was surprisingly controlled, none of her nervousness showing.

“Willow. How are you?” Tara’s eyes shifted left and right, noting the sudden hush that fell over her study group. Realizing it wasn’t natural Tara stared at Willow, then said, “release them Willow or this discussion will never get started.”

Chastised, Willow complied. “Can we go someplace to talk at least?”

“What’s there to talk about? You’ve changed, Willow – you aren’t the same girl I fell in love with. And I’m not the same either.” Tara moved out of the way of the passing students, stepping further away from Willow.

“I’ve . . . I’ve been thinking and well, I guess you were right. I should’ve asked for help, told you what I was planning.” Willow played with the edges of her sleeves.

“I suppose that’s an admission, but really Willow, its not enough.” Tara’s voice was cool, her personality almost wouldn’t allow for anything harsher, and there was a firmness that Willow hadn’t ever heard before.

“What would be enough?” Willow was at a loss.

Tara was shaking her head. “Until you figure that out Willow, I can’t be around you.” Taking pity on the girl she used to love, Tara smiled a bit. “You have a lot of people that still care, but you need to figure stuff out.”

With Willow sputtering in confusion, Tara tried one more time, “you hurt a lot of people, those same people that care. You need to figure out what’s more important.”


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Buffy looked up at the ceiling, every muscle loose and rubbery. Daytime sex with Spike was the best she decided. Didn’t matter really what time of day, but there was something about him being inside her during the day that made her toes curl more than they normally did when she thought about Spike.

She was flat on her back, Spike’s head nestled between her breasts, his arms curled around her protectively. He was quiet, so quiet that she thought he might be asleep and she didn’t want to disturb him if he was. This was so comfy. . . Buffy shifted a bit, running a hand through his curls, her mind a bit blank. She sighed and felt Spike reposition himself.

His low voice rumbled out of him, “wha’s wrong?”

She rubbed hard into the spot at his nape, the one he loved for her to massage, saying, “nothing. Go back to sleep.”

“You sure kitten?” His voice was so sleepy. I love that sound.

“Ahuh. Pretty positive.” She hugged him closer. “Nothing’s wrong here.”

“Mmmm.” He nestled closer, a kiss brushing against her skin.

“Spike? What do you want for Christmas?” Buffy’s hands stilled a bit, waiting for his answer.

“Nothin’. Already got more than I hoped for. Don’t need anythin’.” She could feel his eyelashes fluttering against her breast and the sensation caused Buffy to almost miss his words.

“Not about what you need, silly. Christmas is about getting something you want really badly and can’t get for yourself.” She played some more with the hair at his neck, her fingers combing his curls.

“Sunshine. Got all that. Got everythin’ I want right here.” He paused, knowing this was a perfect opening to tell her what he suspected, but he hesitated, wondering if he should let her figure it out on her own.

“C’mon Spike, there has to be something you really want.” Buffy knew she was pushing, but she wanted so badly to tell him what she was thinking. . .

Spike lifted up to look down at her. “Buffy. Isn’t anythin’ I want that I don’t already have.“ He paused, his eyes intent up on her. “Wha?”

There was a look he’d never seen before on her – hope and fear and something else swirled in her green eyes. “You sure there isn’t something else that you want?”

Oh, she’s got something on her mind. “All right, what is it?”

She looked up at him shyly, unsure what to say now. “Never mind. I’ll just surprise you on Christmas.”

“You sure?” Spike nudged at her, seeking entrance into her depths again. “C’mon sunshine, tell me.”

“Nope. Its gonna be a surprise.” Buffy angled her hips, using her hot hand to guide him back inside her. Her pussy contracted around him and Spike forgot what it was they had been talking about.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Oz caught up with Tara before she got to the bookstore where they were actually supposed to meet.

“Hey.” His voice startled her from her thoughts of Willow and Tara jumped in surprise.

“Hey.” He could see she was upset, but knowing her, she’d start talking before he asked, so he waited her out. His patience was rewarded not moments later.

“Ran into Willow just now. I thought she was going to apologize, but she didn’t. I really don’t know her the way I thought I did.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to say something, but Oz wasn’t sure waxing philosophical would work at the moment, so he kept silent.

“You know she’s never once said she was sorry for any of it. What she did.” Tara sighed, smiling sadly. “And she has no idea that I know what she did to Spike.”

“Sometimes learning the hard way is the only way some people learn.” Oz opened the shop’s door, letting Tara step through.

“I guess. Its just hard watching it.” She sighed, looking over her shoulder at the short man.

“Always is.” He pointed her toward the coffee bar and just like that the discussion was done.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was hours later, when Giles and Wesley were finally able to get a moment alone with Buffy and Spike to tell them about the last attempt at finding a surgeon.

Just before they left for patrol, as Giles was staying home with Dawn and Connor since Tara had study group and Wesley was going with them. Since Drusilla’s first night, Spike had been adamant about someone else patrolling with them. He didn’t want to take a chance of getting separated and one of them getting hurt. He never voiced it, but Buffy knew he was thinking of two things, her getting overwhelmed by sheer numbers and Angelus deciding to use humans against them. So she didn’t balk – much.

They were heading out when Giles stopped them. “Buffy? Can you wait a moment? I’ve got some news.”

“What’s up?” Buffy turned around, lifting her hair into a loose ponytail. Spike was pulling on his duster and perked up at Giles’ tone.

“Wesley and I contacted Dr. Sutter, the last surgeon on our list, in Canada. I think I can safely say we’ve exhausted all possibilities here. I don’t believe extending our search to Europe will have anything but similar results.” He waited a beat, letting that news sink in before he spoke again. “We could use a normal surgeon.”

The blond couple shared a look, which neither of the other two could interpret. Their silent communication lasted longer than normal; and Giles was about to ask something when Spike growled and stormed from the house.

It was Wesley’s quietly worded question that startled them. “How long have you and Spike been mated?”

Giles took off his glasses to peer closer at Buffy, spluttering out, “how? When? Why didn’t you say something?”

Buffy stayed silent for a minute, an odd look on her face and as she heard the closing of the front door, she started talking. Deciding to answer Wesley first, Buffy said, “about three weeks ago.” Then she giggled and said, ‘okay it was the Thursday before Thanksgiving.”

“Ah.” Giles smiled, remembering the very strange things Buffy had done on Thanksgiving which now all made more sense. “And you kept this to yourselves because?”

“Its private, Watcher. Not somethin’ for the masses.” He was suddenly leaning against the door, arms crossed and features set. Spike’s stance and tone were a bit belligerent, but Giles had come to learn that was just the vampire being defensive. Giles had expected something like this – been waiting for it actually and wasn’t really all that surprised.

“Have you noticed any changes?” He couldn’t help asking. Curiosity and the need to chronicle were so ingrained he sometimes lost sight of when both traits became a bit offensive. Spike grunted, not answering, but Buffy leaned over and thumped him.

“We can sorta talk to each other.” Buffy shot her mate a look, admitting, “okay, Spike can talk. I’m still working on the verbal. But I can do pictures and emotions. Go me!”

“Spike, is that normal?” Giles was warming up to the subject but was thrown for a loop at the other Englishman’s answer.

“Dunno. Never done this before.” Spike relaxed against the doorjamb, belligerence gone.

“Never done this? Weren’t you and Drusilla mates?” He stopped speaking at the shake of both their heads. Well that was bloody news. He’d thought for sure the two had been mated. “But the Watcher’s Diaries state that.”

Spike’s snort of disgust was drowned out by Buffy’s incomprehensible grumble.

“Should know by now Rupes, those diaries aren’t always accurate. Lots of things the Council doesn’t know about.” Spike stepped closer to Buffy. “Wankers haven’t a clue half the time.”

Wesley stirred, folding his arms across his chest, remarking, “indeed. The Council has not been very forthcoming or accommodating in the past.”

“Not sure I trust them at all.” Was Buffy’s softly worded statement, while Spike stated calmly, “no reason to. Haven’t done right by you at all.”

She leaned back against him as his arm snaked around her waist and his lips brushed against her hair. His next words brought them right back to the start of this conversation. “So unless we go abroad, we’ve stalled, yeah?”

“We’ve hit a brick wall, I’m afraid.” Once more Giles and Wesley watched while the two communicated silently.

Spike’s voice broke the silence, a deep sigh indicating his capitulation. “Fine. Call them. ‘M not happy with it, but they put the bloody thing in there, they should be the ones takin’ it out.”

He broke away from Buffy, signaling the end of his patience and, as far as he was concerned, the end of the conversation. “C’mon, if you’re still comin’. Night’s still young.”

And he was out the door and down the steps before Wesley had even moved.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Oz was wrapping amp cords and putting away his equipment when he heard the first out of place rustlings. It stopped when he stopped moving, so he knew there was someone in the practice space he and the rest of the band had rented. Not to mention that he could smell whoever it was, he just didn’t recognize the signature.

Working more quietly, Oz finished up his tasks, eager to get going and not liking the feeling of being watched. The hackles on the back of his neck rose and Oz knew his control would slip the moment whoever it was showed. Thinking quickly, Oz reached into his pocket and, trying to shield his movements from whomever was watching him, opened his cell phone and punched in a series of numbers.

Hopefully, the elaborate system Giles had come up with would work and the signal would reach Buffy and Spike in time, and keep Tara away.

There was no time to finish the message, because a low growl sounded from behind him and Oz closed the phone, slowly turning around to face the threat.

Without a word, he began to morph, knowing he stood a far better chance of survival as the wolf. His own answering growls reverberated around the enclosed space and Oz’ last fleeting rational thought was about the equipment that was about to be damaged.

Growls and rumbles filled the air along with the screech and whine of destroyed electronic equipment. Panting for breath, the werewolf crouched on all fours, waiting for his foe to return from the shadows. A flicker of movement caught his attention and once again the two supernatural beings fought. Two sets of canines ripped into skin, snarling and slashing.

The vampire hadn’t expected this – hadn’t remembered this about the human at all – had imagined this one would be less of a challenge. But he was more than holding his own against the master vampire.

The vampire retreated again, hiding once more in the dark shadows, waiting for the werewolf to make a mistake. Blood was running from various claw wounds and bite marks, but he’d managed to inflict his own damage because the wolf was favoring his left hid leg, blood matting the reddish fur.

Using that knowledge, the vampire attacked on the left, trying to rip the wound open further. But the wolf was prepared for this, and sprang for the vampire’s throat, its jaws sinking in, closing around the vampire’s throat and shaking.

Growling deeply in growing fury, Angelus forced his finger’s into the wolf’s mouth, prying it open and away from his flesh. Something cracked and the wolf roared in pain, yowling and whimpering in fear.

Unable to stay and finish the kill, the blood flowing too fast and strong from his own wounds, Angelus clamped a hand around his bleeding neck and fled.

[A/N: I’m working on it, this story and the other one (and the new ones that I have nasty plot bunnies hounding me about), but I recently re-injured my arm just a little bit, and its been very slow going. My profound and deepest apologies, I can’t tell you how sorry I am. There might be some things in this chapter and in others that might upset some of my readers. Sorry if those things bother you, but its all part of the story and well, blast away if you like, but be prepared for me to blast right back. Title is from Emily Bronte (and the entire quote is below) and the quotes are as attributed. Disclaimers are in full force and effect.]

Previously: Oz had a confrontation with Angelus, neither one of them coming out the victor. Wesley is concerned because Cordelia hasn’t checked in. Buffy and Spike have been mated, which Giles just discovered, but they also have all reached the conclusion that the only way to remove the chip is by contacting The Initiative.

Book Two. Chapter 26. A soundless calm descends


Lightning makes shadows in the storm.
Nightmare and bliss tell the silent truth.
Thelonius, Shadows in the Storm (1988)

The line-storm clouds fly tattered and swift.
The road is forlorn all day.
Robert Frost, A Line–Storm Song.

But, first a hush of peace—a soundless calm descends;
The struggle of distress, and fierce impatience ends;
Mute music soothes my breast—unuttered harmony,
That I could never dream, till Earth was lost to me.
Emily Brontë, The Prisoner





The chirp of his cell phone woke him from his much needed sleep. For a long moment, Wesley wasn’t sure of his surroundings, but as wakefulness crept up on him, the memories from last night stole through him.

Transporting Oz to and from hospital hadn’t proved a problem at all; It was the in-between and the after that was a problem. Caught in mid-morph, frozen by the pain, Dr. Thomas hadn’t been able to set his jaw until the poor guy had been drugged. It had taken triple the amount of painkillers – based on normal human physiology and even then, Oz still sported claws and fur. At least his mouth had reverted to almost human proportions. Dr. Thomas hadn’t wanted to give him more drugs, afraid it would impede his healing.

Tara had, unsurprisingly, insisted on bringing him back to Revello Drive, and no one had really objected. Settling him in the basement, amidst Tara’s things had almost gone unnoticed, although Giles had cautioned that it might be necessary to chain him. Again Tara had objected, insisting that it wasn’t necessary that Oz wouldn’t hurt her and, to prove her point, she’d climbed into bed beside him.

Giles was still downstairs with them, keeping an eye on Oz’ progress and he’d come out to watch the sunrise. Wesley realized he must’ve fallen asleep sometime before the sun actually rose, because he’d missed it completely.

It must have been cold this morning, because the blanket. . . wait a moment. I didn’t bring a blanket out with me. . . Wesley reached for his cell phone, distractedly wondering about the mysterious presence of the blanket.

“Yo English.” Gunn’s deep voice greeted him.

“Hello Charles.” He winced, realizing he sounded barely awake and suddenly aware of an annoying crick in his neck.

“Checking in. Haven’t heard from Cordelia, man, I’m starting to get worried.”

It had been on Wesley’s mind also. She hadn’t gone more than two days without checking in, but now it had been close to five and Wesley was very worried that something had happened and Cordelia was lost to them.

“No word then?” He knew his question was going to have a negative response, but he needed to ask nonetheless.

“Nope. Nothing.” Gunn turned aside to address a remark to Fred, no doubt, and Wes waited until he was done.

“Very well, we’re going to start looking. Hopefully, she’s still . . . . “ his voice trailed off as he realized that hope was a very illusive commodity at the moment.

“Yeah. I getcha. Lemme know if you need any backup.” Gunn had an idea where Wesley had gone, but he didn’t want to say out loud where they were in case someone over heard.

“Probably won’t be necessary. My resources are more than adequate, but I shall let you know if we require your aid.” Wesley was about to disconnect when Gunn’s wry amusement stopped him.

“Dude, why you always sound like you swallowed a dictionary?”

Despite his worry about Cordelia, Wesley smiled. “Properly spoken English is never out of place.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just find Cordy.” Gunn clicked off, leaving Wesley to figure out how to find Cordelia.

 

[A/N: These aren’t easy chapters to write. I’m trying to keep the gore to a minimum, but I really don’t know how much I can omit. Rest assured though, that all of it has a purpose. May not be the purpose you want to serve, but it does serve one. Title is from the Alarm (again) from the song of the same name and the quotes belong to those who uttered them (I’m just passing along the wisdom). And those pesky disclaimers prove once again, that I own nothing.]

Previously: Oz is recovering from his battle with Angelus; and Buffy isn’t feeling too hot. Wesley’s convinced the others that there’s some merit to his worry about Cordelia. This picks up where we left everyone.

Book Two, chapter 28. Rescue me


Sometimes that shark looks right at ya.
Right into your eyes.
And the thing about a shark is he's got lifeless eyes.
Black eyes. Like a doll's eyes.
When he comes at ya, he doesn't even seem to be livin'... 'til he bites ya, and those black eyes roll over white and then... ah then you hear that terrible high-pitched screamin'.
The ocean turns red, and despite all your poundin' and your hollerin' those sharks come in and... they rip you to pieces.
Quint, Jaws (1975)

My mommy always said there were no monsters
- no real ones - but there are, aren't there?
Newt, Aliens (1986)



“He’s so not supposed to be doing that.” Buffy was flipping through the pages of the book, her back resting against the headboard and her eyes half on the book and half on the almost crawling baby on the floor. “Look.”

Spike took the book from her, noting the progress the baby had made across the floor. “Figure he’s gonna reach the bed?”

“I dunno. But this can’t be good, can it?” She sat up, leaning on his arm. Spike glanced down at the book, squinted then moved it further away so he could read the print. That didn’t help, so he brought it closer to his face. “Sprog’s not supposed to do this for ‘nother couple of months.”

Connor wriggled forward again and Buffy looked between the two males. “This is so not good.”

. Spike paused in his all out battle with Angel, calling out to the bot, then with a look that was designed to boil the older vampire’s borrowed blood, Spike taunted him mercilessly.

Drusilla got to her feet, practically flying toward the bot, while it and Spike continued to draw the other two away. The bot aimed another whirling kick at Drusilla, this time missing her and Drusilla stalked after the robot, hissing and swaying like a maddened cat. Spike nailed Angel from behind, grabbing his attention with a series of punches to the bigger vampire’s gut, driving him backwards toward the house with the shrieking alarms.

Police sirens sounded and although they weren’t part of his original plan, Spike used them to his advantage. “Love to continue this gramps, but Sunnydale’s most oblivious are arrivin'. Might want to chase after Dru an’ hide. . . “ and with that he raced off after the two fighting females.

Angel took a moment to shake off the broken ribs, realized what Spike had said and followed.

 

[A/N: I’m not so sure about anyone else, but I hated what was done to Cordelia in season 3 of Angel – that whole story line with Connor was just wrong in so very many ways that I can’t begin to list them all. But hey, this is where we, as fans and writers, get to “fix” what we thought was “wrong” or a “mistake” with the writing. And this doesn’t take away from any of the brilliance of the creator or his team of writers, it just shows that what some of us thought all along. That some of us are just as talented, just as dedicated and just as fanatical about the characters as the people who put them on the screen. That being said, I still think . . . well, never mind, I’ll get off my soapbox. The title is from the poem, which was written by me (the title for the poem is Desecrated Angel) and the quotes are as attributed. Those pesky rotten disclaimers prove that I own nothing, not even a lousy autograph.]

Previously: Spike and the bot lured Angel and Drusilla away from the mansion so that Buffy and the others could rescue Cordelia. This immediately follows the last chapter.

Book Two, Chapter 30. Ache of heaven

The easiest period in a crisis situation is actually the battle itself. The most difficult is the period of indecision—whether to fight or run away. And the most dangerous period is the aftermath.
Richard M. Nixon, Six Crises, 1962.


Crystal tears
battered innocent flesh
ache of heaven
rage of hell
unwanted angel
unspeakable violation
bruised bleeding ripped and torn
lambent eyes clouded with rage
silver shards of ice filled pain
snarling sneering
gasping shame
desecrated angel
bleeding life away
Niamh O’Connor, 1998


Moving her, once she was unconscious, was simple. Unfortunately doing so opened nearly all of the cuts on her skin, and the sheet they wrapped her in was quickly saturated.

Wesley’s call to Dr. Thomas alerted him to their arrival. The Englishman’s description of her external injuries had the doctor directing them to the Emergency Room, and he promised Wesley that he and a select team of emergency personnel would meet them there.

None of them spoke.

There were no words to encompass what they’d seen.

Even Cordelia’s superficial injuries, the cuts and bruises, were horrible. There was no way of knowing what kind of internal damage had been done. It was clear that Angel had raped her repeatedly but none of them said a word.

Buffy was fighting tears and nausea, even as she held Cordelia’s head in her lap. This wasn’t the work of the vampire she’d loved. Couldn’t be. . . . her mind couldn’t wrap around the idea that her Angel. . . but he wasn’t hers. Hadn’t ever really ever been hers. This savagery was what the soul caged – the brutality and . . . Buffy swallowed hard, fighting to keep her stomach from spewing its contents all over.

He hadn’t touched her face at all.

What kind of sick fucker destroyed his victim from the neck down and didn’t touch her face? Xander was at a total loss, trying to understand why Cordelia looked so peaceful, her face untouched. The only thought, the only answer his brain could come up with was a frightening prospect. Angel didn’t want to destroy her face because he planned on looking at it for a very, very long time.

Giles couldn’t focus on anything but a silent prayer. He was thanking god – whatever deity – that had protected and watched over them all those years ago – the first time Angelus had raged throughout Sunnydale. He thanked god for the small mercy of finding Cordelia before she’d been turned. He thanked god too, for his rescue from the vicious hands of Angel. There was no way he would have survived the tortures Angelus had planned for him without Spike’s intervention. He had no idea how much damage Cordelia had sustained, her surface injuries were bad enough, the internal and emotional damage would take years to recover from – if she survived. His intuition was telling him that the internal injuries were extensive, more extensive than her body indicated – and he had serious doubts about her recovery.

He wasn’t alone in his worry.

Wesley, like Buffy, was fighting tears and nausea, but like Giles, was masking those feelings in anger and white hot rage. This . . . was done by someone who had professed to be a friend – who’d had feelings for Cordelia. What had been done to the girl was brutal. He wanted to weep, wanted to rage – wanted to grab Angel’s throat between his hands and squeeze until his head separated from his neck and his dust rained down on his skin.

At that moment, there wasn’t a one of them in the car that wasn’t willing to dust Angel.



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



Spike had felt through the bond the moment they’d gotten Cordelia out and away. Now it was just a matter of eluding the other two and heading toward Sunnydale General, where they’d taken Cordelia. The original plan had them meeting up in one of the cemeteries, confusing the two master vampires with multiple Buffys, but that had changed when Spike altered the plans. He knew, from Buffy’s thoughts, that they’d headed directly toward the hospital and that was where he was going to meet her.

Grabbing the bot’s hand, Spike headed for the sewers, knowing it was the easiest way of hiding their scent and losing the other two. Just like her real counterpart, the bot complained the entire trip through the sewers. Spike ignored it, his concentration on moving forward and listening for any signs of pursuit. After twenty minutes or so, Spike slowed down, heading straight for the hospital.



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



Dawn was half-asleep on the couch, while Anya paced about, waiting for any word. She’d finished cleaning the bathrooms, had vacuumed the first floor and had straightened up the dining room. There was no way she could sit still while everyone else did all the hero stuff. Not that she was the hero type, but she still couldn’t just sit around like Dawn.

Anya looked over at the sleeping girl, unable to believe she was so calm. Dawn shifted, opened her eyes and Anya took the opportunity to talk. “How can you sleep? Its nerve-wracking. I can’t even sit still and you’re calm enough to sleep. How do you do that? Is there some trick? What do you do? Is it meditation? Did Buffy teach you that?”

“Anya? I’m tired. I get up early for school and its just nothing more than me being really tired.” She paused a moment, gauging Anya’s expression. “Its also that, you know, I’ve been doing this for years. Since Buffy was fifteen.”

“So this is just another night. Just another rescue mission.” Anya perched on the armchair, looking expectantly at the younger girl.

“Well, its different, because its Cordelia. And its someone . . . Cordy used to be one of us. A scoobie.”

Dawn wasn’t prepared for Anya’s reaction. The ex-demon smiled widely. “One of us? You mean I’m one of the scoobies?”

“Yeah. Of course you are.” A wide yawn stretched across her features and Dawn asked, “have we heard anything?”

“No.” Checking her watch, Anya said, “its only a little bit after two. We should hear from them soon.”

And, in the way of all things on the hellmouth, that had to be the signal, because both cell phones went off.



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



Dr. Thomas, with a trauma team in tow, met them at the doors of the Emergency Room, his face grim. Wesley had tersely relayed Cordelia’s condition, so they were prepared for the worst.

Maureen Osborne was there too, and at the first opportunity she pulled Buffy aside, asking her how her nephew was and also what cover story they had concocted for the authorities. When Buffy had looked at her somewhat blankly, Maureen had bustled her into a side corridor, chattering softly. “The police will believe something, as long as its plausible. Don’t worry, we’ll come up with something.”

When Buffy didn’t answer, instead seemed to crumple under the strain, Maureen pulled her into a private waiting area and handed her a tissue. “Its okay sweetie, your friend is in bad shape. You can cry.”

Buffy sniffled then said, “I’m okay. Cordy’s safe now. I just wish Spike was here.”

“I’m sure he’ll be here shortly.” Waiting for a moment to see if Buffy needed anything else, Oz’ aunt patted her arm and said, “if you need me, I’ll be doing the paperwork.”

She left Buffy alone, staring at the walls of the waiting room.



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



Giles and Wesley stood outside the doorway to the trauma room, waiting anxiously for any word of Cordelia’s condition. Xander was pacing around, muttering to himself, his hands tucked under his arms, tears dripping down his cheeks.

Wesley said something that Giles didn’t hear and when he repeated himself, the older man snapped his head around to look at him. Giles stepped away from the door to find Buffy and to call the girls to let them know they’d been successful.

He walked outside the hospital doors, knowing that once Angelus and Drusilla discovered Cordelia had been rescued, there would be hell to pay. Angelus did not like his plans thwarted or interrupted in any way – and it had been obvious to Giles that he’d planned to turn Cordelia. His reluctance to mar her features was a dead giveaway. Added to the fact that he hadn’t bled her to death before they’d discovered her – Giles was fairly certain of it.

Sending out the all clear code on the cell phones, Giles was surprised when he heard the tell-tale chirp of another phone seconds later.

“Figured you lot were here. Everyone all right?” Spike’s voice sounded in the dark and Giles barely turned around when the bot was standing next to him staring up into his face.

“We’re fine. Cordelia’s inside.” Giles looked away, fighting tears again. “It was. . . worse than expected.”

“Thought so.” Spike was quiet for a moment, knowing nothing he could say would be enough for any of them. He’d never been like Angel, carving up his victims, destroying their entire lives, torturing them mentally and physically. No, he’d been more direct – bash and crash – all sound and fury. But that wouldn’t serve as anything other than cold comfort. And lip service on his part. He respected Rupert too much to give him that. “Where’s Buffy?”

“She’s inside.”

Dropping his cigarette butt, Spike said, “‘m goin’ in. You comin’?” At Giles’ negative shake, Spike said, “keep the bot with you. Jus’ in case.”

Giles nodded, “I’ll be in shortly.”

Spike nodded once, then headed inside.



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~




Buffy was still sitting in the private waiting area, watching the hallways of the emergency room, at the activity in and around the trauma room Cordelia was in, ears attuned to any hint of commotion in the hallways.

Twice she’d almost gone to find Oz’ aunt, more for the comfort of the older mom-type woman that she represented than for a need of company, although that wouldn’t be bad either. The last two times she’d been in this building she’d nearly lost the two most important people in her life.

Her mom.

Spike.

Joyce’s first brush with death had been in the halls upstairs and had devastated both her and Dawn. Yeah, her mother had survived a few weeks, nearly a few months, but the end had still started here. Tears rose in Buffy’s eyes as she thought about her mother. Oh, Mommy. . . I’m so. . . I miss you so much. I wish you were here. A sob escaped from her throat and Buffy put her head in her hands and let the tears fall. Oh Mom. . . . being here is so hard. . . Everything about this life is . . . . But you were right about him. . . . about Spike. He’s been. . . . god, Mom, I love him so much. Without him, I’d have been really lost.

Fresh tears dripped down her cheeks and Buffy shredded the tissue between her slim fingers. A tingle of awareness shot through her and Buffy lifted her head, looking out for Spike.

He was standing just in her line of sight, talking to Wesley, while Xander hovered nearby. Despite her tears and worry about Cordelia, just the sight of him was enough to bring a steadying breath and an almost smile to her face. There was something so solid, so real about him and if you didn’t know he was a vampire, there was a strength to his carriage that said here was a guy you could lean on and let be the strong one. Hell, maybe being a vampire just made that more evident. For the first time, Buffy tried sending a complete thought, a phrase through the bond, just to grab his attention. Concentrating hard, Buffy thought of him and focused on the words in her head.

She watched as his body straightened, his head tilting sideways as he listened to something only he could hear, motioning Wesley to quiet with an upraised hand. A smile bloomed across his features and he slowly turned to look in her direction. His eyes bored into hers as he left the two men, moving toward her. Tucking his thumbs into his waistband, Spike prowled forward like the slinky predator he was, his eyes never leaving hers.

Spike came to a stop just in front of her, a grin on his face. Buffy tilted her head up to look at him and a shy smile crept across her wide mouth as she took in the expression on his face. His deep voice wafted over her. “Love you too kitten.”



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



One by one they had all drifted into the private waiting area, Wesley first to join them. He sat opposite Spike, his long limbs folded into an uncomfortable looking shape, his head was tilted back against the wall and his eyes were closed, but none of them were fooled into believing he was asleep. With the presence of the two younger Englishmen, Buffy’s over-stretched nerves were calmed and she leaned further into Spike’s arms.

Xander came in next, bringing coffee and hot chocolate as a peace offering, which was silently accepted. He sat down in a chair next to Wesley, leaning forward, elbows on knees and more composed than he’d been earlier. Giles and the bot wandered in last, the bot trailing behind the older man, her eyes darting about and taking in the surroundings. The coffee cups were lined up on the table between the anxious group and Giles leaned over to grab one of them. With a gesture to the bot, Giles sat down next to Spike. Glancing round at their faces, Giles asked, “no word yet?”

Negative head shakes were his only answer.

Buffy yawned, leaning more heavily against Spike’s chest. A tiny shiver snaked its way through her and Spike stood up to slip the duster off and around her. “Wanna lay down pet?”

She shrugged, looking up at him with very tired doe eyes and a minute quiver to her lips. Without a word he scooped her up, saying to the others, “‘m takin’ her home. Give us a ring when you get word, yeah?”

The others just nodded, but it was Buffy herself who started to protest. “We should stay, at least until we know. . . Spike?”

He was shaking his head in refusal when Maureen Osborne approached. “Buffy?” She was looking from the bot to the girl in Spike’s arms, confusion clearly written on her features.

“Here.” She waved a bit from her spot in Spike’s arms, then asked, “is there any word on Cordelia?”

“Yes.” She paused while the rest of the men got to their feet. “They managed to stop the internal bleeding, but her spleen was ruptured and her liver’s been bruised. She just left surgery and she’s in recovery. They’re going to put her in a private ICU room. And she’s going to have an armed guard outside her door.”

Relieved looks were exchanged, although Giles exchanged a look with Spike that spoke volumes. “Did they remove her spleen?”

“Yes. She’s being transfused also. She’d lost an enormous amount of blood and, I’m not going to lie to you, it was very close. But they managed to stop all the hemorrhaging.”

Xander asked, “when can we see her?”

Maureen was shaking her head, “not for hours. Go home. Get some rest, come back around three. She might be awake then.”

But both Wesley and Xander were shaking their heads, and Wesley’s voice sounded first. “I’d like to stay.”

Spike raised an eyebrow and Wesley answered his unspoken question by gesturing toward his jacket pocket. Turning toward Xander, Wesley said, “you go home, I’ll stay now and you can relieve me later.”

He started to splutter his disagreement, when Giles voiced his own quietly worded statement, “I’m sure Anya is worried and you should probably take her home and reassure her that everything is well.”

That stopped Xander’s protests.

Wesley handed the Jeep’s keys to Spike and after thanking Maureen Osborne for everything, those going home headed quietly for the door. Thinking quickly, Spike backtracked a bit, then motioned to Wesley with his chin. “Keep the bot here, jus’ in case. Better safe than sorry, right?”

Sighing deeply, Wesley eyed the robot with amused distaste, but knowing the value of Spike’s experience and trusting he wouldn’t say something like that if he didn’t think it was necessary, Wesley nodded his agreement.



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



Angel sniffed the air one more time, trying to gain a sense of the direction Spike and Buffy had headed, but the trail was long cold and diffused with the sewer scents. His growl of frustrated anger echoed off the cement walls surrounding the two master vampires and Drusilla clapped her hands over her ears to block the sounds. It did nothing to help the reverberations that pulsed in her as an answer to her Sire’s distress, however, only making the situation worse by adding her temper to his.

He’d lost the two not long after they had descended into the sewers and although he could try and backtrack to the point of entry, Angel knew it was a lost cause. Traces of Spike’s signature were all over these tunnels, and there was no way of knowing which ones were more recent than the others, due to the other, less pleasant odors wafting from the sludge beneath their feet. Once more growling his disgust and anger, Angel motioned Drusilla to his side. “Let’s go. We’re not going to be able to track them.”

He grabbed Drusilla by the arm, pulling her behind him as he made his way to the nearest entrance. It had been years since he’d been down in these sewers and his memory of them was hazy at best. It would be easy above ground to get a location and make their way back to the mansion from there. Spying one of the sewer entrances not more than twenty paces behind him, Angel climbed up the ladder and emerged into the pre-dawn darkness. The night still held sway, though it was hours before the inky midnight sky gave way to early morning, Angel could feel the sun making its way eastward. Standing over the entrance, his eyes scanning about, as he waited for Drusilla to make the climb into the night, Angel’s gaze landed on a very familiar area.

They were just outside of Restfield.

No more than a handful of blocks from Revello Drive.

Grinning down into the darkness, Angel said, “come now Dru, we’re not far from family. Maybe we should pay a visit.”



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Spike glanced at the clock in the Jeep, his eyes disbelieving the device. It was close to five in the morning. No wonder everyone was punchy and tired, well, except for him. Buffy was more than half asleep in the seat next to him, curled up underneath his duster, her head dropping forward every couple of seconds. Giles and Xander were very quiet in the back and Spike glanced once in the rearview mirror to check if they too had fallen asleep. But they hadn’t. Both males were still awake, just not inclined to filling the silence.

He couldn’t blame them. What they’d witnessed tonight had to affect all of them. He’d be surprised if they didn’t have nightmares for a long time to come about this. Though Giles never admitted it out loud, he knew there were some sleepless nights for the watcher that blame for could be laid solely on Angel’s shoulders. He and Giles had spent too many sleepless nights together, both when he was captive and tied up, and later, just this past summer. Spike could tell when someone was haunted by memories they’d rather not have experienced – hard not to know when sometimes it was what he himself shied away from. There were plenty of memories he’d rather not have to relive. More than enough. Buffy too, was often affected by nightmares, although that was easing somewhat.

Kind of hard not to have monsters invading your sleep when that was what you faced every single day. The trick for the humans was not to let the nightmares, which highlighted unconscious fears, become reality. Xander shifted, breaking his train of thought, and Spike glanced back in the rearview mirror again. He couldn’t meet any of them in the eye that way, but he knew Harris could sense he’d gained Spike’s attention.

“You all right?” For once, Spike wasn’t going to goad the boy into a fight. There had been too much bloodshed in the last few hours, Spike had no desire to get into anything. All he wanted was to get home and crawl into bed with his woman, affirming that they were both safe and sound.

Xander was just as subdued as Spike, perhaps even more so. He knew what kind of evilness a vampire was – he just had forgotten how truly brutal they could be. And he was beginning to realize something else that he just wasn’t quite ready to face, something that each of the others had gone through in the past few months. A re-assessment of the difference between Spike and other vampires. “I guess.”

Spike let it go, knowing any more talk could lead to a brangle and at the moment, he just wasn’t in the mood. The Jeep cruised along the quiet streets of Sunnydale, encountering no traffic, when Giles said softly, “I think I just saw Drusilla and Angel.”