"A Scooby-only party," Angel reflected. "I've been there. Doesn't get any more exclusive." His lips twisted. "Though, in that light, I'd have to say Xander makes a pretty unimpressive bouncer."

Spike snorted with amusement, then froze and threw him an incredulous look. "Bugger all, did you just crack a joke?" He shook his head. "Looks like there's a bit of me old Sire left in there after all. That cheerleader bird's been a right good influence on you, hasn't she?"

"Cordy's the best." It was a simple, heartfelt statement, something that Angel believed in without a shred of doubt.

Spike had a sarcastic reply on the tip of his tongue, but kept his mouth shut and peered suspiciously over his shoulder instead. "Did you hear a noise?"

They'd barely turned to look back down the slope at the warehouse when there was a rapid succession of flashes, so bright they all but blinded the two vampires. Then came the sound of running feet - lots of running feet, charging away with all the stealth of a herd of elephants.

"Bloody hell," Spike said ardently, one hand clamped over his eyes. "I'd only just got the peepers back at full power, too." He lifted his fingers and blinked at his Sire, trying to focus. "How many'd ya make it? Three?"

Angel nodded. "Three. Headed back toward the south entrance."

They exchanged a shrugging 'to hell with it' glance and then sprinted after the culprits with a speed and grace that couldn't have been anything other than supernatural, easily tracking their prey despite the shimmery specks of light still dancing before their eyes.

For Spike, the camouflage-clad figures scrabbling to safety over the back fence suddenly became far less a priority than catching the breath that deserted him right when he needed it most. He skidded, lost his footing, and slumped onto the ground, wheezing.

Angel had almost reached the fence and was gathering himself for the simple vault over it, when he realized that Spike was no longer alongside him.

Spike had always been the faster of them, especially over short distances. He was like a cheetah that way, exerting all his energy in one great rush, striking his quarry with a vicious flurry of fists and fangs, efficient and deadly. 'I killed them, right quick'. Angel preferred to wear his victims down until they were too tired to fight back - or at least, Angelus had, back in the days when he'd actually had victims.

The younger vamp's absence spooked him more than he would have liked to admit and he ground to a halt, kicking up a spray of gravel. Pebbles pinged rapid-fire into the metal fence as he wheeled back around, immediately spotting where Spike lay curled on his side some twenty feet behind him.

"Spike?"

There was no reply save for a pained gasp and Angel frowned, his heightened senses zeroing in on the tachycardic pounding that was Spike's borrowed heartbeat. He cast one last look toward the boundary, noting the silhouette of a black van as it zoomed off into the night, tyres screaming, and then made his way back to the blonde vampire's side.

By the time he got there, Spike was sitting up and reaching for his cigarettes with shaking hands.

"God, Spike, what was that? One of these 'episodes' that you keep talking about?"

Spike fixed him with a withering stare. "What do you bloody think?" He gazed off into the distance and sighed. "Got away, did they?"

Angel hunched his shoulders and gnawed at his lower lip. How could Spike be concerned about that, after what had just happened? "Yeah, but..."

"Leave it," Spike said in monotone. "Can't nothin' be done anyway. Least I can have a proper last hurrah nabbin' those wankers."

EPISODE SIX

"Action and Consequence"

Buffy's head hurt.

The lump above her ear had already healed a little, but it had also left a colorful spray of bruising that fanned all the way out along the top of her cheekbone. She looked like she'd been well and truly battered. Whatever Spike had run into out in LA had to have been pretty hard to mark her like that, and whatever he'd hit straight afterward had resulted in a similar pattern across the middle of her back.

She was sort of mad that he'd endangered Seth by being reckless, but also weirded-out by the fact that she hadn't sensed any real danger. She'd just got the same surge of fight-or-flight adrenaline she normally got from him when they patrolled, so whatever it was he was doing it wasn't life-in-peril stuff.

The worst part was that on top of the headache, she couldn't ever remember feeling so depressed; a depression so deeply ingrained that she couldn't discern whether it was his or hers. She felt like there was a huge weight pulling her down. Not the literal, dragging kind that she occasionally felt with Seth, but an emotional heaviness, a great big black cloud of something.

She missed Spike. That was part of the problem, at least. He had always been a bright spot in an otherwise gloomy existence, had always sparked something elemental in her, something raw and powerful. He made her feel alive. Without him she felt dead and listless and, despite being surrounded by her friends, utterly alone.

"I miss Spike," she said suddenly, causing her companions to turn and look at her. "Is that wrong?"

"No! No, of course not," Willow hurried to assure her. "Don't ever think that. It's completely understandable. He's... he's the father of your baby, for starters."

"He's your soul mate," Tara put in. "Your true partner. You feel incomplete without him, inadequate. Like part of you is missing."

Buffy gaped at her, tears welling in her eyes. "God, that's beautiful. You should, like, write that down or something."

Tara smiled softly. "You said it yourself, remember? Way back when Mr. Giles tried to sever the link."

"I did?" Buffy frowned. "I... did. How could I forget something like that?"

"You seem to be forgetting a lot of things lately," Willow commented. "It was just small stuff to begin with. You know, not picking up milk on the way home, or calling us about patrol, but now you're..." She bit her lip, not sure whether she should continue.

"I'm what? What am I?"

"You're forgetting the people who mean the most," Willow blurted. "You never talk about your Mom anymore..."

"She's dead," Buffy inserted bluntly. "What's to talk about?"

Willow crumpled slightly, upset by her friend's callousness, but struggled on nonetheless, "...a-and you hardly ever check in with Giles. Now you've shut Spike out, and he's the closest person in the world to you. It's like, nothing matters except for Seth."

"Well, he's important!"

"We're not saying he isn't. He's precious, a miracle even," Tara said kindly. "But he's not... he's not the only one you have to worry about." She took a deep breath. "Have you even thought about what you could be doing to Spike?"

"Huh?" Buffy blinked. "What do you mean?"

"Buffy, think about it. If you keep pushing him away, he's eventually gonna run out of away room." Willow scowled at her own verbal inadequacy. "I mean, it'll get to a point where he's got no more room to go."

"And again, I say 'Huh?'"

Tara came to Buffy's rescue. "What Will's trying to say is, how far can you push before the link snaps?"

"The link can't... snap...? Can it?" Buffy's eyes got really big. "God, what if the link snaps? He'll die, won't he? Spike will die." Buffy spread both hands across her belly as though the motion itself could quell her sudden twinge of panic. Her face drained of color, to a point where the witches thought she might faint. "I could kill him."

"Yes, you could," Tara agreed, glad she'd gotten the Slayer to at least contemplate the risks of the estrangement. "But that's always been true. We all know it won't ever happen."

"I hope not," Buffy's reply was little more than a whisper. She bowed her head to stare at her hands, still molded to the distended contour of her stomach, and didn't recognize herself anymore.

Xander and Anya chose that moment to emerge from the direction of the basement - he gallantly toting a carton filled to the brim with an assortment of jars, and she trailing disinterestedly in his wake.

After he'd deposited his cargo on the counter, the ex-demon sighed loudly. "Is that it?" she asked. "Do you feel manly enough yet?"

Buffy perked up, welcoming the distraction of someone else's relationship problems. The witches exchanged curious glances but said nothing, each of them loath to ask the inevitable question. Luckily Xander leapt to his own defense.

"Hey, manly here! I have extreme manly man-ness. I just..." He shrugged self-consciously and jammed his hands into his pockets. "I was just wondering you know, why the feeble fairy name? Gladius is a sword and Falchion is a sword. How come I don't get to be sword-guy?"

"His manhood is all threatened," Anya told them, pulling the herb-filled jars one by one from their box and positioning them on the shelves behind the counter.

"And what, the whole fairy part of that didn't concern you?" Willow struggled to hide her grin.

"Huh? No! No, it doesn't seem very... macho. It's all, 'Ooh, Leal doesn't need a weapon because he's so cute and funny and ...and non-heroic.'"

"Bollocks," Buffy sneered.

Xander blinked at her. She'd sounded so uncannily like the absent Bleached Boy Wonder that he was positive she'd channeled his spirit or something; almost like when the link stuff had first happened. If she started talking to invisible people they were in serious trouble.

"Great Spike impersonation there, Buff," he offered. "Fun at parties and big with the scary. You can stop any time now."

"That was total load of bollocks," she went on, as though he hadn't spoken at all. "As in 'crap', as in 'utter baloney'. Sure, you're cute and funny, but you're also one of the most heroic people I know."

He smiled; a wide, goofy caricature of a smile that went beyond pleased and almost split his face in two. "Really?"

"Come on, you've been a Scooby for how long now? You help save the world all the time, and you do it because you're you. Because you're special, and not in a Chosen One kinda way. You don't have the mystical super-powers or anything; you're just a regular guy fighting the good fight. Can't get any more heroic than that." She paused for effect. "Plus, I need someone with some semi-heroic qualities to be my designated Slay buddy and this means that you therefore qualify."

Anya eyed her doubtfully. "You need a Slay buddy? What for, and why does it have to be Xander?" She drew herself upright indignantly. "You can't have Xander. He may become dead or dismembered. I need his member fully intact. You know, for sex," she added, just in case they hadn't clued in to her clever innuendo.

Buffy decided to ignore that part, Anya's insinuations regarding Xander usually only served to make her queasy. "Since Spike's incommunicado in LA, I need someone to back me up," she admitted and folded her hands on the shelf her belly provided. "Nipper's not exactly tag-team material yet. And I sorta leave the high part out of high-kicks these days."

Willow scowled. "You never let on..."

"That I was having trouble keeping up with the slaying?" Buffy smiled ruefully. "Can you blame me? Slayer here. Not of the good if I can't cut the mustard." She hesitated; mimed a slicing-with-a-knife motion, then gave them a quizzical look. "Can you cut mustard?"

"Mustard-cutting aside, I'm all for helping out with the patrol," Xander volunteered. His cheeks were flushed an unflattering crimson from both Anya's color commentary and the Slayer's praise, but he was standing just a little bit taller because of it. "Just consider me the swarthy Ricardo Tubbs to your dashing, pastel-clad Sonny Crockett. We'll walk the beat, make the rounds, run down some evil and nail its ass to the wall..." He stopped. "Okay, that last part, not so much. I kinda ran short on the Miami Vice analogies."

"What are you talking about?" Anya demanded, staring at him in bewilderment. "I never understand any of your obscure popular culture references. I feel very left out." She pouted and folded her arms.

Xander rolled his head back, either popping-out some frustrated tendons or beseeching a higher power for assistance, it was hard to tell. "Sorry, Ahn," he mumbled. "I keep forgetting that history is nothing but a vast vengeancy blur for you."

"Hey!" Anya defended. "I'll have you know the nineteen-eighties was a productive decade for me despite all the big hair and shoulder pads women tortured themselves with." She sniffed. "Men were often the least of their problems."

Buffy exchanged a horrified look with Willow and Tara. They all shuddered. "Look, can we not revisit that particular era?" she pleaded. "Some of us have traumatic childhood memories."

"And I'm suddenly having sandbox flashbacks," Xander said. "In which I am made to swallow copious amounts of said sand. Tell me again why I'm a hero, Buffster. Boost my oft-bullied ego."

Buffy snorted. "Oh please!"

"I'm not kidding!" Xander insisted. "I mean, even Giles gets to be Mage the wise and powerful. His fairy looks like Gandalf with wings."

"Oh pooh!" Anya dismissed that with an airy wave of her hand. "There's absolutely no resemblance. Gandalf has that unruly facial hair. All the mini-Giles had was that funny pointed hat."

"To match his funny pointed ears," Buffy chirped.

"And his pointy magic wand," Willow added, then wrinkled her nose. "How stereotypical was that? Nobody uses a wand to do magic anymore, it's the height of corny."

Tara gave her a lop-sided grin. "Snob," she teased.

"Yes, she is," Anya agreed matter-of-factly, giving Willow a stern look. "You're in no position to be condescending. All the best wizards use wands. It's the done thing. Perhaps you could control your spells better if you did use one. They're really quite simple to construct when you know how..."

"What's that supposed to mean, 'control your spells'?" Willow fumed. "I've never... I mean, I only occasionally lose..." She folded her arms, dropping into a sulk. "I have lots of control."

Buffy absentmindedly massaged her lower belly. Stupid cramps. "Sorry, Will. I have to side with Anya on this one. Remember that whole 'do thy will' thing featuring Blind Giles and the Demon Magnet?"

"Hey!" Xander piped up. "Didn't they play the Bronze last month?"

Willow ignored him, and frowned at Buffy. "Why are you bringing that up? I thought that'd be listed under a big 'fond memories' heading now, what with the Spike smoochies and all."

Buffy concentrated hard on her stomach, evading the witch's probing gaze. "Okay, bad example." She was silent for a moment, then gave a small nod, as if making a decision and hauled herself upright. "I'm gonna go hang 'round the headstones for a while. Coming Xand?" She aimed for exit, not waiting to see whether or not he followed.

Xander gave her retreating back a long, probing look and then turned to Anya, brows raised. When she merely shrugged, he trailed after the Slayer. "And I'll see you ladies later."

The door closing behind him was like the starting signal for discussion.

"You see what I was talking about?" Willow was all but wringing her hands. "With the standoffish? Something is seriously wrong. We have to find out what it is so we can help. We need to help."

The three women gazed at each other, at a loss as to just how they were supposed to do that.

~[*]~

Angel and Spike stomped through the newly restored rear courtyard of the Hyperion, quibbling over tactics as they went.

"We're coming back for reinforcements because I don't have a great blinding death wish," Angel explained through gritted teeth, fast-losing what patience Spike hadn't already eroded away with his abrasive presence. "Jumping feet first into a crowd of demons twice well, your size is not my idea of fun."

"What is, watching paint dry?" Spike paused at the bottom of the stairs leading indoors and scowled at his Sire's back. "And I do not have a death wish," he grouched. "The whole point about this trip was my not dying."

Cordelia was already waiting by the weapons cabinet when they came inside. "I felt the Warrior-on-a-mission vibe coming from a mile away," she told Angel, all business. "What do you need?"

Spike was impressed. He'd never seen this side of the girl. Had guts she did, not unlike a certain Slayer of his acquaintance. "Couple o' medium sized axes should do it," he told her. "Want to come off threatening, but not so over-laden that we look to be lily-livered."

"The whole 'I'm too cool for these weapons' method of intimidation," Cordy surmised. "Which might work if you were actually cool or intimidating instead of a scrawny stack of neither."

She tossed a broadsword toward Angel as she spoke, which he caught without looking and swung over his shoulder, stalking past into the main office.

"That didn't look much like an axe," Spike commented dryly.

"It's his favorite," she confided in a none-too-subtle aside. "I think it's a security blanket sort of thing."

"I heard that, Cor," Angel said mildly, wandering back out into the lobby. He glanced at the stairs, frowned, and then looked back at Cordelia. "Where's Wes?"

"He and Fred went out for 'ice-cream'." She made little air-quote marks with her fingers.

"Uh huh." Angel just nodded, taking her words at face value and completely missing the significance.

Cordy exchanged a look with Spike. The younger vampire seemed almost as fondly exasperated with Angel's continued ignorance as she did. She smiled. "Gunn's out on a case with her, if you're wondering."

Spike didn't know whether to be offended by her dismissal of Drusilla or not. He cocked his head to the side and peered along his nose at her. "Not a fan of Dru's then?"

"No more than I was of you when you were at her stage of moral development," she shot back.

He grimaced. "Don't ever remember us doing anything to you personally," he mumbled, his tone caught somewhere between self-justification and embarrassment. "Me or Dru. We conveniently taking the blame for something or what?"

"No." Cordelia's flinch contradicted the hasty denial. She was suddenly having flashbacks to Dru's ill-timed Spike dumpage and the consequent 'Cordy-kabob with an extra helping of painful'. She cast a pleading gaze toward Angel, seeking a means of escape from the hole she'd unwittingly dug for herself.

He was of no use whatsoever, staring distractedly into space.

"Hello?" she called. "Earth to Angel..." She broke off into a lighthearted cackle. "Jeez, how lame does that sound?"

The corners of Spike's mouth took on a wicked curl. "You want an honest answer?"

"God, will you just SHUT. UP!"

They gawked at Angel, startled by the outburst.

The older vampire scowled at his Childe, chocolate-colored eyes simmering, a muscle ticking in his jaw. "How can you keep acting so goddamn blasé?" he demanded. "Are you so selfish you can't see that this is affecting more than just you?"

Cordelia took a step toward him. "Baby, what's -?"

"No. No, forget it." Angel waved a dismissive hand. "Let's just... go and get this done. The sooner he goes back to Sunnydale the better."

They were just about to head out when Wesley and Fred came in. The couple had been holding hands, but sprung apart on seeing they had an audience.

"Spike!" the former Watcher greeted warmly. "What brings you out here?"

"None of your damn business," Spike returned. His tone was just as warm even though he was still slightly miffed at Angel for saying he was selfish. What a load of bollocks that was... Him? Selfish? Humph. He wagged his brows at Fred. "Nice to see you've dispensed with the sackcloth and ashes ensemble, pet. Does wonders for you."

"Really?" Fred beamed, pleased by the complement. She tucked a strand of long, dark hair behind her ear and then straightened the hemline of her floral shift dress with nervous fingers. "Thanks. You look great too! I mean, not that you didn't before... You kinda look exactly the same actually." She frowned at that, her mind ticking over. "Do you age now or not? I forget that part."

Spike pursed his lips, hollowing out his cheeks to an almost skeletal degree. "Now there's a thought. Never got a proper instruction manual to go with the big humanity hookup, so I couldn't rightly say."

Wesley brightened at the prospect of some hands-on research. "I could carry out some tests while you're here?"

The blonde vampire eyed him skeptically. "Had enough of the prod 'n probe to last me, thanks all the same." He pointed toward his head, making a quirky trigger-pulling motion with his finger. "Unpleasant little incident involving government types and cunning chip-shaped implants?"

He wasn't being dishonest, technically. The chip was still floating about in his skull, large as life, but there was no way that he was gonna tell them that it wasn't working anymore. Angel would definitely stake him then. Hmm, possibilities there. Maybe telling wasn't such a bad idea after all...

Spike contemplated the merits for a moment, conveniently forgetting his earlier protestations about having a death wish. While in the midst of a particularly gruesome scenario, he had another link attack. The blood drained from his face, leaving him pale and light-headed and his nerve-ends twitched like he'd been electrocuted. He could hear someone calling him, but they sounded a long way off.

He struggled to find his equilibrium, and finally glanced up to realize that he'd zoned out and they were all staring at him. "Sorry. What? Did you say something?"

"Just another babbled apology from the babble twins," Cordy reported. She fluttered a hand to indicate Wes and Fred, but remained focussed solely on him. "Are you... okay?" The question seemed wrenched from her of it's own accord and she frowned as though wondering where it came from.

Spike ignored her concern, blinking at the former Watcher and his twig-figured girlie, and then turning an assessing look back on Cordelia and Angel. "You know," he said speculatively. "You're severely lacking in blondes around here. Need one?"

"Are you and Buffy gonna come to stay?" Fred asked, then paused. "Wait. You said 'one'. One blonde, not two."

Spike once again found himself the center of everyone's undivided attention. Everyone that was bar Angel, who was gazing longingly at the door, wrapped in his own thoughts.

They were never going to get to the warehouse before sunrise at this rate, and they really needed to get this stupid fairy stuff over with. He got the feeling that the longer Spike and Buffy were apart, the worse the situation was going to get. As stubborn as they both were, 'worse' was not a good place to be. There may be no coming back from 'worse'.

He sighed and began to tap the point of his sword against the floor, making little triangular notches in the linoleum. Wonder if bashing their hard heads together would make any sort of impression?

He let out another, even deeper sigh when Gunn and Drusilla entered from the direction of the basement. Oh great, more distractions, just what Spike needed...

"...One for the team," Gunn was saying, using the back of his sleeve to mop at a trail of clear slime dribbling down the side of his face. "Those Vuntarks didn't stand a..." He halted, realizing that the lobby was exceptionally full. "And we've got more than the usual number of vamps in tonight. Hey Spike."

Spike found he could do little more than nod in acknowledgement, stunned into silence by the sight before him.

After nearly a hundred and fifty years, Drusilla had finally moved with the times. Her hair was cut in a short and sassy bob, her slender form shown to best advantage in brown suede hipsters and a cream bulky-knit sweater that seemed to have shrunk at some point, stopping several inches above her navel.

"William!" she gushed, the swimming-pool-blue of her eyes limpid with pleasure. "So nice of you to visit. Especially when I've got such grand news." She tucked a possessive arm through Gunn's, neatly avoiding the slime. "My dashing Knight Gallant just killed himself a nasty swarm of Vuntarks."

She was bragging, Spike knew, recognizing the tone as the same one she'd used when he'd done away with that Chinese Slayer all those years ago. He recoiled from the memory, and from Dru. Any changes she'd made were merely window-dressing, then. Same as ever she was.

Angel had clearly recognized her tone as well, spinning around to pin them with his imperious gaze. "What did you call him?"

Dru blinked, a tiny frown forming between perfectly sculpted brows. "Oh, I'm terribly sorry. It's Liam now, isn't it?"

Spike pulled a disgusted face, not wishing to be reminded of that while in the presence of his Sire.

"No, not him," Angel stalked toward them, training his sword at Gunn's head like a laser-pointer. "Him."

"Knight Gallant," Cordy reflected before Dru could comment. "Just like the fairy. Coincidence? I say 'nay'."

"No such thing," Spike agreed. He cocked his scarred brow at Dru. "Star's tell you to christen him with that?"

"I don't remember," she pouted.

Angel redirected the sword, targeting Drusilla this time. "Try."

The vampiress was wholly unconcerned by his posturing. "Is it especially important?" she inquired curiously; lashes lowered to sleepy half-mast, the chin of her heart-shaped face set a-tilt.

Spike squinted at her. He definitely recognized that expression. Those cat-like features were suddenly looking all too smug. He shook his head and set about lighting a cigarette to distract himself from asking her how the canary had tasted.

"Been callin' me that long as I've known her," Gunn said. "This not-so-crazy kick-ass version of her anyhow." He gave Angel a hard look. "And put the sword down, 'less you want me to shove it somewhere painful."

The elder vampire narrowed his eyes at the threat. "My, my. Protective aren't we?" he mused silkily, sounding so much like Angelus that Spike shuddered. "Something going on I should know about?"

Cordelia stepped in, slapping Angel lightly on the shoulder. "Hey, back off, Daddy Smallbucks," she chided. "Little Orphan Vampy can take care of her own self." A sharp look of her own this time, directed at Dru. "Right?"

"Certainly." Drusilla's smile was polite, almost demure, which usually meant she was trying to think of the best way to kill you.

No love lost between those two. Spike resolved to keep well out of their way. "Much as a cat-fight would amuse me just now, thought we were off to terrorize some Keratos." He glanced around, his brows raised in invitation. "You did mention reinforcements. More the merrier and all that."

Angel grunted, backing away from his stare-down with Gunn. Spike was right. He hated when that happened. "Okay. Gunn, you and Dru take your ride, back up only. Cordy, Wes, you're with me and Spike." He paused and tipped his chin at Fred. "You're up with all that computer stuff, right?"

The young physicist darted an apprehensive glance at Wesley. He smiled at her reassuringly. "Um, yeah? It's been a coupla years, but I reckon I can still... Why?"

"Can you chop into the DMV database and track down a number plate for me?"

"Chop?" Fred blinked rapidly, each flutter seemingly connected to the cogs whirling in her brain as she processed what he was saying. She seemed awed that he was even speaking to her in the first place, let alone asking her to do something of import. "Oh! Oh, you mean hack. Well, sure. I could do that. I think. Whatcha got?"

Angel moved to the counter, scribbled some numbers on the back of one of the business cards and handed it over. "It's only a partial, but it belongs to a black transit van. Older model, but the guys in it were young. Early twenties maybe."

Spike let out a disdainful snort at his Sire's performance, twin streams of smoke blasting from his nostrils. He sauntered toward the courtyard doors; one of Angel's prized fighting axes perched insouciantly atop his shoulder, black leather flowing behind him like the cape of some perverse superhero.

"Linger on and play Sam Spade all you want, Peaches," he declared. "Gonna go raid me a bloody warehouse."

EPISODE SEVEN

"Defining Normal"

The black van pulled over to the sidewalk, slowly crawling to a stop and lurking in the shadows. Three pale faces peered out of the windscreen and across the street; their eyes moving in concurrent motion up the massive building that occupied the next block, it's impressive bulk silhouetted by the moon's argentine glow.

"Bastion," they chorused in hushed undertone.

"This is it," Tiny went on. "The secluded fortress home of Gladius and Jewel."

"And it's disappointingly lacking in both the seclusion and the fortressness departments," Weedy said. "Where are the sentries and stuff? Gallant should be standing out in front with that wicked axe of his at least."

"It's an old hotel," Stocky informed them. He'd pulled out a pair of binoculars and was scanning the entrance through the driver's side window. "'The Hyperion'," he mused, reading the signage. Then scoffed. "Lame. This whole set-up is so lame. It's a wonder they haven't been found out before."

"We're going to be the lame ones when they realize that we doubled back and followed them here." Tiny squirmed in his seat. "I mean, did you even see how fast they moved? I don't know how we got away without severe body damage."

"Yeah," Weedy agreed. "We are so gonna get busted."

"Shut up, Whine-drew," Stocky snapped.

"It's Andrew," Weedy/Andrew mumbled sulkily. "How come no one ever remembers that? Not like it's difficult or anything. You remember all the Eldrichian names, no probs."

"That's because they're interesting," Stocky sneered. "And you're not."

"Leave him alone, Warren," Tiny said petulantly, raising his rounded chin in an uncharacteristic show of defiance.

"And what? Pick on someone my own size? Oh wait. I can't." Stocky/Warren gave him a scathing look. "God you're pathetic. You're pathetic and you're short. Next time I'm partnering up with some guys who're actually..." He straightened suddenly, fingers hurriedly moving to better focus his binoculars. "Hang on, someone's coming out..."

All three paused with bated breath, waiting.

...And waiting.

"Well?" Tiny prompted. "Who is it?"

Warren shook his head in disbelief, listing the group one by one as they emerged from the depths of the celebrated building. "Falchion, Gladius... and, holy crap, Jewel."

"Where?" Tiny leant over Warren's shoulder, trying to get a better view, and then made an attempt at grabbing the binoculars out of his hands. "She's so hot!"

Warren shoved him. "Don't make me hurt you, Jonathon."

Tiny/Jonathon backed off, mouth set in a mutinous line, and glared at his larger companion. "You wouldn't even be here if it wasn't for me."

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever." Warren perked up again. "Ooh! Vigil just came out with Gallant and Nebula. They're all pretty well armed. Serious hardware, too. Could be something's up."

"They're probably going to hunt us down and kill us," Andrew fretted. "I'm too young to die!"

While Warren was scowling at Andrew, Jonathon finally managed to snatch the binoculars and zeroed in on the boat-like shape of the Gladius-mobile just as it tore away from the hotel, tyres squealing. The top was down and Falchion was perched on top of the backseat like he was riding in a Thanksgiving Day parade, the florescent streetlight accenting his hair and the gleaming leather across his shoulders. Gladius was in the driver's seat, almost invisible in the dark, his precious Jewel curled trustingly against his side.

Jonathon suddenly gasped, the magnifying lenses dropping from his fingers onto the floor of the van. "Oh-my-God."

Warren smacked him around the head. "Hey! Watch it, bumblefingers." He shifted forward to retrieve the fallen item and only then noticed the stupefied expression on the boy's baby face. "What?"

"That wasn't Jewel," Jonathon said. "That was Cordelia Chase. We went to high school together." He blinked, turning wide eyes on his companion. "I think I know where Eldritch is."

~[*]~

Giles rapped on the front door to 1630 Revello Drive with far more purpose than he had the last time and was satisfied by the sharp sound his knuckles made on the paneling. Yes, that was suitably authoritative.

He waited for what seemed an exorbitant amount time and then knocked again, now feeling a small measure of concern. Why wasn't she answering? "Buffy?"

He leant forward to check for signs of life, to try and peer through one of the rectangular glass insets, or even rest his ear against the door, when it abruptly swung open in front of him.

The Slayer blinked up at him, uncharacteristically startled, her eyes huge and red-rimmed, dominating her otherwise pale face.

"Oh Giles," she said inanely and sniffed, one hand wiping surreptitiously at her cheek. "It's you."

Giles paused, not sure how he could respond to that, and she took the opportunity to peer around him into the street, searching for precisely what he couldn't hope to guess. Hidden cameras perhaps.

"Wow, this is like becoming a regular thing," she remarked. "The visiting, I mean."

He sighed. It was worse than he'd thought, almost as bad as Spike had been making out. She was blatantly covering up, ignoring the fact that anyone with eyes in their head could see she'd been crying, let alone someone who was as close to her as family.

"Buffy..." he began.

She smiled, forcibly bright, and stepped back. "Oh sorry, my bad. Not exactly hostess-with-the-mostest these days. Come on in." She gestured toward the living room. "Spike's not here, but you knew that already."

"Indeed." He took a seat on the sofa, casting an eye over the suspiciously crushed box of tissues on the coffee table, and then pulling an appropriately horrified face at the crater-sized bowl of popcorn beside it. She had evidently been indulging in her own unique brand of wallowing.

Buffy delved into the puffed-up kernels, taking a handful. "Want some?"

"Er... Uh, no." He frowned at her. "Buffy..."

She plopped into the armchair. "You keep saying my name all the time, like you wanna say something serious." She nodded sagely, munching on a piece of her popcorn. "I gotta save the world again don't I?"

"I should think this is actually rather more important."

"What's bigger than world saveage? Other than the gi-normous beached-whaleyness that is me?"

Giles pinned her with steely eyes. "Why have you neglected to tell me of your problems with Spike?"

She glanced away guiltily. "Oh. You want to talk about..."

"What transpired in the Magic Box, yes. And also the consequences of your actions."

"Consequences? There are consequences now?" That flustered her, he could tell; the nervous babble was a dead giveaway. "Well, there was the yelling thing, and that wicked black eye..."

Giles leant forward, hands clasped together. "Do you realize what you're doing to him? How badly he's hurting?"

Buffy's eyes welled again, and her chin trembled. "I'm not doing anything to him. It's not me."

"It's not? Are you so sure?"

At the quietly solicitous tone in his voice, she finally broke down.

"No, I'm not! There's sure, and then there's me. I'm the incredibly unstable Unsure Girl. I just don't get it, Giles!" she lamented. "We were so happy, and then we weren't... and I don't mean to be so mean... and, and ...I love him SO MUCH! I don't want to hurt him, and I really don't want him to die! I don't!"

The Watcher's mouth twisted in an ironic smile. "Strangely enough, neither do I."

She stared at him, tears continuing to spill down her cheeks, seemingly unable to comprehend what he had just said. "But..."

"Despite what you may believe, I'm actually quite, um... fond of our resident vampire. He can be very... He - he does tend to grow on you."

"Like fungus," Buffy asserted. "Or one of those ivy-plant vine thingies. He gets all twined around your insides and then you just can't get him out with out destroying something vital."

Giles grimaced. "Yes, well, that's a very colorful way of looking at it."

"But it's true!" she insisted. She grabbed a wad of tissue from the box on the table and loudly blew her nose. "It looks all wrong on the surface, but Spike and me go together like ...Spike and me. We just fit, you know? We fit so good that for a while I couldn't tell where I finished and he started. Which wasn't always the best thing..."

"But he is an essential part of your life."

"I don't have a life without Spike. He is me. Only male. And British. And a vampire... Well, okay, so he's not me exactly..."

"You've never told him any of this, have you?"

"I didn't think I had to." She tapped the side of her head. "Link, right? I figured he already knew."

Giles rubbed his fingers into the crease in his forehead, though years of vexation had made the mark one of the deepest lines on his face and no amount of massage would ever eradicate it.

"He believes that you are pushing him away. That you don't need him anymore because he doesn't fit into the image you've created of a normal life..."

"Well, that's just stupid."

"...And I'm not convinced he's entirely wrong."

Buffy was silenced by that revelation. She huddled further into her chair, sliding down on her tailbone, a crease to rival Giles' forming between her brows. The gauzy over-shirt she wore had been knotted above the generous swell of her stomach and she absently twisted the loose tails around her fingers.

"Some of the responsibility can be placed squarely on my own doorstep," Giles went on. "I've been cautioning you from the very beginning to keep your identity secret, to appear normal above all else. I'm afraid I seem to have done more harm than good in that respect."

"No, that's not right. This has nothing to do with... It's not about you." Buffy struggled upright. "I wanted a nice normal life. Okay? I admit that. I wanted it for the longest time, but it could never work for me. Every time I got close, it blew up in my face. Remember that whole fiasco with Riley? That clinched it. I don't want normal now, or nice. I want Spike."

Giles chuckled. "Out of the mouths of... mothers-to-be."

"Shut up," she hiccuped, part sob, part laugh. "It's not funny."

"Certainly not." The Watcher sighed, serious once again. "Regardless of what you're saying Buffy, Spike is adamant that this estrangement is of your doing... A-a-and, quite astonishingly, he's willing to sacrifice himself so that you may have the normal life that you want."

"But already said that I don't..." Buffy paused in the middle of reaching for another helping of popcorn, eyes widening. "Sacrifice himself?"

"I've never seen him at such a low ebb," Giles said softly. "It's somewhat disconcerting. He's usually so... it seems ludicrous to say, but he's usually so lively, so dynamic. A force to be reckoned with, a..."

"...Pain in the ass?"

"Quite."

Buffy mock-frowned at him. "Way to be supportive of my significant other, Giles," she admonished. Then she shook her head. "God, I could just kill him sometimes. He's so completely... aargh! Why doesn't he just talk to me, huh? He used to talk all the time. Used to be I couldn't pay him to shut up."

"Are you wholly confident that you are not accountable for the link's shortcomings?"

"Not wholly confident. I'm not doing anything purposefully, not as far as I can tell, but I just get so... cranky. Mad cranky psycho Buffy on the rampage. And I don't get the why. Maybe its hormones." She brightened at that, fixing her Watcher with hopeful eyes. "Do you think its hormones?"

"I - I couldn't say," he stuttered at her. "I'm not an expert in these matters."

"Willow thinks I'm shutting everyone out, too. If I am, I don't mean to. I want you guys to be here, to be part of Seth's life the way you've been part of mine. Support system good, right?" She smiled sadly. "I've been thinking about that a lot. Haven't resolved anything, but the thinking part's covered. Everything keep going round and round in my head... and where it stops no one knows..." She giggled. "God, I sound like Drusilla. You think that'll get Spike back? He seemed to like the crazy..."

"Now you're just being ridiculous. I dare say it's another thing you have in common with Spike, he was acting rather the same way."

"Maybe we're influencing each other. It's not like we haven't done that before."

Giles stared at her, struck by the statement. "Of course!" he exclaimed. "Buffy, you're picking up on each other's insecurities, and by doing that you're feeding them, making them manifest themselves."

She pouted. "Well, that sucks. Make it stop."

"I'm afraid that part's not up to me."

"You're no help. I thought you were supposed to be helping." She paused to suck in a deep breath, wincing and pressing a hand to her side. "Ow."

Giles actually panicked, shooting to his feet. "W-what? What is it?"

"Popcorn," she muttered viciously, as though confronting a mortal enemy. "Another item to add to the ever-expanding 'Buffy can't eat that anymore' list."

The Watcher shifted his weight from one foot to the other, looking like he would like nothing better than to make a dash for it. "P-pardon?"

"Seth's pretty finicky about foodstuffs," she said, shifting her own weight to her right hip so that she was listing sideward in the chair. "Oh, that's much better," she sighed, enjoying a heartburn-free moment, then raised her brows at Giles. "I wonder if Spike's getting this. 'Cause now the pain's just sort of evaporated. That only happens when it transfers otherwhere."

"Shouldn't you be able to contact him and see?"

"Uh..." Buffy looked dumbstruck, like she was only now realizing that she could do that, but was still reluctant to make the attempt. "I guess."

"You guess? Buffy..."

"And there you go with the name-game again. Drop the sincere thing already, okay? I'll try it, just... gimme a minute."

She closed her eyes, lips pressed together in a thin line of concentration. After a moment her expression softened visibly, jaw going slack, those same lips parting on a blissful sigh. ...Ah, Spike...

Being connected to Spike could sometimes be like sticking your finger in a power socket, or diving headlong off a cliff-face into a churning whirlpool. Right now, though, she was getting a diluted sense of comfort. He was surrounded by people he knew and trusted, people he categorized as family. On closer inspection, he actually felt kinda... well, yellow. All shiny and golden like a sunlit field, like the glow from a cozy open fire caressing her skin with its warm fingers. In spite of everything that was happening, he still felt like home to her. More like home than this house did nowadays.

"And they call him mellow yellow," she sing-songed in an amused tone.

Giles quirked an eyebrow at the odd reference - he hadn't thought anyone her age had even heard of Donovan. Was this further evidence of Spike's influence? He refrained from commenting, though, and quietly moved back to his spot on the sofa. He did not wish to distract her.

Then Buffy suddenly hissed, as if in pain, and shot backward in her chair, her eyes flying open in shock, fingers clawing into the armrests. The Watcher was startled to see a ripple of the yellow she'd mentioned swirling through the deep green of her irises.

"Good Lord!" He found himself gravitating forward in his seat, mesmerized by the play of colors. There was a final fleeting glimmer of icy blue and then she returned to normal - if leaping out of her seat like a scalded cat could be construed as such. He wondered in passing if he'd ever seen a woman in such an advanced state of pregnancy move with that degree of speed and agility before.

He leapt to his own feet to follow her as she maneuvered toward the stairs. "Buffy, what is it?"

"I'm going to LA," she gritted determinedly. "Right now."

Giles caught hold of her arm just as she began her ascent, and instantaneously found himself catapulted into the front door as she flung him off without a second thought. He slid to the floor, stunned.

Buffy toddled to his side, reverting all at once to the tearful hormone bomb she'd been earlier. "Oh God, I'm so sorry. I don't know where that came from. I haven't had that much power since..." She trailed off, terrified of what she'd just revealed. "Um..."

He propped himself up on his elbows. "I am aware of your current affliction," he said gently. "Spike enlightened me."

"Spike had no business lighting anyone," she retorted, more out of habit than anything, then chewed at her lip. Her eyes dropped to stare at the floor, troubled and hurt. "He pushed me away just now. Slammed the linky door in my face like I was an annoying travelling salesman person."

Giles frowned. "I would have thought him above revenge of that sort."

"What sort? There was no 'venge' in the first place, what's he need the 'Re' part for?"

"He told me you'd been pushing him away. Perhaps this is merely tit for tat."

She set her jaw. "But I haven't been pushing him away," she intoned stubbornly. "I already said it wasn't me."

Giles looked up, his expression growing thoughtful. "You may be right. There may very well be an outside influence." His gaze was focused on her belly. From this new perspective, it looked enormous - the very thing he'd been overlooking now hitting him squarely in the face. "Or in this case, an inside influence."

EPISODE EIGHT

"Green Demons and Yellowbellies"

Spike stalked along the now familiar metal grating of the warehouse catwalk, his tread smooth and purposeful. Florescent light filtered through the latticework, dancing up over the fall of his duster to paint abstract designs across his pale features.

Angel hung back and watched him, mesmerized, only jerking out of his wary scrutiny when Cordelia prodded him with the point of her crossbow.

"Ow!" He twisted around to glare her, rubbing at his abused arm. "What was that for?"

"Keep your eyes on the big scaly demons," she admonished, indicating the floor below them. "Down there. Not the little annoying one up here."

"But he..." Angel turned back to Spike. "He's acting weird."

"And this is news why?" Cordy followed Angel's gaze, only to frown herself when she observed the blonde's behavior. "Wait. What's he doing?"

"See?" Angel shook his head, eyes riveted to the younger vamp. "Weird."

Spike's face was now etched in a grimace of pain. He leant against the catwalk's handrail, bending over at the waist, the double-sided battle-axe dangling forgotten from his right hand. The left was rubbing at his chest and he was muttering something inaudible under his breath. Inaudible, but vehement, the simmering rage all but tangible.

"Well, that's all kinds of disturbing," Cordy whispered. "Can you hear what he's saying?"

Angel concentrated for a moment, then, "Not really. Something about... popcorn?" He shot her a quizzical look. "That doesn't make any sense."

She shrugged. "It's Spike. Who the hell knows what goes on in that freaky over-bleached head?"

There was a pause as they both digested what she'd said, and then they answered simultaneously, "Buffy."

Overhearing the name, Spike pivoted on his heels to stare at them, his eyes narrowed dangerously, jaw clenched tight.

Buffy.

He hated that she could do this to him. Hundred or more miles away and she was still shadowing his every move, tainting his every thought, the slightest contact making him ache inside and leaving a bittersweet taste in his mouth.

Heartburn - Appropriate bloody word for it.

And, sod it, enough was enough. He'd had it with being at her beck and call. He was his own man now, whether she liked it or not...

His nostrils flared, anger curling his lips into a sneer, eyes gleaming a brilliant yellow as his demon came forth. With a deft twirl of his wrist, the axe swung up to battle readiness, and the vampire launched himself up and over the handrail and into the pit of Keratos demons below.

Angel and Cordelia looked on, unabashedly wide-eyed, as he plummeted several feet to land boots-first in a feline crouch. He rolled, absorbing the impact, and then in one fluid move, sprang upright and tossed the axe. It slammed through a control panel with lethal accuracy, shutting down the conveyor belts. He bounced on his toes; tongue firmly planted behind his teeth, and wagged his eyebrows at the one demon he recognized. Apollyon.

"'Ello Polly. Who's been a naughty boy then?"

Angel rolled his eyes at Cordelia, exasperated.

No death wish, huh? Only problem was that if Spike got himself dusted, Buffy would more than likely stake HIM for not protecting the little twerp in the first place...

Cordy smiled and patted him encouragingly on the shoulder; her hand lingering to stroke down his arm in a subtle caress before she moved back to descend the stairs she'd just spent ten minutes climbing. Angel waited until she disappeared in the shadows, before leaping down to join Spike.

His landing was slightly less spectacular than the younger vamp's had been and he ended up lying in an inelegant sprawl at Spike's feet having narrowly avoided being impaled on his own sword.

"Graceful as ever," the blonde jeered as his Sire struggled upright.

"Shut up, Spike."

"Right. 'Cause I'm not the one whose got some explainin' to do." He stared pointedly at the still silent Keratos, brows arched skyward. "Care to start?"

Apollyon angled his head and regarded him with one bright green eye. "S-spike."

"Yeah. That'd be me. Nice of you to remember."

"S-s-spike!" Apollyon hissed again, louder.

"Uh, yeah? What?" The blonde blinked at the enormous demon, confused by his insistent tone and twitched in surprise, unconsciously reverting to human form, when another Keratos materialized behind him.

"Yeah?" it imitated in a high, oscillating tone, then squeaked and began to laugh with what the vampire could only hope was delight. The noise was horrendous. He scowled up at it and wiggled a finger in his ear.

"S-s-spike!" Apollyon was waving the rest of the lumbering reptilian-demons toward him now, his tongue flicking in and out excitedly. "S-s-spike! S-s-spike!""

"WHAT?!" Spike was beginning to work beyond annoyance now, getting up a full head of homicidal steam. "I am aware of my own name, you know."

Angel's lips quirked, twisted, then began to spread into a great big crooked grin that looked completely alien on his usually impassive face.

Spike squinted at him. "Am I the only one here who's even remotely sane? What the bloody hell is going on?"

"How many litters did you say Apollyon had?" Angel asked out of the blue.

"Didn't." Spike looked at the broadsword in his Sire's hands, seriously contemplating nicking it and decapitating every single one of them. "And what's that got to do with the King of Redundant over there?"

"Well, judging by the size of these guys, I'd say they were the oldest bunch of offspring. The first litter."

"And?"

"And they're all called Spike."

Spike stared at him, mouth open. "No they bloody well are not!" He turned the disbelieving stare on Apollyon. "Are they?"

Apollyon nodded vigorously, his tentacles extending to indicate his progeny, now numbering more than half a dozen. "Honor for deed," he informed the vampires. "Fealty."

"Don't want your sodding fealty," Spike grumbled, still eyeing him distrustfully. "And speakin' of deeds done, where's that money-grubbing missus of yours?"

Wesley emerged from a side office, leading Idylla at the point of his sawn-off shotgun, vigilantly avoiding the sinuous flow of her tentacles. "Is this the lady in question?" he asked, barely visible behind her bulk. "I discovered her uploading data from the computer inside. Rather hurriedly too, I might add."

He didn't mention how peculiar it had been, the sight of the colossal demon tapping delicately at the keyboard with a single nail claw, but it would make for an amusing story later when circumstances weren't as tense.

"S-s-spike!" the large female demon boomed, the doubled tones of her voice bizarrely lower in pitch than the males and resonating painfully in their ears.

Spike winced. He'd forgotten how dissonant the females were, especially to delicate vampire hearing. It actually hurt to listen to them. "We got that part, love. Now, if you could shut your torturous yap for a second, I'll get on interrogatin' hubby dearest."

"Of service," Apollyon burbled, eager to please. "Tell all needed."

Idylla moved alongside her mate, revealing herself to be almost a full head taller, and laid a massive clawed hand atop his head, patting it soothingly.

The ridiculous grin had not left Angel's face and his chest was starting to ache from holding himself in check. When Cordy emerged from the stairwell, dark eyes sparkling with amusement as she picked up on his mood, the knowledge that she was sharing his glee snapped what was left of his control and his laughter exploded in a high hysterical rush.

Spike glowered. "Not really the time, Peaches," he admonished between clenched teeth.

That earned him another howl of laughter. Spike was criticizing his timing! The older vampire flung his arms around Cordelia, almost to keep himself upright, and hiccuped loudly.

Wesley stared at him, aghast. "Some decorum, Angel, please."

"They're all called Spike!" he wheezed, his face buried in the curve of Cordy's neck, his shoulders shaking.

"Entertaining, yes," Wesley agreed. "But hardly enough to inspire such delirium."

Cordy snorted. "Oh lighten up, Wes, or I'll go tell Fred you're a big old stick-in-the-mud."

Steely eyes narrowed at the suggestion but he prudently resorted from making any further comments, instead backtracking into the office to try and determine just what Idylla had been up to in there.

Spike sighed. "Right then, before this gets worse and to avoid some confusion, I'll let you lot call me 'Liam' for the time bein'." He thrust an adamant finger at Angel before the older vamp could speak. "And no cheek from you."

Angel just nodded, sniffing, and handed his sword to Cordy while he wiped at his eyes. She shook her head, smiling indulgently all the while.

"Dork," she murmured softly.

Spike ignored them, focussed instead on the other demon couple. He gestured expansively. "So? Explain away. I'm all ears."

Apollyon flashed an ingratiating smile. "Family large," he said, causing a ripple of agreement from the attendant members. "Multiple litters. Mouths to feed many."

"Alright, I get that," Spike conceded, willing to give him the benefit of the doubt for the time being. "But not exactly seein' how that fits in with your little fairyland here."

"Gemel's exploits gainful to extreme," Apollyon went on, sounding like a bizarre cross between Giles and Anya. "Profit margin large." His expression brightened hopefully. "Cut you in?"

Idylla looked ready to protest her mate's offer, but recoiled with a deafening squawk when Spike growled at her.

"If you want to keep those tongues of yours, I suggest you keep them in your head," he warned and turned his attention back to Apollyon. "You seriously tryin' to justify putting us all in danger for a few pound to line your pocket?"

Wesley returned from the office, this time looking somewhat more flustered. "Sorry to interrupt, but we may have further problems..."

"And those would be what?"

"Idylla seems to have been... um, posting the latest data on their web page. Unfortunately this includes information about Buffy's present... condition..."

Spike's eyes grew colder by the second, his teeth tightly clenched. "Which condition? Just about the Nip or -?"

Wesley wavered, not wanting to be the bearer of bad news. "All of it, I'm afraid. Up to and including your current separation."

The blonde vampire was instantly back in game face, pure unadulterated fury driving bodily at the Keratos, his sheer momentum propelling them both forward until Apollyon slammed into one of the control panels, the machinery crumpling under his tremendous weight.

Spike glimpsed something out of the corner of his eye, and kept one hand fast against the demon's throat while the other reached out to extract the battle-axe from where he'd thrown it earlier. He held it up under Apollyon's chin, the tip of one blade barely piercing the crustaceous skin.

"Seth's origins were meant to be kept quiet, you sodding great git," he growled. "You wanna talk about family? Fair enough then. There'll be no more profitin' off me and mine, understand? Or your little clan's gonna find itself less one proud papa."

Apollyon gurgled, the only noise he was capable of making at this point, and his tentacles lashed out and attached themselves to the vampire, tiny suction caps clamping at his face and neck.

Angel struck without any thought but to help his Childe, the heavy broadsword slicing several of the demon's right-side appendages in half. He ducked and whirled, coming up again on the left to repeat the move, but Apollyon had let go just as suddenly as he had grabbed on, whining like an injured animal, the site of the amputation leaking a sticky black ichor.

Idylla gabbled at him in sympathy, but she and the remainder of the family were prevented from coming to his aid by both Cordy and Wes' ready aim and their own reticence. They were, after all, a peaceable race and not inclined toward violence.

"Aargh!"

Spike reeled sideward, away from the Keratos, hands scrubbing at his face where the tentacles had been. A raised, oddly polka-dotted welt ran straight down the left side from hairline to collar, and another snaked from cheekbone to the bridge of his nose on the right. He almost looked like he'd been daubed with some bizarre red war paint, the impression shattered only by the faint glimmer of moisture in his eyes and the lone tear that escaped to run parallel to the injury. He was in all kinds of pain.

Angel diverted his attention from the demon for a second to raise a comforting hand in the younger vamp's direction.

"Don't!" Spike snapped, wrenching himself away. "Nobody bloody touch me."

He turned his back on them and hunched his shoulders, trying to ignore the sudden blinding compulsion to scurry back to Sunnydale - a suggestion that Apollyon must've shoved in his head 'cause he'd had no intention of leaving beforehand. He straightened, and took a deep breath, visibly pulling himself together. And this Nancy boy boo-hooing wouldn't do. A bit of the old bluster was called for. If there was one thing he was good at, it was bluster...

"Right, you..." He stepped menacingly closer to Apollyon. "You never come near me, or any one of my family again. Got that, stumpy boy? We. Are. Done. This place is officially out of business."

That said, he brought the axe to bear on some nearby oil drums, his efforts rewarded when they split open and began leaking what smelt suspiciously like gasoline. He snorted, both in cynicism and at the pervasive odor. It was almost enough to give a bloke a nosebleed.

"Well, that's a fortunate turn of events, innit?" he drawled. "A proper little bonfire to take the chill off. Seems fitting." In spite of his words, the chill remained, glinting like icicles in his unwavering gaze.

Idylla met that gaze for the barest of moments, recognizing his intentions, then gathered her young band of Spikes and hurried for the exits, a deafening combination of whining, cackling and thunderous elephantine footfalls in filling the air. Apollyon cast one last mournful look around his crumbling empire and then followed, passing an incredulously wide-eyed Gunn, who had just arrived.

"Tell those bloody PTB wankers I'm done with them too!" Spike shouted after the Keratos, struggling to be heard over the din.

Gunn held his hand up as if in protest. "Now that's one slimy can of worms I don't wanna open." He shrugged off the weirdness and went on, "Came to see what the hold up was." He indicated the doorway behind him with a jerk of his head. "Vamp-girl's gettin' edgy. Says the sun's almost up."

Angel aimed a self-recriminating kick at the nest-of-snakes tangle of Apollyon's lost limbs, shaking his boot when a persistent suction cap attached itself to the sole. He grimaced. "Will they be alright? The Keratos?"

"Does it matter?" Cordelia screwed her nose up at Angel's predicament, finally taking the sword from him and scraping the sucker away herself. "God, that's gross."

Spike stared fixedly at the expanding pool of gasoline, still fighting against an overwhelming urge to race home to Buffy. After a while he rolled his head from side to side, deflating like a punctured balloon, complete with long hissing exhalation.

"Don't go worrying your sorry caveman head 'bout that lot, Peaches. Keratos regenerate. He'll be good as new and back to his wicked ways in no time." He pulled his silver lighter from the depths of his duster pocket, idly flicking the lid open and closed with his thumb. He didn't look at them. "Word to the wise, unless you're fond of the crispy-fried look, the more flammable among us might wanna find some cover. Things are about to get a touch heated."

Cordy appeared ready to object, but Angel caught her eye and gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head.

"We'll wait outside," he said simply. "Go ahead and do what you have to."

~[*]~

The van rolled along the highway, almost invisible but for the twin headlights cutting through the thick blanket of pre-dawn fog. It had been travelling along the road for a couple of hours now.

Jonathon sat in the passenger seat, going over a file of printouts. "I can't believe I didn't see it," he muttered, scrutinizing the contents carefully in the dim interior, then paused to amend the statement. "Well, except if you take into account that we've been keeping track of the Eldritch Universe for a while and they'd never released any official merchandise. All we had were those vague descriptiony things in the character archives. So - so you can't blame me, right?" He knew he sounded defensive, but Warren wouldn't really blame him, would he?

Fortunately Warren didn't seem in a blaming kind of mood. "But since we got hold of the info on the warehouse," he prompted, "And those conceptional drawings for the action figures...?"

Jonathon held up several of the sketches, one after the other. "Cordelia Chase is Jewel, Willow Rosenberg is Charm... God, look at this! Buffy Summers is Annulet! She saved my life a bunch of times and I never once realized..."

"I don't understand how you could just forget people who're all stunning and movie star-like," Andrew said from the rear of the vehicle where he sat, keeping a close eye on several incoming feeds. "I'd remember them. Especially Falchion, and Gladius. I mean, no one that good looking could possibly exist in real life." He sighed dreamily, drifting off for a moment before shaking himself out of it. "So, um, we get to this Sunnydale place, take Buffy-slash-Annulet hostage now she's all powerless and stuff. And then what? Wait for them to find us?"

"Don't be an idiot," Warren snapped. "We auction her off on our site, hand her over to the highest bidder..."

"And then we'll be rich, rich, rich," Jonathon concluded. "Right?"

"You got it, Sparky."

One of Warren's hands began beating an impatient rhythm against the van's steering wheel and Jonathon watched it anxiously. "But, no one gets hurt? We don't hurt her."

Warren didn't look at him, but his hand stopped its restless movement and he shrugged. "Of course not."

Jonathon glanced over his shoulder and met Andrew's gaze.

Why was it that neither of them found that reassuring?

Andrew turned back to the panel of flickering screens, eyes widening comically when three of them went dark without any warning. "Oh no!" He tapped frantically at the glass of the one nearest him. "Oh no, no, no!"

Warren didn't take his eyes off the road. "What the hell are you blubbering about?"

"It's gone." The panic in Andrew's voice made it tremble. "Aftertime Creations is gone. What are we supposed to do now?"

EPISODE NINE

"Connecting The Dots"

Buffy peeked around the door of the Magic Box, enjoying the novelty of being able to sneak in. Xander had made several attempts at repairing the Spike-damaged bell overhead, but it steadfastly refused to tinkle. She glanced up at it as she slunk inside, pleased with her continued stealth, and then let the door slam loudly behind her. Willow and Tara, both ensconced behind the counter, jumped and let out identical squeaks.

Tara recovered first. "Oh, hey. Its Buffy." A second glance at the grinning Slayer had her gaping. It wasn't that the soft black T-shirt she wore looked suspiciously like one of Spike's old favorites - nothing unusual there, Buffy often borrowed the vamp's clothing - but the fact that it was stretched much tighter than usual over her over-ripe figure. "And can I just go ahead and introduce Seth as a separate person now, 'cause... hoo boy!"

Willow goggled comically. "Oh my Goddess. Did you like, swell up overnight? You look like you're gonna pop any second."

"Don't laugh," Buffy said. "I'm eight months along as of yesterday, it could happen." She waddled across the store and lowered herself into the lone armchair, propping her legs up on the stool in front of her. "Whew! My ankles are so relieved." She sighed, then looked over the clutter-free study desk with interest. "So? Where are all the musty books? I thought Giles was researching."

Giles strode in from the training room, a large, dog-eared volume tucked under his arm. "Did I hear you say eight months?" he asked. "I had no idea you were so close to term."

"Oops, I spoke too soon," Buffy chirped. "Books ahoy." She began drumming the fingers of both hands on her belly. "And yeah, four weeks to go and counting. Hence the increasing abundance."

The Watcher pursed his lips. "Forgive me for asking, Buffy, but you've remained ignorant of so many factors concerning this pregnancy, how is it you're so certain of dates?"

"Uh..." Buffy cringed, trying to formulate a response that wouldn't make his head explode. "Umm, okay. Well, let me put it this way... Spike once said that he'd 'got it right first pop'. 'Nuff said?"

Giles stared at her blankly for a moment, then shuffled his feet uncomfortably. "Ah. Yes, quite. Th-thank you for clearing that up."

"His sperm had been inactive for a long time, it was probably pretty potent." Anya meandered into view, a feather duster swinging carelessly from one hand. "Bet those swimmers were all revved up with somewhere to go." She leant over sideward and peered curiously at the book in Giles' possession, reading the title and recognizing it instantly. "Hey, you're contacting The Font."

He glanced at her, surprised, automatically clutching the book closer as if to protect it from scrutiny, before latching onto the comment. Please, anything that directed the conversation away from the subject of Spike's sperm... "You know them?"

The former demon waved the duster airily. "Oh sure. They're an okay bunch for a collective conscience. No fun at Trivia nights though." She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes, trying to pin down some elusive memory. "You need Pythian water for the ritual right? Like a whole gallon or something. It's a good thing we got a new shipment in last week."

Buffy frowned after the ex-demon as she sashayed back toward the basement. "I don't have to drink it, do I? 'Cause I gotta say, not having a whole lot of bladder control these days."

Tara shook her head, mouth crooked in a wry smile. "No drinking, we promise."

"It's supposed to have divinatory properties," Willow explained. "Mega-helpful for seeing into the future and stuff like that." She replaced the jar she'd been fossicking in on the shelf behind her and wandered toward them, a sprig of stalky dried herbs in her hand. Rosemary, maybe. "It's named for Pythia, the priestess who used to run the Oracle at Delphi. Ancient Greece. Very cool."

Tara grabbed what appeared to be a large crystal punch bowl from the counter and followed her out. She set it in the center of the table, causing the built-in lighting to shine through it in a prismatic glow.

"Another oracle?" Buffy whined, disregarding the goings-on. "Won't that be a huge waste of time? Last time one of those showed it's... well, it's voice around here, she wasn't exactly forthcoming with the details." She pouted. Stupid Herald.

"I'm not contacting the Oracle itself," Giles said. "I'm contacting the Font of Knowledge."

Buffy stared at him, bug-eyed. "There's an actual Font of Knowledge? How long have you known about this and why wasn't I made aware of it back in high school? A study-free Buffy would have been an extra-time-for-slaying Buffy."

"Motivations like that are precisely why it's existence is kept secret. It's not something to be taken lightly." Giles took the herbs from Willow and crushed the leaves between his fingers, sprinkling them across the tabletop in a sweeping anti-clockwise motion, carefully avoiding getting any in the bowl itself. "Furthermore, added time for slaying during that period would presumably have led to Spike's dusty demise, and where would that leave you now?"

Instead of replying, Buffy followed his actions avidly. "Wait. You're doing it now? And here?"

"Is there any particular reason why not now and here?"

"'Cause I really have to go...? Somewhere else. More important?" she hedged, then sighed at her Watcher's level stare. "Or not."

He narrowed his gaze, studying the pale oval of her face a little closer, concern furrowing his brow. "Are you quite alright? You look tired."

Buffy shrugged. "I had bad dreams last night. Not Slayery, just kinda creepy. Demons and fighting. And there was a fire of the Towering Inferno variety. Oh, and I woke up with these strange polka-dotty marks on my face, but they're all gone now."

Anya re-emerged from the basement, balancing a blue-toned plastic bottle in each hand like some B-grade celebrity promoting a designer brand.

"Pythian water," she announced. "Fresh from pristine Grecian climes to you. Will that be cash or charge?" That earned her a withering glance from Giles to which she gave an exasperated huff. "I was making a joke. Playful banter among friends. I can do that, you know. I have a very well developed sense of humor."

"Yes, you have me rolling in the aisles continually," he said drolly. "Please, just... pour it in the bowl."

She aimed a suspicious look in his direction, but did as he asked. The light shimmering through the crystalline of the punch bowl now diffused even further by the water.

Willow rested her head against Tara's shoulder. "Ooh, pretty."

Tara made an agreeing hmm-ing noise.

Giles placed the book on the table and pushed his glasses further up his nose as he scrutinized the faded glyphs on the page before him. "I believe we're about ready to..."

"Oh, wait!" Willow thrust both hands out like she was trying to prevent an accident, then scrambled toward the counter. "The wreath."

Buffy blinked. "We need a wreath?" She tipped her head curiously. "Somebody gonna die?"

"It's a laurel wreath," Giles clarified.

"Somebody gonna be Caesar?"

"That would be you." Willow sniggered and plopped the coronet of dried leaves onto the Slayer's head. "Congratulations."

Buffy did not look pleased. "I'm assuming this has something to do with your spell, and nothing to do with making me look like the queen of dead grassy stuff?"

Giles sighed. "According to many noted texts, laurel communicates with the spirits of prophecy. It was custom to crown all Oracle Priestess in just this way."

"Cute," Buffy deadpanned. "And not in any way clashy with my outfit." She leant down to speak confidentially to the contour of her stomach. "I hope you appreciate this, mister."

Giles was once again absorbed in the book, going over the spell for the millionth time, making sure he was prepared.

"P-please excuse the extreme pompousness of the translation's wording. It may sound very, um..." He twitched, slightly self-conscious, then cleared his throat and began to read aloud. "'We beseech thee, O Golden Apollo, fire-robed prince of Delphi and God of all our suns, to permit access to your supreme Font of Knowledge. Grant us the counsel of your many surrogate tongues, so that the worthy petition of our Priestess may be answered.'"

Anya screwed up her nose. "Doesn't sound much different from normal Giles-speak if you ask me." Nobody did.

The Watcher stopped and checked back over what he'd just recited, distracted by the content. How odd that he'd only just noticed... "Hmm," he mused. "Yet another reference to 'Golden' and more than one sun. I wonder if...?"

"Giles!"

Willow squeaking his name soon returned his focus to the ritual at hand. The water in the bowl had begun to froth and bubble. One could almost have said it was boiling, except that there was no accompanying heat or rising steam. The bubbling slowed after a moment, the water thickening like molasses while still remaining crystal clear. The aerated globules were now struggling to form in the gelatinous liquid, but when each did, it was in the guise of a face. Many different faces, diverse in their heritage. Old, young; male, female; human, demon: all races, sizes and shapes.

Anya peered over Giles' shoulder and waved. "Hi guys! Remember me?"

An impossibly large bubble transformed into the visage of a beautiful young Asian girl. "Anyanka," she said, before disappearing with a muted pop and then remolding again in the form of an elderly male Wijego demon with gnarled horns. "It is good to see you again. We would ask how you are, but-" Pop: a child of indeterminate age, "- we already know."

"Fascinating," Giles murmured.

Buffy rolled her eyes, extracting herself from the armchair and trudging over to see what all the fuss was about. "Hello? Priestess wanting answers right here."

Pop: a rather obese woman with hideous teeth grinned at them but didn't say anything, she was replaced by a bearded young man who looked a little like Xander. "The answers you seek are to be found within," he said.

"No! Really? You're kidding?" The Slayer did not bother to hold back on the sarcasm. She gave Giles a sour look, the laurel wreath slipping down over one eye only to be shoved impatiently back into place. "Told you this was a waste of time. Most of these Oracle thingies know diddly."

Pop-pop-pop.

The Font seemed irritated by Buffy's dismissive attitude, the thick, syrupy bubbles churning more rapidly, several faces morphing together in tacit disapproval, before coagulating back into the wizened features of the Wijego demon they'd observed earlier.

"Chosen One, you disrespect us," he said in a deep, gravelly voice.

Buffy gasped in pretend disappointment. "Damn. What gave me away?"

Giles gave her a stern look, which, as was entirely usual, did nothing to quell the Slayer's capricious nature.

She glared up at him, keeping the precarious wreath straight with one hand while the other curled supportively around her belly. "I'm exhausted, my ankles are killing me, my other half is currently gallivanting around Los Angeles and, from what I can gather link-wise, blowing things up. I am not in the mood for cryptic Oracle-y demons." She shifted from one foot to the other. "Also, I think Nipper might be playing football with one of my internal organs."

As she spoke, the face of the Wijego abruptly popped, the Pythian water mutating into the form of a cherubic little human boy around three or four years old.

"Oh. God." This time Buffy's gasp was entirely genuine. Tears sprang unbidden to her eyes and she reached tentatively toward the boy, one finger extended to trace the outline of his rounded cheek, a gesture so painstakingly gentle that she didn't once break the water's surface.

Giles adjusted his glasses and squinted into the bowl, trying to discern what it was about the child that had spooked her so. The manifestation smirked at him, an expression that should have been alien on his innocent features, but was instead horribly familiar. He knew that smirk. "Dear Lord!" he exclaimed. "It's..."

"Seth." Buffy's whisper was a fragile, broken thing. She was holding herself together by the barest thread, but managed a tremulous smile at the beautiful face of her son. "Hello, my littlest guy." Her heart felt like bursting from the sheer magnitude of it. If only Spike was here...

"How is that possible? That's not possible, right? He hasn't been born yet so he hasn't got a properly established physical form. And-" Willow's innate curiosity got the better of her and she peered over Buffy's shoulder, her brow wrinkled in confusion. "-And ...Holy cow! He looks just like Spike! I mean, if Spike was smaller and cuter and made of soda's evil twin." Her gaze darted from the apparition to Buffy's stomach and back again. "Well, gosh darn it, I wish we could tell what color his eyes are."

Buffy peered at her from the corner of her eye, brows raised.

"We're kinda running a pool," Willow explained sheepishly. Her eyes went wide. "Oh! A gene pool! I made a funny. Go me!"

"Blue," Seth piped up proudly, causing the redhead to break into a silent celebratory jig. "I have blue eyes. Jus' like Spike. That's my Dad, but I don't call him that 'cause it sounds bloody stupid."

His childish voice was tinged with the faintest hint of his father's accent, and Buffy was torn between laughing and crying and fighting off a bizarrely Mom-ish urge to chastise him for his language. This was so totally insane.

The tiny liquid face pouted; nose scrunched, lower lip jutting out, revealing that he had inherited several of his mother's attributes after all. "These other people say that my eyes'll only be blue if the Guardians get their act together. The rift's gotta be fixed first." A thoughtful pause then, "What's a rift? Is it like a raft? They sound sorta the same, but not rhyme-y. Spike tells me good rhymes."

"Precocious, isn't he?" Giles mused. "Quite extraordinary, really."

Seth giggled, causing the Pythian water to ripple in an alarming fashion. Miraculously the face-bubble held its shape. "You're funny, Poppy G."

"P-p-p-" Giles spluttered, incredulous, and gaped at Buffy. "Poppy G? Who on earth gave him permission to call me that? Has he no respect? I sound like some... some hippity-hopping street thug. A-and to have the temerity to call his own father by that horrid nickname..." He ground to a halt and sighed. "Oh, what am I saying? This is simply a conjectural image. Seth's consciousness is nowhere near this far developed."

Buffy shook her head in firm disagreement. "No. It's really him." She grinned. "Poppy G."

"Now, you stop that at once!" Giles admonished. "And don't go spreading it about. I have a reputation to uphold." They all giggled at that, including Seth, and the Watcher pinched the bridge of his nose, exasperated. The lad had given him an instant Spike-headache. He hoped that wasn't a sign that he was evil. "I believe you mentioned a rift? Will the 'other people' in the Font tell us about that?"

One of Seth's watery brows quirked, seemingly involuntarily, followed by a Slayer-like roll of the eyes. "Sure." The way he said it sounded remarkably similar to 'Duh!' There was a slight lull before he spoke again. "Bas says that Mom and Spike are makin' the link act all wonky 'cause they're scared an' if they just work together it'll fix by itself."

Giles allowed himself a moment of self-congratulation. It was just as he'd theorized earlier; the Gemel themselves were the cause, they were projecting their fears onto each other - a lack of communication, of all ironies. He nodded along thoughtfully, then frowned, confused. "I'm sorry, who is this 'Bas' person?"

"One of the guys in here." The Seth-bubble turned as though looking behind him, giving them his profile. "Bassey-lisp or sumptin' like that... He's a hy-oooge green monster man." He let out a silly little tittering noise. "Looks like a big fat booger."

Willow nudged Tara with her hip to get her attention, then tapped the tip of her nose. "Buffy's bump," she whispered knowingly. "Xander's toast. I'm totally going to scoop that pool."

"Bassey-" Giles' brow crumpled into thoughtful furrows. "Seth, are you talking about Basilisk?"

"Yeah. He looks like a booger dun't he, Poppy G?"

Buffy grabbed her Watcher's arm. "Who's the Booger Monster?" she demanded. "Seth's not in danger is he?"

Giles winced. For someone not at her maximum strength, his Slayer had a bone-crushingly powerful grip. "Basilisk is, or was, the king of a band of mythical lizard-like creatures. I uncovered several vague references to him in my original research concerning the Serpiente. I'm inclined to believe that he was actually a Keratos demon."

"You didn't mention that." Buffy's stare could have fried him on the spot. Her fingers dug in harder. "Why didn't you mention that?"

"Buffy, I hardly think this is an appropriate time to..." He took a steadying breath. "I have been admittedly lax in my Watcher duties of late, but that does not exonerate Spike or yourself from any blame in this situation. Seth has just explained that your own misgivings are..."

"Mommy, where's Spike at?"

The fearful little voice sliced right through her, leaving her in a state of numb panic. God, if she couldn't get her head on straight, this miracle child didn't stand a chance. "He's, um, he's... at work right now, sweetie."

"Oh. Work. Like slayin' stuff, huh? Not regular work like Uncle Xan does." Seth's concerned face became introspective, listening to something, or someone else. "'Falshun has 'liminated the pos'ble fret'," he recited after a moment, obviously being coached. "'All will be made well on his return'." He snorted. "Bas is stupid. He talks weird."

"That was a Spike-snort!" Willow blurted, buoyed by her continued success in scooping the Gene Pool. She bobbled on the spot and then squeezed Tara excitedly.

Tara squeezed back, then pulled away to give her a firm look. "Focus, baby. This isn't about you."

"Oh, right. Sorry."

Buffy didn't even hear the exchange. Her gaze was riveted to Seth's face, almost as though she was trying to memorize every feature, every nuance of expression. The tears she'd been holding back mounted a new offensive at Slayer Dam, breaking through fortifications to trickle down her cheeks. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

"What for?" Seth gave a birdlike tilt of his head. "Didja break somethin' again?"

"Yeah. Kinda looks that way." She bowed her head, not even bothering to fix the wreath when it slipped down onto the bridge of her nose, obscuring her view. "It's my fault that the rift happened. My fault the link almost broke. I'll fix it, though. I promise."

"Hokay." Seth's acceptance was automatic, no doubt at all in his voice; Mom always kept her promises. He blinked a couple of times, lids drooping before forcibly widening again. "Don' need a nap," he declared. "'M not tired."

Buffy smiled. "No, baby, you go to sleep now. I'll see you soon."

"Awright then. Bye Mommy. Love you."

"I love you, too."

The bubble began expanding before she'd even finished speaking, but didn't pop, instead dissolving in on itself and flattening until it was just a regular bowl of water again.

Giles reached out in a jerky stop-start motion and rescued the laurel wreath, which was in grave danger of toppling from the Slayer's head into the water. "Well, that was ...enlightening, to say the least."

"So, Spike's gotta come back, right?" Anya asked. "I mean, that was the gist of the whole thing. He's gotta come back to fix the rift."

"It appears so. Although revealing the finer details of how that may happen didn't seem to occur to them."

"Spike never should have left in the first place," Buffy said, finally looking away from the bowl to gaze at them each in turn. "My letting him think that I didn't want him around... That was wrong. And stupid. And he was even stupider for believing me." There was a clear light in her eyes, a spark that hadn't been there for months. "We're a family. It's about time we figured out what that means."

~[*]~

Xander Harris, designated Slay-buddy, was running as fast as his too-human legs would allow. Unfortunately it wasn't proving fast enough. He skirted around a broken headstone, trying to keep Buffy in sight as she chased after a runaway fledgling. Man, less than a month from delivering her and Spike's little bundle of joy, and she was still leaving him in the dust.

Literally.

He choked as he ran right through the vamp's cloudy remains, hands flapping wildly at the air around his face. "UGH! Gack! That stuff just does not taste good. Why can't I ever inhale a better flavored...? And I'm not going to finish that sentence."

Buffy grinned, tucking Mr. Pointy into one pocket, then producing a brown paper bag from another and offering it to him. "Peanut chaser?"

He glanced at the bag, then back at her face. "Post-slayage munchies?"

"More like post-Oracle-thing munchies," she said, scavenging through the contents for a nut that actually had fruit and wasn't just fragments of shell from her previous forays. "Kinda depressed about the whole needing Spike to be here and him being not. Here."

"You guys've been doing it tough lately, huh?" Xander fell into step beside the Slayer as she headed toward the cemetery gates, leaving a trail of discarded peanut shells in her wake.

She shrugged off the question. "Who doesn't? Relationships are tough. That's life."

"Or un-life, as with you and Dead Boy."

Buffy stopped and scowled at him. "Spike's not dead. He's..."

"Dead," Xander supplied blithely. "He's a vampire. Nothing's ever gonna change that, not even the nifty breathing-and-beating-heart thing he's got going."

She was seriously peeved now, arms folded over the swell of her stomach. "Spike. Is. Not. Dead." Each word was hissed through her clenched teeth. "Seth wouldn't be here if he was."

Xander hated when she did that, forcefully drawing his attention to the fact of Seth's existence. He was painfully aware of Buffy and Spike's connection, but when it came to the physical side of things he quite liked having his head buried in the sand, thank you very much. The view was much less confrontational than having the impending spawn of the Bleached Wonder shoved in his face at every opportunity.

He took a deep breath, ready to continue on his anti-Spike diatribe, then let it out again, startled by the glimpse of something in her eyes. Something he hadn't expected, something rare that he hadn't seen for a very, very long time.

Buffy was scared.

No, more than that, Buffy was absolutely terrified.

He hadn't been around for the ritual or it's aftermath, but if it was having this kind of effect... "Okay, so why don't you tell Uncle Xander what's really freaking you out?"

She avoided his eyes, suddenly enthralled with the contents of the paper bag. "Rift."

"The blurting of random nouns is not so big with explaining goodness."

"There's a rift in the link. Rifts R Us."

"But that can be fixed, right? I'm guessing the whole 'permanent' thing still stands?"

"Oh yeah. It's not like the Grand Canyon or anything. Not even a rift really, more like... a glitch. A tiny, microscopic glitch. Totally fixable. Something about Spike having to be here for something... else." Buffy wrinkled her nose at a dubious fragment dug up from her excavations - Hmm, shell or nut? Better safe than sorry - and tossed it aside. "Or something."

"Not buying the little Miss Flippy act on offer there, Buff." Xander ducked his head, trying to meet her eyes. "C'mon, let the scaredy cat out of the bag."

"Well..." Her shoulders hitched self-consciously. "We're sorta having to rely on the do-it-yourself guide to rift-fixing. Seth didn't leave an instruction manual, so all we know is Spike comes home and somehow, 'poof!' - no more rift." She scowled. "Not that we know exactly what that is either." Font of Knowledge, my ass.

"So, to sum up, you don't know what it is, or how to fix it."

"Uh huh. And there's also the fact that the whole thing is possibly my fault to begin with."

Xander mulled that over. "The fight at the Magic Box is beginning to make sense..."

"Oh no, it started way before that." Buffy scrunched the paper bag into a tiny ball and tossed it back over her shoulder. It ricocheted off a couple of headstones before coming to rest in the grass. "I think because of commitment fear."

The brunette was aghast. "Spike wouldn't commit? What a jerk! I knew there was a reason I hated that guy..."

"No. Spike... God, Spike couldn't be more committed. He's a committee. He's like, monogamy personified."

"Still not seeing the problem."

"I can't seem to... Everyone I've ever loved has left me; Angel, my Dad, Mom..." She choked over the lump in her throat. "Okay, so I didn't really love Riley, but there's another big red check in the leaving me column..."

"In your Mom's defense, leaving you? Not her choice."

"I know that. The point is I've developed a tendency to push people away when they get too close, a pre-emptive strike kinda thing. Only now, I might have pushed so hard that something broke. Something beautiful and precious and..." She stifled a sob. "...And what if we can't fix it? What if my stupid cold feet have stomped over any chance of us being a proper family?" She brushed at the tears on her cheeks and gazed at him expectantly, wanting him to tell her it would be okay.

Xander stared at her for a long time, his thoughts in a jumble. What he said next was the last thing she was expecting.

"I've been carrying a ring around in my pocket for three months."

Buffy blinked. "Huh?"

"After the Double-Xander thing, when I landed that promotion, it was like something clicked. Everything started to make sense. I had the steady job, the great apartment. All that was missing was the perfect little missus. So I bought this." A tiny blue velveteen box was pulled from his coat pocket and jiggled in one hand. "But then I started thinking; Anya has been alive for over a thousand years, she's seen and done things that I can't even begin to wrap my head around. What can I offer her that's gonna compare to that?"

"Jeez, is this that whole inadequacy thing again? We've been down that road. Recently. You can still see the footprints." She rolled her eyes at his feeble-mindedness. "Anya loves you, you dope. Normal Joe Construction Worker you, sawdust and all. Nothing else should matter."

Xander nodded. "See, that's the same conclusion I came to after your pep talk." He opened the box, showing her the empty cushion inside. "She said 'yes'."

Buffy was beyond stunned. "Oh. My. God!"

Xander put the box away and rested his hands on her shoulders, gazing at her with utter sincerity. "Buffy, if you love Spike, I mean really love him, then nothing else should matter."

The Slayer gawped like a fish, trying to assimilate what she'd just heard. "You're... right." She narrowed her eyes at him. "Who are you and what have you done with Xander?"

He smiled. "Very funny."

She grinned back, shifting forward to grab him in a rib-cracking hug. "Congratulations! I'm so happy for you!"

"And with the remaining air in my lungs, I thank you," he wheezed.

She pulled away, wincing sympathetically, but Xander just stared distractedly over her head.

Something was rustling in the bushes behind the ever-popular Alpert Crypt. Probably another fledgling - they were drawn to the place like bees to honey. Maybe the crypt had the same demon attracting issues he did. Had they ever looked into that?

Buffy turned, curious. "What are you looking at?"

Xander squinted for a moment longer, but couldn't discern any further movement. "Nothing, I guess." He turned his attention back to her. "You'll be okay?"

She placed a hand on his forearm, offering reassurance. "I'll be fine, Xan. Just a bit freaked about having a one-on-one conversation with somebody who's not born yet."

"Yeah, I can see how that might induce wiggage."

The crackle of someone stepping on Buffy's discarded paper bag made them both turn back in that direction. They barely had time to register the presence of the three dark Chloroform-wielding figures before unconsciousness took them.

EPISODE TEN

"Baby, come back!"

Spike was sprawled on the ottoman seat, rubbing at his breastbone and scowling darkly. Even though it had been several hours earlier, he was still slightly charred around the edges from the destruction of the Aftertime Creations warehouse. Soot dusted the tips of his hair and the tip of his nose, and the piquant smell of smoke lingered around him like cologne.

"Peanuts now is it?" he muttered cryptically. "Stupid bint should know better. Bleedin' menace is what she is."

Cordelia sat down beside him. "Talking to yourself, huh?" she asked brightly. "Anything interesting come up in the conversation?"

Apparently the blonde vampire hadn't heard her coming and he recoiled, startled by her sudden appearance. His head snapped back and every muscle in his body went taut. He eyed her warily for a moment, then blushed and glanced away. "Umm... No, nothin'."

"Doesn't look like nothing." Cordelia surprised herself by reaching out and placing her hand over his where it was still worrying his chest. "Are you in pain?"

Spike froze when she made contact, eyes widening in consternation. "No." He brushed her hand away and edged a few inches to his left, wanting desperately to distance himself. Girl was too perceptive for her own good, something that had to be part of that newfangled Warrior soul of hers 'cause she hadn't been much of an empathic sort previously.

"Angel told me what's going on," she said. "You know, with Buffy."

"Did he? No secrets then? Nice for you that he's all open book like."

"Yeah, it is. Maybe you should try it sometime."

Spike snorted. "Don't go stickin' your nose in, missy. My private business has nothin' to do with you."

"See, that's where you're wrong."

He raised his brows at that, curious but not really encouraging her to expand on the statement. She did anyway.

"Here's the deal. Angel and me, we're family now. And because he's your Sire, he's got this whole protective thing going on." Spike opened his mouth to protest and she waved a hand to shush him. "No, he does. Believe me. He's exactly the same with the other one."

Once again, she had refused to say Drusilla's name and Spike had to bite his tongue to keep from commenting on it. So what if the girl had issues with Dru? Wasn't like he could throw stones.

"In a weird-ass way, all that kinda means you're a part of my family now, too. I'm just trying to be the supportive Step-Mom."

"Step-Sire," Spike corrected blandly, more touched by her declaration than he wanted to let on.

"I like mine better. Sire's such a guy word."

"Horse word actually, those and bunch of other domestic animals. Bandied about for pedigree purposes mostly, stud farms and the like."

"Okay, I did not need to hear that." Cordelia made a gagging sound. "Big EWW to that imagery."

Spike sighed. "So, you goin' anywhere with this buddy-buddy routine, or you just out to annoy me to death?"

"Judging from what Angel had to say, I won't need to. You're gonna stubborn yourself there first."

"Oh. I get it. Sent you out here, din't he? Figured you'd appeal to my softer side."

"Watch your mouth, buster. There was no sending of any kind. I'm not exactly one of Angel's obedient minions. This was all my idea." She paused, bewildered. "You have a softer side?"

He let that slide and made a show of peering suspiciously around the lobby. "Surprised you've not got that green bloke with the horns out here as well. Lurkin' about. Tryin' to clap his beady ears on my vocal vibes..."

"Lorne's on tour."

That produced an encore of the raised-eyebrow routine. "He tours? With who, Ringling Brothers? Barnum and sodding Bailey? Thought freakshows were illegal nowadays."

"Would you shelve the self-defensive quip-a-thon for a sec? We're trying to help you."

"No. You're all gangin' up is what you're doing. All set to push me in the right direction, make Spike do the proper thing. Sorry kitten, but this is one vamp who doesn't like to be pushed." He was up and off in a flash.

"Alright. Fine." Cordy flung her hands up. "Do what you like."

"I will."

She waited until he was partway up the stairs before speaking again. "You really don't remember what Doyle told you, huh?"

Spike spun around, pinning her with those intense winter-sky eyes of his. "What's that?"

"After Pylea. After that whole 'Hey demon-Cordy, feel free to boink Angel anytime you want, he's easy!' speech."

The blonde vamp struggled against a threatening smile and won by the barest of margins. He leant one hip against the banister and crossed his arms. "Easy, eh?"

"So very, VERY," Cordelia revealed candidly. "Guy's definitely making up for lost time, let me tell you. Take yesterday for an example, he..." She tapered off and shook herself slightly, cheeks flushing. "Hey! Remember the part where I was talking about Doyle?"

Spike smirked. "Believe I've a vague recollection of his being mentioned right before the chit-chat got interesting. You gonna keep goin' with that or -?"

She rolled her eyes. "And back on topic... My brain was sorta going all kaplooey at the time, but I can remember him telling you and Buffy that you'd have to stay strong. As a couple."

He frowned, wandering back down a few steps. "That right? Can't say as it rings any bells."

Cordy grimaced, and stared at her hands. "Look. Spike. It's pretty obvious that Angel and I aren't gonna be doing the whole picket fence thing. We're not going to be playing house and churning out little army of champions. I'm not a hundred percent happy about it, but that's the way it's got to be." She looked back up at him, as sincere as she'd ever been. "You've got the golden opportunity here, a real shot at the prize, and suddenly your aim's gone off. I can't understand why."

"Well, when I find out, you'll be the next I tell." Spike sat down right there on the stairs, rubbing a weary hand across his face. "I was so bloody certain it was all Buffy's doing, but the more I..."

He paused, and both he and Cordelia lifted their heads, turning synchronously toward the other staircase.

Angel came thumping down it a moment later. "I've got it."

"What? A bad case of brood-itis?" Spike tipped his chin slyly at Cordy. "Reckon it makes him especially scowly this time of day, yeah?"

The older vampire didn't acknowledge the blonde's gibe. "There's nothing wrong with the link."

Spike bolted to his feet. "There bloody well is too!"

"No, there isn't. Wes..."

"You pulled Junior in? When did you get such a sodding blabbermouth?"

"...Was asking about the baby earlier, and it suddenly hit me. During these episodes of yours, the heartbeat doesn't stop. It speeds up."

"What's your point? Either way it's a bleedin' painful way to go."

Angel sighed. "I realize it's difficult, but could you stop being a jerk for a minute and think about what I'm saying?"

"Hmm..." Spike tilted his head, tapping one finger against his cheek in an exaggerated thoughtful pose, then his eyes widened. "Oh. Oh, bloody hell," he whispered. "Bloody buggering hell."

Cordelia was on the edge of her seat, intrigued by the abrupt change in Spike's attitude. "Can I be the first to say, what the huh?"

Angel allowed himself a small smile, satisfied that he'd instigated a breakthrough. "I'm not sure of the specifics yet, but I think that during the attacks, Spike's somehow tapping into the baby's heartbeat. My guess is that the contact is actually filtered through Buffy."

"Spike's linked to Buffy, and Buffy's physically linked to the baby." Cordy nodded. "That makes a twisted kind of sense since he's still getting her indigestion and stuff."

Angel plopped down next to her, absently reaching for her hand and holding it as he watched Spike pace back and forth on the landing like a caged animal. The boy was a ticking time bomb; you could almost see the fuse burning. "Wait for it," he murmured quietly.

"Wait for what?" she hissed back, only to startle at the sharp sound of glass breaking.

Spike had punched through the ornate panes of the door in his frustration and now stood with his back to his audience, staring at his bleeding knuckles, fingers clenching and flexing rhythmically.

"You're gonna have to pay for that, you know," Angel said coolly.

"Take it out of my bloody allowance," Spike growled over his shoulder. He raised a foot onto the stairs, all set to stalk back up the flight in a frustrated huff, when his momentum was interrupted by a sudden onslaught from the link so powerful it sent him reeling backward.

The vampire's heavy boots crunched across the fragmented glass as he stumbled, ultimately collapsing onto the lobby's patterned linoleum.

Angel was instantly by his side, crouching down to rest a hand on his shoulder. Cordelia hovered behind him, a solicitous shadow in designer jeans.

"Is this like what happened before?" she asked. "'Cause yikes!"

The older vampire shook his head, observing the tremors that wracked Spike's otherwise still form. Weirdly, his heartbeat remained strong and steady. "No. This is... different."

Spike abruptly jerked into a sitting position, mouth opened in a silent scream, fighting blindly against Angel's restraining grip. His eyes were wild, deep blue shot through with unnatural slivers of green and gold. The agonized cry that finally tore from his throat it was almost unrecognizable as human, raw and savage...

"BUFFY!"

~[*]~

The Slayer's head snapped up and her captors all took an unwitting step backward, startled by the maelstrom in her eyes. Yellow battling against green with faint flashes of blue.

"Back off, monkey boy," she snarled to the closest of them.

"Okey-doke. See? This is me backing off." Andrew did just that, shuffling in reverse gear until he bumped into the wall. His eyes darted around at the others, gauging their reactions, and then returned to stare disbelievingly at Buffy. She returned his gaze, her lips curved in a feral smile, teeth bared and oddly fang-like. It was really disturbing. "I don't like this," he mumbled.

Warren shot him a derisive glance. "Well, DUH!"

"Hey, this kidnapping thing was your idea. No one was supposed to get hurt."

"Its kidnapping, genius! There's a certain level of violence associated with committing felony crimes. Besides, does she look like she's hurt?"

Andrew looked.

Buffy was pacing tiger-like along the bars of the cell they'd put her in, back and forth, steady and watchful. Xander lay in an unconscious heap behind her, slumped against the rear wall. He'd been hit with the same high-level dosage of Chloroform they'd used on the Slayer and hadn't stirred at all except to let out an occasional snore.

Andrew cringed; knowing that what he was about to say would only end with him being berated for sympathetic tendencies. "She's a helpless having-a-baby-woman, Warren, we shouldn't be doing this to her."

"She's Annulet, you whining putz. She could kick our asses from this dimension to the next if she was at her full strength."

"We get that," Jonathon finally spoke up, dredging an ounce of courage from some disused inner compartment. "Believe me. Hence the cowering in fear part. What we don't get so much is the freaky swirling eyeballs, not to mention the unwarranted name-calling. I mean, what the hell?"

Warren pinched his lips between his thumb and forefinger, narrowed gaze moving silently from one to the other, before coming to rest on Buffy and staying there. It was difficult to determine whether he was thinking really hard or about to erupt in a fit of temper. Neither was an appealing option. "It's gotta have something to do with the Nexus," he finally mused, more to himself than to the others. "Her connection with Falchion is trying to reassert itself. Fascinating, really."

"Nice impersonation of Mage, dude, but that's not gonna get us anywhere is it?" Jonathon said sourly.

"Mage would know exactly what to do here, wouldn't he?" Warren smiled, though not in a particularly nice way. "Maybe we should go and pick him up, too? Get ourselves the full set."

"Okay, that's not at the top of my list of fun things to try with all-knowing wizards," Andrew put in warily. He looked fretfully back at the Slayer, his eyes widening as he saw fresh mottling on the knuckles of her left hand. It spread even as he watched, blossoming into a pattern of vivid red lines, like gashes but without actual broken skin. "Uh, Warren? What's wrong with her?"

"What?"

"Her hand. Look at her hand."

Warren stared, Jonathon peering around his shoulder like a cub sheltering behind its mother. "The Nexus again," he finally concluded. "Falchion probably just picked up a nasty injury."

"Huh." Andrew blinked. "That's pretty cool, I guess. And it is kinda lucky that we picked her up now, 'cause that last upload from AI said that her power loss would only be a temporary thing. Like a break in transmission."

"I hate those," Jonathon observed. "I lost a half episode of 'Enterprise' last time the local station did that."

Warren and Andrew nodded in heartfelt commiseration, only to jump when Buffy let out a gut-wrenching howl.

"Holy crap!" Jonathon blurted, one hand clutching his chest. "She almost gave me a heart attack!"

All three watched with eyes like saucers as she grabbed onto the bars with both hands, squeezing them until her knuckles went white and the metal warped around her fists. Instead of pulling them apart and escaping like they feared she would, she kept holding on and sank down into a crouch, rocking ever so slightly on the balls of her feet, tousled blonde curls hanging down over her face. After a moment, her head lifted and she stared at them with eyes that were now a pure demonic yellow.

"You morons have no idea how much trouble you're in," she hissed through gritted teeth. "I think I just went into labor."

~[*]~

Angel could taste blood, but he couldn't quite tell if it was from his split lip or his newly broken nose. Next time Spike needed to be moved, he was getting Cordy to do it.

The trip from the floor to the corner sofa had been brief but painfully violent. The younger vampire had fought every step of the way, kicking and swearing, making repeated breaks for the door and yelling Buffy's name, before another mysterious attack had finally taken him down. The whole production seemed to have exhausted him for now, so Angel was counting his blessings.

"He's getting worse," he commented.

Spike groaned, the sound rumbling up from somewhere deep in his chest, powerful enough to make the sofa vibrate. His eyes were open and unfocused, flickering through the same triad of colors over and over.

Blue... Green... Gold...

Cordy glanced up from dabbing Spike's forehead with a damp cloth. "Gee, ya think?"

Angel tried to pout at her sarcastic tone, but ended up wincing instead. Damn lip. "We can't wait for the others to check in. We have to get him back to Buffy now."

"I know." Cordy sighed, returning to her forehead swabbing duties. "If this is link-based..."

"There's nothing else it could be." Angel turned and headed for the office. "I'll leave a note."

Both front and back doors opened simultaneously.

Krevlornswath of the Deathwok Clan, lately of the Pylean dimension, burst through the first in a tornado of luggage. He was resplendent in a canary yellow suit and blue paisley print shirt that went stunningly with his green skin.

The rest of the Angel Investigations team entered more sedately from the other and halted on seeing the situation, taking in Spike's lifeless body and Angel's battered face.

"Oh good gracious," Fred gasped, hands covering her face in horror.

Wesley put a consoling arm around the young scientist's shoulders. "I'm sure it's not as bad as it looks," he murmured. He didn't sound at all convincing.

Lorne hadn't yet noticed anything.

"Hi-de-ho!" he trilled. "Behold the triumphant return of-" He finally paused to take in the tableau. "-The vamp with kaleidoscope eyes." He dumped his travel paraphernalia and hustled the rest of the way inside. "What in the name of Tarkna is going on?"

"Sorry, but that's one story way to long to get into right now," Cordy brushed her hair back from her face and looked over at the other arrivals. "Tell me you've got news."

"We have news," Dru responded smartly. Despite her tone, there was genuine concern in her eyes when she moved close enough to see the real extent of Spike's condition. She whimpered and started to wring her hands, slender fingers twisting together. "Dear William needs to be returning home."

"Our thoughts exactly," Angel told her, shrugging into his coat. "What happened on the van-tracking front? Any leads?"

Gunn gave Dru's hand-wringing performance a worried glance, then pulled a notebook from the rear pocket of his jeans. "First couple on the list were a bust, but lucky number three?" He made a face that could have been fear or disgust. "Warren Meers. Judging by the amount of geek-boy stuff in his apartment, the guy's got some major, major problems; least of which being the fact that he lives with two other fairy-lovin' types. A Jonathon Levinson, and an Andrew... somebody. Couldn't find any more ID than that, but he was definitely a resident. Half the food was labeled as his."

Cordy climbed to her feet. "What was the first roomies name again?"

Gunn flipped back through his notes. "Jonathon Lev-"

"Jonathon Levinson." Cordy's upper lip curled in a contemptuous sneer. "That little weasel!"

"You know him?" Angel sounded surprised, then frowned suspiciously. "How do you know him?" His tone turned querulous. "Is he one of your old boyfriends?"

Cordelia looked aghast. "Okay, firstly, a world of gross! The guy is like three feet tall, all of which is pure, unadulterated nerd-meat. Secondly, I know him because he's a native of the Hellmouth and a fellow graduate of the late, great Sunnydale High."

"It would be quite feasible, then, to assume that he'd be familiar with Buffy," Wesley noted. "Which would also mean..."

The former Watcher was interrupted by Spike's growl, a sound like rolling thunder accompanied this time by his bolting upright. He looked around confusedly, swaying a little where he sat, fingers pressing to his temple. "Bu-" His voice cracked and he swallowed painfully before trying again. "Buffy?"

"For God's Sake, lie down!" Cordelia pushed at his chest. "You'll fall over again."

Spike seized hold of her wrist in a move that was nothing but a lightning-fast blur, his fingers exceptionally pale against her tanned skin. "Stop. Pushing. ME," he snarled, pressing hard enough to hurt.

There was no recognition in his face, and he tilted his head, dark brows knitting together as though he was trying to puzzle out who she was and why he'd grabbed her.

She blinked at down him, startled by his strength and suddenly more scared of him than she'd ever been. The chaos in his eyes was especially spooky at close range, sucking her in like a whirlpool.

Angel loomed over his Childe, furious. "Let her go!"

"No." With her free hand, and without once dropping Spike's hypnotic gaze, Cordelia reached out and intercepted Angel's tightly clenched fist. "No. It's okay."

He stepped closer anyway, willing to knock Spike silly despite her assurances, then paused when he noticed that her own eyes had begun to change, going milky white with what she laughingly called her vision-vision. "Cordy?"

He got no answer. They just continued to stare blindly at each other, neither seeing who they were actually looking at.

Lorne tiptoed over to hiss in Angel's ear. "You know, there are enough vibrations in here to make Beach Boys a certain shade of envious." He grimaced at the oblivious duo and gave a melodramatic shudder. "Though they're not all the good kind. Yeesh!"

Drusilla materialized at Lorne's opposite shoulder. She'd gone way past vague concern and was becoming distressed. "William needs to go home!" she insisted, much more vehemently than before. "Now, now, now. Sweet baby boy come blow away..."

Gunn pulled her aside. "Okay, baby, that's enough with the hoogity-boogity."

Lorne turned to Angel, crimson eyes alight. "'Baby'?" he mouthed.

Angel ignored him. He was too busy resenting the fact that there was some mystical communication going on between Cordy and Spike that he had no part in. He hunched his shoulders and glowered at them.

There had been countless times over the years, times just like this one, when he wished that he'd staked the other vamp the first time he'd dared to provoke him; an entire five minutes after he'd been raised. Spike had been cheerfully keeping up that provocation every five minutes since, for the last century, and yet still remained stake-free. Why was that? What the hell was so special about him?

"There's just the three of them," Cordelia reported in the distracted manner of someone trying to recount a plotline while the film was still playing. "Jonathon and Warren and that other guy. They've got Buffy in some kind of..." Her mouth dropped open in astonishment "Oh my God, she's HUGE!"

Spike made an inarticulate warning noise, not appreciating the bluntness of her observation. He was evidently getting the vision as well. That or she was somehow getting it through him.

"Sorry, sorry. It just threw me for a bit. Hang on..." Cordy concentrated harder. "Uh, she's in some kind of cage thingy... A jail cell or -? No. It looks more like the old Sunnydale Army Barracks. Xander's there, too." She came back to reality with a disgusted huff. "What the hell would anyone want him for?"

"Collateral damage, perhaps?" Wesley speculated. "He was very likely with her when she was taken."

Spike had become lucid again at the same time Cordelia had. He perched on the very edge of the sofa, focus regained, eyes clear crystalline blue.

"Bloody hell, let's get on with it," he grumbled, climbing awkwardly to his feet and taking a second to find his center of gravity. "Looks like the Watcher got it right for once," he muttered. "Wonders never cease, eh?"

"Which Watcher?" Fred asked, so attentive to his every movement it was as though she was cataloguing them for future reference.

"That sodding git Rupert." Spike inhaled sharply, held it, and then let the breath back out in a long, steady puff before continuing. "Said that I'd be getting the Slayer's labor pains."

"Buffy's in labor?" Wesley exchanged a significant look with Fred. It appeared they had discussed this very possibility.

"Yeah. Figured he was spouting a lot of old bollocks. I mean, its not like I've got the proper bits, is it?"

Wes didn't quite know what to say to that and his expression showed as much.

"She's too bloody early, in any case." Spike shuffled off toward the door. "Contractions aren't that close together yet so maybe I can get back to Sunnydale before..."

"You're not driving in that condition," Cordelia scolded and turned pleading eyes on her fellow Warrior. "Angel, tell him."

"I'll drive."

Spike looked indignant. "Not my car you won't."

"So, I'll drive mine." Angel gave him an evil smile. "You can ride shotgun."

"I'll ride shotgun," Cordelia put in. "If you think I'm going to miss this, you're nuttier than Drusilla."

The vampiress in question glared. "It may've escaped your notice, dear precious, but I'm no longer the nut here. P'rhaps your own mind has gone soft from receiving the visions?"

Cordelia snorted. "As if."

"If only," Dru shot back.

Spike paused at the doorway long enough to sigh and rest his forehead against the frame. "Dru, love, where are you pullin' all these names from?"

Angel frowned. He hadn't noticed that she'd said anything amiss. Except that she had... "You called Cordy 'dear precious'."

Cordelia's eyes narrowed into suspicious slits. "Like 'Jewel' precious?" she asked. "Or like Gollum precious? Which would be, by incredible coincidence, nutty."

Wesley's flint-like gaze darted from one woman to the other. "Is this really a suitable time for this confrontation?"

"Aargh!!" Spike's face contorted in pain, his forehead thumping against the doorframe. He flashed them a wide-eyed, multicolored look of panic before his knees buckled and he pitched sideways, out the door and out of sight.

They heard a muffled thud and a groan.

"Think we ought to take that as a no," Fred observed dryly.

EPISODE ELEVEN

"Regeneration"

It was nearing eight a.m. and Giles was just picking up the receiver of the Magic Box phone to call regarding her tardiness when Anya bustled through the door.

"Xander's missing," she stated matter-of-factly.

Giles blinked and put the phone back. "I'm sorry?"

"I said, 'Xander's missing'. He didn't come home from patrol last night." The former demon's face was pinched and tired, deep worry lines bracketing her mouth as she dumped her handbag onto the counter. "We were supposed to celebrate our engagement with all-night sex, so I got all dolled up in my fancy lingerie and had the champagne and chocolate sauce ready, and some of that whipped-cream-in-a-can stuff he likes so much. And I sat there and I waited, and waited, and it all got spoiled. And this is all Buffy's fault, you know."

She finally paused to draw a breath and Giles took advantage of the lull, seizing on the most inane thing she'd said. "Engagement?"

She waggled her left hand at him, making the modest diamond there sparkle in the light. "He finally got around to the asking part. I was beginning to think I'd have to keep ignoring the little box in his coat pocket forever."

"Oh, well. That's..." He straightened his shoulders. Polite, Giles, be polite. "I extend my congratulations, then. To both of you."

"Both of us aren't here," she said impatiently. "Which brings us back to the whole Xander's missing thing." She placed her hands on her hips and stared at him expectantly. "Well? Do something."

He frowned. If Xander hadn't made it home, then it was conceivable that Buffy had met the same fate... "Did you -?"

"Call Buffy?" Anya scoffed. "Of course, I did. I'm not stupid."

"And -?"

"She's not home either. Which is why I came to you. But I'm feeling very dissatisfied by your slow response time. It doesn't inspire confidence."

Giles was actually becoming more concerned by the second, but was determined to be pragmatic. "We haven't time to go out to the house, and she hasn't made use of the back room for quite a while, so nothing of hers is available for me to carry out a locator spell. Do you have anything of Xander's we could use?"

She pursed her lips, considering that, and eventually resorted to flashing the engagement ring again. "Only this. He had it a lot longer than I've had it so there should be enough residual energy."

They were gathering components when Willow and Tara arrived, rushing through the door in a dizzying hodge-podge of brightly colored prints, fringed jackets and flowing skirts.

"Its Buffy!" Willow blurted, pink-cheeked with alarm, clutching nervously at the strap of her book-bag.

"She..." Tara struggled to catch her breath. "Sh-she's..."

"Missing," Anya finished for them and nodded sagely. "We know."

"What?" Willow seemed caught between genuine curiosity and disappointment that she hadn't been the one to break the news. "How?"

"Xander's AWOL too," the ex-demon explained. "We were doing a spell, but now you're here, you can do it. I don't think Giles is anywhere near calm enough to be effective."

"I say, I'm perfectly calm!"

She snorted at the heated disclaimer, ignoring his further sputtering in favor of spreading a map out onto the table and propping candles at the corners to hold it flat.

Willow cast an eye over their preparations, her attention drawn to the gleaming ring now sitting in the center of a little ceramic dish.

"Okay. So since when does Xander wear diamonds?"

~[*]~

Angel shook his head, hands tight on the steering wheel. He'd been thinking about his Childe's stupidity for most of the journey, and continued to be astounded by the magnitude of it. "I still can't believe you chose now to leave her alone."

"She can fend for herself," Spike snarled from his prostrate position on the back seat. "You know it. One reason you rode off all John-Wayne-like into the sunset, innit?"

"I don't do sunsets," Angel muttered, glancing into the rear mirror to ensure the DeSoto was still behind them. Wesley drove like a little old lady. "Or sunrises for that matter." He flexed his hands; what scant daylight that had managed to breach the recently installed, outrageously expensive, tinted windows was beginning to sting his skin.

Cordelia turned to peer over the seat. "How are you coping? Is the pain worse?" When Spike just looked at her, shadowed eyes telling her all she needed to know, she turned back to Angel. "Drive faster."

"We're hitting the town limits now, Cor. The last thing we want is to be pulled over."

Town limits? Spike hauled himself up on his elbows to peer out the window, just in time to see the 'Welcome to Sunnydale' sign flash by. He sighed wistfully. Sod it all, he hated to break tradition, even if it was for something as important as this.

"Don't s'pose you'd do a bloke a favor..."

Angel growled. "I'm not going back to flatten the damn sign, Spike, so don't even think about asking."

Spike flopped back onto the seat. "Wanker."

~[*]~

Buffy stared at the expanding pool of fluid in dismay. "Crap," she muttered. "I really liked these shoes, too."

Xander chose that precise moment to muddle his way back into consciousness. "Sweet Mother, somebody get the number of that..." He took in his surroundings with barely opened eyes. "Hey, I know this place..." He turned his head to look at Buffy. "You're all wet," he observed.

"Yeah. That's kinda what happens when your water breaks."

"Huh?" His gaze sharpened and he shot to his feet. "Oh crap! Your water broke?"

"That's what I said." She stared thoughtfully at the thick denim of her coat, which she'd opened out on the floor, then gave him a perfunctory once over. "Give me your shirt."

He tugged at the open flaps of his shirt, pulling blue-checked flannel protectively against his chest. He had no idea where his own coat had disappeared to. "Why?"

"Why do you think?" She rolled her eyes. "Look, Xan, I'm trying to be all practical girl here. You know, not making with the screaming hysteria? You can go ahead and do that part if you want, but I vote for Buffy not giving birth on cold cement. I want more padding. Pad me!" She held out an imperious hand.

Xander shrugged out of the shirt, leaving him in the dreadful orange T-shirt he wore underneath. He was handing it over when he finally noticed their audience. "Oh. Hi there, mysterious-kidnapper-guys."

Andrew gave him an absent little wave, but he got no other reply, their eyes all remained riveted to Buffy.

Xander shook his head, turning to look at her himself. "What's with the three stunned monkeys? Dumb, dumb and even more dumb?"

"Yep." She spread the shirt alongside her coat like she was preparing for a picnic. "But not so much with the mysterious. Recognize dumb monkey number three?"

Xander moved closer to the cell bars, pausing a second to frown confusedly at the ones Buffy had crushed, before focusing on the trio on the other side. One familiar face stood out. "Well, well. Jonathon. I'd say it was nice to see you again but..." The young man turned rounded blue eyes on him, and Xander was startled by the blank expression in them. "I think Jonathon's left the building."

"We're dead." Jonathon told him, his voice wooden and stilted. "We are total dead men."

Buffy nodded. "Got that part ...right." She grimaced, her hand shooting out to grab Xander's forearm, nails digging into the skin.

Both of them let out a long, harmonized, "Owww..."

~[*]~

The Angel Investigations cavalcade pulled up outside the Magic Box just in time to see an enormous flash of white light come from inside.

Angel blinked at the residual spots before his eyes. "Someone's spell-casting in there."

Cordelia gave him a withering look. "It's a magic shop, doofus."

Spike's bleach-blonde head materialized between them as he leant forward to peer at the storefront, squinting against the sun. "Too early for customers," he said. "The Wiccans, most like. Or Rupert. Man's got some serious mojo on tap when he wants it." He handed Angel a blanket over the seat. "Suit up, Peaches. Can't afford to be dilly-dallying about."

He shoved the rear door open and climbed out, leaving the others to make their own way.

When he entered the store mere seconds later, it was to see Willow and Tara batting out tiny spot-fires on a town map and Anya trying to wipe soot from Giles' face. He paused to watch the show, absentmindedly casting a frown overhead when he noticed the lack of tinkling bell. Had they still not fixed that? Lazy sods.

"Still a fraction heavy-handed with the herbs there, Red?" he asked, moving toward them, trying his best to swagger despite the persistent spasms in his midsection.

Willow barely glanced at him, and threw a disgruntled look at Anya. "Less with the herbs and more with the distracting surprise announcements," she mumbled. Then she finally realized who'd spoken. "Spike! You're back!"

"Yeah," he drawled. "Funny that, 'cause I've never been one for the return gig before." He pointed at the paraphernalia on the table. "Won't be needing any of that locator rubbish anyhow. Know where the Slayer's holed up, just came to see if you lot want in on the rescue wagon."

"R-rescue?" Tara's eyes went wide. "Are they in danger?"

"Yeah, as if!"

The incredulous snort came from behind them where Cordelia had posed herself artfully in the doorway. The dramatic entrance was short-lived, spoiled by the great lump of grey wool that suddenly jostled her out of the way. Once inside, the smoldering material was shed like a cocoon to reveal Angel underneath. He cast an apologetic smile at Cordy, only to have her snub him completely.

Spike smirked at the disgusted expression on her face, before responding to Tara himself. "Cheerleader 's right that score. No peril from the daft lot of Nancy's that took 'em, but looks like Seth's decided to make an early entrance."

Giles finally managed to extricate himself from Anya's irksome fussing, straightening his glasses and giving the blonde vampire a long, measured stare. "How exactly are you aware of this?"

"Well, it's like you said before, innit?" Spike tapped his stomach, wincing when something twinged. "With great lashings of pain and all that other fun stuff. Link's not as cocked up as I thought."

"He's telling the truth. For once." Angel glanced at the clock on the wall. "Give it another minute and you'll see for yourself." He gestured toward his own beaten face. "It's not pretty."

"Took the bloody words right out my mouth," Spike muttered. He gave Cordelia a mournful shake of his head. "Havin' to see that first thing ev'ry morning. Don't know how you manage it."

"Shut up, Spike," she chided.

"Right you are."

He sighed wearily and tipped his head back, lashes fluttering shut. Then they snapped back open to reveal the now familiar polychromatic hues of his irises. He growled, his body going rigid.

"Look out, here he goes again." Angel leapt forward to tackle the younger vamp as he made a break for the street, yelling his Slayer's name.

~[*]~

Buffy swept a strand of hair out of her eyes, riding out the tail end of another contraction. Even though they were coming almost continuously now, they weren't as bad as she'd been expecting; each of them cutting out at the very peak in the very same way her indigestion had. Her mind had come up with all sorts of scenarios of how that pain transference could be effecting Spike, none of which was particularly comforting.

She cast an anxious glance up at Xander, who was across the other side of the cell, closer to their kidnappers than her. "I'm... sorry..." she puffed, "I won't... do the... grabbing thing anymore. Okay?"

The brunette rubbed at the bruises, now staining the skin of both his forearms. "Can I get that in writing?"

She gave up on the repentant act and glared at him. "Damn it, Xander Harris, I can't do this by myself so stop being all avoidy guy and get your ass over here!" When he didn't answer for a moment, she snarled. "Don't make me come and get you."

Xander cast a shamefaced glance over his shoulder at the still-dumbstruck trio, who continued to ignore him, and moved back toward the Slayer. When he got close enough, she yanked him down so that he was kneeling at her feet. He threw a hand over his eyes as she tugged up the hem of her skirt.

"Aargh! Buffy parts!" he protested. "Non-Xander-friendly parts of Buffy!"

"Total agreement under any other circumstances," she agreed, nodding. "But for right now, just tell me if I'm crowning. Can you can see the head?"

"The head of what?"

She just stared at him until he capitulated with a weird little mewling noise, peering warily through his splayed fingers and then quickly looking away again, skittering back a few feet.

"Oh God."

She gnawed at her lower lip. "So? You saw the head, right?"

"Oh yeah!" He jerked his chin vaguely in the direction of her hemline. "And you do realize that I have that image etched on the inside of my eyeballs now right? I'm scarred for life..."

~[*]~

"...He's not the only one," Andrew murmured. He chanced a peek at his companions. "I say we make a break for it before Falchion and Gladius get here."

"I'm with Andrew," Jonathon seconded, rousing from his state of shock.

"Why am I not surprised? " Warren asked disgustedly. He scowled at them. "You two nimrods deserve each other. Am I the only one thinking of the potential here?"

Andrew frowned, bewildered. "Other than our potential deaths?"

Warren pointed emphatically into the cell. "That kid is the gold mine we've been waiting for."

Jonathon blinked, mouth dropping open. "Are you nuts?"

"I'm definitely sensing some nuttiness," Andrew agreed.

"This is the break we've been waiting for," Warren insisted. "If we can sell it..."

"It's not an 'it'," Jonathon said. "It's a baby. A living, breathing human being."

"So's your precious Buffy. You didn't have a problem with that."

"Yeah, well, I should have." Jonathon folded his arms and stared up at his former comrade defiantly. "I do now!"

"Yeah, me too," Andrew declared. He took an antagonistic step into Warren's personal space, realizing for the first time as he did so that he was actually taller than the other boy was. He straightened his shoulders, using the scant difference to his advantage. "Two against one, Warren. You're voted off this island."

Warren looked back and forth between them. They weren't scared of him anymore, and none of his bullying tactics were going to work. He took the only option he could think of in the face of such mutiny; he turned and ran for the door.

He hustled out into the corridor, cursing the larger frame that had previously been his trump card but was now proving to be his downfall. They were scrawnier and quicker, and he was already getting tired.

Despite that, he'd almost gotten as far as the exit when Jonathon crash-tackled him from behind, catching him around the knees. They toppled forward onto the ground. Andrew leapt onto Warren's back with an ululating battle cry, smashing his head into the concrete.

"Rope." Jonathon fumbled around, trying to pin Warren's flailing feet. "Do you see any rope? We need to tie him up."

His eyes widened in surprise when a thick roll of twine spontaneously appeared under his nose. He looked beyond it, up, up and up again, past the outstretched arm and into the dark fathomless eyes of Gladius.

"I think there's enough there for all of you," the Warrior said calmly.

~[*]~

Spike groaned, slithering out the passenger seat of Angel's car and tumbling onto the grass.

Fancy leaving him to fend for himself! In his condition! Daft gits, the whole bloody lot of them. Those Thompson Twin Watchers especially, tossing out words like 'expedience' and 'liability' like they knew anything at all about it. He hadn't been rendered completely useless, but even Peaches and his floozy had abandoned all their sympathetic pretexts in favor of playing the heroes.

He groaned again, the vocal expression of his suffering doing little to alleviate it. He'd never felt anything remotely like this, like a deeply ingrained part of himself was tearing itself free. Wrenching and pulling, and shredding his insides. The implications of what that could mean were making his head spin but in spite of it all, the urge to find Buffy was more powerful than ever, driving him onward through the pain.

He struggled to his feet, only to stagger drunkenly sideward, gasping, one hand shooting out steady his weight against the hood of the Angelmobile. He had the most overwhelming desire to...

Push?

~[*]~

"Gotta push," Buffy insisted. "Pushing now."

Xander shook his head. "Buff, you can't. Try to hold back until we can..."

"No," she grunted. "No time. Push now."

Xander briefly wondered when she had devolved into Cave-Buffy. That was never a good sign. "Uh..."

She ignored him, effectively cutting off any further protest. She knew that she was supposed to do this, she just knew it.

Xander studied the determined set of her features. He'd seen that face before and it was also never a good sign. He wasn't arguing with that face. "Okay, then." He pushed up non-existent shirtsleeves and assumed a catcher's position. "Let's do it."

Buffy immediately bore down, her efforts punctuated by loud, open-mouthed yell. She gasped for breath, then repeated the cycle, keeping her eyes on Xander the whole time just in case he was gonna faint or something. He was making all kinds of sympathetically anguished faces, but his focus never waned once.

Don't look now, Xan, but I think you've become a grown-up.

You are the biggest hero EVER!

Angel suddenly appeared at the cell bars. Taking in the situation, his eyes went wide and he let out a sort of asthmatic wheeze, sounding like he'd been gut-punched. "Oh Jeez..." He grabbed onto the cell door and yanked, ripping it off at the hinges. "Come on, we've got to..."

Buffy held up her hand, glaring at him. "Don't. Say. It," she hissed. "Not goin' to... Grraagh!" She gritted her teeth and pushed hard into the next contraction. She wasn't sure, but she thought that maybe something tore open.

Angel swayed a little on his feet, growing even paler than normal. He started to back away. "I'll, um... I'll go get Cordy and the... the others... O-okay?"

Not waiting for an answer, he turned and ran, almost colliding with the trio who stood outside the room peering in, each of them with their hands tightly bound.

Xander tamped down the urge to laugh at the idea of a vampire that bailed at the sight of blood. "I think we should forget that whole 'monkey' analogy, Buff," he said instead. "The way those guys keep hanging around it's more like the wise men at the nativity." He managed a smile. "Or possibly the unwise men. On the bright side, that usually equals presents."

The laugh that his joking produced strangled in Buffy's throat and she lurched into one last almighty push, screaming with exertion.

"That's it. You've got it," Xander soothed. He held the tiny round head as it emerged, remembering from years and years of M*A*S*H-rerun-training to turn it to the side so that the baby's shoulders could come out, the rest of the tiny body sliding out behind. "Hey," he murmured. "Way to make an entrance, buddy." He looked up at Buffy with tears in his eyes, and was shocked to see the burning amber of hers. "Buff? You okay?"

She growled at him, having fully vamped out during the final moments of Seth's birth.

There was a startled gasp from behind them and they turned, expecting Angel back with reinforcements or even for one of the trio to finally say something constructive. They didn't expect to see Spike propped against the doorframe, wild-eyed and ashen-faced.

"Oh God," he whispered, gaze riveted to the small, squirmy pink body in Xander's hands. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion and it took a concerted effort to shift his attention toward his Slayer. She stared back - sweaty, yellow-eyed and fangy, and the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. "Oh God, Buffy..."

Buffy just continued to stare. She'd never seen that look on his face before. He seemed so fragile. And his voice... How could someone so old sound so much like a lost little boy?

"You look like crap," she informed him after a moment.

He let out a weird choking noise, not quite a cough or a laugh, but somehow both at the same time.

Xander grimaced, deciding to ignore the tension that had suddenly sprung up around him and concentrate on the task of cutting the umbilical cord that still connected Seth to his mother.

At the exact moment that the blade of his always-handy-dandy Swiss Army knife severed that final link, the baby began to cry and a massive jolt of pain speared through Spike's torso. It was agonizing, a hundred times worse than the labor. He felt like he'd been shot. At close range, with horrendous powder burns to boot.

He staggered a few steps forward, one hand reaching out, whether for Buffy or the baby he would never know, and collapsed in a heap as his heart stopped.

EPISODE TWELVE

"Coda"

Buffy had no idea how Xander managed it, whether it was some kind of super speed or teleportation, or maybe even some funky time-travel deal. Whichever it was, by the time Angel had returned with the rest of the Scoobies, he'd miraculously cleaned up most of the carnage from Seth's delivery, tucked the baby into a sleeve from his shirt - the only part of it that had remained salvageable - and thoughtfully moved Spike alongside her.

He was the perfect guy to have around in an emergency and unquestionably the best friend in the whole world. If she were capable of any sort of movement right then, Buffy would have kissed him.

But then kissage was also prevented by the fact that as soon as the others had arrived he'd abandoned her in favor of being mollycoddled by Anya, and that the unconscious vampire lying by her side was monopolizing all her own attention. Even Seth, with his dear little face mashed into her shoulder, mouth working in a fruitless search for sustenance against the cotton, was currently beneath her notice.

"Spike?" She cupped her free hand tentatively against his cheek. He was cold to the touch, colder than he'd been even before the link. But then again, maybe he only felt that way because she was currently channeling his demon. She looked up at the group of people hovering just outside the cell, despair apparent even in her vampiric guise. "This is really it, huh? I've finally killed him."

Willow shook her head. "He's not a big pile of dust, so I'm thinking that's a 'no'."

"It's just the rift," Tara put in. "And Seth told us that was fixable. So no panicking, okay?"

Angel stared down at her, perplexed. He still got strange vibes every time he was around this girl. "What does that mean, 'Seth told you'? Seth can't talk. He's just a baby."

Tara gave him a reproachful look, then ducked around behind Willow as though seeking protection from the dark vampire's scrutiny.

"That is so not important right now," the redhead stated firmly and peered past him, seeking one of the Watchers. "Giles, any ideas? Something helpful would be great."

Giles tapped the earpiece of his glasses against his pursed lips, deep in thought.

"I believe that the rift is a pre-existing imbalance made worse by the Gemel's own actions," he postulated aloud. "From what Angel has reported of Spike's 'attacks', it's probable that the Serpiente has been compensating for this by using Seth as a bridge to keep the connection open. What remains to be discovered, however, is the source of this imbalance. There must have been some other event, a catalyst, a disturbance of the physical or..." He narrowed his gaze at his Slayer. "Buffy, has Spike ever fed from you?"

She grimaced, an expression made somewhat gruesome by her fangs. "Ew, no!"

"Oh, but...." Wesley lurched forward from the rear wall where he'd been keeping a vigilant eye on the tethered trio, almost as though his brain had pushed him into the conversation without his body's permission. "I'm s-sorry, but he has."

She turned flashing yellow eyes on him. "And how the bloody hell would you know, Junior?"

Wes ignored the jibe, shoring up his confidence in the face of her contempt. He'd become a tad more assertive of late. "Have you forgotten Pylea, and your rather hasty solution to the absence of Spike's... pre-packaged meals?"

"Pre-packaged? What? Oh." Buffy's eyes widened, then dropped to stare at her partner. "But - but that was nothing, hardly even a mouthful. He probably didn't even taste it. And I practically had to force it down his throat."

"The quantity is irrelevant. That he ingested any amount at all gives us a plausible reason for your current loss of strength," Giles explained in his most pedantic Watcher voice. "By drinking from you, Spike deepened his connection to you and subsequently, to Seth. You've been pushing him away, and now that the baby has been born he's lost the final physical thread connecting the two of you. Your demonic appearance is symptomatic of a last desperate attempt to keep the link between you intact. It is also the most likely solution." He sighed. "As much as it pains me to say it, in order to repair the rift it seems that you must partake of his life-force."

"Partake of his -? You mean, you want me bite him?"

"Yes, exactly."

Buffy looked from her Watcher to Spike and back again, highly skeptical. One of her hands rose to her mouth, gingerly testing the edges of her fangs. "And you're sure about this?"

Giles frowned. "What more would it take to convince you?" He waved one hand at Spike's inert form. "You're perfectly aware of how this works. You need no further instruction from me."

Buffy shifted Seth's weight to her right arm, and reached out with the left, taking Spike's hand in her own. It hung there, heavy and lifeless, slightly clammy with sweat. His skin was so pale it was almost translucent, the fine roadwork of blue veins all too visible to her demon-enhanced eyes. She squeezed his fingers encouragingly.

"Spike?" There was no response save for a minute twitching of his fingers; like he wanted to return her gesture, but didn't have the strength for it. She took a deep breath before continuing.

"Spike, I know I've been a complete bitch to you the last few months. I know that this whole separation thing is my fault. It's all my fault a-and I c-can't..." She bit back a sob, tracing the significantly deep path of his heart line with one finger. "I can't apologize for it. I can't take any of it back, but I can tell you... I love you. A lot. So much sometimes that it scares me. But, I can live with the scary, and all that other stuff I was stressing about; being normal, being not-the-Slayer, it doesn't matter. What matters is here, and now. And us."

Her tone was hushed, but fiercely passionate. She was making a vow. "Right now, I'm committing everything I have, everything I am, to you." She brought his arm up to her mouth. "I'm yours and you're mine. From now on, we're family."

She pressed a kiss to the inside of his wrist, then opened her mouth wider, fangs descending to pierce through the soft flesh.

Spike's eyes snapped open, locking onto the Slayer's with an uncanny precision. He didn't make one sound of protest or any indication that she was hurting him, there was no acknowledgement of the bite at all, he just stared at her - into her.

A light flickered to life deep in his pupils, a flash of pure blinding white that obliterated the black and set off a mirrored reaction in Buffy. She dropped out of game face and drew back, lowering his wrist slowly, almost dreamily, as though she'd forgotten just what it was she'd been doing. She seemed mesmerized by Spike's very presence.

"Be mindful of their eyes," Giles said softly, sounding like a science lecturer. "The effect can be somewhat disconcerting."

Xander nodded. "I'd say very somewhat."

The white light gave way to familiar swirls of blue, green and gold, and then dissipated completely, leaving just Buffy and Spike, rapt in the sight of each other.

Angel had been standing back with the rest of the Scoobies, allowing for a modicum of privacy for what was essentially a very private moment. He swooped in when they both suddenly collapsed, saving Seth from tumbling onto the cement floor. He rocked the tiny baby absently; his attention still focused mainly on its parents.

Cordelia observed this interaction with a melancholy little smile tugging at her lips. She came up behind Angel and wrapped her arms around his waist, hooking her chin into his shoulder. He glanced back at her, then down at the child, a sharp pang of understanding making him wince. This was something they'd never have, best to savor it while they could.

Willow, on the other hand, had been staring raptly into the Gemel's swirling eyes the whole time. She shook her head abruptly, as though breaking out of a trance, and let out an excited whoosh of air. "Whoa. That was really trippy."

"And the award for understatement of the year goes to..."

"Xander!" Anya admonished. "Even I know that was inappropriate."

"Sorry," he said sheepishly. "But using humor to cope? Kinda my thing."

Andrew broke into a crooked grin, forgetting exactly where he was for a moment. "Hey, that was really cool! Do they do that a lot? 'Cause I have my Handy-Cam outside in the van, and we could probably..." He broke off when Jonathon nudged him in the ribs with his elbow. "Ow, what?"

"Knock it off," Jonathon muttered through a painfully fake smile, his teeth grinding together.

Andrew looked around, finally registering the many irritated faces aimed in his direction. He swallowed. "Oh. Right." He pasted on a similarly broad fake smile, a nervous tic causing his left eye to wink at them repeatedly.

"Why's that stupid pillock winking?"

Spike's voice was rough and slightly slurred, but at least he was conscious and calling people names - a status that could pass for normal under other circumstances.

He struggled into a sitting position and rested an open palm against his chest. "Oh yeah," he sighed in relief. "There it is." He turned to Buffy, giving her a bashful little grin and batting his lashes. "And there you are." He pursed his lips at her empty arms. "And wasn't there a wriggly baby-shaped thing about here someplace?"

Buffy snorted. "Way to go with the keen observiness, honey." She reached up to accept Seth as Angel handed him back. The baby had dozed off by this time, exhausted by his dramatic entrance into the world. "Look what we did."

Sheer wonder blossomed across Spike's lean features as he finally gazed down at his son. His mouth moved as if to speak, but then he abandoned words altogether, preferring to just sit and stare with an expression of complete and utter joy.

One look at his face and the Slayer was struggling, ineffectually as it turned out, not to cry again. She was riding in the front carriage of the ultimate emotional rollercoaster.

Spike's hand lifted to hover just millimeters from cupping the baby's head in his palm, it would have fitted easily. "Small," he commented softly.

"Early," Buffy pointed out in amused imitation, brushing tears from her cheeks. She'd never seen him at a loss for words before; it was a novel experience.

Willow made a delighted cooing noise and tugged Tara close, resting her head against her shoulder. "Isn't that the sweetest thing you ever saw?"

"Yeah. In a sickly, wake-up-and-smell-the-saccharine way," Xander observed. "So, aside from the obvious happy, how do ya feel, Big Daddy Vamp?"

Spike barely glanced at them. "Like I just went fifteen rounds with a brassed-off Chirago demon."

"Okay." Xander nodded his understanding, then twitched baffled brows at Giles. "I'm assuming that's a bad thing," he disclosed in aside.

"Oh yes. Chirago demons are quite large and brutish, and prone to unprovoked bouts of violence."

"So they're a lot like Angel then?"

Both Angel and Cordelia glared in unified protest.

"Hey!"

"Watch it!"

Xander held both hands up in surrender. "And again, I make with the sorry. My motor-mouth is running on empty."

"You mean your head is," Cordelia snarked.

Anya scowled. "Your status as former girlfriend doesn't allow you to be mean to Xander."

Cordy smiled smugly. "It does actually."

The former vengeance demon mulled that over. "You're correct. I apologize. Please continue with the petty criticisms."

"Please don't." Giles was growing weary of their bickering. "There are more pertinent things we need to discuss."

Buffy finally looked up from the flannel-clad bundle in her arms. "Yeah, there are," she said. "Like, before the whole biting thing, when you said that Seth was being used as a bridge to keep the link open? That was the full extent of his bridgey powers right? That was the whole kit and caboodle?"

Giles shrugged. "I've no reason to believe otherwise. He seems entirely normal now." He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, his eyes narrowed on the family as a unit. "Unless there's something you aren't telling us? Any of you?"

Buffy shook her head. "Nup."

Spike duplicated her movement, forehead crinkled slightly in concentration. "All square as far as I can figure." He gave Giles a hard, level stare. "So you can quit banging on about prophecies and such now, alright?"

Giles began to argue, but Spike set his jaw, one raised brow daring him to go ahead and make an issue of it.

"Certainly," he agreed reluctantly. Privately, he was of the opinion that nothing at all was certain. Everything could not really have been settled this simply, and there were so many other factors that hadn't yet been addressed.

"This is all quite wonderful and heartwarming," Wesley interjected, "But..." He gestured at the trio.

Warren glowered sullenly at the renewed attention. He'd been hoping that if they kept quiet, they'd be able to escape unnoticed.

Andrew cowered awkwardly behind Jonathon, trying to seem as insignificant as possible.

"Uh yeah." Jonathon, despite his small stature, seemed to have significantly more backbone than the other two did. "We were kinda wondering... What are you gonna do with us?"

Spike rocked up into a crouch, eyes sparking yellow. He seemed a whole lot stronger than he had just a few minutes earlier, practically radiating power. "Well, I've got a few extra-painful ideas I've been meaning to try out..."

"Back off, Spike." Angel stepped in between the blonde vamp and his intended prey.

At what he saw as the older vampire's defense, Warren suddenly grew cockier. "Yeah. You heard him. Back off, golden boy."

Angel whipped around to pin the youth with a hostile glare, flashing a few yellow sparks of his own, and more than a hint of fang.

"Don't get it into your head that I'm helping you here," he burred, a trace of Angelus filtering through in the silkiness of his tone. "I just don't want him to kill you before I get my turn."

"Your -?" Warren swallowed the enormous lump in his throat, his eyes so wide that white was visible all the way around the brown of his iris. His voice was reedy with fear. "Your turn?"

"Yeah. You're all coming back to LA with me." He smiled evilly. "For... re-education."

"Oh, you'll enjoy that, pursuit of wisdom being your thing and all," Spike said cheerfully, a matching smile curving mouth. He sauntered across to Angel's side and clapped a hand on his shoulder, backing him up. They'd used to pull this intimidation routine back in their evil days. Who knew it'd still be this much fun?

"And," he went on, "As I recall, Peaches here can be very..." He paused, licking his lips. "Thorough."

Warren tried to retreat from their scary-as-hell stand-over tactics, backing into Jonathon and Andrew - who batted him aside with frantic flapping hands; difficult to push in a manly way when your wrists were tied - before stumbling sideways. He was quickly grabbed by Xander and hauled back upright.

"You can't do this," he protested, kicking futilely. "I've got rights."

"The right to remain silent," Xander noted. "Kidnapping being a crime and all." He tightened his grip, twisting slightly to avoid Warren's thrashing feet. "Ow! Hey! Keep that up and I will hand you over to the bleached wonder."

"He can't touch me," Warren sneered. "He can't hurt humans. Falchion's shackled with Trooper's Bane or whatever the hell passes for it in this dimension."

"Yeah? Shows what you know."

Spike whipped out a deceptively casual left fist, connecting with a crack as the boy's nose broke. Warren slumped like dead weight in Xander's arms, blood flowing down over his mouth and chin. Spike dipped a finger into the gore, contemplated the streak of crimson for a moment, and then wiped it off on Warren's shirt. "I got over it."

Buffy climbed to her feet. Her Slayer healing had started to kick in and she was feeling... well, not great, but not too bad either. There were tired shadows beneath her sea-green eyes, but a contented glow shone through nonetheless. "Spike, leave him alone."

"Right you are, pet," he agreed readily. "No fisticuffs for the respectable family man."

She shook her head. "Oh no, you can fisticuff all you want. Feel free to pummel them bloody. Just don't do it where Seth can see you."

Spike abandoned his showboating and moved back to her side as though magnets drew him there.

"Sees me, does he?" He leant over her shoulder and pushed a fold of material away from his son's cheek, squinting at the tiny face. "Amazin' how he does it through his eyelids like that. Must be some sort of miracle kid after all."

Buffy nudged him with her elbow, smiling indulgently. "Shut up."

He brushed a sweat-dampened curl from her forehead and placed a gentle kiss on the exposed skin. "Love it when you boss me about."

She reached up with her free hand and wrapped it around his, turning the palm over to expose the twin punctures on the inside of his wrist. They were already healing. She gave him a shy smile, drawing the wounds to her mouth. "Love you," she responded, running her tongue across the overly sensitive skin.

It took a moment for him to realize that she hadn't spoken aloud, the fact that she was using the link only just beginning to sink in as a frisson of pure Buffy-love flowed through into his body.

Spike shuddered.

God, he'd missed that! That glorious sense of belonging, the feeling of complete and utter rightness he got from their connection.

Best bloody thing he'd ever done, getting linked to his Slayer.

A low growl left his throat, and the look he gave her was blistering in its intensity.

Anya took their behavior in with sharp-eyed voracity. "Well," she said. "Judging by that, Seth will probably have a sibling within the next year."

Xander glanced over, having unloaded his unconscious burden off on Angel for transportation back to LA. He moved to his fiancée's side and took her hand, playfully turning the engagement ring round and round on her finger. It was slightly too big, but she'd adamantly refused to exchange it. "Any luck, and we'll beat them to it."

Anya gaped at him. "You mean that?"

He watched as Buffy carefully tucked Seth into the crook of Spike's elbow, taking in the helpless new-father panic on the vampire's face with a newfound benevolence. He envied their little family so much. And that, he realized, had been the source of a lot of his antipathy. "Yeah. I really mean that." He smiled down into Anya's shining eyes. "I love you, Ahn."

"I love you too," she replied briskly and slipped into business-mode quicker than he could blink. He could almost see the wheels turning in her unfathomable head. "But you do know that these family plans mean that I'll have to move up the date for the wedding, right? That way we can try to conceive as early as the honeymoon. It's very traditional for the bride to get knocked up on her wedding night..."

Xander cut her off with a kiss.

Sometimes it was the only way.

~[*]~

SIX MONTHS LATER...

Despite the inordinate amount of time he'd had to adjust to the situation, Giles still had to grapple with his sense of propriety on each and every visit to the house on Revello Drive. Today was a good day, however, and it only took five minutes or so before he gave up and got around to knocking.

The door opened open almost immediately, and he caught a glimpse of Buffy's back as she swung by on her way upstairs.

"Go on in, Giles," she called over her shoulder. "I've just gotta change my shirt."

The Watcher squinted after her, then shrugged. There was obviously some sort of sartorial emergency in progress. He went into the lounge and settled on the sofa, avoiding the stack of freshly folded laundry on one cushion only to find that he was sitting on something else entirely. He shifted sideways and pried the lumpy object out from under his leg, and then stared at it, nonplussed.

A rather battered-looking stuffed pig stared back, and Giles was somewhat disconcerted by the fact that it actually seemed familiar to him. He placed it on the coffee table, avoiding its beady little eyes, and tried to appear relaxed as Spike strode in from the kitchen.

The vampire himself was the epitome of relaxed - barefoot, clad in a white 'Union Jack' T-shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and a pair of jeans so worn that they were almost threadbare.

Seth was tucked nonchalantly under one arm, rounded tummy resting in the palm of his father's hand, weight balanced against his hip.

Spike jiggled the little body playfully. "'Ello, Rupert," he greeted. "Nip's about."

"So I see." The Watcher's lips twisted with amusement. "And doing a fine impersonation of hand luggage."

Spike grinned at that.

Seth grinned as well, releasing a string of orange saliva that dribbled down his chin. "Bah!" he said emphatically.

Giles grimaced. "He also seems to have sprung a leak."

"What?" Spike lifted the boy and peered intently at his face. "Oh. Pay no mind to that. He's teethin'. Gushes like a bloody fountain most of the time." He plopped down into the chair opposite the Watcher, setting his son on one knee.

"And the orange?" Giles watched, fascinated, as the vampire absentmindedly wiped at the baby's drool with the pad of his thumb and cleaned it off on the seam of his jeans.

"Mashed pumpkin," he explained. "We've been introducin' the Nip to solid food of late."

Ah, well, that explained Buffy's departure quite nicely...

Giles tried to maintain a veneer of polite interest. "So he's still... progressing normally then?"

Spike's eyes narrowed dangerously. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all. I was merely..." He stuttered to a halt, struck by something. "While on the subject of food though, Spike, I've never thought to ask. Do you still drink blood?"

"Well, yeah." The blonde shrugged. "Still got a demon lurkin' about in here, you know." He pulled Seth further into his lap so that the little golden head rested against the wall of his chest, and let the boy chew on one of his fingers. "Don't have much of a taste for it these days, but Spike's still gotta have his special protein drink ev'ry mornin'. Isn't that right, Nip?"

Seth burbled happily around his father's spit-drenched digit and Spike looked back up at Giles. "That what you came over to ask?"

"No, I - I've actually got an answer to one of your questions."

"Which was?"

"Regarding the matter of your aging." He shook his head. "It's all quite logical really. I don't know why we didn't realize it earlier."

Spike just looked at him, eyebrow cocked, waiting for him to get to the point. Seth, as though sensing his father's mood, went still and silent. Both of them stared at the Watcher with identical blue gazes.

"The aging process as we know it comes about through cell growth and renewal." Giles clasped his hands together and leant forward, elbows resting on knees, shifting into exposition mode. "This occurs through oxygenated blood flow. Since you've been linked to Buffy you've regained full use of both circulatory and respiratory systems, so it follows that your blood is now oxygenated in exactly the same way as any ordinary human being. It is reasonable to assume then, that you are aging at the same rate as the rest of us."

Spike let out a breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding. "And that means...?"

"That you and Buffy will grow old and live out your lives together as any other couple would. Most likely to become doddering grandparents." Giles pursed his lips. "I am able to determine one drawback, however. As your body continues to house a demon, you are unlikely to fall ill, or be susceptible to other concerns associated with aging." He met Spike's eyes squarely. "Buffy will. And it's probable that when she does eventually die, you will follow immediately afterward." He managed a smile. "Which is almost fitting, really."

Spike seemed to drift off. "You breathe, I breathe," he whispered softly. "'Til death do us part." His head suddenly snapped around toward the stairway as though someone had called his name. A lascivious smirk slowly curled his lips and he glanced back at Giles. "I'm, um, needed elsewhere," he said carefully, and indicated Seth. "If you could -?"

"Oh, certainly."

No sooner had he uttered the word than Spike had shoved the tot into Giles' lap and dashed away, leaving them alone and staring at each other curiously. After a moment a loud thump was heard from overhead, followed by a crash and a giggle - oddly, not from Buffy.

Giles sighed. "Your parents are going to drive you to distraction when you're older," he informed the child. "Believe me, they're quite good at it."

Seth responded by seizing his glasses and wrenching them askew, smearing a grimy little handprint across one of the lenses.

Oh dear. What to do? He'd had scant experience with children of any age, and found himself at a loss. The Watcher finally managed to extricate himself with a minimum of fuss and sat back out of reach, only to find himself captivated by the boy's face.

Seth gazed at him solemnly, looking for the world like a miniaturized old man, wise beyond the telling. Giles had the distinct impression that he was being measured and found wanting - a sharp reminder of the remarkably precocious version of this child that he'd been introduced to via the Font of Knowledge. There was evidently more going on behind those guileless features than met the eye. He was very much like both his parents in that regard.

"Ah, well. He-hello," he greeted hesitantly, feeling ridiculous. "I'm, er..." What was it that the lad had called him? "I'm your... uh, P-Poppy G."

Seth leant over to pat his cheek, almost in approval, before lunging once again for his glasses, somehow managing to get drool all down the Watcher's face in the process.

"Oh, do stop that!" Giles complained, pulling away and rubbing his wet cheek against his shoulder.

"Guh," Seth said, then blew a bubbly, pumpkin-tinged raspberry.

Giles sighed. That settled it, then. The boy was undoubtedly evil.

A muffled snort of laughter drew his attention back toward the open living room doors. Buffy was leaning against the frame, green eyes twinkling with amusement. How long had she been watching?

"Aww, Giles," she crooned. "Nipper tried to say your name."

Spike materialized at her shoulder, scowling. He was suspiciously rumpled looking, his platinum hair standing up in tufts. "He did not."

"Did too."

"Not."

"Did so too! You just don't want him to say anything other than 'Da.'"

"Da!" Seth chimed in helpfully over the argument, one chubby fist waving in the air. "Da-da-da!" He caught sight of the waving fist and drew it into his mouth. Enthusiastic sucking ensued.

"Great," Buffy lamented. "He's already taking your side. I'm completely outnumbered."

Spike snorted. "You're just jealous that he won't say yours."

"Am not!"

"Are too!"

Buffy pointed at Seth. "I'll bet that whole messy sucking-on-things thing comes from your side of the family too. You probably made obnoxious slurpy noises just like that when you were snacking on all your poor helpless victims."

The vampire raised a lazy brow. "Wouldn't mind takin' you up on that little wager."

"Oh! You...!"

Buffy lunged after him in a threatening gesture, and as Spike ducked away, giggling like a idiot, Giles noticed that the threadbare denim covering his backside had torn during his adventures upstairs, and that a strip of pale flesh was visible right along the top of his left rear thigh.

The Watcher rolled his eyes at their behavior. "I'm glad you two have reached such an elevated level of maturity," he drawled. "Such a wonderful example you're setting."

They didn't even look at him, continuing with their impromptu game of tag, dodging around the dining furniture room like a couple of pilots engaged in a dog-fight until the Slayer managed to insinuate her hand into the tear in the vampire's jeans, goosing him.

"Gotcha!" she crowed.

Spike's legs gave way from laughing so hard and they collapsed on the hallway rug in a breathless heap, Buffy sitting triumphantly in the middle of Spike's back.

"So," she gasped. "That was fun. Giles should come over and make with the Seth-distraction more often."

"Oh, I should think that Giles might have something to say about that," the Watcher commented dryly. Honestly, one could get the idea that they'd forgotten his presence entirely.

The way they scrambled to their feet after he'd spoken merely confirmed that idea.

Buffy immediately shifted into Mommy-mode: straightening her shirt, taking Seth from her Watcher, and then plopping down into the seat Spike had abandoned earlier, grabbing the stuffed pig from the coffee table and dancing it animatedly in front of the boy's face, all in one smooth movement.

"So," she said, when she was settled. "What were you guys talking about while I was gone. All kinds of secret manly stuff?"

Spike scoffed. "You know damned well what we were talkin' about," he muttered. He stalked over and began collecting throw cushions from the sofa, tossing them into a colorful pile in front of the television.

Giles watched him in askance. What on earth was this? Some kind of previously unseen vampire nesting behavior?

Seth was beginning to fret. He pushed the pig away. Buffy made it dance faster and more erratically, but that only made him push all the more. It became a battle of wills, and just when an explosion seemed imminent, Spike swooped in and spirited the baby away, depositing him in the makeshift play area he'd created with the cushions. Seth was perfectly happy to lie there, swatting at a plastic mobile dangling above his head.

Giles was impressed, though a little curious. Did this mean that Spike could sense Seth's moods the way he could Buffy's? It certainly merited further research. "How did you -?"

"Nip needs his space," Spike explained with an indifferent shrug, perching on the arm of the Slayer's chair. "And someone else needs to relax more."

"I can't." Buffy twisted a lock of hair around her finger with worrying intensity. She'd been letting it grow again, apparently progressing out of that bizarre period when she and Spike had been almost indistinguishable from each other. "He hates me. I know it. He can sense my Slayer-ness. Stupid vampire genes."

"He doesn't hate you, pet." Spike untangled the strand of hair, then began gently twirling it around his own finger, using it to draw her closer. "Just independent is all. Clever. Resourceful. Can't imagine where he gets that from." He leant down and rubbed his nose against hers, Eskimo-style. "Stupid Slayer genes."

They gazed at each other, a vampire and Slayer in absolute communion. After a long minute, Spike smiled and kissed her lightly on the forehead. Buffy's eyes drifted shut and she let out a tiny contented purr.

Giles cleared his throat. "So, now that I've said my piece, I believe I'll continue on to the Magic Box. I'm already late and Anya has been intolerable. I don't wish to give her further ammunition for one of her tirades."

Spike chuckled. "Give our regards to the newly expectant Mrs. Harris, would you?"

Giles nodded. He found now that he was reluctant to leave. The house hadn't felt this warmly welcoming since Joyce was alive. They had truly made it into a home. "I shall do that."

He got to his feet, giving the couple a long, calculating look.

"I do admire what you've accomplished here," he said, after a beat. "I know that in the beginning I wasn't the biggest supporter of this relationship, but you've defied insurmountable odds and come through it all the stronger. I'm proud of you. Both of you." When Buffy and Spike just stared at him, stunned, he smiled smugly. "And I do expect to be given priority when it comes to babysitting duties. Poppy G is counting on spending many productive hours with his honorary grandson."

With that, he turned and let himself out.

Buffy blinked as the door closed behind him. "You know, that looked a whole lot like Giles, but the noise he made was funny."

"Reckon that was his way've giving us his blessing."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Spike reached down and took her hand. "So, what do you think. Want to do me the privilege of becoming Mrs. Liam Grey?"

"You're totally getting used to that name now, aren'tcha?"

"Just answer the bloody question, woman!"

"There was a question?"

Spike growled.

Buffy got up, moving to stand between his knees. She draped her arms over his shoulders. "Was there really ever any question at all?"

~[*]~

Seth giggled, continuing to bat at the mobile over his head. The plastic play-gym it hung from swung wildly when he made contact, teetering and then falling backward. He giggled again, stubby legs kicking in delight.

At the sound of his parent's own laughter, he paused, head tilting slightly toward the source of the noise, his tiny mouth twisting into a toothless replicate of his father's smirk. His eyes had been lightening over time to an icy blue, but they splintered now at the pupil, lines radiating outward in jagged precision, like a mirror shattering. After a moment the blue dropped away, revealing new color beneath.

A luminous yellow, strangely darker than that of Spike's demon and sparkling with age-old power.

Deep.

Fathomless.

Golden.

THE END