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.

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.

TBC...

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.

TBC...

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