Pillow Talk (Chapter 7)

"Thanks for taking me home, Will," Xander said as she helped him through the door of the apartment, kicking it shut behind them.

"Oh, so you do use words?" Willow snarked. "The humminess was giving me the wiggins." She settled Xander on the couch and plopped down next to him. " Do you need anything?"

"Aspirin," Xander sighed, rubbing his temples. "Water."

"Can do." Willow hopped back up from the couch and headed for the kitchen. She heard the humming start again as soon as she walked out of sight. Shaking her head, she opened the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water and rummaged through the drawers for aspirin. "Hate it when I get a tune stuck in my head," she called from the kitchen, trying to distract him from his tune.

"Hunh?"

"Never told anyone this, but this one time, I got 'Oops, I Did it Again' stuck in my head for a *week*." Willow walked back in from the kitchen, settling back down next to him and handing Xander the open bottle of water and three extra strength Tylenol. He grabbed them both, gulping the pills down hungrily. "Talk about embarrassed," Willow continued. " I mean I don't even listen to...."

Before Willow could finish the sentence, Xander grabbed her shoulders, pulling her harshly towards him. His eyes. They were cold and flat. "Xander, what..." she squeaked, caught off guard by his movement.

As the question escaped her throat, his lips pressed hard to hers. Willow stiffened as he closed over her. Tara. Anya. What in...what the.. can't move. A flurry of thoughts blew through her mind. He wasn't hurting her. Actually, he relaxed into a tenderness she remembered. Hello, wrong, she thought. Finally, she wrenched herself away.

"Will?" Xander stuttered, his brow furrowed, staring at her eyes from far too close. "I didn't just... we didn't just.."

"Kiss," Willow answered bluntly. She stood, turning and heading for the door.

"Oh, God. Willow. I'm so sorr.."

"It's alright," she answered, touching the knob with her hand. "Happens."

Xander shook his head, not sure if he should be more confused about what he just did or how she was reacting. "Will, you OK?"

"Need to get back to the shop," she answered. "See ya." Her voice was sing songy. Too chirpy. Slowly she opened the door. Faintly, he could hear her humming. Willow doesn't *hum*, Xander thought. Not since the Brittany Spears incident. Before he could utter another sound, the door clicked shut and left him in silence.

*****

Spike gently laid Emma down in her crib. The girl seemed almost narcoleptic sometimes, Spike thought. One minute, she's racing around the Magic Box on newfound legs with pizza all over her face. The next, she's limp against his chest with pizza all over his shirt. She always managed to let him know when it was time to go home. Baby cleaned up. Shirt off. That's more like it, Spike thought.

The house was quiet. Cyrus had left to check into a hotel. Spike wished he could phone Giles to check out his story, but that was more dangerous than just trusting the sot. He seemed on the up and up. Hadn't asked for anything or prodded them for information. Still, the whole thing seemed... contrived. Now a bloody body hopping spell and possible a dodgy demon in the near future. Time for a nap, he thought, stretching in the sunlit hallway and heading for their bedroom.

That is until he reached the door. Buffy was freshly showered, still glistening from the water and that maddening vanilla lotion. Her hair was a pretty tangle of damp curls. She used to wear it like that from time to time, he thought. Made her look wild. Untamed. Then again, something about her would always be untamed.

"Hey," she said casually, as she straightened the bed. She was padding around the room barefoot in a tank top and little striped panties. Does she have any concept of how breathtaking she is?, he thought. "Emma asleep?" Buffy asked.

"Down for the count," he answered, sitting on the edge of the bed. Does he have any idea how perfect he is? she thought, tracing the contours of his bare chest into her mind. She let her thoughts caress him and he visibly relaxed, his eyes closing momentarily, feeling her.

"Where's everyone else?" Buffy asked, tossing the pillows back into place as she touched his shoulders, his arms, in her mind.

Spike snagged her by the hips as she walked past him. A shot of sheer pleasure exploded through her. God, how does he do that?, Buffy thought.

"Still at the shop," he answered, pulling her a little closer. "Or at their *own* homes:" He nuzzled her ear, smelling her shampoo, her soap, the perfume of her skin. Buffy felt her knees buckling and pressed herself against the bed for support. "They're not here," he purred, letting his lips brush the delicate shell of her earlobe, nipping his way down her neck. To him, every inch of her body was meant to be worshipped from her pretty blonde head to her painted pink toes.

"So, we're alone?" Buffy said as he laid siege on her neck, little nips down her shoulder that send electric shocks to every inch of her skin. "Except for Emma?"

"Who sleeps like her father," Spike whispered, pulling her tight against him, her chest pressing to his.

"And she's out?" Buffy whispered, tentatively.

"Utterly knackered," Spike responded, kissing down her shoulders, her arms, her tiny, soft hands. She smiled, her body melting into him, her heart winding through his. She could say one thing. Since they had been joined, everything about being together was intense. Their talking, their fighting, and especially this. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. Every touch was mind blowing.

"So what do you suppose we do in our free time?" Buffy said, slyly smiling and climbing onto his lap. Her soft, coral lips brushed his. She could feel his entire body shudder around her.

"Research," he snarked, returning a painfully gentle kiss.

"Research?" Buffy asked, her hands running lazy trails over his bare back.

"Yes," Spike answered, flipping her effortlessly onto her back. "I was thinking that I could start here," he said, kissing her eyelids shut, "and study everything about you," His fingers ran lazy spirals down her arms as his mind pushed much more intimate buttons.

"In the name of science," Buffy responded, grinning up at him," I'm willing to help in any way I can. But only if you're thorough."

"I am nothing, Pet," Spike purred, kissing her nose, her lips, her chin, "if not thorough."

*****

"Uuummmmm," Buffy hummed, her cheek pressed to his chest. Her arm was draped over his stomach, her leg tossed over his thighs. "Like research. Research good."

Spike chuckled, twisting her hair softly as she spoke. "I would say that that round of ... research... was particularly satisfying."

"If you mean yummy, I agree," Buffy purred, rolling over on her back. As had become customary, all bedding was strewn across the floor, despite the fact that they had managed to stay on the mattress.

"Yummy?" Spike asked, raising an eyebrow.

Buffy giggled. The word just sounded odd coming from his mouth. "Yummy," she repeated. "How do you do that?"

"What, Pet?" Spike rolled over and propped himself on his elbow, looking down on her flushed face. She was glowing. Radiant. Softly, he brushed her now dried hair from her face.

"That thing."

"What *thing*?"

"The one that makes my legs stop working?" Buffy sighed, flopping boneless calves against the bed.

"Ancient Chinese Secret," Spike snarked, leaning down and kissing her perfect, taut stomach. Buffy giggled again, feeling utterly relaxed for the first time in days.

"Thought you were English?"

"Doesn't mean a bloke can't *learn*."

"Ah," Buffy said, half hurt, half elated. "Lots of practice."

Spike looked down at her pretty green eyes. "Nothing," he began, "was ever real until you."

All of Buffy's jealousy melted into his crystal blue gaze. He meant it. She knew he did. "I love you. You know that, right?" she asked, letting her fingers slip through his ruffled blond hair.

"I do," he answered. "I do know that."

"Good," she answered, nuzzling in closer to him.

"And of course you know..."

"That you love me?"

"Everything about you."

"Even the bossy, snappy parts?"

"Even those. Although not quite as fond of those as I am, say, the kinder gentler bits. But I love them all the same," Spike answered, kissing her nose. "You know that this is all I ever wanted. "

"What is?"

"For you to love me even half as much as I have loved you. Half as much as I have always loved you," he whispered, stroking her hair.

"Well, you got me," Buffy said softly. "And it's much more than half."

Spike buried his face in her hair. It *was* all he wanted. All he needed. If, in the rest of his days, not one other goodness was granted to him, he could stand at judgement and say he'd died a happy man.

"What are we going to do?" Buffy asked, burying her face in his chest, letting her fingers trace patterns on his skin.

"About what, Love?"

"What Cyrus said?"

"Well, make sure no one is ever alone with Emma. The spell can only effect one body at a time."

"What about the demon? There's going to be a demon," Buffy whispered, resigned to the fact that nothing was every easy.

"Think you're probably right, Pet," Spike answered, resting his chin on the top of her head, still smoothing her long hair down her back.

"So how do you want to do this? You stay, I slay?"

"Don't feel quite right setting you loose with a demon wanting to *disarm* us mucking about," Spike answered, kissing the crown of her head.

"But we don't want to leave Emma alone with anyone that was in the gym," Buffy said, frustration coming out in the quiet sigh of her voice.

"No," Spike said simply.

"There's Cyrus," she said, not really wanting to even consider the option.

"Think he's on the up and up, but don't quite trust him with our little girl," Spike said, letting his fingers trail down her back. She moved impossibly closer.

"I know," she whispered in response. "Clem?"

Spike chuckled. "Not bad. Trust the old boy, but not sure he'd be much on the protecting bit. Can barely fight his way out of a box of Bugles."

Buffy giggled, her breath blowing against his chest. Slowly, the uncomfortable silence settled in. She knew it was coming. They had had the same thought.

"Love, if you want, we can call..."

"I don't want."

"Angel's a good choice," Spike said, despite himself.

"Not liking the way things turned out the last time."

"Thought you'd talked that out after he figured out the bit with Emma?" Spike asked.

"We did," Buffy said simply. She retreated from Spike just enough that he noticed her face was no longer settled against his chest. That her muscles were tight as if her guard went up. "But I just don't want to do that again. Not unless I have to." At least she was still talking, Spike thought.

"Buffy?" Spike asked, easing her face level with his, his fingers pressing against her chin. "Did he... hurt you?"

"No. No, nothing like that. It's just too... awkward," Buffy answered, pulling further away, withdrawing into herself. Spike could feel the void in her wake.

"Do you still... I mean, are you..." Spike stuttered.

"What?" Buffy asked, frustrated. Dealing was never going to be her strong suit. She was just getting used to happy.

"Are you still in love with him?" Spike asked, swallowing. Fearing the question. Fearing the answer.

"No," Buffy answered simply. "But I did. Once. And having him around reminds me of ... then."

"Brings back how you felt?" Spike sighed with resignation. Knew I should've never let the Poof back in this house, he thought.

"Would you stop, whiny boy?" Buffy asked, feeling his insecurity in her own blood. "No. It doesn't. Not like that. It reminds me of when things were... harder. When I was alone. And afraid."

Spike was silent for a long moment. Too long, Buffy thought.

"Aren't you going to say something?" she asked, looking back up at him. His jaw was set.

"Still smarting from the whiny boy comment," Spike snarked.

"Ugh, men," Buffy whined, pounding his chest and flopping back against the pillow. "The point *is* that I like it much better now. I finally feel ... not alone."

"You're not, Pet," Spike said, stroking her hair again and settling her back against him. This was good. She was talking. Something it took her a long time to do. Can't be too hard on her, he thought.

"I know. And I like having you around. Well, most of the time."

"See, knew there was a bloody catch. Most of the time," Spike babbled.

"Would you *stop*!" Buffy exclaimed, hopping up onto her knees, straddling his chest. "What more do you need? I tell you I love you. I chase you down in hell. I have your baby. I even change my name..."

"You said that was for Emma," Spike teased

"Right," she answered, blowing her own cover. But only for him. "Same reason I wear the ring on the left. Come off it Spike." She sent a pillow crashing down across his face. "You *know* that I love you. That I'm in love with you."

"Still like hearing you say it," Spike said, raising his eyebrows and prompting another attack of the flying pillow.

"Well, I did. Happy?" Buffy huffed.

"Elated," he purred, grabbing her hands and easing her flush against his chest. He lifted his head from the pillows, letting his lips brush against hers. "I love you always."

"Always?" she asked innocently.

"Every day."

She hummed softly against his lips, drinking him in.

"We'll talk to Cyrus tonight," Spike said softly, his arms wrapping around her bare waist. "Make a plan. Take it from there."

"Ok," Buffy agreed, falling back into the kiss.

"Do a little more research," Spike whispered between kisses.

"The yummy kind?" Buffy asked.

"Musty first, yummy later," Spike responded as her hair fell around his face and he drowned in her once again.

To be contd.

The Watcher (Chapter 8)

"Willow?" Tara asked as the door to their apartment creaked open. She walked from the kitchen into the entryway just in time to see Willow pulling the door shut behind her. "Willow?" Tara repeated, her brow furrowed in concern. Willow's aura seemed somehow... off.

"Home now," Willow chanted, softly smiling. To Tara, even the smile was wrong. "Got any aspirin?"

"S..sure," Tara stuttered, taking her lover's hand and leading her back to the bathroom. "You OK?"

"A little headachy," Willow responded, a quirky half grin on her face.

"Here," Tara offered her water and two small pills. Willow took them, swallowing them hungrily.

"Do you need to go to the doctor?" Tara asked, rubbing Willow's temples. Willow closed her eyes and began to hum. The tune sounded familiar, but Tara couldn't place where she'd heard it last.

"No, but a nap would be nice," Willow purred, slitting her eyes to look at her love. The humming resumed.

"S..sure," Tara answered, leading Willow to the bedroom. "I was just studying in the other room. I won't disturb you."

"No, baby," Willow whispered in a low tone that was unfamiliar to Tara. The redhead sat on the edge of the bed, tugging Tara to her until her thighs were pressed to Willow's knees. "Lay down with me."

"Will, I have a test tomorrow," Tara whispered, smiling serenely. Truth be told, she wasn't sure she wanted to be that close to Willow right now. Willow grinned up at her like the Cheshire Cat, tugging Tara ever closer, pressing her lips softly to her sweet girl's. Tara whimpered as the kiss intensified and Willow's hand cupped behind her neck. Then a pinch and a rush of air. Suddenly, the tenderness with which they had both become familiar crept back to them as if nothing out of the ordinary ever happened.

"I'll come to bed with you," Tara said slyly. Willow blinked, her brow furrowing, a resounding 'Hunh?' thudding in her mind. But Tara was persistent and Willow discovered that she was not really of a mind to resist.

*****

"Ahn, is Willow here?" Xander shouted, bursting into the shop with a jingle. Dawn stood by the shelves, unloading candles into a display case.

"Hi, Xander," Dawn chirped. Xander managed a half-hearted wave as he sped towards the back of the store. The teen shrugged it off, mumbling her relative unimportance, and resumed candle stacking.

"Ahn!"

"What?" Anya shouted, a little frustrated, as she appeared from under the counter.

"Where's Willow?"

"She's with you," Anya remarked. "And you're sick."

"She's not and I'm not," Xander snapped in response.

"Oh," Anya replied with a little shake of the head. "Well, glad you're feeling better."

"Have you seen Willow?" Xander repeated, grabbing Anya's hand and staring at her in a quiet sort of urgency.

"No, she never came back here," Anya responded. "Why? What's wrong?"

Xander thought about it. One minute he'd been in the gym. The next, he was on his couch kissing Willow. Not just kissing her but *kissing* her. "Something's happened..."

""What?" she replied, her face becoming gentle with concern. "Are you OK?" Her pretty hands traced his flushed face as gently as a child's. Xander stared at her intently. Her pretty eyes were flickering back and forth in his gaze, waiting for an answer. They'd come so far since the wedding fiasco. She'd never understand. Or would she? I hate decisions, Xander thought.

"I'm...I'm fine," Xander finally answered, squeezing her hand softly. "It's just something strange happened when Willow took me home."

"Well, what?" Anya crossed her arms, but her eyes still betrayed her concern, her need. Dawn scooted in closer under the guise of having to put candles on a display rack a bit closer to the counter.

Xander was trapped between truth and consequences. Either way, she'd end up hurt. "She seemed to, um, catch, whatever was wrong with me. And then she took off."

"Headaches aren't contagious, Xander."

"I don't know," he huffed in frustration. "But one minutes I felt... weird. The next I was fine and she was giving me the wiggins."

"Well, what happened in between?" Anya the pragmatist asked, adding a foot tap to her arm cross.

"I ... I don't know," Xander answered, making his choice. Consequences it will be, Harris, he thought, almost hearing Spike say it inside his head. "I don't remember."

*****

Giles stood in the shadow of the grand staircase as Quentin stormed from the room behind the bookcase. It had been Quentin's assumption that Giles was either inattentive or that he was trustworthy. In any case, he had made no effort to hide the more covert rooms of his palatial museum from his protege. As Quentin exited, the bookcase clicked flush with the wall. Giles stepped further into the shadows as Quentin stormed past towards his study and, no doubt, his bottle of triple malt. As footsteps pounded away, Giles made his move and crept toward the library.

A horrid wheezing emanated from behind the case. As if the wall itself was struggling to breathe. It sounded like a storm door creaking to and fro in the moments before a tornado. The Watcher pressed his ear to the wall, listening. Waiting. The sound of Quentin's study door slamming shut echoed in the empty house. Giles took a deep breath, gathering courage and splayed his hand across the wooden panel as he had seen Quentin do so many times before. What was behind the wall was of ultimate import, Giles thought. Despite better judgement, he knew it was where he needed to be.

The bookcase popped ajar with a click reminiscent of gunfire in the utter silence of the mansion.

The corridor was stone. Dark. Dank. Unlit, save for several mostly extinguished torches along the walls. It was cold. Like death. The decay of the underworld permeated the air, wafting into Giles' nostrils. He half expected a rotting corpse to topple from a niche in the wall as it might have in one of those B rated horror videos that Dawn had insisted on torturing him with. Alas, no corpse. Only the stench of decomposition, the acrid taste of evil.

At the end of the first tunnel, a branch of three came into view. The cavern to his left was blackened and seemed to be a dead end, although, Giles thought, it was hard to tell what lay behind it's mouth in the inky blackness. The opening to his right was well lit, as if an archeological dig was underway in the depths of Hell. The center cavern was dim, but lit by a black candle on each side of its entrance. The rise and fall of wheezing breath lay behind its darkened doorway.

Giles's nerves fired, sending alarms to every synapse, every inch of him that would listen. But his mind gathered his resolve. Closing his eyes and swallowing his fear, Giles stepped into the jaws of death.

*****

"Alright. So how real do you think Quentin's demon is?" Buffy asked, leaning back into the couch, her legs folded neatly under her. Spike sat on the floor in front of her, legs splayed out. Emma was using him for a jungle gym, climbing over him, around his shoulders, shimmying down his chest and rolling off the side.

Cyrus sat, studying the situation. The Slayer and The Vampire. He could not wrap his mind around the concept. No one had seen this coming. Prophesy or no. Of course, the Council had expected this occurrence one day, but they had expected some tragic love story with a decidedly unhappy ending involving the reuniting of souls, the horrible death of both halves, and an orphaned child who would save the world after being raised by a pack of wolves, or some such horror. Not one of them had expected Seventh Heaven, only with quite a bit more sex and violence. Oh, and of course demons.

"Very real," Cyrus answered, his own meandering thoughts returning him to the question at hand. Rupert had tried to prepare him for this, but seeing the Slayer at home with her Vampire lover and her miracle baby seemed, well even in Council terms, odd.

"Still no idea as to the sort?" Spike asked, tickling Emma until she melted into a giggling heap across his legs.

"Well, as it really *isn't* part of the Prophesy, there is no way to tell."

"Guesses?" Buffy asked.

"Something strong. Powerful enough or well enough equipped to take on at least half of the One despite your heightened abilities. Smart enough not to kill you, given the opportunity."

"That should narrow it," Spike quipped.

"So what's the plan then?" Buffy asked, shifting her legs to the opposite side and tucking them back underneath her like a colt. She sipped at a steaming cup of tea, blowing steam from the top as she drank. Another One thing. Cravings for tea and flower shaped onion things.

"As far as?" Cyrus answered.

"Protecting Emma and not getting... disarmed?" Buffy responded, trying to remain patient. This was not Giles. He did not have the answers and he didn't make her feel any better either.

"Well," Cyrus breathed, removing his glasses. Buffy prepared herself for the perennial Watcher wipe, but instead, he set them on the coffee table. "I don't suggest separating the two of you. At least not in combat."

"But that leaves Emma," Buffy said, her nerves beginning to fray. "And everyone we know, that we trust, was in the gym. They all can be effected by this spell."

"Until we suss out the mechanism, don't like the idea of leaving her with any of them," Spike snarled, then picked up Emma and lifted her over his head, letting her fly above them as if he'd never said anything at all.

"There is me," Cyrus pointed out.

Buffy studied the man for a moment. "Not trusty with the Watchers," she commented. "Except Giles. Nothing personal."

"I understand," Cyrus replied. Earning their trust would be something a long time in coming. Another thing Rupert had warned him about. "I was told about Gwydion."

At the sound of the name, Spike's head spun, the Watcher now garnering his full attention. He scooted Emma onto the couch where she settled in next to her mum, playing with her beloved bunny.

"What do you know of Gwydion?" Spike said calmly, but Buffy could feel the torrent under the surface.

"Rupert told me of the attack," Cyrus answered, looking at Spike but having to turn away. He could not process the tortured look on the Vampire's face. " I know he was..."

"Was what?" Spike snapped. Buffy leaned down, putting her hand on Spike's shoulder. He closed his eyes, feeling her there. Trying to settle enough to listen.

"I know he was once Henry Windsor. Proprietor and collector of rare antiquities. I know he was your father," Cyrus said tentatively. "But did you know, William, that he was also a Watcher?"

To be contd.

Title: Fathers (The Evil Within - Chapter 9) Author: Nimue Rating: PG -13 Pairing Buffy/Spike. Most major characters included. Feedback: Yes, please Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, UPN, Fox... Just Borrowing. (with, of course, the exception of Emma, who belongs to Buffy and Spike) Summary: Giles discovers Quentin's secret behind the walls of the mansion. Cyrus delivers news to Spike that he never expected.

Fathers

The cavern opening widened into a vast expanse of darkness. The odor of decay assaulted Giles, choking him in a musty haze of stench. Slime covered walls slid under his fingertips as he skimmed along the edge of the cave, heading for the tiny oasis of light that seemed to be emanating from the wall itself. Must be an illusion, Giles thought. Or fear playing tricks on my mind.

The idea that he should flee immediately had not escaped him, particularly as long wisps of smoke wafted past his head. The smell was a mixture of ammonia, sewage, and burning flesh. No supper tonight, Giles chuckled to himself. Making jokes at times of crisis. Maybe he had picked up a thing or two from Buffy after all.

"At least I should go back for a torch," Giles muttered to no one in particular as he slowly began to turn on the heel of his loafer and work his way back through the darkness to the door. He wasn't sure what had drawn him this far into the oblivion without light. He couldn't blame it on the quaint sound of wheezing or the aromatic bliss of rotting flesh.

As he took his first step toward the entrance, a scuffling on the floor stopped him in his tracks. "Watcher..." a voice hissed into his right ear. "Leaving so soon?" Into his left.

"Who... who are you?" Giles stuttered, stock still in the darkness.

"Your enemy," the voice spat from right in front of his face. It was a vaguely feminine sound, but more reptilian than human.

"Why?" Giles choked, at a loss for coherent thought, the smell of decay now right under his nose. The thought that he was completely blind was beginning to be of comfort to the Watcher.

"You are the Slayer's guardian." It was behind him now, echoing through the inky blackness. "Buffy," it hissed in disgust.

"Y...yes," Giles answered, his hands clenched in fear, his mind racing to fathom a way out.

"You enabled her to survive." It spun around him, slithering in lazy circles.

"She'd likely have survived on her own."

"No. Were it not for you and he of the heart, she would have perished," it said with an eerie certainty. "Had she died as she should have, the Peacemaker could never have entered this dimension."

Giles was silent for a long moment. "What is it you want from me?"

"I have not quite decided yet," it answered, constantly moving around him, never quite touching, but close enough that Giles could feel the clammy coldness of its skin. "You were there at the First, Watcher," it hissed.

"Pardon?" Giles questioned, forgetting he need not be polite to a hell beastie deciding his fate.

"When Draconius rose the first, when the One was conceived and the divergence began," It was almost sing songy now. The sound was more frightening than the hissing spits of a moment past. It seemed to enjoy its own words more than the story.

"How?" Giles gasped, feeling cold tendrils of flesh slide along his neck like snakes.

"You were the seed. The Father."

"What?"

"The One has always been mortal. At the first, it was a child. A seed split by the powers in the womb of the Mother. Sharing one essence in two bodies. Yours was the seed that brought them life."

"That's not... that's not possible," Giles stuttered in response.

The creature grunted, chortling into the darkness. "Watcher, you should know by now that everything is possible. Draconius has arisen. The One has rejoined. The Peacemaker given form. It is only natural that you be invited to the affair."

"Why? For what purpose?" Giles asked, completely flabbergasted by the creature's tale.

"Twice you have done a great disservice to my kind," it answered, still circling him slowly.

"Your kind?"

"Evil," it answered, simply. Giles could almost hear the rattle as it moved. The sound of a thousand locusts fluttering into the darkness. "At the First, yours was the seed that created the One. And now, you have allowed for its survival. Its reunification." It paused, sliding slowly around the Watcher, letting its raspy horrid breath blow against his cheek. "We can no longer kill the One. It is a force too powerful for our kind. But in retribution, your penance for giving them life, providing them the means to survive, you will take their seed. Their *reason* for existence."

"Emma," Giles said softly.

"You will slay the Star, or be slain."

Giles was silent. He tried to collect his thoughts, formulate a plan, but all he could envision was Buffy curled on the couch, napping, Emma tucked between her chest and her legs. The silly pink bunny in the baby's arms, its fuzzy ears tickling her tiny nose.

The Watcher stood straight, breathing deeply, his hands falling to his sides in submission. "Then I am ready to die."

*****

Buffy was silent watching Spike watching Cyrus. Even Emma had grown still, feeling the air thick with the tension of a million unasked questions and as many unsatisfactory answers.

Spike was deathly quiet, staring at the Watcher with a mixture of curiosity and contempt. His head tilted, his eyes wide and almost sad. So, even before his disappearance, there had been secrets, Spike thought. Even then, the Council had their hooks in us. In me.

Finally, it was Buffy who broke the awkward silence. "Gwydion was a Watcher?" she asked, hoisting Emma into her lap and hugging the child to her chest. Spike's gaze had drifted across the room, studying the walls, the carpeting, anything but their faces. The Watchers, barring Rupert, had a long tradition of attempting to kill him; not to mention had done a bloody good job of mucking up Buffy's life. Neither of which ranked them high on his personal scale of people to trust.

"Gwydion was not," Cyrus answered carefully, sensing the hair trigger on the Vampire who sat a mere six feet away. "But Henry Windsor was."

Still, Spike was silent. Buffy looked at him, letting her mind reach out to his, feeling the thoughts whirl in his brain at a dangerous clip. "How?" Buffy asked. "I mean, most Watchers don't have wives. Families."

Spike closed his eyes at the sound of the word. Once before he'd had a family. One not tied to blood and chaos. Even that, it seemed, had been a lie.

"Actually," Cyrus countered, still speaking in cautious words and tentative tones, "Many do. Not every Watcher has a Slayer. Not ever Watcher lives the life of a hermit. Many are... consultants. Those who are born into the calling, but serve more of a contractual function."

"And that's what Gwyd... Mr. Windsor... did for the Council?" Buffy asked

"Yes," the Watcher answered. "He was the world's premier expert on ancient languages as well as..."

"Mythology," Spike said quietly. "Greek, Roman, Celtic, Norse. 'Specially Egyptian." Spike's words were so soft, almost if he was struggling to remember his father at all. If he had to think about the man, he had to conceive of killing the monster he had become.

"Yes," Cyrus said, just as softly. "He translated and encrypted mostly. Identified artifacts. His business was..."

"A front," Spike interrupted, his eyes falling closed again. So many of his memories snapped into focus and then shattered like glass in front of him. His human existence, the only real humanity he had known, was not even what it seemed to be.

"No more that Rupert acting as a librarian was a front. It was his business. Henry just happened to have a more pressing calling."

"So what... what happened?" Buffy asked. "I mean, do you know?" Emma struggled away from her mother, drawn almost instinctively to the sorrow she felt in her father. The baby crawled across the couch, climbing carefully to the floor and sitting quietly down next to Spike. Her hip pressed to his. Spike looked down at the little girl, letting his arm fall from the couch and wrap around her, tucking her small body against his. She looked up at him with her enormous blue eyes, blinking steadily, blonde eyelashes flickering over her creamy golden skin. Buffy studied them, suddenly feeling strangely settled. It occurred to her that Emma was grounding him. Centering him. What was even more amazing, she thought as she watched the little girl, was that the baby knew exactly what she was doing.

Cyrus was taken aback by the sight. In reality, it was a simple scene. Small child staring up lovingly at her father. Father enraptured by his own blood. There was more to it. The child was calming him from the inside, her mind, her eyes, granting him solace from his thoughts. The Peacemaker was thought to have many skills with which to aid her in her quest, however, watching the toddler consciously handle power was truly mind-boggling.

It was a long time before Spike looked away, as if he'd lost a staring contest. He glanced up at Buffy, almost as if he needed to assure himself of her presence, then slowly back to Cyrus. "Do you know?" he asked, an eerie calm in his voice.

"Know? I'm sorry," Cyrus answered, trying to shake himself clear of the awe that had overcome him and remember where the words had stopped and Emma had began.

"What happened? To my father?" Spike repeated, sounding like a child asking for the end of a story.

"Vaguely," Cyrus responded, looking at his knees, picking up his glasses, fidgeting. Folding and unfolding the arms against the frame in an endless maze of movement.

"I'd like to know. Like to hear it," Spike said, still staring at the Watcher. "Need to."

Cyrus was unsure of whether or not he should go on. The child was now leaned against her father, her head plunked to his ribs. He stroked her hair as she rested quietly, as if exhausted by the trip through her father's emotions. Cyrus watched her, then Spike, then looked over at Buffy. She was still curled on the couch, only now the gesture seemed less coltish and more protective. Like a snake coiled and ready to strike. Slowly, she nodded her head for the Watcher to continue.

"Henry had been asked by the Council to travel to Africa to recover a scroll that we thought important. The exact nature of this scroll is information to which I have not been privy. Normally, he was not sent on missions because of ... because of his family. Not to mention, he was rather more an academic than an explorer."

"He traveled extensively," Spike interrupted, his tone more questioning than argumentative.

"Quite true," Cyrus replied, "but normally his travel was to study artifacts already recovered or to translate text that could not be moved either for its fragile nature or bulk. Rarely was he called upon to actually recover an item. Retrieve it from what some may consider mystical, if not simply dangerous, settings. However, in this instance, he was called upon to do so."

"But he didn't make it?" Buffy asked quietly.

"No," Cyrus answered. "From what I know, the scrolls in question must have had to do with Vampirism, although it is possible that it had to do with the convergence or even the Peacemaker in hindsight. It's not something commonly talked about among the Council."

"And its imminent discovery upset a demon or two," Spike contributed.

"My theory," Cyrus agreed. "The night before he was meant to leave, he locked his shop and headed down the alley way."

"The alley? Why?" Spike asked. "We lived two blocks down. All on the main road."

Cyrus smiled softly at the Vampire. "It seems that being a fool for love was somewhat of a family trait, William," the Watcher answered kindly. "It looked as if he was headed to the florist to buy your mum daisies. At least that was what his assistant told the Council."

"Basil," Spike sighed, suddenly remembering the ruddy young man who had run his father's business when he had been away. A kind sort, not terribly much older than William at that time, but eminently responsible and always full of good stories.

"Yes," Cyrus confirmed. "Apparently, it was on the way to the flower shop, in the alley, that he met a creature unhappy with the Council's plans. And so was born Gwydion."

"Why turn him? Why didn't they just..." Buffy began, swallowing the end of her thought.

"My guess? Knowledge. Henry Windsor was extremely intelligent in matters of some import to the underworld. They wanted his mind, but they also wanted control of it."

"They?" Spike asked, still calm, as if entranced by his drowsy daughter.

"Those that turned him. *He that turned your father."

"Well, if you bloody well know, come out with it," Spike snapped, the tension creeping back. Emma shifted against him and he settled, this time simply to keep from upsetting the tot.

"Aurelius," Cyrus answered, cautiously.

"As in 'The Order of'?" Buffy asked. "What, does every vamp I know owe their unlife to the guy?"

"Aurelius himself," Cyrus replied. "He who sired the master. Darla's grandsire. Angel's. Drusilla. Spike." The last word dropped into silence like a marble striking a wooden floor then trailing along its grain.

The silence seemed endless. "How do you know?" Spike finally asked, looking at Cyrus from behind tired and overwrought eyes.

"Aurelius made a point of letting the Council know of his conquest. Henry was not only very valuable to the Council, but also well liked. In the days when those who were called to its service held loyalties to their own," Cyrus answered, ruefully. "Once, we were of a mission. An alliance against that which Quentin Travers is trying to recreate today. Henry was important then. To the Council. To his family. We knew straight away what had happened, but no one could find a way to... how do you explain to a grieving wife and two teenaged children to whom the mysteries of darkness are horror stories and nothing more? Emma, the first Emma, loved him so. How do you explain...?" The Watcher seemed on the verge of tears himself. Buffy studied him, seeing something she was not sure she understood.

"You were there, weren't you?" She asked quietly, leaning forward, her elbows pressing to her knees. Spike looked at her, his eyes questioning, trying to follow her thoughts. "You knew him."

"Yes," Cyrus answered simply.

"How?" Spike asked, his head tilted, brow furrowed in confusion.

"Not every immortal is cursed. Although it often feels that way."

A squeal from outside the front door, along with heavy footsteps and low mumbles shook them from their intense conversation. Buffy was on her feet in a split second, racing at the door, Spike at her heels. He had managed to set the heavy-eyed little girl on the couch as he rose. Cyrus watched her pretty head sink into the cushions, her eyes flickering like beautiful blue flame from behind falling lids.

Buffy glanced back at Spike, her hand resting on the knob. He nodded, staring straight ahead, his legs bent, hands in front of him, ears tuned on the ruckus outside the door. Buffy nodded back at him, turning her attention back to the bronzed knob. Her hand closed over it, and she tossed open the front door, jumping back out of its path.

Everything froze as she processed the scene in front of her. Spike let out a breath that grazed the back of her neck.

"Oh my God!" Buffy gasped in horror, "What is that?"

To be contd.

Title: Pony (The Evil Within - Chapter 10) Author: Nimue Rating: PG -13 Pairing Buffy/Spike. Most major characters included. Feedback: Yes, please Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, UPN, Fox... Just Borrowing. (with, of course, the exception of Emma, who belongs to Buffy and Spike) Summary: Buffy is horrified by what she finds right in front of her front door. Giles is confronted by Draconius' plans. Xander thinks figures out what happened to him and what might happen next, but in the process, hurts Anya more than he knows.

Pony

Spike couldn't help but chuckle, tension escaping through the simple relief of laughter. Buffy stood in front of him, frozen in place, eyes as wide as saucers. She felt Spike's hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently, his breath blowing against her cheek.

"Again, I ask, what is that?" Buffy snarked.

"Hi," Clem said, waving with his free hand. In his other, a nylon leash connected him to the large and furry neck of a creature who was currently occupied licking Dawn's face. It's enormous pink tongue lapped Dawn's skin as the teen giggled wildly.

"H'lo Clem. See you did as I asked," Spike said, still speaking from over Buffy's shoulder.

"Sure nuff, Spike," Clem answered, smiling. He was always smiling. Dawn was cross legged on the welcome mat, trying to defend herself half heartedly from the onslaught on slobber. Anya stood to the side, staring at the creature with a mixture of amusment and disgust.

"Is that a pony?" Buffy asked. The dog looked young, but was already the size of a full grown lab, its paws as big as soup plates.

"It's a puppy, love," Spike answered, brushing her hair behind her ear and kissing her cheek.

"Puppy?" she exclaimed, craning her head back to look at him. "It's going to get bigger?"

"Quite a bit, Buffy," Clem answered happily. "Only 10 weeks old."

"Spike! What did you do?" Buffy spun around and stared at him in shocked surprise.

"Slayer can't exactly run round with a toy poodle," the Vampire answered, smiling softly.

"True. She's already got one lap dog," Anya remarked, raising her eyebrows at Spike. Spike smirked at the former demon over the top of Buffy's head.

"So... you got a... Yeti?" Buffy argued, turning back to look at the gigantic dog. Dawn was still giggling gleefully, scratching the pooch behind the ears and rubbing her face in its fur.

"It's a Bull Mastiff," Spike corrected. "Looks fierce, but gentle as a lamb, Pet."

"Spike, if it steps on Emma, we won't find her for a week."

"Buffy, I checked it out. Wonderful with tots," he retorted, trying to settle her. "You agreed we should get them a dog," he reminded.

"But... I thought... I thought you meant a cocker spaniel or one of those mini dogs..."

"What kind of image would that be?" Spike huffed, puffing into his remotest big badness. "Vampire. Slayer. Key. Peacemaker. Trotting bout town with a sodding teacup Yorkie. Ooh, a threat!"

"So you get a horse?"

"I like him, Buffy," Dawn squealed. "It is a him, right?" The girl craned her head and glanced underneath the dog. Clem nodded at her. "Yeah, he's a he," she said quite seriously.

"Quite enough women in this house," Spike commented.

"Speaking of *in*," Anya said, gesturing at the door. Buffy moved to the side, still wide eyed, Spike's arms wrapped around her waist. The entourage moved into the house, Clem being pulled behind the rambunctious pup. Spike reached down and patted it's huge head as it trotted past.

"See, Pet, gentle as a lamb."

"We *will* talk about this," Buffy remarked as the dog scampered into the living room, throw rugs curling under its wake, a torch lamp tipping as it tore through the living room. Clem caught the lamp, righting it and setting it behind the end table. The demon shot a sheepish grin at Buffy.

"Nice dog, Buffy," he said, nodding his head approvingly.

The dog darted for the couch. Emma sprung awake, staring at the foreign creature in shock as it bounded towards her at break neck speed. Buffy lurched forward trying to grab the baby, but the dog skidded to a halt, sitting obediently at the foot of the couch. Emma leaned forward wondrously, staring into the puppy's happy wide eyes, her lips parting into a grin.

"Think she likes him," Spike whispered encouragingly into Buffy's ear. Buffy shh'd him like a child. The giant puppy sat completely still save for the thumping of it's tail on the floor. It sniffed the baby softly, hearing her giggle as it's nose touched her cheek.

Buffy lurched forward again as the dog's mouth opened, but stopped short as a slow, purring growl came from its mouth. The puppy was calm, but the sound was like nothing they'd ever heard. Completely non-threatening, but a growl none the less. As Buffy's hand reached Emma, the child's lips parted and it repeated the sound the dog made exactly.

Buffy glanced back at Spike. He stared at the scene, brow furrowed, much as the rest of the group. The dog again opened it's mouth, letting out a short, deep bark. Emma stared at him, her head tilting as she studied its kind face. Suddenly, her mouth opened, copying the sound but an octave higher. The dog stared up at her, then lowered its head to the cushions in a gesture that Spike could only describe as supplication.

"Did Em just..." Dawn began.

"Talk to the dog?" Anya finished.

"No," Buffy answered, not quite sure what to believe himself. "Of course not." She was shaking her head, staring at the still puppy and the delighted child who was now tugging on the dog's ears like a normal two year old.

"Think she might've," Spike commented, his head cocked to the side, staring at the little girl as if she were magical. In a way, she was.

"She has the ability," Cyrus said quietly, uttering his first words since the ruckus on the porch cut short their conversation.

"What?" Buffy asked, still dazed, crossing her arms over her chest.

"The Peacemaker does, I should say. How can one be expected to bring peace to all dimensions unless one speaks all languages?" Cyrus pointed out. Seems obvious enough, Spike thought, but he'd never really sussed the whole thing out. She was his daughter, not a Chosen One.

"*Dog* is not a language," Buffy argued.

"To you, maybe not. But they do communicate. Emma just seems to be able to converse with them in their native tongue."

"So, she's Dr. Dolittle?" Dawn asked, caught between alarm and amusement.

"In a sense," Cyrus replied, turning his attention to the teenager. "Except the language she hears, she understands instinctively. The dog did not speak and Emma translate its voice into English in order to understand."

"She thinks in dog too?" Anya asked, her head moving from child to dog, to parents, to Watcher.

"In any language. In *every* language."

"How come you didn't tell us about that part of the Prophesy?" Buffy asked, her annoyance with the entire evening rising.

"Seemed common sense," Cyrus responded. "No offense." It never occured to the Watcher that his words could be harsh. Maybe the Vampire was correct in that he needed to brush up on his people skills.

The room was silent. Emma had gone back to her normal, playful, toddler self and was hanging off the puppy's neck as it licked her arms and hands. "Wow," Clem muttered, nodding at the little girl and turning his head towards Spike and Buffy. "Neat little girl you have there."

"You can say that again," Dawn sighed, patting the dog's head as Emma used him for a jungle gym.

"Wow what?" Tara asked as she glided through the doorway, Willow hanging onto her hand.

"Wow, that's a big doggie!" Willow bubbled, walking into the living room. The dog's head spun, looking at the two women. Instinctively, the pup pinned it's ears; a gesture that went unnoticed, as it sat obiently at Emma's dangling feet. The baby clamboured down the dog's back and onto the floor, toddling off towards the kitchen. Dawn and the gargantuan housepet scampered at her heels.

"Nice dog," Tara commented, smiling slyly. "Sometimes, it's good to adopt them full grown."

"It's a puppy," Buffy snapped, glaring at Spike.

"Puppy?" Willow said, raising her eyebrows.

"Puppy."

Spike clapped his hands together, trying to change the subject. "Glad you birds are here." Buffy shot a warning glance at her lover, letting him know that in *no* uncertain terms was this conversation over.

"What's up, Spike? " Tara asked, saving him from the Buffy evil glare of anger.

"We need to patrol. Imagine Red here has filled you in on the spell?"

"Body hopping. Someone in the gym. Hard to tell," Tara repeated, ticking off the highlights with her fingers.

"Right," Spike agreed. "Demon on the loose after us," he continued, gesturing at Buffy and then himself. "So we go kill it."

"A violence nightcap?" Willow grinned.

"More like foreplay," Anya snarked as she walked past toward the kitchen. Buffy's turn to smirk at the blunt former demon.

"Regardless," Buffy continued, her tone made more serious by her general annoyance with the entire evening. "The spell can only effect one at a time, so no one, *no one*, is *ever* alone with Emma. Two at a time, at least. Not even the pony."

"The pony.. I mean, the dog, wasn't in the gym, Love," Spike responded, catching the mistake a bit late.

"Spike?" Buffy snarled, glaring at the Vampire.

"Right," Spike conceeded. Choose your battles when sparring with the Slayer. "Not even the dog."

"Got it," Willow answered, nodding.

"What about Xander?" Buffy asked, turning her attention back to Spike.

"Best he's not here, Love. We aren't sure if..."

"I know but what if he decides to come here?"

"Anya?" Spike called. The woman appeared from the kitchen doorway. "Where's Harris?"

"I told him to stay home and sleep it off. He was all... wonky."

"Good. Best thing," Buffy commented. "So, do you have the rules?"

"Got it," Tara responded. "No alone, no ponies."

"No jokes," Buffy said seriously. "It could be anyone. I'm not playing around with Emma's life."

"S...sorry," Tara said, involuntarily rubbing her head and looking down at the floor. Her mood instantly changed, as if a switch had flipped in her head.

"Tara," Buffy said, softening, "I'm sorry. I'm just on edge. Big meanie demons. Body hopping spells. Gargantuan farm animals in the house." Another evil look shot in Spike's direction.

"No, it's OK," Tara said softly. "We'll make sure nothing happens."

Slowly, she headed off towards the kitchen, her head hanging low, her quiet humming almost imperceptible even to Spike's Vampire ears.

*****

Giles awoke to a faint glimmer of light. It was cold. He flexed his hands, but realized he was restrained, metal clasped tight around his wrists and ankles. The smell of death, of burning flesh, was pungent, assaulting him. The back of his head pounded in what sounded like hail on a tin roof.

As he eyes swum open, the faint glimmer became the glow of a fire. Painfully, he craned his head, noticing he was chained fast to the cavern wall in the center of a circle. The circle had been painted onto the wall. It smelled like blood. Giles could only see the edges of the pattern, but he already knew.

The Eye of the Fates.

"Watcher," the same voice hissed, bring Giles' memories flooding back. The cold reptilian hiss.

"Show yourself," Giles demanded, mustering courage in the face of inescapable misfortune.

"What would you like to see?" the creature answered, stepping into the fire light, it's voice becoming flat but human. A small angular woman, dark hair, dark eyes, similar in height to Buffy, stepped into the glow. The woman, unbeknownst to Giles, who had drawn the others to the school.

"Who are you?" Giles asked, blinking at the vision.

"Whomever I need be," it answered, its voice changing to a cracked whisper, dry as the desert. Rough as sandpaper. The visage changed and a hunched old hag appeared before him. Her eyes glowed a blood red.

"*What* are you?" Giles asked, cringing at the sight.

"The face you place on evil," it answered, hissing, shifting again. It's limbs melted into it's body and its frame elongated like a cobra ready to strike. A long, pink tongue darted out, licking its horrid, scaly lips, then slid back into its cavernous mouth. Giles shuddered at the thought of the beast so close that it had touched him.

"You had said that I should die," Giles said calmly. Actually, he thought, death might be a comfort compared to the atrocities this creature could visit upon him.

"No," it answered, shfting again, morphing into a beautiful, raven haired woman. Her voice became spiced and rich and luxurious. "I made you an offer," it purred, coming closer, it's fingers playing under the Watcher's chin. Giles turned his head from the creature's hypnotic beauty. "Kill the child or die."

"And I made a choice," Giles said, defiantly.

"And I did not *like* your choice," it purred, pressing rub red lips to his cheek. "So the offer has changed."

Giles sighed. "What then?"

"Well, it's not an offer at all anymore, really," it said coyly, walking away. Its perfect round backside sauntering towards the fire. "It's more of a win win proposition." The creature spun on one stiletto heel and stared at Giles.

"And what is that?"

"Kill the child and live forever," it answered simply.

Giles swallowed, watching it stalk the cavern like a panther. "I will not kill Emma."

"Wrong," it said sharply, stopping in its tracks. It stared at the Watcher with empty, black eyes. "You see, the symbol behind you is...."

"The Eye of the Fates," Giles interrupted.

"Correct," it said, smiling, glistening white teeth glittering in the fire light. "I control you." Giles craned his head to look again at the looping, endless pattern, then looked the beast in the eye.

"You cannot will me to destroy them."

"I can," it said. "I will. Or you will die resisting and I will kill the Star anyway."

*****

"Ahh!" Xander shouted, sitting bolt upright in his bed, sweat pouring down his face, dripping in rivulets down his chest. The nightmare. Too real. Kissing Willow. Blackness. Giles.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, leaning forward to catch his breath. The evil had been in him. He could feel its vapour trail linking him to Willow and to the darkness and somehow to Giles. It was gone now. Of that, he was sure. But he could feel the rawness in his veins as if acid had been pumped from his heart and singed every inch of his body.

"Will," he muttered to himself, reaching towards the bedside table. Fumbling for the phone. His breath hurt, his mind racing, his heart exploding in his chest from the force of the nightmare.

As the phone rang, it came back to him. Dawn's eyes. So bright they burned his pupils. It consumed her, then him, then all of them. But the light was really darkness. His head had hit the wooden floor with a thud and he could feel it pour into his ears, his eyes, his mouth. Like tar. Burning. Exploding. The Eye. The Dragon. A man in a suit. A hunched old woman with red eyes. A child suspended in darkness. Emptiness. Blackness. Then Willow.

'Hi, you've reached Tara and Willow. We can't come....'

"Damn it!" Xander snapped, slamming the phone into the receiver.

Willow.

Emma.

Xander frantically picked up the phone, punching in Buffy's exchange. It rang only once before a chipper, giddy voice answered. "Hello?"

"Dawn?" Xander croaked, his voice dry and cracked.

"Yeah, Xander. You still sick?" Dawn asked. Xander could hear barely coherent words and giggles from the baby in the background.

"I'm fine. Where's Buffy? I need to talk to her."

"Patrol."

Xander thought a moment. "Then put Spike on."

"He's with Buffy. He's *always* with Buffy," Dawn commented, then giggled again. "Emma easy," Xander heard her say to the child. "Anya, can you get her out of the water bowl?" Xander shook his head, trying to think.

"Dawn, put Anya on."

"Sure." There was a pause.

"Hey, Pookey," Anya chirped into the phone. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," he croaked. "Have you seen Willow?"

"Sure, she's in the living room. But what do you need her for?" Anya asked, her insecurity bubbling to the surface. Panic took control and Xander lunged at the floor, grabbing his pants and almost dropping the phone as he forced them on.

"Ahn, listen. I can't explain, but *don't* let Willow near Emma."

"What? Why?"

"I know what happened in the gym."

"Yes. The body hopping spell. No one alone with Emma until we know who and how it jumps," Anya repeated from memory.

Xander sighed, gritting his teeth. "It was me," he admitted, pulling his shirt on and buttoning as he talked. "And now it's Willow."

"How? How do you know?" Anya stuttered, all chirpiness gone from her voice. She glanced around the corridor and watched Willow and Tara talking to Cyrus in the living room.

"I.. I remember now that it's gone," Xander answered, trying his shoes as he spoke.

"How... how did it jump?"

"I... I don't know," Xander began. 'Consequences, Harris,' Damn it, Spike. "Anya, we kissed."

"Who? Us?"

"Me... and Willow."

The line was silent. Not even breath. "Ahn? Ahn, I..."

"What?" she said, her voice void of emotion.

"I want to explain. I need to explain, but there's no time. I'm on my way over."

"Don't come here," Anya retorted flatly.

"Anya, I can explain..."

"As much as I want it to be because I *don't* want to see you, you can't come because Buffy said no. Spike..."

"What?" Xander was standing now, his body moving towards the door, tethered only by the phone cord.

"You heard me," Anya replied.

"Anya..." Xander sighed, "I..."

"Don't.Come.Here.," she whispered, tears building. "Besides, even if I did think you could explain it sufficiently, someone needs to tell Spike and Buffy."

Xander processed her words. Maybe she would give him a chance to explain. No time. "OK. Anya, please, *please* keep Willow away from Emma. I'm going to find them."

"Just don't come here," Anya whispered softly, tears spilling from the corners of her eyes. Quickly, she hung up.

As Anya looked around the room, trying to hide her feelings from Dawn, to compose herself before she moved along with her night, she noticed the toddler clinging to her leg. Anya reached down, scooping the baby into her arms. Dawn was silent, patting the dog and watching them cautiously.

"Let's get her to bed," Anya whispered, wiping the tears off her cheeks and burying her face in Emma's soft hair. "Please."

To be contd.

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