Title: No Way Out (Chapter Fourteen - Meant to Be)

Author: Nimue

Rating: PG-13

Pairing Buffy/Spike. Most major characters included.

Feedback: Yes, please

For instant notification of fic releases, straight to your mailbox, please visit Always_Everyday@yahoogroups.com

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, UPN, Fox... Just Borrowing. (With, of course, the exception of Emma and William, who belong to Buffy and Spike)

The rest of the story can be found at:

and present chapters are being posted on my live journal at:

Summary: Wesley gives his take on the prophesy. The small group in the know develop a last ditch plan. Buffy and Spike reclaim their brood, almost finding out what they are not meant to know. At least not yet.

No Way Out

The morning droned on. The sun began to creep through the blinds of the dining room where Wesley worked. The smell of coffee and bacon and eggs was barely enough to keep his tired mind awake. It had been a long time since he’d worked in the company of so many. Even with Angel, he basically was alone. To this day, even once having been a part of it, he still didn’t understand the concept of a Slayer having a family. And in this case, being part of a vast extended family.

A mug appeared in front of the man, steaming and emitting an amazing aroma. “Coffee?” A cheerful voice asked.

Wesley looked up to see Willow once again. My how she had changed. Her hair was still the strawberry red he remembered; her eyes still sparking with the same intelligence and youth as always. But everything else about her had become a woman.

Willow’s hair was cut in a long bob, her face leaner and less cherubic, yet still somehow soft and sweet. Her body was thin and curvy at the same time, and her eyes showed just a little of the fatigue of years. She smiled under his gaze, no doubt appraising him in the same way.

“Thank you,” Wesley answered, a smile lighting his rugged face. She returned it brightly.

“You all right?” She asked.

“As well as can be expected,” he answered, running a hand through his already mussed hair.

“Wanna take a break for a shower and some yummies?” Willow asked, gesturing towards the kitchen. “I mean, you do still eat.”

“On occasion,” he answered with a smile. “Thank you, Willow. Possibly after I’ve cracked this bit in the middle.”

“Suit yourself,” she answered cheerfully, setting a plate of cookies nearby and taking one for good measure. “But mi casa es su casa. Or something like that. Never good at the Spanish.”

Wesley smiled. “Willow?”

“Yeah,” she answered, still chewing and half way to the door.

“Before I leave, do you think you could catch me up a bit about what’s going on here? I mean, I’ve heard the stories, mostly from Angel, but you know how biased he can be…” His intense eyes stared at the girl for a moment and she was trapped in them. As if he exuded some tractor beam from his beautiful eyes.

“S…Sure. You mean, whose kid is whose and who’s-my-baby-daddy?” Willow asked, trying to break herself from the gaze.

Another quirky smile from the ex Watcher. Willow found it so … disconcerting?... that he had this really rough and handsome exterior now, but the same soft voice. “Something of that nature.”

“Sure,” Willow repeated, her smile returning, studying the man in the loosely buttoned oxford. “Better bring a notepad though.”

With that, she bounced out of the room.

~~~~~~

It had been hours. It felt more like days, the Watcher thought as he strode out into the living area in his stocking feet, looking impossibly more mussed than he had when he arrived. The entire group of them, all save for the children and, presumably Oz, were sitting on the couches and chairs in the living room, a fire burning in the hearth. Some of them were reading. Some were just sitting and thinking. But they all looked like they had experience in hospital waiting rooms from their demeanor.

Anya, he thought, turned around first. She was sitting next to Rupert, a small child, *his* child, stretched across the other Watcher’s lap. It made matters real to Wesley. No Watcher was destined to be a part of this kind of life, yet Rupert Giles had. He’d followed his charge’s lead and not let the destiny rule him, but rather had learned to rule the destiny.

“Wesley?” Anya asked, standing. “Wow! I mean, who’d have thought you were hot under all those suits?”

Wesley blushed a bit as the rest turned around. He stood there, his corduroys a bit rumpled but still managing to look crisp, his white shirt still loosely covering lean muscle and sun darkened skin. “Hello, Anya.”

Giles craned his neck. “Have you had any luck with the translation?”

Wesley nodded, and then realized that, from the angle in which Giles was sitting, he couldn’t see. “Yes,” he answered, solemnly. “But I think I’d like to clean up a bit and mull it over before we discuss it further.”

“Oh!” Tara blurted, standing, her skirts grazing her ankles in an almost floating, angelic fashion as she walked towards the former Watcher. “I... I can show you to the bathroom, if you like.”

Wesley flashed her a fragile, yet warm, smile, understanding what it was that Willow saw in the girl as soon as he got a good look at her beautiful eyes. There was something deep there. Something benevolent and kind and loving that one couldn’t find in this world. He wondered, for a moment, if she were an angel or a fairy or something equally as surreally beautiful. But as she tugged his hand and he collected his overnight bag, he realized that she was a human just as he. A human who had remained unjaded despite this world in which they had come to live.

~~~~~~

As the water ran over his back, Wesley thought. These people, people he had known now for years, but had been estranged from, had managed to create something of a family from the rubble of what had happened to their own. They worked as a unit, as they always had, but rather than the rag tag team of children with their frustrated yet loving guardian, they were now a well oiled machine. One in which they each had a place. The One had become greater than merely Buffy and Spike.

It had encompassed them all.

So how, he thought as he shampooed his hair and began to work the soap over his tired body, how was he going to tell them? He’d read the Prophesy. It hadn’t been that hard once the alphabet had been deciphered and the order of words had been re-arranged using a more colloquial template. But what was contained within was exactly what Rupert had been dreading.

And that would put the rest of them on guard and defensive against a threat to one of their own. He was bound to be an unpopular man for what he had to say.

His brain searched for a way out. A way to avert the Prophesy, as the Slayer had averted so many before. When he’d become a Watcher he’d thought that these things were carved in stone. That once a Prophesy had been written, it *was* and there was no stopping it.

But were that true, Buffy would have fallen to the Master. And Faith, his own former charge, would never have been in existence simultaneous with her Californian counterpart. And Angel would be human, or at the very least, have been the other half of the One.

Some things were never as straightforward as they seemed.

No one had counted on Spike. No one in the Watchers’ Council, at least then, had even bothered to look at William the Bloody as the one whose heart would be enough to make him good without a soul. To make him seek out one because of his love for the Slayer. They had always assumed it would be Angel. But it wasn’t meant to be.

A flicker of hope lit inside Wesley as he thought of all of the Prophesies that they had confounded in the years in which they had been a part of this cosmic soap opera pitting good against evil. Maybe there was a way around it. Maybe there would be a way to circumvent it.

But, alas, that wasn’t the duty near at hand. What he had to do next, share his findings with Rupert and the rest of the group, would likely not garner him favour in their ranks. He had to do it anyway. And then try to get to work helping them. He hadn’t intended on staying past the one night, but he knew he could not leave, to allow them to fend for themselves, without at least trying to assist.

Buffy and her unborn child might not be part of his family, however, they were important to her, and thus to Rupert, and thus to them all. And he owed it to his kind to help out.

The water clicked off and he shook his head, clearing his mind and letting the water fly off of him in huge droplets. Grabbing a towel, he emerged from the shower, dressing in snug blue jeans, a hunter green button down, and a tan belt with a shining silver buckle. As he looked at his reflection, he considered shaving, his hand running over the few days of stubble grown there, and then decided that it was a waste. Not important today. He brushed his teeth and towel dried his dark locks, and then padded back into the living room barefoot to meet his doom.

~~~~~

“No,” Willow said firmly. “I can’t buy that anyone would do that! That anyone would will a child to … No!” Her face was flushed with anger. Tara raised her hand to Willow’s shoulder and rubbed softly to soothe her.

Wesley swallowed, looking down at his translation. “I’m afraid this is what the Prophesy states.”

“Are you sure?” Giles asked, rubbing the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes.

“It states that this child, if born, will be set against its family by the forces of Darkness. That the child, once it reaches the age of maturity, will kill both parents and then the Peacemaker,” Wesley repeated, his fingers drumming the edge of his notebook.

“Leaving only Will,” Anya answered, wrapping her hands around her self, wishing this all to go away.

Wesley nodded. “Most likely, as Will was never meant to be. He was a…”

“He’s a child,” Willow blurted. “A little boy. A normal little boy.”

“And that is why he’d probably be spared,” Wesley stated. “No known supernatural abilities for the child of doom to be attracted to. The third child would be focused, drawn to the abilities of his or her parents, and older sister. Like a beacon.”

“There has to be a way around it,” Tara said quietly. “I… I mean. We’ve always found a way.”

“I suppose it’s fair to say, in present company, that nothing is carved in stone, however, this seems to be a fairly straightforward message, as far as Prophesies go. Not much room for interpretation.” Wesley stopped, staring at the empty faces around him. “It … it also indicates that this has come to pass twice before.”

Giles closed his eyes. “The pictures. “

“Exactly,” Wesley stated. “The documentation in two different eras of human existence implies that this event has occurred or almost occurred in the dawn of human existence, as well as around the time of Arthur, in the early 600’s AD. That either the Slayer and her paramour were brought together as the One and then killed by this child, or that they were prevented from coming together at all because of this Prophesy.”

“I’m so sick of Prophesies,” Anya stated flatly. “I mean, what’s the point? They’re old, they’re outdated, even the demon population doesn’t abide by them and Buffy never seems to let them…”

“But they always happen,” Giles interrupted quietly. “It’s just that Buffy has been lucky enough to overcome their words so far. But every last one of them has come to pass.”

“Like Emma,” Tara whispered, still rubbing Willow’s shoulder.

Giles nodded. “Like Emma.”

“So what do we do?” Anya interjected. “I mean, we can’t…”

“I think we’ll have to tell her,” Giles explained. “Let it be her choice.”

“*What* choice?” Willow asked, narrowing her eyes at the Watcher.

Giles looked at Wesley, and then down at the table. Wesley cleared his throat, saving Giles the horror of having to save it. “The only way we can ensure the safety of the Peacemaker, and the One, is to strongly advise that...” he swallowed, not wanting to go on, but knowing he’d have to. “That they terminate the pregnancy.”

“What?” Willow exclaimed. “You’re going to ask Buffy, ask *Spike*, to kill their child?”

Wesley looked away, feeling like a baby murderer, even though he wished upon all stars at once that this were not true. “To save the One and their first child, they may have to.”

“No. “Willow’s eyes were wild with fire. “There has to be another way. Can we… what if we call a meeting, a truce, between the forces of light and of darkness and see if we can negotiate? Give them something in return for letting this child be.”

”Like what?” Anya asked. “The blood of the innocent?”

Again, Willow narrowed her eyes, her body tense and feeling like it might explode. “I don’t know what, Anya. But it wouldn’t hurt to ask.”

It sounded far-fetched, but as far as plans went, it was all they had. “We should tell them,” Giles said softly to Willow. “And we can move from there. But I don’t discount your idea, as incredible as it may sound.”

“What’s incredible?” A chipper voice called from the doorway. They had been so involved in their conversation, that they hadn’t heard the door click open and Buffy walk in, Spike at her heels.

“No...Nothing,” Willow covered, brightly, hopping up and running over to her friend. She wrapped her arms around Buffy and hugged her hard.

“Enough with the love, Will,” Buffy giggled. “Came to get my wee ‘uns.”

“They’re at the park with O…”

“What’s *he* doing here?” Spike snarled, staring over at the table as Wesley stood. They stared each other down a moment, studying the other’s stance.

“Wesley?” Buffy asked, appraising the former Watcher. She gulped as she looked at him. No more geeky seersucker suit Wesley. No. This one was… damn. She gulped again, wondering whether or not Faith, wherever she was, had seen the new look on her old boss.

Wesley nodded at Buffy as Spike came up next to her, wrapping his arm possessively around her waist. “And I’ll say *again*, what’s *he* doing here?”

Okay, thought Giles. Maybe not quite the best time to speak to them about this. He’d have Spike and Buffy to the pub later, and bring Willow along for the support. But, for now, they needed to separate the more roguish portions of this get together before blows were exchanged.

“He’s come to help me with some translation for the Council,” Giles covered. Then, watching Spike’s eyebrow raise, he remembered that Spike had been doing that for him since the One had been created. Bugger. “And… and to document scientific time lines on the evolution of some Jaxar demon populations.”

“Sounds riveting,” Spike commented, pulling Buffy closer. “Our brood around?”

“Oz took them to the park,” Tara answered, coming to them and kissing first Buffy and then Spike on the cheek. “No … no doubt they had ice cream for break…breakfast, so why don’t we go find them and take them all out for something healthy.”

Spike nodded at the sweet Witch. “Right then. Should collect them. Promised Will I’d take him to the toy store anyway.”

“Yeah,” Buffy agreed, her mind elsewhere. She could sense something amiss, but couldn’t figure out quite what it was. Not yet, at least. “We should… we should go find them.”

Tara slid on her jacket and herded Buffy and Spike from the entry hall without another word. They knew, she thought. They knew that it was all about to come crashing down.

Again.

But she might as well try and buy them a little more time before all hell was unleashed.

To be contd.

Title: The Yet-to-Be (Chapter Fifteen - Meant to Be)

Author: Nimue

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: Spike/Buffy (Most major characters included)

Feedback: Yes, please

For instant notification of fic releases, straight to your mailbox, please visit Always_Everyday@yahoogroups.com. Also, please visit Always_Everyday's sister group How to Make a Vampire Sundae for fiction with adult content.

The rest of the story can be found at:

and present chapters are being posted on my live journal at:

Disclaimer: All characters (save for the ones I made up) belong to someone other than me; they belong to Mutant Enemy, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel the Series, Fox, WB, their affiliates, lawyers and all sorts of other folks that aren't me. :::sigh::::

Author's Note: The very sensitive topic of abortion is covered in this chapter. I tried to handle it within the context of the story and with as much sensitivity as I could. Please, please, try to understand that it was an integral part of this book and needed to be covered, however, I was *not* trying to make a stand or begin a debate on the topic. I do hope, if any of the readers of this story have had to go through this tragic experience, you can forgive me for having to dredge it up and I hope that I gave the issue, and the decision, the merit and sensitivity it deserves.

Summary: Willow and Tara have a heart-wrenching discussion of the situation before them. Spike and Buffy have a last moment of quiet with their family before the world begins to crumble.

The Yet-to-Be

"Hey," Willow gushed nervously as Tara came back through their flat door, shrugging off her coat and looking as forlorn as the rest of them felt. "How'd it go? Everything okay? Where's Oz?"

Tara hung her coat on a hook in the hallway and kicked her boots off, padding into the living room where Willow sat curled on a beanbag chair in front of the fire.

"They don't know anything," Tara answered, easing down into the twin chair and curling into herself.

Willow looked down at her mug and then back up at her lover. "I. I know."

Tara was silent for a long moment, looking around. "Where did everyone go?"

"Wesley went with Giles and Anya to their house so that he could set up shop in their guest room."

"Oh."

"What about Oz?"

"Took the twins to get some lunch."

"Oh."

"He doesn't know either."

"We'll tell him."

"Are we going to tell *them*?"

An uncomfortable silence settled over the room until all that was heard was the crackle of the fire and the sound of slow, sad breaths barely audible in the chilly flat.

"I don't want to," Willow said quietly, her finger tracing the rim of her mug. "No one should have to."

"They deserve to know," Tara interrupted. "I mean, they deserve a choice."

"What kind of choice *is* that?" Willow snapped, her voice unusually hostile. Tara cringed back a little until the redhead reached out her hand and touched Tara's with kindness and warmth. "I'm not mad at *you*, baby. I'm just. ARGH!"

"Argh seems to cover it," Tara answered, taking a sip of her partner's cocoa and returning it to her hands.

"I mean. what are the choices? Hey, Buffy? Hey Spike? Yeah, we were hanging out reading some old prophesies when this one sort of jumped out at us," Willow began bobbing her head sarcastically. "Well, it kinda goes that that baby you made and love already is sort of a bastion of evil being sent to kill your other daughter and you. So, quick, make up your mind! Have the baby and risk it going all Manson on your family, or just."

Tara closed her eyes, knowing the other option. She took a long, steadying breath. "Don't."

"Why not?" Willow argued. "I mean, if we're asking them to consider it, we should at least be able to say it." The redhead's face flushed with anger and sorrow as she grappled with the concept.

Sure, they'd all thought about it. Loosely, at least. When they were kids and had to confront being confronted with an . unplanned pregnancy. The choice was all clear and shiny back then. It's easy to say things when you don't understand them. It's easy to make decisions that you are not being forced to make.

But both of them, Tara and Willow, had felt what Buffy was feeling now. They were all adults. They had known the sheer joy, the contentment, the peace and the love that one felt when a child was being nurtured inside. When love was. *becoming*.

Suddenly, that choice was no longer clear. No longer straightforward. No longer conceivable.

Now, it would be the death of them to face it. To let down one of their own. To not bring into the world something as beautiful as Emma or William or River or Randy or Loki or Kali. To have to consider condemning any one of them to death, even in the most horrendous of circumstances.

It wasn't about pro choice or pro life or pro *anything*. People make decisions that they have to, and that they don't want to, every day. And they had the right to make them the way that they did. But Willow and Tara, knew Buffy and Spike. Knew how much they wanted this child. Could see, in Buffy's eyes, the joy. The pride in Spike's. The love in them both.

And they had to give them this option.

Oh, God.

Tears streamed down Willow's cheeks without her even registering that she was crying. "I mean, Tara, how do we tell them? What do we say?"

Tara held her lover's hand, stroking it softly. "We tell them the truth, baby. I don't want to. No one should have to tell anyone something so bad. But. but they need to know. How can they try and stop this if they don't know?"

Willow hiccupped, wiping the streaming tears from her cheeks and watching Tara's eyes shed small, silent drops as well. "Do you. do you think they can find a way, Tara?"

Tara was silent, brushing the silvery rivers from her lover's cheeks. "I don't know, baby. I hope they can. Or. or we can. We'll do *everything* we can for them, okay? All of it. No matter what it takes. But we *have* to tell them."

Willow nodded, leaning forward in her chair and falling against Tara's chest. Tara stroked her hair with the gentleness and tenderness of years of love and comfort. "I don't want them to have to go through this. I don't want to go through this."

"Shh," Tara cooed, rubbing her back softly. "We'll do everything we can, okay? And I won't let Giles take you to do this alone. I'll be there with you."

Willow looked up, tears staining her cheeks, but a spark of hope in her eyes. "Thank you."

Slowly, softly, Tara kissed her lips. "We'll help them find a way."

The four of them slid into the vinyl seats of the booth at the diner just at the edge of the city limits. Will considered himself big enough to sit with the 'grow ups' and slid in next to Spike, his eyes the only thing visible over the Formica table top. Buffy and Emma sat on the opposite side, mirroring their boys.

A chirpy young blonde in a short, pink uniform came up to the table and asked for their drink orders. Spike stared only at Buffy. Amazing, she thought, how she'd managed to keep his attention over such cute little dishes for so long. He smiled, reading her mind.

"Can I get you drinks?" The cute young waitress asked.

"Coffee for me, two OJ's for the tots, and a tall water for the beautiful one in the corner," Spike answered, causing both the waitress and Buffy to beam. Inside the waitress prayed that one day she'd have a guy as hot as the one with the two kids, and all drooly over her.

"Do you know what you guys want or do you need a few?" The girl asked, pulling a notepad and a pencil from her white half apron.

"Been here a few times, Pet," Spike said, regarding their weekend lunch spot that had become kind of a tradition. "But you're new."

"Started last week," the girl answered.

Buffy laughed, "Then you don't know to be careful of him!" She joked.

Spike smirked, making the girl laugh and Buffy raise an eyebrow. "Watch it, Love or I might have to turn you over my knee."

"Promise?" Buffy purred, leaning over the table to kiss his cheek. Spike cleared his throat, willing his uncooperative body to extract the vision from his mind of a very naked, soft, beautiful Buffy draped over his knee while he took a paddle to her. Maybe later.

"Uh, yeah. Grilled cheese and fries for the little bits, steak sandwich, rare, for me." Spike stopped and looked at Buffy for a long moment, wrinkling his nose and worrying his lip as he thought. "Two double cheeseburgers, medium, order of fries and a side of fruit for the lady."

Buffy bounced happily in her seat. "YAY! You know me too well."

"Two?" The waitress asked, still grinning.

"I'm a growing girl," Buffy announced, her cheeks flushed with pride.

"Got to feed the yet-to-be too," Spike confirmed, taking Buffy's hand over the table without even realizing he did it.

"Oh! Congratulations!" The waitress said, beaming. "Well, if you come in here a lot, maybe I'll get to see the progress."

"I'm sure you will," Buffy laughed, one hand held tightly in Spike's, the other lying over her belly. "They get kinda big."

"Just you're kind of small, Pet," Spike answered valiantly. "Sides, child should be healthy when it's born."

"Or huge," Buffy amended.

"Well, you'd never know," the waitress complimented, putting the pad back into her apron. "I'd never guess that you'd had kids."

Buffy smiled triumphantly. "I work out."

The girl laughed. "Let me go put your order in."

"Tank you," Will announced as the girl walked away. The waitress smiled adoringly and blew the little boy a kiss.

"Mummy?" Emma asked, looking up at her mother.

"What's up, kiddo?" Buffy answered, moving the hand from atop her stomach and wrapping her arm around the girl's shoulder.

Emma looked down at her mother's stomach. It was still flat and there was no way of telling that there was anything growing in there. "How do you know that there's a baby in there if you can't see it?"

Buffy smiled brightly, squeezing the child in closer against her. "Uh, lots of things. I just. I can sort of just feel it. And your dad can hear them as soon as they're big enough to make a sound."

"Did you hear me?" Emma asked Spike, a shy smile on her face.

"That I did, Mite," Spike answered, sitting Will on his lap so that he could see better over the table. "Sounded like rain, your little heart. Used to lay on the couch with your mum at my old . place, and listen to you for hours."

Emma beamed, realizing her importance in her father's life. How much she meant to him. Even then. "When I was in here?" Emma asked, putting her hand over Buffy's belly.

Spike nodded. "Just like the new little one is now."

"And could you hear it, mum?"

"Not so much," Buffy answered. "But I could feel it when you or Will moved around. A little at first. A *lot* towards the end."

Emma giggled. "Was I big?"

"You were beautiful," Spike answered.

"And big," Buffy joked, kissing the top of her daughter's head.

The waitress returned with the drinks and set them around the table, finding a booster seat for Will so that he was still a big boy sitting at the table, but more than just his nose and eyes were visible from the other side.

"The baby be like Kali 'n Loki?" Will asked, finding his straw with his lips and taking a long pull from his orange juice.

""Cept just one," Spike answered. "We think."

Buffy groaned and rolled her eyes. "Just one," she answered. "And we don't know if it's a little boy, like you," she reached over and ran her finger gently down Will's nose, "or a girl like your sister."

"It's a girl," Emma, Will, and Spike answered in unison.

Buffy's eyes got wide and she chuckled. "What makes you so sure?"

"Just is," Emma answered.

"And it'd only be right to have another Summers-Windsor girl to wrap me round their finger," Spike continued, poking Emma across the table and causing her to giggle madly.

"Coz she was in my dreams," Will answered, causing the rest of them to turn their full attention on the littlest Windsor.

"Your dreams, Will?" Spike asked. "What did you see?"

Will shuddered a little, as if he were cold. "Don't member. But she was there."

"What did she look like?" Emma asked, cocking her head and eyeing her brother.

Will thought for a moment, his subconscious obviously blocking full access to the memory. "Don't member," he said. ""Cept she was pretty like you. But she wasn't all glowy."

"Glowy?" Buffy asked.

Will nodded as if it was perfectly normal to everyone. "You *know*. Emma is all glowy. The pretty lights follow her."

Spike thought a moment. "The fairies, Will?"

Will nodded. "The fairies like her light."

All of them were silent a moment, staring at the boy. "Will, do you think, when we get home, you could draw me a picture of your dream?" William had loved art and shown a natural affinity towards drawing and painting, even at his young age.

The little boy nodded. "Yep. But don't remember her much."

"That's all right, Will," Buffy soothed. "You can draw us a picture of what you do remember."

"Okay," Will answered, taking another sip of his juice. The boy was thoughtful for a long moment before he spoke again. Just like Spike had been when he was human.

"Mum?"

"Yeah?" Buffy answered, smiling brightly at her handsome son. The spitting, miniature image of his father, minus the peroxide and the distinguished little lines that were forming around his eyes.

"Where do babies come from?" Will asked, his eyes questioning and bright.

Emma looked at Buffy as well, wanting the same answer.

Spike looked at Buffy. Buffy looked at Spike.

"Hey, our food's here!"

To be contd.

Title: Veritas (Chapter Sixteen - Meant to Be)

Author: Nimue

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: Spike/Buffy (Most major characters included)

Feedback: Yes, please

For instant notification of fic releases, straight to your mailbox, please visit Always_Everyday@yahoogroups.com <mailto:Always_Everyday@yahoogroups.com>. Also, please visit Always_Everyday’s sister group How to Make a Vampire Sundae for fiction with adult content.

The rest of the story can be found at:

And present chapters are being posted on my live journal at:

Disclaimer: All characters (save for the ones I made up) belong to someone other than me; they belong to Mutant Enemy, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel the Series, Fox, WB, their affiliates, lawyers and all sorts of other folks that aren’t me. :::sigh::::

Summary: Angst Warning. Buffy and Spike find out the truth about the Prophesy.

Veritas

“You know,” Buffy commented, her small hand wrapped in Spike’s far larger one. “We won’t be able to avoid that question by stuffing their faces with cheese forever.”

Spike walked along, shaking his head. “’Void it as long as we can, Love.”

“What are we going to say? I mean, the stork was sort of played out even back when I was a kid.”

“All those many years ago,” Spike chided in return, rolling his eyes. “Dunno. We’ll figure it out.”

“When?” Buffy asked, obviously bothered by the concept.

“When Emma’s entered the convent and Will’s taking his holy orders,” the Vampire added, his face determined.

Buffy smiled, chuckling under her breath. No point in fighting. He’d come to terms with the growing up of their kids when he was ready. But he was right. Didn’t have to be today.

“Wonder what Giles wants to see us about?” Buffy queried, looking up as they walked in the evening twilight towards her Watcher’s new establishment.

Spike furrowed his brow. “Not sure, Pet. But seems awfully planned. Mean, it’s not often we get home to find Xander waiting to watch our tots without bribing or at least asking nicely.”

“And he didn’t even insult you once,” Buffy added.

Spike raised an eyebrow. “Must be an Apocalypse.”

“Must be.”

~~~~~

Spike pushed open the heavy mahogany doors of the pub, letting Buffy enter before him. He watched her in amusement as she took in the richly appointed room; the dark leather and deep reds and glistening wood paneling.

“Really… guy-ish,” she commented, regaining Spike’s hand as they wound through the round, dark wood tables.

“Sort of old-style men’s smoking lounge,” Spike commented. “Gentlemanly.”

Buffy smiled. “William flashbacks?”

A little growl came out of her lover’s throat. “Git never got invited to places like this.”

“’Git’”, Buffy growled back, “was you. And *is* your son.”

“Not the same, Pet.”

“How?”

“Buffy!” A familiar, nervous voice chirped from a booth in a dark corner of the room. The whole area was vacant of customers, despite the fact the entry room was buzzing.

Buffy looked up at the sound and saw a large, leather appointed booth, big enough for ten people, in the corner. Giles and Wesley sat next to each other, a folio between them, and Willow and Tara next to them, trying to smile, but only succeeding in looking nervous.

Spike looked down at Buffy. Buffy looked up at Spike. Her stomach did a little flip flop. The hairs at the nape of his neck stood on end.

Something was wrong here.

Very wrong.

~~~~~

“Right then, you’ve got us here and from the stack of tomes in front of you, it isn’t a pleasure call,” Spike growled, his hip flush to Buffy’s and her fingers still twined through his beneath the table. “What is it that you want?”

The four of them sat across from The One, all of them suffering a different reaction to Spike’s request. Giles took his glasses off, wiping them with the white linen napkin on the table. Wesley fidgeted with the papers and books, eyes flickering from the pair across from them to the pile in front of him as if he could tell them with eye signals rather than words. Willow told them slightly more of the nature of their business as she hung her head, her hands coming up to cover her face. But Tara was the only one who would look them in the eyes.

And those eyes conveyed more emotions than either of them could bear. Concern, compassion, torture of secrets kept and truths yet to be told. Love and honour, a need and desire to help, and a million other things that they couldn’t describe.

Spike felt his heart sink as he looked at those pretty, soft eyes. Buffy stared at Willow, wanting to help and be helped at the same time. Slowly, she reached her hand to her best friend’s, bringing the redhead back to her.

“Will, what is it?”

Spike tore his gaze from Tara’s and looked at Buffy, his hand clenching tight around hers as if to anchor her in a storm. Still, no amount of weight could hold him steady in the tempest ahead.

“I…” Will began, at a loss for words, even before she began. Her head shook back and forth as she tried to speak, tears beginning to slip down her cheeks like silver ribbons.

“Will?” Buffy asked again, her heart beginning to race, fight or flight kicking in. “Will?”

The Witch dropped her head once more and Buffy turned to Giles. “Giles? What’s going on?”

Giles opened his mouth as if he were going to speak, and then closed it again, deciding that his glasses were still not quite right and needed some more polishing.

Spike felt Buffy begin to panic, sensing the enormity of things. “Right. Time you told us what this is about,” he ordered, his voice gruff, but his mind and heart terrified. He felt it too. Saw it in Tara’s eyes. Instinct told him that this was more than just a social visit.

Maybe even more than an Apocalypse.

It was Wesley that broke the standoff, his soft voice sounding like a lion’s roar over the absolute silence of the booth. “We’ve brought you here to tell you of a Prophesy,” he began.

Buffy sighed, her hand sliding over her heart in relief. Spike settled a bit as she relaxed. “Prophesy, schmophesy. Bring it on.”

“Don’t say that Buffy,” Willow muttered. “Please.”

The Slayer stiffened again, watching Willow’s heart break as if it were a film playing across her features. Spike let go of Buffy’s hand and wrapped his around her waist, pulling her impossibly close.

“What Prophesy?” The Vampire forged on.

Giles and Willow looked down again. Tara stayed silent, her eyes windows to her tortured soul. Wesley inhaled slowly.

“About the child you are carrying, Buffy.”

Spike stiffened like a cat about to pounce. “What about our tot?”

Another deep breath and Wesley spoke again. “This is not easy for any of us. Certainly not for those closest to you. Not for me. And, I’m afraid, it will be devastating …”

“Enough with the set-up, *Wes*,” Buffy hissed. “What the hell is going on here? What about our baby? What are you talking about? Willow?”

“Buffy, I can’t…” Willow stuttered, still in tears.

Giles looked up, his face lined with years and fear. “But I must.”

The group around the table quieted again as Giles searched for words. “I’m your Watcher, Buffy, even though you’ve long outgrown that need for me. And I feel as though you are my own flesh and blood. My child. A need which I, and I hope you, will never find obsolete.”

Buffy shook her head, worrying her lip as Spike held her tighter. “I won’t,” a childlike voice whispered in response.

“And as your Watcher, and thus the guardian of your welfare as well as that of the One, it is my duty to see you through all trials you may face. As your surrogate father, it is my need to do so. Do you understand?” Giles fought back tears as he tried to form words that would not startle, but would not hide the gravity of the situation.

Buffy nodded. Spike felt his heart sink lower, listening. Giles knew how to talk to Buffy in a way that even Spike could not. He was the only authority that she respected. The only voice she answered to. It was not a place he wanted in her life, but one he appreciated.

The Vampire nodded for the Watcher to go on.

Giles breathed deeply, steadily, all gazes boring into him, save for Willow’s, who had closed her eyes and lowered her head once more. “Buffy, we have been warned of a Prophesy recently. One which we felt the need to research prior to advising you, or Spike, of its content. Not for lack of respect for your integral place in this unit, this family of sorts, but because it is not something that we could take lightly-an emergency that could be thrust upon you without forethought.”

Spike lifted an eyebrow. “Thought it was your job to suss out the danger and ours to fight it off.”

“And you would be correct, for the most part,” Giles countered, continuing to take deep, even breaths. Almost pushing himself into a meditative state. “However, the content of this Prophesy is very sensitive, especially to the two of you.”

“Which is why you asked Watcher Junior here to do the translation rather than asking me,” Spike deduced, nodding, his fist clenching and unclenching to release the tension building in his body.

Wesley nodded. “I’m quite sure you’d have been capable of reading the text, Spike. Far more easily than I, with the gifts bestowed upon you by the union of The One. However, the text was fairly straightforward, even for me.”

“And,” Buffy began, her voice thready. “And it’s about the baby?”

Giles nodded. “Yes.”

Buffy closed her eyes, breathing slowly, trying to stay calm. Trying not to panic. Trying not to lose control. She could feel Spike tense as wire next to her. Ready to pounce. To throw himself across the table and attack anything that would harm her or their child. She had to stay calm.

“What… what is it?” She sounded more like the child Giles once knew, rather than the woman, the Slayer, she had become.

Another deep breath and the Watcher began again. “We have found that there have been two other instances where the union of the One had either been consummated or had been a possibility. In the first, the union was incomplete. Forces beyond the control of the parties tore them asunder before the One could be fully created.”

“Another Slayer and Vampire?” Spike questioned, his fist still working his tension under the table.

Giles nodded in response. “Yes. The second time, apparently, the union was complete and a child, presumably the Peacemaker, was brought into the World.”

“How... how is that possible?” Buffy asked. “I mean, I thought that the Council, the Prophesy said…”

“That this union had been millennia in the making,” Wesley interrupted. “True. Apparently, however, there is more than just the birth of the Peacemaker to the equation.”

“Like?” Spike asked.

“In the second situation, the child of Peace was born, as was a second child, another girl,” Giles continued.

“Girl?” Spike asked.

“William, your son, was a gift. His soul, his spirit, requested rebirth before Buffy’s second child had been granted an essence. The Powers that Be granted that request,” Wesley explained.

“Or he would likely have been the true second child of the One,” Giles went on. “The female child.”

“What of her?” Spike asked, half intensely curious, half horrified by the conversation. “What about her?”

“The second child in the second union was born of,” Giles stopped, trying to think of the best way to explain the inexplicable. “She was born into the world as a normal child, but her soul was controlled by the forces of Evil.”

“What?” Buffy asked, incredulous. “I mean, that can’t happen. Spike is good now. He has a soul. And I’m still a good Slayer. Not all evil-worshipping.”

“Not possible,” Spike countered, refusing to believe where this was going.

The Watcher nodded. “It is, unfortunately. She, this child, has a destiny of her own. A duty, much like Emma’s, but with far darker consequences.”

“Like?” Spike asked, not sure if he even wanted to know, but knowing he had to.

“Her fate, her destiny, is to destroy the Peacemaker and the One,” Giles said quietly. “To kill Emma and then the two of you.”

“What?” Buffy asked, despite the fact she heard every, horrid, word. “No.”

“No,” Spike repeated calmly. “Nothing, NOTHING, born of love, born from HER,” he continued, his voice rising, his eyes focused only on Buffy, “could possibly be anything less than good. Can’t be, Mate. Not buying it. ‘Nother one of your dime store Prophesies, read by an inadequate louse that couldn’t even keep his own Slayer.”

Wesley winced at the words, but understood the anger was not at him, but rather that Spike, in his heart, knew that he was right. That Giles, if not himself, would never tell him such a thing without being bloody well sure. “I’ve brought the Prophesy for you to confirm, of course,” Wesley said calmly, pushing the pile of books and papers across the table at Spike.

Spike snatched the papers, shuffling madly though them, reading them as one might skim a magazine. Buffy watched him, terror building, her eyes flickering back and forth between his hurried hands and the four forlorn faces in front of her.

“Spike?” Buffy asked after a few minutes of watching. “Spike, please? Please tell me… please?”

The tears began to roll down her face as his hands began to move slower, his eyes wide and horrified as they skimmed the pages, his knuckles turning white as the edges of the papers folded under the weight of his tightening grasp. “No,” he whispered under his breath.

Buffy tore away from him, spinning in her seat to fully face him, watching his eyes, his hands, the tears that began to well in crystal pools just before they spilled onto the pages.

“No!” Spike shouted, pushing the papers onto the floor with a crash and leaning across the table, taking Wesley’s collar into his grip. “You did this. No, not you. You’re just the bloody patsy. *Angel* did this. It isn’t real. This is rubbish created by the one … *thing*… that can’t accept that…”

“Spike!” Buffy screamed, as if it weren’t the first time she’d said it. “Spike! Stop!”

His head turned to look on his love, tears rolling down her face, her eyes pleading with him to tell her it wasn’t true. That this wasn’t really happening. That this was a blessing not a curse.

Spike stopped in his tracks, drowning in her eyes, strangling on her plea for mercy. He dropped the former Watcher, sliding back down into the leather chair to face her, his eyes full of tears, his heart breaking in two as he stared at the hope that he could make it better, that he could make it all right, began to fade in her green eyes.

“Love,” he began, trying to touch her, to bring her closer. She backed into the corner like a frightened animal. “S’alright, Love. Just a paper. Not going to happen.”

“That’s what it says though?” Buffy asked, her voice shaking, her body rolled into a tight little ball, knees drawn to her chest. “That the baby is supposed to kill Emma? Us?”

Spike stared at her, begging her wordlessly not to make him confirm it. Not to make him *say* it.

“Spike!”

He nodded, swallowing. “It does.”

The words fell like shattered glass tinkling to the floor.

“Oh, God,” she whispered, her teary eyes growing huge. “Oh, God.”

Before he could reach her, she leapt over the back of the chair and ran.

To be contd.

Title: Running Man (Chapter Seventeen - Meant to Be)

Author: Nimue

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: Spike/Buffy (Most major characters included)

Feedback: Yes, please

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The rest of the story can be found at:

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Disclaimer: All characters (save for the ones I made up) belong to someone other than me; they belong to Mutant Enemy, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel the Series, Fox, WB, their affiliates, lawyers and all sorts of other folks that aren’t me. :::sigh::::

Summary: Giles and Wesley finish explaining the Prophesy to a much shaken Spike. Spike takes off to look for Buffy, and finds a moment’s respite before the storm.

Running Man

Spike’s glare shot from where Buffy had escaped through the back door of the pub, back to the two men sitting across from him before his body could extricate itself from the booth.

A strong hand reached across the table, clamping over his shoulder. Spike’s wild eyes looked at Giles, torn between sitting down like a good little William and tearing the Watcher’s head off.

“We need to speak to you a moment longer,” Giles’ calm, English voice enunciated.

“I’ll… We’ll go look for her,” Tara said, nodding nervously and grabbing her lover’s hand, tearing her from the booth.

Spike glared at all four of them. “If a hair on her head is out of place, I’ll eat you all for breakfast. Touch the child and you won’t live that long.”

It was a simple, growled statement. Not a threat. Not even a promise. It was almost a commandment. A law.

Tara nodded again, pulling a stunned Willow behind her, and took off towards the door.

“Spike,” Giles began, drawing the angry and frightened Vampire’s attention away from the fleeing girls and back to him and Wesley. “We have to talk about this rationally.”

“Ha!” Spike laughed. It wasn’t a sound of amusement, but rather a sound of escape and of anger. “You tell me that *my* daughter, Buffy’s and mine, is evil and is going to kill us all and you want me to be rational? Is everybody here very stoned?”

“Spike,” Wesley began softly.

“You!” Spike snapped, launching across the table again and wrapping his unendingly strong hand around the younger Watcher’s throat. “You come here, telling us this utter crap and expect me to believe that Peaches didn’t have a hand in...”

“Willow found it,” Giles stated simply. Spike’s gaze flashed amber and locked on Giles. The Watcher swallowed, but held his ground. “Actually, a coven we associate with in England brought the possibility to our attention, and Willow served as a conduit. I recorded it. Wesley translated that which I couldn’t understand. You read it yourself, Spike. It isn’t nonsense.”

“And Angel knows nothing of it,” Wesley added as soon as Spike loosened his grip on the younger man’s windpipe. “I assure you, if he did, regardless of your past, he would do anything to save Buffy from suffering.”

Spike slowly lowered himself back to his seat, trying to process that thought through his spinning brain. As much as Angel sometimes despised him, they’d reached a sort of tenuous truce since Emma had been born and since his Grandsire had taken up with Cordelia and settled into raising his own son.

Wesley was right, though. Even at their most volatile, Angel wouldn’t create something that would cause Buffy so much pain. Didn’t fit into his whole Champion of Atonement style.

A deep breath and Spike began to grab hold of his reeling thoughts. “Talk, then.”

Wesley looked at the papers, then at Giles, then back at Spike. “The Prophesy, as you saw, seems fairly straightforward. Amazingly enough, it’s not as cryptic as most.”

“Not helping,” Spike growled, his eyes flickering between sky blue and the dark amber of good ale. “What do we do about it?”

Giles sighed. “That’s the rub, isn’t it? We’ve pooled ideas and…”

“Can’t we see if Emma can go back and talk to that pretty bint that she and Cyrus work for? Mean, they’re the all powerful and …”

“We’ve thought of that,” Giles interrupted. “And it’s not a bad idea; however, it only addresses part of the balance.”

Spike quirked an eyebrow at the Watchers, his hand clenching and unclenching atop the table. A kind of release. The only one he could think of without beating the tar out of one of the men in front of him.

“The theory being,” Wesley continued, “that for every force as powerful and positive as the Peacemaker, there must be an equal and opposite force for Evil.”

“Your unborn child,” Giles said quietly.

Spike tightened his jaw. “If you *ever* refer to our tot like that again, I will rip your throat out and serve it to Pony with his kibble.”

Giles swallowed, nodding. “The fact being,” he continued, his voice a little shakier, “that the ultimate in Good, The Queen of the Sky, can only affect the balance in one direction. She cannot address the forces of Evil directly.”

“Not following,” Spike snapped, annoyed.

“The forces of Evil would also have to be addressed, and convinced to drop their claim upon any child of the One,” Wesley explained.

A frustrated chuckle escaped from Spike’s lips. “Right. So, we toddle back down to our friend Luke’s little palace of red velvet and ask him nicely to not turn our Mite into Satan incarnate. That the idea?”

“Not quite,” Giles answered. “The idea is that we bring them all together in one, more neutral, place and see if we can come to an amicable resolution for all.”

“Not bloody likely. What d’you plan on offering them, hmm? Blood of the innocent? Sacrificial lamb?”

“What will you do to save your child, Spike?” Wesley asked earnestly, his eyes softening at terror and heartbreak right behind the anger in Spike’s eyes. “Because there is only one other option.”

A yellow gaze locked in on Wesley. “Oh, yeah?”

Wesley nodded, unafraid. Spike may be a lot of things, but he was no longer a killer. Still, he could see that they all may be in for a few bruises before all was said and done. “Unfortunately, yes.”

“And what might that be?” Spike growled between clenched teeth.

“If we do not try to circumvent the Prophesy by striking an agreement with the balance of forces, and possibly sacrificing our very existences, then the only other option we have is for Buffy to terminate the pregnancy.”

It took less than half a second for Spike’s clenched fist to travel from its resting place on the table to the spot where it connected with Wesley’s jaw, sending a spray of blood from the side of his mouth. Wesley’s head jerked back into the seat, Giles catching him before he fell from the booth, and came to rest against the wall. Dazed eyes danced over the table and back at Spike.

“Can’t say I didn’t expect that,” Wesley muttered, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth. “But I dare say that you should focus your anger on those that have caused this situation, rather than those that are trying to help.”

A terrifying grin broke across Spike’s face. “If your idea of *helping* includes killing our *child*, then I’m thinking we don’t need it.”

“Spike,” Giles began, his voice trying its best to be soothing.

“No,” Spike interrupted simply. “No more talk. Organize this meeting that you’ve got all sussed out and let me, not Buffy, know how much to pay the piper. Now,” he continued, standing up from his seat in the booth, “I’m going to find my girl. Don’t want to hear another *word* bout any other options, ‘specially not in front of her. Are we at an understanding?”

Both Watchers nodded, more afraid of the calm, cold tone that Spike had adopted than they had ever been of his anger.

“Right then.” With that, Spike nodded, and disappeared out the back door.

~~~~~

Spike ran.

He ran as hard and as fast as he could from that pub, nearly knocking over holiday shoppers in his path. His feet moved at the speed of light, pounding the pavement with all the fury and anguish spreading from his heart to his very limbs. Tears streamed down his face.

For him.

For Buffy.

For their child.

As soon as he’d removed himself from the messengers, the message hit home. And the anger turned to pain and the pain to hurt, and the hurt to agony.

He stopped in an alley. He wasn’t sure where. Didn’t care. It was familiar and safe and he couldn’t run anymore.

Slowly, Spike crumpled to his knees, tears of horror and pain streaming down his face, thoughts of Buffy… God, of Buffy lying there on some cold table, alone, having some faceless doctor… No. It couldn’t. This couldn’t.

There were no words.

He didn’t know how long he knelt there in that alley, growling in rage and sobbing in torment before he felt a hand on his shoulder, and heard the rustle of soft skirts as a body nestled next to him, taking his head against her breast and beginning to rock him softly.

Thoughts of his mum holding him and his sister when they were wee flooded him as he cried into the soft shirt, his hands involuntarily clutching tender arms, the delicate scent of safety surrounding him. Cradling him. Letting him be weak for just a moment.

“Shhh,” a sweet, gentle voice said. “I… You need this, Spike. You need to be safe here now. But as soon as this is over, I need you to be strong for Buffy, okay?”

Spike ventured a glance up, his eyes burning from hot tears. Tara held him close, rocking him, stroking his hair like a mother would a child’s.

“Buffy,” he whispered, his voice choked and burned.

Tara nodded. “She’s not hurt. She’s in there.”

Another nod brought Spike’s attention to a familiar back door. His senses had taken him right to her. Right to the Magic Box.

“Willow is watching her beat up a poor defenseless bag,” Tara said, smiling softly.

“Should have known she’d come here,” Spike answered, voice still strained, as he tried to straighten up. Tara put her hand in his; letting him cling to her, draw strength, a moment longer.

“You did know,” she answered, her smile thoughtful and intuitive.

Spike tried to return it. “Guess I did.” He was quiet a moment, trying to stop the unending stream of tears. “She all right?”

“No,” Tara answered. “Neither are you. And how could you be? But together you’re stronger.”

Spike nodded. “Unbeatable.”

“Then don’t think this can beat you either,” she said simply. “But she needs you. She wouldn’t talk to us. Willow is just sitting on the couch watching her, making sure she doesn’t do too much. And talking, like Willow does.”

“Red’s always good for that,” Spike chuckled, trying to reign in his raw emotion and take control of his rattled mind. “Need to go find her.”

Spike stood, offering a hand to Tara and helping her from the concrete. She stood gracefully, never taking her eyes off of Spike. “You’re a good man, William,” she said softly. “And Buffy is a good woman. There must be something to that. We’ll find a way.”

He nodded, watching her soft, comforting face trying to hide her own fear. “I want to thank you for…”

Tara smiled. “Don’t mention it.”

Spike chuckled. “You either.”

“I won’t,” she answered, a sly smile spreading across her gentle features. “Unless I have to.”

Again, Spike let out a little laugh. “In there?” He asked, pointing toward the door.

Tara nodded as Spike walked towards it, his body tense and shaking just a bit. She watched him reach for the knob and open it, and then Willow come darting out, running in tears for Tara.

Spike looked back at the pair just once, and then took one last deep breath, summoning all his courage, and went into the training room.

To be contd.

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