Book Two. Chapter 40. Grief fades in and out

If grief could burn out
Like a sunken coal
The heart would rest quiet
The unrent soul
Be as still as a veil
But I have watched all night
The fire grow silent
The grey ash soft
And I stir the stubborn flint
The flames have left
And the bereft
Heart lies impotent
Phillip Larkin, Grief

Like love, grief fades in and out.
Mason Cooley City Aphorisms, Ninth Selection

Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak
Whispers the o’er-fraught heart and bids it break.
Macbeth, act iv, sc. iii

Faithless is he that says farewell when the road darkens.
J.R.R. Tolkien




Faith ditched the second stolen car at the next truck stop exit, hitching a ride with a trucker who was going past Sunnydale.

The truck stop was big enough and busy enough that it would probably take the cops a while to figure out her direction; although the way her luck usually ran, she’d get a smart cop who’d check in with Buffy.

Doesn’t matter. I’m still going. Watcher-man will think of something after I get there. Just gotta figure out what’s what.

Ignoring the trucker’s attempts to make conversation, Faith closed her eyes and tried once more to make some sense on the conversation that had started this whole crazy night.

What wasn’t Giles saying? He’d never once mentioned Angel, but he said Wesley was with him. . . . what’s up with that?

Walking down the interstate’s off-ramp, Faith scanned the sights before her. Sleepy little SunnyD. Home sweet home. Somewhere out there. . . all sorts of baddies are waiting for a fight.

Breaking into a run, Faith headed right for Revello Drive.

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With Dawn cradled in his arms, Spike motioned for the others to follow him. “Gotta get her to hospital.”

He looked around, his eyes focusing on the only unknown in their company. “Who’re you pet?”

Not exactly using a welcoming tone, Spike also didn’t sound too wary. He’d seen her fight, land a few blows on Angelus and was willing to wait for her explanation before he reacted.

“My name’s Kirsten. “ She wouldn’t look at him, which Spike found odd, but he wasn’t watching too closely.

“Where did you learn those moves?” Buffy was very curious, with her eyes trained on the girl, she hadn’t missed the hesitation before she answered. Nor did she miss the sideways look at Spike.

“Ah. . . my dad. He’s a . . . fight instructor.” The hesitation was obvious.

Spike was about to question her further when Dawn started stirring. “Conversation’s not done, pet. Don’t disappear on us either.”

The threat was there and Kirsten, knowing she was busted, just said, “yes sir.”

Which would have made him snicker but it was said too honestly for that.

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

His head was buzzing, white noise masking every other sound. In his restless sleep, his brain didn’t register the continuous beeps; neither the quiet presence of the bot nor the unobtrusive nurses disturbed his slumber.

Xander’s head slumped forward, his body unconsciously seeking a more comfortable position, hitting the edge of Cordelia’s bed.

The bot powered down, self-adjusting to the after midnight rhythms of the hospital.

All was quiet on the fourth floor.

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

Her wails of grief bounced against the walls of the small room, searching for release from containment. Emergency room personnel shied away from the sounds and from the man who was pacing in front of the door holding the young girl.

Spike growled, menacing and deep, at anyone venturing too closely out of curiosity. He could hear what the others couldn’t, the low soft tones of the slayer as she tried to calm her sister, and the increasing desperation in Buffy’s tone.

Wesley was out in the waiting area with the other girl, waiting for Rupert and Anya to arrive with the baby. Spike glared at the short, kind of round woman hurrying in his direction, and was surprised when she just shushed him.

“Just gonna give her something to calm her down, then Dr. Thomas will stitch her up. I promise, Spike, you’ll be able to take her home before daybreak.”

“Wait. You know me?” Spike stepped out of her way, but put a restraining hand on her arm.

“Of course I do. You’re Buffy’s mate.” She paused, watching his reaction, continuing over Dawn’s cries, “let me go in. She really needs this.”

This time Spike let her go.

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

Getting Dawn to the hospital was easier than getting her inside. Once she’d woken up, she had done nothing but fight. Her tears and shrieks flowed freely and in her grief, she swung her hands wildly, catching Spike’s chin more than once.

With one look at her bleeding face and wild state, the emergency room personnel had waived them on, more than one of them recognizing both Buffy and Spike. The room was all the way in the back, used only when the rest of the emergency room was hopping, and very close to the basement.

Spike carried the struggling teen inside the room, only retreating when Dawn’s screams became too much for his hearing. Unfortunately, that left Buffy alone with her.

Dawn was shrieking incoherently with the only recognizable word her boyfriend’s name. Buffy couldn’t get near her, every time she made an attempt, Dawn lashed out physically. She was about to give up and get Spike when the door opened and a kindly looking nurse strolled in.

“Dawn? I’m going to give you something for the pain.” The roundish woman approached the gurney, watching the teen warily.

“No. Go away.”

“Sorry sweetie, can’t do that. Give me your arm.”

“Go away.” Dawn growled at her.

The woman clucked her teeth. “Sweetie, you don’t scare me. I’ve got a ten year old werewolf at home. Now give me your arm.”

The volume grew. “I said go away.”

“We can do this easy or hard. Easy is you giving me your arm and we’re done.” She paused for a second, smiled at a gaping Buffy, then said, “hard is me having the orderlies come in, strap you down and then you get the shot.” Once more she paused. “Doesn’t matter much to me, but either way its gonna happen.”

Dawn didn’t say anything for long moments – until she looked up and flinched away from the steely look in the nurse’s eyes. “Fine. Do it. Not like I care.”

Grudgingly she held out her arm.

Maureen Osborne stepped closer and administered the sedative that would calm Dawn’s nerves.

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

The alpha male halted, his nose aimed at the ground, his back stiff and unbowed, searching once more for traces of the traitor.

The Huntsman watched as the hound moved silently through the night.

He bayed once, sending a signal out to the rest of his pack and the Huntsman could feel them all closing in, and yet. . . as intuitive as his canine charges, the Huntsman could sense a split in the scent. . . some break, something that wasn’t right. Some ephemeral scent of wrongness. . . . almost as if there were two. . . .

The Huntsman strode down the street, trailing the alpha hound, as they neared the traitor’s refuge, the alpha paused, waiting for the rest of his pack to surround the house. . .

Every window was dark . . .

There was no sign of life. . .

The alpha sat back on his haunches, his eyes on the house, waiting. . . .

Waiting. . . . .

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

She was numb.

Blood and tears were drying in strips down her face, stinging the cuts Angel had put there.

Doesn’t hurt anymore.

Nothing hurts anymore.

There was nothing but ache where her heart used to be.

The pain was. . . . cottony. Wooly. . . . not real. Whatever she shot me with really freaking works, coz I’m not feeling anything.

She was noodlely. Rubbery.

Don’t feel real in my own skin.

Wanna just lie down. Tired. Wanna. . . no more. . . . don’t wanna feel.

Casey.

Dawn couldn’t muster up any more tears. They were dried up and gone, disappearing the instant the sedatives hit her system.

No tears. Can’t cry. She took away my tears.

Mommy . . . . want my mommy. Where’s Daddy? Mommy get Daddy. . . . wanna wear his coat. Makes me feel all safe.

Mommy? Please get Daddy.

Need my Daddy.

Buffy watched as Dawn crumpled onto the gurney, her voice sounding more and more childlike. Dawn was unaware her mental ramblings weren’t; Buffy could hear every single word.

The emotion broke through her inertia and Buffy bolted for the door. Finding Spike the minute it was opened, since he was leaning against the opposite wall, she motioned him in.

“Want my Daddy. Will he hold me like he did when you were gone Mom? Don’t want anyone else dying on me. I’m all wrong. It’s all my fault. Glory and Tara and the knights, Buffy-Mommy died and it should have been me. . . . and now Casey.” Dawn’s voice pitched and halted, a bare whisper of sound.

“Hurts. . . . Mommy?” Dawn picked up her head, her blurry eyes focusing on the two figures in the room with her. “Daddy’s here. I love you Daddy.”

Tears were sliding down Buffy’s face and, as she stole a glance up at Spike, she could see them pooling in his eyes also. The two blonds shared a look, neither one saying a word. Spike crossed the short distance to where Dawn lay, his arms shrugging out of his duster. Laying it over the babbling girl, Spike smoothed her hair away from her face.

“Real daddies are better than fake ones. . . . “

Spike didn’t stop touching her, letting her grab his free hand and tug it to her, his eyes never leaving Dawn’s. “Monks made you my Daddy, is that why you love me?”

“No sweetness, I loved you before they made you mine.” He had no clue what she was rambling on about, at least he didn’t think so, but he knew she was upset and there was no point in making it worse.

“All I do is destroy. Glory said so. Everyone dies because of me. I’m no good.” Dawn rocked into their clasped hands, the tears pouring forth again. “My fault. All my fault. Casey’s dead . . . . why Daddy? I did it. My fault.”

He couldn’t let her think that – not for one second. “Oh, Sweet Bit, no. Not your fault. None of it. Shush now.”

“Yes it is. . . they made me and all I do is destroy. It’s all my fault.”

Disregarding her injuries, Spike lifted her from the gurney into his arms, holding her weeping form against his chest. Collapsing onto a rolling stool, Spike held on, crooning softly while Buffy brushed her hand over Dawn’s hair and down her shoulder.

Motioning Buffy between the examining table and the gurney, Spike said, “push it there kitten.”

Understanding him, Buffy did so, locking the gurney in place. Somehow the two of them got Dawn up on the examining table sandwiched between them, with the two girls covered by his duster. Still babbling, every word like a knife in his gut, Dawn was unaware she was still crying. Her hands were clutched around his tee-shirt, fisting it as shivers rolled through her body. He guessed she was going into shock but he couldn’t keep her warm – that was for Buffy to do and he could feel the heat from her smaller form radiating outward.

Dawn’s head was pillowed over his right arm, and with his left, Spike reached for Buffy. His fingers found hers curved around Dawn’s waist, and he laced them together. A low rumble built in his chest, rolling like soft distant thunder, comforting them all.

“Hush now, Sweets. . . Daddy’s got you. No more tears.”

“He’s dead. . . Spike, he’s dead and it’s all my fault and . . . I’m just wrong. I wish I was dead.”

“No, baby. . . don’t say that. None of this is your fault. None.”

The sound of Buffy’s tears reached him as her grip tightened around his fingers. Her voice, nearly as brokenhearted as Dawn’s sounded along with his. “No Dawnie. . . you aren’t. . . . not your fault. None of this. . . Please, sweetie. . . . “

“My fault. . . . all my fault.”

She just kept repeating it over and over, until finally the exhaustion and sedative worked and Dawn fell asleep.

Neither of the other two moved, holding her still and safe in the protective circle of their arms.

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

The minute hospital personnel had waived them through, Wesley headed back out the door to call Rupert at the shop, to let him know what had happened.

It wasn’t until he wandered back inside that Wesley realized he’d left the girl alone, unattended and instantly regretted that when he didn’t see her sitting in the waiting area. Cursing himself for his small blunder, Wesley sat in the main waiting area facing the doors, so he could watch everything coming in and out of the emergency room. He was caught off guard, though, when a soft voice sounded from the chair to his right. “Hey.”

“I thought you’d run out.” He sat up, leaning his elbows on the chair arms, looking down at the young girl sitting next to him.

“Spike said not to go.” She shrugged, as if that explained it all.

And it did, only if you knew Spike well, which Wesley wasn’t so sure this girl did. But there was something nagging him about this one – especially her appearance. He stared at her for a few minutes, noting the shape of her face, the changeable eye color – even as she looked at him, they were changing, and the tilt of her head. It all nagged at him, like he should somehow know this little girl. “How well do you know Spike?”

“I, um. . I know him through Dawn.” That was as good an answer as any she could really give him, but Kirsten knew if she said too much, there were going to be far too many questions, ones she didn’t want to have to answer – ever.

Apparently that response had been enough for Wesley, at least at this moment, because his attention was diverted by a commotion from outside. When he got to his feet, Kirsten did the same, taking her cues from him.

Nurses and a couple of EMT’s wheeled a covered gurney in and behind it, in the commotion, Giles snuck inside with Anya, holding the baby, just steps behind him. The concern on the older man’s face was heavy and he strode quickly to the pair. “Is that?”

“Probably Dawn’s boyfriend. He didn’t make it.” Wesley motioned for Anya to step out of the way of a passing intern and moved them further away from curious on-lookers. Waiting until they were in a small alcove, Wesley continued. “We didn’t get there soon enough. It was Angel. Dawn’s inside with Spike and Buffy. Her injuries appear superficial, but,” he paused again, blew out a deep breath and said, “I’m hoping that’s all. We haven’t heard anything yet.”

“Oh dear god.” Giles looked around, searching the emergency room for someone who might be in charge and able to give him some answers. Spying Kirsten for the first time, he asked, “who is this?”

Wesley leaned closer, so that Kirsten couldn’t overhear him. “She’s a friend of Dawn’s. I believe she’s a potential. She showed up in time to help with Angelus.”

Giles eyed her speculatively, his lips firm and his eyes unflinching.

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There weren’t any lights on when Faith got to the house. The backdoor key, usually hidden under the deck, was still there and Faith thought about using it to let herself in, then thought better of it.

Last thing I wanna do is piss off Buffy.

Walking around the house, Faith didn’t notice signs of anyone being home. Hoisting herself up and into the tree outside Buffy’s room, Faith maneuvered herself so she could get a look inside Buffy’s room. Peeking in the window, she spied the crib and nearly fell out of the tree. What the fuck? B’s got a kid? Can’t be. . . . she was gone. . . So who does the brat really belong to?

Swinging down from the tree, Faith headed for the back door again. Maybe I should just. . . . . The phone started ringing, interrupting her musings.

“Willow, Tara?” Giles’ voice sounded through the kitchen and Faith put her head as close to the open window as possible. “Dawn’s been attacked. We’re at Sunnydale General. She’s . . we should be out of here before sunrise.”

Not waiting for more of the message, Faith took off in that direction.

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Oz had left the shop at the same time as Giles and Anya, but instead of going to the hospital, he headed over to UC Sunnydale, looking for some answers. Neither Wesley nor Giles could tell him why he smelled of Tara; Spike had at least been able to confirm it – and he’d also told Oz the scent was more than a couple of days old. It was like they’d started to absorb each other, in the way lovers did. So Oz was at least assured he wasn’t going crazy, he wasn’t imagining her scent.

So dude, you smell like the girl. And in a good way, not like going after her in the furry state.

He stopped his van, a pensive look across his features. Last time, well the one he remembered anyway, last time his wolf had wanted to rip out Tara’s throat. . . . Nope, don’t feel like doing that right now.

Connecting with his canine self was always interesting. Wolf didn’t formulate clear thoughts, was pretty much emotion driven, intensifying Oz’ own emotions, magnified them tenfold. Calling on the wolf now, Oz let Tara’s smell override all the others and got the shock of his life. Instead of rage, the wolf radiated . . . . pack. Tara was pack . . . more than pack . . . she was female pack . . . .

Oz came back to himself, more than surprised to feel a hard aching arousal pulsing through his muscles. “Whoa.”

That was weird.

Staring down at his crotch for a long minute, Oz wondered idly what was it about him and lesbians. . . .

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

The door creaked open and the nurse from earlier stuck her head in, then came inside the room. Spike sat up slowly, disengaging his hand from Buffy, his eyes trained on the woman.

“Dr. Thomas is on his way. He’s gonna take a look at Dawn’s face, see how many stitches she’ll need.”

“Is she really going to need a lot?” Buffy started to get up, when a wave of dizziness swept through her. Eyes closed so she could fight the nausea she completely missed Spike’s move to her side.

“Stay put, kitten, no need to get up just yet.”

“You should keep crackers or pretzels with you. It’ll help.” Buffy sent a questioning look at the woman, who countered with, “I was with you when Dr. Thomas confirmed your pregnancy, don’t you remember?”

The two blondes shared a look. It was Spike who answered her though, not Buffy. “Watchers think someone’s tried to break the claim – there’s some strange mojo working. Don’t remember anything recent.”

“Have you talked to Tara? She might be to help trace the spell’s origins.” Buffy looked at her quizzically, about to ask her a question when the door opened and a kind-faced man in his early forties opened the door.

Greeting everyone, he stepped close to Dawn, then gently rolled her onto her back. Most of the furrows down her cheek were closed up, only one, by her eye, was still sluggishly seeping blood. “This isn’t as bad as I’d thought. Shouldn’t take more than twenty or so stitches. Given time it’ll fade and won’t be noticeable at all. She won’t even remember them.”

“Don’t think its gonna be that easy Doc.” Spike’s tone was laced with sarcasm.

“No. It never really is.”

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

Wesley was the first to see her. He got to his feet, shaking his head in disbelief, believing his eyes were deceiving him. Can’t be her. . She’s in prison.

But the illusion it wasn’t Faith was shattered the second she approached the information desk and slapped both hands down, gaining the attendant’s undivided attention. “Got Dawn Summers here?”

He was at her side before Giles realized what had drawn Wesley’s attention. “Faith? When did you get home?”

“Wes?” Faith looked up at the Englishman, a question and plea in her eyes. “Just got in. Cruised past the crib and heard the news. Came right here. Haven’t even unpacked.”

Even as she was speaking Wesley was shaking his head and fighting a grim smile. “We’re all over here. Spike and Buffy are with her now.”

“Faith?” Giles nearly jumped out of his chair, completely ignoring what Anya was saying as he spied the female Wesley was talking to. “How on earth? How in god’s name did you escape?”

Simultaneous exclamations from the two brunettes effectively reminded Giles what he’d just said and he at least had the grace to look apologetic. He scrambled to cover up his blunder by almost shouting, “customs! Goodness that was quick.”

Faith was shaking her head, while Wesley just stood gaping at the older man.

“Is this really Faith? The other slayer? Why is she here? What’s going on Giles?” Anya’s whispers were much quieter than Giles’ but no less excited.

“Yes.” Was all the answer Wesley and Giles could give her, the only answer either of them had. It was for Faith to supply the details.

The dark-haired girl folded her arms over her chest, her stance both belligerent and defensive at the same time. “Look, I’m here, so that should be enough.” Pointing at the infant Anya was holding up to her shoulder, she asked pointedly, “Who is this?”

Book Two. Chapter 41. Savage and serene in one hour


The change from storm and winter to serene and mild weather, from dark and sluggish hours to bright and elastic ones, is a memorable crisis which all things proclaim. It is seemingly instantaneous at last.
Henry David Thoreau, The Writings of Henry David Thoreau, vol. 2,

Our life is March weather, savage and serene in one hour.
Ralph Waldo Emerson, Montaigne; or, the Skeptic

Alas! it is the hush of suspense, and in many lands it is the hush of fear.
Winston Churchill, A Hush over Europe,
broadcast to the United States from London, August 8, 1939




“Maybe we should table this conversation until we get out of such a public venue.” Giles spoke before the glaring between the two girls could escalate into an exchange of words that wasn’t appropriate for the waiting area of a hospital emergency room.

Kirsten looked from one of the older females to the other, her eyes wide with surprise. She’d heard about Faith, but never expected to actually meet her. . . . and so far, all the stories had been true. Despite the fatigue, and the lines of anger bracketing her wide mouth, and the obviously borrowed clothes, Faith was just as . . . . charismatic and compelling as she’d been told.

Wesley grabbed her shoulder, pulling the slayer off to the side, away from Anya. Kirsten couldn’t hear everything that was being said, but she knew, just by the set of Wesley’s shoulders and his stance, what he was saying. Kirsten turned her head to watch them more closely, and it was funny listening to Anya whispering to Giles about Faith and how dangerous she was while Faith looked anything but.

The four adults were all lost in their own conversations, none of them paying attention, when a furtive moment by the doors caught her attention. “Giles?” Kirsten whispered softly, trying to get his attention without looking like she was getting his attention. “Giles. There’s a vamp by the door.”

“What? Where?” Giles peered over his glasses, then adjusted them on his face to see more clearly. Keeping his deceptive pose and without moving away from Anya, he nodded to Kirsten. “Keep an eye on him. I’m going to alert Wesley and see if I can find out how soon we’ll be out of here.”

At that he patted Anya on the arm, then got to his feet. As he passed Wesley and Faith, he caught the taller man’s eye and motioned his head toward the doors, mouthing “vamp” while walking to the desk. “Excuse me nurse, is there any information on Dawn Summers’ condition?”

The attendant looked up, then pressed a button on her computer screen, and without removing her eyes from the screen, said, “She’s still in examining room 10. I have nothing more on her status.”

“Room 10? Thank you.” He stepped away from the counter, turning his back on the nurse’s station. “She’s in room 10.”

“I’ll go.” Anya stood up, preparing to take the baby out of the path of any possible fighting and Giles held her back for a moment, whispering, “let Spike know we have visitors.”

Her smile was bright, but it never reached her eyes. Anya gathered up the baby’s bag and headed directly for the rooms. When the security guard tried to stop her, she looked up at him as she pinched Connor beneath the blanket and the baby’s howls started right on cue, Anya said, “sorry. His mother is in the back and he needs to nurse.”

With a bright and disarming smile, she sailed right past the man and on into the back.

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Working quickly and efficiently, Dr. Thomas had Dawn’s face stitched up before either of the blondes had expected. The stitches were tiny, dark knots across her skin, like lace wings elongating her eyebrow. Buffy leaned into Spike’s side, noting with a fair amount of fatigue and irony, although she was unaware of it, “she’s gonna have a scar like yours.”

Dr. Thomas was shaking his head. “I hope not. Whoever stitched up Spike’s eye did a terrible job.”

“No one did it. Just left it alone.” He shrugged, looking down at the young woman in his arms. “Slayer’s blade did this. Must’ve had it blessed.”

Before Buffy had a chance to say anything, there was a sharp knock on the door and Anya strode in with a softly whimpering Connor in her arms. “Giles wants to know how soon we can go because there are vamps hanging around by the door.”

She looked around, noticing Dawn’s sleeping form, remarking, “they knocked her out. What did they use?”

Connor’s whimpers got louder as he smelled his family and Anya dumped him into Buffy’s arms. “That other slayer is here.”

Glancing at what she thought was two strangers, Anya leaned in, speaking in a stage whisper, “I don’t think you should trust her Buffy, remember last time? She stole your body and slept with Riley. Although you aren’t getting orgasms from anyone right now.” She paused, thinking hard, then smiled brightly, “Wait, you must be getting them from Spike since you are mated. Do you remember it?”

Giving Spike a very knowledgeable once-over, Anya ignored all attempts to be shushed and kept right on talking. “He is very pleasing to the eye and appears well endowed, plus he’s got vampire stamina. Are you sure you don’t remember?”

“Anya? Vampires? Waiting room? Subject. Stay on it.” Buffy wasn’t going to blush, promised herself and yet despite that she could feel her face getting flush.

“Why doesn’t anyone ever want to talk about sex?” Before either of the blonds could elaborate, she held up her hands. “Okay. We only saw one, but Faith and Wesley are on it. That strange little girl noticed it first.”

“Chit’s still here?” Spike was heading for the door, after exchanging a look with Buffy. “Get ready to bolt, ladies, once we’re all clear.”

“Spike?” Buffy’s voice stopped him just before he stepped out into the hallway.

His eyes met hers, understanding and emotion swirling in the ocean-blue depths. “I know kitten.”

And he was gone.

Sparing a look down at Connor, Buffy smiled when the baby smiled up at her, while directing her words at the doctor. “How soon can we take Dawnie home?”

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

No sign of Giles or Oxford.

Where’s the chit – Kirsten?

A flash of swirling dark hair down a darkened and otherwise empty corridor caught his eye and Spike moved in that direction. An “ooph” and a grunt sounded off to his right and Spike slid past an open door to find Giles and Kirsten battling a lone vampire. As he watched, Giles pushed off from the wall, knocking the vamp into Kirsten’s makeshift stake and he was about to comment when he got hit from behind.

Going down in a tangle of limbs, Spike bucked up, throwing off whatever had knocked into him, whirling around to nail his assailant with a left hook. The vamp’s head snapped and he reeled back, arms pinwheeling, into Wesley, who shoved him back at Spike; with a deep growl he kicked up, catching the vamp across the face, giving Wesley time to stake it.

The sounds of a major smackdown sounded in the hallway was coupled with the unmistakable husky timbre of Faith’s voice as she taunted her opponent. Spike moved past Wesley, leaning against the doorframe. “Shouldn’t play with the locals, pet, they get a bit tetchy about it.”

“You know me. Gotta get my groove on anyway I can.” Faith tossed the vamp over her shoulder, letting him roll along the floor before she looked over at Spike.

“Faith.” He nodded at her, his voice and face expressionless.

She returned the greeting. “Spike.”

He smirked at her, noting her disheveled state and questionable wardrobe. “Just stopping by for a visit?”

“Nah.” The vamp came at her, charging wildly and she sidestepped him, almost slowly, her eyes never leaving Spike’s. “Got a feeling I might be needed.”

“Could be. . . Might not find so warm a welcome.” He tossed her a stake, waiting for her next move.

“Goes both ways. Lots of hard feelings all around.” Faith turned her back on Spike to trade blows with the vampire. Tiring of the play, she took the next opening and brutally rammed the stake into his chest.

“Had some time to think. . . . maybe it’s time to let all that go. Start over again.” Her body froze as her gaze slid past where Spike was as she focused on the small blond figure beside Spike.

Buffy stared back, her face as devoid of expression as Spike’s had been.

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Drusilla was holding court when he finally made it back to the mansion, although it looked otherwise. Jenner was leaning against the wall next to the fireplace, his eyes on the whirling female as she giggled softly, his pose deceptively indolent.

Older than Angel by a good fifty years, Jenner had only responded because of the lure of the hellmouth and the traitor. A black-haired blue-eyed Welshman, Jenner had been working on the docks in Plymouth when Darla had turned him, but unlike Angel, he’d not stuck to her skirts for more than a decade, her possessive rages inciting his own temper once too often. He didn’t particularly care for Angel – but his anger with William the Bloody ran too deep. Their history was checkered with botched deals and betrayals, albeit on both sides, but this latest bit of news brought Jenner out of his element, willing to take the chance in order to bring Spike down.

The only other of his kind he had as much anger toward was the newly returned master of the house. His antipathy for Angelus was purely personal; while he actually enjoyed William the Bloody’s company. The current source of his anger was based solely on business and dealings that had gone sour.

Angel sauntered into the mansion via the garden, his skin prickling and nerves jumping. Too many masters here . . . . Aside from Jenner, Angel was the oldest vampire and he had a feeling despite their age difference, Jenner would give him less trouble than the others. Toussaint could be a problem and with him there was always Rebecca to worry about. As he got further into the room, Angel realized only Jenner and Drusilla were present – along with a few of his remaining minions – which was curious. He watched Drusilla dip and sway for a moment, a grin crossing his features at her antics.

“Did you hunt well Daddy? Were the little ones delicious?” Not waiting for his reply she blew playful kisses at him, then waggled her fingers. “Daddy played too long. . . missed the glowing little girl . . . tsk, tsk. Mustn’t play with our food. Mummy always said so.”

“You know I can’t resist Dru.” Angel slapped her ass, wrapping his swollen hand around her neck, squeezing gently. “Should’ve come with me . . . . and you know Darla is the one who taught us how to play.” He paused, then moved away from her. “Jenner. Glad you decided to come.”

The big vampire shrugged, his eyes never moving from Drusilla. “Plenty of reasons to.” He waved a hand and three of his minions emerged from the shadows by the stairs. “I’ve made arrangements for my own accommodations.”

The air crackled with the unspoken animosity between the two master vampires. They were, despite protestations otherwise, strikingly similar in looks. Jenner was a bit taller, and a tad bit brawnier, but they both sported squared jaws and heavy brows. Angel tended to softness, while Jenner was pure muscle, due to his years on the docks, resembling the rough hewn granite of his homeland. After meeting Jenner, it had struck Angel that perhaps Darla was searching for a specific look in her men; tall, brawny and he’d suffered from pangs of . . . not jealousy, because by then he’d had Darla six different ways to Sunday, but. . . more along the lines of inadequacy. Jenner had clearly been in Darla’s mind when she’d picked Liam out of a drunken haze and turned him – though he hadn’t known it at the time. It had only become clear once he’d met the master vampire and had Darla missing from his bed for a week after their initial meeting.

Jenner pushed off from the wall, his minions drifting to his side. “I’ll be in touch.” Eyeing Drusilla, who’d stopped swaying to watch the two of them, a vicious smile playing about her lips, he continued, “I’m staying on the waterfront. Send word when you have something for me.”

Without another word Jenner and his men left the mansion.

Angel watched them go, his mind more on Jenner’s actions and unwillingness to stay in the mansion than his killing of the teen; his musings making him unprepared for Drusilla’s attack. Her nails scraped along the left side of his face, in an eerie similarity to what he’d done earlier to Dawn. Her snarls and snapping jaw sounded far too close to his neck for his liking and Angel pushed her off, trying to hold her at arm’s length. “What the fuck?”

“Daddy’s been very naughty. Gone out without his best baby girl. Can’t have that now, can we?” Her nails dug into his wrist, puncturing the skin and drawing rivulets of fresh blood from his veins. “Mustn’t hunt without me. . . else sunshine will take you. . . “

“Its still full dark out Dru, what the hell are you talking about?” Angel threw her off him, sucking on the wounds she’d given him.

Her maniacal laughter echoed against the walls of the sitting room and she slithered to her feet, sinuous movements designed to put all thoughts of her attack out of his mind. “Daddy mustn’t travel alone. . . slayer’s got too many friends for that.”

“Dru. . . . they were careless. . And you were the one who told me to go hunting! What the fuck are you complaining about now?” She’d been the one to push him earlier – sensing something different in the air, something off.

She was shaking her head. “Tsk, tsk, Daddy. . . . baby slayers have come out to play. . . Nasty little girls who can do more than mummy ever dreamed. . . . come for you. . . . must stay away. Bad little baby strawberries. Rotten. Deadly.”

“Dru. . . . enough.” Ignoring her attempt at a warning, Angel focused on their guests. “Where the hell are Rebecca and Toussaint?”

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

Lawson had watched from the shadows while three more minions were dusted by the Slayer’s people. For humans they fared better than he’d expected, the vampires had been clearly outclassed from the onset of the fight, even without the presence of William the Bloody.

Unable to get close, he had missed the conversation between Spike and the dark-haired girl, but it was clear to his eyes there wasn’t much love lost between them. He wondered briefly if this was the Slayer, but when a small blond woman appeared, Sam knew he’d been wrong. She’s the one. . . and no bigger than a minute. Geezuz she’s tiny.

An older man, slightly greying, peered from one of the girls to the other and gestured them all to silence. That has to be the Watcher. . . . so who’s the other guy? Taller, thinner than both the others, Lawson couldn’t figure out who he was. Sliding closer, he heard the unmistakable cadence of a third British accent and he slid back into the shadows, thinking. Tall and dark was English. Older and greying was English. William the Bloody was English. What is this? Us against them again?

The group moved away and he lost visual contact with them.

Having gotten some of the information he wanted, Lawson waited until they left, making his way back to the mansion.

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

Hearing Faith was back in Sunnydale and actually seeing her in the flesh were two completely different things. Buffy had heard Anya, she just hadn’t digested the reality of it all. Seeing Faith, as she faced her mate, caused a whole different set of simultaneous reactions off inside her head. Without any conscious awareness of what she was doing, Buffy stepped in front of Spike, her eyes boring into Faith’s. Last time they’d seen each other had been in the aftermath of the body switch, after Faith had already slept with Riley – and hit on Spike.

“You’re supposed to be in prison.” It was the first thing Buffy could think of that wasn’t an outright growl.

“Was there until a few hours ago.” Faith didn’t physically shrug, but the attitude was still there.

“Why are you here?” Buffy’s voice was clipped and she didn’t even relax when Spike stepped closer to her back.

“Buffy?” Giles voice broke into the non-conversation the two slayers were having and he continued without waiting for acknowledgment. “We should continue this discussion in a safer location. Both Dawn and Connor should be in their own beds.”

Silence greeted his statement, as both slayers assessed the other, gauging trustworthiness. Spike’s hand reached for Buffy’s and, on contact, she relaxed. “C’mon kitten, let’s get the kiddies home.”

Wesley spoke, motioning to himself and Faith, “we’ll meet you back at the house.” With a pointed look at the prison escapee, he jerked his head and started off.

Anya handed the once again mewling infant to Buffy all the while muttering under her breath about unstable boyfriend and body-stealing people.

“Where’s Bit?” Spike watched Wesley and Faith, a niggling feeling of eyes on the back of his neck making him wary.

“She’s with the doctor still.” They all trailed behind Buffy as she headed back toward the examining room. “He said Dawn would be okay to leave when I got back.”

And she was. Dr. Thomas had gotten a very groggy Dawn up and into a wheelchair while the others had dealt with the vampires. Tired and teary blue eyes barely opened at their reappearance, though Dawn smiled sadly when she saw Spike.

Crossing the room in a couple of strides, Spike knelt down by the chair, his hands smoothing back Dawn’s disheveled hair. “Ready to go home?”

Her lower lip quivered as fresh tears flooded her eyes. A soft sob broke from her mouth and all Dawn could do was nod her head.

“Right then.” He started to get to his feet when another sob from Dawn caught his attention. Spike wrapped his arms around her, holding her against his chest, letting her tears fall.

Giles tapped Buffy’s shoulder, whispering softly, “I’ll just go get the Jeep. Anya?”

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

Their footsteps were muffled, despite the lack of any other traffic, vehicular or otherwise, as Faith and Wesley walked through the dark streets of Sunnydale.

Wesley stuck his hands in his pockets, suddenly realizing he’d rushed from the Magic Box without a warm enough jacket and the night had turned cold. A glimpse over at his companion told him she wasn’t faring much better, though, like him, she was doing her best to ignore it.

“How?” The question escaped from his mouth before he had a chance to think about it, or censor his thoughts.

“Easier than I thought it would be. Could’ve just walked out.” Dismissing the ease of her escape, Faith asked the one question that had been bugging her. “Who does the brat belong to?”

Wesley sighed, wondering just how much information he could or should share with her. “I’m not sure about his paternity. His mother appears to be Darla. His origins . . . . “ following his impulse, Wesley gave Faith as much information as he could. “We are under some sort of cloaking or forgetting spell. There’s not much information we have at the moment, but Buffy has no memory of what happened following her battle with Glory and I have no idea why I’m here – other than it appears Angel’s lost his soul.”

“What?” Faith stopped walking, turning to face Wesley. “How the hell did that happen?”

“Again, I’m uncertain of how, because of the spell. Evidently the reason why we have some knowledge of all this is because of the claim between Buffy and Spike. The spell appears to be incomplete because of their mating.”

They resumed walking, the cold making the urge to linger dissipate.

“So. . . . maybe these Slayer dreams I’ve been having could help with that.” The admission was reluctant, although it was clear to Wesley that Faith’s offer was genuine.

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

Kirsten hung back, watching all of them, afraid to disobey Spike and yet wary of intruding too much. Weird thing was none of them seemed to remember her, not even Dawn, which was seriously strange. The need to run away, to go back to where she belonged was an urge she had to fight very hard against. At the same time, though, was the fear something else was about to go down and once more Dawn would be in danger.

Thank god, though, Giles hadn’t caught her slip.

Just have to remember no more mistakes. Can’t tell anyone else. Dad’s gonna be so pissed when he catches me. Mom would understand though. . . . maybe. . .

Though there was the question of credibility and just how much she’d be believed if she actually told the truth.

She trailed behind Buffy, her eyes drifting between the slayer and her vampire. They really were. . . . Kirsten sighed, a smile crossing her features. They were a fairy-tale come true – something out of legend. The scarred and damaged warrior, hiding the pure and sensitive soul behind the mask of brutality wandering for years in the dark until the beautiful, fierce, deadly girl stole his heart.

Mentally rolling her eyes, Kirsten sighed. They’d both knock her on the head for that one. . . . and privately they’d be mush. But too bad, coz it’s true. . . only they don’t think its all that weird. . . but I think they were made for each other. As she watched them standing by the door, Spike rested one hand on Dawn’s shoulder, his other reached out to run a finger over Buffy’s cheek, cupping her chin and then the baby’s head; Kirsten knew, no matter how much trouble she was going to get in, coming back had been the right thing to do. Besides, now she just had more ammo to tease them with.

The Jeep pulled up and Spike turned his head, catching her eye. “C’mon pet, time to go.”

Book Two. Chapter 42. Our memory is our coherence

Mild brown eyes beckon me to the past,
but memory provides no clue.
Mason Cooley, City Aphorisms, Eighth Selection

Ah! you can die,
the world can collapse,
I have lost the one I love.
I must now live in this terrible solitude where memory is torture.
Albert Camus, The Misunderstanding, act 2, sc. 2

I construct my memories with my present.
I am lost, abandoned in the present.
I try in vain to rejoin the past:
I cannot escape.
Jean-Paul Sartre, Nausea

You have to begin to lose your memory,
if only in bits and pieces,
to realise that memory is what makes our lives.
Life without memory is no life at all ...
Our memory is our coherence, our reason,
our feeling, even our action.
Without it, we are nothing ...
Luis Buñuel




There wasn’t enough room in the Jeep for all of them, since Connor’s car seat took up most of the backseat, especially with the added presence of Kirsten. Until Spike decided to climb in the back with Dawn, Buffy was afraid someone else was going to have either double up or get out and walk.

Buffy watched him climb in effortlessly, her sister cradled gently in his arms. He hadn’t caused her any further discomfort, not once jostling her even enough to disturb her broken ribs. Dawn was still crying, tears sliding down her face, keeping the cuts open. Didn’t matter her own eyes were blurred, Buffy could barely stem the tide of her own tears, listening to the soft sobs of her broken sister, her heart wrenched.

The attack, and by whom, had been completely unexpected. Angel. If she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes, Buffy never would have believed it.

Angel had attacked Dawn.

Casey was dead because of Angel.

Dawn’s heart was broken because of Angel.

Had she done something to cause this? Was all this her fault again?

Spike’s calm low tones broke through her self-absorbed thoughts and she suddenly couldn’t imagine being the cause of all this. There had to be some other explanation for how Angel’s soul had disappeared yet again.

She couldn’t have been so stupid a second time.

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

Faith remained quiet, her mind concentrating on all the jumbled dream images in her head, searching for the one thing that could explain this and make it all clear again. So far, the answer was proving elusive, but she knew, given enough time, it would surface. For now, though, she was better off just thinking.

Wesley’s mind was working, searching for a logical explanation. One thing bothered him, and he knew he’d need to research it more closely, because it was nagging at him. How come he could remember Darla was Connor’s mother – and why didn’t that strike him as odd? Darla is a vampire. How is it possible for her to conceive?

They turned onto Revello Drive, both of them slowing their pace when the darkened house came into view.

“Spare key’s under the deck.” Faith said at the same time Wesley asked “how come Willow and Tara aren’t awake?”

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

Curled up in Spike’s arms, Dawn gave into the tears again. Every couple of breaths another shudder would overtake her muscles and she’d lose all control again. His arms were strong around her, shielding her from the outside world but nothing could ease the pain in her heart.

All my fault. It’s all my fault. Casey’s dead because of me. . . . . Stinging tears slid into the cuts lining her cheek, mixing with the blood, washing through the furrows. Snot and bloody tears leaked from her, but Dawn didn’t care anymore. Casey’s dead. . . . I killed him.

Not even the soft rumbles of Spike’s voice helped, despite how safe she knew she was, Dawn’s guilt grew. Casey won’t be . . . . he tried so hard to protect me and its my fault he’s dead.

My fault. . . . . My fault.

A sob broke from her lips – just his name and the pain swam into her, sweeping through every part of her. Oh Casey.

I’m sorry.

It’s all my fault.

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

She felt so tiny in his arms.

Broken.

Shattered.

Her entire body was shaking with uncontrollable tremors, tears and grief swirling inside her, seeking some release.

Spike held her face to his still chest, hoping some of his strength would help her hold it together, at least for a little while. Until they could get her to sleep . . .

The rising tide of anger was rapidly. . . . Spike had no idea why Angel was attacking, Dawn of all people, and at this particular moment, he didn’t much care why. All he knew was one of his girls had been hurt – and the physical damage was the least of it.

A muscle ticked in his jaw, and, had she seen it, Buffy wouldn’t have missed the control Spike was exerting. Dawn nestled into his tight hold, more tears wetting his shirt. As the salty wetness spread over the black cotton, Spike started an internal list of how many ways to inflict pain.

His foot tapped against the side of the Jeep, and as he was about to complain about how long a ten block trip was taking, he lifted his eyes to see the familiar houses of Revello Drive. “Bout bloody fuckin’ time.”

Dawn sobbed out Casey’s name and he tightened his hold on her, whispering something he hoped was more soothing than the thoughts circling round his head.

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

Faith and Wesley were just crossing the next door neighbor’s lawn when the Jeep pulled into the driveway. Three doors opened almost before the wheels stopped moving and not surprising, Buffy was the first one out.

Spike was emerging from the back with a still weeping Dawn cradled in his embrace.

“Giles? Get the door please.” Buffy directed her troops, motioning for Anya to bring Connor inside while she helped Spike get Dawn inside, her eyes trained on the small blond girl waiting at the front steps. It was easier to focus on her than deal with the other uninvited presence at her door. Too bad she was only human. . . . vampires had to at least get an invite before they could just walk in the door. Buffy grimaced, not wanting to deal with any of this – Faith – Kirsten – Angel – right now. She should be able to focus on Dawn, take care of her. Dawn needed her – all this other stuff could wait.

Making her decision as they hit the front door, Buffy shared a look with Spike. He nodded once, indicating his understanding, then, once they crossed the threshold, he shifted Dawn around balancing her weight better in his arms. Everyone was inside, even Faith, who stood just inside the door, uncertain of her welcome. Spike’s voice from upstairs forestalled whatever Buffy had been about to say and she took the baby from Anya and in a move that surprised no one more than herself, said, “c’mon Kirsten, you too.”

Buffy got to the top of the stairs in time to see Spike kick open the door to Dawn’s room, growling when the door started to swing back toward him.

“Lemme get that.” She hurried down the hallway, Connor’s head nestled against her shoulder. “We need to get her out of those clothes and into pjs.”

Kirsten followed them into the room, her eyes darting between the two adults. Spike put Dawn down, laying her very gently on the bed, then stared down at the softly weeping teen. One-handedly Buffy tried to get Dawn’s boots off, until Kirsten quietly asked, “want me to do that?”

The sound of her voice drew a sharp look from the blond pair, one set of eyes speculative while the other somewhat more welcoming. “Take Connor? I’ll get her ready.”

Suiting action to words, Buffy handed off the baby, who, to their surprise, didn’t protest being held by the stranger. Spike’s raised eyebrow posed a question to his mate, who responded with a shrug and distracted look. Dawn was murmuring incoherently, the pain medication kicking in and making her drowsy and lethargic.

Attention drawn back to her sister, Buffy directed Spike to get her something to sleep in while she carefully undressed her. Bruises marred her skin, livid purple marks on both arms and in a grim circle around her neck. Angel had broken six of Dawn’s ribs, which were wrapped tightly, and severely bruised her throat. Thank god though, she wasn’t that badly hurt. Physically she would recover in a month or two . . . . but her baby sister’s heart had just been broken, ripped out and stomped on, and that wound might never heal.

Buffy brushed back Dawn’s hair, running her fingers across her battered cheek, her touch gentle and unaware of the tears falling from her own eyes. “I’m sorry Dawnie. . . . I’m so sorry. I wasn’t there to protect you.”

“Mommy.” A soft whimper broke from Dawn and Buffy couldn’t tell her Joyce was dead, she’d never remember the lie anyway.

“Mommy’s just getting something. . . . try and sleep, Dawnie.”

“Don’t wanna. . . want . . . . Daddy?” Dawn’s bloodshot, bleary eyes focused on Spike, who had moved to stand behind Buffy. “There’s Daddy. . . . I’ve got a vampire daddy. . . says I’m . . . . mother and Janet.” She reached for him, then a grimace crossed her features as pain rippled through her. “Ow. . . ow. . . ow.”

“All right, Niblet, need to stay still. ‘M right here, not goin’ anywhere.” He settled onto the bed, near her hip, his cool hand cupping hers. How the bleedin’ hell does she know ‘bout my mother and Janet?

“Stay with me?” Dawn settled down the minute their hands met and Spike couldn’t find his voice when she said, “safe with my Daddy. . .. Spike.”

He shared a long look with Buffy, Dawn’s drug induced babbling added more questions for the watchers to go over.

“Yeah, sweets, all safe now. ‘M gonna keep you safe.” With his free hand, Spike held onto Buffy’s, his thumb brushing over the top of hers, “gonna keep you all safe.”

Kirsten watched them, suddenly aware that neither Buffy nor Spike was in possession of all the facts at the moment – somehow their knowledge of the truth about Dawn had been stripped from them. . . . did they know about her being pregnant? What had happened that caused this shift? She’d taken a huge risk, coming back to save Dawn, risking getting caught and exposing her secrets. Connor nuzzled against her neck and Kirsten fought a giggle. This was so weird. Holding him, she reached a decision, one she was determined to keep. If I have to explain . . . well, me, I’m only explaining it to two people. Hopefully, they’ll take it on faith and not give me too much shit about it. But I had to come back. . . had to. For Mom’s sake. . . . and Dad’s too.

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

Muted noises filtered through her sleeping brain, tweaking her senses and causing her consciousness to begin the swim toward wakefulness. Her body was sated, limbs loose and languid and for long moments after her eyes opened, Tara just basked in the feel of her lover curled in her arms, Willow’s soft breaths washing over her bare limbs.

But the sounds from downstairs got a bit louder, strange voices and noises echoing through the house at . . . Tara squinted at the clock, shaking her head in disbelief, two forty three in the morning. Deciding the amount of noise couldn’t possibly be Buffy alone returning from patrol, Tara rolled away from Willow and got up out of bed. With a last wistful gaze back at her lover, she whispered a muffling incantation and then slipped through the door.

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

Wesley headed directly for the kitchen, Faith trailing behind him, as Giles and Anya began cleaning off and putting away the weapons. With no idea how soon Buffy and Spike would be coming back downstairs, Wesley figured it was going to be a long night and he fired up the coffee machine and the kettle. He couldn’t explain to anyone, including himself, how he knew where things were stored in Buffy’s kitchen, yet he did.

The lack of clear memories had been bothering him most of the night, since Buffy first walked into the Magic Shop shortly before five in the afternoon, worsening when Spike arrived with nearly the same vague feeling Buffy had complained of. It might have been easy to discount one of them, but the both of them with corroborating feelings – and not to mention the evidence of the claim – had only worsened his unease. Mentally, he tallied over his “known” facts.

Darla is Connor’s mother.

Buffy and Spike are mated.

Angel has lost his soul.

Oz has bonded with Tara, without Willow’s presence.

“Faith? Your dreams, about how long have they been disturbing?” Wesley folded his arms over his chest, leaning back against the counter, his eye on the kettle.

She looked up from shredding the napkin and he could see the movement of her mouth where she was chewing on the inside of her cheek. “Which set?”

“You’ve had more than one set of disturbing dreams?” He stood straight, his attention now focused on her.

“Well, yeah. Had ‘em for a while.” She paused, finally looking up at him. “Look, can we wait with the interrogation until Buffy’s here?”

“I think that would be for the best.” Giles’ voice sounded from the living room doorway, interrupting whatever Wesley might have been about to say. “There’s been so much information we’ve lost there’s very little way of knowing for certain what is a product of the spell and what is not.”

He walked further into the kitchen, his eyes sweeping around the room as if taking inventory. “The knowledge is there, like something hovering at the edges of memory, yet we are unable to recover it.” He paused for a moment, obviously gathering his thoughts. “I believe the effects of the spell were blocked by the mating bond between Buffy and Spike, and while part of me is appalled by that bond, another, more tolerant part of me is aware this was a natural progression of something already existing that I am currently unaware of.”

Everyone relaxed, waiting for Giles to continue. “Additionally, the spellcaster seems to be ignorant of several other things that have also disrupted the stability of the spell. Connor’s presence for one, another is, unfortunately, Angel’s current soul-free status.” He paced forward a bit, glasses off and in his hand. “Which concerns me, because we have no way of knowing what kind of forces Angel might have arrayed against us.”

“Spellc. . .caster?” Tara stood in the doorway between kitchen and dining room, fuzzy slippers on her feet and frumpy bathrobe wrapped around her. “What’s going on?”

“Apparently, we’ve had someone try and cast a spell on us that hasn’t completely, well,” Giles answered her, as Wesley moved the kettle away from the burner. “It appears either the casting was faulty or the effects of the spell have been blocked by the presence of a mating bond between Buffy and Spike.”

The blond witch stood still for a moment, trying to absorb exactly why all these people were in the kitchen at this hour, in addition to what Giles had just told her. “Buffy and Spike are mated?”

Her confusion only grew when she took in the two brunettes she had never met. “Who is this?”

“Its me, Wesley. Don’t you remember me?” His expression grew more thoughtful as he realized he remembered her, but she apparently had no recollection of him.

Shaking her head, she stuttered out, “Sorry, no, I don’t.”

Anya gave a little snort, then shifted her gaze between Faith and Giles. “This spell has affected each one of us differently. Which means there was more than one point of focus for the spellcaster. We need to find out what is going on. I can’t have my life or my money in jeopardy very long.”

But Tara’s statement seemed to have triggered some flare of awareness in Wesley, because he looked up, then said very quietly, “eureka! I’ve got it.”

Both Anya and Giles stared at him, aware of Buffy’s earlier tirade in the Magic Box and Wesley waved his hand briefly for a moment. “Tara? What is the last clear memory you have?”

They waited patiently while the blond girl thought, Faith the only one with a half-disinterested expression on her face. Finally, after long moments, Tara spoke.

“Last thing I remember was Mr. Giles going back to England and Buffy was de.. . dead. Sp. . . Spike was living here, taking care of Dawn. And. . . and Willow . . . . “ she shrugged, afraid that this was all somehow wrong.

“That’s it.” Wesley nearly banged his hands down the counter, barely restraining himself at the last second.

“What is?” Giles glanced at his younger counterpart, a clear question in his gaze.

“The last time I have a clear, real memory is from sometime in August. And Buffy was dead. She’s obviously not now, so that has to be the point where our collective memories were altered.”

“Are you telling me that we are only discovering our altered memories now, in,” Anya gazed over at the wall calendar, noting the month. “In December?”

“No, that’s not what I’m suggesting at all. What I am suggesting is that it was that point in time the spellcaster wanted to recreate.”

Giles settled his glasses back on his face, contemplating Wesley’s theory. “If that is the case, it might be wise if we try to discover exactly how this spell was designed and by whom.”

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

Robbie is so gonna kill me. Kirsten closed her eyes, shutting out the sights and sounds around her, searching for the bond she shared with her older brother. It was still there, though, stretched very thin, but still real, still true. He’s so gonna kick my ass, but Daddy’s gonna be worse. Opening her eyes again, Kirsten found discerning blue eyes focused on her, a very assessing look in his eyes. I am so very busted.

Buffy was rustling about the bedroom, picking up Dawn’s destroyed clothes and stuffing them in the trash bin. Kirsten tracked her movements, knowing Buffy was doing the cleaning just to stay busy. Her back was to Spike, her body almost parallel with Kirsten’s and Kirsten could just see Buffy’s expression out of the corner of her eyes. She knew a split second before Spike, that Buffy was crying, but only because she saw the tears start.

Spike was on his feet, his arms wrapped around Buffy’s shoulders before Kirsten reacted. “Kitten?”

She turned in his embrace, burying her face against his chest. “I’m supposed to keep her safe. To protect her. I promised Mom I would. . . . I failed her. She wasn’t safe tonight.”

“You did nothin’ wrong love, spell’s playin’ with all of us.” His hands ran down her back, soothing her as best he could. “Not your fault.”

“It is. . . . what if he’s around because of something I did?” The words were tumbling from her mouth before she could stop their flow.

Spike stared down at the top of her head for a moment, anger warring with grief and some disbelief for her thinking that. “Buffy. . . tha’s just fear talkin’. Look at me love,” when she kept her eyes averted, he tilted her chin up, his fingers holding her face. “Those marks of mine aren’t a week old – they’re older. We smell too much like each other. That baby here,” he pressed his other hand against her belly. “This is mine too. . An’ ‘m gonna guess an’ say that didn’t happen last week. Have to be at least a month along, kitten, otherwise I couldn’t be so sure.”

Wrapping his arms around her again, he rested his forehead against hers. “There’s no way the bond we share would allow for what you’re thinkin’. Wasn’t you this time.”

Kirsten knew she shouldn’t be a witness to this moment. This was. . . very private. She closed her eyes again, shutting down all her senses, waiting until one or the other of them called her by name. She missed when Buffy leaned into Spike, her hands holding onto his shirt, her body seeking reassurance from him that he wasn’t just saying all this to ease her guilt. She missed too, when Spike lowered his head, his lips brushing across Buffy’s, soft words of comfort and love issuing forth.

For long moments they stood together, until Connor’s whimpers of discomfort mingled with Dawn’s groans of pain.

Kirsten came out of her trance state to find concerned hazel green eyes staring at her. For a moment, Kirsten swore there was recognition and awareness there, but Buffy blinked and the knowledge was gone. “Hey. You okay? You were like a million miles away.”

It took her a minute to shake off the trance and find her voice. “Yeah. I’m good. How’s Dawn?”

“She’ll be all right. Needs to sleep now.” Spike answered as Buffy said, “we need to get this little guy settled.” Lifting Connor from Kirsten’s arms, she said, “I’ll be right back. You can borrow something of Dawn’s to sleep in.”

“Yeah. I’ll, um, do that.” Kirsten watched Buffy go, then headed straight for Dawn’s dresser. “I’ll just grab something comfy and change.”

“Do that. When you come back, we’re gonna have ourselves a bit of a chat.”

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