Book Two, Chapter 10. A light shines in you

I will not ask from you
anything that you were not capable of giving
I would not ask from you
anything but that which I truly need
and I would not take from you
without giving equal value in return
Javan, Footprints in the Mind

And as the rain (begin again)
falls heavy in my heart (as the storm breaks through)
believe the light (so the light shines)
in you (in you)
(without color, faded and worn)
torn asunder in the storm (torn asunder in the storm)
(unless the sound)
(save your body’s soul)
(Unless it disappears)
first the thunder (selfish storm)
then the storm (cold on the inside)
torn asunder (one life)
in the storm (in the storm)
in a lifetime
Clannad with Bono, In a Lifetime




Oz woke up just after Buffy had gone back upstairs and he’d been enlisted to help them get all the necessary supplies. His van was empty, except for the two seats in the front, and it would enable them to make one trip for everything, instead of having to use both the DeSoto and Angel’s convertible. Having been brought up to speed about what was left of the day’s prospects, Oz characteristically remained mostly silent throughout Tara’s list of things to do, only speaking once to say, “how soon do we leave?”

Which was answered by Dawn, “as soon as you’re ready.”

“Then let’s go.” Oz fished his keys from his pocket and dangled them in the air. “Where too first?”

“The mall, we need supplies for the baby and Wes.” Tara answered.

“So we go from there to get the stuff from the Magic Box and then we need to go to Giles’ to get more weapons.” Dawn’s voice sounded from the hallway closet as she grabbed a light jacket.

Tara headed up the stairs with the baby, calling down, “I’ll be right back.”


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Spike woke to the sound of Buffy’s voice singing lullabies softly in the very late afternoon light. He had no idea how long he’d been asleep this time but he felt much better. His headache was mostly gone now just a fuzzy dull ache in the back of his head. One leg was relatively pain free and his ribs felt like they were all healed. A smile graced his features, listening to Buffy’s singing, and he stretched gingerly, taking care not to disrupt his healing bones.

Buffy looked up from the chair and he realized why she was singing. “Somethin’ you wanna tell me kitten?”

Her smile was blinding and he almost looked around to see who else she might be looking at. “Buffy?”

“Hey you. How’re you feeling?” She got up from the chair, lifting the infant in her arms to her shoulder, walking over the bed.

“Better. Who’s this then?” Spike watched her carefully.

“Wesley brought him. You want the good news or the bad news first?” She laid down next to him, the infant between them, waiting his response.

“Does it matter?” He wasn’t quite sure what was going on here and was feeling completely confused.

“Nope” her voice was quiet, mindful of the baby sleeping between them, “not much is good.”

“Tell me then.” He shifted, trying to get more comfortable, moving almost onto his mostly uninjured side to face her. “This Angel’s sprog?”

Her hand brushing over the baby’s back, Buffy looked at him, a little laugh in her voice, “if by that you mean if this is his son, that’s what Wesley said.” Sobering quickly, she continued, “Wes also said he’s lost his soul and Darla is dust.”

“Fuck.” Spike knew this was worse than he’d expected. “Gimme the rest of the news love.”

“I’m not sure this rest is really news. Oz was with Tara last night,” and at his raised eyebrow she giggled, “don’t think it was like that you pig. Do you remember what happened?” At his nod, she continued, “Kirsten is gone. She slipped out while everyone was asleep and Dawn was in here with us. She fought last night.”

“Yeah I seem to remember that. Chit saved me, did she?” Looking at her closely, he said, “thought she was you at first. She reminded me of you the first time I saw her.”

“She’s too strong to be just a regular girl. She fought off almost six knights before I got there.” Buffy’s face took on a pensive look. “Could she be like me? Maybe a could-be-slayer?”

“Dunno pet. She’s somethin’ else, dunno if its that, or” he hesitated, trying to find the words for what his brain was thinking, “she sounded like you, not just . . . somethin’ ‘bout her, love.”

“Well she was here, until sometime this morning.” Buffy watched his face for signs of fatigue and pain. “Are you feeling any better?”

“Yeah. Head’s not so fuzzy. Fractures are doin’ better.” The baby mewled, drawing their attention away from Spike’s injuries, “Sprog have a name?”

Buffy looked up, a horrified yet amused look in her eyes, “I didn’t. . . oh my god. . . what kind of . . . I never even asked. How horrible am I?”

Spike grinned at her, a laugh threatening in his eyes, “pro’ly jus’ slipped your mind. We’ll jus’ call him Sprog for now.”

Buffy had looked back down at the baby, missing the laughter in his eyes but at his words, she gasped, saying, “Spike we can’t . . that’s”. She shifted her gaze to look at him, only then realizing he was teasing her. “Not funny Spike.”

“Yeah it is. Peaches’ get w’out a proper name, leavin’ it for me to do.” Spike’s eyes gleamed with further mischief, “think I’ll call ‘im Spawn.”

“What? That’s . . . why would you call him Spawn?”

“Cause he’s Spawn of Angelus and Darla.” He tried holding back his mirth, but it was impossible. “What else could he be?”

Buffy finally responded to the teasing glint in his eye, giggling softly along with him. “So not nice Spike.”

“‘m evil, love. Can’t expect better from me.”

She ignored his statement instead focusing on the baby sleeping between them. Her hand smoothed down his back, running over his head. She could smell his scent from where she was . . . he smelled so sweet. A wave of longing unexpectedly surged through her, catching her off guard. Buffy fought the tears, hiding her expression from Spike, not wanting him to think the tears were because this was Angel’s son. That was something she almost didn’t care about. It was just the fact of a baby, and them, lying in this bed, that was enough to cause the longing. She had no idea where the emotion had even come from, but suddenly it was there, clawing in her throat. Trying to hide the tears, she sighed, shifting closer to the two of them.

But Spike was watching her closely, knew when she started to fight tears, knew when her breathing hitched. He thought he had an idea what was running through her mind, but was afraid to call attention to it. This was Angel’s son after all, the child of her first love, and the one thing she’d never expected to see. Part of him hoped that it was just a baby she was reacting to, and it would have happened with any baby, but a bigger part of him was convinced the tears were because it was Angel’s. He gingerly rolled onto his back, grimacing with pain and emotions he didn’t want to face.

Her hand reached out to touch his face, running over his cheekbones and down along his jaw line. The tension and pain that had bloomed with his movements eased with her touch and he closed his eyes both to hide from her concern and from the emotions swirling between them.

Spike wanted to mark her as his in so many ways that the sheer number was staggering. He wanted to bite her, claiming her as his, he wanted to brand himself into her soul so that long after he was dust and she was gone, they would still be bound. He wanted to be so indelibly marked on her that everyone, demon, hellspawn, human, everyone she came into contact with would know that she belonged to him. He wanted it with a presence that was as real as the miraculous infant sleeping between them. He wanted that baby . . . to be theirs. Wanted to see her . . . gods she was sunshine and light now . . he couldn’t imagine how much more incandescent she would be.

Her warm hand stopped moving just over the spot where his heart used to beat, pushing aside the sheet that covered his skin. His good hand came up to capture hers despite his brain’s inclination to keep some distance between them at this moment.

He’d gotten his crumbs.

He’d gotten more.

Now he wanted everything.

Spike stopped breathing, when her fingers ghosted once more over his lips, her words a breath in the air between them. “Should be ours.”


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Once at the mall, Wesley had handed Tara a stack of bills, saying, “I’ve got more if you need it.” Then they’d split up, Dawn trailing after Tara and the guys going off together.

They made short work of the mall excursion knowing that time was now their single biggest enemy. While Angelus might have temporarily been slowed by the breaking of his leg, none of them was willing to take the chance of being caught outside without some more substantial form of protection than what they had now.

The trip from the mall to the Magic Box was undertaken in silence, each one of them lost in their own thoughts. Dawn and Oz were the only two with first hand knowledge of what Angelus was capable of, but both Wesley and Tara had heard the tales. Wesley also had read the Watcher’s Journals, and his mind was grimly focused on going over Angelus’ weaknesses, if there were any.

Dawn sat in the back, her legs crossed, going through some of the baby things she and Tara had picked up. They’d gotten the basics, plus another package of diapers and a case of formula, and Dawn had insisted on one little extra. There was a blue baby blanket that she’d thought was just adorable and had quietly whined until Tara gave in and allowed her to throw it in their basket. She was holding it now, running her fingers over the satin edges, hoping that everything was fine at home. And also hoping that the baby’s father stayed far, far away.

Tara was running through more of the practical things that were going to be needed, extra food, formula, diapers, the supplies from the Magic Box and any thing else to keep her mind on the present and not worry about what might be coming for them in the next few nights. She had no real comprehension of what Angelus was capable of, had only one thing really to balance against it, and from what little she had gathered, Angelus was on a Glory-level of badness. And that was bad.

Just how bad she almost was afraid to ask.


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She couldn’t possibly have said what he’d thought she said. Spike kept his eyes closed afraid to make a sound. Well, Buffy had always had the ability to render him speechless and senseless. Her fingers were back on his chest and he could feel her eyes on his profile.

Buffy was equally stunned. She hadn’t meant to just blurt that out. Hadn’t meant to say that out loud at least. Not that she didn’t mean it – because she did – but more because she was afraid he felt differently. A baby. . . . their baby would prove to him that she felt just as strongly as he did. But if he didn’t want that . . . she just knew that it would be one more way to bind themselves together. One more thing to make him want to stay and never leave her.

The enormity of what he’d done last night, fighting off humans to save her sister, wasn’t lost on her. He’d known, going into the fight that he was going up against something he couldn’t fight and still he hadn’t hesitated, apparently hadn’t even thought to do otherwise. It was just further solidification for her that his feelings ran very deeply both for herself and Dawn. Maybe she should just tell him what that meant to her. Try to tell him how she was feeling, what she was feeling. Could. . . she actually say the words? Or would that be the end for them? Would he disappear . . . not because he wanted to but because that was just what happened when she loved someone? Could she take the risk?

Did she trust him enough with her heart?

His chest was warm beneath her hand, stealing heat from her, solid and strong. Even without the beat, just being close to him was comforting, was . . . safe. There was safety in his arms, safety knowing he was with her. She’d already faced that, accepted that, known that. He’d taken the leap before her, placed his unbeating heart in her hands, laid it out and given it to her. Trusted her with his love. And that was no small thing. Not something to be sloughed off and made light of, it was as big a deal as her . . . loving him back. To love her, to be with her, he’d turned his back on everything he was, everything that made him what he was.

Spike was a demon. No soul like Angel to set him apart, nothing but his own sheer force of will, from other demons. Pure, unadulterated demon. And yet he walked that shadowy place between light and dark far better than Angel ever had. He fought beside her for the best of reasons, for truly the only reason there was to fight. Spike fought for love. Because he loved.

And the chip? The chip was nothing more than a piece of hardware designed to stop him from hurting humans. The chip didn’t stop him from ordering minions around, didn’t stop him from getting other demons to do his bidding. And the chip sure as hell didn’t direct him to take a beating to protect Dawn – take two beatings. Neither did the chip make him go out and patrol for her, all summer when she was gone and then again recently, before she was ready to do it on her own. The chip was just a hindrance. Last night, had the chip not been there, she wouldn’t have had to worry so much, wouldn’t have had that fear choking her the entire night. He’d have been able to fight off the humans, and those humans? She so wouldn’t have minded if he’d killed more than the couple he did. She would have been happy if he’d killed them all.

Giles said he trusted Spike with or without the chip. Could she do any less? How silly was it that she slept beside him and pretend that she didn’t trust him. She let him bite her . . . and there’d been no question of him hurting her, but he could still drain her – every single time he bit. But he didn’t. He always stopped himself, usually long before she thought he was done. Even earlier this morning, Spike hadn’t taken alot. He’d taken barely enough to start his healing.

He fought her battles because he loved her. Not because it was expedient to do so, not because it served his purposes, but for one simple reason – her. He loved her. Told her so all the time – showed it, god how he showed it, every day. Some days, like yesterday, and was it really only yesterday? He more than proved it.

Sure he didn’t always have the best of ways to show it, at least not in the very beginning, that moment when he’d tied up her and Drusilla, in an effort to make her see that something was brewing between them, always came to mind. And she’d thrown it back in his face, told him the only time he’d had a chance was when she was unconscious. And he’d begged for something, a crumb. . . well, she’d given him crumbs. Given him cookies, cakes, sweets, whatever it was he’d been asking for a crumb of. . . But now there was so much more.

The words ached to be said, caught in her throat, choking her with their intensity. Her fingers flexed on his chest and his came up to entangle with hers. A soft smile graced her features as she realized he always instinctively knew just what she needed, sometimes, even before she herself knew it. His eyes were closed, the dark lashes resting against his pale cheeks, only the slight tensing of his muscles there an indication that he was still awake and not sleeping. He’d been uncharacteristically silent for a long time, far longer than she’d ever imagined he could be in a moment like this. Buffy watched his face, almost amazed at this man, and yes he was a man, who gave everything for her.

Taking a deep breath and more than aware she was about to make the biggest leap of faith in her life, even counting the jump from Glory’s tower, Buffy tried to get the words out. She was more afraid of this . . . of admitting her feelings than she was of facing down an entire nest of vampires, or a swarm of fyarls. Maybe. . . she could build up to it. Tell him . . just. . . “Spike.”

He angled his head toward her, looking at her from beneath his lashes, his eyes hidden from her. “I was so scared last night. . . didn’t. . . I don’t know what I’d have done if . . you had. . . “ her voice broke, the harsh whisper full of unshed tears. “And you were all broken. . . but at least you weren’t gone. Were still with me.”

Opening his mouth to speak, Spike felt her fingers cross his lips, holding his words silent. “Wait, please? Let me try.” Gathering her courage, Buffy cleared her throat, swallowing back the tears that kept threatening, “I need you so much, can’t do this alone. Don’t know how to do this alone anymore.”

Spike was watching her now, his eyes wide open and concerned, focused on her. Her eyes were a brilliant green, shot with gold and silver, and he was lost in them. His lips pursed against her fingers in a kiss and her answering smile was radiant. Her eyelids fluttered closed, then opened again, “Spike . . . you . . . you.”

“Shhh, kitten.”

Shaking her head again, Buffy whispered, “my heart Spike. . . its . . . in your hands.”


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Anya was on the phone with Giles when the group walked into the Magic Box. Wesley was the first in the door and he mumbled a greeting at the former demon. Motioning him over, Anya said, “Wesley just walked in now.”

She handed him the phone and faced the other three, taking in their drawn and tired expressions. With characteristic bluntness, she launched right into her concerns, “you all look like crap. Rupert said that I should make sure you have everything you need and that I’m not to charge you. I want you to know,” as she huffed somewhat indignantly, “that since its so important I was going to give you a discount. We can’t possibly make a profit this week if I give you everything for free.”

Tara and Dawn shared an amused look, while Oz tried to figure out what whirlwind he’d just walked into. This was like old times gathered around the library, and he was struck with a sense of deja vu. There were a few new faces and some missing from the old days, but the situation was, ironically enough, quite similar to what used to happen when they were in high school.

The girls knew Anya was just blustering, but sometimes she could be shrill and a bit off-putting, especially if you didn’t know her all that well. Tara walked over to Oz, whispering, “she’s like this sometimes, you just have to get used to her.”

Despite the former demon’s protests otherwise, both girls knew that she’d give them whatever they needed, even without Giles’ say so. This was an emergency and Anya never really quibbled about those.

Anya walked over to where Dawn was sitting at the table, then sat down beside her. Dawn was playing with one of the books that had been left out, not really focused on what was in her hands. “Dawn?”

When the younger girl glanced in her direction, Anya continued, “you do know that unless you use a stake or cut off their heads, vampires always recover. Eventually.”

“I know that.” She knew Anya was just trying to be comforting and helpful, but she really wasn’t being either of those things. Dawn looked away, then mumbled, “its all my fault anyway.”

“Because?” Anya had heard her, despite Dawn’s efforts to not be heard.

“Because I’m who I am. Because I’m the Key.” Dawn slammed the book down, then got to her feet to escape from Anya’s pointed questions. “Its all been my fault. All of this.”

Dawn headed for the training room, tears threatening, when Wesley hung up the phone and cut her off. “Dawn.”

“Leave me alone Wes. Just . . don’t.” He’d reached out a hand to stop her forward movement but she pushed him off.

The adults watched her go, none of them sure of what to say. Tara turned to Anya, about to say something, when she caught the look on the other girl’s face and realized there was nothing she could say to Anya. There were tears in Anya’s eyes and it was obvious whatever had transpired between the two struck a chord with Anya. “She thinks its all her fault.”

“Her fault?” Tara and Wesley spoke at the same time.

“That’s what she said. That its because she’s the Key.” Anya’s answer was muffled.

Before Tara could react, Wesley was at the door to the training room, listening intently for any sounds from within. Motioning the others to quiet, Wesley opened the door and stuck his head in. Dawn was huddled on the couch, curled up on herself, crying softly.

He slipped into the room, watching her intently, “Dawn?”

“Leave me alone.” She said from behind clenched teeth, her hands fisted against her knees, her shoulders hunched over. “Just go away.”

“Dawn.” Wesley was at something of a loss. He wasn’t sure how to approach this, but part of him wanted to try. He liked Dawn and didn’t want her blaming herself for all of this, even one tiny little bit of it. “Let me ask you a question. Angel’s lost his soul, because of the baby’s presence. Granted the baby doesn’t know that now, but do you think that when he gets older he’ll feel any differently than you do at this moment?”

She didn’t say anything. He wasn’t even certain she was even listening to him. Wesley shoved his hands down into his jeans pockets, waiting for her to respond. Shifting his gaze about, Wesley took in all the equipment around him. This really was a remarkable set up that Giles had going. The shop out front was definitely pulling in a nice little profit, given the number of customers that had been leaving when they arrived, and this room was simply marvelous. Attention caught by the knives on display over Dawn’s head, Wesley almost didn’t hear her response to his question.

“Would you tell him that? Would you tell that little baby that he’s the reason why everything went wrong in his life? That his mother killed herself so that he could be born and that other people died so he could live?” Dawn couldn’t look up at Wesley, didn’t even want to be having this conversation with anyone, much less him.

“I don’t know.” He sighed a little, absently kicking the couch, then walked about the room, his attention on the things around him, but his focus definitely on her. “You see, he’s really innocent. He didn’t ask to be brought into this situation, it just sort of happened that way.”

He paused, trying to gather his thoughts on the matter, “much like you. You didn’t ask to be brought into this situation and you don’t have control over every factor that causes these results. You and Connor are only,” and he paused again, trying to be logical and yet sympathetic at the same time, “perhaps pawns is not the best word, but it’s the only one I can think of at the moment.”

Dawn sniffled at bit, wiping her eyes with one hand. She looked at Wesley, seeing how hard he was trying to balance the equation for her, help her understand it all and perhaps put it into perspective and she was grateful for his logical side at the moment, because she couldn’t deal with emotions. “Still. Doesn’t mean I’m not gonna feel guilty about it. Spike wouldn’t have gotten hurt. . . if I was just nothing special.”

“You can’t know that. Something else might have occurred to put you in harm’s way and Spike would have gotten hurt just as badly. Something else might have happened to cause Angel to lose his soul.” Wesley was facing her now, watching her every move. “We can’t be certain of the future. Nor can we blame ourselves for everything that happens around us.”

Wesley moved closer to her, scrunching down on his haunches to look in her eyes. “And Dawn,” he said, reaching for her hands, “I really don’t think Spike would want you to do this to yourself.”

She shook her head in agreement, “he already said . . . “ and her tears fell on their joined hands, “he already said. . . that he loves me. And . . . and that it wasn’t my fault.”

“He’s not the type to lie. He meant what he said Dawn.” His arm came around her awkwardly, then he helped her to her feet, continuing, “and I don’t think he’d want us wasting time worrying about things over which we have no control.”

He hugged her once, then waited while she wiped her eyes and they moved back into the shop area. Wesley hoped to hell and back that Spike would be up and around soon, because he didn’t relish facing Angelus on his own with a distracted Slayer and precious little other back-up.

Book Two, Chapter Eleven. The real stuff of life.

Oh, God, I know no joy as great as a moment of rushing into a new love, no ecstasy like that of a new love. I swim in the sky; I float; my body is full of flowers, flowers with fingers giving me acute, acute caresses, sparks, jewels, quivers of joy, dizziness, such dizziness. Music inside of one, drunkenness. Only closing the eyes and remembering, and the hunger, the hunger for more, more, the great hunger, the voracious hunger, and thirst."
Anais Nin, May 30, 1934 from Incest





He knew she didn’t confess her feelings easily. That it was hard for her to admit the way she felt. She had such capacity for love, could give herself over to it completely, could drown in it – if only every single time she’d done so in the past hadn’t gotten her poor little heart stomped on.

Spike looked at her, saw the fear lurking in the green depths of her sparkling eyes and his own heart nearly broke. The wariness crept in the longer he remained silent, afraid to trust him, afraid not to. “Buffy?”

His good hand came up to brush against her cheek. “You’re my world love. ‘M yours.”

She’d closed her eyes when he’d said her name, unable to hold his direct gaze. But she’d opened them again when his knuckles brushed against her skin. Her eyes grew impossibly wider when Spike’s words echoed the ones he’d said in her dream.

Was this it? Was this the moment the dream was foreshadowing? Buffy stared at him, a growing. . . . something . . . awareness in the pit of her belly. She had the feeling that this was one of those moments in life, that if she didn’t follow her instincts – that, if she didn’t leap – this chance would never come again. And if she didn’t, things would change between them . . . and eventually he would leave her. . . not because he didn’t love her, but because she wouldn’t trust herself to love him back.

Buffy opened her mouth and the words came tumbling out. “Yours. I’m yours. . . I don’t want anyone else. . . you . . . only you, Spike.”

His hand froze against her, his eyes burning into hers. Spike drew in a deep breath. “God woman. . . . what you do to me. . . Always . . . always, yours.”

“Love you.”

He smiled crookedly at her, unable to be any more eloquent than she’d been. His mind was racing, kept coming back to one thing, how she’d looked when she’d said “yours”.

The simultaneous cry of the baby and the phone ringing broke their focus on each other. Neither one was sure what to do, then Spike said, “give me the phone, you take the sprog.”

Buffy handed him the phone then lifted the baby into her arms. He settled down almost immediately, allowing Buffy to hear both sides of the conversation. It was Tara, giving them an update and letting them know they’d be a bit longer, because Anya wanted a disinvite spell and wards put on the shop, designed specifically for Angel.

Spike had rolled over onto his back to hold the phone to his ear and Buffy eyed his bare chest. It made such a comfy pillow. With the baby tucked into the crook of her arm, Buffy laid her head down on Spike’s shoulder, her back to his side, moving his arm until she was more comfortable. He grunted when she nearly knocked the phone from his hand and the baby sent up another wail, this time a more insistent one.

“Think he’s a bit hungry?” Buffy sat up again, taking the phone away from Spike and looking around for the bottle Tara had left with her earlier.

Spike’s stomach growled loudly and Buffy fought a giggle. “Must be. Both babies are hungry. Need some nummy treats?” The last was said to a now fully crying baby and Buffy got up from the bed. “Ssshhhh. All right . . . baby. Gonna get the bottle.”

There was another answering growl from Spike, causing outright laughter from Buffy. “So didn’t know vamps did that.”

“Quiet missy. When I’m back on my feet . . “ he mock growled at her, amusement twinkling in his eyes, then he winced at a particularly piercing wail from the baby.

“Oooohh the Big Bad is gonna get me?” Buffy was searching frantically, until she remembered that they’d put the bottle in the bathroom sink to keep it warm, since they had no idea when the baby was going to need to eat again. Her laughter floating behind her, she headed for it, saying “I’m soooo scared. . . . can’t you see me shaking?”

“Jus’ you wait little girl. Big Bad’s gonna give you what for.” He rumbled back at her, his eyes staring at her backside as she left the room.

“Promise?” She was standing at the doorway, infant and bottle in hand, gazing into his eyes.

“Yeah.” Their teasing had taken a serious turn and the promise of intense lovemaking lay between them.

“I can wait then.” She made her way back to the bed, reclaiming her spot next to him. As she was getting settled, Buffy asked, “can you reach my neck from here?”

“Buffy? You want to do this now?” Spike rolled over to cuddle against her, his injured arm resting on her hip and his good curling up under her head.

“Might as well. Gotta stay still for the baby and,” she sort of shrugged, feeling her shoulder brush against his, “you need to eat as much as he does.”

“Do you know how much I love you?” Not really expecting an answer, Spike leaned closer, kissing her shoulder. “Any idea at all?”

“Think I’m getting the picture.” She smiled as he continued to lay kisses on her shoulder. She shifted her head, dropping it down from the pillow to rest only on his good arm, exposing her neck for him. An almost purr rumbled from his upper chest and Buffy felt the vibrations all the way through her body. She couldn’t help the answering wriggle from her hips nor the soft “mmmmm” from escaping her.

He chuckled against her neck, whispering, “baby likes that?”

His answer was a soft exhalation that suspiciously sounded like a breathy moan of “yes.”

Spike licked her pulse point, Buffy moving closer and he tried holding her still. “Princess, can’t do more than this. Need you to stay still. Don’t need to give the sprog an education this early.” He breathed heavily against her neck, fascinated as the goose bumps rose on her skin, “but by god, kitten, I want you so much.”

“Spike.” She whined his name softly, unconsciously hugging the baby tighter.

“Love you.”

She could feel him shift behind her and knew the second he nuzzled against her with extended canines. He kissed her one more time and then gently, slowly sunk his fangs into her neck.

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He hadn’t expected them to stand up to him, they were after all, swayed by emotional ties and had been caught by surprise.

Obviously happiness came in more than one form. The grin widened across his squared features. Wasn’t that a kicker . . . the great soul wrenched free by a tiny little baby.

Unfortunately for them that little stunt – Gunn slamming his huge boot down on his ankle – hadn’t done what he’d obviously intended. His leg wasn’t broken just badly bruised. They weren’t his first prey though, no, not by a long shot. So he’d let them all go, let them stew in their fear, worry about who was going to be first. . . . Let them wonder. He knew where he was headed.

He had to eliminate the one person he knew who could restore the soul. Once she was gone – his sights were set on the Slayer. And her traitor.

Oh yeah. The traitor was going to die.

But not until he watched all of them suffer and beg for release first.

First little Willow.


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It took her a more than full night’s sleep but the backlash from the summoning had finally worn off. She still felt groggy and a little fuzzy but for the most part she was feeling much better.

Making her way to the bathroom, Willow figured a hot shower would help. Ducking her head over the sink Willow didn’t notice until she stood up and faced the mirror. Blinking at her altered reflection, Willow shook her head once more. Huh. . . need some sunlight, I guess.

Shrugging the changes off as a trick of the light, Willow stepped into the shower.


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


Between them, Wesley and Tara came up with wards that would work to keep Angelus from doing harm if he ever managed to get into the shop, Tara had left an opening for Spike but she wasn’t entirely certain it would work. They’d worked quickly, trying to get as much covered in as quick a time as possible, knowing they had to get back to Revello Drive before full dark. It was now nearly six and sundown was less than an hour away.

Anya was closing the shop at six and heading directly home. Until the Angelus situation was resolved she wasn’t keeping the shop open passed six – on Giles’ orders, and – again on Giles’ orders, the mail order business would take priority. Live customers could wait. He’d actually prefer if she wasn’t in the shop alone, but he didn’t want Buffy or Wesley to leave Spike alone.

Though, Tara thought, can’t imagine that Spike will be in bed longer than a couple of days. There was no doubt in her mind that Buffy wouldn’t let Spike drink from her. Tara was positive she’d done it when the hounds had nearly severed his wrist. There couldn’t be any reason why she would refuse him now. Her intuition was telling her that Giles knew it also. In this case it was the best course of action, they had too many unknown assailants, the knights, Angelus, the hounds . . . the number kept growing. If they didn’t get some good luck soon, Tara wasn’t sure they’d all survive.


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


Buffy was watching the baby drink, his tiny lips wrapped around the nipple, formula pooling at the corners of his mouth. He was a cute baby. Hard to tell right now who he resembled, though Buffy thought he had more of Darla’s looks than Angel’s, but his dark hair had to be from his father. She smiled, imagining what her own might look like. The probability of her having a blond baby was unlikely, since she was pretty sure Spike’s natural color was not bleach white.

Damn it.

She was trying not to think about him while he was . . . feeding , because his bite. . . Oh god his bite was intoxicating, taking her away, transporting her some place. . . It was almost like being. . . in that other place. . . memories of heaven were getting dimmer everyday, but being with him was akin to that feeling. Safe. Loved. Protected.

Involuntarily, Buffy’s hips wriggled again and Spike tried flexing his fingers around her hip, silently asking her to be still.

Lifting his head away from her neck slightly, Spike said, “kitten, please. . . can’t. . .” his breath was warmed by her blood and still it caused shivers down her spine. “Wan’ t’be inside you, love, to feel you aroun’ me, warmin’ me, surroundin’ me . . . I wan’ tha’ more than I wan’ to get up an’ walk.”

He licked her neck, closing the wounds. “But I can’t, love. . . can’t be where I wan’.” Slapping her butt with his closed fist, Spike play growled. “So stop wrigglin’ an’ givin’ me ideas, woman.”

Buffy giggled but did as he asked. “Did you get enough?”

“Yeah. ‘M not taking any more.” He sighed, resting his head against hers.

“Why?” She turned her chin, brushing against him. “Spike you need more.”

“Buffy. Can’t have you too weak either. Won’t do anyone any good if we’re both too weak to fight.” He nuzzled against her, “I’ll still be up and around quicker than you think.”

“Are you just telling me all this Spike? Or is this the truth?” There was a sort of amused exasperation in her tone, but he picked up on it.

“Buffy, headache is gone, ‘m talkin’, which means the fracture and broken jaw are healed. There’s only a bit of an ache in m’right leg.” He flexed the fingers of his right hand, feeling the skin stretch beneath the bandages. “The rest will take a bit more time, but should be better by week’s end.”

“Promise?”

He pushed up as much as he could, using his uninjured arm. “Promise, love.”

“Okay.”

That show of strength was too much and Spike had to drop down heavily unto the pillow.

“How soon?” She asked again feeling the bed dip from his weight.

“Buffy. Let it go. Be up soon.”

She could hear the growing aggravation in his voice, but she was concerned. Didn’t want him just telling her he was going to be okay when he wasn’t.

“Don’t tell me what I want to hear, Spike, tell me the truth.” There was an edge in her voice that she couldn’t fight.

“What’s today?” His rising irritation wasn’t hard to miss.

“Late Sunday afternoon.”

“An’ how many times today have I drunk from you? Three? Four?”

“Something like that. Three.”

“Plus yesterday.” He couldn’t hide the leer in his tone, then he quickly sobered, “‘m all ready healin’ kitten. Can feel the bones knittin’ together. Everythin’s right itchy.”

He shifted, rolling onto his back, easing the pressure on his left leg. “Should be up for a shower in the mornin’. ‘Specially if I get more from you.”

“So yeah, be up an’ around by the end o’the week.”

“Okay.” Resignation was clear in her tone and he knew she was just humoring him.

There was one other thing on her mind but she wasn’t sure how to bring it up, how to tackle this subject at all. Because she was sure not everyone was going to agree with her. She had to make sure Giles wasn’t just saying ‘chip or no chip’ to placate her, because she was going to put that to the test. The chip. . . .

It was coming out. As soon as she could arrange it. Whether she had to go to the Council or to the Initiative, that chip was coming out.

Spike wasn’t Angel, wasn’t likely to go on some ugly psychotic fish and friend killing spree – wasn’t going to stalk her or her friends, well . . . He might put some fear into Xander, but hey, he probably deserved it. He might threaten, might even throw a few punches, but Buffy didn’t believe for one second that Spike would kill Xander.

Or anyone that really didn’t deserve it.

The chip was their biggest weakness – their huge Achilles heel and she couldn’t allow that weakness.

Anyone bent on destroying them had a way to defeat them. All that had to be done was separate them and send humans after Spike – eventually he’d be unable to even defend himself . . . then he’d be . . . gone. . . and it was so fresh in her mind that her breath caught on a sob and new tears sprang to her eyes.

“Kitten?” He heard the sob and felt her breath catch.

Instead of answering, Buffy sat up, lifting the now full and very sleepy infant to her shoulder. Turning to face him, she stared into his concerned eyes, wiping her tears on the baby’s back. Blowing out a breath, she gathered her courage. “It has to come out.”

At first he had no idea what she meant, but the expression on her face, the set to her shoulders hinted what she was getting at.

There was no keeping the surprise from his voice. “What?”

“The chip.” Her jaw flexed, clenching a bit and her hold on the infant tightened. A look he’d seen often enough crossed her features, telling Spike this wasn’t just a whim or spur of the moment decision. Deciding not to question the what further, he tackled the why.

“Been thinkin’ ‘bout this have you?” He shifted, moving his left hand behind his head watching her closely.

“Yeah, I have.” Loosening her hands from around the baby’s back, Buffy didn’t flinch from his gaze. “Last night just kind of decided it for me.”

“What ‘bout me being a serial killer in prison?” He’d objected to that statement the first time she’d thrown it in his face and he was now returning the favor.

“You feel the urge to drain anyone lately?” She had a feeling he was going to bring that up and she was kind of prepared for it.

Before answering her, he gave the question the thought it required.


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


Wesley and Dawn were in the truck, waiting for Oz and Tara to finish grocery shopping, not really talking. He was staring into space, his mind still focused on finding a weakness for Angelus. There weren’t many. He realized, however, that they currently had an untapped source of information about Angelus and how he fought and what, or rather, who he was most likely to target first.

There was a possible list of candidates he kept rearranging in his head, going over the permutations of who was the mostly likely first target. Any one of the AI team could be it; so to, could any one of the scoobies; Holtz was also a possibility. A chilling prospect would be if Angelus were to connect with anyone of the employees of Wolfram and Hart – including, quite possibly Lilah Morgan. Which would give him an advantage they might not be able to overcome. Another thing Wesley didn’t want to contemplate.

Dawn cleared her throat, then rested her head against the back of the seat Wesley was sitting on. She was tired, exhausted and the lack of sleep was beginning to tell. Wesley shifted, looking over the back of the seat to look down at her. “We’ll be home soon.”

“Ahuh.” She looked up at him, noting his exhaustion equaled or exceeded her own. “I’m so tired.”

Smiling down at her, Wesley laughed a bit. “I know just how you are feeling.”

A tired little twinkle entered her eyes. “Oh. I bet you do Mr. Former Watcher guy.” She laughed a bit, “you know, you used to be a real geek.”

“Thanks Dawn.” He winced, remembering just how badly his first stay in Sunnydale had been, “wasn’t exactly a shining moment for me.”

“Was it so bad? “ Dawn wanted to know, how things were from his perspective, since what she remembered wasn’t real. “Was it all bad?”

“No. It wasn’t all bad.” Looking back, it really wasn’t, there had been some moments when things were settled, but then either his own overblown sense of importance and insecure need to force Giles out of the picture would surface and he’d destroyed whatever inroads he’d made. “But it really wasn’t very good.”

“Oh, vague it up a bit more Wes.” She stuck her tongue out at him, completely catching him off guard. “Still with the cryptic talk.”

He froze, realizing she was flirting with him, all at once unsure what to do. She was attractive, but good heavens, she was only fifteen years old. Without any idea how to behave, Wesley was at a loss. Falling back on his strengths, he launched into an excruciatingly detailed account of what it had really been like, at least from his view.

Dawn listened, letting his voice wash over her, his presence giving her a bit of security.


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


Oz was hovering by the meat section, trying to decide what they needed more of, steak or bacon, while Tara was getting other stuff. Wesley was outside with Dawn, both of them nearly out on their feet. Once more he’d just handed them both a handful of bills, weariness etched on his features.

He knew what he wanted to get and that would probably be okay with Spike and at least one of the girls but he wasn’t sure his wishes counted in this instance.

Contemplating his options, Oz smiled a little when Tara’s voice sounded in his ear. “Get both. We have a lot of people to feed.”

“Hey.” Glancing at her, Oz shrugged a little, “not sure everyone eats it,” he lifted the steaks, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m the only one that won’t. But,” she whispered, leaning closer to her, “if this is around, I’m not responsible for what happens.” As she spoke she grabbed the bacon from his hand.

He smiled again, moving away to grab another package when an oh-so-familiar voice spoke.

“Tara?”

Turning around, Oz saw a stricken wounded look cross her features then she steeled herself to face the form of her ex-girlfriend. He froze, aware that Willow hadn’t seen him yet.

 

Book Two, Chapter Twelve. A man trustworthy

What is done out of love always takes place beyond good and evil.
Friedrich Nietzsche, Beyond Good and Evil, Aphorism 153

The chief lesson I have learned in a long life
is that the only way to make a man trustworthy is to trust him;
and the surest way to make him untrustworthy is to distrust him and show your distrust.
Henry L. Stimson

I count him braver who overcomes his desires
than him who overcomes his enemies.
Artistotle, In Stobaeus, Florilegium



He finally closed the book, his head swimming from the stuffy atmosphere of the library and the crabbed handwriting of some of the journals. Giles took off his glasses with one hand, resting his head in the other. He was the only one in the library on this late Sunday night, the rooms silent and hushed. Thankfully the particular information he was searching for was readily available. The myth of vampires having the ability to impregnate women was more than just that. While it had been nearly three hundred years since the last reported case, there had been more than one.

Each case was fairly well documented and in each case it appeared that Angel’s theory was borne out. Giles grimaced at his own internal pun. In the six cases he’d uncovered, the women had all been dead and then mystically resurrected. His mind raced through the possibilities – Darla, and well, now Buffy. Not that she was pregnant – yet.

Interestingly enough, so far all the cases had something else in common – every vampire involved was an Aurelian. However it was entirely possible that the only reason the diaries mentioned Aurelian vampires was because of their status. Very few Aurelians sired minions indiscriminately, thereby preserving the bloodlines, additionally the Aurelius line produced an inordinate number of master vampires.

It had come as no great surprise that there was considerable mention in the Council’s libraries of Aurelian vampires, as a whole they were indeed, a “master race”.

What also hadn’t really come as much of a surprise was the rise of the William the Bloody. Giles had suspected much of the information, his findings merely confirming his suppositions.

Sired by either Drusilla or Angelus around 1880 (and he knew for a fact it was Drusilla); rose to master status in less than ten years – defeated his first Slayer in 1900 – the diaries mentioned other battles with Slayers – spanning nearly a century and the globe – Spike had set out to prove himself. By attaining his status as master, Spike had also elevated Drusilla to the same.

What struck Giles was the difference between the two vampires he knew well. While most Aurelians did not sire minions, Angelus had done so freely, twice in the last one hundred years, the first time immediately following Spike’s turning and then again recently, when the soul had been removed. Another marked difference was – Spike preferred outright battling – open warfare while again Angelus chose to stalk and frighten his prey – much as he had done with Drusilla.

There was a certain amount of chilling honesty in William the Bloody’s behavior. No subterfuge, no hidden agenda, just open face to face confrontations. His willingness to face his opponents said much for his character. If he said he was going to do something he did. His loyalty was unquestionable and there was a rather gallant air about him. Oddly enough, there were little records of him torturing his victims while in Angelus’ case there were copious references to his brutality.

Giles sighed, feeling the strain of hours of research spent in an uncomfortable chair. Whatever had driven Angel away from Sunnydale, and Giles was beginning to suspect that while Angel claimed it was because of the futility of his relationship with Buffy, that was merely an excuse and not clearly the real reason. He suspected they might never know the real truth.

If he were being honest with himself, Giles would be happy if Angel were to take up residence somewhere else. Some place further away . . . like the inactive hellmouth in New York or London . . . or Singapore. . . or another dimension.

Once more going over his mental to-do-list, Giles added another item as an addendum; Find a neurosurgeon capable of performing surgery on a vampire.

There’d been no discussion of this with Buffy or Spike, but after speaking with her earlier, Giles had to at least be prepared for the possibility that she would be open to having the chip removed.

The chip was a liability.

Spike knew it. Giles knew it. And he was beginning to wonder if Buffy might know it as well. If they were going to be a truly effective team, neither Buffy nor Spike could afford such an obvious weakness. The chip was far too exploitable, leaving Spike far too vulnerable to attack.

And if the possibility of parenthood were thrown into the equation, with a further possibility of more human assailants – then, well, Giles was certain that the chip would need to be either removed or neutralized. He had no doubts at all that either the Council or Wolfram & Hart would be tempted to get their hands on any child produced by the two.

Any child of a slayer was destined for scrutiny by the Council; should that child be also half vampire, Giles had no idea what the Council’s reaction would be. Wolfram & Hart would be just as . . . curious. Which was, he thought, a rather mild word for the amount of interest such a child would garner.

Getting up from his chair, Giles headed for the listings of known demon surgeons.


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


Anya was just locking the door and setting the alarm before slipping out the back door, heading directly to the apartment she shared with Xander, when she realized just how late it was.

The only illumination was from the street lights on Main Street and there were only a few people out walking. Most of them were going to or coming from the Espresso Pump so she wasn’t really paying attention to faces or forms.

She had every confidence that the warding and the disinvite that Tara and Wesley had done earlier would be more than adequate. She’d also sent a quick plea out to D’Hoffryn, although protection was not strictly his expertise, she knew he’d watch out for her. Which kind of explained why she didn’t flinch when a dark hulking shadow came up from behind her.

However, when a heavy hand clamped down on her shoulder, her shrieked surprise had her boyfriend covering his ears.

“Gee Ahn, did you have to try and wake the dead?” Xander winced at the pitch of her voice.

“Xander! Why did you do that? I’m here all alone and you . . . “ she swatted him on one shoulder. “Not good Xander! You made me shriek and I hurt my ears.”

“You hurt your ears?” Xander looked at her in disbelief. “Ahn. . . I called you twice before I came closer, didn’t you hear me?”

“No. I was thinking.” Realizing Xander didn’t know what was going on, she said, “Wesley was here earlier. Something happened in Los Angeles and Angel’s lost his soul.”

Xander wasn’t sure he’d heard her correctly. He wasn’t quite sure what to say. He’d always had this sneaky suspicion that someday Angel would slip and the soul would disappear. Staring at her for a few moments, Xander just tried to process the information. “Why was Wesley here?”

“He brought word from Los Angeles.” They hadn’t said anything to Anya about why Wesley had come and not just called, nor did she know how Angel had lost the soul.

“So who was the unlucky girl? Do we have to worry about an Angel groupie too?” Xander grabbed her hand, pulling her after him toward the back door. “What did Buffy say?”

“I don’t know Xander. Buffy wasn’t here. She was home with Spike.” Completely missing the disgust on Xander’s face, she went on, “Tara and Wesley put up stronger wards and they also did a disinvite. Angel’s never been to our apartment so we don’t have to worry about that. Oh, and Giles called, he thinks he’ll be home before the end of the week, but he doesn’t want me in the store alone after dark.”

Xander was more than half listening this time, but his mind was still focusing on Angelus. “Ahn? Did Wesley say why Angel lost his soul?”

“No Xander. I don’t believe he did.” Anya huffed at him, clearly peeved that once again he wasn’t paying attention to her. “Sometimes I don’t know why I talk to you.”

“Me either.” His words were a half attempted response to her, but an extremely unthinking and hurtful one.

Small tears sprang to Anya’s eyes while she bit her tongue. Staying uncharacteristically silent, Anya kept her thoughts and wounded heart to herself. She really was beginning to question her relationship with Xander.

She silently fumed the whole way home, not even questioning Xander when he changed his mind and turned the car towards Revello Drive.


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


“Tara?” Willow’s voice wavered, emotions leaking through, pain and loss coming through in bell-like clarity. Oz winced, knowing he was witnessing something he, above all people, probably shouldn’t be.

“Hello Willow.” For some strange reason, Tara wasn’t nervous or upset or drawn in by the sound of Willow’s voice. The butterflies were there, but they weren’t crippling her and she wasn’t . . . feeling at all . . . apprehensive.

“Hey. How . . . how are you?” Willow, on the other hand, Willow was very nervous, Tara could clearly see it. She was fidgeting, her hands fluttering at her sides and she was shifting her weight from one foot to another.

“Good. I’m good.” Knowing she expected it, Tara asked, “how about you?”

“Okay I guess.” Willow clearly didn’t know what to do next. A flash of pity surged through Tara, but she quickly squashed it. Despite outward . . . Tara finally looked at her ex-girlfriend.

Willow’s normal complexion was gone, that almost sun-kissed look gone, replaced by a paler version and was that? Yeah. . . Willow’s hair was darker, the red shot through with almost black highlights. Tara’s internal alarms went off and her back stiffened. Whatever internal changes the paleness and hair marked, they weren’t good changes. Taking an imperceptible step back, Tara said, “that’s good then.”

Opening up her senses, Tara tried to get a reading on Willow’s aura, but her own emotions were blocking her. Drawing in a deep breath, she tried centering herself and realized that Oz was close, unobtrusively watching them. A sudden flash of insight let Tara know should something happen, Oz would come to her aid – and not automatically side with his ex-girlfriend. Taking another deep breath, Tara focused inward, drawing power and strength from the universe in, and on her exhalation, reached out with all her senses, reading Willow.

What she discovered was not good.

Willow . . . Willow what have you done? All is not what you think. . . be careful what you wish for. . . oh gods, Willow. . . my gods. What have you done? Poor Buffy . . . poor Spike.

Tara’s horrified thoughts were halted when Willow’s tentative, wavering voice interrupted her. “Tara? Do you think maybe we could talk? You know just . . . talk? With coffee? Or something?”

Tara recoiled violently, the ugliness that was creeping into the other girl revolting her. Back stepping away, Tara started shaking her head in denial, unable to form words.

Oz perked up from his spot just out of Willow’s line of sight, his nose getting a scent of Tara’s that was . . . not so much fear, but . . . covering his own mild apprehension, Oz stepped out from behind the Hostess display, pretending he didn’t know what was going on.

“Thought I’d lost you,” taking the bacon from Tara’s hand he tossed it into the basket.

Willow’s shocked “Oz?” rang through the store.

Turning to look at her, he dead-panned, “hey Will. Didn’t see you.”

“Tara? Oz?” Confusion and pain and panic warred within her and each emotion was reflected on her face. “Oz?”

Ignoring her for a second, Oz touched Tara’s arm in a way that had Willow gaping further, but gave the blond a moment to recover. “We got everything?”

When she nodded then ducked her head to give him a silent thank you, only then did Oz shift his attention back to Willow.

“Hey. How’ve you been Will?”

She was gaping at them like a fish too long out of water. This was . . . . Willow couldn’t even wrap her mind around this. Oz and Tara? Oz. And. Tara. Were talking like they were all . . . . domestic.

“We need to get milk and eggs. Oh, and tortilla chips and salad stuff,” Tara said while smiling at Oz.

“Um. Yeah. Tara? I?” Willow couldn’t complete a thought, much less a sentence. “How?”

Smiling at each other and sharing a look that had Willow reeling off balance even further, Oz said, “ran into Buffy. She introduced us. Been hanging ever since.”

Deliberately keeping it vague, yet with enough innuendo to trigger further incoherency, Oz kept his expression neutral.

Willow couldn’t breathe. . . couldn’t. . . she felt like she’d stepped into an alternate dimension, but couldn’t remember how or when. This was so far beyond bizarre her brain couldn’t possibly process it.

Oz and Tara. Grocery shopping. Together. Maybe it was just . . . errands for Buffy. Yeah. That had to be it . . . and that line of reasoning was shattered by Tara’s next question.

“Do you remember if we have enough soap in the bathroom?”

What? Laundry soap and bath. . . and milk? Eggs? Willow couldn’t . . . this just wasn’t . . happening.

Having gotten enough time to compose herself, Tara faced the other girl. “Willow? I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to have. . . to get together right now. I’m just not ready.”

“Please? Just. . . please, baby? I miss you so much.” Tears of confusion sprang to Willow’s eyes. ‘Can we just, you know, talk for a bit?”

Relenting a little, Tara said, “maybe. I’ll let you know. . . just . . not now.”

Oz touched her arm again, cocking his head toward the registers and by unspoken agreement, the two spoke at the same time, ‘we gotta go, Willow.” “I’ll let you know. . . okay?”

And before she could respond or really even recover, the two loves of Willow’s life were gone, leaving her in tears, without either of them sparing her a backwards glance.

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


She was watching him carefully, noting the bruises that dotted his arms and chest, the black eyes he was currently sporting, waiting patiently while he thought. He was usually so animated, so alive that it was sometimes hard to watch him being this still, when his chest didn’t rise and fall with unneeded breath. Not tonight though, tonight she was grateful to have him in any shape. Breathing or not. Walking or not. Buffy almost didn’t care. As long as he wasn’t dusty, he would recover.

He was watching her just as carefully, from underneath partially closed eyes, noting the changes marking her. Her body had filled out, she was no longer so painfully thin, her hair curling over her shoulder almost down to her waist. The baby was sleeping against her shoulder, his tiny form snuggled against her, her strong arms cradling him gently. She was unusually quiet right now, though there were times in the past when he’d seen her this still, whatever she was thinking was no doubt serious.

A soft sound escaped from the baby, breaking their contemplation of each other. She’d asked him just moments ago one of the more serious questions of his life. Would he?
Would he go out and kill everything in sight? Opening his eyes, resting them on her slim form, Spike had to admit if he did go on a rampage the burden would fall to her. Buffy would be forced to not only slay him but she would be alone, probably for the rest of her short life. Did he miss the hunt? If he were being completely honest with himself the answer was, yes, at times he did. Was what he and Buffy did every night, patrolling and being a white hat, was that enough to replace the hunt? Yeah. Reluctantly admitting it, Spike quickly re-evaluated his life.

If they removed the chip, he’d have no restraints but himself.

If they kept the chip, more instances like the one from last night were likely to occur.

The chip kept him vulnerable, made them both vulnerable. At this point it was far more of a hindrance than a help – because looking at the woman standing in the doorway, Spike was so completely certain of his feelings for her that he didn’t ever want anything to alter the life he had now, except for it to get better. He wasn’t about to bollocks that up. Not for the taste of fresh blood. Besides, he had the best stuff in the world right here, why on earth would he go hunting for something that was of lesser quality? He knew, too, with sudden clarity that if he were to lie to her, there would be an indefinable change in their relationship. And they stood the chance of losing everything.

“No.” His voice was strong and steady and without any hesitation at all.

Spike waited a beat, wondering if she were going to say something to make him clarify his ‘no’ but she remained silent, her eyes fixed on his. “Why would I do that? ‘M not some fledge that can’t control himself. No need.”

Buffy left her position by the door, walking toward the bed, her hand unconsciously stroking down the baby’s back, her eyes still not leaving his.

There was a look in his eyes that she’d only seen once before – that look he’d had a very long time ago – and suddenly she remembered when it was.

She’d followed him out the front door, watching as the coat flared behind him. “Spike? You promise to keep Giles safe?”

The vampire had whirled around at the sound of his name, a nasty comment at the ready, but the look on her face had stopped him. Instead of spouting something glib or nasty, he’d closed the distance between them, his hand reaching out to cup her cheek.

A look entered his eyes, resolve, promise and strangely tenderness, combined into a look of such fierce. . . . Buffy couldn’t put a name to the emotions flickering in his eyes, but she knew on a gut level that she could trust that look, would always be able to trust that look.

It was that moment – standing on the porch, Angelus on the loose, that moment and that look that started it for Buffy – the trust she had in Spike.

Sitting down on the bed facing him, Buffy realized that look was back. It was the same look and she knew now what she hadn’t known then, what he might not even have known back then, that other indefinable emotion in his eyes? All those years ago – it was love.

He’d loved her then.

Very deliberately, she laid the baby down on the bed, tucked up against Spike’s side, then she raised her eyes to his.

Her voice was low, almost hushed when she spoke. “How long? When . . . how long have you loved me?”

Drawing in a deep breath he searched her wide hazel green eyes. By way of answer he moved his good hand from behind his head, reaching for her, tugging on the ends of her hair. “From the first . . . moment I saw you.” His voice was equally low, husky with promise. ‘Didn’t know it. . . But was there. . . “

She curled into his hand, kissing his palm. A smile cracked his face and she whispered his name. “When did you . . . suspect?”

“Probably that night, come to find you when Angelus was . . . when he had Rupert. So fierce you were . . . yeah. Then.” Watching her nuzzle his had, Spike asked, “why?”

“Because that was the night I started trusting you.”

“Ah.” Smiling a bit, Spike said, “big night that was.”

“Yup.”

They lapsed into silence, both of them lost in their thoughts. Buffy laid her head down on Spike’s chest, his arm curling around her from the side.

“Sweetheart? You’re serious about this?”

“As a heart attack.”

“Right then. How’re we gonna do this?” His arm tightened around her and Buffy leaned down to kiss his chest.

“Spike?” She hesitated, then rushed into what she wanted to say, “just promise me before you kill Xander you’ll wait.”

He chuckled a bit. “All right.”
 

Book Two, Chapter 13. Half a dozen reasonable hours..



Clouds now and again

give a soul some respite from

moon-gazing – behold.

Matsuo Basho, untitled haiku



Reason, the prized reality, the Law, is apprehended, now and then,

for a serene and profound moment, amidst the hubbub of cares and

Works which have no direct bearing on it;

Miss then lost, for months or years, and again found,

for an interval, to be lost again.

If we compute it in time, we may, in fifty years,

have half a dozen reasonable hours.

Ralph Waldo Emerson







They were still unloading the supplies from the van when Xander and Anya pulled up to the curb. Knowing they hadn’t told Anya the entire story – what had caused Angel to lose his soul or why Wesley had sought shelter in Sunnydale or why Spike and Buffy hadn’t been the ones to warn Anya – really, they hadn’t told her much of anything, they all braced for an epic outburst.



“Hey guys, what’s up?” Xander got out of the car and walked to where the van was in the driveway.



“Xander.” Wesley stuck his hand out while shifting bags with the other.



They shook and Xander reached out to help him. “Need a hand?”



“If you wouldn’t mind?” Gesturing toward the back of the van, Wesley continued, “there’s still more there. You don’t mind do you?”



“Nope. This is easy stuff.” Moving as he spoke, Xander didn’t hesitate to grab the bags, not realizing what was in them.



Anya had gone right into the house, trailing after the girls, for once lost in her own thoughts. She really wasn’t sure what was going on with her and Xander.



Dawn was emptying the grocery bags, putting everything away, while Tara sorted through the baby things, getting bottles and nipples boiling and gathering up the clothing so that it could all be washed before they got him dressed.



Oz was carrying the box containing the small crib up the stairs when Anya realized what the majority of the supplies were. “What’s all this stuff for?”



Both of the other girls froze sharing a look.



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



Neither one of them had moved in the long minutes after his promise not to kill Xander, content to just be together. Buffy was so grateful that he was here with her that she finally had nothing more to say. Everything that she could say had been said.



Spike was thinking much along the same lines; except he would be content to stay like this, here with her for the rest of their days. Which would be a very long time from today. He wasn’t going to . . . he was going to see to it that she lived a very long life and when she finally died of a very old ancient age, he was going to go with her. They’d face that together. And maybe, just maybe, he’d be granted a gift. . . . but he wasn’t going to bank on that . . . Spike just wanted here and now. After could take care of itself.



His morbid train of thoughts was halted when there was a knock on the door. “Company love.”



Grumbling slightly, Buffy got up and opened the door to find Oz standing there a huge flat box in his hands. “Whatcha got there?”



“Baby crib.” Trying to shrug, he ended up dropping one end, narrowly missing their feet. “Not sure where to put it.”



Sharing a look with Spike, Buffy motioned him in. “Best place is probably here.”



There wasn’t much room, but Buffy looked around, trying to find a good location for the crib. Spike pointed a finger at the corner by the window. “Put him there for now.”



While they were working, Oz said, “ran into Willow at the market.”



As the other two shared a look, he continued, “something’s not right. Got a whiff of something . . . “ he shrugged. “Tara might know more.”



“She saw you two together?” Buffy stared at Oz while Spike waited for his answer.



“Yeah. She got all flustered.” He reached for a slat, “think she jumped to a weird conclusion.”



Spike laughed, “gave Red somethin’ to think about?”



“Yeah.” Turning his attention back to the crib, Oz didn’t catch the looks passing between the couple.



Buffy was confused. “But you’re just friends, right?”



“Yeah.”



She stared at him for a few more minutes, but Oz didn’t say anything else.



Between the slayer and the werewolf by the time Xander and Wesley had finished unloading everything else from the van, they had the crib set up and ready for the baby.



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



it was long past midnight, but Rupert wasn’t ready to return to his hotel. There was still so much to be done and his time here in London, must, as a necessity, be short. Too much going on back home in Sunnydale for him to comfortably stay here.



Were we never going to get a break? Just once, Rupert thought, could we forego a weekly crisis? Seemed like it always happened like this. Whenever there was a lull, it never meant a cessation, it was merely the hellmouth taking a time out.



Maybe it was time to think about closing the hellmouth.



Rupert shook off that thought, realizing it was not now the time, because the research on that alone would take far more time than he currently had. Right then, gaffer, back to the matter at hand.



Vampire pregnancies – found; sidebar to demon-friendly neurosurgeons, found. Housing and/or living expenses for the Slayer - he’d presented that proposal to Travers more than two days ago, the day after his arrival. The senior staffers were discussing the matter, they’d have an answer for him by Tuesday. Which was good, because he’d just made up his mind to depart for home on Wednesday. With or without all the information he needed.



So far the Council archives had yielded little information about the monks. He was beginning to believe that omission wasn’t the result of ignorance or even a case of misplaced records. Truth was, the journals were missing and quite possibly deliberately so. The monks had already proven to him, through their own journals that they were more than adequate sorcerers and they had, up until very recently, controlled an inter-dimensional Key. Perhaps, in their spare time they’d figured out time travel.



A very real rational part of him was able to dismiss that notion almost outright. Problem was another equally rational part believed it was entirely possible. Which presented its own set of problems.



If, in fact, the monks could do so, then Giles had to wonder how much of their “history” was real and not constructed. He also had no way of verifying whether or not they were even humans that originated in the dimension they currently inhabited. Giles realized with a start that all of this was pure conjecture on his part and, at the moment, counter-productive with regard to his search. And it would be time wasted that he needed to focus elsewhere.



The monks were, at the moment, a lost cause. But quite possibly more information was contained in the monks journals.



Right. Wasn’t there something else? Giles fought the fatigue but was forced to concede to it when he found himself reading the same paragraph for a third time.



Pack it in for the night old man. Gathering up his books and replacing them on the shelves, Giles made his way out into the waning hours of the London night.





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





The baby was asleep and Spike was drifting off after another dose of morphine and some other than Buffy blood. They were both on the bed, the baby on his belly and Spike flat on his back. They are, she thought watching them settle in, adorable. Spike’s chest was rising and falling needlessly. She wondered if maybe he did this because he was still in pain and unable to hide it in sleep.



Brushing a kiss across his forehead, then doing it again for good measure, Buffy smiled. It was getting harder and harder to fight her feelings. And really, why should she be putting so much energy into fighting the feelings? Wasn’t like there was something to hide – and if she were being truthful about this, she was pretty much in love with him anyway, so why couldn’t she tell him that? Well, that wasn’t entirely true either. Because earlier, when they were talking – she had told him how she was feeling. She just hadn’t said those three words. Maybe she could just – build up to them. Practice saying them. Sort of like memorizing something for school. . . like MacBeth’s speech. . or a poem for English. Yeah. That’s what she’d do. Leaning over him one more time, Buffy brushed a third kiss on his forehead, whispering very softly “I love you Spike.”



Reluctantly heading for the door, Buffy never saw the slight smile cross Spike’s face, nor the hitch in his breathing as she left the bedroom.



On her way to the stairs, Buffy was hoping there was something ready to eat. She was tired and hungry and really not looking forward to all the questions and problems.



Stopping at the landing, Buffy very nearly went back up into the bedroom. That room was . . . sanctuary. Safe.



Numerous voices sounded from the kitchen and she could hear Dawn and Tara talking, Wesley’s voice and Xander. When did Xander get here? Is Anya with him? Hesitating once more, Buffy stood indecisively on the stairs, half turned back to the bedroom. She was poised to do just that when Xander’s voice caught her attention.



“Hey Buffster, how are ya?” Xander looked up at her from the bottom of the stairs.



Blowing out a breath, Buffy said hello, then headed down toward him.





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





Humans were ridiculously easy to kill. He’d forgotten that fact and the fact that they were, as a whole, pretty trusting, which just made things all the easier for him. It was full dark now and he’d already drained two. Nothing compared to the taste of human blood right from the source. Fresh blood zinging through his veins, Angel stalked through the streets of Los Angeles, heading straight for the Hyperion, for some insane reason. He really didn’t know why he was heading this way. There was probably nothing there for him.



Wesley wasn’t stupid, neither was Cordelia and it was more than likely they’d gone undergound and were now hiding. Even so, he needed a few things from there – clean clothes and . . . son of a bitch. Wesley had his car.



He need to get himself some wheels. Jumping from building to building was fun, but really, it wasn’t like this was London or Paris where in the older sections the buildings were closer together, no this was LA, where the buildings were artfully designed with space in between them and, really, he needed a set of wheels. Watching the street, Angelus started picking out the kind of car he wanted. Something flashy . . . something. . . and hey, this was Los Angeles . . flashy was de rigeur . . .



Spying a Viper stopped at a light, Angelus smiled. Yeah. A Viper would do. Sprinting toward it, Angel smiled again. It wasn’t pretty.



Killing was simple.



Killing was easy.



And he was really going to enjoy destroying everyone’s lives – stripping away everything dear to them first. Filling his mind with how and who and when, Angel pressed the accelerator of his newly acquired ride.





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





Figuring everyone was hungry and knowing it was going to be an early night, Tara hastily got pasta and sauce going after starting a load of baby laundry. Bottles and nipples were sterilizing away on the back burner and Dawn was chopping vegetables while Anya roved about. She and Dawn had asked Anya to wait until Wesley and Buffy were in the kitchen before they told her and Xander everything.



Once the supplies had all be unloaded, Wesley had headed right for the shower, since he was now working on three days in the same clothing and he really needed to be clean.



She heard Xander call up to Buffy, while Oz was coming in the back door. “Everything’s secure.”



Anya’s ears perked up and she knew something very serious was going on – perhaps even more serious than just Angelus being on the loose.



Xander preceded Buffy into the kitchen and it was fairly obvious that the Slayer wasn’t happy. Whether it was the situation or just the fact she would rather be hovering over Spike, Tara had no idea. But she kind of guessed that if it were her lover upstairs near death, she’d want to be close, damn all other responsibilities.



“He sleeping?” Tara looked up from making sauce to catch Buffy’s eye.



“Yeah. He’s exhausted.”



“Buffy?” Dawn stopped what she was doing to watch her sister. When the older Summers girl looked up, Dawn asked, “how is he?”



Her smile was genuine, but still very tired, “better. He says the headache is gone and he’s talking so his jaw is much better. Says the ribs are healed and that he’s all itchy.”



Shrugging a bit, she snagged some of the vegetables that were on the counter, “I’m so hungry.”



The other two girls shared a look when Xander snarked, “what happened to the bleached wonder?”



Again it was Tara that answered, but halfway into the story, Buffy started speaking. “He saved Dawnie from the Knights of Byzantium last night. He . . . “ she paused, trying to swallow her tears, “he took. . . he got badly beaten for Dawnie. Again.”



‘What? I thought the knights went buh-bye when the portal got closed and we beat Glory? How come they’re back?”



“Not sure Xander. Don’t really know why we thought Dawn’s danger stopped with Glory. Just because that skanky hellbitch is gone doesn’t mean someone else won’t try to open up another doorway using Dawn.” The fatigue was evident in Buffy’s voice.



Dawn’s hand was clenching and unclenching around the knife, a muscle in her cheek jumping. If anyone were to look closely at her, the resemblance to her real father was remarkable – but no one noticed.



Anya caught her hand, releasing the knife. “Let me Dawn.”



“This isn’t good, Buffy. What does Giles say about all this?” Xander leaned back against the refrigerator, his arms crossed.



Before anyone could answer Xander’s question, Anya’s voice filled the silence. “What about Angelus? Wesley didn’t tell me anything. And how did Giles know all about this?”



Wesley’s footsteps sounded on the stairs and the now familiar sounds of a wailing infant accompanied him. Fumbling apologetically, Wesley said, “Spike’s awake again.”



Anya gaped at the infant in Wesley’s arms while Xander said “whoa! What the hell is that?”



Throwing an exasperated look at Xander, Buffy reached for the baby, rescuing Wesley. “That is just what it looks like, Xander. It’s a baby.”



“Sounds like gas. Try rubbing his back.” Tara glanced over at Buffy, noting she’d already thought of that. Sniffing a bit, Buffy said, “he needs a change of clothes too.”



Grabbing the diapers and wipes, she headed for the living room.



“Who’s baby is that?” Anya’s voice was quiet yet strangely wavering.



Buffy’s voice wafted in from the other room, “your turn Wes.”



“Yes. Well. Its . . um.” Wes hesitated, clearly at a loss. “Connor is well, he’s the child of Darla and Angel.”



Buffy’s muted, “so he does have a name,” was completely over looked because of the clamoring in the kitchen.



“What!” Xander’s outburst rang through the house. “That’s not possible. Vampire’s can’t . . . . and wait! Darla was dusted years ago.”



“She was mystically resurrected by Wolfram & Hart, who represent many of, well, they are lawyers and” Wesley was trying to explain when Anya interrupted him.



“They represent demon clients and very unscrupulous humans. Wolfram & Hart are a force to be reckoned with and they have offices all over this world and quite a few in other dimensions as well.”



“Impressive people.” Oz had been quiet up until then.



“You have no idea. Their resources are endless. And their influence is immeasurable.” Wesley had gained his equilibrium continuing, “how they managed to resurrect Darla I’m not entirely certain, but the means appear to be quite different from Buffy’s case.”



“You’re sure of that?” Buffy came back into the kitchen, handed the baby off to Wesley, threw out the diaper and headed for the sink to wash her hands.



“Reasonably. I know they used something called the Urn of Osiris, but beyond that I’ve not been completely able to discern.”



Standing by the sink, the water still running, Buffy turned to look at Wesley. “You mean to tell me there’s more than one way to resurrect someone?”



His answer was stark and chilling. “Yes.”



Turning back to the water, Buffy muttered something under her breath that no one heard fully.



“That still doesn’t explain the baby.” Xander’s brain was reeling. This was all so. . . so far beyond what he’d come to expect as normal that he didn’t know what to say.



“Angel and Darla had relations. More than once.” Looking down at the baby in his arms, Wesley said, “Darla left Los Angeles for a while and when she returned she was heavily pregnant. Connor was born last night. Darla . . . I believe Darla was deeply affected by the baby’s soul. She didn’t want to, she didn’t want to forget that she loved him. She staked herself so that she wouldn’t harm him after his birth.”



Buffy hadn’t known this and found herself strangely moved by Darla’s decision.



“That must have been hard.” Tara’s soft tones broke the silence and at Wesley’s nod she took the baby from him. “So Darla sacrificed herself for the baby.”



“She did.”



“But how did Angel do that? I thought vampire’s couldn’t have babies.” Dawn’s tone was curious.



Wesley and Buffy shared a look, each uncertain but for different reasons, about sharing Angel’s theory. But Anya’s next words took the option of keeping silent from them.



“Because they can have babies. It takes a certain set of circumstances, mystical return from death and an intense relationship between the recently undead woman and a male vampire and then the stork comes.” Anya looked around at everyone, smiling brightly, “I knew this girl once who fell in love with a vampire. She was killed and he forced some witch to bring her back and the next thing you knew – she was pregnant.”



All eyes shifted from Connor to Buffy, who held up her hands. “No. . . um. . nope.”

Not that I don’t want to be. . .I’m just not. Yet. Maybe.



Dawn sighed a little but kept silent, because what she wanted to do was yell hooray because if that meant Buffy could get pregnant – that meant she might someday have real-honest-to-god siblings.



Xander on the other hand was freaking out. ‘This is not good. We don’t know what this kid will be like – he could be a bloodsucker, he could be an evil little demon. So not good.”



“We don’t know enough Xander, none of us can tell yet what these babies are going to be like.” No one but Tara caught Buffy’s slip of the tongue, but the witch didn’t point it out.



“Spike says it doesn’t matter where you come from, only what you do with the present and future that matter.” Dawn piped in with her comment.



“Right and he would say that because he doesn’t want anyone looking too closely at his past.”



“Really? Sounds like a positive outlook to me, makes sense actually.” Wesley was shaking his head in agreement.



“Spike’s not the only one who has to worry about a past. I was a vengeance demon for over a thousand years, Xander. There’s lots of stuff I did.”



“That’s different, Ahn. You have a soul now. You’re human.” Xander shrugged off her past.



With an apologetic smile at Anya, Tara said, “so its okay because she’s human now, but its not okay for Spike because he’s still a vampire?” She paused for a moment, waiting to see if Xander would try and defend himself “ Even with all the good things he’s been doing – none of that matters?”



“He doesn’t have a soul. He’s not going to keep this up. All he has is a chip that keeps him from killing everyone.”



“So Spike couldn’t go out and get minions to do all his dirty work? Couldn’t set up situations where all of us die?” Buffy was getting more and more angry with his attitude.



“Well, I guess he could do those things.” Xander didn’t want to concede the point.



“Right. So?” And Buffy’s further comment was forestalled by the sound of the doorbell.



It had them all confused until Buffy moved toward the door first. She wasn’t really prepared for the sight before her. Her face broke out in a smile and a giggle slipped past her lips. The “c’mon in” she half-laughed while trying to get out a “Dawn” was impossible.



Still laughing, she motioned the figure to follow her.



“Dawn?”



The teenager picked up her head and gasped out a surprised “Casey?”



She wasn’t sure it was him, because all she could see was a hand and a pair of legs. His voice sounded from behind the fistful of balloons. “Hey Dawn.”



“Casey?” Dawn got up from her chair and circled round the balloons.



What had Buffy laughing so hard was the assortment of balloons. They were mostly mylars – and there were ‘over-the-hills’, ‘get-well-soons’, ‘happy-birthdays’ and ‘congratulations it’s a girl’ and Buffy pointed at them, nudging Tara.



The two girls were smiling and Tara whispered, “why don’t you take a couple up to Spike. Dinner won’t be ready for a bit.”



Dawn must’ve had the same thought, because she took the balloons from Casey, explaining to him that Spike had gotten hurt and he was upstairs in bed. Handing off the balloons to her sister, Dawn steered Casey out into the backyard where there weren’t so many prying eyes.

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