Book Two. Chapter 14. True colors

Though I cannot be said to be a flattering honest man,
it must not be denied but I am a plain-dealing villain.
Much Ado About Nothing, act I, sc. iii

the pulse of the hero beats in unison with the pulse of
nature, and he steps to the measure of the universe;
then there is true courage and invincible strength.
Henry David Thoreau, A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers


He decided he was going to keep a running body count. This way he’d know it was a good day by the number of drained humans he left behind. Today was shaping up as a good one – well technically it was night.

Three dead in Los Angeles. Two dead on the highway. And who knew how many more after he got to Sunnydale.

This was fun. The kind of fun he hadn’t had in years. Not even the last time – well Drusilla had been . . . he closed his eyes for a moment, sending a call through the bond. She might recognize it. Hell, she might even come . . . and wouldn’t that be another kick. If she did – if Drusilla did come, he’d be assured of some very fine cocksucking. Not that Drusilla wasn’t a good lay, but her true talents were elsewhere. The best benefit of not having to breathe – hours upon hours of oral sex. And Drusilla was the best – well second best cocksucker he’d ever had the pleasure of being with.

So if Drusilla responded to his Sire’s call, good. Even if she didn’t that was also good. Either way – because once he’d taken care of everything in Sunnydale, he would have all the time in the world to find her.

Teach her not to disobey a Sire’s call. Discipline Daddy’s little girl.

His sneer turned into an outright smug leer.

Oh yeah.

He was looking forward to some discipline. Maybe he’d keep Buffy alive while he disciplined Spike – remind him of some things he’d apparently forgotten.

Flipping the radio stations, Angelus finally found one he liked, singing very badly and uncaring of that, he drove on toward Sunnydale.

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


Leaving everyone in the kitchen, Dawn dragged Casey out onto the back porch, without a word or sparing anyone else a glance.

Plopping down on the top step, Dawn tucked her long legs under and looked up at Casey. Sitting down next to her, he stole a glance from the corner of his eye. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” The tone of her voice made that statement the lie that it was.

“I was worried, you know. Called you earlier and no one answered” he shrugged a bit, playing with the frayed knee of his jeans.

“We had to go out for a bit. Had to get stuff.” Thinking quickly, she said, “Wesley’s place was destroyed in a fire last night and his, well, everything is gone.”

“That sucks.” Casey leaned back, resting his weight on his elbows. “How’s Spike?”

He’d thought it was a simple question, but instead of answering, Dawn just started quietly crying all over again. ‘Dawn? I’m sorry. What happened? Hey c’mon. He’s okay, right?”

Dawn couldn’t answer him. She was trying so hard not to cry that the tears just kept falling.

“Dawn? Is he gonna be okay?” Casey was really concerned now, so he leaned up and touched her back.

And she crumpled, resting her head against him, her hands fisted awkwardly against his stomach. “He’s my . . . like my father, you know, my big brother and he’s like . . . he’s . . . He’s the strongest person I’ve ever known and the stupidest and he could’ve gotten killed last night and he was trying to protect me and . . he’s a jerk, you know?” Taking a hiccupping breath, she went on, “he’s Spike, you know, he’d do anything to keep me safe and those wa. . wankers that hurt him should die and they should all just freaking die.”

Casey put his arm around her shoulder, just holding her, listening to her until she finally couldn’t talk any more.

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

He wasn’t really awake, more like drifting in a haze, especially since Wesley had come in and taken the sprog. At least he thought it was Oxford. Could’ve been his brother Gordon. . . no, Gordie died when he was eight, wasn’t him. . . Wasn’t Ripper. . . Spike knew his brain was fried. Morphine was great. . . . bloody great good stuff for pain. Itchy no more. Some stupid tune was running through his brain and he couldn’t remember the damn words. Where’s Buffy? Didn’t like letting her out of his sight, not since she’d come back. . . his girl wasn’t gonna get hurt again, not ever. Sunshine she was, light in his dark . . given m’everythin’. Love her. Can’t get that damn song outta m’head. Bloody tune.

Humming only slightly off key, Spike thought he was dreaming when he heard her voice calling his name. “Buffy . . . my Buffy” he chuckled, imagining she was kneeling on the bed, her hands smoothing the sheet and pulling up the . . . . hey. “Buffy? Not dreamin’ am I?”

She giggled a bit. His ramblings were actually cute and she wondered if she should tell him that he’d said all of that out loud, including the bit about his brother. “No Spike, you aren’t dreaming, but it’s a good thing for you all those thoughts were about me.”

“Love you kitten.” His words were drawled, each one drawn and husky, sending shivers down her spine. “F’r’ever. Always. ‘Til we’re ol’ and gray.”

Despite his almost drunken state, Buffy knew he hadn’t meant that to be cruel. “We aren’t gonna get old. You won’t age and I’ve got an early expiration date.”

“Nope. Not gonna let you go alone. You go, I go. Pair. Mates. F’rever.” He pulled her close, his arm lacking its usual strength. “Love you kitten. Gonna grow old. . . figger it out. Love you.”

She found herself listening more to the sound of his voice than his words, but somewhere in the back of her mind, Buffy heard them. And as crazy as it sounded, she believed him. He’d come up with some crazy, insane, hair-brained idea and somehow he’d make it work. Her head was against his chest, her face in the hollow of his throat, his arm clamped around her body. She kissed his skin and Spike felt the ripples warming hm.

That damn tune was back in his head and he couldn’t help humming it.

“Spike? Do you realize you are humming Patsy Cline?” He could feel Buffy’s smile against his skin and he didn’t care what caused it.

“‘S a good song.” He didn’t care, it was just the damn thing was in his head and he couldn’t shake it. “Heard her sing it once, jus’ b’fore she died. Nice voice.”

They lapsed into silence, the only sounds drifting up from downstairs and the muted voices from everyone in the house. Everything was hushed, the October breeze ruffling the curtains on the open windows and the moonlight just starting to spill in through the glass. Her arm curled up around his shoulder, the other one resting against his injured right arm, her hand worming its way underneath his shoulder almost of its own volition. Spike’s good hand began running up and down her back, his fingers sometimes getting caught in loose tangles of her hair.

There hadn’t been many moments like this in her life, where she was just content to sit still and be – there’d always been something else to cause a distraction, some other thing needin her immediate attention. Even with Riley, she hadn’t been able to really relax, to trust in what they had enough to just let go. Come to think of it, had she ever really trusted Riley? Not the same way she trusted Spike. Because despite all the good things, Riley had done some really, really bad and hurtful things to her – in fact, their whole relationship had started out with lies, on both their parts, but she wasn’t supposed to tell people about being the Slayer. The cheating on her didn’t help Riley’s cause either. Sleeping with Faith while they’d been body swapped – that was so not good that, even now, almost two years later, it still hurt. The vamp whores? No . . that was not good either. That was so far from good it was in another country. And the bit with him blaming her for going to the whores? She wasn’t quite sure how that worked, because in her mind, it had still been cheating. You don’t cheat on your partner, you either split or you work things out.

Spike was humming again. She wasn’t sure this time what the song was, because she didn’t recognize the melody at all, but apparently it was one he remembered. His chest was rising and falling again in time with her own breathing. She wondered if he knew he did that or if it was just his body’s unconscious way of adjusting to the closest person. She kind of liked the idea of him breathing in time with her, no matter who else was in the room, made them more . . . joined. Or something like that.

Somehow the universe was playing a huge joke on her because the truly evil vampire, the one without a soul, the self-professed Big Bad, was the only guy she’d ever been round who hadn’t lied to her. Not once. Not ever. Even Giles had lied to her. And Xander’s lies? She could write at least a chapter on Xander’s lies - starting with the little forgotten moment when he’d tried to rape her, and then lied about not remembering it.

The man lying in bed with her had not ever lied to her. He’d been threatening, angry, violent, but never ever had he lied to her about anything. Not his intentions, his plans or his feelings. He valued honesty, which was just even more ironic, because demons weren’t big on truthfulness. Most of them anyway.

His eyes were closed and he was just lying there, enjoying the peace and quiet. There was no one that mattered but the two of them and he didn’t care what else was about to happen. What was coming for . . . he felt it. . . that unconscious instinctive call, the one sent out through the blood line. Fuck. Angelus. He hadn’t forgotten, but in light of his own situation, he’d pushed the issue of Angelus aside. Bloody bastard comin’ here. He didn’t want to do this, didn’t want to disturb the peace. . . “kitten? He’s headin’ this way. Comin’ for us.”

A heavy breath blew across his neck, warming him yet chilling him at the same time. ‘Sort of knew that. Figured he’d take out his people first.”

“No, sweetheart. He’s on his way now. Need to get Oxford and Glinda up here. Need to talk about this.” Spike drifted for a long moment, long enough for her to think he’d fallen asleep, so his voice startled her, “should get the bot out patrolin’. Maybe the whelp can go w’it.”

Buffy laid there for a few more minutes to see if he was going to say anything else and when he stayed silent, she asked very quietly, very strongly, “how much would you have to take to be up and around?”

He knew damn well what she meant and he didn’t want to get into this now. Not tonight. Not again. He should have known this wasn’t settled. “Too much. Don’ ask me again.”

Oh he was angry. She could feel it. His entire body had tensed up and she could see his jaw clenching and unclenching as he held his temper in check. Getting up from her spot, Buffy placed her hands on either side of his head, staring down at his face, noting the softness of his gaze as he looked up at her. “Spike. I . . don’t want anyone else with me for this. You and I can do this together, he’s not strong enough to take both of us. . . and he’s alone, right? No one’s with him. . . “

“Near as I can tell. He” and he hesitated a bit, reluctant to admit to her that he could feel this, “used the Sire bond callin’ to Dru, but he’s the oldest of the line. . . we all feel it.”

Another deep breath blew against him “Right then. So he’s alone.” Thinking a minute or two, she tried to remember everything about Angelus. “He won’t come for us right away – he’ll try to pick us off one by one right?”

“Yeah. No one goes out near dark alone. No one.” Thinking hard, Spike said, “rather you keep Niblet home, not let her out a’all.”

“Good idea.” Then in a rush, “how. . . if you drink again tonight and again all day tomorrow – how soon will you be up?”

“Will you not let this go?” God she was a stubborn bitch.

“No. I’m not going to until you give me a better answer.” She got that look in her eye he hated, that Slayer bitch on wheels look, the one that made him want to slug her.

Closing his eyes and praying for patience, Spike ground out, “three more good feedings, or so. Not much more than that, all right? Happy now?”

Her left hand cupped his cheek. “Look at me, Spike, please?” Her thumb brushed over his lips, tracing the lines, her eyes searching his face. “Spike. . . Slayer here, remember? I’ll be fine. I need you to be fine also.”

“Buffy. We have time to wait. He won’t come except to taunt us, at least not right away. We’ve got time for me to rest a bit.” Thinking a second, he said, “m’promise, kitten, he wants us scared enough to make mistakes. ‘M not making any.”

His good hand brushed away a tear and he pulled her down to his lips. “Love you. Now go get Oxford and Glinda.”


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

Anya had Connor now, his head resting on her shoulder, while Tara made the final preparations for dinner. Wesley was questioning Xander on what he remembered of Angelus last time, while Oz listened, sometimes adding his own comments.

Deciding not to wait for Buffy to come downstairs, Tara set out plates and transferred full bowls to the counter. Sticking her head out the door, she realized Dawn was crying and Casey was a bit overwhelmed.

“Dawnie?”

“Hey” the younger girl wiped her eyes and pulled herself away from Casey. “Sorry. Guess I’m tired and . . sorry Case.”

Smiling at her shyly, he said, “I’d be a really crappy boyfriend if I complained. Don’t worry about it.”

Dawn ducked her head, a blush spreading across her face.

Tara found herself smiling at the two of them. “Dinner’s ready, you’re welcome to stay, Casey.”

“Thanks. That’s cool.”

Giving them a few minutes, she slipped back inside, to find everyone eating, including Buffy, who was trying to talk and eat at the same time. “No one goes out alone, unless its broad daylight. If its close, we travel in pairs. We need to come up with some kind of survival . . self-defense thing so that if he does get one of us, we can get away.”

“You mean like crosses and holy water?”

“Yes Anya, that’s exactly what I mean.”

“Emergency kits. And we all have cellphones, right?” Buffy was gesturing with her fork, trying to eat as fast as possible.

“I want one of these. This is wonderful.” Anya looked at Xander. “Can we have one please?”

“One what?” Xander was suddenly very afraid of what she was going to ask for.

“A baby. I want babies Xander. Can we have one now?”

A very pained look crossed his features, something akin to a grimace and embarrassment. “Can we not talk about this?” He threw a quick look around the room, but no one was actually willing to meet his eyes.

“Why? Why can’t we talk about this?” Anya was at a loss. What was wrong about talking about having babies?

“The timing isn’t right, Ahn. Maybe we could talk about this later, after we get home, okay?” He was desperately trying to change the subject, anything to get away from this topic.

“Fine Xander Harris, you always want to talk about things later. What about when I want to talk about things? Does it matter to you that I want to talk about this now? Or that I want to talk about this in front of Buffy?” Anya bristled when he tried shushing her, moving away from his gesturing hands.

Xander took hold of her arm and Anya pulled away from him, misjudging the strength of his grip and she teetered off-balance, trying not to lose the baby or fall at the same time, and she was in real danger of falling hard when Wesley reached out a hand, bracing her against him.

“Xander!? What are you doing?” Everyone stared at him, while Anya got her bearings back, trying to comfort the scared and crying baby. “What is wrong with you? Can’t you see I had the baby?”

Anya moved away from Wesley, thanked him for helping her, then purposely turned her back on Xander and went into the living room to sit down. Her legs were shaking badly and she couldn’t get a deep breath. What just happened had scared her, badly. She needed to do some thinking.

The other four adults shared a look over Xander’s bowed head, none of them willing to comment too closely on what had just happened.

“I didn’t mean to grab at her.” His low voiced comment elicited no response, because not a one of them could really believe what they’d just witnessed. It had looked, from almost every view, like Xander was going to shake Anya, whether she had the baby in her arms or not. And that was not good.

There was a long painful silence in the kitchen, when finally Buffy said, “Tara? Wes? Spike wants to talk to you both. When you’re done eating maybe you should come upstairs.”

Dumping what was left on her plate into the garbage, Buffy left the kitchen to go back up to her bedroom, more than Angelus on her mind now.

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


She never shuts up. Always talking about things at the worse possible times. Why does she always have to bring up our relationship when everyone’s around? Xander stared at his hands as they flexed against the counter. Sometimes he wished she’d just keep her mouth shut. What the hell did she want to have a baby for? He was only twenty-one, he wasn’t ready for any of this – a girlfriend, yeah – full time sex, yeah – fiancee, he wasn’t so sure, but, well, he’d already asked her, but that didn’t mean they had to get married right away – they could have a long engagement, really long. But babies? Nahuh.

And why the hell was she cuddling that demon brat anyway? Kid shouldn’t even ben possible, and now Buffy could – the same thing could happen to her. How disgusting was that? And why would she want to? Xander figured that was probably the worst thing she could do.

Buffy wasn’t like that. All this Spike stuff, he couldn’t – refused to think of it as love – had to be the result of some side effect of the spell Willow had done to bring her back. Couldn’t be because she actually liked him or anything. So when the after effects wear off, she’ll toss Spike out on his ass and the worthless blood-sucking bastard will leave. And that’s good.

Firmly convinced once more that all this was going to end soon, Xander apologized to the other two adults. None of them, not even Xander himself, was really sure what he was apologizing for.


Okay, lemme know what you think about this one, becuase it nearly got completely scrapped.
 

Book Two, chapter 15. A hard day’s night.


O that a man might know
the end of this day’s business ere it comes!
Julius Caesar, act v, sc. i

This day I breathed first – time is come round,
and where I did begin, there shall I end.
My life is run his compass
Julius Caesar, act v, sc. iii



Spike was sitting up in bed, his injured right arm propped up on a pillow, Buffy on the bed next to him, their heads close together, voices low and muted. She’d left the door open partially, but Wesley knocked anyway, pushing it open further when Buffy responded, then stepped aside to allow Tara entry.

“Oxford.” Spike looked up at his fellow Englishman, noting the bloodshot eyes and fatigue. “Glinda. Where’s the wolf?”

“Went home to get some sleep” was Tara’s soft spoken answer.

“How are you feeling?” Wesley took catalog of the visible injuries. This did not bode well. But it was encouraging that he was up and talking.

“Been better.” Tara came round to the far side of the bed, looking closely at his swollen face. Smiling at Buffy, she glanced at Spike, asking, “may I?”

Cocking his head to the side, the vampire looked at the witch, “gonna work some good mojo?”

Shaking her head yes, Tara motioned for him to lean forward into her hands. Muttering a soft incantation, Tara’s hands warmed considerably, the heat passing into Spike’s skin. The bruises around his eyes faded to yellow and those on his chest lightened considerably. Taking a step back, she smiled again. “I’ll do it again in the morning.”

Spike smiled in response, gratitude evident despite the pain.

Motioning her to the chair, Wesley leaned against the crib, remarking, “you sure this is the best place for the baby? You need your rest.”

“Should be up an’ around this time tomorrow. Won’t be completely healed, but I’ll be on m’feet.” The blond pair on the bed studiously avoided looking at each other and both were surprised by Wesley’s next words. “So I can assume Buffy’s blood is helping greatly then?”

Two pairs of glittering eyes stared at him, but Wesley was already gesturing at them, “relax. I meant no censure. It was merely a statement of facts. You had to have some thing more potent than regular human blood. Given your relationship, to find otherwise would have been more of a surprise.”

Spike’s low growl sounded in the room, prompting Wesley to once more apologize. “I’m very sorry. Watcher training is sometimes hard to overcome.”

Laying a hand on Spike’s arm, Buffy said, “its still kind of private for us. Not everyone would be so practical or so non-judgy.”

And that was a nice way of saying that most of her friends wouldn’t approve if they knew.

“Right then. I’m sure this isn’t why you wanted us up here. My guess is Angelus?”

“Yeah. Last time he got all stalker-guy. Got into my room. Left creepy hand-drawn pictures of me sleeping and lots of other stuff – dead flowers – he killed Willow’s fish . . . “ Buffy ran through the list of his actions in her head, ‘things kept getting scarier and scarier and he tried to kidnap Mom. But then he killed Jenny and well, this part wasn’t real but we all remember it that way – he took Dawn, but Spike brought her back, before he could get to her.”

“He was busy tendin’ to Rupert. Was savin’ the bit for after.” Spike waited for a minute,
“point is, he’s not comin’ the way I would – he’s gonna try an’ pick us off one at a time.”

Wesley interrupted, “any idea which of us might be first on his list?”

Reaching over to clasp Buffy’s hand, Spike thought for a moment. “No way of knowin’. What’s more important, he need to decide about restorin’ the soul.” He knew he didn’t care one way or the other, save that dusting Angelus left him as the head of the Aurelius line, Spike knew it mattered to Buffy and possibly Angel’s crew.

Picking at some imaginary lint on her jeans, Tara added, “I don’t have the spell, Willow does. I could ask her but I’m not sure she’d give it to me. We might have to find it ourselves.”

“Its too early to call Giles, to see if he can get anything out of the library that might be helpful.” Wesley double checked his watch, mentally calculating the time difference. “But he’ll be up in a couple of hours, I’ll call him before I retire for the night.”

“What about minions?” Buffy asked but Spike was shaking his head.

“Doubt it. He did it last time an’ all he got was trouble from them. He’s too long away from runnin’ a nest for it. It’d be easier to do what he’s already done.”

“What’s that?” Wesley had his hands stuffed into his jeans pockets, trying hard to keep his eyes open. He was suddenly exhausted.

Spike sighed, reluctance a clear emotion. “Used the Sire’s bond, an’ seein’ how he’s the head of the blood line, we all felt it.”

That woke him up. “So you’re telling us that Sunnydale is about to be over-run with Aurelian vampires? And you aren’t fit to fight?”

“Easy Oxford. Nearest Aurelian is me, an’ I’m not answerin’ any call Peaches sends out. Now or ever. ‘Side from me, Dru was in Brazil, Penn’s dead and there’s a few others, but it’ll take time before anyone gets here. Don’t imagine that we’re gonna have to worry ‘bout the others before, well, at least a week.”

Tara gripped the chair arms. “So we have a little than a week before Angel starts – what about the Huntsman?”

Blowing out a breath, Buffy said, “with any kind of luck, he’ll get what he’s here for and leave.”

Wesley shared a look with Spike. “That’s one of the things Rupert’s gong to London for, to find information about the Huntsman. Hopefully his research will support my theory.”

“What’s that?”

“That the Huntsman won’t leave until the traitor is judged.”

“The traitor?” An unbidden image of Willow flashed in Buffy’s brain and unknowingly it also surfaced in other’s heads.

“Once the traitor begins to . . the process of betrayal, the Huntsman usually appears, and when the final act of betrayal is complete, traditionally that’s when the Huntsman strikes. The hounds retrieve the traitor, and they go before Gwyn ap Nudd for judgment.

“So your theory is that the Huntsman is here to actually do some good? What about all those dead girls?” Buffy’s voice held a bit of disbelief, but it was clearly more of a procedure than real.

“That, I believe, was in response, in payment for releasing you from heaven.”


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

Cordelia was more than halfway to San Francisco when she abruptly changed her mind about her destination. Checking her rearview mirror, she made a quick u-turn and headed back toward Los Angeles. If she was going to hide out and be inconspicuous, she was going to do it in a warmer spot than northern California. San Diego was good. Tijuana might be better.

Either way, she was guaranteed more sunlight than San Francisco would provide and right now, sunlight was her new best friend. Glancing down at the gas gauge, Cordy figured she’d stop for the night at the next exit. There was no way anyone would find her there.


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

The kitchen was empty when they finally headed inside, dirty dishes piled in the sink and food warming on the stove. Dawn could hear the low murmur of voices in the living room, but she couldn’t tell who was in there.

Grabbing a plate, she motioned for Casey to get one, then started piling spaghetti on her plate. She was really hungry and the events of the last twenty-four hours and the emotional roller-coaster were beginning to tell on her. She was tired. Really tired.

They had just sat down at the counter when Anya strode into the kitchen. The baby was mewling loudly, his I’m-hungry-feed-me-now cry piercing the silence. “I don’t know what to do for him. He just started crying.”

Before Dawn could answer, footsteps pounded on the stairs and Buffy’s rapid words were countered by Tara’s slower drawl. “So that worked well didn’t it? Way better than one of those baby intercom thingies.”

‘Well, I forgot I had it in place. But yeah,” and Tara’s proud smile lit up the room, “its pretty cool. It was only on an emergency basis though. Should wear off sometime tomorrow.”

“Hey. How’s the hungry boy?” Tara smiled at Anya, motioning for the baby, which the ex-demon reluctantly relinquished, despite his wails of hunger.

Anya watched Buffy and Tara, one holding the baby and the other getting his bottle ready and uncaring of the two teens in the room, burst into tears. Grabbing the sponge, Anya did what she always did when she was upset, she cleaned.

Unsure of how to approach her, but knowing somehow that Anya needed to talk and figuring that she desperately needed a friend, Buffy motioned the two teens inside. “Anya?” The slayer stood at her side, while Tara stuck her pinky in the baby’s mouth trying to calm him a little while they waited for his bottle to heat.

“I just don’t understand, how come its not okay to talk about things when other people are around? How come? Is it wrong? Am I thinking incorrectly?” She wiped away a tear, leaving a streak of foamy bubbles across her face, “and why would that make him angry enough to do that?”

Neither of the other two had an answer, but at this moment Anya wasn’t really looking for one. “Babies are cute and warm and fuzzy and cuddly and holding them is wonderful and sometimes they smell so sweet and what is there not to like?”

Tara grabbed the bottle from the pot, testing it against her wrist, then stuck the nipple into Connor’s mouth, which gave her enough time to come up with “I think men don’t feel the way we do about babies – or at least some women do.”

“I’m not even sure I want to marry that man right now. He asked me you know.” She blew out a breath, disturbing an errant curl that was drooping across one eye. “He even got me a ring, but I just don’t know.”

Buffy finally found her voice. “Xander asked you to marry him?” She paused, thinking hard, “when? How come you didn’t say anything?”

Anya huffed again, blowing out another breath hard enough to disturb the mound of soap suds in the sink. “He asked me the night we,” she paused, avoiding Buffy’s suddenly earnest gaze, ‘the night we fought Glory.”

“Oh” Buffy’s face fell a bit, but she recovered quickly, “still, this is happy news, right?”

Anya’s voice dropped to a near whisper. “I don’t know anymore. I’m just not sure.”


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

The clarion of alarm echoed in their room, startling them all. Spike’s “what the bloody hell?” Was drowned out only by Buffy’s unintelligent yowl.

Tara waved a hand and the noise stopped. Sheepishly she apologized, “sorry. I did that last night for the baby. Its supposed to sound when he’s in a different room from me and crying. He’s probably hungry.”

Buffy got up from the bed, saying, “well let’s go get him,” and turning back to Spike, “you want more blood now?”

Thinking to himself for a minute, realizing the more he drank now, even regular stuff, the quicker he’d heal, Spike said, “yeah, please, kitten.”

“Back in a bit.”

The girls were out the door and halfway down the stairs, voices trailing behind them before either Brit realized it.

“I would have thought Buffy had no interest in children.” Wesley’s dry observation pulled Spike’s attention away from contemplating his blanket and his thoughts.

“Tha’s an infant. Bit different from children. Babies, all females go crazy over ‘em.” Spike’s assessment was nearly as dry as Wesley’s had been.

Wesley shifted, taking the chair Tara had just vacated. He was rather reluctant to broach this subject, but he’d come to think that he and Spike had something of a friendship and he felt compelled to discuss some things with him. But he really didn’t want to disturb his recovery.

Spike, for his part, was watching Wesley, waiting for him to spill whatever it was that had him looking so sour. He was about to prod him a bit when Wesley broke his silence.

“I owe you an apology Spike.”

A furrowed brow, oddly reminiscent of Spike’s vampiric guise met his words. “How so?”

“Bringing Angel’s son here. It was wrong of me, I shouldn’t have.”

His further comments were cut off when Spike interrupted him, “what’re you on about? Couldn’t rightly go elsewhere could you?”

He gaped at the blond for a second, then recovered, “bringing the child of Buffy’s former boyfriend isn’t exactly good form.”

A rather inelegant snort sounded in the air. “You git.” He softened the insult with a laugh. “Thinking wrongly on that one. ‘S not a problem. But thanks for the apology. ‘S not many that would.”

Before Wesley could get on that subject, Spike continued, “sides, where else were you thinkin’ of goin’? You know a whole lot of people with enough knowledge of Peaches to keep the sprog safe?”

Gazing at the other man and completely surprising himself in the process as well, Spike said, “did the right thing, Oxford. Can’t have Angelus killin’ his own flesh an’ blood. Killin’ demons is different, vamps are different – that sprog’s a bloody miracle. Shouldn’t die because his da is wrong in the head.”

Staring at him and trying to process what Spike had just said, Wesley was forced to a realization that both Buffy and Giles had already had to acknowledge. William the Bloody was far from the average vampire.

His mouth was open and the words flowing out in an uncharacteristic moment, long before he could take them back, “that’s not the chip is it? That’s. . . You don’t think Angel would come after the boy? “

“‘S not what I said.” He stretched his legs for a moment, testing the healing, “he’ll come after the boy. He’ll come after all of us. ‘M probably first or second on his list, tied up with the slayer. Jus’ dunno which of us he’s gonna come for first.”

Wesley steepled his fingers, thinking deeply. “You have ideas who else will be a target?”
“You. The sprog. Niblet. An’ then there’s the extras, ones he’s not lookin’ for specifically, but wouldn’t mind takin’ jus’ to worry the rest of us, make us scramble tryin’ to rescue whoever it was.”

‘Add Cordelia to that list. And probably Fred.” At Spike’s quizzical look, Wesley explained, “Winifred Burkle, we rescued her from Pylea when Cordelia got trapped there. She’s been with us ever since.”

“Didn’t know the cheerleader was that important to him.” Spike shifted on the bed, his muscles jumping and flexing from the healing and his arm was itching badly again. Obviously the morphine was wearing off. Might need more if he was going to try and sleep tonight. He was tired and nearly every inch of him hurt. Tara’s touch had helped some and he thought the swelling was down, but the dull ache in his head was back, his right arm was actually jumping, the muscles were anyway, his back ached and his chest was itchier than all hell and his legs kept cramping on him. This was a bitch, the side effect of rapid healing was the internal violence with which it occurred. There was no bloody way he was going to get through the next twelve hours without nearly all the morphine.

“Oxford, have Buffy bring up the morphine, would you?”

Wesley studied him for a moment, noting the drawn and exhausted look, the grey tinge to Spike’s normal pallor and the lines of fatigue bracketing around his mouth, realizing what he was seeing.

“Right. I’ll send her up and get everyone else settled as you said, this can wait a bit. Besides Angelus can’t get in here, so we are safe for the moment.”

Spike closed his eyes, clenching his teeth against the pain blossoming in his head after Wesley left the room.

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

He passed the State Highway patrol officer doing eighty-five just before the Sunnydale exit. For half a mile he ignored the lights and sirens, but he finally stopped at the off-ramp. Wasn’t like he cared much, but he really didn’t want a passing motorist calling in a complaint about a dead CHP officer on the side of the road. Because that would mean he’d have to ditch the Viper. And he really liked this car.

Angel waited until the cop leaned down to ask for his license and registration and then struck with cobra swiftness. His fangs were in the cop’s neck before he finished speaking and the taste of anger and authority was so delicious, he was drained and dumped in short order.

He rolled into Sunnydale just after nine, according to the Viper’s clock, time enough to establish his presence, let people know he was here.

Angel grinned, slowly driving through the streets of this sleepy little town. Sleepy. Hah. Pulling into the driveway of the old mansion on Crawfurd street, Angel grinned once more. He really did like this place. Liked its proximity to – well – the hellmouth, and the Slayer and. . . . well, everything.

Whistling tonelessly Angel sauntered to the doorway.

Oh yeah it was good to be home.

Grinning broadly, almost laughing in anticipation, Angel crossed over the threshold and howled with pleasure.
 

Book Two. Chapter 16. Coming in the air tonight.

I’ve seen your face before my friend
but I don’t know if you know who I am
well, I was there and I saw what you did
I saw it with my own two eyes
so you can wipe off that grin,
I know where you’ve been
its all been a pack of lies.
Phil Collins, In the Air Tonight




It hadn’t taken very long for everyone to settle down once those not living at Revello Drive departed. Dawn was the first one to go to bed, aside from Spike, who’d never left his, since she was practically asleep on her feet by the time Casey left with Xander and Anya. The conversation had been guarded around the teen, but he knew something was wrong, since Xander insisted on driving him home, even though his house was in the opposite direction from their apartment.

Dawn was followed rapidly by Tara, who first got bottles ready for middle of the night feedings and brought the baby upstairs, settling him in Buffy and Spike’s room. Wesley had tried staying up, guarding the house, but by eleven o’clock, he was sitting on the couch, fast asleep. The first time Buffy had to go downstairs to get a bottle for the baby, she’d tried waking him up, but when he didn’t budge, she just took a throw blanket and covered him.

Everyone was out cold when she woke the second time, the house still and silent. She could hear various snoring sounds coming from Dawn’s room on her way down the stairs and it brought a smile to her face. She didn’t blame Dawn for any of what had happened, because, really, none of it was her fault. She laid the blame squarely on the shoulders of all those nameless, faceless monks that had conspired in some way to bring all of this about. If not for them and Glory, she wouldn’t have had to jump. But she also wouldn’t have Dawn. It was kind of a tough call there. She wouldn’t trade her sister for anything and really if she had to do it all over again, she probably would have done it . . . . well, no, might not have done everything the same. Would’ve trusted Spike a little bit more. Might not have reacted so bitchily if she knew then . . . And so would have dumped Riley sooner.

Buffy giggled a little bit, the sound strangely muffled in the quiet house, listening to Wesley shift and mutter in his uncomfortable sleep. This was her favorite time of night, when everyone else was asleep and the night’s patrol was over. Glancing at the clock she realized it was close to three and it was about the time she and Spike had been getting back home after patrol lately. He’d roused a little bit when the baby woke up crying, though still groggy from the effects of an entire bag of morphine, and Buffy figured she’d warm him up some blood and make him drink while she fed the baby.

She was standing in the kitchen, watching the microwave heat up Spike’s blood and keeping an eye on the bottle on the stove, when the first tingles of awareness shot through her spine. Her back stiffened, the hackles on her neck rising, but she gave no outward indication that she was able to sense anything different. Buffy was certain he couldn’t get in the house, since the disinvite had been done earlier and she was also fairly certain that even if he somehow managed to get an invite, he couldn’t do any violence. It didn’t help her nerves though. She was the only one awake, and the only one strong enough to take him on.

The microwave pinged, drawing her attention, and in that moment, she had something of a plan forming in the back of her mind. She grabbed both the mug and bottle, wandering sleeping back into the living room. Checking the big picture window, Buffy didn’t see anything, but the feeling didn’t dissipate any. Mug and bottle got placed very carefully on the table next to Wesley’s sleeping form, as she leaned over close to his ear. “Wesley. Wake up. We have company.”

He didn’t stir the first time, but when she whispered in his ear the second time, Wesley slowly opened his eyes, whispered just as softly back, “he can’t get in the house.”

“I know that. I think he’s circling the house trying to figure out how many of us are here.”

“You aren’t thinking of going out there are you?’ When she didn’t answer, he grabbed her wrist, holding on as forcefully as he could. “Buffy, you can’t. Its not safe.”

“No, I know that Wes. I just want to see if I can figure out what he’s doing.” There was the creak of a floorboard from behind them, and they both whirled around, but it was just Tara, silently making her way toward them.

“He’s outside. Just got here,” was what she said by way of greeting. At Buffy’s questioning look, she explained, “sort of like what I did with the baby, only geared for him. Lets me know when he’s nearby. It just woke me up.”

“How come we didn’t hear anything?” Buffy had grabbed the taller girl’s hand, pulling her down to crouch beside them.

“For me only, remember?” Tara’s hair fell in front of her face and she brushed it aside. “So now what do we do?”

“Can you pinpoint where he is from the alarm?” She felt rather than saw Tara’s response of no. Buffy kept her eyes on the front window, while Tara focused on the back door. Motioning Wesley with her hand, Buffy got down on her knees, skittering to the front door. A low growl sounded from the second floor and all three of them scrambled for the stairs. Running full out now, Buffy crouched low before entering her bedroom, wary of what might greet her on arrival. She was not prepared for what she saw.

Standing on wavering feet, Spike was in game face, the baby cradled in his injured right arm, a cocked crossbow in his left. The bow was aimed at the window. She was aware of Wesley behind her. Tara was still racing up the steps. Cautiously she inched around the doorway, still crouched low to the ground. Careful to stay out of the line of fire, Buffy edged closer to Spike. Once inside the room, Buffy could see what had gotten Spike up and out of bed, not that she needed visual confirmation. Angel was standing outside their window with a wide leering grin on his features.

Her breathing sounded very loud in her own ears and she could clearly hear the sounds of the two breathing deeply behind her. Spike’s voice was just a rumble in the air, his “stay down,” unnecessary but it managed to calm her. Okay. First thing. . . Get the baby.

She was about to open her mouth to tell Spike she was coming to get the baby, when Tara’s softly hissed “Spike” got their attention.

Without waiting to worry about whether they were listening or not, Tara continued to whisper. “Just get the quilt off the bed Buffy and be ready to cover Spike.”

Only Spike questioned the instruction, Buffy already moving away from the wall toward their bed. “What are you plannin’?”

“When I say so, just drop down, okay?” He had no idea what the hell she was thinking, but it damn well better be good.

“Buffy?”

“Yeah. Got it.”

“Okay.” She paused, whispering something in Wesley’s ear and then, “go!”

Wesley walked boldly into the bedroom, drawing Angel’s attention away from Spike, and Tara stood behind Wesley, muttering an incantation, while Spike collapsed to his knees and Buffy swirled the quilt over him and the baby, a bright blinding light filling the bedroom.

Angel howled in anger, his hands coming up to shield his eyes and he stepped back away from the light, falling off the small piece of roof outside the window.

There was complete quiet in the room, then, “oh my god. Oh my god. Spike? Spike? Are you okay? Oh my god. Grab the baby.”

Tara dropped to her knees, speaking the words to end the incantation, then moving quickly to get Connor and Spike out from under the quilt. Wesley double checked the window, making sure it was locked and secured, then as he stepped away, he said to Buffy, “I’m going to make sure everything is secure in the rest of the house.”

Before either of the girls could respond, he was making his way methodically through the house, starting with Buffy’s bathroom.

Spike had passed out, still holding the squirming infant against his side. Tears were filling Buffy’s eyes and she passed the baby to Tara, trying to re-arrange Spike’s sprawled limbs until they were aligned straight enough for her to lift him back into the bed. The baby continued to cry and Buffy finally remembered what had woken her up. “I left his bottle downstairs and blood for Spike.”

“I’ll get them both. Is he okay?” Tara was on her feet, preparing to head downstairs when Buffy hauled Spike up in her arms.

“Oof. He’s heavy.” Drooping him on the mattress, Buffy grabbed hold of his good arm and pulled him toward the head of the bed. “Yeah, just too much for him I guess.”

Tara nodded heading out of the room. Encountering Wesley in the hallway, he accompanied her down to the first floor. By unspoken agreement, they retrieved the bottle and mug and headed right back up the stairs to Buffy and Spike’s room.


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

So that’s where they were. Wesley had acted quicker than he expected. How very smart of the ex-watcher – running to the Slayer for protection. And wasn’t that a nice surprise.

What he didn’t like at all was the witch. He hadn’t been prepared for that occurring, using a bright sunlight spell to temporarily incapacitate him.

The traitor.

His signature was all over the house, on the grounds surrounding it. His anger with Drusilla’s whelp had grown the second he neared the Slayer’s house, which had prompted his foray onto the roof. He was there in bed, in her bed, where the infant was . . . He’d watched while Spike had gingerly gotten up, nearly laughing in glee when Spike realized who was standing casually on the roof, staring at the window.

That look on his face had been worth the trip to Sunnydale and oh, how the not-so-mighty- have fallen. Angel had always known the bastard was weak, his reaction just now proving it. Little Spike was afraid for his humans. . . .

And he should be.

Oh yeah, he should be.



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


“Obviously we need better wards around the house or a better warning system.” Spike swam toward consciousness to the sounds of Wesley’s voice. “Do you think you can adapt that spell further to alert us if Angelus enters the property?”

His comments had to be directed at the witch, because he heard four heartbeats in the room and one he’d recognize if he was dust, “I can try. I’m not sure how much energy it would require and I’m really not sure about my ability to keep it going.” Tara’s voice was low and filled with self-doubt.

“Can we find an alternate power source, like maybe electricity or something?” Buffy’s voice sounded close to his ear and Spike realized his head was in her lap and it was her fingers that were brushing back and forth across his face. He couldn’t stop the groan from emerging from his mouth, nor could he fight the muscle tremors rippling through his legs. “Spike? Are you okay?”

“Payin’ for m’own stupidity” was his wry comment. “Fuckin’ hell that hurts.”

“What happened?” No point in denying he’d passed out from a combination of pain and excessive amounts of morphine, not when they’d all seen him hit the floor, which is the last thing he remembered.

“Tara did it.” Buffy’s voice held a note of pride that he’d never noticed before. The witch must have silently protested, because the next words out of Buffy’s mouth were, “Tara actually did it all tonight. She’s got this great alarm thing, like the baby thing, and, she’s got a ball of sunshine spell. How cool is that?”

Evidently Glinda must’ve done something else to protest, because Oxford added his penny’s worth of praise. “It really was quite remarkable. You’ll have to instruct me how to use it.”

“Good. So the wanker’s gone, right?” His question forestalled anymore comments on the witch’s talents and then he remembered, “didn’t drop the sprog did I?”

“No, Connor’s fine.”

He grimaced and Buffy immediately moved to try and make him more comfortable. “Tha’s his name? Connor? Suppose Peaches did that before his soul went walkabout?”

There was a short silence then Wesley said, “it was the last thing he said to me before he changed.”

Spike heaved a long drawn out sigh, sounding muchly put upon, then saying, “suppose we’ll have to call him that then. Still think spawn was the better choice.”

“Spike. That’s not nice.” Buffy tried, but Tara’s giggles were infectious and even Wesley managed a little laugh.

“How long was I out for?” Spike finally opened his eyes to find himself exactly where he thought he was, his head pillowed on Buffy’s lap as she rested her back against the headboard.

“Not long, only about ten minutes.” Wesley’s voice answered.

“Right then. Need a drink kitten.” He hated to admit it, but he felt worse than he had earlier.

There was a rustling of noises and Tara laid the baby down in his crib while Wesley got to his feet. “We should be all right for the rest of the night, good night all.”

And he was gone, followed quickly by Tara, who whispered a soft, “sleep sweet” and then she too was gone.

Lifting Spike’s head up so she could move to lay down next to him, Buffy stared into his eyes. “No more fighting about this. You have to take what you need.”

“Buffy, you keep insistin’ and I say no.” He steeled his features, trying hard to stick to his guns. He knew she was going to argue with him. He just wasn’t entirely sure how she was going to play this. He thought he was prepared for any argument she could come up with. He was wrong.

“Spike? What if that had been our baby – what if . . . “ his look of utter disbelief stopped her flow of words.

“Buffy, wha?” Pausing, he tried to gather his thoughts. “What are you sayin’?”

“I think its pretty obvious. I’m trying to talk some sense into you.” She moved closer to him, one arm around his waist, the other tucked under her head. “You can be so stubborn, you know that?”

He chuckled, intoning, “you wanna be the kettle or the pot?”

She pinched his ass in partial response. The spoken one was, “I’m being serious here, Spike. You know it’s a possibility. What would have happened then? And what it the attacker had been human? What then?” She paused once more, letting her words sink into his thick head. “Spike you can’t keep sipping. Two or three mouthfuls aren’t enough and you really aren’t going to drain me so stop worrying about it.”

His eyes watched her as she spoke, trying to gauge her conviction and sincerity. They weren’t going to agree on this subject. Maybe if he hadn’t know how badly she bled during her monthlies he might not be so stubborn about this and . . . he inhaled deeply. The smells coming off her were delicious. Anger. Fear. Arousal. Buffy. Mate. And still bleeding heavily.

“Sweetheart. Listen to me. I’m not putting both of us at risk.” He could feel the dissension rising within her, the argument coming back around to it again, but he cut her off before she could continue, “no. Listen. C’mon kitten.” Spike nudged her with his bad right hand, getting her to look up at him. “He’s looking to unnerve us. Knows you’ll cave before I do.”

“Cave?” Her whole demeanor changed, her back instantly stiffening with pride and some other emotion Spike wasn’t quite ready to identify. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He paused, suddenly unsure of what to say and how to say it, without one of two things happening. The first and the lesser of the two would be Buffy getting angry and taking it out on Angelus, the other being with him sleeping on the couch or worse, tossed out on his ass. Drawing in very unneeded air, Spike looked into her eyes and for a split second thought about not answering her question, but then she leaned in and brushed a delicate kiss on his chin. “He knows a part of you sweetheart, knows how strongly you protect those you love and he knows you can get rattled when your heart is involved.”

“He doesn’t know me anymore.” Buffy ran her hand up his injured arm, finally curling around his neck. “He doesn’t know me half as well as he thinks he does. No one’s known me quite as well as you. Even before you were chipped, you knew me.” Resting her head against his chin, Buffy got as close as his numerous injuries would allow. “So, since you know me so well, what will I do?”

He barked a little short laugh, his left hand worming its way down to cup her hip, then his lips brushing a kiss over her hair. “Probably what he least expects. He knows something’s up with me, tha’ I’m not full strength.

She thought for a minute, nestled in the circle of his arms, just breathing deeply. “You know . . . he knows now you’re hurt for some reason. He also knows about the chip.” He just listened, knowing instinctively that she was just thinking out loud. “So. . . we play it like that, that you’re injured and still have the chip. In the meantime, we heal you as quickly as possible and make arrangements to get rid of the chip.”

Spike didn’t say a word waiting patiently for her to finish. “How long do you think it’ll be before any of the Aurelius vamps come visting?”

“Not sure. Could be a week at the earliest, but tha’ depends on who’s closest. If its Dru, last I knew she was back down in Brazil. No one else is here in the States.”

“You sure about that?” Her tone was gentler than the question but he wouldn’t have taken offense anyway. It had been a long time he’d been away from his side of the killing fields, his information could be wrong.

“No way of knowin’. I know Dru’s not nearby. Can’t tell so much o’ the rest. Only Angelus is near.” He wasn’t going to lie to her, they’d know the truth soon enough.

“‘Kay.” Little kisses were laid on his bare chest, warming him all over. “So. How do you wanna get the chipectomy? Wanna use a demon-friendly surgeon or call the Initiative?”

Despite his earlier stupidity, he’d been feeling kind of okay until she brought that up. What a choice. A surgeon who could easily botch the job or the sanctimonious bastards that had rendered him useless. “Dunno. We got a time limit on this?”

“Don’t you want it out?” She was mystified by his unenthusiastic response.

“I do. Jus’ don’ wan’ to be a vegetable after.” Spike wanted the damn thing gone, did he want it badly enough to possibly face another of her exes? They’d already survived the biggest hurdle of all – and it wasn’t Angel – for some odd reason he still couldn’t fathom – it was Xander. If Buffy could face his daily disapproval, maybe seeing Cardboard wouldn’t be so bad. But – there was a bigger hurdle to his getting the hardware removed. That impediment was one fellow Englishman – one Rupert Giles – ex-watcher and current father figure.

Spike knew he had to mention it, knew it wasn’t just about them. This affected everyone in the house. “What about Rupes? Your watcher is liable to have somethin’ to say. And Dawn? What about her and the witch?”

“Let me worry about Giles.” She didn’t brush him off, but clearly she wasn’t worried about it. “Dawn and Tara will be okay with it.”

“Not so sure the Watcher is gonna be okay with this.” Spike was too tired to argue, which for him, had to be a first. “Where’s m’blood, woman?”

Placing a kiss on his cheek, Buffy got up and helped him to a semi-sitting position. Handing him the cooled mug of twice warmed blood, Buffy said, “I don’t think Giles is gonna be all that hard to convince.”
 

Book Two. Chapter 17. The ragged edges of truth

Truth titillates the imagination far less than fiction.
Marquis de Sade, L’Histoire de Juliette,
ou les Prosperities du Vice, pt. 3.

Truth, like light, is blinding.
Lies, on the other hand, are a beautiful dusk
which enhances the value of each object.
Albert Camus, The Fall, p. 126

The truth is a snare; you cannot have it, without being caught.
Soren Kierkegaard, The Last Years: Journals 1853-55

Truth uncompromisingly told will always have its ragged edges.
Herman Melville, Billy Budd, Sailor.



Even though they’d given her permission to skip school, Dawn was up early. The baby’s cries had woken her and she couldn’t really get back to sleep. She could hear everyone else moving around downstairs, and she knew Spike was still in bed, but there was no reason for her to be up. It took her a while to finally decide she was getting up and by that time Buffy was in the shower, both the baby and Spike were sleeping again.

After using the bathroom in her mother’s old room, Dawn snuck inside Buffy and Spike’s room. The baby was on his belly, a tiny little lump in the middle of the crib, his dark hair the only spot of color against the pale sheets and blanket. Spike, on the other hand, was sprawled out on the bed, left arm flung wide while the right one was still propped up on one of the pillows. He was sound asleep, his breathing very slow and steady, occasional rumbling noises emanating from his chest. Dawn stood in the little patch of sunlight just watching him, weird thoughts running through her head.

I wonder if that’s why I sleep that way when I’m really tired. . . . does he dream? He stirred, his injured arm jerking with a muscle spasm, then settled quickly. I really hope he’s not mad at me. I don’t want him to be. I can’t believe he got this hurt trying to protect me. Is he crazy? We could have just run away. . . . he didn’t have to stay. . . oh god. He could have been gone. Dust. Tears pooled in her big blue eyes and Dawn sniffled loudly in the quiet room.

There was no change in his muscles, no change in his breathing to indicate he wasn’t anything other than asleep, but Spike’s voice broke into her musings. “Mornin’ Platelet.”

“Ack.” Wiping the tears from her eyes, she sort of griped back at him, “geez Spike, you scared the hell out of me.”

“Nice to know I still can.” His groan of pain seemed to come from his toes and he stretched a bit, trying to ease the healing itch. He hated this part of the rapid healing. Felt like fire ants were crawling around inside his skin for days. Least this time he had morphine to help. When that bint Glory had taken her frustrations out on him, he’d had to keep himself inside a bottle of whatever he could find, but this time he had the good stuff. Right now he needed another shot of it. His skin felt like it was on fire.

“Are you feeling any better?” He’d almost forgotten she was still in the room.

“Eh. Sort of. All itchy.” He was about to ask her to go get him something to soothe it, when her voice caught his attention.

“Why did you do it?”

“Do wha’?” He struggled to lift his head up and she scooted to his side, lifting him and piling the pillows behind him so that he was no longer flat on his back.

“Stay and fight. Why?” She sat down on the bed, one leg folded underneath her, staring at his still battered features.

She had a look on her face that was so reminiscent of her sister he wanted to laugh. He would have too, if it wasn’t the look he hated. “Needed to make sure you were safe. Couldn’t let anything happen to you.”

“But why?” She looked away from him then, mumbling softly, “it might be better if I wasn’t here. No one would get hurt then.”

Without his enhanced hearing, he never would have heard her, but her words went straight to his heart. “Dawn. Look at me.”

The eyes that focused on his were swimming with tears and a very dark blue. “Don’t think like tha’. Your sis couldn’t take ‘nother thing goin’ wrong. Couldn’t forgive m’self if somethin’ were to happen to either of you.”

Her head shook in denial. “Why? I don’t do anything but make people hurt. Glory beat your ass and sucked Tara’s brain because of me. Buffy . . . . “ The tears that had been threatening finally slid down her cheeks and when he reached out his hand to wipe them away, Dawn flinched. “You shouldn’t. . . why did you do it again to protect me? I’m not. . . . I shouldn’t even be here. All I do is destroy everything around me.”

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. This couldn’t . . . “Niblet? Wha’ are you thinkin’? Wasn’t your fault at all what happened. Not then an’ not now.” This time when he reached for her she didn’t flinch, she just collapsed against his side, her head resting on his chest. “Not your fault, sweets. None o’this.”

Running his hand down her long brown hair, Spike wished for a moment that he could really put his arms around her, letting her cry on his shoulder like he did before Buffy came back. Hugging her tighter with his arm, Spike kept up his litany, trying to comfort her. She mumbled something else through her tears and he pushed her back a little, searching her face for signs of what she’d just said.

“Dawn? C’mon. Its not your fault.” Using his thumb to wipe her eyes, Spike tilted her face so that she couldn’t avoid looking back at him, “love you. Do you know that? Love you like no one else. You’re my Niblet.”

He’d thought that would have calmed her, thought she was settling down, but at his softly worded declaration, Dawn burst into fresh tears. She pulled away from him, getting off the bed, her hands balled into fists. “Don’t love me. It will just end up . . . just. . . how can you love me?”

“Because I do.” His voice was calm and deep with emotions he rarely showed anyone. She was so upset she was shaking and he started to get up out of the bed realizing abruptly he was still bare-assed naked under the sheets. “Dawn, c’mere. C’mon.”

Despite her shaking her head no, Dawn sat back down on the bed, this time perched on the edge. Spike reached for her hand, lacing their fingers together. “I love you Niblet. Not the same way I love your sis, but, I love you. Have to take care of the ones I love an’ tha’s you. Both of you.”

Her chin lifted in stubbornness, Dawn refused to look at him, almost growling out, “doesn’t mean you’re supposed to die for us.”

“Yeah, it does. If tha’s how I keep you safe, then tha’s wha’ it means.” He wasn’t going to fail either one of them ever again. If he had to dust to keep them safe, he would.

“No dammit! Don’t you dare die on me. I need you. Stupid vampire. I need you. . . . “ her voice trailed off, after the outburst, her free hand brushing away more tears. “You can’t die. I need you.”

“Niblet. You don’ need me. You’ll be fine without me if it comes to it. You did fine . . . this summer.” She stared at him, not really believing what he was saying.

“No. I didn’t . . . I wasn’t fine all summer. My mother was gone. . . my sist. . . god you are so stupid! Joyce was dead and she. . . and Buffy and. . . the only one of my family that was left was you! I wasn’t fine. I needed my mother!” Her voice had risen to an almost shriek, uncaring about the baby or anyone else overhearing. “Damn you Spike. I needed both my parents! My mother and my father! I needed my mommy and my daddy. And all I had was my father.”

The words had spilled from her in such a rush that she had no idea what she’d said, until she looked up into his face and saw that he’d heard her.


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


Hot water. Yeah for showers and hot water. Buffy was in an okay mood, well, a way better mood than yesterday. After Angel’s . . Angelus’ late night visit, they had stayed up a little bit longer and Buffy had finally convinced Spike to take more blood from her. They’d also reached a decision about the chip. They weren’t going to make inquiries, either about surgeons or the Initiative, until Giles came home and they had a chance to confer with hm. For some odd reason, Spike insisted on telling Dawn and he also wanted Tara to know before they got it removed. Buffy had an idea that it was because he cared for the both of them and valued their opinions.

She wasn’t stupid enough to think Xander was going to agree with it at all. But right now, not so sure I care what Xander thinks.

The bathroom door was open just enough in case the baby woke up or if Spike needed her and her train of thought was interrupted by a sound she hadn’t expected. Unable to hear clearly because of the running water, she quickly rinsed off, closing the taps.

Dawn’s voice came through the open doorway, but her words were muffled, her voice low, then she heard “doesn’t mean you have to die for us.”

Grabbing a towel, Buffy stepped closer to the door in time to partially hear Spike’s response, “if tha’s wha’ it takes to keep you safe, then tha’s wha’ it means.”

Resting her head against the door jamb, Buffy almost had to hold herself up. I’m an idiot, coz I know he loves me and god, I do love him back. Dawn was speaking again, well almost shouting, “stupid vampire!. You can’t die on me. I need you.”

You tell him Dawnie! I need him too. Stupid vampire is right. Can’t die on us. We need you too much. Buffy heard his idiotic reply and then Dawn was shrieking at him, only this time it was things Buffy hadn’t heard from her sister before now. Her own tears were sliding from behind closed eyelids as she listened to her sister. “I wasn’t fine all summer. My mother was gone. . . my sist, god you are so stupid! Joyce was dead and she. . . and Buffy and. . . the only one of my family that was left was you! I wasn’t fine. I needed my mother!”

Buffy had to stuff her fist in her mouth to stop her own sobs and she slid inside the open door, her eyes barely able to see the pair on the bed through her tears. “Damn you Spike!. I needed both my parents! My mother and my father. I needed” Dawn’s voice broke and she collapsed in a heap, “my mommy and my daddy. And all I had was my father.”

Buffy’s head snapped up in time to watch Dawn realize what had flown from her mouth.


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

The words had poured forth from her mouth in a torrent, heedless of the consequences, like water held back too long by a dam.

Dawn realized a split second too late what she’d just said. Tears stopped and every muscle froze. Spike was staring at her, almost studying her features. Afraid to move, afraid to stay, Dawn felt the air behind her change, and before she could get up and run, Buffy was there with one hand on Dawn’s shoulder and the other clutching her towel. Involuntarily Dawn dropped her head down, completely missing the look shared between the two adults.

Why can’t I ever learn to shut up?

No one said a word. The room was very silent, the only sounds the rapid breathing of the two youngest occupants.


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


He knew when she’d turned off the shower. When she stepped onto the rug. When she’d grabbed the towel. When she started listening to Dawn. When her own tears started to compliment her sister’s. When she’d come back into their bedroom.

But she wasn’t the focus of his attention. Dawn was. Her words, her pain and her heartbreak were his focus. And it narrowed even further at Dawn’s slip of the tongue. He’d nearly said something harsh about Hank Summers, then the gist of her words caught him. Dawn wasn’t talking about Hank – she was talking about him. And she obviously never meant to say it out loud, because her face was more shocked than his.

Searching her face, Spike took stock of her features. It had been a very long time since he’d seen himself in a mirror, but he knew his own face, knew when it looked back at him. Why the bleeding hell didn’t I see this before? Am I just as blind as the rest of those idiot scoobies? Dawn looked like his mother. Raising his eyes to the green depths of his heart, Spike also saw Buffy’s features within her sister. . . . no. They weren’t sisters. Not really. The sudden conviction of that notion wouldn’t be shaken.

Over Dawn’s head, Spike stared at Buffy, his eyes on hers. He smiled, then mouthed, “I love you” on her answering smile and whispered, “I know” he turned his attention to . . . their child.

Reaching out his hand, Spike traced a finger down her nose. “That’s mine.”

Dawn jerked her head up so fast she nearly ended up with Spike’s finger in her mouth. Her raised eyebrow and expression weren’t his, which he pointed out by remarking, “that’s all your. . . Buffy.”

“My Buffy?” Dawn finally found her voice.

He thought hard for a second, unsure what to say, just settling on, “not sure how you wan’ to word it, Pet.”

She was silent for long minutes, then finally on a deep indrawn breath, Dawn said, “you’re my parents. My real honest-to-god-parents.”

When neither one said anything to refute her, Dawn continued, “its in the journals Wes brought. I had to know.”

They shared another look over her head, while Spike said, “you took them from the watcher’s. Stole ‘em.”

Lying wouldn’t pay, not at this point. “Sort of. Wasn’t going to keep them. I put back the first set I took.”

“Its okay Dawnie. I guess I understand.” Buffy sat down in front of Dawn, next to Spike, “I think I would’ve done pretty much the same thing.”

Spike remained silent, knowing his actions probably would’ve been worse, but for once letting common sense rule his tongue. Buffy leaned against his shoulder, her hand reaching out to hold onto her, well, sister really doesn’t fit any more does it?

“So what did you find?” Buffy was curious now.

“They’ve been tracking Slayers for a really long time, and they’ve been trying to give them the key for almost as long, but, uh, something kept getting in their way.”

Somehow knowing this was going to end up as his fault even if it wasn’t, Spike asked, “an’ wha’ was that?”

“In the beginning it was because the Slayers weren’t strong enough, or they died just before the monks could come up with a form for the key. But then it was because of a Dark Warrior who was destined to help a Chosen One.” Dawn caught Buffy’s eye and they shared a smile. “A Vampire who kept battling and defeating the Chosen Ones.”

“Been readin’ far too many of the watcher’s books, there, sweet bit. Lay off with the forebodin’ language, will ya?” Spike had grimaced at her intonation, looking away from both the girls.

“I counted seven Slayers you fought – were there more? Oh!” She peeked at Buffy, but went on, “some Slayer you fought just before World War I? She died of her injuries later. So really, you already have a third.”

He growled at her then – a real honest to goodness growl. Dawn realized she’d overstepped a line but wasn’t really sure what it was. Was he more upset about killing the slayer slowly or something else?

“How long have these blokes been followin’ me?” He was aggravated, but he wasn’t really sure about why.

“Since the Boxer Rebellion.” She couldn’t look at either of them, wary now about their reactions to what she was telling them. The tension within Spike had grown considerably, especially since she’d mentioned him fighting slayers, and her sister. . . no, Buffy was just sitting there quietly taking all this in, not saying a word. Which had her more wigged than she wanted to be.

“Bloody fucking hell.” He was. . . he felt . . . he didn’t know what he was feeling. Didn’t mind so much about being Dawn being a part of him, but he really didn’t like the fact that the monks had been following his actions for years.

“Its all in the journals. Well, as much as they knew. I wasn’t sure it was you until they found you again in New York, all decked out in leather and bleached hair.” She tried for being as nonchalant as possible and somehow managed to achieve it.

“Niblet. . . “ his warning was clear.

“What? What am I . . . ?” His eyes shifted to the side, toward Buffy and Dawn finally realized what they’d been talking about. “Oh. Sorry Buff. . .. ” she stopped talking, then in a very small voice said, “Mom?”

But Buffy had only been half listening to their conversation, instead she’d just been watching the two of them, and hadn’t really heard what Dawn had just said. They really do look alike. It was really scary how alike they were. “Its okay, Dawnie. . . I know. Its okay.”

She and Spike had talked about his past some, in the dark hours when they were the only two beings awake in Sunnydale. He hadn’t been all true-confessions, but she knew him well enough to read between what he said and what he wouldn’t say. This information from an independent source wasn’t that big a deal. She wasn’t stupid, he couldn’t possibily have killed the only other two slayers he’d ever fought, he was good, but killing every slayer he’d fought would mean he was the vampire equivalent of a slayer. Although. . .

What had startled her was their resemblance. Without much of a warning, and completely off topic from their prior conversation, Buffy blurted out, “you look just like each other. You didn’t get anything from me.”

And if it wasn’t so serious, Spike would’ve teased her about the petulance of her tone. “She did, Love. Got plenty from you.”

Buffy was shaking her head in denial. Looking at the two of them with a new perspective, she had to admit it. “How did we miss this? Your noses, eyes, pretty much the structure of your faces, and Dawnie got your height.” Her pout was adorable but Spike was ignoring it for now, beginning to point out all their similarities.

“Her mouth is all you kitten. Attitude. Mannerisms. She may look like me, but her personality is all you.”

Opening her mouth to protest, Buffy was interrupted by Dawn, who snarked at both of them, “sitting right here, in the room. On the bed with you.”

“Sorry. Our bad.” Buffy glanced over at Spike who was watching Dawn with a strange look on his face.

“You look like m’mum.” He smiled then, a bit sadly, continuing, “she had hair like yours, only with more of a curl to it. Long and dark, always wore it up. Took it down only to brush. . . . it was down past her waist.” His voice trailed off and both girls held their breath, hoping he would continue, but he kept his silence.

Spike looked away, his eyes on a long dead vision, his mum with Gordie and Janet and. . . His da, before they were all gone and just the two of them were left. Buffy tilted her head at Dawn, silently asking her to move and when she did, Buffy shifted so she was facing Spike. Her left hand reached out to cup his chin gently drawing his gaze back to her. For long seconds he was still not seeing her and Buffy was afraid he was going to shrug her off, when suddenly he was looking at her. His brilliant blue eyes gazed into hers and Buffy’s eyes filled with tears at the expression on his face.

“Family. Spike, we’re a family.”

“Yeah.” He shook off the memories of his first family, smiling at her. “Yeah.”

His hand wiped away tears she didn’t remember shedding and Buffy nuzzled a kiss into his palm. Very slowly she inched closer to him, her words for his ears only. “Yours Spike. We’re yours. I’m yours.”

Resting his forehead against hers, his big hand still cupping her cheek, her hand now resting on his shoulder, Spike rumbled softly, “I love you Buffy Anne Summers. F’rever.”

Pulling her close, tucking her head under his chin so that her breath warmed the spot where his heart used to beat, Spike breathed deeply, raising his eyes to where Dawn stood watching them.

“C’mere you.” He rumbled at the teen, gesturing her forward with his left hand. Buffy moved her legs, creating a spot for Dawn, who just put her head down on Buffy’s hip. Spike smoothed out her hair, slipping the brown strands through his fingers. Dawn wiped the tears from her eyes, while Buffy curled her arms around Spike.

His voice was low and deep, curling like warm liquid chocolate through both of them, the words a promise and an oath “love both of you. My girls.”

They were quiet for a long time, none of them willing to break the silence, until there was a rustling of sorts and the baby started crying.

 

Next