Book Two. Chapter 26. A soundless calm descends


Lightning makes shadows in the storm.
Nightmare and bliss tell the silent truth.
Thelonius, Shadows in the Storm (1988)

The line-storm clouds fly tattered and swift.
The road is forlorn all day.
Robert Frost, A Line–Storm Song.

But, first a hush of peace—a soundless calm descends;
The struggle of distress, and fierce impatience ends;
Mute music soothes my breast—unuttered harmony,
That I could never dream, till Earth was lost to me.
Emily Brontë, The Prisoner





The chirp of his cell phone woke him from his much needed sleep. For a long moment, Wesley wasn’t sure of his surroundings, but as wakefulness crept up on him, the memories from last night stole through him.

Transporting Oz to and from hospital hadn’t proved a problem at all; It was the in-between and the after that was a problem. Caught in mid-morph, frozen by the pain, Dr. Thomas hadn’t been able to set his jaw until the poor guy had been drugged. It had taken triple the amount of painkillers – based on normal human physiology and even then, Oz still sported claws and fur. At least his mouth had reverted to almost human proportions. Dr. Thomas hadn’t wanted to give him more drugs, afraid it would impede his healing.

Tara had, unsurprisingly, insisted on bringing him back to Revello Drive, and no one had really objected. Settling him in the basement, amidst Tara’s things had almost gone unnoticed, although Giles had cautioned that it might be necessary to chain him. Again Tara had objected, insisting that it wasn’t necessary that Oz wouldn’t hurt her and, to prove her point, she’d climbed into bed beside him.

Giles was still downstairs with them, keeping an eye on Oz’ progress and he’d come out to watch the sunrise. Wesley realized he must’ve fallen asleep sometime before the sun actually rose, because he’d missed it completely.

It must have been cold this morning, because the blanket. . . wait a moment. I didn’t bring a blanket out with me. . . Wesley reached for his cell phone, distractedly wondering about the mysterious presence of the blanket.

“Yo English.” Gunn’s deep voice greeted him.

“Hello Charles.” He winced, realizing he sounded barely awake and suddenly aware of an annoying crick in his neck.

“Checking in. Haven’t heard from Cordelia, man, I’m starting to get worried.”

It had been on Wesley’s mind also. She hadn’t gone more than two days without checking in, but now it had been close to five and Wesley was very worried that something had happened and Cordelia was lost to them.

“No word then?” He knew his question was going to have a negative response, but he needed to ask nonetheless.

“Nope. Nothing.” Gunn turned aside to address a remark to Fred, no doubt, and Wes waited until he was done.

“Very well, we’re going to start looking. Hopefully, she’s still . . . . “ his voice trailed off as he realized that hope was a very illusive commodity at the moment.

“Yeah. I getcha. Lemme know if you need any backup.” Gunn had an idea where Wesley had gone, but he didn’t want to say out loud where they were in case someone over heard.

“Probably won’t be necessary. My resources are more than adequate, but I shall let you know if we require your aid.” Wesley was about to disconnect when Gunn’s wry amusement stopped him.

“Dude, why you always sound like you swallowed a dictionary?”

Despite his worry about Cordelia, Wesley smiled. “Properly spoken English is never out of place.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just find Cordy.” Gunn clicked off, leaving Wesley to figure out how to find Cordelia.

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Giles had gone upstairs earlier, when Dawn had still been home, her footsteps disturbing his light slumber. Tara knew he was worried, concerned for her and wary of what a wounded werewolf might do in the throes of drugged pain. But she wasn’t worried. Oz wouldn’t hurt her, not even an out-of-his-head Oz.

She trusted him. Trusted him probably the way Buffy trusted Spike; that no matter what or how bad the pain got he wouldn’t ever hurt her, because he loved her.

Tara didn’t delude herself into thinking it was the same kind of love, because Spike and Buffy definitely had a groiny thing going on and while sometimes she was curious, it just wasn’t filled with passion.

Oz whimpered in pain and Tara ran a hand over his arm, soft, soothing murmurs sounding in the still air. She’d managed to snatch some sleep here and there, mostly when he’d been out cold and it was enough for now. Once he was out of the woods, she’d be able to completely surrender to sleep, but until then she’d manage.

Six months ago, if someone had told her, hell, if she’d dreamed this clairvoyently, she wouldn’t have believed any of it. Willow gone from her life – after playing god – Buffy and Spike a happy couple – and Oz as her, well, pretty much her best friend. Yet this was her life.

This was her family. One vampire, one Slayer, a werewolf, a witch – Tara stifled the giggle that was threatening. Her life sounded like a title from the Chronicles of Narnia or a weird adjunct to Harry Potter. She suddenly wondered if one of them should write all this up and somehow get it published as fiction, because most people wouldn’t believe it. Maybe I’ll be able to get Spike to do it, ‘coz he’s got a way with words. I’m sure he could do something like this.

Her companion groaned again and Tara watched him wince in pain. Her hand rested on his chest and Oz’ eyes flickered opening barely to focus on her. His hand clasped hers, their fingers entwining and he closed his eyes in relief. Tara smiled, settled in beside him, and waited until he drifted back into restless sleep.

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Two floors over her head, Spike had just put Connor down in his crib; letting the boy watch the mobile the girls bought him last week. He thought it was a ridiculous thing, but was secretly pleased, because it was some educational black and white thing with bright splashes of red. None of the girls had said anything, but he knew this silly thing had been picked with him in mind.

Which was kind of gratifying, but in a way, a bit silly. They should’ve picked it with the sprog in mind, not me. Trailing a hand over the boy’s legs, Spike tickled him and then focused on the blond watching him. She had a smile on her face and Spike raised an eyebrow in question. As answer, she crooked a finger at him and as he stalked in her direction, Buffy giggled.

“Not supposed to laugh at your mate, sunshine.” He faked a bit of a pout and Buffy sighed.

“No? Why not?” She watched him come closer, her eyes focused on his face, drinking in his expression.

He pounced on the bed, trapping her underneath him. “Coz, kitten. He’s the Big Bad an’ he’ll eat you up for laughin’.”

Her breath caught on his words, his expression no longer playful. “Oh you will?”

Spike pushed up her nightgown with one hand, his fingers inching toward her warm center, his mouth at her neck, brushing over his marks. “Yeah” he breathed against her, “yeah. Eat you all up.”

Two fingers slid inside her, Buffy gasping into his cheek, her hands looking for a way to hold onto him. “Oh. . . yeah. . . hhmmmm.”

Buffy pushed at his jeans, her warm hands scrabbling to free him from the confining denim. “Now. . . c’mon. . . “

Trailing his slick fingers up beneath the lace, Spike licked the salty skin of her neck, his fangs grazing over the scarred marks and Buffy writhed against him. “Spike, please. . . don’t tease me.”

“Not teasin’ . . . Love you.” His erection popped free, seeking her warmth. “Need you baby. . . so. . . yeah. . . that’s it.” He slid inside, both of them gasping for air, panting with the effort to hold back. She was living warmth, surrounding him in heat and sunshine. “Love you beautiful girl, I do.”

“Love you back.” He froze in mid-thrust, his eyes riveted on her eyes. Buffy stared back at him, not flinching from the sudden intensity in his laser bright blue eyes.

Spike couldn’t speak, couldn’t focus on anything but her eyes. There was no hiding, for either of them. His heart was laid bare, equally to hers. Buffy flexed around him, her hips moving involuntarily. “Do you . . . say it.” His voice was a hush, a bare whisper of sound.

Her lips quirked, almost like she was going to tease him, but then she took a deep breath, gathering her courage and, looking deeply into his eyes, she whispered, “love you Spike.”

His head dropped down, his forehead against her lips, shielding his eyes from her. Gruff with emotion, Spike said, “once more. Say it.”

She almost laughed from sheer nerves. Blowing out a breath, Buffy said, “look at me.” Spike lifted his eyes to hers, tears pooling in his cerulean depths. Her smile took his breath away and he smiled at her. “Love you.”

“Oh god. . . . bloody hell, kitten, I love you, I do.”

Cool lips curled over her face, words of love murmured over her. His hips pumped into her, his cock bumping into her, thumping against the spongy bundle of nerves, driving her into oblivion. Her body arched up, her inner walls clutching at him, milking him hard. “Love you, love you. . . good . . . fuckin’ hell. . . yeah . . I love you.

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Time had no meaning. Daylight meant nothing. Night brought pain, not relief. Pain was constant, measured in breaths, her sense of self gone.

Cordelia had stopped crying – after Angel had raped her repeatedly, ignoring her feeble attempts to beat him off – taking her brutally, ripping into her, splitting her asunder. Blood and other fluids dripped from her vagina and her ass, pooling on the mattress below her body. Cuts adorned her, most of the newer, fresher ones still bleeding sluggishly and the scent of blood was thick in the air around her. She couldn’t breathe without taking it in, the scent of it pervading everything, clogging her nostrils and throat.

It was easy now to slip away, to lose herself some place where her mind disconnected from her body, getting free of the pain. Beyond caring about anything, she focused only on the ceiling above her, her mind blank.

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Buffy was swimming toward waking when she realized two things. The first was a rolling sense of something being very off and the second was that there was approximately one hundred and sixty seven pounds of dead weight in the middle of her back. While the feeling of Spike laying on her was normally comforting and something she didn’t even think twice about, yet at this particular moment, it was causing a tiny bit of distress. She was face down on the bed, some of the pillows below her head and one wrapped up in her arms and Spike was laying almost fully on top of her, his arms right next to hers and his head resting on her shoulder. The reason why this wasn’t okay was the icky feeling in her belly. Telling herself it was just nerves didn’t actually work and the unease grew until it became imperative for her to disturb the vampire sleeping on her.

“Spike.” No movement. “Spike, wake up.” Wiggling a little bit to try and jostle him awake, Buffy tried again, “c’mon Spike, get off me.”

Again, there was less than no reaction. Having a mate that slept like the dead was not always a good thing. Spike didn’t require a whole lot of sleep, but when he did sleep it was deeply and fully, pretty much the way he did everything. Grumbling a bit louder, Buffy tried moving around to dislodge him. “C’mon you big oaf. Get off me.”

The weird queasy feeling was getting worse and she really needed to pee also, making her desire to slide out from under him very necessary. Shifting her elbow and shoulder, Buffy succeeded in moving him a little bit, enough to get his head off her right shoulder and onto the exact middle of her back. By small increments, Buffy was able to wriggle out from under his hold and she slipped from the bed and hightailed it into the bathroom.

Once there, she wasn’t sure which was more urgent, the need to pee or the overwhelming need to calm her belly. She hesitated, nearly bouncing from foot to foot, then realized what she was doing and blew an exasperated breath out in frustration with herself. Blond much? Geez, just pee already.

Laughing at herself, Buffy did exactly that, then fought the nausea that crested up in her throat. Ugh. Uhoh. This is soooo not good. Gonna. . . Leaning over the sink, Buffy gagged, holding back the bile that was rising. Ew. Just, not good. Why do I feel like this? Did I pick up some weird bug?

Rinsing her mouth after flushing the toilet and washing her hands, Buffy faced herself in the mirror. She didn’t look any different, there weren’t any dark circles under her eyes and no sign of anything else wrong, other than a tired look in her eyes. But lately that look was there all the time, so she didn’t think anything of it. Fatigue is my friend, she thought, always hanging around. So much was going on, their life was really complicated, and getting tougher by the day. Her sleeping patterns had been off for weeks, since Connor’s arrival almost, since she had been sleeping on a similar pattern to Spike’s. But now, because the baby was up earlier than was permissible by god, she had to get up with him and make sure he was fed. She’d been surviving mostly on stolen naps and stamina, but it appeared that had all caught up with her.

Heading back into the bedroom, Buffy watched as Spiked rolled over and buried his face into the pillow she’d abandoned in her desperation to reach the bathroom. His purring growl rolled through the room like thunder and she smiled a bit at his possessiveness. Connor stirred again in the crib and Buffy was tempted to leave him there, but she changed her mind as she neared the infant and smelled his diaper. Another wave of nausea surged up and it was all she could do to lift him up. “Oh C-man, what is this in your pants? Ugh. Baby boy, this is stinky.”

Making quick work of cleaning him up Buffy then ran downstairs to get him a bottle. There was stirring in the living room, which she deliberately ignored and made quick work of getting Connor back upstairs and into bed with her and Spike. She needed to sleep. Everything else, including Oz, could wait until she felt better. Scooting into the bed beside Spike, Buffy curled an arm around Connor and propped up the bottle with one hand, closing her eyes. The sleeping vampire shifted, rolled over and wrapped his arm around her, his head once more in the crook of her neck. Sighing once, Buffy leaned down and kissed the top of Connor’s head, settling back against Spike and was asleep before the baby had finished half the bottle.

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

Willow was pacing around her bedroom, her eyes narrowed in concentration. She’d waited outside Tara’s lecture hall this morning, hoping for a glimpse of her former girlfriend, to no avail. The honey-blond girl hadn’t been in class this morning, in fact, according to someone in her study group, she’d abruptly left them all last night in the library, without so much as more than a single word.

She knew what called her away. Well, knew who it had been. Had to be Spike or Buffy needing Tara’s help for some slayage emergency. It was aggravating. They were always interfering in her plans, in things she wanted and it was time it stopped. Can’t have those two messing up my life anymore. Its all their fault anyway. Spike with his over-protectiveness and meanness and hey! Evil vampire there, no soul to make his all-judgy-ness anything near being right. And Buffy with her oh I need Spike and >b>Spike is good now and spells and magic are bad. . . Willow pivoted on a heel, unaware she was gesturing wildly, her voice a soft sneering whine in the stillness of her room. And what’s with the Oz thing? Why was Tara all with the hanging with Oz and Oz? Neither one of them was . . . Tara was gay, and not liking of men so. . . and. . .

Huffing out a deep breath, Willow tried to gather the threads of her agitation and mold them into something more manageable, something she could use, but there were too many targets for her ire.

Buffy. Spike. Tara. Oz. Oh yeah, and Angel. Damn people just kept getting in her way. Giles. Willow pursed her lips, an idea beginning to form in her head. It worked once, maybe a second time would be the charm.

All I need to do is figure out how I’m going to get it done. . . And once I have that, everything else will take care of itself.

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Making his way into the kitchen, Wesley tried weighing his options, trying to figure out who he should discuss his worries about Cordelia with first. Time was crucial. If she was merely missing and out of cell phone range that was one thing; but there was a real niggling fear in his heart that it wasn’t something so simple. Angel and Drusilla had left Sunnydale briefly, only returning the other night. And Cordelia was missing.

The two were tied together.

If Cordelia was being held by the two vampires, time was of the essence. They couldn’t leave her in their hands. Not if he called himself her friend, not if he cared anything for her.
Standing at the kitchen counter, his eyes staring out into the neighbor’s yard, Wesley’s sense of foreboding grew exponentially. He knew, in his gut, that Cordelia was in grave danger. Time to rally the troops.

Putting the kettle on and getting the coffee pot ready, Wesley opened one of the cabinets and figured he might as well get a substantial lunch together as he was waiting for the occupants of the house to begin the day.

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Contrary to what she thought, Spike wasn’t very deeply asleep. He was swimming in and out of wakefulness, aware of sounds and movements, but he was tired; as tired as she was, but he was being lazy and not getting up when he heard Connor rustling about, and very unwilling to deal with the smell the infant was emitting. So when she climbed back into bed, Spike curled around her and fell back further into sleep once he knew she was there.

His arms snaked around her, left hand sliding up underneath the nightgown, holding onto her breast and his other worming its way beneath her head. Spike nuzzled the back of her neck and unconsciously registered her slowing heartbeat and breathing and also the faster rhythms of the infant beside her. In the recesses of his mind, Spike was aware this was far more domestic than he’d ever thought he’d be, moments like these not even in the scope of his understanding as a human. Victorian families did not sleep all jumbled together like this, at least those of his social standing; Vampires, on the other hand were essentially solitary, although he and Drusilla had often slept entwined, but he knew of nests where all the vampires slept together like puppies.

But he also knew that he would not trade these moments for anything. Moments like this, when he and Buffy were twined about each other, were worth any price he had to pay. He also felt closer to her than he’d ever felt to any other being. He wanted to crawl inside her skin and stay within her forever. Opening one eye, Spike gauged the time of day by the light filtering in behind the dark curtains. Soft noises reached his ears from downstairs and he knew someone else had to be up and around. It was just a little bit after noon and he knew the sprog would be looking for something to eat and he could get up and put him back in his crib, but Spike didn’t want to leave the warmth of his own bed.

His hand flexed around Buffy’s breast and he smirked sleepily when she shifted in his embrace. A smile played about his lips and his hips flexed against the warmth of her ass, his erection insistently nudging her. Buffy’s arm left its spot over the baby and curled around to lay on his thigh. Sliding his thigh between both of hers, Spike let his hand drop down to cover her bare mound, moving aside her hand. His fingers teased the curls shielding her pussy and she arched toward his hand like the kitten he called her. His unnecessary breathing sped up, as he drank in the scent of her arousal. Parting the folds of her core, Spike let two fingers brush around her clit, tantalizing both of them. She was so wet and warm, it always astonished him just how much – and how very different their temperatures were. Here, as he dipped into her, was where it showed most. Within her depths, in the heat and slippery dampness that coated his fingers better than a second skin, was where it mattered most, where it manifested. A whimpering mewl escaped her mouth and she breathed out his name in a hush. Dark navy blue eyes fluttered open, watching her arch up into his questing fingers, her body knowing, responding to his touch even in her sleep.

Spike leaned closer, his mouth against her shoulder, blunt teeth nipping and pulling on her skin, his tongue licking patterns between each bite. Buffy let loose a breathy moan, which made him harden more. His cock was hard and heavy, his hips angling between her legs, the tip of his cock sliding between her ass and her pussy. He wanted inside. . . . wanted to be buried. . . . wanted her warm liquid depths to swallow him whole.

“Open up for me, little girl . . . c’mon, lemme in.” His voice was another caress across her skin, his hands creating magic within her. Buffy slowly reached behind her, cupping his head, languidly moving toward his touch.

“Mmmmm.” Her eyes fluttered, fighting against the need to watch what he was doing, wanting to savor his touch without distraction. A hard bite sent shock waves through her and Buffy couldn’t fight him any longer when his fingers plunged into her depths simultaneously. “Spike. . . oh. . . “

She breathed out heavily, when his tongue and teeth pulled away from her skin and a cool breath wafted over the bites. His thumb brushed over her clit, once, twice and pressed down hard on the third, sending a jolt through her. “C’mon baby. . . lemme in.”

Oohhh. . he called me baby. . . never. . . oh. Baby. Buffy cracked open one eye and found two little blue eyes peeking up at her. She froze, her body stiffening up under his touch. Oh no. Nahuh. This is not happening. I’m so not doing this with him in the bed with us.

He didn’t notice at first that she had frozen under his hands, but when she pushed him away a bit, Spike growled. “Wha? Buffy?”

“We can’t. Just can’t. I can’t do this right now.” Spike growled again and Buffy started babbling. “No. He’s watching me. I mean us. He’s awake and I can’t.”

Spike leaned up on his hand, almost dumping her on the mattress. “What the fuck do you mean, he’s watching?” His head swivelled around looking for an intruder.

It took her a minute to get his attention, because his gaze was sweeping all around the room. His eyes were narrowed on the door, but it was closed, and he shifted his gaze to the window. “No one’s watching kitten. Now what the hell are you blathering about?”

Wordlessly, she grabbed his face and tilted his head down toward the mattress, and after a moment, Spike focused on what she was showing him. Connor had dropped the bottle and his eyes sparkled when Spike looked at him and a baby grin crossed his features. The vampire looked from Buffy to Connor and back again, before it dawned on him what Buffy had been saying. A leer formed on his lips and a definitely wicked twinkle sparkled in his eyes. “Spawn won’t know what’s going on. Won’t care either. C’mon kitten, lemme in.”

“Are you crazy?” Buffy spluttered as his hand snaked up under her nightgown, his fingers brushing across her mound. “Spike. . . no. No way. Not while he’s. . . Spike!” She shrieked out that last bit, when he pushed his fingers inside her wet core.

“C’mon kitten. . . need you so much.” He watched her face, knowing she was wavering and one more touch, one more kiss would put her over the edge where she didn’t care any longer, where it wouldn’t matter if there was a marching band trooping through their room. Connor’s flailing arm smacked against her and Spike groaned internally as her eyes went wide again.

“Nooohh. . . we are so not doing this in front of him.” Her hips bucked involuntarily, arching into his hand.

“Yeah, we are.” Spike’s lips curled up in a leer and his tongue poked out between his lips. “Oh yeah, sunshine, we are. . .”

“No.” She reached up, bracing her arms on his shoulders as if to push him away and Spike kicked off the blankets, forcing her legs wider. “We are not.”

Buffy knocked his arm out, pushing him to the side and rolling over on top of him, while he bucked up and rolled over again. They thudded onto the floor and he twisted at the last second so that she landed on top of him and he grinned up at her. “Outta view now, love.”

She gaped at him for a moment, unable to think clearly, and he took advantage of her momentary lapse by flicking her nipple with his tongue. He rolled over once more, tucking her beneath him. “Gotcha now sweetheart.”

“Spike. . . “ her protest was cut off by his mouth, his hips wedging between hers. His cock teased at her entrance and Buffy forgot all about why she’d been objecting.

Book Two, Chapter 27. Planning lies with men.


Planning lies with men; success lies with Heaven.
Chinese proverb.

Our planning may leave something to be desired,
but our designs, thank God, have been flawless.
Noor, Queen of Jordan, on the birth of her fourth child in six years

There will be no rescue, no intervention for us. We can only save ourselves. Many of you know influential people abroad, you must call these people. You must tell them what will happen to us... say goodbye. But when you say goodbye, say it as if you are reaching through the phone and holding their hand. Let them know that if they let go of that hand, you will die. We must shame them into sending help.
Hotel Ruwanda, 2004



Wesley’s less than quiet movements in the kitchen gradually attracted the attention of his fellow Englishmen. Rupert was first into the kitchen, wandering in bleary-eyed yet wide awake.

“Tea’s done.” Wesley indicated the teapot on the counter then placed another rasher of bacon on the stove.

They made desultory conversation until Spike appeared a little while later, the baby tucked under his arm like a football. Connor was gurgling happily and Spike searched around for his bouncy chair, grumbling about babies and their weird hours.

His comments struck the other two as funny, and Giles was quick to point out, “aren’t vampires supposed to sleep all day?”

“Pppfffttt. Older we get less sleep we need.” Spike plopped the infant into the chair, then lifted the chair onto the counter and dropped a few rattles into the baby’s lap.

“That explains your eccentricity then.” Wesley’s deadpan delivery had them all chuckling, but his next words sobered the mood completely. “It’s been five days since I’ve heard from Cordelia.”

Giles’ comment was drowned out by Spike’s question. “How often was the cheerleader calling in?”

Wesley stared down at the counter top while the other two exchanged glances. “Every other day.”

“You think Angel has her.”

Giles voiced the fear Wesley had been loathe to mention. “I believe it more than possible. Angel was. . . showing signs of developing feelings for Cordelia, before and after our sojourn in Pylea.”

The older man thought for a moment, his mind going over what he knew about Angel. “If he does have her, it would fit his previous patterns.”

“Would. Think we need to do some daylight re-con. Might wanna take the bot.” Spike had a feeling in his gut that they had her. “Might not be much worth savin’,”

“Figures you would argue against saving something.” Xander’s voice sounded from the hallway, anger evident in his tone.

All three of the men in the kitchen turned to look in the doorway, and it was Spike’s comment that broke the uncomfortable silence that followed Xander’s pronouncement. “What the bleedin’ hell are you doin’ in my house?”

“Your house? This isn’t your house. This is Buffy’s and Dawn’s house. You have no rights here.” Lines of fury were written all over the younger man’s features and his stance was belligerent enough that both Giles and Wesley moved between Spike and Xander.

“Is mine. Just as both those girls are mine.” Folding his arms across his chest, Spike leaned a hip against the counter, his laser bright eyes boring into angry brown orbs. Not that he cared whether Harris knew the truth of things, but Spike figured that Buffy should be the one to spill the beans about all of it. If Harris didn’t back down though, Spike would be more than happy to enlighten him. “Question is why’re you wandering into my house without knocking. You’ve no manners, whelp. None ‘t’all.”

“I came to see Buffy. Why are you still here?” Xander wasn’t going to back down, wasn’t going to show any fear or any softening of his attitude toward this particular male. In Xander’s mind, the last person Buffy should show signs of wanting was Spike. He’d tried to kill them, done more damage than anyone, even if it was in a round-about way.

Spike sighed deeply. “I live here.” He turned away, showing his back to the boy and opened the refrigerator. “Tell me again why you’re darkenin’ m’door.”

He could hear Xander’s teeth grinding from his position all the way across the room. “I came to see Buffy.”

“She’s sleepin’, whelp.” Spike leaned on the open refrigerator door, his eyes narrowing on Xander as the other started in again. Giles watched the interplay between the two, exasperation growing with each exchange. “Xander, what is you want to see Buffy about?”

“Just wanted to talk to her. Nothing more than that.” His tone softened a bit when he answered the older man, but just barely.

“I said she’s sleepin’. She’s exhausted, ‘m not waking her for nothin’.” Spike punctuated his comment by nearly slamming the refrigerator door closed, then stalked closer to the younger man. “Might do better next time to call.”

“Right, so you can just hang up on me like you did last time? I don’t think so Spike. I don’t trust you. How do I know you haven’t drained her or tied her up or done something else to hurt her.” The expression on Spike’s face darkened considerably and he took a menacing step closer to Xander, who, to his credit, didn’t back away from the enraged vampire.

‘Wouldn’t hurt her you bastard, ‘m not like that. She’s mine, you git. Mine to take care of an’ worry over, not yours, so worry ‘bout your own girl.” Wesley stepped between the two, his eyes on the shorter man.

“Spike. Calm down. This isn’t important. We have other things to worry about besides . . . this. Spike.” Xander had moved forward, one fist raised as if to strike as his nasty words broke through Wesley’s and Spike leaned forward, silently daring Xander to take a shot at him.

“Gentlemen.” Giles pushed his way between the two, hands raised to calm them. “Xander, is there a pressing need to see Buffy?”

“No. Just making sure she’s okay and,” he shrugged, his look a cross between chagrin and worry. “Haven’t seen her in a while, just wanted to, you know, see if she’s okay.”

Spike snorted in disbelief, shaking his head and turning away from the boy, mumbling something under his breath. He went back to the refrigerator, his hearing focused on the conversation behind him until Wesley leaned against the sink and whispered at him. “I think you’re right. We should get the bot out and have it re-con with us. Do you think he’s holed up in the mansion again?”

“Yeah.” Pushing aside various leftovers and drinks, Spike located his blood on one of the shelves then straightened up to answer the other man. “Would work. ‘M not up for daytime work, but could head over through the sewers.

Wesley addressed Spike’s last comment before Xander had interrupted them. “Do you really think he might have turned her?”

A shake of his head and Spike replied back, “not his style. Likes to play with his victims firs’, an’ then he turns ‘em. Breaks ‘em, ya know?”

“So you think she might still be alive?” Wesley watched as Spike put the blood in the microwave, preparing to warm it up.

“Might be. Not sure how alive, “ he paused, knowing this was the part none of them wanted to face. “Could be he’s toying with her, makin’ her watch and witness all sorts of things, but ‘m not sure of that. If he had feelin’s for her, he’d move right onto the hurt.”

Nodding his acceptance of the possibilities, and what Spike didn’t say, Wesley stared off at a spot over Spike’s shoulder. He couldn’t imagine anyone being able to withstand the kind of damage Spike was implying Angel could inflict. Cordelia had hidden depths, strengths he hadn’t imagined she was capable of as a teenager; Wesley had seen the woman she’d grown into and she was formidable, but that didn’t necessarily ensure her survival. They had to move fast in order to save her, regardless of whatever anyone else thought. “I’m going to get the bot out of storage.”

Ignoring the other two men who were still talking, Wesley moved toward the basement steps, intent on freeing the Buffybot from the confines of its storage box. Giles had managed to calm down Xander, convincing him that when Buffy went to bed last night she was fine, just tired. Spike drank his blood, watching Connor and half listening to the hushed tones of the Watcher.

He heard a door creak open upstairs and Spike grimaced. Fuckin’ hell. Wanted to let her sleep longer. An’ now she’s awake. Maybe I can convince her to go back to bed before she realizes what’s goin’ on. Spike fixed his eyes on the door to the hallway, and he waited for her feet to pound down the stairs, but he didn’t hear them. Without a word, he left the kitchen and made his way up the second floor, focusing on her presence.

“Kitten?” He knocked softly on the bathroom door, then slipped inside when she didn’t answer. Buffy was on her knees in front of the toilet, vomiting. Her face was flush, tears leaking slowly from her eyes and her breath hitched softly. Spike wrinkled his nose at the smell, then opened the window before lifting her hair off her neck. “You okay, sunshine?”

A sullenly muttered “no” was his only answer.

“All right sweets, I’m right here.” He was rubbing her back, his touch soothing her. Buffy leaned back into him and she sighed against his shoulder.

“I don’t feel good at all.” She whined softly, wiping her mouth. Spike leaned forward, grabbing the toothpaste off the sink and handing it to her. “Just a little bit of that, don’t wanna get sick all over again.”

Buffy curled into his arms, tears slowly dripping down her cheeks. “I’m so tired. All I wanna do is sleep.”

Spike got to his feet, then leaned down to lift her up in his arms. “So back to bed with you.“ Propping her up on the edge of the counter, he flushed the toilet, then directed her “spit that out, sweetheart.”

Using her finger, Buffy took some toothpaste and swished it around her mouth then spit it out. Spike looked up at her in time to see the adorable pout that drove him crazy. “Hey, now, what’s wrong?”

The sniffles and pout got worse. “I don’t feel good.” A hiccup broke through and Buffy grimaced at the sour taste. Motioning to the toothpaste, she whined, “Can’t I please swallow some of that?“

“That’ll jus’ make it worse. Want me to see if we have somethin’ else?” Spike wasn’t exactly sure what else would be good for her, but he’d be willing to try whatever she wanted to make her feel better.

Her face lit up just a bit at that. “Maybe some coke? Or, oh. . . ginger ale.” She thought for a minute, her eyes staring into his. “I don’t think we have any though.”

“‘S all right, I’ll send one of the watchers for it.” That said, he lifted her back up, then headed into their bedroom. “Back to bed missy.”

“Stay with me?” She nuzzled into his neck, her breath hot against his skin. “Please?”

“Can’t love. Oxford is worried ‘bout the cheerleader, an’ the whelp is down there too.” He had no idea why he’d mentioned any of this, because he knew his girl, knew she would –

“Let me down.” Buffy pulled away from him, her fingers twisting into his shirt.

“No.”

“No?” Inwardly, part of Buffy was cheering, because she really didn’t think her stomach could handle much of anything other than just curling up into bed, but another part of her, that stubborn generalissimo was yelling, no, go downstairs and sacrifice yourself to make sure everyone else is fine.

“Jus’ said that, didn’t I?” Spike deposited her on the bed, lifting the blankets over her. “Nothin’ that needs your immediate attention. We don’t even know where the girl is, much less have a plan ‘bout anythin’ else.”

Buffy slid out from beneath the blanket and Spike folded his arms and raised an eyebrow. “You gonna be stubborn an’ bullheaded ‘bout this?” She raised her eyes to look at him, and grinned at the fierce expression on his face.

“Spike, it’s what I’m supposed to do.” But he was shaking his head in refusal, and his hand pushed her back down.

“No. It’s not. Don’t have to do it all by yourself anymore, remember? ‘S what I’m supposed to do. We can handle this without you. You rest, an’ when you feel better, you get up.” When she moved to do just that, he pushed her back down again. “Kitten, how’s that belly? Still writhin’ and rollin’? Wanna puke on Angelus? Maybe that’ll stop him.”

Despite the way she currently felt, that image of puking all over Angel made her giggle. “Spike.” She whined, in a half-hearted attempt to see how far he would go to keep her in bed, but as soon as his name was out of her mouth, he dropped down beside her.

“Heart’s beatin’ too fast, love, and you’ve gone cold again.” Lifting the blankets once more, Spike dropped a kiss on her forehead, “don’t push yourself. We’ll check things out and won’t move until you feel better. I promise.”

Before she could protest some more, which they both knew was just an act, Spike was gone and she could hear his feet pounding down the stairs.

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

Xander had broken off his conversation when Spike left the kitchen, almost following him up the stairs. His progress was only stopped when Wesley came back up the stairs with the Buffybot on his heels.

“Hello Xander! Wesley let me out. I don’t know him.” The blinding smile of the bot made all three men snicker. “Giles. You’re my watcher. Are you going to polish your glasses and huff at me?”

Giles felt his lips twitch and Wesley had to hide his laughter behind a kitchen towel. Xander was shaking his head, almost afraid to say anything in case the bot would focus on him. But the bot, in the way of all simple creatures, focused on the one being most likely to get annoyed by its attention, in this case it was Xander.

“Does Anya still give you orgasms?”

Completely missing Giles’ reaction, Wesley exploded with gales of laughter while Xander blushed furiously. “Spike used me to get orgasms, but then the really real Buffy kissed him after Glory gave him all those sexy wounds and he stopped.”

“Really. Must you? Does this thing have an off switch?” Giles was searching frantically under the bot’s hair, looking for some sort of switch, when Xander waved him off. “Just tell it to be quiet and not mention sex.”

“But that was my primary programming.” The bot stared up at the two men, blinking curiously. “Well that and patrolling. I kill vampires.”

“Yes you do. And that’s what we need you for now.” Giles was completely flustered. Why on earth hadn’t they allowed Willow to finish the reprogramming? The bot was ridiculous, was it really any wonder that Spike insisted they lock the damn thing in a box?

The bot shrugged then chirped cheerfully, “okay. I’ll wait until you need me.”

“Right. You do that.” Giles shook his head, effectively blocking any further thought of the bot from his mind. Before he could ask Wesley why, Xander had pre-empted his question. ‘So what’s the deal with bringing out the bot?”

“Spike thought it would be a good idea since Buffy’s not feeling so well.” Nodding his head in understanding, Giles remained silent, while Xander continued questioning Wesley. “What’s the what?”

“Cordelia hasn’t checked in with me in five days.” Wesley looked pointedly at Xander. “We think Angelus has her. Spike believes he’s back at the mansion.”

Without any hesitation at all, Xander said, “when do we go?”

Spike’s feet sounded on the stairs and Giles said as he rounded the landing heading into the kitchen, “as soon as we decide who is going.”

Surprising them all, Spike said, “not goin’. ‘M stayin’ put. Buffy’s not feelin’ well. Wants ginger ale.”

Giles looked at Spike, a question in his eyes, but the younger man avoided his gaze, ducking his head. He didn’t want to say anything about why Buffy wanted ginger ale, because he had no answers to the questions Giles might pose. “Spike do you remember the layout of the mansion?”

He shook his head. “Never went into parts of it – was in the chair. Got the first floor, but he could have her anywhere.” He paused a bit, dredging his memory for the layout of the mansion. Grabbing a napkin, he looked around for something to write with; he ended up at the desk in the living room with paper and pencil. Quickly he sketched out the first floor layout, while Rupert watched over his shoulder. Pointing to one corner of the drawing, Giles said, “that’s the stairway to the second floor, but the first floor bedrooms are here, yes?”

Spike was nodding his head. “Yeah. There’s the cellars also. Rooms were here,” he marked that with an X, “an’ here might be where he’s got her.”

Wesley stood leaning against the door looking down at the drawing while Xander listened from a few paces behind Rupert.

“Where will they be holed up for the day?” Wesley was concerned about disturbing any of the vampires in the mansion and possibly getting caught.

“There was a master suite on the mid-level. House really had a couple of floors. Angelus left me on the first floor – while he and Dru slept on the next up. Was jus’ a couple of steps.”

Spike sketched that out. “But m’recollection of that area isn’t clear.”

Giles lifted the first paper, passing it to Wesley. “We’ll leave now – “

“I’m going.” Xander’s voice broke in, interrupting the three Englishmen.

“It’s not a rescue. We’re just going to ascertain whether she’s there and where he’s keeping her. Once we have that information we’re coming back here to decide what to do. How best to get her out of there.” Spike was concerned that the three of them would do something stupid and get themselves caught, and forcing himself and Buffy to rescue the rescuers.

“He’s likely to have alarms set up, he did last time. Don’t take unnecessary chances. No heroics, yeah?”

“Right.” Giles and Wesley nodded their agreement but Xander started to object, but at a look from the older man, he agreed.

They were gone in minutes, leaving Spike with a sick Slayer and a gurgling infant.

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

The house was quiet, although he could hear the tympany of the various heartbeats echoing in the air around him. Connor’s was thumping away fast and steady, a regular tripping rhythm that made him smile. Counterpoint to the infant’s rapid beats were the two below him, Glinda’s fluttering, delicate and calming; Oz’ heavier, labored with pain and slowed by excessive medication; yet still strong for all that. But the other, fainter beat of his mate, though muffled and almost far away, still, for all that, the one he knew best.

Connor babbled baby nonsense behind him and Spike turned round to stare at the boy for a moment. The changes his life had undergone, all the things he’d seen and done, and not one of the humans of his acquaintance thought it odd or worried about leaving him alone with a defenseless infant. Never crossed their minds to worry about the boy. Not that he would – there were some lines even he balked at crossing. The child was family, much as he hated to admit it, the baby was Aurelius, despite having a beating heart. And one did not. . . . well he didn’t – some of the others might – and he could probably count on one finger who else wouldn’t harm the infant – but he wouldn’t.

The boy was family.

Just like Buffy. Just like Dawn – his own daughter. And Glinda. She was family, too. Those were the ones he’d chosen. And Rupert. And Oxford. Spike sighed, wondering when in hell he’d traded his vampire clan for one of his own choosing; a pretty much all human one.

He supposed, if he thought about it logically, the process had started that night when Angel had tried to suck the world into hell. When he’d sought her out, theoretically to save Dru and his own ass from destruction. At least that was how it started. What ended up happening was so bloody bizarre.

Would he have done it differently?

Not sought out the girl, just gone along with the harebrained scheme of his grandsire and let the world get sucked into hell. A snort escaped from his lips. Not bloody likely mate.

Connor’s eyes watched him pacing back and forth drawn by the gesturing arms and the cadence of his voice, gurgling in counterpoint to the quiet raging of the vampire.

Spike wouldn’t trade any moment of the last few years – if this was waiting for him. He loved Buffy with everything he was – every part of him – and he believed she loved him just as much. The claim had solidified their bond, forging it into something very real and tangible, and well, if that bond came with other bonds connecting him to yet more humans, so be it.

He’d accept that.

Hell. Already did.

A giggle burst from Connor’s mouth and Spike lifted the boy from his chair. Holding him high on his chest, Spike said, “c’mon sprog, let’s go see what our Buffy is up too.”

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

After Spike left her, Buffy rolled over onto her side, curled around herself. Slayers aren’t supposed to get sick or be exhausted. Super powers are supposed to let me skip all those icky things. Except they didn’t. Not really. Her super powers just let her heal faster. So I should be fine in a couple of hours, just need a little more sleep, and some ginger ale and I’ll be good as new Buffy. The only problem was, she couldn’t go back to sleep. She could hear the noises from downstairs and if she concentrated, could hear the murmured voices of the men. I should go check on Oz. See if he’s okay.

Buffy started to get to her feet, when Spike’s feet pounded on the stairs.

“Hey. Thought I told you to stay put?” He was inside their room, Connor in his arms, gurgling happily.

“Was just gonna check on Oz.” She settled back on the bed knowing he would just hack at her until she listened to him.

“Jus’ did. He’s sleeping. Glinda’s got everythin’ under control. So don’t bother gettin’ up.”

He sat down on the bed, letting Connor wriggle out of his arms, his eyes on her face. “Feelin’ any better?”

Buffy sighed. “A bit. I’m just really tired. Keeping up with you and this little guy is harder than I thought.” Connor rolled over onto his back, feet kicking in the air. At the sound of her voice, he angled himself toward her, moving his body closer to her.

“Dunno what to do ‘bout that.” He thought for a minute, “maybe we need someone to get up with the sprog in the mornin’s.”

“What? You mean like a babysitter or a nanny? We can’t afford that.” She looked down at the gurgling baby.

“Maybe we can’t, but I’d bet Peaches has a stash, hell, I know he does.” Spike watched the boy wriggling around and then roll over. “Is he supposed to do that?”

“Not really. I’m not sure. Gimme the book.” They’d taken to keeping copies of What To Expect The First Year in various spots around the house in case they needed to consult with it. Which for them, happened at least once a day. Spike leaned over to snag the book from the dresser and Buffy said in a hushed voice, “put him on the floor and then see what he does.”

He looked at her kind of funny but did what she asked. Connor was on the floor of their room before he could protest. The baby started to whine and Spike leaned down to pick him up again but Buffy held out a hand, halting him. They watched from the bed as Connor rolled over and got up on his knees. “Get the book.”

Spike handed it to her without a word.

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

There was a grim silence in the car, none of its occupants willing to engage in idle chatter, and the bot, for once, picking up on the quiet didn’t fill the silence.

By unstated agreement, Wesley had grabbed the keys for the Jeep, and he parked it half a block from the mansion. Giles spoke, his voice very quiet. “All we are doing now is reconnaissance – no heroics. If you locate Cordelia, you cannot let her know we’re here. Her survival just might depend on it. If any of the vampires are awake, do not continue the search. Just leave.”

There were no arguments.

They exited the Jeep, the humans and the robot and set off for the mansion.

Book Two, chapter 28. Rescue me


Sometimes that shark looks right at ya.
Right into your eyes.
And the thing about a shark is he's got lifeless eyes.
Black eyes. Like a doll's eyes.
When he comes at ya, he doesn't even seem to be livin'... 'til he bites ya, and those black eyes roll over white and then... ah then you hear that terrible high-pitched screamin'.
The ocean turns red, and despite all your poundin' and your hollerin' those sharks come in and... they rip you to pieces.
Quint, Jaws (1975)

My mommy always said there were no monsters
- no real ones - but there are, aren't there?
Newt, Aliens (1986)



“He’s so not supposed to be doing that.” Buffy was flipping through the pages of the book, her back resting against the headboard and her eyes half on the book and half on the almost crawling baby on the floor. “Look.”

Spike took the book from her, noting the progress the baby had made across the floor. “Figure he’s gonna reach the bed?”

“I dunno. But this can’t be good, can it?” She sat up, leaning on his arm. Spike glanced down at the book, squinted then moved it further away so he could read the print. That didn’t help, so he brought it closer to his face. “Sprog’s not supposed to do this for ‘nother couple of months.”

Connor wriggled forward again and Buffy looked between the two males. “This is so not good.”

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

Xander crept around the side of the mansion, heading toward the back, peeking into the small basement windows as the bot continuously checked for awake vampires. So far, he’d seen nothing out of the ordinary, not even sleeping minions. It was enough to convince him that this side of the mansion was deserted, until the bot tapped his shoulder. “There’s something in that room.”

He whirled around, following the bot’s pointed finger. “It’s a vampire. Can I stake it?”

“No. Just let me check it out, all right?” He moved forward slowly in case the vampire was awake. Xander leaned against the window, shading his eyes. Some nameless vampire was asleep on a couch, angled away from the window. He didn’t recognize it, rightly figuring it was a relative fledgling. What did catch his attention was the door opposite the window. The sleeping vamp’s posture sort of indicated, at least to him, that the vamp was guarding the door.

“C’mon, let’s keep looking.” Xander moved toward his right, toward the back of the house, the bot trailing him closely.

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

It was funny how sleeping underground affected a person’s perceptions. Tara had the vague idea that hours had passed since Giles and Wesley had left them alone, but she had no other way, other than her small clock, of verifying that. Oz had barely moved in all that time, mostly shifting here and there to get more comfortable, but never truly waking up.

Even when Spike had come down with the baby, the werewolf had barely stirred. Part of her was beginning to worry, but, Dr. Thomas had said that the best thing for him would be sleep. While not blessed with Slayer or vampire healing, werewolves did have something akin to it.

Within a week, the doctor had assured her, Oz would be up and around, maybe not fighting vampires again, but he’d be well on the way to completely recovered. Tara wasn’t so sure she was thrilled with this news. Too many of them had been getting hurt. She was just afraid that the next time, whoever it was, wouldn’t recover so quickly. Perhaps she and the watchers could research protection spells for everyone.

Oz growled in pain and she sat up, her hands running lightly over his injuries, checking for any changes. For now she had to worry about him, the rest could wait until he was out of the woods.

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

Crouched down a bit, Wesley craned his neck to see into another window on the opposite side of the house. Rupert was further toward the back of the house, where they had agreed to all meet. From Wesley’s current position, he could see Giles and as he looked down into the window, he could barely make out two pair of feet and the corner of a bed. There was movement in a corner of the room and simultaneously both Englishmen hissed for attention.

Rupert’s voice was a bare whisper. “What have you got?”

“Possibly Angel and Drusilla. All I can see is feet. It appears there’s a girl chained up at the foot of the bed.” He turned to face the older man and his expression told Wesley all he needed to know. “How is she?”

Giles didn’t say anything, remaining silent until he joined Wesley. “Not good.”

Without sparing a second glance behind him, Rupert headed for the back of the house and the other two. Wesley hesitated a moment, moved toward the window, then changing his mind, backed away.

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

Gotta be something here I can use. . . something. Frustration was getting the better of her temper and Willow was vaguely aware she was sort of unraveling but the information was important. There has to be some way I can fix this mess. . . make all this badness go away. Make everything the way it should be. Why can’t I find it?

This wasn’t like the resurrection spell. Willow realized that – this was more along the lines of using the Lethe’s Bramble to make them forget – but that’s not really what she wanted. Don’t want anyone to forget, just want them to be the way they should be. Make everything right.

It hardly mattered that what she thought was right might not actually be the way things were supposed to be, because Willow didn’t much care anymore. She just wanted her rightful place back. Buffy’s best friend. Xander’s best friend. And Tara’s girlfriend. That’s the way things are supposed to be. I’m supposed to be on the inside one of the scoobies – not Spike. He’s a vampire, one of the bad guys.

Willow pursed her lips into a look Xander was well acquainted with and if he were there to witness it, he’d be very concerned about Willow’s intentions. It has to be here. . . whatever it is. Turning the page of the old grimoire on her lap, Willow focused on the words of the spell in front of her. Hhhhhmmmm. Maybe I can tweak this a bit.

Determination renewed, Willow set about finding a way to fix the world to her liking.

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

Cheerfully sending another satisfied customer on their way, Anya idly noted the time on the clock. Quarter past four and she could lock up in another fifteen minutes, then head home.

Home. Where Xander should be. Anya wasn’t so sure she wanted to go there. All they’d been doing lately was fighting. Fighting about announcing their wedding, fighting about Willow’s strange behavior; fighting about Buffy and Spike; fighting about everything. About the only time they weren’t fighting was while they had sex but lately they’d been fighting about that too.

Whenever Xander wasn’t happy with anything, he’d spend time complaining about it. Complaining endlessly. Xander bitched about everything. Every. Thing.

Anya thought that this was normal, until her brief conversation with Giles a couple of weeks ago. Something he’d said had started her thinking and now her head hurt constantly because of all the thinking she’d been doing. And not only her head hurt.

Her heart did too. She wasn’t blind – just outspoken, and yes, she admitted it; sometimes rather self-absorbed. But she’d seen things – lots of things. After all, she’d lived longer than any of them, hell, all of them combined, but she’d seen life along the way. Okay, so vengeance demons don’t always see people at their happiest or their best, but still, she’d seen. She wasn’t blind.

And it had come as a little surprise when she realized that a vampire was more capable of love than she’d ever expected. She was so totally jealous of Buffy; not because she wanted orgasms from Spike and hey, she wouldn’t turn him down if he offered, but really, Anya, off topic, but she was jealous of the way Spike treated Buffy.

It was quite clear to anyone who cared to spend more than five minutes watching them that Buffy was the center of Spike’s world; the sun around which his universe revolved. And that was what Anya was jealous about, because it was also quite clear that she didn’t fulfill that same role for Xander. And that made her head and her heart hurt.

Maybe Giles is right. Maybe its not how, maybe it’s the who that’s all wrong. Anya moved about the shop, needlessly cleaning an already spotless display case when her attention was diverted by the bell over the door pealing in the quiet shop.

Switching on the blinding smile and super-salesgirl persona, Anya greeted her next sale.

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

“Do you think he’s gonna walk early too?” Buffy was curled on her side at the edge of the bed watching Connor scoot from one side of the floor to the other.

Spike looked up at her from his prone position on the floor blocking the doorway. He’d been coaxing the baby forward for almost an hour now, and all that practice had apparently paid off. As incredible as it appeared, Connor was, at just over two months old, pretty much crawling from one location to another. “‘Spect so. Sprog’s strong for his age, an’ look at ‘im go.”

Connor had reached Spike and was trying to pull himself up using the vampire as a prop, butting against his chest. Spike rolled onto his back and lifted the infant in the air, making zooming noises as he did. Buffy watched the both of them, thinking about how cute they both were. “We can’t. . . how the heck are we supposed to do this? I don’t know anything about babies. And you’re not exactly father of the year material.”

He turned an affronted face to her. “Least I’m here tryin’ to do m’best.”

She knew she’d hurt him by the expression in his eyes. Damn Buffy, when are you going to learn to keep your mouth shut? Coz he’s right, he’s here doing the daddy bit and where’s the baby’s real father? Oh. Right. Off terrorizing people. Better say something. “Sorry. You’re right. We’ll just have to do our best and figure it all out as we go.”

“Jus’ like everyone else, sunshine. ‘Snot like sprogs come equipped with how-tos. ‘Sides, we don’t know what spawn here is capable of jus’ yet.”

“True.” She watched them both a little longer, her eyes drinking in the sight of her mate playing with a baby. A yawn stretched Connor’s face and Buffy said, “looks like all that practice tired out our boy.”

Spike cradled the boy to his chest, getting gracefully to his feet in the next moment. “Yeah. Take him. Watchers should be in soon. Gonna call Niblet, tell her to head home. You rest with him.”

Dropping Connor on the bed behind her, Spike waited until she rolled over to tuck him in her arms, then kissed her forehead. “Get some kip, sunshine, I’ll be back.”

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

Aside from confirming to the others that Cordelia was in fact in the mansion, Giles hadn’t said anything as they made their way back to the house on Revello Drive. None of them in fact had much of anything to say. Before their mission, only the possibility of Cordelia’s captivity existed; unfortunately, now it had moved from the realm of possibility into very harsh reality.

Reality they’d all hoped wouldn’t actually be true.

Hoping to spare the others what he’d witnessed, Giles had rushed them away from the mansion – partially also to distance himself a bit.

There wasn’t enough time and space to truly distance himself from that. Cordelia was. . . his mind shied away from the visions, from the sight of her. He couldn’t . . . Rupert closed his eyes against the daylight. He. . . oh god. Poor girl. He’d known firsthand the kind of damage Angel could inflict given the time. Without knowing how long he’d had Cordelia, Rupert had fooled himself about what had been done.

He was struck with the sudden realization that he quite possibly owed his life to Spike. But instead of calming him, Ruper also realized that no one had come to Cordelia’s rescue – she’d been in the clutches of a monster for days, without any protection at all – which increased his agitation.

So lost in his thoughts, Rupert had no idea they’d gotten back to the house until Wesley nudged him, after calling him more than once. Giles looked over at the younger man, a very distracted air about him and slowly reacted. “Right.”

Almost blindly, Giles walked in the front door, and the contrast between what was struck him hard. Tears formed in his eyes and Rupert excused himself, leaving the others to wonder at his behavior.

Walking up the steps in a daze, Rupert Giles came to a decision, one that he should have made years before, but hadn’t for reasons he couldn’t quite fathom at this moment. This time, he was going to argue against re-souling Angel, and rather, he was going to advocate dusting him.

Spike was just closing the bedroom door when he reached the second floor hallway. At the stricken look on the older man’s features, Spike sighed. “He’s got her then.”

“Yes.” It was all he needed to hear.

Opening the door again, Spike held up a hand as Rupert started to speak. “Get dressed, kitten. They’re back.”

With that he moved to close the door, but Giles’ hand on his arm stopped him. “Wait Spike, I . . . need to say. . that is. . . I. Thank you. For what you did all those years ago. Diverting Angel’s attention like you did.”

Staring at him in slight shock, Spike shook his head. “Wasn’t doing it for you mate.”

Giles too was shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter. The fact remains . . . regardless of why. You saved my life.”

Buffy came to the door, sharing a long look with her mate. “Giles? What happened?”

“Angelus has the cheerleader, love.” Her eyes left Spike’s face to glance up at Giles. His face was without emotion, but Buffy knew Giles was deeply affected; nothing else would have prompted his prior words.

“Oh god. I’ll be down in a minute. Get everyone together.” Buffy closed the door and both men headed back downstairs.

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

Wesley was pacing the dining room and Xander was sitting at the table, waiting for Giles to come back down so they could discuss what to do and how to rescue Cordelia. The opening and closing of doors upstairs drifted down, and the soft murmur of voices could barely be heard. The bot was bustling about doing something in the kitchen, by the sounds of it washing dishes and generally cleaning. Neither of the two younger men spoke, the silence between them complete.

The sound of footsteps on the stairs was deafening, and both of them looked toward the staircase. Spike stepped down heavily, Giles a mere step behind him. Looking at the grim faces, the vampire said, “Buffy’ll be down in a tick.”

He headed for the phone and motioning toward the others to sit and wait for Buffy; Spike waited until Dawn picked up then told her to get home and bring ginger ale.

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

Her belly was not cooperating. The rolling nausea that accompanied her every move was threatening to overspill and wreak havoc with her equilibrium. Buffy sat down on the bed, breathing heavily through her nose, trying to control the tempest. Okay, this is not good. Gotta stop this. Slipping into her sweats and one of Spike’s tee shirts, Buffy lifted a sleeping Connor and put him into his crib, then ran a quick hand through her hair. All right, let’s do this.

Inhaling deeply, Buffy slowly made her way downstairs.

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

All four of them were ranged around the dining room, Xander and Giles sitting in two of the chairs, while Wesley leaned against the wall, his arms crossed. Spike was pacing, well not really pacing so much as not staying in one place, his attention focused inward. His head perked up as he heard her footsteps on the stairs, worry written on lines bracketed around his mouth.

She smiled at him wanly, knowing that putting a chipper grin on her face was not going to fool him, and kind of inappropriate, given Giles’ revelation about Cordelia. “Hey guys.”

“Hey Buff.” Xander had picked up his head at her entrance, his eyes doing a quick scan over her slight form. He grimaced, but held his tongue, at her choice of attire.

Buffy stopped short, swallowing the bile in her throat. “Xand.” She leaned heavily on the table, her eyes darting between all of the males. It was strange to see so many men at a makeshift scoobie meeting, usually they were overwhelmed by the girl-power. Sharing a smile with Spike, Buffy stood up and said, “what’s the sitch, guys?”

By default, it was Giles that spoke, since none of the others had seen where or how Cordelia was being restrained. “She’s in the mansion, on the mid-level floor, on the south side of the building. I’m not certain how many vampires are in the house. Angelus and Drusilla appear to be in the room adjacent to where Cordelia is.”

“She is . . . secured to a bed.” His voice faltered a little, as he paused to draw a breath, but he gathered himself after a moment and he continued, “I couldn’t ascertain the extent of her injuries, but they appear to be extensive. She’s going to need immediate transport to hospital.”

Nothing but silence greeted his words and they all processed the information he’d just imparted.

“We can’t protect her in hospital.” Wesley’s voice was grim.

Giles glanced up at him, anger and frustration evident on his normally placid features. “No, but we cannot keep her here. She needs medical attention of the kind we cannot provide and magic won’t be enough.”

“Can we risk getting her out of town? Or is there some way we can put a protective field around her at one of the hospitals here?” Buffy’s gaze flickered between Giles and Wesley, wondering if either one of them knew something they might be able to use to protect Cordelia once they had her safe.

“I’m not sure. Most public places can’t be barred.” Wesley thought for a few moments, then fixed his eyes on the older man. “How dire are her injuries? If she’s as badly injured as you are implying, she would be housed in ICU, correct?”

“It’s more than likely.” Lifting his eyes to Wesley’s face, Giles asked, “what are you thinking?”

“Since she’ll be in isolation, it might be possible to perform a disinvite.” Spike considered this, his expression thoughtful.

“Might work. She’d be livin’ there.”

Buffy’s expression mirrored Spike’s. “Okay, so we can work on that once we get her out of there. First we have to get her. Any ideas?”

“Our best and probably only chance is going to be a diversion.” Giles took off his glasses, rubbing his eyes to hide the emotions overwhelming him. “We somehow need to draw both Angel and Drusilla away from the mansion.”

“Yeah and how are we gonna manage that and who’s gonna be stupid enough to be the bait?” Xander’s first contribution to the planning session was typically him.

Wesley ignored his tones, focusing instead on the words. “Exactly. What’s the best way to draw both of them?”

Buffy and Spike spoke simultaneously. “Me.”

They shared a look wrought with tension.

“Are you kidding?” Xander exploded into the quiet room. “If you both act as bait, how the hell are the rest of us supposed to rescue Cordy – you two are the strongest. And I really hate admitting that.”

Without taking his eyes from Buffy, Spike said softly, “I’ll go alone.”

Buffy was shaking her head no, while Giles and Wesley were both spluttering their own negatives. She couldn’t speak for the emotion suddenly clogging her throat and her heart was in her eyes as she looked at him.

“We can’t. . . “ Wesley was trying to come up with a reason to deny Spike, but the vampire held up his hand.

“Listen. I’ll take the bot – get into something so that Angelus and Dru hear of it – all public like.” He paused watching Buffy’s reaction to his words. “You lot get to be the heroes an’ rescue the girl.”

He knew what she was feeling, could sense it through the bond, but he also knew this was pretty much their best plan. Right now it was their only plan.

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

She could hear the noises from the other rooms, the sounds of people stirring and moving about. In a Pavlovian response, her body tensed, muscles clenching, tears immediately seeping from her closed eyes. There were no prayers left in her, nothing beyond please let me die echoing inside her head. Everything else was numb. Pain had leached away every other thought, every emotion stripped away in the light of what she’d endured.

Blood was sticking to her, making everything crinkle and crack every time she moved. Whimpers sounded in the still air of the room and it took her long minutes to realize it was her own voice making them. The outside noises came closer and the desperation filled her. Please. . . no more. . . please. . . mommy. . . daddy. . . please. . . no. . .

There was no release, the chains still bound her, the leather cutting into her skin, slicing deep into already abused flesh, bruising muscles and creating a fresh flow of blood around her wrists and ankles. The door to her prison creaked open and the dark looming shape of her captor stepped over the threshold.

Cordelia whimpered, high-pitched and desperate, fear ripping through her. She couldn’t think of him as what he once was, who he once was. . . he wasn’t that person. . . He might wear the same face, inhabit the same body, but whoever lived behind his eyes was not the person she . . .

“Good evening Cordy. How are you tonight? Did you miss me? Hhhmmm?” He grinned ferally as he came closer to the bed, entering her line of sight. “You know, I’m really thinking that I like you all quiet and obedient. But hey, kind of missing the visions. Seen anything good lately?”

Angel ran a deceptively gentle hand over her face, which he hadn’t yet damaged. “You are a beauty.” She tried shying away from his fingers, but Angel gripped her chin in one hand, leaning close, so that their faces were bare inches apart. “Shouldn’t do that Cordy. Really.”

Tracing a hand down along her neck, Angel leaned down, squeezing and flexing his fingers around, tightening and cutting off her air. Fresh tears slid down her cheeks and she gasped desperately for air. Her lungs constricted, her body bucking and writhing in an attempt to get the oxygen she needed to survive. His face came closer, his lips nearly brushing her ear and he whispered softly, gently, “don’t fight so much. You get used to not needing to breathe after a while. Kind of like getting used to not having a heartbeat.”

Choking noises filled the room, and he abruptly let her go, watching with a wide grin as she coughed and wheezed. Purple marks bloomed freshly over yellowed bruises and Cordy refused to look at him as he moved a single finger from her throat down toward her slashed breasts. Pressing hard against barely healed cuts, Angel broke open the scabs, letting fresh blood ooze from the abused globes.

Musing almost distractedly, Angel spoke aloud, his words barely registering in her mind. “So much to play with, so nice and full and delicious. You know, you taste like catnip. Maybe I’ll let my kitty-cat girl play for a little while.”

Angel watched while tiny streams of blood flowed from tiny pooling red lakes, down the sides of Cordelia’s once lovely breasts. He drew shimmering Celtic designs in blood on her torso, patterns swirling on and over her breasts and down her flanks, dipping closer to her torn and battered sex. More to himself than her, he continued speaking, “maybe I’ll have this branded into you, before I bring you over. Prove to you forever who you belong to. That you are mine. . . . to keep . . or not.”

He shoved his thumb inside her, pumping once, then reached for the police baton he’d taken from his latest minion. Grinning, he played with it, making sure Cordelia saw what he was doing. There was a soft noise behind him, and without moving or turning away from his victim, Angel said, “not now Dru. I’m playing.”

A soft laugh accompanied his dismissal. “Really Daddy, might I play with you? I’ve been ever so good and Miss Edith says the little seer will be seeing things tonight. Such nice little visions.”

With her words, Angel did finally turn around to look at Dru. His leer upon seeing her was wide and hungry. She lounged in the doorway, covered in nothing but a virginal lace veil stolen from the bridal shop, her skin as pearly white as the material, save for the darkness of her long hair and the shadow at the junction of her thighs. “A vision? Miss Edith says our guest is going to have a vision?”

“And the pixies too. Daddy, might your little girl come in and play? Please. . . pretty please?” A coquette’s grin and wide guileless eyes graced Drusilla’s face and as always, Angel couldn’t resist her. Holding out a hand to his precious childe, Angel motioned her forward. A happy giggle sounded in the air and she bounced forward eagerly. “Oooohhh Daddy, I promise I’ll be good. . . . can I play?”

Gathering the swirling lace in his big hand, Angel dragged Drusilla forward, until she hovered over Cordelia’s trussed body. The white lace dragged through the congealed blood, abrading the sensitive skin on Cordelia’s naked flesh. “So Dru, where does Daddy’s little girl want to play first?”

Drusilla was nearly salivating and bouncing with unrepressed glee. “Can I lick her up, can I? Pretty please. . . . please Daddy?”

Angel appeared to contemplate the idea for long minutes, looking between the two brunettes. The mental image had Cordelia being a willing participant, but that would come in time. . . .

“Sure baby. Lick her all over.”

Drusilla’s mouth descended slowly toward Cordelia’s cracked and bleeding nipple, her tongue poking out from between deadly lips, but Cordelia didn’t care, her mind was blank, lost in the fog of pain and despair, all hope of rescue long gone.

Book Two. Chapter 29. Relying on hope


To the last moment of his breath,
On hope the wretch relies;
And even the pang preceding death
Bids expectation rise.
Oliver Goldsmith, The Captivity. Act ii.

For the wretched
one night is like a thousand;
for someone faring well
death is just one more night.
Sophocles Fragments, l. 377

Destroy yourselves,
you who are desperate,
and you who are tortured in body and soul,
abandon all hope.
There is no more solace for you in this world.
The world lives off your rotting flesh.
Antonin Artaud, General Security: The Liquidation of Opium, (1925)





Just minutes after Spike’s pronouncement, Giles had excused himself in an effort to escape from the wrangling over the finer points of the plan. Buffy had watched him, her eyes meeting Wesley’s for a brief moment then her attention was drawn once more to their plan.

Before they had a chance to come up with something solid, Dawn, with Casey just steps behind her, traipsed in the doorway, toting the requested ginger ale. Dawn made her way into the kitchen, stopping short at the sight of the bot. “Spike?”

Her voice was strained with mirth and he couldn’t figure out why, until he remembered they had forgottten to put the bot away. Luckily, Casey had stopped to talk to Buffy about something so Spike hustled into the kitchen and hastily put the bot back in storage.

Buffy took the brief lull Casey’s appearance allowed for and sought out Giles, who was sitting quietly in the living room.

“Hey.” He opened his eyes at her greeting, angling his head in her direction.

“Buffy.” Actually taking the opportunity to look at her, he was shocked at the fatigue in her eyes and drawn look to her features. Her normally golden color was a bit off and he could now clearly see how much she hid from the others. “Are you all right?”

“I’m pooped. Staying up most nights with Spike and pretending to be Connor’s mommy very early in the morning make a totally tired Buffy.” She shrugged. “I’ll be fine.”

“Perhaps you should consider not going?” Buffy eyed him strangely, noting his own strained and tired look.

“Nope. Not unless you consider it.” She sat down on the couch facing him. “I’m fine, just tired.” She paused again, looking down at her hands. “How bad is she?”

“What? What makes you think this is in response . . ?” His voice trailed off when Buffy raised her eyebrow and just stared him down.

“Giles? I’m tired. Not blind or dumb.”

He grimaced, realizing he was going to have to tell someone. “Not good. By the amount of blood. . . I thought she was on red sheets until. . . “ he shook his head, unwilling to continue. “She’s tied to the bed, I couldn’t see how, but it probably involves chains.”

“Only if he thinks there’s a reason. Prob’ly tied her there with somethin’ else. Somethin’ designed to cause pain.” Spike’s voice sounded quietly from the kitchen doorway. He handed Buffy a glass of ginger ale, then folded his arms over his chest. “He’s goin’ for the hurt. Oxford said he was gettin’ the warm fuzzies for the girl. He’s tryin’ to break her.”

Buffy sipped the ginger ale, a slight grimace of distaste on her face. “You think he’s going to turn her.”

It wasn’t a question.

“Yeah.” Spike’s one word answer was enough for Buffy.

“We’re going in tonight.” Spike wasn’t the only one with a game face. The Slayer was suddenly sitting next to Giles, tired and under-the-weather Buffy long gone.

“Tonight? Are you certain?” Giles’ eyes were on his slayer.

“Yup.” She was nodding her head.

“Best we wait ‘til after midnight – this way if we get stuck, its close to daybreak an’ they can’t follow you when you get her out.” Spike laid a hand on her shoulder, absently running his thumb back and forth.

“So we gear up around midnight?” Xander’s voice preceded him into the living room.

“Looks like it.” Buffy was shaking her head. “We have one shot at this so it has to work.”

Wesley, who had followed Spike in from the kitchen, glanced down at his watch. “That gives us roughly seven hours.” At everyone’s nodded agreement, he continued, “then I suggest we get some sleep.”

Only Spike disagreed, but that was expected. “Don’t need it, but you, sunshine, should go.”

Turning watery eyes on him, Buffy asked, “come with?”

“Right then, see you lads later.” Spike’s dismissal was quick as he pulled Buffy to her feet. They disappeared up the stairs as the three men departed out the front door.

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

She knew something was up when Spike called her, telling her to come home, but wasn’t sure how serious it was until she’d come in the door.

For one thing, Wesley was still wearing the same clothes as last night. For another, Xander was in the dining room and he and Spike weren’t fighting. So whatever was going on had to be serious.

Dawn knew it was really bad when the bot was out of storage. And she was beginning to worry. She couldn’t ask point blank because Casey didn’t really know about the weirdness that was her life and it would take far too long to explain it to him. Not to mention so not wanting to go there at all.

Hearing them all leave like that clued her in a little more, but she also knew she couldn’t ask what was really going on while Casey was still around.

On the pretext of finding out if she could order a pizza for them, Dawn left Casey in front of the television and headed up the stairs.

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

They had climbed the stairs in silence, neither one of them inclined to talk. Buffy was feeling better, despite all the moving around, but still wasn’t up for the possible fight with Spike over the plan for the night.

Not that anyone else had been able to come up with something better. She didn’t like it, and some niggling sense kept her on edge about it. She didn’t like being split up from him while they were doing the rescuing bit. Didn’t even like patrolling without him – at least lately. While partially the claim, a just as real part of it was being skittish about certain things, not that fighting vampires was all that scary, it was the other stuff.

Knowing about Dawn had changed something fundamental for her. And that was before she knew the full truth.

Jumping to save Dawn had been the most right thing she’d ever done; it had also been the easiest. And now? Knowing the real truth – that Dawn was her daughter – Buffy would have only done one or two things differently. Now, with everything to live for, Buffy wasn’t inclined to take too many risks – and she was really afraid that something would go wrong and everything would fall apart, leaving her alone and without her mate. She didn’t think she could survive that.

Once inside their bedroom, Buffy turned to face her mate. The look on her features must have spoken volumes, because he opened his arms to enfold her and clasp her against his chest.

“I love you, you know, right?” A smile played across his face in answer, but he remained silent, waiting for her to continue. “Promise me you’ll be careful.”

“Always. You too kitten.” His arms tightened around her as he walked her backwards to the bed. Gently he pushed her onto the mattress, his touch firm. “Back to bed with you missy.”

“I’m fine.” He just snorted loudly, raising an eyebrow at her less than enthusiastic assertion. “Really I am.”

“Sure thing Slayer. How’s tha’ belly?” Two arms on either side of her hips, Spike leaned over her. “Hhmmm? Feelin’ a bit topsy turvy yet?”

“Bleah. Meanie.” She stuck her tongue out at him, pouting when he pushed her down onto the pillows.

“Right. ‘M mean coz ‘m makin’ you nap.” He was smirking at her, his eyes laughing.

“No. You’re a meanie because you’re gonna leave me alone the minute I fall asleep.” Her lower lip pouted and Spike growled. “And you’re making with the rumblies now too.”

His bark of laughter caused an answering smile in her. “If you wanted to snuggle, all you had to do was ask, love.” He pushed her further onto the bed, “shove over then.”

Once he was next to her, Buffy rolled into his waiting arms basking in his attention. He murmured into her hair as her eyes drifted closed. “Only have to ask kitten.”

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

Her eyes had just closed when Dawn snuck in the door after knocking. Finding the two of them on the bed, Buffy’s eyes already closed, Dawn knew something very serious was up – and not just the slayer stuff.

“What’s up?” Dawn walked toward the bed, trying not to disturb Buffy too much. Spike shifted a bit, eyeing her over his shoulder.

“Buffy’s feelin’ poorly an’ she’s gettin’ some kip before we go out tonight.”

“Yeah about that. . . what’s going on?” Dawn folded her arms over her chest and raised an eyebrow at him.

She looked so much like Buffy that he had to laugh. Buffy opened her eyes and asked “what’s so funny?”

Spike nudged her, saying, “that look’s pure Slayer, love, nothin’ of me in there ‘tall.”

“Ahuh.” Buffy rolled her eyes, focusing on Dawn again. “Angel has Cordelia and we’re gonna rescue her tonight.”

Dawn’s expression faltered, knowing what that could mean. “Do you think she’s okay?”

“No. Giles caught a glimpse of her and she’s gotta go right to the hospital.” Buffy brushed her hair away from her face and laid her head down on Spike’s chest. “We’re gonna need you to take care of Connor tonight, while the rest of us sleep.”

Glancing over at the crib, Dawn made a face then gave in. “Sure. I’ll get him when he wakes up.” She started to leave, then remembered her original purpose. “Is it okay if I order a couple of pizzas?”

“Get some wings too, ” was Spike’s only comment as she headed for the door.

“All right. I’ll see you later.”

Buffy snuggled closer into Spike’s arms and closed her eyes again without another word.

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

It was half eleven when the Watchers arrived and five minutes later when Xander and Anya walked in the door. Spike had been up for hours polishing weapons and Buffy had gotten up just after ten and showered. She’d tried once to talk him out of going with the bot, but he had retorted with “only if you stay home” which effectively ended that discussion.

Tara had ventured upstairs while Casey was still around and therefore had gotten a bare account of what was going on, but it was enough to alert her to the situation.

The bot was brought out of storage and given instructions which consisted of nothing more than do exactly what Spike says and ask no questions. Spike still had no idea what he was going to do, his only thought at the moment was to somehow draw the two master vampires away from the mansion. It was the how that was currently escaping him.

Looking around at everyone ranged about the dining room, Spike idly noted that the rest had done them all some good. Even Buffy was feeling better, that nausea dissipating after the enforced sleep. Her hazel green eyes sparked with life again and while her mood wasn’t exactly cheerful, she was back to herself.

She caught him looking at her and she tried forming a question in her head and was rewarded half a second later when his answer came through loud and clear. She didn’t have time to answer him, though, because Giles was talking and then it was time for him to go.

The plan, such as it was, hinged on Spike’s ability to lure the others away from the mansion, and, when he had their full attention, somehow telepathically let Buffy know it was time. The rescue group would be watching the mansion anyway, and they would move on Buffy’s signal. Once Cordelia was free, Wesley and Giles were going to take her to the hospital and Buffy was going to join Spike and the bot, hopefully confusing the hell out of the two vampires.

It wasn’t a great plan. It wasn’t even a good one. It was so lame that none of them thought it would work. However, they didn’t have any more time to come up with anything better, much less something that was guaranteed to work.

Spike was gone with the bot beside him, and the others were going to wait a half hour to forty-five minutes, then head over to the mansion.

He’d started out toward Restfield, intending to just cause a huge ruckus, hoping that the other two would hear of it and head out, when he stopped in his tracks, a thought swirling around in his head. Changing his mind abruptly, Spike headed straight for the mansion. If he was going to draw them out, he might as well ensure that they were out – and if he took out a few of the minions along the way, so much the better.

Change of plans, kitten, be ready to roll when I give a shout, was his last thought to Buffy before he shut down and focused on the new plan.

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

Cordelia hadn’t been so far gone when Drusilla interrupted Angel earlier that she missed what the insane vampire had said. So when the first vision had started, instead of reacting, Cordelia let it come. The pain that usually accompanied the visions was gone – overwhelmed by the pain her entire body was in. A little blinding headache wasn’t going to matter one way or another.

So she kept her silence, while Angelus and Drusiall tortured her body and watched as the disjointed visions showed herself, Wesley, Buffy and Spike fighting Drusilla, Angel grabbing Buffy by the throat – and then they ceased.

To afraid to guess at a meaning, Cordelia shut down again, forcing her mind away, detaching – until another vision assailed her battered psyche. This one, as earlier, was filled with images of Spike and Buffy and Xander . . . and Giles. Shuddering under the strain of keeping silent, Cordelia finally succumbed to the pain her body was in and surrendered consciousness.

And so she missed it completely when the first wave of the cavalry strode, black leather swirling, into the mansion, fists, fangs and swinging weapons, killing more than a few of Angel’s newest minions.

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

Without coming up with a better plan on the short walk to the mansion, Spike sent another thought to his mate, then closed off his emotions. He didn’t relish the idea of going against his sire or Angelus - the call of famiiy bonds was still strong – yet his bond with Buffy carried more weight. She had asked, he would do. For no other reason. He didn’t fool himself that he felt compassion for Cordelia – nor that he knew it was the right thing to rescue her – he just wasn’t sure he cared; it was enough for him that Buffy did.

Dragging on a cigarette, Spike contemplated the mansion in front of him. If he could hate a building, Spike hated this one. Hadn’t liked the decor from the beginning, all pseudo Spanish castello with a bit of art-deco thrown in for good measure, it housed some of the worst memories of his existence.

Being unable to walk while Angel fucked his woman under his bloody nose – within eye and ear-shot of him – hours on end.

His rage had been what set him on this path - -the behavior of the two of them – carrying on like he didn’t even exist – or was so far beneath their notice that it didn’t merit consideration had been the impetuous that goaded him into seeking out his own personal nemesis.

He’d already decided that it had been worth it – all that humiliation and anger. Stretching his neck side to side, Spike dropped the smoldering cigarette butt onto the ground, grinding it out with his boot. Addressing his companion, Spike said, “let’s go slay the minions.”

The bot’s only reaction was a bright perky smile and an “okie dokie Spike.”

Rolling his eyes, Spike followed after the bot.

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

The sounds of fighting reached both of them at the same time, and Drusilla looked up from her position between Cordelia’s thighs and growled.

It took Angel a moment longer, but when Spike’s unmistakable chuckle sounded in the air, he moved away from the two women, reaching for his trousers, muttering curses as he dressed.

Slapping Drusilla on the ass, Angel said, “now princess, no time to play with our guest.”

She scrambled from the bed, scampering into their room to retrieve her clothes. They could hear the sounds of fighting, Spike’s voice throwing laughing insults at his foes while Buffy’s voice chattered inanely in the background.

They were dressed and at the door of the bedroom in time to watch the Slayer and her pet dust some minions – one of which Angel had come to rely upon because of his brain and skill with electronics. With a growl Angel headed for Drusilla’s errant childe.

Sensing the presence of the other two, Spike signaled to the bot and slowly started retreating for the door. Drusilla screeched when the bot smacked her in the head, then followed Spike out the door.

The fight spilled out into the street, as Spike and the bot slowly gave ground.

Focusing on the bond between himself and Buffy, Spike sent his message through to her.

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

She hated watching him go. Hated the idea that he was fighting without her. Hated waiting. Buffy really, really hated waiting.

Not for the first time since Spike and her robotic doppelganger had walked out the door, Buffy turned concerned eyes on the two watchers and said, “I should have gone.”

This last time Giles had merely raised an eyebrow and remained silent, while Wesley drank his tea. “How can you two be so calm? Is it some strange English guy thing?”

Wesley merely smiled and Giles answered, “yes. We’re bred this way, don’t you know?”

“Very funny.” She stopped talking, the quip dying before she voiced it. She waited a bit listening to something only she could hear and then after a moment of intense concentration, said, “okay people, let’s get ready.”

The general clattering of weapons being picked then discarded sounded in the quiet suburban home and grim faces were evident all around. Wesley hefted a pair of heavy bolt-cutters in addition to a sword, while Giles decided between an axe and a short sword. Anya watched them, then got up to leave the room.

She was back in moments, thrusting an old sheet at Buffy. “Here take this.”

“What for?” Buffy looked from it to Anya wondering what on earth the other girl was thinking.

“For Cordelia. In case she’s all naked and bloody. Because I wouldn’t want all these strange men looking at me unless it was group. . . well, never mind, you know what I mean.”

And strangely enough, once Anya started to explain, Buffy knew exactly what she meant. Thanking her, Buffy motioned to the sheet. “Think you can find another one just in case?”

With a quiet nod, Anya headed for the second floor linen closet.

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

They were halfway down the block when Drusilla tried gouging out the slayer’s eyes and the bot retaliated by knocking her off her feet, sending her into the side of another house, setting off alarms. Spike paused in his all out battle with Angel, calling out to the bot, then with a look that was designed to boil the older vampire’s borrowed blood, Spike taunted him mercilessly.

Drusilla got to her feet, practically flying toward the bot, while it and Spike continued to draw the other two away. The bot aimed another whirling kick at Drusilla, this time missing her and Drusilla stalked after the robot, hissing and swaying like a maddened cat. Spike nailed Angel from behind, grabbing his attention with a series of punches to the bigger vampire’s gut, driving him backwards toward the house with the shrieking alarms.

Police sirens sounded and although they weren’t part of his original plan, Spike used them to his advantage. “Love to continue this gramps, but Sunnydale’s most oblivious are arrivin'. Might want to chase after Dru an’ hide. . . “ and with that he raced off after the two fighting females.

Angel took a moment to shake off the broken ribs, realized what Spike had said and followed.

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

Spike’s second message ripped through her head and Buffy growled at everyone. “Let’s move people, now.”

She grabbed the sheets Anya had gathered and headed for the door.

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

They cruised up to the mansion without lights, the whirling flare of the police vehicles at the end of the block not impeding their progress.

Buffy was out of the Jeep before Wesley had come to a complete stop, heading straight for the front door. Xander was right behind her and the two Englishmen made up the rear. She only slowed down as she neared the door, trying to sense how many minions were left behind.

Not watching to see who was behind her, Buffy said, “I’m going in first. Everyone in pairs, Xander you stay with me. Giles and Wes you go find Cordy. We’ll back you up.”

Deciding stealth wasn’t important, Buffy kicked open the door and stormed in.

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

Spike caught up with Drusilla and the bot just as Dru pinned the bot against one of the old high school walls. Swaying slightly, the vampire sing-songed at the bot, trying to thrall her. If the situation wasn’t so important, to keep Dru and Angelus occupied, Spike would have laughed out loud. As it stood, he was still trying not to chuckle.

Instead, he grabbed Drusilla by the throat, grinding out, “can’t let you do that pet.”

With her nails drawing furrows in his hands, Spike held her up off the ground until he could hear the lumbering feet of his grandsire. Making a face and glancing at the bot, Spike said, “I’ll take care of Dru love, you see to the poofter.”

Angel loomed into view and the bot nailed the side of his head with a flying kick that had him reeling. Spike watched with a jaded eye while Dru shrieked and scrambled trying to pry his vice-like fingers from around her neck.

To Spike’s eye – it was obvious this wasn’t Buffy – but neither of the other two had spent the amount of time with her that he had and not nearly enough to know the difference. Which just amused him no end.

Some death-defying love Angel had professed. Couldn’t even tell his “love” wasn’t real.

Spike laughed.

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

Buffy was trying hard to believe it was this simple. The house was deserted – no minions guarding at all. It was almost no fun. And then her mind registered that no, tonight wasn’t supposed to be fun – it was supposed to be just about rescuing Cordelia.

It wasn’t until they headed for the short flight of steps leading to the mid-level that the first sign of resistance appeared. Two vampires came at them, bigger and stronger than any of them had expected. Buffy ducked under a punch, rolling to her feet behind one, dusting him from the back, when another three vamps came up from the first floor, surrounding them.

Leaving Xander and Giles to battle the first vampire, Buffy turned to aid Wesley who was barely holding his own against the newcomers. Quickly knocking two of them away, Buffy held onto one while Wesley sliced off its head, and then turned as one of the others jumped on Xander’s back. Yelling “duck!” Buffy swung them both around and Xander dropped to his knees, giving Buffy a clear path to the vamp’s chest.

Outnumbered two to one now, the vampires broke and ran. Giles headed unerringly toward the room where he’d spotted Cordelia, motioning toward the other room, calling out to Xander, “there’s another girl in there.”

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

The sudden disappearance of her captors had roused Cordelia from the fugue state she retreated to. The noises and sounds from the outer rooms meant nothing, although she thought, at one point, that she’d heard Buffy’s voice, but dismissed it as her mind’s wish, not reality.

It wasn’t long before the noises had stopped, leaving a void that again allowed her to slip out of consciousness. She never heard the whoop of the nearby house alarm, nor the renewed sounds of fighting, until the door to her cell splintered and cracked.

Fear rose up in her belly, racing through her like a firestorm and her entire body started convulsing. Voices and images swam around her, making no sense and Cordy screamed a long wild keening cry of abject fear and terror, raising the hackles of her rescuers, echoing in the suddenly still house.

A crisp cool voice echoed in her head, calling her name while strong hands pushed and pulled at her bonds, ripping open half-healed cuts. The sickly sweet scent of fresh blood filled the air and Cordelia cried out as her bonds were loosened, her arms brought down to her sides.

“Cordy. . . . Cordy. . . its me. . . c’mon Cordy. . . shhhh. . its Buffy.”

Cordelia opened one eye, saw the blond hair through the haze of tears and screamed.

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

It was carnage.

Brutal.

The body that once forged almost every wet dream of a teenaged Xander Harris was destroyed beyond imagining.

There was blood everywhere.

Dried spots on the floor.

Newer, fresher sticky wet puddles of it around the bed.

Big blooming splotches of it, like obscene roses, on the sheets beneath the pale body.

A once virginal bride’s veil was stuck to her battered skin, dyed maroon and cerise, and garish girly shades of pink.

Buffy forced away the rising nausea at her once reluctant friend’s form and battled her own tears.

Wesley stopped behind her, staring at the nightmare vision before them. “My god” breathed from him and Buffy silently echoed the sentiment.

Giles was moving toward the bed, able to focus only on parts – not the whole of the damage. Grasping his lethally sharp blade, he sliced through the leather as near to her skin as possible.

Her arm coming free galvanized the still form on the bed. Shivering, shaking, she flailed out at her rescuers, unable to comprehend she was saved because of the terror rising in her.

Buffy and Wesley moved together, their shock wearing off in the face of Cordelia’s reaction. Xander appeared in the doorway and Buffy yelled at him to get the sheets. Her eyes had been drawn to the bloodied veil and her brain focused on removing the obscenity from Cordelia’s flesh.

She was screaming now, absolute terror ruling her and every time one of them tried to touch her, she writhed and bucked off their hands. Wesley cut the last of her bonds and Cordelia lashed out with heartbreakingly feeble strength, kicking and flailing. Buffy tried calling out for her, using her name, calling her repeatedly and yet each time Cordelia’s convulsing worsened. She stilled as Xander returned, handing Buffy the sheets, opening one eye.

Cordelia appeared to focus, then let loose with a bloodcurdling scream.

With tears streaming down her face, Buffy looked at the three men around her, noting they too were crying, and made a decision. Whispering softly to Cordelia, Buffy simply said “sorry”, drew back her fist and knocked Cordelia out cold.

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