Book Two, Chapter 30. Ache of heaven

The easiest period in a crisis situation is actually the battle itself. The most difficult is the period of indecision—whether to fight or run away. And the most dangerous period is the aftermath.
Richard M. Nixon, Six Crises, 1962.


Crystal tears
battered innocent flesh
ache of heaven
rage of hell
unwanted angel
unspeakable violation
bruised bleeding ripped and torn
lambent eyes clouded with rage
silver shards of ice filled pain
snarling sneering
gasping shame
desecrated angel
bleeding life away
Niamh O’Connor, 1998


Moving her, once she was unconscious, was simple. Unfortunately doing so opened nearly all of the cuts on her skin, and the sheet they wrapped her in was quickly saturated.

Wesley’s call to Dr. Thomas alerted him to their arrival. The Englishman’s description of her external injuries had the doctor directing them to the Emergency Room, and he promised Wesley that he and a select team of emergency personnel would meet them there.

None of them spoke.

There were no words to encompass what they’d seen.

Even Cordelia’s superficial injuries, the cuts and bruises, were horrible. There was no way of knowing what kind of internal damage had been done. It was clear that Angel had raped her repeatedly but none of them said a word.

Buffy was fighting tears and nausea, even as she held Cordelia’s head in her lap. This wasn’t the work of the vampire she’d loved. Couldn’t be. . . . her mind couldn’t wrap around the idea that her Angel. . . but he wasn’t hers. Hadn’t ever really ever been hers. This savagery was what the soul caged – the brutality and . . . Buffy swallowed hard, fighting to keep her stomach from spewing its contents all over.

He hadn’t touched her face at all.

What kind of sick fucker destroyed his victim from the neck down and didn’t touch her face? Xander was at a total loss, trying to understand why Cordelia looked so peaceful, her face untouched. The only thought, the only answer his brain could come up with was a frightening prospect. Angel didn’t want to destroy her face because he planned on looking at it for a very, very long time.

Giles couldn’t focus on anything but a silent prayer. He was thanking god – whatever deity – that had protected and watched over them all those years ago – the first time Angelus had raged throughout Sunnydale. He thanked god for the small mercy of finding Cordelia before she’d been turned. He thanked god too, for his rescue from the vicious hands of Angel. There was no way he would have survived the tortures Angelus had planned for him without Spike’s intervention. He had no idea how much damage Cordelia had sustained, her surface injuries were bad enough, the internal and emotional damage would take years to recover from – if she survived. His intuition was telling him that the internal injuries were extensive, more extensive than her body indicated – and he had serious doubts about her recovery.

He wasn’t alone in his worry.

Wesley, like Buffy, was fighting tears and nausea, but like Giles, was masking those feelings in anger and white hot rage. This . . . was done by someone who had professed to be a friend – who’d had feelings for Cordelia. What had been done to the girl was brutal. He wanted to weep, wanted to rage – wanted to grab Angel’s throat between his hands and squeeze until his head separated from his neck and his dust rained down on his skin.

At that moment, there wasn’t a one of them in the car that wasn’t willing to dust Angel.

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

Spike had felt through the bond the moment they’d gotten Cordelia out and away. Now it was just a matter of eluding the other two and heading toward Sunnydale General, where they’d taken Cordelia. The original plan had them meeting up in one of the cemeteries, confusing the two master vampires with multiple Buffys, but that had changed when Spike altered the plans. He knew, from Buffy’s thoughts, that they’d headed directly toward the hospital and that was where he was going to meet her.

Grabbing the bot’s hand, Spike headed for the sewers, knowing it was the easiest way of hiding their scent and losing the other two. Just like her real counterpart, the bot complained the entire trip through the sewers. Spike ignored it, his concentration on moving forward and listening for any signs of pursuit. After twenty minutes or so, Spike slowed down, heading straight for the hospital.

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

Dawn was half-asleep on the couch, while Anya paced about, waiting for any word. She’d finished cleaning the bathrooms, had vacuumed the first floor and had straightened up the dining room. There was no way she could sit still while everyone else did all the hero stuff. Not that she was the hero type, but she still couldn’t just sit around like Dawn.

Anya looked over at the sleeping girl, unable to believe she was so calm. Dawn shifted, opened her eyes and Anya took the opportunity to talk. “How can you sleep? Its nerve-wracking. I can’t even sit still and you’re calm enough to sleep. How do you do that? Is there some trick? What do you do? Is it meditation? Did Buffy teach you that?”

“Anya? I’m tired. I get up early for school and its just nothing more than me being really tired.” She paused a moment, gauging Anya’s expression. “Its also that, you know, I’ve been doing this for years. Since Buffy was fifteen.”

“So this is just another night. Just another rescue mission.” Anya perched on the armchair, looking expectantly at the younger girl.

“Well, its different, because its Cordelia. And its someone . . . Cordy used to be one of us. A scoobie.”

Dawn wasn’t prepared for Anya’s reaction. The ex-demon smiled widely. “One of us? You mean I’m one of the scoobies?”

“Yeah. Of course you are.” A wide yawn stretched across her features and Dawn asked, “have we heard anything?”

“No.” Checking her watch, Anya said, “its only a little bit after two. We should hear from them soon.”

And, in the way of all things on the hellmouth, that had to be the signal, because both cell phones went off.

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

Dr. Thomas, with a trauma team in tow, met them at the doors of the Emergency Room, his face grim. Wesley had tersely relayed Cordelia’s condition, so they were prepared for the worst.

Maureen Osborne was there too, and at the first opportunity she pulled Buffy aside, asking her how her nephew was and also what cover story they had concocted for the authorities. When Buffy had looked at her somewhat blankly, Maureen had bustled her into a side corridor, chattering softly. “The police will believe something, as long as its plausible. Don’t worry, we’ll come up with something.”

When Buffy didn’t answer, instead seemed to crumple under the strain, Maureen pulled her into a private waiting area and handed her a tissue. “Its okay sweetie, your friend is in bad shape. You can cry.”

Buffy sniffled then said, “I’m okay. Cordy’s safe now. I just wish Spike was here.”

“I’m sure he’ll be here shortly.” Waiting for a moment to see if Buffy needed anything else, Oz’ aunt patted her arm and said, “if you need me, I’ll be doing the paperwork.”

She left Buffy alone, staring at the walls of the waiting room.

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

Giles and Wesley stood outside the doorway to the trauma room, waiting anxiously for any word of Cordelia’s condition. Xander was pacing around, muttering to himself, his hands tucked under his arms, tears dripping down his cheeks.

Wesley said something that Giles didn’t hear and when he repeated himself, the older man snapped his head around to look at him. Giles stepped away from the door to find Buffy and to call the girls to let them know they’d been successful.

He walked outside the hospital doors, knowing that once Angelus and Drusilla discovered Cordelia had been rescued, there would be hell to pay. Angelus did not like his plans thwarted or interrupted in any way – and it had been obvious to Giles that he’d planned to turn Cordelia. His reluctance to mar her features was a dead giveaway. Added to the fact that he hadn’t bled her to death before they’d discovered her – Giles was fairly certain of it.

Sending out the all clear code on the cell phones, Giles was surprised when he heard the tell-tale chirp of another phone seconds later.

“Figured you lot were here. Everyone all right?” Spike’s voice sounded in the dark and Giles barely turned around when the bot was standing next to him staring up into his face.

“We’re fine. Cordelia’s inside.” Giles looked away, fighting tears again. “It was. . . worse than expected.”

“Thought so.” Spike was quiet for a moment, knowing nothing he could say would be enough for any of them. He’d never been like Angel, carving up his victims, destroying their entire lives, torturing them mentally and physically. No, he’d been more direct – bash and crash – all sound and fury. But that wouldn’t serve as anything other than cold comfort. And lip service on his part. He respected Rupert too much to give him that. “Where’s Buffy?”

“She’s inside.”

Dropping his cigarette butt, Spike said, “‘m goin’ in. You comin’?” At Giles’ negative shake, Spike said, “keep the bot with you. Jus’ in case.”

Giles nodded, “I’ll be in shortly.”

Spike nodded once, then headed inside.

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

Buffy was still sitting in the private waiting area, watching the hallways of the emergency room, at the activity in and around the trauma room Cordelia was in, ears attuned to any hint of commotion in the hallways.

Twice she’d almost gone to find Oz’ aunt, more for the comfort of the older mom-type woman that she represented than for a need of company, although that wouldn’t be bad either. The last two times she’d been in this building she’d nearly lost the two most important people in her life.

Her mom.

Spike.

Joyce’s first brush with death had been in the halls upstairs and had devastated both her and Dawn. Yeah, her mother had survived a few weeks, nearly a few months, but the end had still started here. Tears rose in Buffy’s eyes as she thought about her mother. Oh, Mommy. . . I’m so. . . I miss you so much. I wish you were here. A sob escaped from her throat and Buffy put her head in her hands and let the tears fall. Oh Mom. . . . being here is so hard. . . Everything about this life is . . . . But you were right about him. . . . about Spike. He’s been. . . . god, Mom, I love him so much. Without him, I’d have been really lost.

Fresh tears dripped down her cheeks and Buffy shredded the tissue between her slim fingers. A tingle of awareness shot through her and Buffy lifted her head, looking out for Spike.

He was standing just in her line of sight, talking to Wesley, while Xander hovered nearby. Despite her tears and worry about Cordelia, just the sight of him was enough to bring a steadying breath and an almost smile to her face. There was something so solid, so real about him and if you didn’t know he was a vampire, there was a strength to his carriage that said here was a guy you could lean on and let be the strong one. Hell, maybe being a vampire just made that more evident. For the first time, Buffy tried sending a complete thought, a phrase through the bond, just to grab his attention. Concentrating hard, Buffy thought of him and focused on the words in her head.

She watched as his body straightened, his head tilting sideways as he listened to something only he could hear, motioning Wesley to quiet with an upraised hand. A smile bloomed across his features and he slowly turned to look in her direction. His eyes bored into hers as he left the two men, moving toward her. Tucking his thumbs into his waistband, Spike prowled forward like the slinky predator he was, his eyes never leaving hers.

Spike came to a stop just in front of her, a grin on his face. Buffy tilted her head up to look at him and a shy smile crept across her wide mouth as she took in the expression on his face. His deep voice wafted over her. “Love you too kitten.”

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

One by one they had all drifted into the private waiting area, Wesley first to join them. He sat opposite Spike, his long limbs folded into an uncomfortable looking shape, his head was tilted back against the wall and his eyes were closed, but none of them were fooled into believing he was asleep. With the presence of the two younger Englishmen, Buffy’s over-stretched nerves were calmed and she leaned further into Spike’s arms.

Xander came in next, bringing coffee and hot chocolate as a peace offering, which was silently accepted. He sat down in a chair next to Wesley, leaning forward, elbows on knees and more composed than he’d been earlier. Giles and the bot wandered in last, the bot trailing behind the older man, her eyes darting about and taking in the surroundings. The coffee cups were lined up on the table between the anxious group and Giles leaned over to grab one of them. With a gesture to the bot, Giles sat down next to Spike. Glancing round at their faces, Giles asked, “no word yet?”

Negative head shakes were his only answer.

Buffy yawned, leaning more heavily against Spike’s chest. A tiny shiver snaked its way through her and Spike stood up to slip the duster off and around her. “Wanna lay down pet?”

She shrugged, looking up at him with very tired doe eyes and a minute quiver to her lips. Without a word he scooped her up, saying to the others, “‘m takin’ her home. Give us a ring when you get word, yeah?”

The others just nodded, but it was Buffy herself who started to protest. “We should stay, at least until we know. . . Spike?”

He was shaking his head in refusal when Maureen Osborne approached. “Buffy?” She was looking from the bot to the girl in Spike’s arms, confusion clearly written on her features.

“Here.” She waved a bit from her spot in Spike’s arms, then asked, “is there any word on Cordelia?”

“Yes.” She paused while the rest of the men got to their feet. “They managed to stop the internal bleeding, but her spleen was ruptured and her liver’s been bruised. She just left surgery and she’s in recovery. They’re going to put her in a private ICU room. And she’s going to have an armed guard outside her door.”

Relieved looks were exchanged, although Giles exchanged a look with Spike that spoke volumes. “Did they remove her spleen?”

“Yes. She’s being transfused also. She’d lost an enormous amount of blood and, I’m not going to lie to you, it was very close. But they managed to stop all the hemorrhaging.”

Xander asked, “when can we see her?”

Maureen was shaking her head, “not for hours. Go home. Get some rest, come back around three. She might be awake then.”

But both Wesley and Xander were shaking their heads, and Wesley’s voice sounded first. “I’d like to stay.”

Spike raised an eyebrow and Wesley answered his unspoken question by gesturing toward his jacket pocket. Turning toward Xander, Wesley said, “you go home, I’ll stay now and you can relieve me later.”

He started to splutter his disagreement, when Giles voiced his own quietly worded statement, “I’m sure Anya is worried and you should probably take her home and reassure her that everything is well.”

That stopped Xander’s protests.

Wesley handed the Jeep’s keys to Spike and after thanking Maureen Osborne for everything, those going home headed quietly for the door. Thinking quickly, Spike backtracked a bit, then motioned to Wesley with his chin. “Keep the bot here, jus’ in case. Better safe than sorry, right?”

Sighing deeply, Wesley eyed the robot with amused distaste, but knowing the value of Spike’s experience and trusting he wouldn’t say something like that if he didn’t think it was necessary, Wesley nodded his agreement.

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

Angel sniffed the air one more time, trying to gain a sense of the direction Spike and Buffy had headed, but the trail was long cold and diffused with the sewer scents. His growl of frustrated anger echoed off the cement walls surrounding the two master vampires and Drusilla clapped her hands over her ears to block the sounds. It did nothing to help the reverberations that pulsed in her as an answer to her Sire’s distress, however, only making the situation worse by adding her temper to his.

He’d lost the two not long after they had descended into the sewers and although he could try and backtrack to the point of entry, Angel knew it was a lost cause. Traces of Spike’s signature were all over these tunnels, and there was no way of knowing which ones were more recent than the others, due to the other, less pleasant odors wafting from the sludge beneath their feet. Once more growling his disgust and anger, Angel motioned Drusilla to his side. “Let’s go. We’re not going to be able to track them.”

He grabbed Drusilla by the arm, pulling her behind him as he made his way to the nearest entrance. It had been years since he’d been down in these sewers and his memory of them was hazy at best. It would be easy above ground to get a location and make their way back to the mansion from there. Spying one of the sewer entrances not more than twenty paces behind him, Angel climbed up the ladder and emerged into the pre-dawn darkness. The night still held sway, though it was hours before the inky midnight sky gave way to early morning, Angel could feel the sun making its way eastward. Standing over the entrance, his eyes scanning about, as he waited for Drusilla to make the climb into the night, Angel’s gaze landed on a very familiar area.

They were just outside of Restfield.

No more than a handful of blocks from Revello Drive.

Grinning down into the darkness, Angel said, “come now Dru, we’re not far from family. Maybe we should pay a visit.”

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

Spike glanced at the clock in the Jeep, his eyes disbelieving the device. It was close to five in the morning. No wonder everyone was punchy and tired, well, except for him. Buffy was more than half asleep in the seat next to him, curled up underneath his duster, her head dropping forward every couple of seconds. Giles and Xander were very quiet in the back and Spike glanced once in the rearview mirror to check if they too had fallen asleep. But they hadn’t. Both males were still awake, just not inclined to filling the silence.

He couldn’t blame them. What they’d witnessed tonight had to affect all of them. He’d be surprised if they didn’t have nightmares for a long time to come about this. Though Giles never admitted it out loud, he knew there were some sleepless nights for the watcher that blame for could be laid solely on Angel’s shoulders. He and Giles had spent too many sleepless nights together, both when he was captive and tied up, and later, just this past summer. Spike could tell when someone was haunted by memories they’d rather not have experienced – hard not to know when sometimes it was what he himself shied away from. There were plenty of memories he’d rather not have to relive. More than enough. Buffy too, was often affected by nightmares, although that was easing somewhat.

Kind of hard not to have monsters invading your sleep when that was what you faced every single day. The trick for the humans was not to let the nightmares, which highlighted unconscious fears, become reality. Xander shifted, breaking his train of thought, and Spike glanced back in the rearview mirror again. He couldn’t meet any of them in the eye that way, but he knew Harris could sense he’d gained Spike’s attention.

“You all right?” For once, Spike wasn’t going to goad the boy into a fight. There had been too much bloodshed in the last few hours, Spike had no desire to get into anything. All he wanted was to get home and crawl into bed with his woman, affirming that they were both safe and sound.

Xander was just as subdued as Spike, perhaps even more so. He knew what kind of evilness a vampire was – he just had forgotten how truly brutal they could be. And he was beginning to realize something else that he just wasn’t quite ready to face, something that each of the others had gone through in the past few months. A re-assessment of the difference between Spike and other vampires. “I guess.”

Spike let it go, knowing any more talk could lead to a brangle and at the moment, he just wasn’t in the mood. The Jeep cruised along the quiet streets of Sunnydale, encountering no traffic, when Giles said softly, “I think I just saw Drusilla and Angel.”

Book Two. Chapter 31. Things of bestial shape

As a child, my heart bleeds for him.
Someone took a little boy and turned him into a monster.
But as an adult... as an adult, he's irredeemable.
He butchers whole families to fulfill some sick fantasy.
As an adult, I think someone should blow the sick fuck out of his socks.
Manhunter, 1987

Art, like Nature, has her monsters, things of bestial shape and with hideous voices.
Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray





Once the “all clear” signal came through from Giles, Dawn smiled sleepily at the former demon keeping her company, yawned widely and said, “okay, I’m heading for bed.”

“Wait! We don’t know how soon they’re coming back.” Anya held her back, hoping the teen would keep her company.

Dawn shifted on the couch, moving away from Anya. “Look, they’ll be back soon, because, well, just because, but I so need sleep.” Putting her head down, Dawn closed her eyes. “I’m gonna stay right here, but I’m going to sleep.”

Anya huffed a bit, but settled down when it was obvious Dawn wasn’t going anywhere. The two girls were quiet, the television on, an infomercial airing that neither girl was paying the least bit of attention to, as they waited. Dawn’s eyes drifted closed and Anya, finally relaxing enough to get comfortable, also succumbed to the sandman’s lure.

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

“Fuck.” Spike’s one word epithet rang through the Jeep, low voiced and menacing. “You sure?”

“I believe it was them, yes.” Giles spoke just as quietly, his eyes on the side streets as they continued through the still dark streets of Sunnydale.

Spike was quiet for a moment, then said, “need to warn Oxford.” Turning the corner from Main onto Revello, only two blocks from the house, the vampire added, “too close to sunrise. Doubt they’ll risk getting involved in much of anything an’ they both know they can’t get into the house. They’ll probably cruise by then head right for the mansion.”

“You hope.” Xander’s voice was terse, his nerves stretching thin again.

“An educated guess. ‘S what I would do. Can’t risk getting caught. Sunlight isn’t forgiving. ‘Sides, the house is too heavily warded against vamps.” Spike pulled into the driveway, reaching over to gently shake Buffy awake. He was beginning to get concerned about her, she usually wasn’t this tired or this willing to appear less than her best in front of anyone but him, especially lately.

“Except one.” Xander bit out the snide comment before his brain could override his mouth and Spike whirled around as he got out of the car, pinning him with a hard glare.

“‘S right. I live here. This is m’house, whelp, an’ sooner you adjust better off you’ll be.”

Giles grumbled from his side of the vehicle. “Must you two always do this? The territorial male posturing is so very tiring. Most especially at,” and he glanced tiredly down at his watch, “five thirty-six in the morning.”

Xander sputtered out something else, but Spike ignored him to circle the car and get Buffy. Giles passed the dark haired young man, his brow raised pointedly and strode into the quiet house.

With Buffy lurching sleepily at his side, Spike headed for the house, tossing out over his shoulder, “don’t wanna be caught outside, Harris, better get a move on.”

And just like that he deflated any arguments or nasty comments Xander might have thrown at him, at least for the moment.

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

She was so still, her chest barely moving, the machines doing the majority of the work for her bruised and battered body.

Oxygen and fluids were being forced into her dehydrated cells, lending a false color to her cheeks. Cordelia looks so peaceful lying there, Wesley thought, as long as I don’t look at her arms.

White gauze bandages covered most of her arms, the IVs stuck into the only veins strong enough to sustain the influx of necessary fluids, at both sides of her neck. Most of the smaller cuts hadn’t even been bandaged, the surgeons using crazy glue instead, mainly to cut down on the number of scars. She was going to have more than enough of those as it stood; not all of them would ever show The surgeon had told him it had been necessary because of the severity of her injuries to induce a coma. He’d also told Wesley that the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours were the most crucial. If any one of her blood vessels burst, there was a real possibility they would lose her. The internal damage was that great.

Angelus had done his work well.

Oh Cordelia, I am so very sorry. I should have voiced my concerns sooner, not allowed this. . Not left you in his hands so very long. Wesley bowed his head, fighting angry tears. All this because Angel had feelings for her. It was outrageous. It was disgusting. It was. . . . Wesley couldn’t find words to describe how violently disgusted and disturbed he was by Angel’s actions.

To have. . . to be violated by someone who were the face of a friend was beyond betrayal. He’d raped her repeatedly, sodomized her as well. Battered and beaten her until she was nearly dead. Drained of her blood and starved her. The list of her injuries was chilling.

It would be nothing short of a miracle if Cordelia survived.

Wesley sat down in the chair next to her bed, praying harder than he could ever remember doing.

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

Angel watched from the shadows shrouding the house across the street from 1630 Revello Drive, Drusilla by his side, as her errant childe arrived at his human’s home. A sneer crossed his features and he spat on the ground. “Drusilla, we need to do something about that.”

“Too late Daddy. . . . so very late.” She crooned softly, a sad smile on her face. “My prince is long gone, lost in sunshine and baby strawberries, smelling roses and dancing with tea cozies.”

“Dru, maybe we should just. . .” Angel stopped talking when he saw Spike stop, his back stiffening as he sensed the presence of both master vampires.

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

Halfway between the car and the front door, Spike hesitated a moment, then he said in a whisper, “Xander, get in the house.”

Xander Harris froze. He could probably count on one hand the number of times Spike had ever used his first name. His use of it right now could only mean something very bad was about to happen or something very scary was nearby. Recovering by deftly tripping over his own feet, Xander ambled his way to the front door.

Buffy looked up at Spike when he’d spoken and his meaning came through silently yet all too clearly. “Across the street sunshine. Watching us both.”

“Wards?”

“Up and operational, including the new one tied to the electric.”

“Kay. Tired now.” And to prove her unspoken point, Buffy yawned and stumbled into his side.

Wrapping his arm around her and steadying her, Spike walked them up the steps and into the house, firmly closing the door behind him.

Take that you Irish fucker, Spike fumed as he locked the door.

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

“That piss ass feckin”. . . . Angelus muttered expletives under his unneeded breath, cursing Drusilla’s insolent get. Bastard should’ve learned by now not to try and play with his elders. He’ll always lose.

Striding off back toward the mansion, Angel didn’t realize Drusilla wasn’t following him until he was half a block away. “Drusilla. Time to go now.”

But she wasn’t listening to him, she was listening to the mournful pixies that were singing in her head. Who they were singing for, Drusilla didn’t know, but for the repetition of one phrase. “Bell tolls. . . bell tolls. Daddy?”

Angel had returned for his own madwoman, his tone for once gentle. “They’re talking to you, are they?”

“Uuuuhhhh.” Dru swayed a bit, lost to a vision, unable to speak clearly. Angel watched her babble and sway for another long minute, then feeling the twinges that signaled daybreak, he scooped her up and strode off into the waning night.

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

“Right then. ‘Fore everyone toddles off for shut-eye, need to talk.” Spike said as he almost kicked the front door shut. “Angelus was outside jus’ now, watchin’ the house.” He paused, making sure he had everyone’s attention. “No one’s out after dark. He doesn’t know yet that we’ve taken the cheerleader back. He’s gonna try and hurt us now. Every one has to be careful. Don’t fancy any more rescue ops.”

No one contradicted him, not even Dawn. For once, they all understood exactly what price carelessness would extract.

“Whelp you an’ your bird can sleep in Joyce’s old room. Air mattresses are all set up. Watcher?” At Giles’ raised eyebrow, Spike snorted. “Sleepin’ on the couch again. Gonna start chargin’ you rent.”

Buffy laughed tiredly, remarking, “you could write it off as a counsel expense.” When no one but her thought it was funny, Buffy grumbled a bit, “must be exhausted. I’m too tired to pun.”

Spike pulled her to her feet from her seat on the stairs, saying, “g’night all.”

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

Wesley had pulled his chair close to the bed, enough so that he could touch Cordelia and stay seated. Not overly religious, Wesley had spent most of his life serving good, almost serving a higher power, and at this moment he couldn’t come up with much of a reason why he’d done so.

Cordelia had been butchered.

Savaged.

Brutalized.

By the face and hands of a . . . not a man. . .but a being who claimed to value her position in his life. Wesley was sickened by it. Disgusted and despaired for Cordelia’s spirit. As an Englishman of a certain station, Wesley was supposed to maintain a stalwart mein in dire circumstances. As a former Watcher, he was supposed to make that rise to another level. He wasn’t supposed to ache with suppressed rage; to shake with suppressed despair and weep with profound sorrow.

Nor was he supposed to pray.

But Wesley did all that, sitting beside the broken, battered and barely alive form of Cordelia Chase.

Dropping his head down onto the bed, Wesley prayed to any god for compassion and strength.

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

Anya trooped up the stairs behind Buffy and Spike, who was prodding the very tired slayer up the steps, murmuring so soft and low that none of his words filtered through to her. Dawn was just ahead of Buffy, mumbling something about school and holidays that Anya didn’t quite understand. Xander was the last one up the stairs, watching the sleepy parade, his eyes watching the interaction between the two blonds. There was a general closing of doors and muttered goodnights as he finally took the stairs, the fatigue and the emotional turmoil of Cordelia’s rescue finally catching up with him.

Pushing his way into Joyce’s old room, Xander was surprised to see boxes piled up in one corner and swatches of paint on the walls, as if someone couldn’t decide what color scheme to use. All of Joyce’s old bedroom furniture was gone, the only evidence of her occupation of the room the dark curtains and the boxes with her name on them. It saddened him, to see her things put away in boxes, when he looked closer, some of those boxes had Willow’s name on them. Xander sighed, wondering what his oldest friend was up to, and hoping that things weren’t so broken between everyone that they couldn’t be fixed.

Anya was already under the sheets, her head down on a borrowed pillow and she drowsily said, “come to bed Xander, its late.”

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

Spike pushed the door to their room open, at the same time pushing Buffy over the threshold. “C’mon sunshine, into bed.”

Quickly divesting her of her clothes, Spike tossed her one of his tee-shirts and moved to get his boots off when Connor started fussing in the crib. Getting up quickly to head off the howling that was threatening, Spike lifted the squirming bundle into his arms.

“Where are you going?” Buffy managed to mumble as her head hit the pillow.

“Gonna get sprog a bottle. Be right back.”

He headed downstairs before she could voice a protest and Buffy dropped her head down onto the pillows. “Stupid vampire.”

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

Drusilla kept up her litany of nonsensical phrases the entire trip back to the mansion. Angel was trying to figure out what some of what she was saying meant and track his progress at the same time. Sunlight was coming up fast now, and they had only a few more minutes to get to safety.

Arriving at the mansion, Angel strode through the front door, dropping Drusilla to her feet. The scent of humans was all over, the signatures clear to his keenly honed sense of smell. What the fuck is. . . . Growling ominously, Angel moved from room to room, finding nothing more than small piles of dust and the more than occasional blood splatter on the walls and floors. Spike’s scent was strongest in the outer rooms, and there should have been an equally strong smell of Buffy, but strangely enough there wasn’t. Not as strong as there should have been.

His stride through the rooms was quick, a blurred fast pace, trying to get a sense of what had occurred within the walls of his mansion, before completely losing his temper. Here and there, scattered about the rooms, were a few badly injured minions, but the majority of them appeared to be gone, dusted by the hand of William the Bloody and his bitch. Kicking one of them to consciousness, Angel leaned over the bleeding vampire, hauling him up to his feet. “What happened here?”

“Dunno. Last thing I remember was fighting the Slayer and then nothing til now.” The vampire grimaced in pain, letting out a deep yelp when Angel dumped him back on the floor.

“Get yourself someone to eat.”

Knowing somehow that he’d just escaped the final death, the vampire, a fledgling of Drusilla’s, scurried as best he could for the sewers.

Angel continued stalking through the rooms, his growls of disgusted anger getting louder and louder as he progressed through the rooms. Drusilla’s pet, the girl they’d both taken blood from was gone, her chains empty. Swearing furiously, Angel stomped into the bedroom where he’d kept Cordelia. He wasn’t surprised to find her gone. Not at all.

There’d been some niggling thought in the back of his head that Cordelia had been the reason for the unprovoked assault on his lair. And now he knew.

That knowledge did nothing to calm his temper. In fact, it just put match to a heated tinderbox and set it off.

Growling low in his throat, Angelus turned round to the remaining minions. Before any of them had time to react, his fists were completing the damage started by Spike and Buffy.

Ripping the leather ties from the head and foot boards, along with one of the corners of the bed, Angel flayed the first minion in the line, another one of the ones sired by Drusilla. Bloody splatters hit the walls and the ceiling, pieces of flesh adhering in various spots. Groans and cries of pain split the air, coupled with the harsh breathing of the other minions. Drusilla growled from the doorway, which changed to a high-pitched whine when Angel dropped the makeshift whip and pushed his hand through the minion’s chest. The others watched helplessly as the dust settled.

“I want to know who was supposed to be guarding the captives?”

None of them spoke. None dared.

Throwing cautious looks sideways, they all cowered before the raging master vampire, the legendary leader of the Scourge of Europe, waiting for the punishment that was sure to come. Angelus stood glaring at them all, his features rippling and changing into his vampiric guise, looming over them.

“I left some of you idiots here, so that I would have something to come back to. And now they’re gone. Both of them. Any idea who took them? Any?” The last words rose to the level of a shout, and Angelus hauled one of them forward by his shirt collar, bringing him close to his face. “You better find out how they got out of here. Now. Don’t come back until you do.”

He pushed the brown-haired minion away, selecting another to go with him. They ran from the room, despite knowing that sunrise was only minutes away. Turning to another minion, this one remarkably well kept and curiously unmarked in the aftermath of battle, Angelus grinned with the prospect of more violence. “Tell me,” he waited patiently for a name, which came on a whisper, “Ray. Tell me, Ray, how you managed not to get hurt?” Angelus brushed an imaginary piece of lint off Ray’s shoulder, leaning into him.

“Wasn’t here.”

“Really? When did you leave the mansion?” Angelus circled round him, sniffing him for evidence of lies or nervousness. There was none.

“Earlier. Went hunting.”

Which was, unfortunately, no less than the truth. Angelus stared into Ray’s grey eyes, daring him to back down. When the fledge didn’t cower like the others, he smiled appreciatively. “Got balls, Ray. Makes me happy to see that. Did you hunt well?”

“Yeah. Got two. Took one,” he paused for dramatic effect, “brought the other back.”

“Did you now? And where is the other one?” Angelus watched the effect his proximity had on Ray, gauging how strong he was. “Who sired you? You don’t smell like Aurelius.”

“Was sired in Los Angeles. Some blond bitch. Never did really get her name.”

“Doesn’t matter now. Got a job for you Ray, after I take your offering. You want it?” Angel motioned for Drusilla to come forward, running his sharp nails down her arm, slicing a thin cut that bleed freely. “Dru, feed the nice minion, make him one of us.”

She smiled, running her arm across his lips, then circled behind him to sink her fangs into his jugular. Ray’s knees buckled a little, but he quickly regained his courage and sunk his own fangs into Drusilla’s arm, at the crux of her elbow.

Abruptly, Angelus turned to face the rest of the bunch, his own fangs glinting. “Didn’t think I’d forget you pathetic fuckers, now did you? Anyone remember who was supposed to be watching the girls?”

One of the females tilted her head, then said, “it was Jake and Buddy. Dunno what happened to them.”

“Ahhhhhh. . . . thank you. So glad someone remembered.” Gripping her by the throat, Angel squeezed, and squeezed harder, lifting her high in the air. Then, when it appeared as if he was going to just let her head pop off, he let go, snickering as she dropped to the floor, her face a mask of pained relief.

Whirling on the others, Angel grabbed the broken piece of the bed frame and pounded into one of the minions, a vampire that looked no older than Buffy. The vampire cowered in fear, trying to fend off the enraged master vampire. The fear wafting from the vampire just incited Angelus more and the beating quickly turned savage. Bones cracked, teeth were knocked out and still Angelus kept on slamming his fist into the smaller fledgling.

Finally, the vampire dropped to his knees, skull bashed in, arms, legs, and ribs all broken, splintered. Gore covered Angelus and those nearest, blood spreading over the floor, the remaining minions, those few left to him, watched as the master vampire threw the destroyed wood down on top of the pulpy mass on the floor.

“Toss him into the sun.”

Angel moved away from the mass of tissue and bone while the others cleaned up, his eyes focusing on his now chief minion, newly infused with Aurelian blood. “Prove yourself boy, and you might get more,’ he said as he indicated Drusilla.

Moving toward the outer rooms, Angel stopped as a shadow detached from the doorway, eyes trying to discern the shape of the intruder.

A long unheard voice sounded in the chambers, capturing everyone’s attention. “Hello Chief. Heard your call. Looks like you could use some assistance.”

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

Xander couldn’t settle down, couldn’t stop the buzzing that was filling his bones and racing through his bloodstream. He could hear the muted noises of everyone else settling in, the murmur of Spike’s voice as he, apparently, headed downstairs for something, the closing of a bedroom door, the tread of his feet on the stairs. Mere moments passed and then another door opened, soft footsteps sounded, then another door creaked open. A few minutes went by, then the heavy tread of Spike’s feet, or what he figured was Spike’s feet hit the stairs and bounded up, accompanied by the fretting of a hungry baby. Thankfully, the mewls were just that, and not the full howls the infant was known for. Curiosity aroused, Xander glanced down at Anya’s closed eyes and got to his feet.

He tugged open the door just a crack in time to see Spike hesitate at the bathroom door, knock once and ask, “you all right in there?”

Dawn’s voice came through, muffled to his ears, but clearly to Spike’s because he responded, “jus’ checkin’ is all. No need to get huffy.”

The response this time was a deep chuckle, and then Dawn opened the door. “You know, you could be less over-protective sometimes. Not like I’m sneaking out, just going to the bathroom.”

Her tone was a bit snappish, and Xander fully expected Spike to get nasty back, but the vampire merely said, “only makin’ sure my girl’s okay, all right? No need to get all waspish on me.”

“Whatever.” Dawn faced off against Spike for a few minutes, then caved. Her face lifted to his and her belligerent stance softened. “I get worried too you know. Can’t just keep going off and being the hero for everyone.”

“Me? ‘M no hero. Jus’ doin’ what I can to keep you an’ your sis. . . all right,” he paused, getting a look at the expression on her face. “Buffy safe. Can’t let anything happen to either of m’girls.”

Dawn sighed, then stepped closer to him, her arms attempting to circle him and the squirming bundle in his arms. “Still, you’re a hero. But don’t tell anyone I said that.”

He dropped a kiss on her forehead, hugging her back. “Not bloody likely. Jus’ as soon keep that between us.”

“Okay Dad.” She put a twist on that last word that Xander couldn’t decipher, then kissed him back. She whispered in his ear and Spike threw back his head and laughed. He sobered quickly as the baby began to whimper louder, shifted his hold on the boy and shoved the bottle of formula into his mouth in a move that Xander goggled at.

“G’on to bed now. Gonna need you to take the sprog in a couple of hours, so’s I can get some kip, yeah?”

He could see by her facial expression that Dawn wasn’t happy with this request, and Spike must’ve given her some look in return, because she quickly backed down again. “So not fair that you can get me to do stuff I don’t wanna.”

“Parental privileges, pet.” He motioned toward her room, saying, “get now. Need to get some sleep.”

“Yes Dad.” She leaned up to hug him one more time then slipped around him to head toward her room. “Sleep tight, don’t let the bed bugs bite.”

“Never, sweets, ‘ll just bite ‘em back.” Spike quipped as he headed toward the room he shared with Buffy.

Xander stood staring into the hallway, trying to make sense of the scene between Spike and Dawn. What’s with the dad thing? And the hugging? And the listening to evil dead? What the hell is going on in this house? Maybe Giles knows. Gotta remember to ask him in the morning. . . . er, later on.

Quietly, he closed the door behind him, never once realizing Spike didn’t close the door to their room until after he did.

Book Two, Chapter 32. The promise of daylight.


Our lives are like the course of the sun.
At the darkest moment there is the promise of daylight.
London Times, Christmas editorial 24 December 84


The gloom of the world is but a shadow. Behind it, yet within our reach, is joy. There is radiance and glory in the darkness, could we but see; and to see, we have only to look.

And so, at this Christmas time, I greet you; not quite as the world sends greetings, but with profound esteem, and with the prayer that for you, now and forever, the day breaks and the shadows flee away.
Fra Giovanni, A Letter to Contessina Allagia Dela Aldobrandeschi,
Written Christmas Eve 1513




Maureen Osborne slipped into the dark private ICU room, checking on the comatose patient within. Wesley stirred when she adjusted the sheet around Cordelia, lifting his head to watch her movements. The short, slightly round woman whispered her apology for waking hm, which Wesley just waved off.

“That other girl you brought in? The one that wasn’t as badly injured – she refuses to give her name. She’s terrified.” Waiting a moment to see Wesley’s reaction, she continued, “Dr. Thomas has her in isolation in the psych ward. She might,” she paused, shaking her head, “she’s in very bad shape.”

“Thank” Wesley cleared his throat, then finished speaking, “thank you for telling me. I’ll try and go see her later, if it can be arranged.”

Maureen Osborne’s “I think that would be possible” was whispered as softly as she slipped out of the door.

Wesley glanced over at the Buffybot, who smiled brightly, then resumed her sentinel’s stance by the doorway. Once more saying a silent prayer for Cordelia, Wesley closed his eyes.

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

“Need anything?”

“No Chief, I’m good. Brought along some of my own supplies.” The tall, thin, good-looking, dark-haired man eyed Drusilla, but said nothing more.

“You can take any of the rooms on the second floor. Take any of the girls, except Dru.” Angel motioned him into the main living room, snapping orders for the minions to start a fire. “Surprised you responded. Where were you?”

“Been in the Sea-Tac area. It was just a place to call home. Didn’t take long to get here either.” He walked around the room, taking note of the furnishings and the assorted weaponry. “Have to admit Chief, the summons surprised me. Thought about ignoring it. But,” he grinned, facing Angel, “had the ring of an order. So here I am.”

“Good. We’ve got things to do. But for now, Lawson, I just need a drink.” Sinking his fangs into Ray’s captive, Angel fixed his gaze on the last childe he’d turned, while Drusilla hummed and laughed in the background.

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

Spike tried kicking off his boots while keeping the bottle in Connor’s mouth, quickly realizing that he needed more than two hands to do that. Propping the bottle on a pillow, Spike laid Connor down next to Buffy and bent to his boots.

Loud rumblings sounded from the baby’s belly as he drank and Spike had to laugh. The boy sounded more and more like him every day. He wouldn’t be surprised if the boy made those noises because both his parents were vampires, but he secretly hoped it was because the baby had a soft spot for his Uncle Spike.

Buffy muttered something in her almost sleep that sounded suspiciously like, “come to bed.”

Spike shucked off his jeans, then pulled his tee-shirt over his head. Moving Connor closer to Buffy, Spike slid into the bed, the now wide awake infant between them. Blue eyes very much like his mother’s twinkled at Spike, smiling at him despite the nipple in his mouth. Little legs kicking in the air, Connor was playing, no longer in the mood for the bottle. When Spike exhibited no desire to play right along with him, Connor screwed up his features like there was lemon juice in his bottle rather than milk.

“Oh no you don’t little man. Buffy’s jus’ gone to sleep. No wakin’ her’p coz you wanna play. Maybe later, spawn, but not now.” In an effort to settle him down, Spike hummed a little, then used his thumb to brush over where the infant’s ridge line would be if he was all vampire. Connor seemed to like that, because his eyes started drifting closed. All right then . . . good to know that old trick still works.

His eyes flickered between the other two in the bed with him, a soft smile spreading over his features. Too tired to form words, Spike heard the words echoing in his head, felt Buffy respond and then allowed his own eyes to drift closed.

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

Gurgling little noises and the soft rumble of Spike’s purrs broke through the sleepy haze her mind and body had been basking in. Buffy curled closer to the source of those noises, slowly coming to wakefulness, prompted by the sounds. Little hands brushed over her face, tangling in loose strands of her hair, innocently pulling on the long strands. Languidly Buffy moved her hand up to disentangle the tiny fingers and slowly cracked open one eye when those tiny hands grabbed her fingers and pulled one of them towards the gaping mouth. Gnawing on the digit, Connor continued gurgling happily, his little legs pumping and squirming between the two adults. Spike made some noise, then wrapped a big hand around one of the baby’s legs, unconsciously trying to still his movements. Letting the baby use her as a chew toy, Buffy closed her eyes again and tried to go back to sleep.

Craving the heat generated by the two bodies in bed with him, Spike shifted closer, his hand leaving the wriggling legs of the baby to grasp the curve of a hip that he knew lay just beyond. A deep rumbling sigh drifted up from his chest and one leg snaked between hers, anchoring them together. Content now that he was warmer, Spike settled down to a deeper sleep, having not once opened his eyes.

Dawn hesitated at the door, torn between doing what Spike had asked in the early hours of the morning and not wanting to disturb any of them. But it was almost noon, and it was more than likely that demon baby would start howling for his bottle. She couldn’t believe that he hadn’t done so already. Maybe the double bottle trick was working. Dawn could hear the sounds of Tara rustling about in the kitchen, searching out the makings of a huge dinner and another part of her was tempted to go downstairs and forget all about Connor. She sighed, thinking, yeah, sure and Spike won’t look at me all disappointed like I’m Bara’qua demon slime. Sighing again, Dawn turned the door’s handle and slipped inside.

The three of them were tucked up underneath the blankets, the baby in the middle while Buffy and Spike flanked him. They looked so sweet. Just like a real family. Dawn felt a pang of something very close to jealousy stab into her. Really not fair he gets this. I’m way too big to sleep in between them and, eeewww anyway, coz they like do stuff in that bed. And telling herself all that didn’t really help, because a big part of her wanted to climb into that bed with them and be their little girl. Silently cursing the monks for getting most of her life wrong, Dawn sighed a little bit, watching Spike’s hand flex over Buffy’s hip. There was some answering movement and Buffy’s hand came to rest on Spike’s forearm, holding on tightly. They really do look like a family. From nowhere special came little tears, forming silently at the corners of her eyes and Dawn blinked rapidly to dispel them. She didn’t want to cry over this, it was silly and stupid and so very babyish. The monks had made her a teenager, not a baby and she had some good memories. . . and so what if they weren’t really real? They were still good. Her memories of Buffy, growing up in Los Angeles were good memories. She only wished sometimes that the monks had finished the job, given her real memories of Spike, and what it might have been like to really be theirs.

Okay, so back then Spike probably wouldn’t have been all that happy, since Buffy would have been five, but . . . and Dawn stifled a giggle at that thought. He probably still would’ve fallen in love with her, which is beyond ookie, but Dawn figured Spike would understand what she meant, if she ever got the courage to talk to him about some of the things she was thinking. She wondered sometimes, too, if Spike would have fallen in love with Buffy anyway, even without the interference of the monks. And then she remembered Willow’s back-fired will-be-done spell and wondered how much of a mistake that had really been. Maybe the monks had shifted something then, playing with all of them, making it so that Buffy and Spike fell in love. . . . Dawn eyed the sleeping couple on the bed, mental calculations forming. Spike got chipped in the early fall, just after UC Sunnydale classes had started, and Willow’s spell happened just after Thanksgiving. . . . Giles had nearly pinpointed the moment their memories had been altered, and it was about nine months later, give or take a couple of days. No way. Could it have taken the monks all that time? Like a real baby?

A tentative smiled bloomed on her face, and had either of the two sleeping adults seen it, they would have been very happy. Each of them had been worried about their girl, ever since the truth behind her parentage had been revealed, but neither one was sure how to get her to open up. Dawn admitted to herself that she’d been a little difficult lately, and winced as she remembered the shouting match she’d had with Buffy not long after Connor had arrived. Stepping closer to the bed, Dawn reached out to smooth the blanket over Spike’s foot. Buffy stirred again, a soft groan of discomfort emerging from her and her movements picked up. Reaching over to lift Connor from the bed, Dawn was surprised when a warm hand stopped her.

“What are you doing?” Buffy’s voice was barely more than a whisper.

“Spike asked me to take him so you guys could get enough sleep.” Dawn’s answer was equally soft.

Letting her hand go, Buffy groaned again, her hand dropping down to cover her belly. “I’m sort of awake anyway. Might as . . . “ Hazel eyes snapped open and Buffy got a funny look on her face, as the words died in her throat. “Ugh. Hang on.”

Dawn watched, her mouth hanging open as Buffy scrambled from the bed and headed straight for the bathroom, a tight look on her face. Furrowing her brows, Dawn lifted Connor up and followed her into the bathroom.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” She asked, when she found Buffy with her head hanging over the toilet, puking up her guts.

“Some bug I got.” Buffy grumped back at her, determined this time not to cry. It was one thing in front of Spike, but she wasn’t going to do that with Dawn hovering over her.

“Bug?” Dawn stared down at the top of Buffy’s head and nearly laughed. “A bug? What kind of a bug?” She couldn’t keep the sarcasm from her voice.

“Dunno. Stop asking me.” Buffy leaned up and flushed the toilet, then got to her feet and using her finger, scrubbed away the icky taste from her mouth. God, I wanna puke again. She lifted her head, meeting her sister’s. . . no, her daughter’s eyes in the mirror. There was amused disbelief in Dawn’s clear blue gaze, so very much like her father’s that Buffy wanted to scream in that moment, but she didn’t. Instead she stared Dawn down, a set look on her features.

“Buffy. . . “ Dawn started to speak, but Buffy held up her hand, silently asking her to wait.

“Look. Don’t say it, okay? Just don’t. I . . . “ glancing at the closed bathroom door, Buffy turned once more to face the younger Summers female. “Just don’t say anything, to anyone. Do you understand? To no one.”

“Buffy?” But she was shaking her head in denial.

“Promise me Dawnie. You won’t say anything. Not until after Christmas, okay?” Buffy turned around to face her, leaning on the vanity, her back to the mirror now.

They shared a long look, neither one of them backing down and obvious questions all over Dawn’s features, but Buffy wasn’t going to let her go without a promise. “Dawn. I want that promise.”

“Not until Christmas, right?” Dawn thrust out her hip, letting the baby rest there, all the while searching Buffy’s features for a hint of relenting.

“Yeah, not until then.”

A deep sigh exploded from Dawn’s chest and she nodded her head. “I promise. Not until Christmas. But its cool, coz that’s only two days. I can keep a secret for two days.” She waited a couple of moments, then prodded Buffy in the shoulder. “But that’s all you get. Two days. After that I’m so spilling these beans.”

“I know. But that’s okay. You can spill all you like after Christmas.” Buffy’s lips quirked in a small smile and Dawn fought the squeal that was building in her throat.

“Um. Speaking of Christmas, we need a tree and all that other good stuff you know. All the decorations and stuff.” Dawn pushed open the bathroom door, leading to the hallway, aware that Buffy wasn’t following her. “You want me to get Giles and Xander to go get a tree?”

“Yeah. You do that. I’m going back to bed.”

Buffy watched as Dawn almost skipped down the hallway, mindlessly chirping about Christmas and decorations and presents and all sorts of good things, her mind on the vampire sleeping quietly behind her. I hope he didn’t hear any of that. I’ll beat her senseless if he did.

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

No one was at Giles’ when she got to the door, which was why she’d planned this little visit at this time. Giles was probably at the Magic Box and she had no idea what Wesley was doing or why he was still hanging around, but he was. Fishing the spare key out of her pocket, Willow calmly opened the front door. Heading right for the bookshelf, Willow quickly scanned the backs. She was looking for a specific book and she was pretty sure it wasn’t at the Magic Box. While a lot of his books were there, she had a feeling that this one wasn’t. Quickly searching through all the books on his shelves, Willow found the one she wanted.

All righty. Gotcha. This is perfect. Should work really well, after all, I’m much stronger than Jonathan. My magics won’t be unstable. Replacing all the books, Willow grabbed the one she’d come for and with a last glimpse around, she left the apartment.

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

Dawn carried Connor into the kitchen, her good mood extending to the infant who was watching her closely. Tara watched from her position by the sink a smile on her features.

“So, you’re in a good mood.”

“Yup. Christmas is nearly here, everyone’s safe and, you know, things are good.” Dawn shrugged a bit, not wanting to focus on anything bad.

“You don’t miss your mom?”

“My mom?” Dawn looked at her quizzically, then realized Tara meant Joyce. “Oh yeah. Sort of. I do miss Joyce. I wish I’d had more real time with her, you know? But honestly, having Buffy back and Spike here is. . . . its like having real parents.” Dawn realized she was treading a fine line, almost telling Tara the truth, but if anyone could keep a secret it was Tara.

“So you think of them, sort of, as parents?” Tara reached for the baby, settling him in the bouncy chair.

Making a decision, Dawn took a deep breath, then spoke. “Well, that’s coz they really are. The journals Wesley brought, it was all in there, how long the monks had been trying to make the key human. They were following the slayers for a long time and because of that they stumbled on a dark warrior, a vampire who kept defeating chosen ones.”

Tara looked up sharply at that, comprehension dawning on her face. “Spike?”

“Yup. He’s fought something like seven Slayers. And one of them died of injuries. . . Anyway, so they were tracking Spike and the Slayers. I wasn’t sure it was Spike until I read the entries from the seventies and that was when he started bleaching his hair.” A soft giggle escaped from Dawn and Tara smiled in response.

“We still aren’t sure if the monks manipulated things so that Spike got caught by the Initiative, but we do know that they were the ones that put the Gem of Amarra in Sunnydale.” Dawn paused, waiting for Tara’s reaction.

“The Initiative took DNA samples from both of them, didn’t they?” At Dawn’s nod, Tara dropped the spoon she was using into the sink and took a look at Connor. “So they used Spiike’s and Buffy’s DNA to create you.”

“Yeah.” Dawn reached into the refrigerator for a drink.

“How do you feel about that?” Tara motioned for the formula, and busied herself with mixing something up in a bowl for Connor.

“What’re you doing? What’s that?” Then quickly back on the subject, said, “it beats having to think about Buffy and someone else – or Spike and someone else.”

Tara looked at her curiously and Dawn elaborated. “Like Buffy and Giles or Spike and Joyce or Buffy and Angel. . . “

The look on Tara’s face when she’d said “Buffy and Giles” was enough for Dawn to collapse into giggles. “See, that’s what I mean.”

“Oh Dawnie, that’s just horrible!”

“What’s horrible?” Giles’ voice sounded from the kitchen doorway and was perplexed when his question was met with nothing more than more giggles.

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

Xander had dropped Anya at the Magic Box before heading to Sunnydale General to relieve Wesley. There hadn’t been an opportunity to ask Giles about what he’d seen in the hallway early this morning, and now that he had more time to think about it, he didn’t want to know the truth behind it. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good, because Dawn had been treating Spike like she cared about the bloodsucker. And that was something Xander didn’t want to know about.

Parking his car as close to the entrance as he could, Xander slid through the emergency room doors when no one was looking and headed toward Cordelia’s room. He met no resistance at the door, despite the police presence, which bothered him somewhat, until he opened the door and was knocked back on his ass, landing across the hallway.

“Ooops. Sorry Xander.” The bot leaned over him, guiltless concern flashing in her eyes.

He got to his feet, shaking his head. Pushing open the door, he realized why the bot was in hit-first mode. Wesley was sound asleep, his head resting on the gurney, next to Cordelia’s hand.

Xander approached quietly, debating about waking the sleeping Englishman. Wesley’s uncomfortable position decided him. “Wesley.” He shook his shoulder and wasn’t surprised when Wesley sat up quickly.

“Xander. What time is it?” Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Wesley looked around for his glasses.

“About quarter after twelve.” Looking toward Cordelia, Xander asked, “how is she?”

“They put her in a coma, hoping that would help her heal. Otherwise, they still aren’t sure she’s going to make it.” No need to lie or pretend that Cordelia’s situation wasn’t dire.

“Oh man. How’s the other girl?” Xander pushed Cordelia’s hair away from her face, wincing when nothing happened.

“She’s better, physically, but mentally she’s . . . . they put her in the psychiatric ward.”

Which really, when he thought about it, made perfect sense. Wesley was certain that Cordelia would be in pretty much the same condition if her injuries weren’t so bad.

“Right. I’ll be back later.”

Leaving the Buffybot behind, Wesley took the keys Xander offered him and headed for the door.

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

Spike had vaguely heard his girl’s voices, but ignored them. He felt when Buffy climbed back into the bed, and his arms circled around her, pulling her close against him. One hand forced itself under her head, the other grasping her hip, then slid down to press against her belly. He murmured something completely unintelligible, kissing the back of her neck.

Buffy closed her eyes, snuggling tighter in his arms. Gonna have to tell him soon. Christmas morning. That’s when I’ll do it. Images of how she was going to tell him weaving in and around her thoughts, Buffy fell asleep.

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

Dawn was trying to convince Giles to take her and get a Christmas tree, which he was trying to resist by telling her his car wasn’t the right one to be using when Wesley walked in the door.

He greeted them all, asking Tara, “how is Oz feeling?”

“Much better, he was looking for something to eat.” She indicated the melting ice cream on the counter.

“Wesley, please tell Giles we need a Christmas tree.” Dawn looking up at him, her big eyes pleading.

“Right.” She hadn’t turned that look on him in weeks, but Wesley was still powerless against it. “Well, I’m back with Xander’s car. But the Jeep is free. That would be best to transport the tree.”

Giles gave Wesley an unhappy look that clearly indicated he didn’t want to go and he was more than a little aggravated with Wesley for pointing out that the Jeep was available.

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

Lawson looked around the mansion, taking his time picking out a room. Most of the minions were already asleep, resting warily in light of Angel’s extreme displeasure. His progress through the rooms was hindered by Drusilla’s humming presence trailing behind him, but Lawson didn’t dare wave her off.

It was obvious she wasn’t going to leave him alone until he’d chosen a place to sleep and he was equally certain that she wasn’t to do so on Angel’s orders. He was just about to exit the room he was thinking of taking when her voice stopped his forward movement.

“Who are you sailor boy? Daddy made you, to be certain sure. . . but Miss Edith doesn’t know when . . . and she’s ever so curious.”

“It was the fall of 1943, in a submarine in the North Atlantic.” He paused, looking at the female vampire. “Does that help Miss Edith?”

“Mmmmmmm” she swayed a bit, listening to the voices in her head. “It does, but Miss Edith needs to see you, come along now.”

Grabbing his arm with surprising strength, Drusilla pulled him into her room.

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

They both woke up at the same time to the sounds of doors opening and closing, then feet pounding on the stairs. Buffy rolled over to face her mate, her eyes barely opened and she nestled closer into his arms. Her voice was sleep husky and Spike smiled slightly at her words. “I thought we got rid of all these people who shouldn’t be living here.”

He chuckled, his hand gently slapping her rump. “Bad pennies, love, they keep comin’ back.”

“Maybe if you were grumpier they’d all leave?” Buffy sounded hopeful.

“Any grumpier an’ I’d be just like the Watcher.” Spike rolled over onto his back pulling her along with him. She thumped him gently on the chest, then started to teasingly give him a hard time, when the noises from the hallway got louder.

Dawn’s voice came closer to their room and then her knock sounded on the door. “C’mon you two get your lazy butts outta bed. We got a tree.”

Spike looked at Buffy. “A tree?”

“Christmas tree. Dawnie wanted a real one and since our old fake one is nasty, I said it was okay.”

“Guys? You are like the biggest slugs.” Dawn stuck her head in the door. “Geez. Get outta bed already.”

Spike rolled over again, grousing good naturedly. “All right bit, we’re working on it.”

“Good, coz everyone’s here and Oz is up.” Dawn’s enthusiasm was infectious and Buffy found herself responding.

“I’m up. We’ll be down in a minute.”

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

Angel growled in his sleep, reaching for Drusilla. It had taken him hours and two bottles of whiskey to calm down his anger and his sleep was restless as a consequence of his temper.

Drusilla was sleeping beside him and in response to his unrest she rolled over and wrapped her bare arms around him.

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

The tree was decorated. All the lights and decorations were hanging from the boughs. Buffy watched Dawn and Tara moving around the tree, trying to make it perfect. She didn’t have the heart to tell them that it couldn’t be perfect, but looking at their faces she got the feeling they already knew that.

Connor was rolling around the floor, crawling between various feet and generally being a complete distraction. And strangely no one seemed to mind. Every few moments someone would pick him up, show him the Christmas lights and then, when he squirmed too much, put him back down on the floor. Right now, Spike had him, and he was tickling the baby’s sides as he dangled him in the air.

She glanced at Dawn who had stopped whatever she was doing to watch them, a knowing smirk on her face. Buffy sighed.

Two days. I’ve got two days to figure out how to tell him. How am I gonna do this?

Next