Book Two. Chapter 33. Unending lightning.


the moment of a miracle is unending lightning ...
Dylan Thomas, On the Marriage of a Virgin.

I think miracles exist in part as gifts and in part as clues
that there is something beyond the flat world we see.
Peggy Noonan




Just hours after dark, the same day Lawson had shown up, Angel heard from Jenner, another one of Darla’s; and strangely enough, Rebecca and Toussaint. The last two he’d long since forgotten about, but apparently they, like Lawson, felt the call to be something of an order. Jenner was closest, already in New York and he’d be arriving in Los Angeles sometime during the night. Toussaint and Rebecca were coming in from Miami, but wouldn’t be arriving until later.

But they were coming. Feeling a bit better now that numbers were on his side, Angel relaxed and allowed the remaining minions free rein to hunt. The holidays were always a good time to find careless humans to feed on.

Wesley was becoming a permanent fixture in Cordelia’s ICU ward, so much so that her doctors jokingly referred to him as “the husband”. He was sitting with her again on Christmas Eve, so that Xander and Anya could have some time to themselves. And so that none of the others had to spend time away, especially Spike.

Buffy’s mysterious illness hadn’t eased at all, in fact, looked to be getting worse. She was having trouble eating anything and the constant vomiting wasn’t helping. Poor girl looked terrible and he thought perhaps she was starting to loose weight. Weight she could ill afford to loose.

Wesley shook his thoughts free of Buffy when Cordelia shifted restlessly. Although the doctors were slowly weaning her off the drugs that were keeping her comatose, Cordelia’s responses were still non-existent to outside stimuli. Wesley was beginning to fear that Cordelia might not ever recover. And when he’d expressed those fears to Giles, the elder man had just peered over his glasses and simply said, “perhaps she might be. . . . well, she would be at peace then.”

From that moment on, Wesley wasn’t sure what outcome would be preferable. An alive yet broken Cordelia or a dead and at peace one. Good god what a thing to contemplate.

When his concerns had leached into his conversation with Gunn, there had been no hesitation in the other’s voice. He simply asked “are you with his ex?”

And when Wesley had answered in the affirmative, Gunn’s response had been “we’ll be there day after Christmas.”

And that had been the end of that. Conversation over. Wesley couldn’t dissuade them from coming, so sometime tomorrow, Gunn and Fred would be arriving in Sunnydale.

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

For nearly two days she’d wracked her brains, trying to come up with some way of telling Spike why she’d been throwing up. His worry over her had grown the longer she kept vomiting and she’d started hiding from him, avoiding him as much as she could which was next to impossible because they shared a bed. Buffy knew it was silly, but she had to keep biting her tongue. Buffy wanted him to know, she needed very much to tell him, but she was also determined to wait until Christmas.

Coming up with various ways to spring her Christmas present on him and discarding every single one, Buffy was now at a complete loss. They were out patrolling and really there was no reason except that Angelus and Drusilla were out there. It was after midnight, she could just blurt it out. And how lame is that? Buffy looked over at Spike, who was just as lost in thought as she was. The duster swirled around his feet as they walked through the silent cemetery. Slipping her arm through his, Buffy smiled up at him.

He cocked his head to the side, gazing down at her. “You all right pet?”

“Yup.” She smiled as an idea came to her suddenly. “Its after midnight. Wanna head home and celebrate Christmas?”

Spike pretended to consider this. “Dunno, sunshine. Shouldn’t we be out here protecting everyone from the sinister creatures of the night?”

Buffy pouted just a little. “I think we can call it a night.”

He swung her around in his arms, so that they were facing each other. His arms circled round her waist and he stared down at her in the cool night air. The moon illuminated her features making her look ethereal in his eyes. His gaze roved over her features, drinking in her countenance. One of his thumbs brushed across her soft cheek. The look in his eyes changed the longer he looked at her.

Buffy started to speak, but his thumb brushing over her lips held her silent. His voice, when he spoke was soft and low, his words warming her through. “And in life's noisiest hour, there whispers still the ceaseless love of thee, the heart's self-solace and soliloquy. You mould my hopes, you fashion me within, and to the leading love-throb in the heart thro' all my being, thro' my pulse's beat,” he paused, whispering softly, “though it beats not.“ and he paused once more, searching for the rest of the words, “you lie in all my many thoughts, like light, like the fair light of dawn, or summer eve on rippling stream, or cloud-reflecting lake, and looking to the Heaven, that bends above you, how oft I bless the lot that made me love you.”

When he was finished, Buffy had tears in her eyes, but still he wouldn’t let her speak. Tugging her close, Spike whispered into her ear, “let’s go home love.”

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

I should have decided on this sooner. This is perfect. And it won’t take long. And I can so do this without even blinking. If Jonathan could do this – Hah! Willow paced around the confines of her bedroom, the grimoire that she’d taken from Giles’ in her hands.

Okie dokie. So now I need to concentrate and alter this just a bit. Change that wording. . . . leaning over her desk, Willow crossed out a few lines of the incantation, replacing them with others that better fit her intentions. Not wanting to be the center of everything – not like Jonathan. Just want everything the way it should be. She didn’t care about being in the limelight, if anything, she didn’t want that at all, so that called for the changes.

Her excitement bubbled over, causing her to almost bounce with every step. Okay, Willow, this isn’t good and you can’t afford to make mistakes. So calm down. Folding her legs beneath her, Willow sunk down on the floor, forcing her mind to blankness. Focusing on a soothing calming mantra, Willow prepared herself for the ritual.

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

Anya watched Xander get ready for bed, a yawn stretching her features wide. “I really don’t understand why you are still insisting on going to the hospital tomorrow. Its not like Cordelia knows you’re there.”

“That’s not the point Ahn. Someone needs to sit with her, talk to her and protect her in case Angel and his fangy bunch decide to visit.” Xander looked at her over his shoulder, frustration on his features. Do we have to argue now?

She made a snorting noise somewhere in the back of her throat that totally skeeved him. “Please Xander. You can’t possibly believe that. You wouldn’t stand a chance against Angel and you know it. If you got hurt then we’d have to worry about you and then there would be no snuggling or orgasms for a very long time.” Anya paused, then said, “besides, that’s why the bot is there.”

“Way to make me feel useless.” Shaking his head Xander got up to leave the room. “I’m gonna watch some tv.”

Shocked almost speechless, Anya made some protesting noises, but Xander just waved her off and headed for the living room. Slumping back down on the bed, Anya muttered to herself, “can’t speak the truth anymore. He never wants to hear it any way.”

Grumbling some more, Anya rolled over onto her side facing the wall. “Stupid man.” Thinking to herself, she fought the tears that were threatening. Instead, Anya concentrated on all the things she and the other girls had to do in the morning.

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

Tara and Oz were both still up when they got home putting the final touches on the Christmas tree and piling presents underneath.

Buffy stopped short, her mouth agape as she looked at everything. “Wow.”

The lights were all out, except for the tree and Tara was sitting on the floor, giving Connor a bottle while Oz rested on the couch.

“Look at you, all earth mothery.”

Tara blushed, ducking her head, when Spike added, “pretty as a picture.”

“He just woke up crying, figured might as well feed him.” Connor tugged on the strands of her hair, begging for attention. “Hey little man, don’t pull so hard.”

“Oh yeah, that’s such a bad habit.” Buffy commiserated with her as she came further into the living room. “Where’s Dawnie?”

“She went upstairs a little while ago. Said she was tired.” Tara hid a yawn, but Buffy saw it.

“So not the only one there.” Glancing at the clock, which read one fifteen, Buffy said, “maybe its time all of us started dreaming of sugar plums.”

Spike locked the front door, motioning to all of them, “go on, I’ll wait up for St. Nick.”

Oz signaled his agreement, slowly getting to his feet, nursing his injuries. Waving his goodnights, he headed for the basement and Tara’s room.

“You sure?” Tara’s voice broke the hushed silence and Spike shook his head. “G’on Glinda, ‘ve got some things I need to see to.”

Handing Connor to Buffy, Tara got to her feet, wished them both a Merry Christmas and followed Oz.

Spike watched Buffy for long moments, not saying a word. She yawned and he knelt down in front of her, one hand resting on her shoulder. “Go on up kitten. Take the sprog with you. I’ll be up shortly.”

Leaning into his touch, Buffy murmured a question against his neck and Spike just kissed her forehead in answer. “I’m sure kitten. Go, be up in a few ticks.”

Getting gracefully to his feet, Spike took the baby and helped her up. Pulling her toward the stairs, Spike whispered, “be up before you know it, love.”

“Okay.” Without much more prodding Buffy lifted the almost sleeping infant to her shoulder and ascended the stairs.

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

Spike waited a few minutes, his ears pricked to listen for anyone sneaking around, then, when he heard nothing out of the ordinary, he headed for the back door. He’d bought presents for his girls, even Glinda and even broken down and purchased something for his two fellow Brits. The trick had been hiding it all from Buffy’s over-inquisitive nature.

His girl was a snoop. And Dawn was just as bad.

At first he’d hidden everything in the DeSoto’s trunk, but when he caught her sneaking out with his keys, he knew that wasn’t safe enough. He’d stashed most of it at Rupert’s putting the bigger items in the shed. Giles would bring over the rest in the morning, but he needed to get the stuff out of the shed.

It didn’t take him long to move the gifts. Most of what he’d gotten was small and still at the Watcher’s. Tossing the gifts on top of the fairly decent-sized pile and placing one out of sight behind the couch, Spike made one more circuit of the house, securing all the doors and windows, finally making his way up the stairs.

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

Buffy hadn’t wasted any time once she was in the bedroom. Laying Connor down in his crib, Buffy brushed a kiss on the back of his head and quickly stripped off her clothes. She thought about putting on one of her old nightgowns and discarded that idea. Slipping into the barely-there all lace nightie that she knew Spike loved, Buffy sat down on the bed, pen and paper in hand.

Quickly she wrote down some things, then stopped. Is this the best way to do it? Thinking hard, she crossed out what she had just written, then realized she needed a new piece of paper. Taking a new one, Buffy thought for a moment, then wrote down something furiously, not crossing out anything. She hesitated when she got to the end, took a deep breath and finished what she was writing. Buffy hoped this would be enough. Not because she didn’t want him to know, she did. Oh god, I wanna tell him. She just didn’t know how else to tell him. Looking down at the paper, she wrote one more thing down and figured that would be enough. It had to be. She couldn’t think of any other clever way to tell him.

Sighing once, Buffy realized she was being cowardly about this. She just really didn’t know how else to tell him. Praying that it would be enough, Buffy switched off the main light and climbed back into the bed. The bedside light was still on and she put the piece of paper on his pillow. Laying down with her back to the door, she whispered a tiny wish that he wouldn’t be upset with her when he read it.

Thankfully she didn’t have all that long to wait, because she hadn’t been laying down long enough to fall asleep when he came into the room humming softly. She tried not to tense up, knowing he would pick up on it, instead she let her hand drift down to cover her belly, waiting.

By the rustling movements behind her and the dip on the bed, she could guess what he was doing. Boots first. The sound of metallic snaps was followed by the thumps signaling their removal. Then the almost silent sound of his shirt being removed and the dull thump of it hitting the wall by the bathroom. His weight disappeared from the bed and she could hear the snap and snick of leather and steel as he undid his belt. His jeans were off and the bed dipped once more under his weight.

Spike laid down on the bed, his head disturbing the paper she’d left for him. He grumbled something low that she strained to catch but couldn’t because she was very intent on breathing steadily. “What the bleedin’ hell. . . “

His voice trailed off into silence and he didn’t even breathe. He was silent for so long, it seemed endless but really wasn’t nearly that long because she only inhaled twice. Spike moved closer to her, his hand on her hip, his fingers curling around the smooth muscles of her hip. He spoke her name into her ear and she felt him move again. His left hand flexed on her hip, then moved to cover hers, which was still covering her belly.

Linking his fingers with hers, Spike gently forced her onto her back. “Look at me sweetheart.”

Slowly, Buffy rolled back, opening her eyes as she did. He was propped up on his elbow, leaning over her, staring down into her eyes.

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

She was in bed when he got up the stairs, the bedside lamp throwing shadows over her still form. Without realizing it, he knew she was still awake, but he decided against ragging her about it. Buffy still wasn’t feeling well, and he’d been cutting her slack for the last couple of days because of it, but if she didn’t get over it soon, he was going to push the issue and make her go to the doctor.

Sitting down on the bed, he unsnapped and unlaced his boots, then drew his shirt off and tossed it at the bathroom door. The boots were under the table and Spike stood to shuck off his jeans, stepping out of them and leaving them on the floor. He laid down on the bed, and instead of soft cottony pillow beneath his cheek there was crackly paper.

“What the bleedin’ hell. . . . “

He stopped speaking when he saw what it was in his hand. It was a list, in Buffy’s handwriting, of all those potentials that Rupert mentioned when he’d gotten back from his last trip to London. Names of the girls and dates. Approximate date of death and then the dates of their first born. Spike’s eyes slid to the bottom of the page.

There were new names on the list.

Darla Witherspoon. The date of her first turning, then dusting, her return from wherever she’d been, and then the date of Connor’s birth.

And then, at the very bottom was a new set of names.

Buffy Anne Summers, died May 2001, resurrected August 2001.

Then next to that two more words: son/daughter followed by a question mark.

And finally, a few more words. Fathered by William the Bloody, also known as Spike.

He stared down at the paper in his hands, unable to think, unable to breathe. He watched as the paper drifted to the floor, his mind whirling with thousands of different thoughts. He rolled over, propping his head on his right hand, placing his left hand on the curve of her hip. His fingers flexed gently, tightening his grip on her at the same instant her name breathed from his lips into her ear.

Her hand was cupped around her still flat belly and he slid his bigger hand over hers, meshing their fingers together. Spike tugged her closer, pushing her gently onto her back, as he whispered “look at me sweetheart.”

A soft, tentative smile broke out on her face, but it didn’t reach her eyes. They were filled with tearful uncertainty, questions teeming in the depths of her night-darkened eyes. Spike squeezed the fingers that were still laying on her belly and he gazed steadily down at her. He opened his mouth to speak, then stopped. His eyes roamed over her face, and he watched, fascinated, when a single tear pooled in the grassy-green depths.

“Buffy. . . .” His voice rolled through her, the deep husky tones sending shivers down her spine and settling in her belly. Her eyes started to drift closed, just drinking in the intoxicating rhythm of her name.

“Buffy?”

A thousand questions in that one word, a hundred million or more, and yet they all centered on the same thing. He needed an answer, needed to know and so, too, did she.

The smile that lit her face drew fire from his touch, from the look in his eyes. It was fierce and primal and went beyond anything they had ever touched upon before. She was mesmerized by that fire and she willingly surrendered to it.

“Yeah?” Her arm hooked under the one his head was leaning on and she slid closer to him, their faces bare inches apart. The world shrunk to just them, to the space between and she eyed him coyly.

“When?” He leaned further over her, his body shielding them both from the outside, craving the heat and shelter he found only within her. His warmth was stoked higher by her response and Spike itched to kiss her, but he needed to know. . . . everything.

“August.” She averted her eyes, shying from the profound emotions swirling in his cerulean eyes. His eyes had always had an intoxicating power over her, from the very first. His eyes told secrets, held promises that she hadn’t always been willing to understand. . . and now, his eyes held her world.

Another softly worded question caught her attention. “You sure?”

This time her eyes held the hint of a smile. “Very sure.” She paused, the fingers on both hands brushing over his skin. “I got a test and went to the. . . Dr. Thomas confirmed it.”

He hesitated, absorbing the enormous news she’d just imparted to him. Spike was in shock, he supposed, he couldn’t complete a thought, couldn’t actually formulate words. “Buffy. . . . “

“Are you okay?” The question was absurd, coming from her and he chuckled slightly.

“Yeah. ‘M bloody fine. Question is, how’re you?” He dropped further down on the bed and she automatically fitted her body to his.

“I’m okay.” Her arm was trapped between his arm and his head and Buffy brought it up to play with the curls just behind his ear. His fingers disengaged from the hand on her belly to rub little circles over her lace covered skin. His touch was electrifying, sending sparks through her muscles.

“Spike. . . .are you okay with this?” Buffy’s eyes searched his, trying to find . . . . trying to gauge his emotions. His thumb brushed over her lower lip, halting her words.

“Kitten. . . . “ His hand brushed down the length of her torso, once more resting over her belly. His fingers nudged her hand away, then splayed over her, covering her from hip to hip. “Here yeah?”

“Yeah.” She had no idea what he was doing or thinking. He stared at the spot, his eyes hidden from hers. Tentatively she laid her hand over his. She opened her mouth to speak, to ask him once more if he was all right, when his voice broke the still night.

“Buffy . . . This. . . “ His voice broke and she realized he was fighting tears. “Never thought, not in a hundred years, there’d be more ‘en jus’ the life Dru gave me. Never. . . . stopped hopin’ after a bit, jus’ gave up. And then,” he paused again trying to gain more control, “then there was you. Threw me for a loop you did. Turned me upside down. Made me want things again. Gave me m’dreams back. I love you Buffy. With all that I am. Man. Monster. Every last part of me.”

He moved then, lifting his eyes to hers. Tears filled those ocean blue depths, but before she could speak, his voice raw with emotions she’d never heard, he started speaking. “Now. . . . now you’ve given me the world. You. . . This is my baby in your belly. . . . mine.”

His voice broke and a tear dropped down upon her breast. “‘ve got the family William always wanted. My woman. . . My children.”

He shook his head. “I love you.” Another tear fell and Spike leaned closer to her, his lips brushing hers. Buffy smiled, arching into his touch.

“Spike. I love you too.” She kissed him back. “So you are happy about this.”

A chuckle broke through his lips. “Yeah, sunshine, ’m happy. Question is, are you?”

This time a blinding smile crossed her features, reaching her eyes. “Ahuh. Color me happy Buffy.”

His arms lifted her up as he rolled onto his back. Settling her over his body, Spike grinned. “Happy Christmas, love.”

Buffy fitted her legs on either side of his hips. “Same to you.”

Spike pulled her head down, kissing her hungrily. “Kitten. . . . this is okay, right?”

“Yeah. Oh yeah. . . . “ Her hands tightened around his biceps, holding on tightly as he nudged his erection against her. Buffy settled on him, inching back so that his cock was nestled up against her butt. “Spike. . . I need you.”

“Need you too, sunshine. So bloody much.” His hands gripped her hips, lifting her slightly. Buffy let go of his left arm, her hand circling his erection, positioning him at her entrance. Leaving her hand there, Buffy felt it as her pussy engulfed him, liquid fire spreading through her body. She writhed a bit, adjusting to his size and he groaned, bucking his hips up. “Fuckin’ hell. . . so tight. . . “

He thrust hard again as she ground down on his cock, sinking down so their groins were touching. “Spike. . . need more. . “

He twitched his hips and she was rolling, her back landing on the mattress and he thrust hard in the same motion, driving her up against the headboard. Spike’s arms landed on either side of her head, his weight resting on his palms. His eyes held a hint of mischief and he quipped, “hello cutie.”

Buffy slid her legs up, her knees just under his arms, changing the angle of his entry, so that he was scraping against that soft spot within her on every thrust. Her breath came in short gasps, his name slipping from her. Spike drove into her, grunting against her neck. Buffy had to put her arms over her head, bracing herself against the headboard, matching his rhythms.

“Oh god. . . . oh. . . . Spike!” Buffy shrieked out his name as her first orgasm ripped through her. Spike shifted, bringing one of Buffy’s legs up over his arm without breaking his rhythm. His mouth sucked on the pulse points of her jugular, cool against the heat of her but instead of soothing her, it just set off more tremors.

Spike felt her nails dig into his back and sides, raising blood to the surface of his skin, and he vamped, letting his fangs score the mating marks, while she gripped him tighter. He was gasping for air that he didn’t need, his chest heaving with the effort. “Love you. . . oh god woman, I do. . . . f’rever.”

He rolled his hips, pistoning into her hard, his pubic bone hitting her clit and he could feel his balls tightening, drawing up. He was impossibly hard, and the cords in his neck stood out as he refrained from biting into her. Spike lifted his head away from her neck and growled out his frustration. Her name was a prayer on his lips as he fought his own nature.

A warm hand cupped his cheek, then pulled him back down to her, guiding him to her veins. “Its okay, please. . . . I need you too.” She whispered against his mouth before she rubbed her tongue over his fangs.

“Buffy. . . . “ he almost whined her name into her mouth, struggling not to slice open her tongue. “Shouldn’t. . . not now.”

“Yes now. Especially now.” Buffy cupped her hands around his face, holding him still between her legs. “Spike. . . . we need this connection. I need it. I want you to feel what I’m feeling. Right now.”

He dropped his head, letting her lips brush across his brow ridges, his breath gusting heavily across the tops of her breasts. He was quiet, his hips moving slowly, languidly thrusting into her as she tightened all her muscles around him. He growled low in his chest, the words harsh and guttural, swimming with emotion. “Are you sure, sunshine?”

“Oh god, Spike, I’ve never been more sure. . . Please.” Buffy stared into his amber eyes, willing him to make that final move. “Please. . . Spike. . . “

He slid out of game face, his blue eyes staring hard into hers. “I love you kitten, don’t wanna hurt you.”

“You won’t. Not now, not ever.” Buffy leaned up, her tongue dancing across his lips.

Searching her eyes one last time, Spike deepened the kiss, his tongue mating with hers. Buffy arched up into him, her arms and legs holding onto him. She broke away from his kiss watching as he morphed back into game face. His teeth nipped at her lip, far too gently to break the skin and then he nestled his face into her neck. Once more scraping his fangs against her skin, Spike growled softly, then as he surged into her, he broke the skin over her veins.

Her life’s blood flowed over his tongue, pooling in his mouth, her essence filling him. She tasted better, sweeter, stronger, heavier. . . . headier. His head was spinning, swirling with the emotional tempest inside her, his ears ringing and he swore his heart thumped once with joy. She tasted of heaven, of starshine and dewdrops, of soft lilting lullabies and ocean deep awe. He groaned into her skin, tasting the salty sweet sweat mingling with her coppery blood. Another pull of her blood into his mouth and there it was, just a shadow of a taste, but it was there. . . . the mingling of them both, the promise of a future he’d never dreamed he would have. . .

Their child.

Book Two. Chapter 34. Two hearts beat as one.


this is going to take a long time and I wonder what's mine
can't take no more
wonder if you'll understand it's just the touch of your hand
behind a closed door

all I needed was the love you gave
all I needed for another day
and all I ever knew
only you
Vince Clark, Yaz (Yazoo), 1982

She is coming, my own, my sweet;
Were it ever so airy a tread,
My heart would hear and beat,
Were it earth in an earthy bed,
My dust would hear her and beat,
Had I lain for a century dead,
Would start and tremble under her feet,
And blossom in purple and red.
Alfred Tennyson, She is coming, my own, my sweet



The first one awake that morning, was, as is fitting on Christmas, the littlest inhabitant of Revello Drive. The fact that he couldn’t do anything other than howl his displeasure about being alone and wet and hungry didn’t stop him from showing it. Spike had heard the first rumblings of the infant’s wakefulness and the baby belly growls that signaled vampire-like hunger pains and rolled onto his back, trying to wake up. He grinned for no apparent reason up at the ceiling, a soft purr emanating from his chest. Connor started to howl and Spike was up at his cribside before the boy had a full throat on him. Grinning down at the infant, he tickled him, then before the howls could reach dog-calling decibels, he picked him up.

Connor was soaked from stem to stern, his diaper hanging off him, weighing down the sleeper. Grimacing a little bit, Spike gingerly held him against his side, then lifted the soaked sheets from the bed also. Figuring rightly that it would be easier to just strip the boy down and get him clean from the skin out, Spike brought him into the bathroom. Filling the tub as he stripped off the sodden clothing, he dipped the boy into the water. Connor gurgled happily, his legs moving at a rapid pace. He was splashing, covering Spike in bubbles and all Spike could do was laugh right back at him.

This time next year, it would be his own sprog gurgling happily up at him. Spike still couldn’t completely wrap his head around that. Even knowing it had been a possibility ever since Rupert had found out about the potentials, Spike hadn’t, couldn’t bring himself to hope for it. Not even after he’d smelled and sensed the changes that were going on in her body. Part of him was too afraid to hope and another, bigger part of him wanted her to be the one to tell him – making it real, for both of them. And now it was more than possible.

Buffy’s pregnant.

Reality hit him square between the eyes as he looked down at the infant in the tub. This was his life. Infants. Bills. Medical expenses. College tuition.

Spike shook his head, pushing thoughts of a distant future out of his mind. Can’t think about that jus’ yet. Niblet’s not ready for college. . . not yet. Gonna have to worry ‘bout that soon enough. He couldn’t believe . . . well, mate, that’s wha’ happens when you take up with humans. Get human worries.

Not that he’d trade one second of this for going back to where he was less than a year ago. Scrounging for blood. . . . Extorting money from the scoobies and terrorizing fledglings to get him cash. Living in a hole in the ground. Shacking up with Harmony.

That had to have been nearly the very bottom for him. She was a vapid brainless twit who’s only worth lay between her thighs and while she assuaged an itch sometimes, he could only stand her when she wasn’t opening her mouth to speak, which was far too frequently for him. Thank god he’d seen the last of her. He shook off the memories of her, focusing instead on what he had now.

Everything.

Acceptance from some of the scoobies, including the Watcher, and now, Oxford. That had been a surprise too, that Percy would lighten up enough to consider him a friend. Christ, he’d craved that when he was William, from someone other than his mother, especially once the rest of the family were gone.

Approval, also from the scoobies, except for Xander, but Spike didn’t expect anything from the whelp ever, so that wasn’t an issue.

Respect. Something William had yearned for, as much as acceptance.

Love. Oh yeah, love’s bitch. First, last and always. He could admit it. Everything he’d ever done had been done to either prove his love to some woman or gain the love of some woman. And always before now he’d crashed and burned. His ill-fated infatuation for Cecily had doomed him to fall prey to Drusilla’s exotic wiles; his need to protect Dru had brought him to the very depths of his existence, alone, adrift without any means to feed himself other than relying on charity. And yet, from those depths he’d discovered his greatest joy.

It had taken a while to get there but the journey had been worth every step.

Because now he had everything.

Because of Buffy. Silly name for a girl. But she was his world. His everything. And now everything really, truly did encompass everything.

A muffled noise from the bedroom behind him pricked his attention and just as Spike was about to pull Connor out of the tub, Buffy opened the bathroom door behind him. Connor splashed happily, getting more soap on his bare chest and Spike play growled at the boy, which just made him clap his watery hands together. “Morning you two.”

“Mornin’ sunshine.” When she draped herself over his back, leaning her head against his shoulder, so that she could watch him with the baby, Spike stole a look at her. “All right then, sweetheart?”

“Yeah, I’m okay. Just missed you and heard you guys in here.” She kissed his shoulder, enjoying the feel of his muscles moving under her cheek.

“Could go back to bed. Its early yet.” He leaned over, twisting so that he could brush a kiss across her brow. “G’on.”

“Actually, I was gonna go down and make prune-boy a bottle so that we could all go back to bed together.” She snaked her arms around his waist, her fingers brushing over his toned abs. “How’s that sound?”

He thought about it for a long minute, just reveling in the feeling of being warmed from the water and her touch. Neither one wanted to move and Connor seemed more than content to play in the water. “Tell you what. How ‘bout I go get the bottle and you and sprog meet me back in the bed in ten minutes.”

“Mmmm. . Buffy like that one.” She quipped, letting her hands wander over his pectorals, and teasingly brush over his nipples.

“Thought we weren’t supposed to do tha’ in front of spawn here.” Spike growled deeply as she did it again.

Her shrug moved her breasts and nipples against the muscles of his back and Spike forced away the growing arousal he felt at her touch. “Not doing anything but touching.”

Lifting the baby from the water in a strong yet gentle grip, Spike dumped him on the towel he’d laid on the floor. Turning around he eyed her sleepy form. “So, when I do this,” he said as he pulled one strap of her nightgown down, exposing her nipple to his heated gaze and lightly licked the very tip, “you won’t mind, coz all ‘m doin’ is touching, yeah?”

She inhaled sharply, not anticipating the electric bolts that arced through her at his touch. Goosebumps rose across her flesh when he did it a second time, not a sound escaping him, and no other part of him touching her, just his tongue on her nipple.

Buffy reached for him, but Spike stayed just beyond her touch, his tongue flicking gently over the nipple. “Its only a touch, yeah? No harm in tha’.”

His voice was husky, his breath almost warm as he blew air over her nipple. Buffy wanted to drag him closer, but Spike was trying to prove a point, so he moved back away from her.

Her nipples were both hard points, tantalizing him with their ripeness. “An’ this is jus’ a touch.” His left hand cupped the swelling weight of her exposed breast, his thumb brushing over her distended nipple, barely touching it. Buffy fought the shiver his touch invoked, trembling under his gentle assault.

A whimper sounded in the air around them, and it took her long seconds to realize such a needy noise had come from her.

His eyes were intent on hers, watching her pupils dilate with arousal as he leaned down to lick her nipple once more. “Jus’ a tiny touch.” His tongue drew a wet circle round her areola, avoiding the nipple itself.

Spike withdrew from her, then using one finger, he moved the other strap down, leaving both breasts bared to his heated gaze. The scent of her arousal was over-powering in the small room and he stopped breathing so that he could maintain control over himself. Buffy one-handedly gripped the side of the bathtub hard enough to turn her knuckles white as he lowered his mouth to the previously neglected breast.

“Only a touch.” He breathed over her, raising more gooseflesh, as his tongue streaked across her skin.

“Oh god.” She breathed out in a bare whisper. “Oh god.”

Eyeing her breasts, Spike slowly ran a single finger over first one nipple then the other, watching her as the effect of his touch raced through her. He moved no closer, breathed not a word, just merely touched her. She was frozen in place by her arousal, unable to move, anticipation stringing her out over a deep precipice.

He withdrew his touch from her, dropping his hand down to his side. Her breathing was erratic and he could hear the thundering pace of her heart and, taking a huge gamble, inhaled deeply. His head swam with the overwhelming scent of her arousal. He could taste it, feel it rolling across his tongue and sliding down his throat, that’s how potent it was. Drawing in a second breath, no long caring of the infant that was quietly settled on the floor behind him, Spike moved again. Using one finger again, he traced the lines of the pulsing blue veins on her leg, not stopping at the flimsy lace barrier.

Buffy had nearly begged him to keep touching her when he’d stopped, but each time she tried opening her mouth, her voice eluded her. Just when she was ready to scream, his finger slid along her leg, starting just below her knee, snaking up and over the rounded bend, and up along the smooth length of her thigh. She watched fascinated as his finger delved under the folds of her delicate nightgown. She drew in a breath, unable to let it go for fear of the shrill noise that was sure to erupt from her throat.

His finger brushed over the junction of her hip, sliding down over the fleshy globe of her ass, and there too, he could feel the gooseflesh come to life. Grinning to himself, Spike let his digit roam over her, mapping the contours of her skin, reveling in the feel of her. Her leg moved as he reached a sensitive spot between the globes, and he stroked it again, letting her feel the weight of her own arousal. A wicked gleam entered his eyes and if she had seen it Buffy would have been very worried. But she missed it and Spike just allowed his thoughts to wander along that path for a few more moments. Eventually, kitten, we’ll get here. . . . but he kept his silence, letting his touch do what no amount of cajoling or pleading ever would.

Her almost involuntary movements opened her up and he nudged her by just adding a tiny bit of pressure against her leg and Buffy followed his silent request by bending her knee up. She took advantage of his direction, angling her body to face him and the lace nightgown bunched around her waist like a decorative belt. She was completely naked now, save for that scrap of material around her middle, exposed and open to his gaze. It no longer mattered where they were or even who they were. . . All that mattered was his touch upon her.

His oh-so-evil finger traced a line from between her bottom up over the curls covering her sex, sliding effortlessly through the folds of her soaking pussy, settling over her stiffened clit. He pressed it once, then abandoned it, letting his finger course over the delicate skin surrounding her engorged sex. She garbled out something completely unintelligent and Spike’s expression turned into a lethal leer.

She couldn’t bear it any longer, she needed to touch him back, affect him the way he was affecting her. Buffy dropped her hand down to where his barely touched her and following his example, used one finger to touch him. Her smaller warmer touch traced the fine bones and muscles of his finger and hand as it flexed and moved against the warmest part of her, then trailed up to caress the strong sinewy muscles of his arm. She followed the path of silent blue veins, her touch leaving heat behind, heat enough to warm him from the inside and Spike forced his attention back to his own task.

Her hand ghosted up his arm as his finger slipped inside her, then slid out. Her breathing hitched on a breathless gasp and Spike repeated the action and she retaliated by brushing her fingertip over his own hard nipple, simultaneously flicking it as he flicked her clit.

The only sound in the room was the whisper of their touches, the soft exhalations of their breathing and for him, the thunderous sound of her pounding heart. His name escaped from her in a whisper, no louder than a breath, but he heard her. He started to speak and found he couldn’t, his own arousal as paralyzing as hers. She switched hands, allowing the other to fall back along the line of her leg, and her hand dropped down to his half opened jeans. He got up on his knees, allowing her the same freedom to explore and Buffy wasted no time in flicking open the rest of his buttons.

Her finger traced over the head of his cock, watching it jump and strain against her finger, mesmerized as moisture gathered at the tip. Using the moisture, Buffy slowly slid her finger over the swollen head of his erection. Spike groaned low in his chest and Buffy could see the vibrations of it in his throat and her body thrummed in response. She wanted him . . . He regained her attention as he slid his finger deep inside and his thumb brushed over her clit. Buffy retaliated by using her forefinger and thumb to circle around the tip and she moved her fingers up and down, just encompassing the head of his cock. Spike rose up on his knees, letting the jeans slip down his hips, silently encouraging Buffy to let her fingers grasp his full length. But she wasn’t done teasing him, because she ran her finger down the underside, dragging it over the small globes of his balls. Spike looked down at her, his eyes glittering and feeling his attention on her face, Buffy lifted her eyes to watch him.

She was swept away by the desire in his eyes, by the love swirling in the ocean blue depths. Her fingers cupped his balls and she gasped as he slipped a second finger into her warm depths. “Oh god Spike. . . need you.”

Her words broke the spell and he finally found his voice. “Fuck, kitten, need you now. . . “ His free hand circled round her hip, pulling her close, as he struggled to control his unnecessary breathing.

“Buffy. . . . . “

She didn’t resist. She couldn’t. Not when he said her name with such raw need.

Her mouth settled on his as her name slipped from his mouth, tongue sliding between his opened lips. Buffy broke the kiss, breathing his name out over his face as his hand cupped her breast and she leaned her forehead against his. “Spike. . . please. . . . “

He pulled her closer, molding her breasts against the hard planes of his chest. “Buffy. . . now. . . “ Spike collapsed back on his haunches, her legs draped over his thighs. “Lemme in. . . .god, woman, lemme in. Now.”

Wrapping her arms around his neck, Buffy undulated against his cock, grinding over him. Gripping her hips tightly, Spike lifted her up, positioning her over the tip of his erection. Growling as she slid down on him, Spike threw his head back, jaw clenched, muscles standing out starkly. “Fuck. . . sunshine.”

Her pussy was hot living silk, wet and warm. . . no, not warm. . . “Christ Buffy . . . so bleedin’ hot. . . “ She was burning, scorching wet around him, drowning him in liquid fire, being inside her now was like being encased in hot. . . “Augh. . . . Buffy . . . . “

It wasn’t enough, letting her set the pace. He needed. . . . groaning, Spike stumbled to his feet, Buffy still impaled, writhing on his cock, strangling him in her need.

Bracing one hand on the wall, Spike held her to him, urging her to move faster. Buffy was gasping, a softly breathed squeal erupting from her every time he moved.

His foot brushed against the baby and Spike stepped away, then dropped again to his knees, laying Buffy down on the floor. Thrusting hard into her, Spike reached for her clit and as he pinched it between his fingers, Buffy’s whole body arched, then convulsed around him. Her orgasm triggered his and as he surged into her, she climaxed again, breathlessly crying out his name.

Lifting her against him, he cradled his mate close, feeling her heart pulse all around him.

Collapsing on the floor, Spike stared at her dazed features, then chuckled when she couldn’t move.

Buffy laid her head on his chest, her legs splayed on either side of his hips, his cock still nestled within the warmth of her and she smiled. Spike nudged her once and she lifted her head to look at him. His hand slid up under her hair, cupping her head and instead of speaking, he pulled her closer for a deep kiss.

She flexed around his cock, which had him grinning and ready again, but she stilled when a soft baby sigh interrupted. Slowly she lifted off his chest, tightening around him and her gaze left his to focus on the infant on the floor beside them.

Freezing a little, Buffy relaxed when she caught a glimpse of the baby. He was flat on his back, sprawled out on the towel with part of it pulled over him, his thumb firmly in his mouth. Connor was sound asleep.

A soft giggle escaped from her and Buffy turned her eyes to Spike. “Guess he really doesn’t care.”

He started to speak and she said in mock anger, “if you like this, you won’t say anything, buster. Not I told you so or anything else. Not a word.”

Instead of saying anything about Connor or their current positions, Spike just rolled them over, his arms circling her head and he leaned down to whisper into her ear, “see kitten, tha’s all it takes. Just a touch. . . jus’ your touch. “

He smiled then, once more whispering, “happy Christmas wife.”

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

Dinner was done, the decimated remains of a mostly rare roast beef, turkey, potatoes, lots of vegetables and various other dishes still piled on the table, while the denizens of Revello Drive groaned in gluttonous happiness. Giles leaned heavily on his elbow, a tumbler of MacAllan’s in front of him, while he looked around the table at everyone.

It was, he thought, a brief shining moment of respite amidst the chaos that was life on the Hellmouth. And while not a pure undiluted happiness, it was so much the sweeter because it was not. He grinned, watching Dawn preen over the bracelet she’d gotten from Casey, showing it off for perhaps the hundredth time, when he saw a look pass between the two Summers girls. His attention pricked more when the unspoken communication appeared to be turning more urgent and Giles caught a glimpse of a wary look on Dawn’s face, which cleared up when Buffy shook her head.

Wesley said something to Oz, drawing Giles’ attention away from the girls and he waited patiently while Oz wrote his response on the portable dry erase board they’d dragged out of storage for him to use. They’d all surprised him this morning, eliciting a highly emotional response from the normally reticent man. Everyone had finished opening their gifts and finally, when all the noise had quieted down for a second, Tara had nodded once to Spike, who reached behind the couch and removed the box he’d placed there for safekeeping. The box was nearly as big as the werewolf and Oz had raised a single eyebrow in question. He finally gave into everyone’s entreaties to just open the gift. He’d shrugged in a typical gesture, his attention on the box. As he’d opened it to reveal a new bass guitar and a used amplifier, Oz had tears in his eyes. Unable to speak he’d just hugged the blond witch tightly, moving onto all the other girls one by one.

All in all, this had been a very good Christmas. Despite the loss and despair surrounding most of the past year, there was some glimmer of hope that the future might not be awash with death and destruction. Yes, Joyce was gone, and very sorely missed. Yes, Buffy had been gone, but she’d been returned to them. Giles considered his slayer, the daughter of his heart. Buffy was sitting further down the table, on the other side of Wesley, while Spike lounged at the head of the table, his eyes never leaving her. He smiled at something she said, then watched her pick at a piece of roast beef on her plate. Spike raised a brow, silently urging her to eat it and Giles watched as Buffy’s face blanched a bit.

No. . . this soon? Without thinking, Giles spoke, effectively silencing the conversation around the table. “Good to see you are over whatever bug you picked up. Feeling any better now?”

She blushed, which pretty much answered his unspoken question and took a moment to compose her answer. Without daring to look at either Dawn or Spike, Buffy tried to respond to Giles. “Yeah. Feeling all better now. No more belly aches for Buffy.”

Catching the gazes of everyone around the table, Buffy smiled wanly. She studiously avoided looking at Spike, who leaned back at Giles’ question. His eyes never left the watcher, almost daring the other Englishman to press the issue.

Dawn had frozen the instant Giles started to speak, her eyes seeking out the expression on Spike’s face. Catching the look out of the corner of his eyes, Spike gently kicked her under the table. Dawn relaxed, waiting to see what would happen when Buffy tried answering. Rolling her eyes at the lameness of her response, Dawn couldn’t stop the snort of disbelief from escaping her lips.

Anya, who had been starting to clear away dishes, bluntly stated, “are you kidding? You hardly ate much of anything. Just mashed potatoes and a couple of rolls. . . . “ her voice trailed off as she realized everyone was staring at her. “What? I’m just stating a fact. Buffy didn’t eat much at all.”

“Thanks Anya.” Buffy shrugged. “So its still a little wonky. Its nothing that won’t go away.” In a couple of weeks. . . . I hope. She got to her feet, grabbing her plate and Spike’s in an effort to avoid everyone’s stares. Trying to sound very chipper, she asked, “who’s ready for dessert?”

But her effort fell flat when her quick movement made her stomach heave and caused her face to loose all color. No one spoke until Dawn said, “I’ll finish clearing. You sit. Dessert can wait.”

Taking the plates from Buffy, Dawn pushed her way past Anya and into the kitchen. Buffy sat down abruptly, unable to look at anyone, even Spike. Tara leaned forward, facing Buffy across the table. “Are you okay?”

The slayer shook her head. “Gimme a minute.”

Spike looked at her, communicating with her silently and she started to shake her head no, but finally after a few long moments in which everyone tried not to pay attention to them, Buffy visibly caved. She nodded her head and Spike said, “Nib, come back in here.”

Dawn came back into the dining room, a towel in her hand and in a stance very reminiscent of her father, she leaned against the wall. Spike cleared his throat, gaining everyone’s attention. “Right then,” he paused, all at once at a loss, he started to speak then stopped. “Thing is . . . “ and Buffy touched his hand and shook her head.

“The reason I’ve been all under the weather Buffy is because” and she paused long enough for Dawn to lose her mind and when it looked like Anya’s head was going to explode with curiosity and excessive tension, Buffy finally said, almost in a whisper, “I’m pregnant.”

There was no sound until Oz banged his hand on the table. Once he had everyone’s eyes on him, he wrote on the dry-erase board, holding it up for everyone to see. He’d written one word, “cool” and the sight of it broke the silence covering the room.

Dawn pushed away from the wall, grousing good-naturedly, ‘so wanted to let the cat out.”

Tara got up from her chair and made it to Buffy before anyone else. Hugging her, she asked, “this is a good thing, right?”

Buffy nodded tearfully, thankful that Tara didn’t judge her or her choice of mate, or any part of her life. The two blonds hugged again and Buffy sniffled once, wiping her eyes. Anya smothered her next, wrapping both arms around her shoulders, her voice very cheerful as she whispered loudly, “you do know that sex is supposed to be better when you’re pregnant. Every part of you is more sensitive, at least that’s what I’ve heard. Are your nipples sore yet?”

The blush staining Buffy’s face bloomed into a cherry red and she covered her face with her hands. Tara stared at Anya, unable to come up with something to cover the former demon’s pronouncements and the giggle that gurgled up nearly strangled the dark blond and she covered her mouth, but couldn’t stop the laughter. Glancing over at Oz, who had both eyebrows up, Tara finally lost it, collapsing against Buffy’s shoulder in helpless giggles.

The slayer glanced over at her vampire, who merely raised his eyebrow in question and the memory of their early morning activities surfaced, causing her blush to deepen. There was no safe answer for Buffy to give Anya so instead she just said nothing.

Giles sat still in his chair, completely at a loss. He’d known this was a real possibility, once he’d found the information in the Council archives, but hadn’t expected it quite this soon. Sharing a glance with Wesley, Rupert struggled to get his feelings in some sort of order. Part of him wanted to berate Buffy for the insanity of getting pregnant now, given that Angelus and Drusilla were wreaking havoc and Willow’s motives and actions were also questionable. . . but that was just a small part. His tight-lipped smile directed at Wesley gave away none of his thoughts, and he was grateful at the moment that the girls were reacting so volubly, because he had no idea how to frame what he was thinking.

He wasn’t even sure what he was thinking. His slayer, one of the longest lived in recorded history and twice returned from death, was pregnant. This was monumental. Of no less importance was the father of said baby, the Slayer of Slayers, William the Bloody. He’d long since come to terms with Spike’s transformation and his differences from other vampires and his subsequent actions to protect those he loved. Spike might be a monster, but he was their monster. Lock, stock and bloody barrel. Giles contemplated the pair at the opposite end of the table. Buffy was haltingly trying to explain to the other females how she was feeling and what changes her body was going through, while Spike listened with half an ear, his eyes on her hands as she tried to explain.

Wesley got up from the table, taking over the cleanup duties that the girls abandoned in light of the big announcement. As he passed Spike, Wesley slapped him on the back and cracked semi-sarcastically at him, “congratulations old man, didn’t know you were up to the challenge.”

Spike leered, chuckling deeply. “‘M up to any challenge, Oxford.”

Oz leaned over, thumping the table again to get Spike’s attention, his hand extended to offer congratulations. The werewolf tried grinning, unfortunately the wires holding his jaw shut prevented it, but the sincerity in his eyes wasn't hard to miss.

Leaving the girls to their chatter, Spike followed Wesley’s example and continued clearing away the dinner dishes. Giles stared at the girls for a few moments longer, then got to his feet to follow the rest of the males into the kitchen. Spike was loading the dishwasher while Wesley searched around for containers for the leftovers. Placing his drink on the counter Giles wracked his brain for something to say, when Spike beat him to it. “Go ahead, Rupes, its not like ‘m . . . . “ his voice trailed off and he looked at the older man. “I know ‘m not what you wanted for her, so jus’ go ahead and say what’s on your mind.”

“Actually, Spike, I wasn’t thinking that at all.” Staring down at the blunt tips of his fingers, Giles struggled for words to explain to his almost son-in-law. “I’ve not had the opportunity to have children of my own. Buffy is as close to me as my own flesh and blood would be. She’s made her choice of mate, and honestly, I can’t say that I fault her. And I’m not unhappy for you. I was merely thinking of the implications of this news. We are in dire straits – what with Angel and Drusilla roaming about Sunnydale and an obviously out of control Willow. I’m concerned for your safety. For Buffy’s safety. And your child’s. We need everyone at top form.” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers, his gaze settling on the blond vampire. “The claim strengthens you both, but this news, while not unwelcomed, presents us with another set of minor difficulties.”

Spike nodded his head in understanding. “You aren’t sayin’ anything that hasn’t already gone through m’head. But its not me you have to say anythin’ to, Watcher. You need to speak to Buffy.” He paused for a moment, looking at Giles, then said, “an’ you should do it soon.”

Book Two. Chapter 35. Patient for a moment.

A moment in time but time was made through that moment: for without the meaning there is no time, and that moment of time gave the meaning.
T.S. Eliot, Choruses from The Rock

For one moment seek
a lesser beauty
and a lesser grace,
but you will find
no peace in the end
save in her presence.
Hilda Doolittle, Amaranth

One who cannot be patient for a moment will have days and months of trouble.
Chinese proverb



The girls were still chattering away in the dining room, while silence reigned in the kitchen. Spike had stopped what he was doing to stare at Rupert, who was focused on his drink.

After realizing exactly what Rupert had just said, Spike cleared his throat. “Did you just say you’re not unhappy?” He put down one of the dishes, then asked, “did you also say you were concerned about me?”

Giles cleared his own throat, still not looking at the vampire. “Yes well. Perhaps I did at that.”

Wesley hid his grin, listening to the good natured by-play between his two fellow Englishmen. “Rupes, ‘m touched I am. An’ here I thought you didn’t love me t’all.”

“Pillock.” But Rupert was smiling and he’d said that last bit without venom.

Spike waited until Giles had taken a mouthful of the smooth scotch then observed with deceptive idleness, “guess this makes you grandpa.”

Sputtering into his drink, Giles began coughing and choking, enough so that Wesley felt compelled to pound the older man’s back. Oz was chuckling through his wired jaw and Spike was sporting a Chesire cat’s grin.

Having won this round of verbal one-upmanship that they all occasionally engaged in, Spike was feeling a bit magnanimous. Handing Giles a towel, he said, “you get to dry tonight.”

“Bloody hell.”

Rupert sounded so much like Spike in that moment that they all guffawed.

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

Xander stared down at the all-too-still form of his first girlfriend. Why’d you cut your hair Cordy? Why didya never forgive me for that stupid mistake with Willow? Why the hell did you ever go to LA? He had so many questions, so many things he wanted to – yet didn’t want to – know the answers too.

Her chest rose and fell minutely, the movements barely discernable. The doctors had stopped the coma-inducing drugs, but other than muscle spasms, there was no improvement at all. “C’mon Cordy. Wake up and gimme some Christmas cheer. Day’s almost over and hey, look, I brought you something.”

Holding up a stocking full of chocolate candy, Xander waved it futilely over her still form. Slumping dejectedly back in his chair, Xander let his hands drop.

The Buffybot stirred, then spoke, sounding far to cheerful. “Xander. You should talk to her because her heartbeat moves faster when you speak.”

“Huh?”

Pointing at the monitor, the bot said. “I’ve become way good at reading these machines. That one is for the heart. Say something.”

“Sure. What?” Thinking hard, Xander realized the irony of his situation. The motormouth who, at the moment, couldn’t think of anything at all to say.

“You’re a carpenter. You build things.” The smile on the bot’s features was blindingly inappropriate.

“So? And?” He thought about it for a moment, shrugged and started talking about his job.

The bot stared at the monitor, watching the blips increase in speed as Xander droned on about nothing in particular.

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

Spike was out on the back porch, pale blue smoke curling around his head, echoing the rings puffing from his mouth. The snick of the back door closing behind him did nothing to disturb his contemplation of the clear starry night.

He’d figured she’d make her way out here sooner or later, looking for him and a quiet moment.

“Come sit with me pidge.”

His voice was calm, no discernable emotion coloring its depths and she smiled, thinking about how well he could read her, and her never very clear emotions, even when his own were just as tumultuous.

Smiling a bit, she plopped down beside him with sudden absolute gracelessness, as if her limbs had grown inches between the time she came outside and sat down. Casting an eye in his direction waiting for him to poke fun, she ran through her own snarky, witty retorts.

When he remained silent, she almost felt cheated, since she’d been expecting his teasing commentary.

Spike stole a glance at the woman-child sitting beside him and hid a grin.

“Cough it up.”

Whipping her head around to look at him, she started to say something, then thought better of it and snapped her mouth shut, clicking her teeth together.

“You’ll explode if you don’t let it out pet.”

Staring down at her hands, she realized something and before her brain could stop her mouth, she was blurting it out.

“We have the same hands.”

Very aware that wasn’t what she’d come out here to say to him, Spike raised an eyebrow and said nothing, more than content to wait her out.

“What was she like?”

At that Spike did look at her, wondering what – or rather – why, she was asking about this. And why tonight.

“You said that she looked like me. So, what was she like?”

He picked up one of those little girl hands that was very like his own and searched for something to tell her.

“Will the baby look like us?”

So that was what she was really thinking about. “Nib, I’d imagine some would come through. Did with you.” He laced their fingers together, squeezing hers tightly. “Not gonna change how I feel ‘bout you, sweets. Nothin’ could change that.”

“Spike. . . “ Dawn’s voice was very quiet in the crisp air and for a second he could hear the echoes of his mother and Janet.

“Dawnie. You’re always gonna be m’girl, yeah? Jus’ because there’s a new one . . . “

He looked at her, watched as the one true feature they alone shared filled with tears and his resolve broke. “C’mere pidge.”

Settling her under his arm, Spike stroked her back. “You were the first Summers to really trust me. First one to love me. Ah hah. . . . “ he motioned her to silence. “Know those were planted mem’ries, but the truth is, pidge, without knowin that, an’ knowin’ full well what I am, you still did all that. Fake memories don’t mean shite in the long term, Bit, the truth is here.” His hand rested over his unbeating heart, then his knuckles thumped against her chest.

“You’re mine Dawnie. Same way that one Buffy’s got all tucked up safe inside is. You got here first. An’ a bit differently, but who cares ‘bout that?”

He wasn’t sure he’d made her understand, since he couldn’t see her face, but when a big fat tear plopped down on his thigh, Spike thought maybe he did.

And when Dawn wiped her eyes, whispering, “thanks Daddy,” Spike knew it.

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

Everyone was sitting around, watching cheesy Christmas videos, bellies full and, in the case of Wesley, barely able to hold off napping, but Buffy wasn’t tired. At least not at the moment. Even Connor was sleeping, tucked into his portable crib in the corner of the living room, practically under the tree. Scanning the room, she realized both Spike and Dawn were missing, but guessing where one was the other wasn’t far behind, she wasn’t worried about either of them. She was, however, strangely hungry.

And she wanted something she normally didn’t eat at all.

She wanted . . . . she didn’t know what she wanted. Peanut butter and jelly? Her belly rumbled its approval and following her impulse, Buffy headed straight for the kitchen. Hopefully, there’s some there. . . .

Half the sandwich was gone and she was busy looking for a glass to get some milk when she heard soft footsteps entering the kitchen from the dining room. Without turning around, she poured herself a big glass of milk and following another impulse, she looked in the refrigerator for some butter.

‘How’s your stomach?” Giles’ soft question filled the air and though she had guessed it was him, Buffy stiffened just a little. Aside from Joyce, this man was the one constant adult presence in her life since she’d turned fifteen and suddenly the bombshell she and Spike had dropped earlier seemed all the more like a really huge, big, enormous deal.

“Pretty okay at the moment.” Buffy smiled at him, her milk mustache making her look like she was five. She bit into the sandwich, humming a mindless “happy-tummy” tune while she chewed.

Motioning to her face with a napkin, Giles said, “you’ve got a mustache.”

A soft giggle overtook her and Buffy wiped it away. Knowing just by the look on his face that Giles had loads to say, and probably not all of it of the good, she put down the sandwich and said, “okay, Giles, spill.”

“How are you feeling?” The concern this time wasn’t feigned or forced so Buffy answered him honestly.

“Aside from the weirdness that is my inability to eat, pretty okay. I’m mostly tired.” Absently she put two pieces of bread into the toaster and made herself another half of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

His eyes on her movements, Giles chose to say nothing about what she was doing, instead focusing on her words. “So the nausea is manageable?”

“Well, no. I didn’t exactly say that.” She paused, finished her milk and then headed back to the refrigerator for more. “Its just my belly has put new meaning into rebellious.”

He couldn’t help the chuckle that surfaced at her deliberate over-exaggerated pronunciation of the word. She certainly knew how to mangle the English language. “Buffy. . . “

The toaster popped and Buffy headed for it, not exactly encouraging Giles to continue, but more than aware he was going to say what he felt was necessary, regardless of her feelings on the matter. He remained silent however, as she neatly buttered the toast and popped one of the pieces into her mouth before the butter had completely melted. Buffy closed her eyes, savoring the crisp toast crumbs and the melting buttery taste on her ultra-picky tastebuds, and smiled.

Giles watched her, an amused grin at her genuine delight at the taste of the toast playing about his features. She caught his expression when she finally opened her eyes and Buffy smiled at him, blushing a bit at having been caught. Without much of a preamble, he took the opening her smile gave him, and spoke. “I expected this to happen, just not quite this quickly.”

He paused while she approached the counter, one piece of toast in her hand and apprehension blooming on her features. “I’ve no doubt you were anticipating this outcome also.” Buffy fidgeted with the toast, her fingers shredding the bread into smaller and smaller pieces. “It is the usual inevitable outcome when one is newly paired and not thinking clearly about methods of prevention.”


Excessive wordage. Yup, definite signs of impending lecture from watcher-guy-father-figure. Stifling the sigh that threatened to escape from her lips, Buffy waited for the impending doom. The silence loomed between them, and for once she realized that he was searching for a way to frame not only what he was thinking, but what he was feeling. Never big with patience, something she more than had in common with her mate, Buffy started to speak, when Giles held up a hand, stopping the flow of her words before they even started.

“Hear me out.”

And he suddenly found himself without the ability to speak as his slayer’s eyes filled with unexpected tears. Her lower lip quivered a bit, but before he realized the harshness of his tone, she inhaled deeply and stopped herself from crying. “Buffy, I,” he looked on as her resolve firmed, then reached for her hand, “I am sorry, that was rather harsh sounding. Forgive me?”

Without giving her more than a moment to shake her head, Giles forged ahead, although his first words perplexed her. “Your mother was a fairly astute judge of character. She never trusted Angel, even before the . . . well, and she trusted him even less after his soul was restored. In hindsight, she was perhaps, smarter than the rest of us.”

Giles shook his head, lost in remembrances for a moment, then brought himself back to the present. “However, your mother did trust Spike from the first. Why she did so always escaped me and we shared a few debates on the subject, especially in the last year, while we were battling Glory. But your mother’s trust wasn’t misplaced at all. In the end, she knew far better than I did, and that’s not something I relish admitting.”

Her eyes were trained on his, searching for something other than sincerity on his features. “Spike has more than exhibited his trustworthiness. However, that isn’t the issue. The facts are, the situation we are in warrants caution and care. Angelus and Drusilla are formidable opponents, ones we have faced before, however it took the combined efforts of yourself and Spike to defeat them. And you were in top form then.”

His glasses came off and Giles peered at her a bit myopically. “You are obviously not in top form, which has me concerned. And not just for you and your safety. I’m concerned about the baby, and god help me, Spike. Should something happen to you or the baby, Spike would. . . “

“Spike would rip Angelus and Drusilla apart.” Buffy found her voice finally and her pronouncement was without inflection. “You know it. He wouldn’t rest until they were both gone.”

“Even Drusilla?” Giles wanted to be certain that Spike’s loyalties where undivided.

“Giles. If something were to happen to me or the baby. . . Spike would. . . “

“Spike would wreak bloody havoc, Watcher.” His voice broke into the quiet conversation, his tones harsh and chilling. “Doesn’t matter who’s done it.”

Turning a slightly guilty countenance toward his slayer’s mate, Giles caught the fierce and feral expression in his eyes, before Spike turned his head to gaze at Buffy. “Not gonna let anything hurt my girls or the new one. Should already know that, shouldn’t have to keep repeatin’ myself.”

Letting Dawn slip in behind him, before he very carefully closed the door, Spike moved to stand behind Buffy, his arms circling around her waist. His hands clasped protectively together in front of her belly and Buffy sort of leaned back against his chest. Spying the shredded toast and the remains of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, Spike nudged her gently. ‘Did you eat something?”

“Yeah. Not hungry anymore.”

Before either of them could start arguing, Dawn interrupted, saying, “I’m just gonna go call Casey. I’ll ah, talk to you later. Thanks Spike.” With that she was gone, pounding up the steps, escaping the uncomfortable atmosphere of the kitchen.

Giles knew he had to do some fence-mending and he needed to do it quickly, otherwise Buffy would, no doubt, not forgive him. “My apologies. I’m concerned about the situation, and I believe it’s warranted, given what we are facing.”

They were all quiet for a moment, each one of them deep in thought regarding the current situation. Spike was, as usual the first one to speak. “Not like Angelus to move before he’s ready, though us rescuin’ the cheerleader probably put a crimp in his plans. He’s likely to strike now, an’ then skulk away for a bit.”

“Any indication that other Aurelians might be responding to his call?” Giles was worried about the number of possible opponents, knowing they had a finite number of battle ready warriors.

“None yet. Least a’ways none that I felt.” The vampire shrugged, the motion pulling Buffy closer against him, her back molded to his front.

“I’ll be back to good as new in a couple of weeks. This belly-achy Buffy can’t last for the next nine months.”

The two Englishmen shared a look over her head that Buffy didn’t catch. “Kitten, dunno how much fightin’ you should be doing over the next couple of months. Can’t take any chances.”

“Spike, I should be fine. I’ve been doing this for years and well, I won’t go out without you. Besides, we still have skirt-girl who can do regular patrol.” He’d forgotten about the bot, but Spike knew there was a flaw somewhere in her plans, mainly because he hadn’t thought that far ahead. He’d been overwhelmed with just the emotions surrounding the truth of their reality. The reality of Buffy being pregnant. The more practical implications hadn’t begun to register within him, up until these moments with Rupert. Leave it to the watcher to think of the practicalities of the matter, while he was more concerned with the emotions. Buffy was lost in her own thoughts, hers straying not to far from Spike’s, although on some level she was aware of Giles’ concerns and worries.

“We must also take into account Willow. Heaven knows what she’s up to, or what side of the fence she’ll land on.” Once again Giles was spouting practicalities and possibilities. Letting go with a very loud yawn, Buffy leaned her head against Spike’s shoulder.

Giles caught a glimpse of the distaste within Buffy’s eyes and immediately changed the direction of the conversation. “All that aside, you do realize this is a miraculous event.”

A slight smile twitched on Buffy’s lips and as she stole a glance up at Spike’s profile, she threw Giles’ words from earlier back at him. “But isn’t it the inevitable outcome when one is not thinking clearly about methods of prevention?”

“Who said we were thinking about prevention?” Spike’s voice was filled with laughter and some other emotion that Giles couldn’t really place. ‘As I recall, most times wasn’t thinking clearly at all.”

Rupert stared at the pair of them, fighting his laughter, affecting a stern visage. “Really must both of you mock me?”

“Oh Rupes, how to resist when its so bloody easy?”

“Oh ha bloody ha.” Despite the sarcasm in his tones, Giles was teasing them and it was very evident on his normally impassive face. Breaking into a very proud grin, Rupert clapped Spike on the black and leaned down to brush a kiss over Buffy’s cheek. “Still in all, it’s a miracle.”

And, he thought, it’ll be another miracle if we manage to keep you safe.

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

Everything was in place, everything was ready. Her supplies were in hand, spread out before her, the book opened to the correct page and Willow had stripped away all the useless bits from the spell. Jonathan had tried to remake the world so that he was the center of it all; and thereby throwing everything off to the point of instability. Willow had no desire to be the center – she didn’t want the fame or fortune or the notoriety that had followed Jonathan around after he’d invoked the enhancement spell. No, that’s not what she wanted.

Willow wanted everything to be the right way. She wanted to be back with Tara, wanted to be Buffy’s best friend and the one Dawn turned to for advice and . . . she wanted Giles to respect her. And her power. She wanted everything to be the way she thought it should be.

Spike gone. Either back in his crypt or, hey, even further away.

Tara back in her bed, soft limbs and welcoming flesh around her, holding her close.

Buffy trading secrets with her about their lives and loves and . . . . all that.

That’s what she wanted. Everything back the way it should be.

And that’s what she was going to get.

Beginning the chant to start the wheels in motion, Willow pursed her lips into her resolve face and got to work.

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

Finally, everyone who didn’t live in the house at Revello Drive was gone, home to their own homes. Christmas was over. Done.

Buffy had survived her first Christmas without her mother and really, except for a few tough moments here and there, she’d been okay, and hadn’t let the tears fall. And anyway, she wasn’t sure if the tears were there because her mother was gone or because she was all emotional girl because her hormones were getting wacky. Spike was locking the door behind Giles and Wesley, turning out the lights as he made one final circuit through the house. Watching him from the bottom stair, Buffy unconsciously rocked Connor in her arms. The baby was barely awake, his eyes focusing on her features as he tugged on her lips and her hair. Aside from the howling whenever he was hungry, Connor was a very good baby, even-tempered and quiet. She found herself wondering which one of his parents he got those traits from, because in her experience, neither one of them ever exhibited any evidence of them.

Spike stopped in front of her, looking down at her, a smile playing about his features. “Did you have a good day love?”

“Yeah. Did you?”

His smile widened and he wrapped an arm around her shoulder as he swooped down to kiss her. “Had a great day.”

She bit her lower lip, looking up at him from beneath dark eyelashes, a question in her eyes. “Really?”

“Really sweetheart.”

“Really really?” She shifted Connor up to her shoulder and one hand smoothed the front of Spike’s shirt, fiddling with the collar.

“Really. Truly. Haven’t done the Christmas thing in a very long while, love, but it was great.” His thumb reached up to brush away a wisp of hair from her cheek and she curled into his touch. “Got the best gift. You. Niblet. Spawn. And now bittybit.”

“Bittybit? Spike. . . you are so gonna have to come up with something else to call this baby. Bittybit is just weird.” Her nose wrinkled and she pursed her lips, but there was a twinkle in her eyes that told him she was really teasing him.

“Makes sense, though. Dawn is bitty-Buffy and this new one is bitty-bitty Buffy.” He was trying to keep a straight face, but her soft giggles were infectious and he was having a hard time holding back the laughter.

“Well, what if its not a bitty-bitty Buffy, but a bitty-bitty Spike? What are you gonna do then?” She glanced at him over her shoulder as they climbed up the stairs and nonchalantly asked him “gonna call him lil’ bad?”

His answer was just a swat on her butt and a bit of a growl.

“Is that supposed to scare me? C’mon Spike, what are you gonna call the baby if it’s a boy? I’m so not dyeing an infant’s hair. Or getting leather for a baby.”

“Ha bloody ha, woman. Very funny. Wouldn’t do that to a nipper.” He pushed open the door to their bedroom, letting her precede him inside. “And your hair color is the one you were born with.”

“Hey! It’s close.” Putting Connor down in his crib, Buffy turned to look at him. “It’s closer than yours is anyway.”

A raised eyebrow and a pointed look at her pelvis was all the answer he gave her, but she could see what he was thinking on his face. As she was about to retort, a wide yawn overtook her and Buffy slumped down onto the bed next to him. “So tired. Wanna sleep.”

“C’mon love, into bed with you.”

He settled in behind her, spooning against her back, his arms wrapping around her. His left hand splayed over her belly and Spike whispered into her ear, “love you kitten. You and bitty-bitty-bit.”

Buffy laughed sleepily, whispering back to him, “I love you, too Spike. You and lil’ bad.”

Book Two. Chapter 36. Missing

And there's a message that I'm sending out
Like a telegraph to your soul
And if I can't bridge this distance
Stop this heartbreak overload
John Waite, Missing You, from the album No Brakes, 1983

And as I wander down to where you lay
The blood rushed up to meet the roses
In your hair
I thought I saw you smile
But now I don't see you anywhere
Whispering your love song in my ear
How can you touch me
When you're not really there?

Stumbling out i made my way towards the open door
Climbing fast the sun broad streaming
Laughter down into your empty gaze
Where can i find out
How i want to join in your games
I hear you calling
I hear you ... calling calling calling calling
Whispering your love song in my ear
How can you touch me?
How do you really dare?
Arcadia, Missing from the album So Red the Rose, 1986




The first stirrings of an unhappy infant woke her from a fitful sleep and Buffy grumbled into her pillow. So don’t want to get up. Wanna sleep some more. Why do I have to be the one all the time? Connor’s whimpers were becoming full fledged cries and Buffy realized she couldn’t ignore him any longer. Lifting up the blanket, she wrinkled her nose and fought off the rolling nausea that was threatening.

Connor stopped howling when she lifted him into her arms, but didn’t stop his fretting. This isn’t like him. Wonder if he’s sick? He rested his head against her shoulder, but kept crying, his little breaths hiccupping every couple of moments. “Hey little man, it’s okay, Buffy’s got you.”

But that didn’t calm him completely. He settled down enough for her to realize her stomach was as unhappy as the baby. Barely making it to the bathroom, Buffy vomited, narrowly missing the baby’s head.

Something’s really off. Wish I knew what it was. Where’s Spike? He’d know what to do. Buffy stopped wiping her mouth, staring at her reflection in the mirror. Where did that thought come from? Spike’s a pain in my butt. Nothing more. Right? But the niggling thought about Spike knowing what was wrong and more importantly how to fix it wouldn’t go away. Not while she rinsed her mouth, nor while she got herself and Connor dressed. She couldn’t push it aside.

The smell of pancakes hit her nose before she was all the way downstairs and Buffy’s speed picked up as her stomach growled with anticipation. “Hey Wills. Morning.”

Willow was flipping pancakes and stacking them on a plate. Her greeting to Buffy was enthusiastic and the blond smiled back. “Pancakey goodness. Just what every hungry Buffy requires in the morning.”

“Morning you two. How did you sleep?” Willow made a silly face at Connor, but instead of giggling like he usually did, the baby just started wailing again. Willow pulled away, saying “guess someone isn’t a happy camper today.”

“Nope. I think he woke up on the wrong side of the crib.” Buffy shrugged, getting a bottle from the fridge. “So what’s with pancakes this morning?”

“Nothing. Just woke up early and figured I’d make everyone Willow’s special.”

“Ooh! Chocolate chip?” Dawn’s voice sounded from the hallway and she entered moments later all sleepy-eyed and disheveled.

“Yup. Chocolate chippyness coming right up.”

Dawn squealed, hugging Willow then snagging a pancake all in one move.

Connor was fighting the bottle, pushing it away and crying. Buffy jostled him a bit, but he wouldn’t settle down. Dawn made a face, grimacing at the noise. “Can’t you get the spawn to shut up?”

“Dawnie, he’s a baby and he’s obviously not feeling good. Be nice.” Buffy had a reproving look on her face, but Dawn didn’t back down.

“Brat does nothing but complain. You need to find out what his deal is.”

Snagging a rolled up pancake, Buffy left the kitchen, muttering under her breath about bratty little sisters and how they should be more understanding. And even as she did it, something about the wrongness of what she was saying and Dawn’s actions played on her mind. Something was off about this morning and it wasn’t just Connor’s constant crying. She just couldn’t put her finger on it.

Everything felt wrong.

From the moment she’d woken up until just now.

Something was missing.

Out of place.

Buffy sat down in the big chair, trying to calm Connor and he was just settling down when Willow came into the living room and held out her arms. “Here, give him to me. You get some pancakes.”

After a moment’s hesitation Buffy started to hand him off, but Connor’s entire body stiffened and he wailed his protest loudly, almost hysterically.

Afraid she would drop his suddenly stiff form, Buffy held him close, rocking him against her breast. “Shush.”

Willow made to touch him and the baby visibly flinched again, burrowing closer to Buffy. Pulling him away from the redhead’s touch, Buffy said, “its okay Will, I’ve got him. He doesn’t want anyone but me, I guess. Its okay.”

“You want me to bring you something?” Willow backed away, apology written on her features.

“Yeah that’s fine. Just no syrup.”

It took a while, but finally she got Connor calmed enough so she could eat.

But she still couldn’t shake the feeling that something was very off.

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

The feeling of wrongness didn’t fade at all as the day wore on. If anything as the hours passed, it got worse.

Tara and Willow were cuddling on the couch, oohhing and ahhing over their gifts and some movie they were watching.

Dawn had gone out with Casey, spending the day together, out to dinner and then a movie. At least that was their plan.

And through it all, Buffy felt off. Wrong. Out of touch with something vital.

Abruptly deciding she couldn’t stand it any longer, sometime around four o’clock, Buffy got out the stroller, bundled up the still whimpering Connor and headed for the Magic Box.

That was another thing. Connor. He couldn’t stand to be near Willow – reacting physically whenever she was near and crying whenever Buffy wasn’t holding him. She was at her wit’s end with the baby, unable to get him to stop whining for any period of time. And she knew that wasn’t like him.

Her slayer sense was telling her something was wrong.

Connor’s behavior was telling her something was very wrong.

She just didn’t know what the hell it was.

Going to the Magic Box to see Giles would help. He and Wesley would start with the research and that would help.

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

Spike couldn’t sleep.

He was up, pacing the confines of his crypt, moving from one thing to the next without being able to focus on any one thing.

Something was up. Something was brewing.

Something’s not right.

The crypt smelled wrong, for one thing.

Unused. Unlived in. Empty.

Like he’d been away for a while and he had no memory of leaving Sunnydale at all in the last months. He wouldn’t have done that anyway. Buffy had asked for his promise.

Buffy . . . .

Something wasn’t right there, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. Was she in trouble? Was Dawn?

Spike stopped his endless pacing, cocking his head to the side, thinking hard. He’d woken up just after daybreak, in his chair, the television on. Nothing really unusual there, only it didn’t feel right. Nothing about today felt right.

He felt like part of him was missing.

Not that he thought it would do him any good, but maybe the watcher would have some answers.

Heading down into the lower level, Spike figured it would at least eat up part of what was left of the day.

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

Wesley was tired.

Tired of hospitals.

Tired of falling asleep in chairs that didn’t accommodate his height. Tired of beeping machines and over- solicitous nurses and smug doctors and exceedingly tired of listening to bad news.

So he was inordinately easily persuaded by Xander’s request to sit watch over Cordelia.

He didn’t protest when Xander dropped Anya at the Magic Box and announced he was going over to the hospital. Wesley merely waved him off, unaware of Anya’s upset.

Giles noticed.

There wasn’t much about Anya that Giles missed these days. That her face fell whenever Cordelia’s name was mentioned. That her mood lightened the longer she was apart from Xander. That there was an increasingly wistful look on her features whenever Buffy and Spike were nearby.

Wherever did that thought come from, old man? There’s nothing between Buffy and Spike. Right?

Giles was drawn from his thoughts by the appearance of his slayer. Pushing a pram. With a softly whimpering infant.

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

Four solid walls and twenty-three hours a day in lock down don’t give a girl much more to contemplate other than navel lint and chin hair. That is, if you happen to be a normal girl.

If you aren’t blessed with normalcy and instead are gifted and Chosen, four walls and twenty-three hours of solitude give a girl a long time to consider the meaning of dreams and portents.

And cryptic messages from higher powers.

Faith figured the only good thing about being locked up, aside from the GED she’d gotten, was the patience she’d learned.

Patience had been an indulgence she’d never allowed herself on the outside. Now? Now she had no choice but to learn patience. And to hone her admittedly lacking interpretive skills.

So when the dreams started coming faster last spring, faces and voices disturbing her sleep, some she was more than familiar with and some she’d rather not know – Faith knew something big was going to go down.

And then, one night in late May, Faith had nearly lost it when a light in her soul went out.

She didn’t need the confirmation Angel’s next visit brought. Faith knew. Buffy had died protecting the world. And she’d raged, in her own not-so-quiet way, taking out her emotions on some hapless fellow inmate, earning herself long nights and endless days in solitary.

The dreams and visions had shifted then, and Faith had more than an inkling of where her counterpart had gone. She’d seen – or sensed – what had been done in Buffy’s memory. Somehow the overwhelming, wrenching grief of one vampire reached into the other realms, alerting all super and other natural beings to the depths of his despair.

And it wasn’t the grief of the vampire that possessed a soul.

Faith had wondered, that time she’d switched bodies with Buffy, how William the Bloody had known – but the dreams answered that question. It was more than apparent to Faith Spike’s feelings for Buffy were very real. And very deep.

So when the dreams changed again – and this time including images of Buffy with Spike – Faith didn’t question the truth of them. Somehow, and Faith wasn’t too clear on the specifics, but somehow Willow had brought Buffy back and now Spike was a big part of Buffy’s life.

Only now the dreams were changing again.

For almost the last week, the dreams had been getting darker and darker and more ominous. If she was interpreting them correctly, and she really hoped she wasn’t, there was something up with Angel. And it wasn’t good.

But she hadn’t had any contact with the outside world since before Halloween.

That wasn’t normal.

So when she woke this morning, in a cold and clammy sweat, shaking with tears streaming down her face, Faith knew she had to act.

Time to get out of solitary.

Time to get out of this place.

Banging on the walls of her prison cell, Faith came up with and discarded at least ten different escape plans. One way or another, I am so outta this hole tonight.

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

Spike was wondering why the hell he was feeling like he was missing a limb. Drusilla wasn’t dust – and it wasn’t quite the same thing as when Darla got dusted.

This wasn’t nearly the same.

This was like his heart had a hole in it.

A Buffy-sized hole.

He stopped walking, his thoughts focusing inward. There were bonds on his heart, in his blood that belonged there – and then there was this new feeling of incompleteness. That was part of the wrongness. Her Watcher might not believe him that something was off, but he would help. He’d earned that much from him.

Resolve strengthening his steps, Spike took off again for the Magic Box, ignoring the other foot traffic in the tunnels.

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

“I can’t get him to stop.” Buffy was pacing the training room floor, Connor fretting and crying even as she held him. It wasn’t any easier here in the Magic Box, except that the baby had stopped wailing.

He still cried when someone other than her tried to hold him, but he hadn’t stiffened up the way he did with Willow.

Right now, his head was on her left shoulder, snot and tears running down his little face and covering her shoulder. Buffy had one hand rubbing his back while she had the other wrapped around his waist. “Giles he’s crying like his little heart is broken. What is wrong?”

“I wish I knew. My experience with infants is severely limited. I have as much idea about what to do as you.” Giles peered at her from his perch on the couch’s arm. “Have you any ideas, Wesley?”

“Have you tried consulting one of the child-rearing books or websites?” Wesley’s knowledge was as extensive as the other two – which put it at zero. “I’m sorry Buffy, I’ve no idea what could be wrong with the boy.”

Just then Connor let loose with a heartbreaking howl and Buffy turned tear-filled eyes to the two Englishmen. “I can’t listen to this much longer. He’s breaking my heart. It’s been hours now and he’s still crying and shouldn’t he at least be so exhausted that he’d fall asleep?”

“I don’t know Buffy. I’m at a loss.” Giles shared a look with Wesley, but neither one could come up with something useful.

Buffy plopped down on the couch between the two, a pout blooming on her features.

“What am I gonna do with this baby?”

“Give him here Slayer.” The baby jerked his head in the direction of the deep voice, almost jumping from Buffy’s arms.

Spike leaned down to take the crying baby from her and before any of the others could react, had him in his arms and Connor sighed once, then shuddered and promptly, blissfully, stopped crying.

And that was fine until Buffy looked up at Spike, saw the expression on his face and she promptly burst into tears.

“Hey now, what’s this all about?” Spike couldn’t keep the concern from his voice, nor did he object when Buffy unexpectedly launched herself up off the couch and into his arms, nearly pushing aside the baby.

Spike looked to the other two Englishmen, but neither man had an answer for him. They were as shocked as he when the slayer had practically jumped into his arms.

“What’s wrong kitten?” Spike felt like part of the ache that had been gnawing at his heart had been eased by just looking at her – but he’d been wrong, because holding her nearly made it go away. Didn’t matter when she only answered him by squeezing his waist and Spike knew something was seriously wrong when she didn’t let him go.

“Right then. Watcher – something’s not right. Woke up this mornin’ feeling something had gone off.” He stopped talking when Buffy interrupted him.

“Told you something was wonky. I woke up feeling all lonely like and that waking up alone was wrong.” She pouted a bit, adding, “even Connor felt it.”

“All right. So the feeling of being off started when you both woke up. What do you remember about this morning?” Giles got up from the couch, his glasses in hand while he waited for a more detailed explanation.

“Nothin’. Woke up. ‘Cept the crypt smells like it hasn’t been lived in for months.” Spike shrugged as well as he could with his arms full of Buffy and Connor.

“Woke up. Threw up. Got dressed. Willow was making pancakes. Connor screamed and wouldn’t let Willow take him so I could eat.” Buffy sniffled again and Spike automatically nuzzled against her, then reeled back in reaction.

“Spike?”

Three voices said his name at once and all he could do was stare at her, his eyes sparking and nostrils flaring, drawing in unnecessary air. Instead of speaking, which Spike wasn’t even certain he was capable of at the moment, he pulled her closer and inhaled deeply.

“Spike?”

Only Giles’ voice questioned him this time, because Buffy could feel the laxness in his muscles and also the almost inaudible rumbles that were rolling through him in waves. Wesley was too caught up in his study of their faces to speak. There was more going on here, more than just something being off.

“Spike?”

Using his free hand, Spike pushed aside Buffy’s hair and ran his thumb over bite marks on the right side of her neck. Buffy whimpered, then turned a liquid gaze on him. His returning look was tender and fierce. “Slayer’s claimed and mated, Watcher.”

“What? Are you implying some vampire has claimed Buffy?” Giles spluttered a bit, his eyes almost bugging out of his head.

“Implying nothing, Rupes. ‘M stating a fact. ‘ve claimed and mated your slayer. That’s my mark she’s got.”

The silence lasted for long moments and surprisingly it was Wesley who broke it. “Do you think someone’s attempting to break the claim?”

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

Tara got up from the couch, leaving Willow to go make another cup of tea and grab something to snack on. Riffling through the freezer, Tara spied a container of ice cream. Oh this is good. Huh? The flavor was not one any of them liked, although Oz was known to indulge. . . . where the heck did that thought come from? How would I know Oz’ favorite flavor of ice cream? And why would we have some here? Shrugging away the weird thought, Tara shoved the butter pecan back into the freezer.

Grabbing a bag of cheese doodles for Willow and some chex mix, Tara headed back into the living room. She stopped short at the sight that greeted her.

Willow had turned out all the lights except for the ones on the Christmas tree, and the flickering television, then slipped out of her fuzzy pink sweater, leaving her covered only by a lacy pink camisole and pajama pants. Tara’s face got flush and her mouth watered. Letting her dark lashes flutter over her eyes, she focused all her senses on her delectable girlfriend.

And reeled back in sudden fear and doubt.

Oh goddess. . . what have you done now?!

What in all the heavens have you been doing?

Dark bands of angry colors swirled around her lover’s aura, like snakes writhing about decaying flesh. Repelled, Tara drew back away from the sight, drew back from her lover.

Willow’s voice sounded in the air between them and Tara opened her eyes at the sound.

“Hey baby. Gonna come get comfy?” Willow smiled at her and all negative thoughts fled.

Willow was love. . . . Tara stepped forward, suppressing the shivers that slid beneath her skin, ignoring for the moment, her own intuition.

It had to be some other reason why her senses were screaming at her. Couldn’t be Willow.

Couldn’t be.

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

“Claims can’t be broken.”

Why Giles’ softly worded statement filled Buffy with relief she couldn’t say. All she knew was the sudden irrational fear that sprung up with Wesley’s question eased. Spike’s response, however, set her heart thumping loudly in her chest and brought inexplicable tears to her eyes and closed her throat.

“Doesn’t matter – even without a claim I’m not leaving. Never gonna leave.”

Only he heard the hitched sob break from her throat, only he heard the thunderous beat of her heart as his words sounded in the air, his breath washing over her. Only him.

Buffy turned watery hazel eyes on him and Spike felt the ache in his heart constrict, choking him. Staring down into the green pools, he whispered for her ears only, “I love you Buffy. Even if somehow, something did the impossible an’ broke the claim – I’ll still love you. An’ I won’t ever leave you.”

Her lower lip quivered, the threatening tears spilled over and she slipped a shaking finger over his lips. “I . . . “ her voice broke, almost croaking and she tried a second time. “I believe you, Spike. I really do believe you.”

His lips kissed her finger, then brushed over her forehead. Long fingers threaded through her hair, holding her close and Buffy brushed her own lips over the soft skin on his neck, next to where Spike cradled the baby.

Opening his eyes to look at her Spike realized they were alone, the watchers giving them unasked for privacy. Buffy shivered in his arms and Spike brushed another kiss on her temple.

“Need to get you warm kitten. When was the last time you ate?”

As he spoke he moved them toward the couch, pushing her down and handing off the baby. When the whimpering didn’t start up again, Spike covered them both with his duster and called out for the watchers.

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