Chapter 29

Sunlight streamed into the room, glittering off the glass like tiny diamonds in a stream. The day greeted the occupant of the bed with the promise of a glorious Spring Day, the promise of sweet heather and lush greens, the promise of butterflies and caterpillars, all coming out to play. The day promised many things to the sleeping babe, but not that her Mommy and Daddy would be there when she awakened.

The room glowed with artificial light, borrowed from the teleportation spell. The woman took in the room, noting its appearance. It wasn’t a typical nursery. Nowhere was there to be found cute stuffed animals or whimsical creatures. There was a bed, a table, a chair. It looked as if the nursery was placed here as a second thought. The woman frowned. How was a child to flourish in this type of environment?

The child slept. Tiny curl of brownish blonde hair covered her head, riotously. She would be a great beauty someday. For now, she was an innocent whose life had been unjustly changed by an evil man.

The woman bent down to whisper in the sleeping child’s ear. “Don’t worry, Little One. You’ll have your justice soon.”

A noise in the hallway drew the woman up into a standing position. Her stance was neither hurried nor alarmed. She merely smiled and fade from view, though her presence was still in the room unseen by the other woman who entered.

Joanna pulled the curtains back, allowing the sun in all its glory to enter the room. She hummed softly to herself as moved about the room, opening drawers, removing items of clothing, preparing to bathe the tiny baby in the bassinette.

“Good morning, Catherine. Are you ready for your bath?” She bent to pick her up, but stopped when she noticed the cerulean eyes staring at her intently. Was the child trying to read her? Determine if she possessed a soul? All the guilt Joanna had managed to stamp down the night before returned in full force. She could hear the pleas of Catherine’s mother. She could see her in Catherine’s face. She would go to her grave guilty.

“How is young Catherine, this morning?” A voice boomed from the doorway. Almost as if a switch had been flipped, “Catherine” began to wail. Joanna immediately stooped to pick her up, cradling the baby in her arms.

“She’s doing well, Mr. Travers. She awakened once last night. She ate a little, which is why she’s fussy right now. She’s probably hungry. And exhausted from the trip over.” Joanna offered. She knew the baby was miserable, had been since she’d been removed from her mother’s presence. Joanna knew her employer probably guessed the real reason behind “Catherine’s” discomfit, but ignored it.

“Of course.” Travers came to stand beside the nurse and child, gazing down dispassionately into the face of his captor, protégé. What would she become in years to come? What was she now? Immortal? All-powerful. What secrets were hidden in that little body?

“It is your job to see to her well-being. She must eat. See that she does.” He announced, turning away from the woman and child. “If you need anything for her, please do not hesitate to ask. This is your home as well as hers.”

Joanna let go of the breath she’d been unintentionally holding. Her eyes flittered shut. They were both prisoners, but she would die before she let him hurt the baby. She’d promised, and it was the one promise she would keep.

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

To the casual observer, they were beautiful in repose. Toned bodies, blonde hair, strength and power emanating from their forms in rest. But to those who knew what had happened to the couple in Room 314, they were just two people who’d had their hearts ripped out.

She was a mother, but she wasn’t. She was a parent with no child to parent. This should have been the first day of Bitty’s life, a life of promise, of love, but instead, she was gone, and her absence hurt. It was a bottomless pit of despair. There was no beginning, no ending. It was this heart-wrenching pain that spread from the pit of her womb, where her baby had dwelt hours before, to her heart. She squeezed her eyes tighter, hoping it was a nightmare, and she would wake up, Spike's arms around her, his hand resting on the swell of her belly, and all would be as it should have been.

It would be easier if she didn’t remember those tiny blue eyes, she thought again. It would be easier if she didn’t know Bitty’s skin was as soft as spun cotton. If she hadn’t whiffed her scent, fresh as new rain, then she wouldn’t know what she was missing. But if she didn’t know, she couldn’t share with him. She couldn’t describe their daughter to him, to make him see what he couldn’t see. To give him what Travers had taken from him, from them. She ached for what Spike had lost before he’d even found it. She ached for the lost hours they couldn’t replace with their Bitty. She ached.

He knew she was awake, but he honestly didn't know what he could say to her. What do you say to the mother of your child? Sorry, I failed you. Sorry, I wasn’t strong enough or quick enough. Sorry, they took our baby.

He remembered very little of what happened at the house. He remembered holding Buffy so tightly, he thought she would melt into his skin. He’d been afraid to release her, afraid that he was dreaming, and she would be gone when he opened his eyes. She was there, he could feel her, but his world was still black.

He wanted to rage and kill for what Travers had done to Buffy, but there was a tiny voice buried deep inside of him that said the sins of the father were being revisited on the child. How many children, parents, sisters, brothers had he taken in the night? He could tell himself it was for his survival, but he’d killed. Killed because he was stronger, they were weaker, and he enjoyed it. He’d stripped families of their loved ones without a thought for those left behind. He’d tasted death and it was bitter. Buffy’s death had taught him that. She was at peace, and he and Dawn were living hell on earth. The emptiness, the longing, the whatifs and recriminations didn’t fill the space left void by her absence. His baby, their baby was gone, and they remained, and the pain wasn’t going away.

Lying behind her, his arms wrapped about her waist, he wanted to cry. He'd gotten used to the weight of their child. He'd gotten used to the sound of their heartbeats, entwined. Bitty's beat faster, stronger, filling in the gaps between Buffy's beats. Now, it was only Buffy's, and while the relief he felt for her safety was strong, he was selfish. He wanted his little girl too. He wanted his Bitty. Spike closed his eyes, hoping to recapture the peace he’d felt from earlier when he and his little girl had drank tea and had cookies. To recapture the love and contentment he’d felt the night before, in bed with Buffy, dreaming and talking about their child.

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

Buffy rolled over, hissing at the pain lancing through her stomach. He finally slept. She mused, scooting closer to him. Spike’s arms instinctively wrapped tighter around her waist. She knew Spike would be angry that he’d fallen asleep on his watch. He would consider it a dereliction of his duty to protect her, to watch over her. But his wife knew the toil the day had taken on him. The surgery, her disappearance, the baby’s kidnapping, he had shouldered it all on his own. She knew that like she knew the angles of his face. He loved her. He loved her when they all believed him incapable of love. Even though, the times were different, he would hold his pain close to his heart, shelter it because he wouldn’t know who to share it with. He wouldn’t burden Dawn, wanting to be strong for her.

Dawn… Dawn was stronger than all of them. Life had taught her to be strong in the face of adversity. She had lived a thousand lives in 3 short years. Buffy knew Dawn was hurting. Knew she should have consoled her, but it was too much like when her mom died. Buffy didn’t know how to console Dawn, when she herself was inconsolable. That hadn’t stopped Buffy from clinging to Dawn when she’d appeared in the doorway, looking beaten and distraught. It had taken one look at those baby blues and Buffy’s arms had opened. Dawn had climbed in the bed, and the three were together again, holding and clutching each other. They were family. They were a team, and they were hurting.

Buffy lifted her hand to the visible white bandage on Spike’s head. He’d been cut into, yet nary a word about it. So determined to protect her, console her, shelter her, he’d never mentioned his surgery. But then again, not many words had been said between them this day.

The silence was disturbing. There was noise, of course, from the steady clicking of the IV machine to the muffled sounds of activity on the other side of the closed door. No, the quiet that existed between her and Spike had Buffy scared. Scared for the first time in a long time. Their relationship from their very first meeting had been about words and actions, vibrant, alive, beautiful and ugly at times. But it had always been about communicating. Never silence. Never this. Oh, Buffy knew all about hiding from the pain of death, failure, disappointment. She knew all those things, and how to handle them. Yes, she knew all about hiding so deep inside your own mind that nothing and no one could touch you. She knew all about shutting yourself off emotionally so nothing could penetrate your defenses to hurt you ever again.

But all that changed when she fell in love with the man resting fitfully next to her. Spike battered down all her defenses, opened all her doors, and now it was impossible to erect them again. And she didn’t want to. She didn’t want to hide from this pain, because it was their pain, their child, their loss. She wanted to talk to him, but each time she looked at him, she saw it. She saw the recriminations, the guilt, and they grabbed her throat and held it in a vice, preventing her from offering comfort to the one who needed it the most.

The soft whimpers emanating from Spike’s throat caused her brows to furrow. He was having a nightmare, a particularly horrific one by the looks of it.

“Spike, wake up.” She said softly, shaking his shoulder. “Spike! Wake up!”

His eyes snapped open, blind and blank. He vamped before he realized where he was and who he was with. He was panting, his chest heaving as he struggled to get his raging emotions under control.

“It’s okay. I’m here.” I’m here, but she’s not.

“Are you okay, Buffy? Do we…you need the nurse?” His eyes lowered. To Buffy, it seemed as if it was painful for him to see her, but she knew that was an impossible. He couldn’t see her.

“I’m fine. A little thirsty, a whole lot of tired, but I’m fine.” She stared at his curls. Her hand strayed to them of its own accord, running through the darken roots. Bitty’s looked like this, blondish brown. She pulled her hand back, staring at a point off Spike’s shoulder.

“How are you?”

Spike’s mouth opened to answer, but he swallowed his remark. There was no point in telling her he felt like there was a hole in his stomach, and that it was increasing every minute.

“Slight headache. Hopefully, it’ll go away soon. The blindness is a bitch. Can’t see you.” He admitted softly. He felt her hands in his hair, and he wanted to give in to her ministrations, but he couldn’t help but wonder if he deserved such concern.

“That’s one of the reason I love you. You don’t let… you don’t let anything keep you down.” Buffy told him, noticing the slight flinch of his muscles as he pulled away from her touch.

“You don’t either, Pet.” He answered.

Buffy looked down to find Spike’s fingers plucking at her gown. A gown, which before would have tented out, straining against the basketball she’d swallowed. Now, she seemed anorexic. She pulled away, unable to deal with the despair she felt. Petting her stomach had been Spike’s favorite pastime, and… Oh, god.

Buffy scooted quickly off the bed. She hissed as her feet touched the cold, hard floor before sliding into a pair of hospital-issued slippers. Tentatively taking a step forward, Buffy anticipated the sting of muscles repairing themselves post-surgery. Surgery? Yeah, that’s what they called what that butcher did to me. She put her fingers to her mouth, stifling the cry that threatened to turn into a wail of pain. Looking around the room, she felt it close in on her like a cage. She had to get out. She had to get away. She had to escape the constant reminder in the bed that she had lost their daughter.

“I need to go to the bathroom.” She said suddenly.

Spike sat up, shifting into vamp face. His yellow eyes tracked her movements till the door closed.

Buffy leaned against the door, a choked sob escaping her tightly closed lips. Oh, god. Oh, god. What was wrong with her?

Her hand rubbed at the ache in her chest, which felt like a Chirago demon had taken up residence on it. Deep breaths did nothing to alleviate the pain. Her hand scrubbed at her face, her wedding band catching her nose. The gold band, which usually gave her a sense of peace and strength, glimmered in the harsh fluorescent light. She was taken back to their wedding day. Though the words hadn’t been spoken, over the years they’d been implied. “Through sickness and in health, through the good times and the bad…” This was as bad as it was going to get for them.

Buffy splashed some water on her face, staring at her disheveled appearance in the mirror. We have to face the fact she’s gone, if we’re going to get her back. We have to talk about what happened today. We… I can’t keep avoiding the subject. Crying won’t help Bitty.

“He’s hurting and blaming himself. You know this Buffy. You know he’s only concerned with getting you better, holding you up. It’s time to stop being selfish.”

Mommy and Daddy are going to find you, Bitty, and when we do, we’ll never be apart again.

Buffy took another deep breath to quench the butterflies in her belly. Gotta be strong. Gotta be strong. She said to herself, tightening the cinch on her robe, and exiting the bathroom. Spike was in the same position she’d left him in when she’d run to the bathroom. His face was human, shadowed by the strain of the day. Buffy ached to reach out to him, have him envelop her within his arms and make everything safe again. But she couldn’t look at him without seeing their baby. Bitty had his eyes and his hair. She was a miniature replica of him, and it hurt.

“I hurt all over, Spike.” She whispered. “I hurt so much. All I want to do is disappear so it’ll go away, but it won’t.” Spike stiffened to the point, Buffy was afraid his back would snap. “I know you’re hurting too, and I haven’t asked. I haven’t told you that I understand what you’re going through, because I feel it too.”

Spike shook his head to her quiet statement. She didn’t understand. She couldn’t understand because she’d never done anything evil. She’d been hurt and had hurt others in return, but she’d never taken a life, an innocent’s life. She’d never been him.

Buffy saw the tears fall down his cheeks unheeded. She couldn’t bear to see him like this, knowing that he didn’t have to bear this alone.

Spike jumped when Buffy placed her warm lips over his. She held his face lightly, even as he struggled to pull back. She was relentless, forcing him to take her love and trust.

“Stop it Buffy. You don’t…” He cried.

“I don’t what? I don’t know you feel guilty. I don’t know that you feel responsible because some mad man took our baby. I do, Spike.” Tears were streaming down her face, blurring her vision of him, but she refused to turn away from those blue, blue eyes. “All I’ve thought about is what I could have done differently. What did I let slide? What decisions could I have made that would have made things work out in our favor? And then I realized, I’m not perfect. I’m not omnipotent.”

“You didn’t kill and enjoyed it. You didn’t rape and maim for the hell of it. They took your baby because I’m a monster.” Spike sank to the floor, clutching at Buffy’s legs. She felt a jolt ripple through her skin at his touch, at his pain.

Buffy eased to the floor, sitting as close to Spike as the space would allow.

“You shouldn’t be down on the floor. You should be in bed.” Spike told her, wiping at the tears that stained his face.

“I should be where my husband is. I belong by his side.” Buffy answered softly.

“I’m beneath you, Pet. Always have been, and now they are punishing you for my crimes.”

Buffy closed her eyes in part exasperation and sadness that Spike didn’t believe in himself as much as she did.

“Don’t you see?” She told him, holding his face in her hands, wishing he could see the love, the trust, the pride she had for him. “She is your reward, Spike. She’s our reward for this fight. You helped me to see that life isn’t all black and white. You changed without a soul, without my help. You changed because you wanted to. The Powers, whoever gave us Bitty, did so as a reward for who you are.”

Spike shook his head in disbelief, crumbling under the weight of his pain and love for his wife and child. Buffy sank to the floor with him, cradling him to her bosom as she would do to their child once they got her back.

“I love you, William. I love you.” She said, kissing his brow, his cheeks, his lips. “You have to believe that. You are not to blame for what Travers has done. He did this to us. Not you. Not your demon. A man with a soul took our baby. You’re a better man than he could ever hope to be.”

They sat in silence, letting all the words said soak into their hearts. Spike knew Buffy was right. Knew he was letting his own insecurities mix in with his pain, their pain. Bitty was their daughter, their gift, and he couldn’t live with himself if he’d had a hand in causing her harm.

“We should get off the floor, Pet. I don’t know about you, but my ass is falling asleep.”

Buffy grinned. If Spike was joking, then things couldn’t be so bad. “Are we good? Because Bitty needs you strong and guilt free. She needs us both to bring her home.” She told him seriously.

Spike eased off her bosom, blinking slowly at her. His cheek felt warm, and the warmth spread to his heart. He shrugged as he struggled to speak. “Buffy…” He hedged.

“Spike…You are not to blame. This isn’t ‘kick the Spike’. This isn’t a personal vendetta against either of us. This is all about Travers wanting to control our daughter.” She insisted, pushing his head back down onto her chest.

“You are a good man. You are such a good, good man. I couldn’t love you if you weren’t.”

Spike nuzzled her neck, blowing cold air onto her skin. “You fell for my devilish good looks. I hear what you’re saying, but in here.” He said, placing his hand over his heart. “It’s hard to forget all that I’ve done.”

Buffy rolled her eyes at his remark, and sighed as she laid her head against his. “A wise man once told me that one bad act couldn’t negate all the good I’d done. I see he doesn’t live by his own words.”

“I love you, Buffy. Always have, always will. I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have to be giving me pep talks. You need to get better.”

Buffy smiled, that soft smile that said she had a secret she was only going to share with him. “I’m only doing what you’ve done for me, after Mom, after Dawn was kidnapped, after I came back. You knew what I needed, and what I didn’t.” Her eyes lowered to where her hand rested on his chest. “We will find her. We will get her back, and we’ll do it together because I’m gonna need you to keep me strong.”

“I will, Pet. I will.” He promised with kisses. “I will.”

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

“I’m so sorry, Rupert. I tried…” Giles shushed Anya with his lips, pressing them lightly to hers.

Anya, for all her lack of tact or restraint, understood the kiss wasn’t for pleasure, but for comfort. Giles needed her. Just as now, Buffy needed Spike. She pulled him into her bosom, and leaned back against the pillows.

Giles closed his eyes, reveling in the feel of Anya’s arms around him. He wanted to bury his head in the sand, pretend this awful thing hadn’t happened to Buffy and Spike. He wanted to rush out into the night, and torture Warren until he told them everything he knew. But he also wanted to pick Buffy up, take her away, keep her safe.

“How is Buffy? Spike?”

“They are devastated.” Was that a strong enough description of the two? The haunted look on Buffy’s face, the pinched, drawn appearance on Spike’s. Was devastated the word to describe what they were feeling? “They are devastated.”

Anya sighed, trying not to cry. Trying to be supportive, instead of giving in to her own grief and shock. Why Xander? Why couldn’t you keep your mouth shut about Buffy and Spike?

“Did you tell them about Xander’s involvement?” Her hand stilled on his back, awaiting his response.

“I didn’t tell Buffy. I couldn’t. She’s been through too much today, for me to burden her with Xander.” Anya continued to stroke his back, and slowly but surely, he relaxed into her arms.

“I’m sure once the shock and horror has worn off, if ever, she’ll figure it out. Everyone else knows. Willow took it hard. Spike… Spike wanted to kill Xander, but he didn’t. He showed more constraint than I would have in that situation. To be honest,” he said, sitting up, “I’m trying very hard to reign in my emotions as far as Xander goes. Going off half-cocked won’t get the baby back, nor will it help Buffy.”

Anya had listened quietly, her heart aching for Buffy, but also heavy with guilt for Xander’s actions.

“I know I shouldn’t feel guilty, but I do.”

Giles bent his head to look at her. “I told you before Anya. It was not your fault. You saved Dawn. She would have been taken as well or god knows what Travers would have done. Please don’t berate yourself.” He smiled tightly at her, gazing into her eyes. His thumb rubbed her cheek, catching the teardrop that fell.

“You did nothing wrong. We did nothing wrong. Whatever happened with Xander, we’ll sort out. For now, all that matters is getting the baby back.” He willed her to listen to him. They didn’t have time to wallow in their misery. And he wanted to. He wanted to wail and scream for Bitty too. She was a part of Buffy. How could he not love her?

“We’re going to find her Rupert. If I have to call every demon…” Her eyes grew wide as the implication of what she said hit her.

Her smile, lost for so long in the pain of her injuries, lit up her face. “Rupert, I know who we can ask to help us.”

Her enthusiasm was rejuvenating, bringing him out of the pit of recrimination and worry that he’d been swamped in since her first call. “Who?”

“Halfrek.” Anya answered, pulling the covers off. Giles took her hand, and helped her to stand. “A child stolen from her parents, this is right up her alley. It’s her raison d’etre.”

Giles watched as Anya closed her eyes, concentrating hard on the task at hand. “Halfrek! Halfrek!” She opened one eye experimentally. Damn, no Halfrek. She took a deep breath, and shouted her name again. “Halfrek!”

Giles surpressed a chuckle at her unladylike snort and curse. “Damnit! She must be working. I’ll keep trying to contact her.” She said disappointedly.

“None of that, my dear.” Giles told her, lifting her chin. “You’re helping. Hopefully, Halfrek will respond soon.” He planted a kiss to her forehead, holding her lightly in his embrace.

“Do you think Buffy’s up for visitors?”

“The doctors want her to rest.” He answered, moving to the closet to get her robe. “But I would love to have your company. I need to talk to Willow about the locator spell, and get Spike some blood. He hasn’t eaten since the operation, and we’re going to need him strong. Buffy’s going to need him strong.”

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“What good am I as the Key if I couldn’t keep them from getting my niece?” Dawn’s question broke the silence that had defined them since their arrival at the hospital.

Willow didn’t have an answer for that question. Didn’t know if there was one that would satisfy Dawn.

”Hey, I’m a powerful witch and I couldn’t do anything either.” Willow joked. “We will find her.”

Dawn sniffed, trying to keep the tears from falling. She wanted to be strong for Buffy, for Spike. They didn’t need her acting like a little kid when their baby was kidnapped. But for all her good intentions, she couldn’t help but feel helpless.

“She’s just a baby, Willow.” She sobbed, the tears coming out in a rush.

Willow willed her own tears away, and held tightly to Dawn. She was actually amazed Dawn had lasted this long. You could see it on Dawn’s face, the effort it took not to bury herself in Buffy’s arms. You could see it in the way she didn’t flinch when the doctor checked her ankle. She hadn’t complained about her injuries, hadn’t said much of anything. She’d done everything to make things easier for Spike and Buffy. Willow had waited, knowing it was only a matter of time before it hit Dawn about Bitty. It was going to be especially difficult for Dawn. She and Bitty had communicated. They’d shared a close relationship over the months, and now, that connection was broken, gone.

Knowing there were no words, no assurances she could give Dawn, Willow did the next best thing. She held the teenager tightly in her embrace, assuring her that for the moment, she was safe and loved.

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

What was he doing here? Xander walked through the doors of the hospital, feeling very much like an intruder. He didn’t know where else to go. Willow and the other hadn’t returned, and Xander could only hope that meant they’d found Buffy, and she and the baby were safe. It had taken him sometime to pull himself together, to push aside the guilt and confusion and the nausea to sit on the stairs. He’d stared out at the street, watching as the children played, the cars passed by. Everyone went about their normal activities while he was dying on the inside. No matter how he tried to find reason for this and that, it all came down to one thing. He’d helped Travers kidnap Buffy.

Guilt had pushed him to go to the hospital. He had to know if Buffy was alright, if she and the baby were safe. He had no where to go. He had no one to assuage his guilt, his horror, and he needed someone, anyone to listen to him. The receptionist directed him to the intensive care unit. He allowed himself a moment of relief. Buffy was alive. That was something. She was alive.

What was he doing here? He’d turned his back on Buffy and Spike, content to live off his anger and hurt. Content to let them battle Travers and Warren without his help or concern. He had pushed them away, and now here he was with his hat in his hands, so to speak, wanting to assure himself he hadn’t fucked up too badly to be forgiven. He was so caught up in thoughts, he hadn’t realized the elevator had stopped on his floor and the only other occupant was waiting patiently for him to get off. He smiled his thanks and shuffled off.

What am I doing here? He asked himself again, standing outside the waiting area. Who knew who was on the other side? Dawn? Willow? Giles? He shuddered, thinking about Ripper, but what had him seriously thinking of bolting back onto an elevator was the chill in Dawn’s eyes. When had she gotten so scary? For a moment, Xander could see her lighting him on fire in his sleep.

He didn’t want to see them. Didn’t want to explain or attempt to defend his actions. He couldn’t. Not wouldn’t. He just didn’t understand what had happened. He would just pop in and see if Buffy was okay, and leave. They didn’t need him adding to their pain, and he wasn’t up for the confrontation.

“Hello, Xander.” Tara said softly.

Xander turned, his face red with embarrassment and a little fear. “Hello, Tara.” He shoved his hands into his pockets, staring down at his feet.

“Buffy’s going to be okay. They say she’ll be able to go home in a few days.” Her eyes were soft and compassionate as she watched him.

“And the baby?”

Tara’s eyes clouded and her lip trembled. Xander felt his stomach drop at her silence.

“Oh, god.”

“She’s alive, but Travers has her.” Tara answered.

Xander nodded, too ashamed to look at her. “I’m so sorry.”

Tara believed him, but that didn’t change anything. They all knew Xander was a good person, but that didn’t alter what had occurred.

“I know you are, Xander.” She offered sympathetically. “I don’t know if the rest of them will believe you, though.”

Xander looked up, his brown eyes swimming in tears. “I should go. Probably not healthy for me to be here.”

“Xander…” Tara began. “When are you going to stop running away from your problems? If you leave, it won’t go away. If you stay, there’s hope.”

Tara further surprised Xander by embracing him. “They’re not letting anyone other than Spike,Dawn and Giles to see Buffy right now. Maybe, you can come back later.” She sounded hopeful, and Xander hated to disappoint her, but he didn’t know if he had the strength to see the others. Tara had forgiven him, and for right now, that would have to be enough.

“Thank you, Tara.” Xander said sincerely. Her forgiveness meant a great deal to him, but he knew he had so much to make up for. He had to show them, Buffy, Spike, all of them, that he truly was sorry for what had happened. He may hate Spike, and really, it wasn’t Spike as much as, what he was. Spike was a vampire, a demon, and while Xander had worked his issues out in that department, he’d never allow his antipathy towards Spike to filter onto his child.

He would help them, whether they forgave him or not. He would help them because it was the right thing to do.

“I’d better go before any of the others see me.” He smiled weakly at Tara, and turned to go, stopping as he saw Dawn.

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

“I’ll be right back, Dawn. I don’t know about you, but a drink and some chips would be great. Would you like anything? Dawn shook her head, staring out into the moonless night.

“I’ll be right back.” Willow assured Dawn, her face showing her concern as she left.

Dawn appreciated Willow’s effort at comfort. Food had always conveyed Willow’s feelings of remorse or concern, but in this case, it wouldn’t help Dawn or Willow. One thing Willow didn’t understand was that she needed space as much as Dawn did. Everything that happened today happened to people Willow loved and cherished. It had to be overwhelming being the rock for everyone else, while stamping down your own feelings. Dawn understood because that was what she’d done for Buffy and Spike.

Her growling stomach and dry mouth, though, served as a reminder that she needed to take care of herself before she ended up in the hospital with Buffy. With that thought in mind, Dawn hobbled her way to the hallway, intent on catching Willow before she got too far away. She looked to the left towards the stairs. No Willow. She looked to the right, and froze. Coming around the corner, deep in conversation were Xander and Tara.

Dawn stood transfixed. The sight before her unexpected, unwanted, unbelievable. He was here at the hospital after everything that had happened. The protective streak in Buffy that sometimes drove Dawn to screech like a banshee, sprang up in Dawn like a shot of molten lava. All she saw, all she felt was rage, and anger and hurt and sadness. She felt so much, it nearly buckled her legs.

“You don’t belong here.” She said calmly, steely. “Get out!”

Xander could feel her sadness, her rage emanate off Dawn’s body, and it made him ashamed to be in his own skin.

“I’m sorry, Dawn.” He offered.

“Yeah… Well, that’s easy to say. It’s also a little too little too late. My niece is gone. My sister and best friend are so beaten up, so broken, they don’t know which way is up. Do you think they care that you’re sorry? They don’t. I don’t.” She crossed her arms over her chest, stubbornly refusing to remember the Xander of old who used to play Sorry with her.

The truth was a bitter pill to swallow, but it was also a wake-up call. Xander nodded, knowing Dawn was completely right and justified. There was nothing to say, and everything to do.

Dawn watched him go, then turned accusing eyes on Tara. “Why did you talk to him?” She said hurt by the apparent betrayal.

Tara smiled, her soft, comforting smile. She ran her fingers through Dawn’s hair. “Because it was the right thing to do, Dawn. You don’t have to forget what he’s done, but you can forgive him. In your heart, you know who he is, and that alone should be enough to start forgiving him his sins.”

Dawn shook her head, tears falling down her cheeks. “I can’t. Not now. Not ever.”

Tara pulled Dawn’s unresisting body against hers. “Forever is a long time, Dawn.”

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

Willow’s mouth curled into a frown upon returning to the lounge. Dawn was no where to be found, and Tara wasn’t back yet. Guessing Dawn probably went to see Buffy, Willow set off on a search and find for Tara.

She found Tara in the chapel. When Anya had been injured, Willow had found her partner inside the quaint room, her eyes closed in deep meditation. Religious symbols abounded in the room, offering comfort and support to those of varying denomination.

“Xander was here.” Tara said quietly, startling Willow.

Willow’s eyes widened. “He was. What…what happened? Giles didn’t see him, did he?” Willow knew that while she was unsure of her feelings towards Xander at the moment, Giles, Dawn, and Spike were not.

Tara opened her eyes, chocolate brown pools of comfort and love. “I don’t think so, Sweetie. I caught him as he was getting off the elevator.”

Unconsciously, Willow’s hand tightened around Tara’s. But even without that gesture, Tara could plainly see the conflict warring with her lover’s heart. She wished she could wash the pain away with a kiss, a touch, but this was one battle that would not be easily resolved.

“I’m so mad at him, but I worry about him, too.” Her voice was shaky as if she were holding back a flood of emotions. “What he did… He could have gotten us all killed, and for what?” Her green eyes flashed brilliantly with her anger

“You could have been killed, Tara. Buffy was assaulted and her child stolen from her. All because Xander didn’t get his way. All because he didn’t like what Buffy and Anya chose to do with their lives!” She was close to hyperventilating, but Tara didn’t dare stop her. She needed this. It was cathartic.

“He…We love him, and he turned his back on us. And I’m so mad at him. And I want to slap him and scream at him for what he’s done, but I can’t because I know he’s hurting too.” She was sobbing now, hunched over in Tara’s embrace. Her hands roamed up and down Willow’s spine, trying to infuse her with Tara’s love.

“I don’t know how I can help him, Tara. Buffy and Spike lost their daughter. Xander lost nothing. Well…” She sniffed. “He lost us.”

Tara smoothed back Willow’s hair, strands of which were wet with her tears. “Before you can help Xander, he has to help himself. Concentrate on the baby. She needs us right now more than Xander. He has to make this journey on his own.”

Willow pulled away and looked at Tara, soaking in all that made her the woman Willow loved. She was compassionate and understanding, but there were times when Willow’s more impulsive nature warred with Tara’s. This was one of those times.

“I can’t, Tara. I can’t let him do this on his own. He doesn’t know how.” Willow said, pushing her hair behind her ear. “I didn’t push him to get over this thing he hasn’t against Spike for fear of pushing him away.” She said and gestured derisively. “And look what happened? He fucked up. He got involved with the wrong people and…” She couldn’t finish.

“I know you don’t agree. I know you think I should let him be the man and try to make amends, but we don’t have time for Xander to suddenly develop a clue.” That came out a bit harsher than she intended, but Willow didn’t have the luxury of treading lightly on Xander’s feelings. “He hung out with this guy, Dewey, for months. Xander had to have heard something, seen something that might help us, help Buffy. I’m going to find him.”

Tara’s hand laid softly on her arm held more strength than Spike at full-strength. It stayed Willow’s flight, and forced her to look into Tara’s warm and inviting face.

“I do understand why you have to go to see him, Will. You love him. You can’t abandon him now that he wants to change, wants to be a better man.” Tara stood, and yet again, Willow was amazed at her grace, her poise. How had she come to find this treasure? “I’ll get started on the locator spell. You go. Hurry back.” She said, pressing her lips to Willow’s for a deep, long kiss.

“I will.”

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

Xander wandered after leaving the hospital. Not the best thing to do in Sunnydale’s predawn hours, but it was actually soothing to him. He finally understood the lure the night held for Spike and Buffy. It didn’t judge you friend or foe. It enveloped you, regardless of your status, human or demon. To the night, it didn’t matter. Everyone was. His solitary walk of shame brought him to Revello Drive. How many times in the last 6 years had he come to this house seeking solace, companionship, love?

Xander took the stairs two at a time. He stopped outside the dark nursery, and flipped the light switch on. The room lit up with butterflies and summer flowers. It was a room of hope and beauty, of innocence. Sitting on the dresser was the latest ultrasound picture. He smiled, remembering the first time he’d seen an ultrasound of the baby. He’d been shocked by her existence, but really happy for Buffy. She finally had something normal in her life. Of course, he’d negated that good feeling when he discovered the baby was Spike’s. But for one brief shining moment, he was thrilled for his best friend. If the Slayer, of all people, could create a small niche of normality in this town, then he could too. Placing the picture back on the dresser, Xander knew what he had to do. He had to return Bitty to Buffy and Spike. And if he wanted to find out where Bitty had been taken, he had to go to the source…Dewey.

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

Xander stood in the darkened room, staring out the window at the leasing office. It had been relatively easy to dismantle the lock and walk inside. He’d done a cursory sweep, noting with a grim mind the fact that although, Dewey vacated the premises in a hurry, he’d been efficient in his retreat. There was little to go through, but maybe that little would supply the break they needed to find the baby. Xander let the blind fall back, watching absently as it swayed from the aided movement. He figured sooner or later, he would have to face Spike and Buffy, but he’d rather have something in the way of a peace offering before facing off against them. The sound of a car door closing drew him back to the window in time, to see the tail lights of the sedan as it pulled out of the complex.

“Finally.” He said to no one in particular.

Xander strode over to the small kitchenette. Fast food coupons, no magazines, no bills. The man was a professional. He probably did this type of stuff everyday. But Xander had been here. It had every appearance of a lived-in residence. There was no way between the time he… the time he told them about Spike’s chip to Monday, that he would have had enough time to clean everything out. He hoped for Bitty’s sake.

“Maybe, you shouldn’t be looking for mail.” A familiar voice said from the doorway.

Xander spun around, surprised to see Willow.

Willow wasn’t surprised to see him, though. He could tell. He wondered if she’d followed him or done a spell to find out where he was. It didn’t really matter how she came to find him. She was here, and he was here.

“Gotta look for something. There has to be something here that can help you find Bitty.”

“I’m sure there is.” She said non-committal.

They worked in silence, moving from room to room with an efficiency that belied the uneasiness lying just underneath the surface.

“Fuck!” Xander shouted when his search revealed nothing more than a discarded newspaper. Willow watched him stalk the room, mumbling under his breath.

“There’s nothing here.” Willow announced, dejectedly. “He was a pro. He made sure there was nothing left that could tie him to this place, to the abduction.” Willow bit her lip, looking around the room one final time.

Xander ground his teeth together, balling his hand into a fist and smashing it into the wall. Willow jumped, surprised and dismayed.

“Oh, my goddess, Xander, let me see.” She said, taking his hand in hers. Xander flinched at her touch, and yanked his hand out of her grasp. He didn’t deserve her pity. He didn’t deserve her concern.

“Leave it be, Willow. There are some things you can’t fix.” He said, bolting out of the door before Willow could react.

She caught up to him at his car.

“Xander!”

He looked heavenward, not really prepared for the coming confrontation. Xander heard and felt Tara’s words of comfort in his head, and turned slowly to look at the first woman he’d ever loved.

Willow stopped a few feet from him. She didn’t know what to say to him. When Tara told her Xander had come to the hospital, all she wanted to do was get to him, find out his side of the story. But now, words failed her.

Xander didn’t know what to say either. How did he explain things to Willow? How did he make her understand when he didn’t? It was so confusing, but then again, when hadn’t things been confusing for him. He was born confused. Confused about his parents’ relationship to him and to each other. Confused about school and fitting in. Confused about his feelings for Buffy and Cordelia and Willow. Confused about Jesse and demons and Angel. He was a confused young man, and things hadn’t cleared up since he’d reached adulthood.

“I really fucked things up this time.” Xander admitted, cradling his injured hand.

“Yes, you did.” Willow took a step towards him. “Did you mean to do it, Xander?”

That hurt. Xander visibly shrank from Willow, hating the feeling in his gut. He’d brought this on himself, and he had no one else to blame. No matter what he’d done. Willow was always in his corner, but now, she was gone. He’d pushed her away, and this was how it felt to be utterly and completely alone.

“No, I never wanted anything like this to happen to Buffy, Will. The baby…She’s an innocent.”

Willow had to ask. She saw that her question pained Xander, but his pain didn’t come close to touching the surface of Buffy and Spike’s pain. She squared her shoulders and took another step towards him, closing the distance, both emotional and physical between them.

“I believe you, Xander. Right now, the only thing either of us can do for Buffy and Spike is to find the baby.” Xander felt her breath on his skin, and looked up. Her hazel eyes were wet with tears, but there was anger there too. He was almost relieved to see that. If she had given up on him, he would expect nothing but blackness. Cold hard blackness, the stuff that nightmares are made of.

“I want to help, Willow. I want to make things right again.” He sobbed.

“And you will, Xander. And you will.” An idea was forming in her head. A way Xander could help, and find out the truth of what actually happened with Dewey and Travers.

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

They say there is no rest for the wicked, but Quentin Travers would beg to differ with those naysayers. He’d slept quite soundly last night. He wasn’t sure if it was the fact he was back on his native soil or the fact that Catherine resided in the East wing of the house. Ah, good Scottish air. You could smell the earth, the heather, the sea in each breath. He’d missed this while he’d been in California. That would definitely be his last trip there. He would send Shackleford to retrieve the blood from the younger Summers. He’d give them time to despair the loss of their baby, to return to their lives, then he’d strike and take the final piece to his absolute control of this marvelous new weapon.

“Must not dawdle. There is business to attend to.” He said to the empty room. It was times like these, when he had to summon for his tea and breakfast that he missed Reginald’s presence. Speaking of Reginald, he supposed it would be only right to inform the elder Smythe-Bailey of his son’s demise. But by the gods, he was not up for a confrontation with Edgar Smythe-Bailey.

Striding over to his desk, he punched numbers into the phone.

“Hello.” Olivia greeted tentatively. She wondered who it could be since the number had a privacy code.

“Ms. Spencer, it’s Quentin.”

Olivia froze, her eyes wide and her hands clenched tightly. If he were in the room with her, she knew she he’d be dead.

“Hello, Quentin.” She said, her mind racing. Why was he calling? Was Reginald alive? Had he betrayed them. “Are you back?”

“Not yet.” Travers answered, sitting down in the winged back chair. He leaned back, his hands folded over his stomach. He wanted to affect the proper tone for Olivia. She would be extending his sympathies to Mr. Smythe-Bailey.

“I need for you to contact ? Smythe-Bailey. Unfortunately, there was an incident in Sunnydale, and Reginald was killed.”

Olivia gasped, even though, she’d already accepted the inevitable truth of Reginald’s demise, it was still a shock to hear confirmation of it.

“Send him my sympathies. Tell him the Watcher’s Council has lost a good man, etcetra etcetra. Send flowers, and prepare an urn. There was nothing left for burial, so we’ll have to create a memorial of sorts for the Smythe-Bailey family. Did you get all of that?”

Olivia nodded in answer to his question, already imagining the upcoming conversation with Reginald’s father. “Yes, I did, Quentin. I will get on it immediately.” She took a deep breath, afraid she’d lose her composure and reveal her loathing of this odious man. “Is there anything else?”

“No, there isn’t. Oh, one more thing, Olivia. Rupert Giles is no longer employed with the Watcher’s Council as of this moment. His attempts to conceal Ms. Summers’ pregnancy and relationship with the vampire, William the Bloody renders him ineffectual as a Watcher. Rescind his access to our records and buildings immediately. I should be back in the office this afternoon.”

“Of course, Quentin, I will get right to it.”

Travers had won. She could hear the smugness in his voice. She knew in the coming weeks and months, he would begin to eliminate his enemies. That didn’t leave them much time. Her group would need to move quickly before they were discovered. There were already portents, signs that there was a disturbance in the forces that governed the world. The baby was the balance, and now that balance was out of whack.

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

Olivia raised her hand again to the door knocker of Redding Court. Once again, she allowed it to drop to her side. Reginald was dead. He died with his father believing he’d turned his back on all his teachings, believing he was a traitor to his family’s legacy.

The door swung open, revealing Edgar Bailey-Smythe. “Ms. Spencer, what do I owe the honor of you loitering on my front stoop?”

Olivia had dealt with men like Edgar throughout her tenure with the Council. He didn’t intimidate her. She did pity him with his ignorance of his son’s death.

“I’ve come to speak to you about Reginald. May I come in?” Please invite me in, you old crone. Don’t make me tell you your son’s dead in your front doorway.

“Reginald?” Bailey-Smythe was taken aback. Why would this young lackey of Travers want to see him? This situation reminded him vividly of the time the RAF chaplain had dropped in one rainy afternoon to inform his parents of his brother, Bradley’s death.

“Is he dead?” He asked, moving away from the door. Olivia stepped inside, closing the door slowly. “I think we should sit down, first.”

“Is he dead? Answer the question, young lady or go away.” Edgar stood ramrod straight, looking down his patrician nose at her. He didn’t really want to know the answer to that question. If Reginald was alive, then he was only dead to him emotionally. If Reginald had indeed died, then Edgar had lost the chance to reconcile with his only child.

Olivia lowered her head, shamed, sadden. “Yes.” She told him, her voice barely above a whisper.

Her head down, Olivia did not see the elder Bailey-Smythe clutch his chest painfully or see the wall he erected where Reginald was concerned crumble. “Where? How?”

“In Sunnydale, California, sir. He was with Mr. Travers.”

Edgar shrugged and sighed. Of course, Travers. He’d taken Reginald away from him years earlier with his meddling and manipulations. Now, he’d taken from Edgar forever. He was heartbroken about his son, but his anger at Reginald for siding with Travers overrode that grief.

“Figures. Reginald was a damn fool for Quentin. His little errand boy, and a living, breathing slap in my face.” He huffed, stomping off into the library.

Olivia had expected wails of sadness, some recriminations. What she hadn’t expected was the anger that leeched off of him. She felt it in palpable waves, and it angered her that her friend’s death was being taken so lightly.

“You’re wrong. Reginald was no errand boy. He was one of the best watchers I’ve ever known.”

A humorless chuckle floated across the room to her ears. “Of course, he was. Travers has you so hoodwinked into believing he has the best interests of the world at heart, that you’ll believe anything. My son paid the ultimate price, Ms. Spencer. You’d be wise to tread carefully in Quentin’s wake. We wouldn’t’ want the same to happen to you.” How many had died following the Pied Piper? How many more would perish under Travers’ reign?

His harsh words belied the shaking of his hand as he picked up the decanter and poured a drink.

“You didn’t know Reginald. You didn’t know what he sacrificed, and you have no right to disparage his memory.”

“Hah!” He knew Reginald was a dreamer. Always had been. Even as a child, he’d looked towards the stars, dreaming of far off lands. He should have concentrated more on the steady plains in front of him. Maybe then, he wouldn’t have fallen for that Svengali’s false words.

At that moment, Reginald’s kind face and soft voice flitted through Olivia’s mind, and she was angry. Angry at Travers for taking his life, and angry at Edgar Bailey-Smythe for not appreciating her friend’s life.

“Do you want to know the real reason he’s dead? Do you?” She said, advancing on the startled man. “He died trying to protect the Slayer’s child. He died trying to prevent Travers from getting his hands on her. He died because he believed in the Council, and thought Travers would be the end of it.”

Edgar stared at her as if she’d grown the head of a demon. It wasn’t possible. Reginald would have told him. He would have said something. Wouldn’t he have come to him? Told him the truth.

“No…He wouldn’t have allowed this…” Edgar spread his hands wide to imitate the gulf that had developed between the father and son. “Reginald wasn’t… he didn’t have it in him to be deceptive.” Olivia watched as the truth of her statement crushed what little barrier there’d been to his grief.

“He did allow it because he knew Quentin would trust him more if he thought the two of you estranged.” The fight had left her as she watched Edgar stumbled over to a chair, collapsing in it. Her face softened in concern as she heard the heavy wheezing coming from the man. She knelt at his side, her hand over his.

“He was a good man, sir. One of the best men I’ve every known. He died because Travers discovered his duplicity.” Olivia knew she should allow the man his grief, but there was no time for that. They would honor Reginald’s memory when all their lives were not at stake.

“I need your help. The Council needs your help.”

Edgar looked up, the full weight of all he’d lost evident on his face. He’d aged in the few minutes of her announcement.

“For Reginald. What do you need?”

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

The nurse winced as she pulled the bandage away from the patient’s neck. No matter how many wounds she dressed and redressed, she always experienced a bout of queasiness when she first saw them. This one was no different, except for the fact the wound was precise, not jagged.

“A clean cut.” She murmured, as she took the old bandage off and disposed of it. Her eyes lingered on the young man.

“You were very lucky the police found you when they did. A few more minutes and you wouldn’t have survived.” She said softly. “But something tells me, you’re a fighter. So you keep on fighting, and you’ll be out of here soon enough.”

She brushed back the black hair that fell over his brow, smiling as she left.

He’d survive. He probably would never speak again, but he’d live. And that was more than the people who tried to kill him had planned.

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

Olivia stood up, pulling her phone from her purse. “Yes, it’s Olivia. Mr. Smythe-Bailey would like to meet with you.” She listened to the voice on the other end, nodding in agreement with whatever he was saying.

“Yes, sir. Tomorrow then.”

Edgar pulled his hankerchief from his pocket, and dabbed at his eyes. His boy was dead. His heir was gone, and Travers lived. That was entirely unacceptable. Travers would die for what he’d done. He would die, and Edgar could only hope it was by his hand.

“My superior can meet you tomorrow. He’ll need that time to get our group together.” Olivia sat across from Edgar on the sofa. “Our organization. Our people are in danger. Quentin knows of our existence. It will only be a matter of time before he discovers who within the Council is working against him. When he does, we are dead.”

“We must work fast. I have to know everything about this mission Reginald was on when he…when he died.” Edgar’s breath hitched at the mention of his son’s death.

“Of course.” Olivia agreed, and related the story of Buffy’s pregnancy and the prophecy pertaining to it.

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

Giles faced the two blondes, the slump of his shoulders telling them all they needed to know about their attempts to find Bitty.

“You can’t find her.” Buffy stated, squeezing Spike’s hand.

Giles’ held dropped. “No. The locator spell was unable to pick up her aura. We tried several different spells, but each attempt failed.” Giles didn’t feel the need to quantify what type of locator spells they’d attempted. There was no need to bring up the fact that they weren’t sure what exactly Bitty was. Was she human, demon, or something else entirely? That lack of knowledge prevented them from knowing what exactly they were looking for.

“It’s not as if Travers didn’t have a head start on us.” Spike spat, barely keeping his face from shifting. Buffy angrily, but silently agreed.

“Yes, Xander…” Giles needed to tell them about Xander’s involvement. “About him…he’s assisting us.”

Spike looked at Buffy. Buffy looked at Spike. Words were exchanged in a glance, and a decision was made.

“We don’t have time for a vendetta against Xander.” Spike announced. “But know this, nothing has been forgotten. We’ll deal with him later, much later, after we bring Bitty home. For now, we need all the help we can get.” He admitted.

Giles was shocked. Buffy and Spike being rational about someone who’d hurt them? Well, that wasn’t something he’d expected to see in his lifetime.

“Willow and Xander searched Travers’ associate’s apartment. They came up with nothing. He was very thorough when he left. There was not a shred of evidence he’d even lived there.”

Buffy felt Spike’s hand on her back, cold, but reassuring.

“Wouldn’t have expected anything less from old Quentin.” Spike retorted.

Giles guffawed. “Yes, Quentin is a diabolical bastard, but he has the resources to hire the best. Which brings me to something I wanted to discuss with you.”

Giles moved to stand in front of them, leaning against the air conditioning unit in the room. His eyes widened in surprise as he realized Spike was following him.

“Has your eyesight returned?” He asked.

Spike squinted, noticing for the first time that the blackness that had consumed him for nearly two days, was now a blur of colors.

“It’s not back completely, but I can see colors. I can tell you’re a sorta of pasty white.”

Buffy’s smile was wide, and she leaned in to kiss him quickly on the cheek. At least there was some good coming from this hospital stay. Human blood was better than pig for healing a vampire.

To say Spike was relieved was an understatement. He’d never felt more helpless and inadequate than he had in the last few days. Unable to see his wife, unable to comfort her properly, unable to do much of anything to find his child.

“What did you want to discuss with us?” Spike asked, ready to move on.

“Willow wants to hypnotize Xander, discover what exactly transpired last weekend. She believes Travers or this Dewey might have said something in Xander’s presence that could be useful. And…we are trying to summon Halfrek.

“Halfrek?” Buffy squeaked. “Why?” Last time Halfrek had come to town, they’d been locked in the house. She’d nearly gotten them killed granting Dawn’s wish.

“Did Dawn make another wish?” Spike was befuddled as well.

“No, Anya believes Hallie can help. She assists children.”

“Rupert, Bitty’s a bit young to be making wishes.”.

“It’s just a theory.” Giles stood, preparing to leave and return to the house. “I’d better get back.” Although, he had every faith in Willow and Tara’s abilities, he felt the need to oversee the process.

Buffy’s eyes watered. She felt utterly helpless, like she wasn’t doing all she could for her baby, and it was killing her.

“I can’t stay here. I need to be out there helping. Not stuck in here, lounging.” Buffy stood up abruptly, pacing the space between Giles and Spike. She held her collar of her robe close to her neck, her face drawn.

“Buffy, you’re recovering from a rather traumatic surgery. You need to rest and get better.” Giles suggested.

Spike winced. Wrong thing to say, Rupert. He waited knowing Buffy was about to blow.

“I need my daughter!” She yelled. “I won’t rest. I won’t get better till she’s back where she belongs.” She pushed past Giles and slammed the door of the bathroom.

“I’m an insensitive cad.” Giles admitted, slumping down on the window seat.

“You’re not. We’re all on edge. She knows you care. She’s just feeling bloody useless. I am too.” Spike sighed as he looked at the closed door. He could hear Buffy crying inside, and while he wanted to rush inside and wrap her up in his arms. He knew she needed this time to herself.

“I am truly sorry, Spike. I wish there was more we could do.” Giles stared across the distance at Spike. “We will find her. You have my word on that.”

“I know you’ll try everything in your power, and I appreciate that.” Spike stood, heading to the bathroom and Buffy. “You’d better get going. Send Clem back with some clothes for Buffy. We’ll be ready to leave in a few hours.”

“Tell Buffy I…”

“I’ll tell her Rupert, but she already knows you love her.” Spike opened the door, closing it behind him.

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

Joanna looked over her shoulder, the sense that someone was watching over her, causing the hairs of her neck to stand on end. Seeing nothing, she returned to the task at hand, getting “Catherine” to eat.

“Come on, my sweet. You have to eat. We can’t have you starving.”

Catherine whimpered, and stubbornly refused to take the nipple. Joanna sighed. It was the same thing as yesterday. “Catherine” wouldn’t eat. Joanna was worried. “Catherine” was a newborn. Newborns ate constantly. Yet, she wouldn’t. Only when she became too exhausted to resist, did she take the bottle. Joanna was concerned Mr. Travers would resort to a feeding tube if “Catherine”’s weight dropped significantly.

“I know you want your mommy and daddy.” Cerulean eyes stared at Joanna. Joanna wanted to weep for her part in hurting this child.

“You could help her to return to her family.” A voice said.

Joanna thought for a moment, the sound was coming from her head. Her conscious screaming to be heard.

“You know what you’ve done is wrong. You know this child belongs with her family, and yet, you do nothing.” The disembodied voice took shape, and a curly-haired brunette stood by the window.

Joanna clutched the baby to her bosom, backing away. She fumbled with the door handle, but couldn’t get the door to open.

“You and I are going to have a chat. The baby will not be harmed. You can put her down.” Hallie smiled, waving her hand toward the crib. Joanna knew it wasn’t a suggestion, but a command. She didn’t understand what was going on or how this woman got onto the property and into the room, but she would do as she asked. “Catherine” made not a sound, an indication to Joanna that she felt safe in this woman’s presence.

“You stole her.” Hallie stated. “You took her from her mother’s womb. She begged you not to, and you did anyway.”

“He would have killed me if I hadn’t. He would have killed her mother.” (?) responded defensively.

Hallie shrugged, smiling at the now-sleeping baby. “True. He probably would have killed you, but it does not absolve your guilt in all of this. She’s miserable. She’s not eating. How long do you think she will survive without her parents?”

Joanna turned tear-filled eyes up to the vengeance demon. “What do you want from me? What can I do? I’m as much a prisoner as she is.”

“There will come a time soon, when you’ll have to decide what’s more important. Your life or hers.” And with that ominous statement, she disappeared, leaving Joanna to her thoughts.

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

Even though, he’d been invited into back into the house by Willow, Xander still felt the chill of Dawn’s animosity. It kept him standing off to the side, away from her.

“Buffy will be leaving the hospital soon. Spike called to say the doctors finally stopped trying to convince her to stay.”

Giles’ gaze flickered over to the brunette leaning against the wall, separated from the group not only by distance, but guilt.

“We should get started then on the regression spell.” Anya piped in. She sat propped up on pillows on the sofa. “It’s going to be difficult to delve into Xander’s memories. All that guilt is going to be like a wall of steel to Willow’s efforts.”

Blunt and to the point. That was his…umm.. Giles’ Anya. Xander pushed off the wall, and came to stand in the center of a circle of candles. Willow was already inside. The old friends grasped each others’ hands tightly.

“Just remember what I told you.” Willow said. “Breathe deeply and think of your most peaceful memory. Once Tara starts chanting, you’ll need to concentrate even more to block out her words. But I know you can do it.”

Dawn rolled her eyes, and gritted her teeth. She didn’t like having Xander back in their house. She didn’t like pining their hopes on him, but she was also smart enough to realize that they didn’t have much to go on.

“Keep you friends close, keep your enemies closer.” She whispered.

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

Clem’s choice of driving music was at times soothing and laughable. The wrinkled-faced demon channel-surfed like he did with his TiVO. He never stayed on one station long enough to hear a complete song. And on top of that, he never stopped talking.

Buffy laid her head on Spike’s shoulder, watching as the cityscape change as they headed to the suburbs. He kissed her head, lingering in her hair as he often did. Their thoughts were the same as usual, centered on the tiny being that was their daughter.

“I channeled you, Spike. I knew you’d get him away from Willy’s. So I did.” Clem said excitedly.

“Well, that’s great, Clem. Glad you were able to save the bloke.”

Clem slowed to a stop at a red light, and turned around to glance at his back seat passengers. They were huddled together, clutching tightly at each other. He felt bad for them, and what they were going through.

“Buffy, Spike…” If it were possible for Clem to turn red, he would have. Buffy tried to hide her grin, but he just looked so darn cute with his little flower vase in the background on the dash. “The guys down at Willy’s wanted to let you know if there’s anything we can do to help find the little one, we will. Everyone’s a little scared right now, knowing how you guys get when you’re sad, but we’ll help.”

Buffy was touched. For the demon community to want to help them was a sign that Bitty’s power was real. This innocent child, created from human and demon, was bridging the gap that had existed between the two races. Buffy felt a tremendous amount of pride at being Bitty’s mother.

“Thanks, Clem.” Spike said gruffly, his thoughts mirroring Buffy’s. “Tell the guys thanks.”

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

By the time, the pertinent memories were done, Willow was weeping. Not only for the great injustice done to Buffy and Spike, but also for the pain and anguish that fueled Xander’s actions. He wasn’t innocent in all of this, but he had been hurt, and he’d lashed out at those who’d hurt him. It wasn’t intentional, but he’d been ripe for the fleecing. Hadn’t she committed the same error in judgment when Oz had left her? Hadn’t she taken out her anger on her friends with less than pleasant consequences? Though, you couldn’t tell her that wasn’t the start of the Buffy/Spike extravaganza. Nevertheless, she had her answers. She knew what had happened and how. There was a third player in all of this. Someone closer to Travers than Dewey, and his name was Shackleford. And she knew something else of importance. While Xander had been out of it, too drunk and drugged to be a threat to those talking around him, he’d heard a name… Peterhead. It wasn’t much, but it was more than they had earlier.

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

Buffy clutched Spike’s hand tightly as they made their way up the walk to the house. She felt her lungs strain to inflate, and stopped, bending at the waist and grabbing her knees. Spike held her around the waist, kneeling beside her.

“We can wait to go inside, Pet. There’s no rush.” He assured her. Truth be told, he wasn’t anxious to return to the house either. Too many memories.

“Her room, Spike. It’s empty. I…I just don’t know if I can…” Buffy sank to her knees, sobbing uncontrollably. Spike held her, his hands able, for the first time in months, to reach all the way around.

His sight was returning rapidly, and he knew his first sight of Buffy post-natal would be a shocker. Oh, he’d love her body no matter its size, but for so long, her belly had been a reminder of the miracle they’d created. Of a miracle of life, period. And now, that miracle was gone.

“I’ll be right there with you, luv. We’ll make it together.” He promised, gathering Buffy in his arms and helping her to stand. Clem stood on the porch, hands wringing his hat tightly.

Green eyes locked on blue. What Buffy saw there strengthen her. “Together.” She said, as they made it up the stairs.

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

Five sets of eyes flew to the open door, and the blonde couple standing outside of it. Clem waved excitedly at them, but quickly stopped when he realized the mood of the room. It didn’t take an empath to realize that something bad had happened, so Clem rightly chose to exit quickly.

“I’ll be seeing you. Glad you’re home Buffy. I’ll let you know if we find out anything.” He said, clapping Spike on the shoulder.

Dawn hopped up and flung her arms around her family. “I’m so glad you’re home, Buffy. We’ve got a lead.” She said excitedly.

Buffy’s eyes flew to Giles, who nodded. “We have some new information to work with.” He answered sagely, cautiously. “But let’s get you settled, and then we’ll tell you what we found out.”

Spike could make out the two witches from their proximity and hair color. He knew that Anya had just crossed in front of him, and was now on his right, next to Giles. Dawn was wrapped around his waist, like a belt, so that left the whelp.

Buffy saw Spike’s head swivel in Xander’s direction, and for a moment entertained the idea that Spike would forgo being the understanding man, and become the vengeful father he was. Her grip on his hand tightened slightly.

“I can leave if you want me to.” Xander offered, noting the tremendous effort Spike was exerting to keep his demon under wraps.

“Xander.” Spike said evenly, though his words held all the warmth of an iceberg. “I would like to kill you. I have my reasons. But hurting you isn’t as important as my wife and child. For now, we need your help. Later,” he said, shaking his head, “I don’t know what will happen.”

“Fair enough.” Xander admitted.

Buffy couldn’t say anything to Xander. She hated and loved him at the moment. She couldn’t forgive what had happened, but she also couldn’t waste any more time worrying about it.

“The only person that matters right now is our daughter. She’s all I care about.” Buffy said, moving over to the sofa.

“Now, tell me what you’ve found out.” She said, slipping easily into Slayer mode.

Her no-nonsense tone seemed to energize everyone, and they scrambled.

“Travers’ head man was named Shackleford. He’s the one who interrogated Xander and found out the information about Spike’s surgery and the spell we used on the house.” Dawn told them. “And he mentioned a place or a word, we’re not sure. Have either of you heard of Petershead?”

Buffy’s face scrunched up. She’d never heard of it. Giles looked equally perplexed. Spike shook his head. He didn’t have a clue.

“Petershead. Why does that sound familiar?” Clem said. They turned to look at the demon. “Didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but you left your bag outside.” He told them, holding it up for them to see.

“It’s a coastal town in Scotland. It’s also where your daughter is at this very moment.” Hallie waved jauntily to Anya, whose mouth was gaping wide open. “Hello, Anyanka. You rang.”

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TBC....

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