Chapter 34

The gentle rumbling of the Range Rover was soothing, calming the frazzled nerves of the occupants, especially the adults who were well aware of the danger still chasing them. Baby Emma, though, was blissfully unconcerned, cocooned within her blankets. The scents of her family were also an added benefit. With her in dreamland were her Auntie Dawn, Mommy, and Daddy. They were there with her and she felt safe and loved.

~~~~

Buffy snuggled as close as she could to the car seat, draping her arm over Bitty’s tiny body. She wanted to stare at her for hours, taking in every eyelash, every dimple. She wanted to gaze until her eyes crossed. How much had Emma changed in the last seven days? What little nuances had she and Spike missed? There was so much she didn’t know about Emma, and closing her eyes for even a minute or an hour was too long. But sleep was calling her. Her body had been running on adrenaline for days, and now that the danger was past, she was crashing.

“Nothing’s going to happen to her. He’s not getting his hands on her again.”

Buffy didn’t doubt the veracity of Spike’s words, but the fear was there all the same. “I promise you. She’s not going to disappear if you close your eyes, pet.”

Although, it was impossible to see his _expression in the mirror, Buffy knew what she’d see in those beloved blues. She willed back the tears and nodded her head in agreement. “I know, but…” She pressed her lips softly to Emma’s head. “I love seeing her face.”

Those five words held a depth of meaning to Spike. If anyone understood, it was he. Even in the ugliest of times during their relationship, the best part of Spike’s day was being in Buffy’s presence. Because the alternative wasn’t something he ever wanted to experience again. Spike took his eyes off the road briefly, glancing in the rearview mirror at Buffy.

“She does take after me in the looks department, doesn’t she?” He joked. Providing humor was Xander’s forte, but in this instance, a little levity wouldn’t hurt to ease Buffy’s mind. He could feel Buffy’s smile, knew without a doubt a rolling of her eyes accompanied it. “Regardless, you still need to rest. This may be your only chance to get some shuteye. Take it. I’ll look after you.”

There was so much truth to that simple statement; Buffy felt the air catch in her lungs. She scooted forward, laying her head on Spike’s shoulder, and pressed a kiss to his neck. The coolness of his skin was like an ocean wave, refreshing her and washing away all her worries. “You always do.”

“Have to look out for my girls.” He felt Buffy’s breath against his neck, her touch lingering as she sat back. He missed her warmth immediately. He ducked his head, lest she see his amusement. He really expected more of an argument from her. Buffy could be as stubborn as a mule on any given subject, but more so on her own health.

Dawn’s call had them both on edge. It was unconscionable to think of Emma back under that bastard’s thumb. The thought stirred his demon, which wanted to forgo running, in favor of hunting Travers down and ripping out his throat. Yet, the man inside worried that no matter how honorable his intentions were; he’d lose his girls. And he was too damn selfish to risk that.

As if to further remind him of all that he had to lose, Buffy gave a small snore. It wasn’t obnoxious or even noticeable above the din of the engine, but it was enough to bring a smile to his face.

Joanna smiled wistfully as she turned around to gaze at Emma. “She never slept so well with me.”

Spike jerked his head to the side. The sarcastic retort stilled on his tongue, but he couldn’t help but remind her of the facts. “We didn’t sleep well without her. She needed us. We needed her.”

Joanna nodded, chastened. Why had she made that statement? Because it was the truth, her mind responded.

Spike chanced a look in Joanna’s direction. She reeked of fear and guilt, and while a part of him was glad she was afraid, the other part was concerned that she would drop from exhaustion and be of no use to them or herself. “You should probably get some rest too.”

“I should.” Joanna answered, but made no move to close her eyes. “Do you think the gem will work?”

Spike didn’t answer right away because he really didn’t know the answer to that question. He wished he did. He wanted one hundred percent certainty, but knew that was impossible. Magic was tricky and ever changing. One thing he did know, and that was that Willow and Giles would never have gotten on that plane without first ensuring he and Buffy had a fighting chance of protecting Emma. So, after the silence drew on, he finally stated. “I trust Red. If she says it will, it will.”

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Spike flexed his fingers on the steering wheel, three more hours until London and barely an hour of night left. They’d have to stop soon enough and fill up on petrol. Spike had hoped to be closer to London, but he hadn’t counted on the steady line of trucks heading into the city with their daily wares.

“Spike.”

Buffy’s voice shocked the hell out of Spike, and it took him shifting into demon visage to keep the car steady on the road.

“Damnit, Buffy. You sca… erm… surprised me. Thought you were still asleep.”

Too wired by her dream, Buffy didn’t comment on Spike’s slip of the tongue.

“Martine decided to hijack my dream.” Buffy leaned forward, seeking the comfort of skin to skin touch. “I really wished she’d written instead.”

“You okay?” Spike asked, concerned by the way Buffy was gripping his arm.

“Yeah, just more of the weirdness that fills my life. I’m fine. She showed me the night of her death. It was awful and terrifying, and it was her way of telling me where we could go to hide out until Emma’s ready to head home.”

Spike scoffed. “Paris? You can’t be serious.”

“Good guess and yes, I am.” She was still freaked by Spike’s ability to wade quickly through information to arrive at the correct conclusion. “Martine said Charles Jayme created a refuge for the Prophecy child. Someplace for the baby to go to be safe from the Council.”

Spike scratched his head, sighing. “Okay. Fine. We’ll go to Paris.”

Now, it was Buffy’s turn to scoff. “Just like that? We’re going to Paris. No ‘Buffy, we need to discuss this further or we need to contact Giles and Willow’. Just we’re going?” Okay, was she still dreaming? A pinch to her thigh confirmed she was very much awake. “You trust Jayme? After everything he did?”

Spike shrugged. “Martine is on our side. She wouldn’t have told you about the place if she didn’t feel it was safe. But you already know that. I’m with you on this, Buffy. If you feel this is the right course of action, I’m all for it. I may not trust many people, but I trust you. I’ll go with your gut on this.”

Buffy grinned. Typical Spike behavior. He trusted her to make her own decisions. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet, Summers. We have to get there first, and my sun allergy kinda limits our modes of transportation.”

“What about the Chunnel?” Joanna asked timidly. She’d awaken sometime in the middle of their discussion. “It travels underwater, and we could get a private cabin with curtains to shield you from the sun.”

Buffy took a deep breath. She’d deal with the claustrophobia when they got on the train. For now, they needed to concentrate on getting to London as quickly as possible.

“What about tickets? How are we going to pay for them? We don’t have those kinds of funds on us.”

Joanna’s brow crinkled. “I may have a solution. I have a friend who’s a travel agent. He can order the tickets for us. We can pick them up on our way into town.”

Buffy turned to Spike and smiled. “Thank you, Joanna.” She paused as she studied the woman beside her. “Thank you for taking care of her and for helping us now.”

Joanna bowed her head, shaking her flaxen colored hair. “Please… don’t. I don’t deserve your gratitude.”

Spike and Buffy glanced at each other briefly. They each knew about repentance. It was never easy, and it was a solitary punishment.

“What time do you think we’ll get London?” Buffy asked, steering the conversation back on course.

Spike shrugged, scanning the sky. “Probably around eight. Sun will be up in an hour… maybe an hour and a half.”

“And so will Emma, or at least for a little bit.” Joanna remarked, composed. “It’s the weirdest thing, too. As soon as dawn breaks, Emma’s up, bawling her little eyes out, but she settles down almost immediately. Weirdest thing.”

One could have parked a seven forty-seven inside their open mouths.

“Did I say something wrong?” Joanna inquired, seeing the startled looks on their faces.

Buffy looked back at her daughter, her shoulders shaking with mirth.

“No.” Spike answered for Buffy. “It seems Emma takes after me, a lot more than we thought.”

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As the plane dipped below the clouds, Willow’s eyes squeezed shut as a tremendous weight settled over her chest. Her lungs burned as if a vise had been placed around them, squeezing what little air she had out.

“Take deep breaths, Willow, and concentrate on my voice. The pain will pass shortly.”

Willow stared into Giles’ eyes as she followed his directions. A few minutes passed where it seemed as if she’d pass out, but it eventually began to lessen. Ahh, she thought, air is good.

Giles brushed her hair back from her face and peered worriedly into her face. “Are you alright, now?”

Willow nodded, not yet comfortable with the idea of actually speaking. One more deep, cleansing breath and she answered. “Yeah… Kinda scary. Never felt anything… anything like that before.”

“I know.” Giles stated nervously.

“What was that?” Willow asked, not only concerned, but suddenly fearful. Rack had touched a place within her, had pulled certain properties of her essence to the surface. Had he damaged her in the process?

Giles clutched Willow’s hand, leaning forward to keep their conversation only between them. “There is a tremendous concentration of supernatural energy contained within England’s borders. It affects everyone who encounters it.”

Willow had listened curiously to Giles’ explanation when it hit her. “So… this is sorta like jet lag but for the supernatural set? Does it only affect witches or other beings, like Spike and Buffy?” Now that the initial dread was passed, nerdy Willow was back in full effect. She smiled expectantly at Giles.

“Umm… yes, exactly. Thank you for rendering a complex supernatural theory into a two-word phrase for extending period of time in the air.”

Willow hid her smile by looking out the window.

Giles continued, unaware of Willow’s efforts not to burst out laughing. “And yes, Buffy and Spike were affected, but their strength allowed them to absorb the effects without notice. When we disembark, you’ll have to be ready to perform your spell. Do you think you’ll be able to do it?”

“She won’t need to.” Elsmeth’s voice whispered softly inside Giles’ mind. He sat up, startled.

“Good god, Elsmeth.” Giles uttered. Willow looked at him strangely, but he waved her concern away. Instead, he closed his eyes and mind to everything except the siren call of the elder Wicca’s voice.

Giles nodded, smiling at the flight attendant as she walked past. “We assumed as much,” Giles sighed. He hated being right, especially in this case.

Giles chuckled as the link was severed. Brief, though, the conversation was, it served to give Giles hope.

“Elsmeth has taken control of the airport situation. She will cast the spell for us.”

Willow was relieved. She felt confident in her abilities, but she was still somewhat hesitance to cast spells that required her to expend a great amount of power. The fear was there, though she was trying to control it for Buffy’s sake, for all of their sakes.

“Can’t say I was all that eager to cast on a plane, on the go.” Willow admitted wryly. “Did she say anything about Buffy and Spike? Any vibes from Travers’ spell?”

Giles’ response was stopped by the screech of the tires as the brakes were engaged. London was shadowed with the lingering rays of the fading moon and the brightening shine of the sun.

“She told me Buffy and Spike are with Bitty, and they are all safe. There was no news on the spell, but I’m not worried. In this case, no news is good news. The spell was cast from the coven, so I believe we’ll be able to find its specific components.”

Willow smiled, staring out the window like a kid on her first plane ride. “Watch out Travers. Here we come.”

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To those assigned to the capture of Rupert Giles, the petite fifty-ish woman didn’t rate a second glance. She should have, though. Elsmeth smiled as she accidentally bumped into two agents, posing as a young German couple. They never noticed the slight pressure to their minds as the spell was invoked.

Elsmeth found a seat in the middle of the terminal with a clear view of the customs area. Even if she hadn’t been in the perfect position, she would have felt Giles’ presence as he stepped into the room. Not much had changed in the year since they’d last seen each other. But what drew her attention was the redhead walking beside him. Her aura was broad in spectrum, composed of the varied hues of the white witches and those of the darker sects.

“Interesting.” She mused aloud. “So this is the one Rupert was concerned about all those months ago. He had reason to be concerned.”

Elsmeth raised her arm, arching it through the veil that hung over the terminal. She waved enthusiastically as Giles and Willow approached. Elsmeth noticed with interest, the young woman hung back, almost shyly.

“Rupert, I swear you get better looking with each passing year. Are you using Ponce de Leon’s youth formula?”

Giles shook his head, truly pleased to be reacquainted with his old friend. “You’re looking well. Thank you for your assistance.”

Elsmeth waved off his thanks. “Don’t you dare. I couldn’t allow the two of you to be nabbed before morning tea. Besides, I so rarely get to play MI-5 with the world, this was a bit of a treat to me.” She said wistfully.

Willow’s eyes were wide with shock. She was expecting someone a bit stuffier about magick. Sort of like a female Giles. Elsmeth was none of those things. Not with her gray cargo pants and Trading Places t-shirt. Especially not with her canary yellow mini-Cooper with Witches Do It Better bumper sticker. You might want to say they have moved from the terminal to the parking lot - show the movement as they talk.

“Have you had any success in interpreting the spell?” Giles asked as he stowed their bags in the boot.

“Yes and no. Your lover was correct, Giles. Travers is using a variation of a spell used by farmers, but he has added language, which makes it very specific for the child.”

Giles brow furrowed with this information. He wasn’t certain if this was good news or not. “He has her blood. Isn’t that enough?”

Elsmeth gave a quick shake of her head, checking her mirror to change lanes. “Not necessarily. He only has a slight understand of the child’s makeup. He sees her merely as a hybrid between Slayer and Demon. When in fact, she’s more than he could ever guess.”

“More?” Willow’s voice squeaked.

“More.” Elsmeth replied, amused. “You must expand your boundaries. Not everything is easily explained.” At Willow’s silence, Elsmeth continued.

“The child’s bloodline is one of the strongest ever to be created. Her father is a member of the Aurelius line, the oldest and most powerful vampire family. Her mother is the oldest-living Slayer. Buffy’s power and strength has steadily increased as she’s aged. Add in the fact, you infused Buffy’s body with that of Osiris, is there any wonder this child is special? But no, the baby is not a demon. She is not entirely human either. Will she bring about the destruction of the world? Only if her parents lose their well-known tempers.”

Giles’ mouth quirked into a smile. “Travers believes she will rule the demon world.”

“Travers is and has always been an idiot. He’s so close-minded. He can’t see the truth when it’s as plain as the nose on his face. The child will be safe for now. The amulet will act as a ward against it. You should be concerned for the Slayer. I said the spell was specific to the parents. If Travers decides to go after either Buffy or Spike, he’ll succeed in drawing them to him.”

“He has Buffy’s blood.” Giles announced solemnly.

Elsmeth spared Giles a glance. “Oh, hell!”

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A light, spring drizzle beckoned the dawn of a new day in London. Quentin Travers sat in his favorite chair, a hot cup of tea at his side. It was a rare day that found him at home at this hour. Usually by seven in the morning, he was in his office at the Council headquarters seeing to the business of saving the world. Today was a special day, though. Catherine would be coming home.

There was a sharp knock to the door before it opened to reveal his longtime butler, Mr. Lewis.

“Sir, Mrs. Lindley and her staff have begun work on the nursery. She reports everything will be in order by the time you return with the child.” Mr. Lewis delivered his report with his usual stoicism. He did not question the validity of his employer’s story concerning the baby. His duty was to ensure everything within the residence ran smoothly.

“Excellent. Thank Mrs. Lindley for her expedient work.” Quentin’s grin was sincere. “I have absolutely no idea how to raise a child, Lewis. I may seek your council from time to time.”

Lewis’ chest puffed up considerably. To have a man of Travers’ esteem ask for advice was a great honor; one Lewis would not soon forget.

“Would you like some breakfast, sir?”

“No. No thank you, Lewis. I must run to the office before I catch my plane. If you could have the car brought around, I shall be ready to leave in a half hour.”

Travers waited until the shuffle of feet could no longer be heard. He pushed out of his seat, annoyed. Lewis was a capable butler, very loyal, but irritatingly obsequious. There was nothing he liked less than fawning individuals. He would use Lewis to keep the rest of the house in order. Moreover, if anyone questioned Catherine’s presence in the house, there was always Shackleford. Speaking of his erstwhile henchmen, it was time for a report.

Travers’ fingers punched the numbers to Shackleford’s cell, waiting patiently as the transatlantic call completed. When there was no response, other than the unseen shocked ones of Clem, Tara, and Xander as the phone trilled and echoed off the walls of the crypt, Travers slammed the receiver done.

“Where the hell are you, Mr. Shackleford?”

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It was rude to stare. Her mother had told her that over and over again. Were the rules different in England?

“No, they are not.” Elsmeth’s voice was amused. “I apologize, Ms. Rosenberg. I am merely curious.”

Willow blushed. “Umm… no problem. Where’s Giles?”

“He decided it would be wise to call Travers and to check in with his young lover.”

“Oh, I should probably call Tara too.” Willow closed the book she’d been studying and tried to scoot pass Elsmeth.

Elsmeth could have accepted Willow’s attempt to steer the conversation onto more comfortable footing, but she didn’t. There was much to be discussed. There was much Elsmeth needed to impart to the younger Wicca.

“She is not at the house. Only Anya. So we have time to talk.” Elsmeth gestured to the seat Willow had previously occupied and sat across from her. “Your aura is very strong. You wear your power like an ill-fitting garment.”

Willow shifted uncomfortable with the words and the scrutiny. She wasn’t sure what she should say, and why she should trust this woman, who she had just met, with questions and concerns she hadn’t completely shared with Tara.

“You can say whatever you feel. I will not judge or be offended if you tell me to rightfully mind my own business.” Elsmeth patted Willow’s arm comforting.

“I… I”, Willow stuttered. “How can I tell you when I haven’t told Tara? She’s my heart and soul.”

Elsmeth’s look was thoughtful and understanding. “It is sometimes better to talk to someone who isn’t intimately involved.”

“I liked the darkness.”

Those five words stole the air from the room. Or it just seemed that way to Willow.

“And that scared you so much you immediately stopped doing magic?”

Willow could hear the amusement in her voice and it angered her. She’d gone through hell and back, and this woman was laughing at her. “I nearly killed Buffy’s little sister. I was so…” Willow had to stop and take a deep breath before she could continue.

“I was intoxicated by the power I forgot right and wrong. I would have did anything to have more of it.” Tears dropped from her eyes, and she pressed her palms into her face, ashamed.

Elsmeth didn’t move to comfort the weeping woman in front of her. She knew enough of the young American to know she would not appreciate it. “You strayed from your chosen path. You are not the first, nor will you be the last. Now, you know your limits and strengths.”

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There was no getting around the fact that Buffy Summers Develin was not the best driver in the world. Okay, she could admit it. Show her a katana blade or a pair of draggers and she was better than an Iron Chef at slicing and dicing, but put her behind the wheel of a one ton automobile and there was likely to be bloodshed, namely her own. So, she graciously stepped aside when they stopped at the rest station to fuel up and prepare the windows for the early morning drive into London.

She was content to let Spike do the driving until she got a good look at him, illuminated under the fluorescent lights of the gas island. He’d told her once that demons didn’t like the lights, made them look even deader than most were. Right now, her husband looked like death warmed over two or three times. She couldn’t sit back and say nothing.

Buffy remembered the ensuing argument all too well. It wasn’t their worse fight by any stretch of the imagination, but it was the first they had in front of Emma. Thankfully, their little bundle of joy hadn’t inherited her parents’ superior hearing.

In the face of Joanna’s sound logic, Spike had caved. His pride had taken a hit, and Buffy felt awful about it, but how many times had she neglected herself to protect Dawn and the Scoobies. She understood the need to be all things to everybody, but they didn’t have to do that anymore. They could depend on each other and their friends, when necessary, to take up the slack when they faltered.

“Once we get to London”, Joanna stated, “I’ll have to stop at a bank. I’d rather not use my credit cards for the trip if I can help it. They’ll leave a trail for Travers to follow.”

Buffy nodded, turning around to face the front. She sighed. Heroines shouldn’t have to concern themselves with stuff like this. James Bond didn’t worry about how he would pay for his hotel room or his cars.

“Spike and I have a little money. Probably not enough for the tickets, but we could pay you back.” She said earnestly.

Joanna chuckled, shaking her head in disbelief. “I’m not doing this as repayment to you and Emma, but also because England won’t be a safe place for me.” Joanna grinned. “I wish, in some insane moment, I could see Mr. Travers’ face when he realizes you’ve taken Emma. He might burst a blood vessel.”

“We don’t have that kind of luck.” Buffy remarked drolly.

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Edgar strode unnoticed down the back hallways of the Council. At this hour, there were few people about, and those that were on duty, were more concerned with monitoring situations outside of London. If he survived, which he doubted, that security lapse would need to be addressed. Edgar stopped before a wall that bore the painting of the first female head of Council, Lillith Frasier. To anyone passing by, it would seem as if Edgar had merely paused to take in the talent of the long-dead artist, but in reality, he was whispering the words that would open the door to the inner chamber. The contents of the Lillith Room were only known to a handful of individuals, which included Travers and himself. Of course, Travers didn’t realize Edgar had knowledge of the room, which shouldn’t have been a surprise since the Smythe-Baileys were founding members of the Council. But Travers was so pompous and arrogant, he probably never considered moving the books, assuming everyone would be under his thumb. Edgar shuddered to think that was nearly the case. How many years had he followed Travers blindly, only recognizing too late the evilness that lurked beneath the surface of Travers’ personality?

The blast of stale air was a shock to Edgar, and a reminder that he was exposed in the hallway. He stepped inside the room and turned to face the door. To those that walked down the hall, all would seem in order.

“Let’s hope luck is still on my side.” Edgar mumbled as he moved quickly across the room. As he pulled away several large tomes, he thought back on his last visit to this room. He remembered the day clearly and cursed himself for not taking the book when he had the chance. He liked to think his grief overwhelmed his common sense. Or maybe, he knew in his heart that he really wanted to bury a blade in Travers’ chest. Whatever his reasons, Travers had given him a second opportunity to obtain the book.

Edgar breathed a sigh of relief when his eyes fell on the diary-sized book hidden behind The Atlas of Demon Cultures. He held the book reverently in his hands, flipping through the pages slowly. There, on the tenth page, was the text he needed. Edgar traced the words as he read. His fingers trembled as the chant within his mind became louder and louder. He closed his eyes to all that surrounded him and concentrated fully on separating his conscience from his plane of existence.

“Why have you summoned us?” The voice boomed. Edgar staggered under the force of the voice. He was barely able to form coherent thoughts, much less sentences to convey his intentions. The being or beings, he wasn’t sure, seemed to realize his dilemma.

The pressure lessened and Edgar found himself in a sitting room, much like his own. He looked around, mesmerized. Had he dreamt of coming to the Lillith Room?

“You know.” Edgar stated steely. There was no need for subterfuge. They could read his mind, but more importantly than that, they knew all that occurred on Earth.

Edgar stood, pacing the sitting room. “Her life is tied to the Balance. There is one who wishes to use her child to start a war with the First. The Balance would be irrevocably broken if he’s allowed to continue.” Edgar’s words were impassioned. “The man is too arrogant and misguided to realize the First will not allow his actions to go unpunished.”

The pounding of Edgar’s heart only broke the silence of the room.

The voice boomed loudly, and Edgar felt as if his ears were bleeding. “We will hear your statement. You will know our answer when the time comes.”

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Edgar awoke face down on the carpet. His head throbbed fiercely and he found it difficult to focus clearly. He rolled over as a wave of nausea rippled through his stomach. He closed his eyes immediately to quell the rise of bile. He stayed like that for several minutes, until he felt his world tilt back to center. Pushing off the floor slowly, cautiously, he used the bookcase to steady himself. How long had he been unconscious? All would be lost if he were discovered within the room. Damn, he hadn’t expected the spell to take that much out of him. He wasn’t certain he’d be able to leave the room unnoticed. Edgar checked his watch, noting quizzically that he’d only been inside fifteen minutes. The conversation, if you could call it that, seemed to take longer than that, or maybe it just felt that way because it was so intense. As Edgar prepared to leave, he saw the book he’d used to make contact with the Powers laying on the floor. He snatched it up and shoved it into the inner pocket of his blazer.

Had his plea been heard? Would they help or stand by and allow the Slayer to fight her own battle? He wished he knew if he’d been successful. If this had all been a waste of time, then he’d have to go ahead with his plans to kill Travers during the meeting. He would be branded a murderer, but his son and the world would be safe.

Edgar slipped unnoticed out of the room, and made his way to the main level of the building. He needed to speak to Olivia and Yvonne. His recent interaction with the Powers had served one other purpose. It had convinced him there was no need for secrecy. Olivia and Yvonne were his allies, not his enemies. They all wanted the same thing. He would talk with them; catch them up on what he’d done. Edgar paused as he saw Travers enter the building. He stayed within the shadows, allowing Travers to pass by him. Once he was certain Travers was ensconced within the confines of his office, he crossed the lobby and hurried upstairs to his office. First thing’s first. He was going to call Reginald and ascertain the present situation with Rupert Giles.

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Being unemployed sucked in Anya’s opinion. How did people do this day after day? It was driving her crazy. She couldn’t do the inventory or count her money because the fire marshal wouldn’t allow her into the building. It was still unstable. Well, right now, she was unstable. She needed the distraction to keep her from worrying about Giles and Willow and Buffy, Spike, and the baby. Anya sighed, drawing figure eights with her coffee cup on the counter. All she wanted was a phone call, one measly phone call to ease her mind. Was that too much to ask?

The phone seemed to hear her plea because it shrilled noisily.

“Rupert?”

“It’s I.” The sound of her voice had his body relaxing in ways that suggested, he realized, he was seriously whipped, using the familiar American colloquialism.

“Your plane landed over a hour ago. Why am I just now hearing from you?” Anya demanded, not caring how clingy she sounded. Didn’t the stupid man realize she hadn’t slept well last night? And damnit, she needed her beauty rest.

Where before he would have taken offense at Anya’s brusque tone, he now recognized it for what it was. She was afraid. “I’m fine, Anya. We made it without incident. Thanks to Elsmeth. She provided cover when we arrived at the airport. How are you? Any trouble with Dewey and Shackleford after we left?”

“Aside from Xander whining like a girl when I accidentally hit him, everything at the crypt is fine. Clem had things under control when we left. Tara and Xander are going to relieve him after they drop Dawn at school. What about you? Did Elsmeth have anything more to add about the spell?”

Giles shook his head, amused by the slight jealous lilt to Anya’s voice. “Just that Buffy and Spike have more to fear from the spell than the baby does. Willow’s amulet should prevent Travers from kidnapping her again. Any word from them?”

Anya refreshed her coffee. “They called to say they had Bitty and were on the run because Travers was coming to Scotland.” Dawn had been too excited about her niece to ask about Travers, which was understandable. After the fact, though, that information might have been important. “I suppose we should have found out what was going on with them.”

“No, don’t worry about it. As long as they are gone by the time he arrives, it’ll be alright.” Would they head to Bath? He doubted it. “Did they say where they were going?”

Anya could hear the worry in his voice. “No, I don’t think they really knew, but Buffy is surprising smart for being blonde and have dated military guys. See, I’m striving for optimism.”

Giles chuckled, though, he knew if Buffy had been within striking distance she would have to be held back. “Uh, umm… yes, dear. It’s what we’re all striving for.”

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“Mr. Travers, good morning.” Giles rubbed at his throat unconsciously. Although the voice was foreign to him, he felt he knew Shackleford’s character and could speak with his mannerisms.

“Is it, Mr. Shackleford? I do hope you have some good news for me.” Quentin could feel the excitement building within his chest. He felt like a child on Christmas Day awaiting the opening of presents.

“I have Dawn Summers’ blood. Isn’t that the good news you were hoping for?” Giles felt his stomach clench with anger. He was going for sarcastic, but he feared he sounded angry instead of amused.

Travers didn’t notice, too caught up in his own thoughts. Today was the day all his hard work would be rewarded. He had all the pieces of the puzzle now. He had Catherine. He had the Key’s blood. As soon as Mr. Shackleford was available, he’d send him off to take care of Buffy and Spike. Yes, this was his day. Maybe, he should change his birthday to today, for he felt reborn.

“How soon can you catch the next flight to London? I…”

“I’m already here.” Giles informed him. “Dealing with Ms. Summers wasn’t nearly as difficult as I thought.”

Quentin chuckled. “Rupert didn’t offer any resistance? Why am I not surprised? He couldn’t protect his protégé or his lover. A teenager would hardly present a problem to a professional such as yourself. Excellent news indeed. Can you meet me in my office in an hour? We have much to discuss, but I’d rather do it in person.”

Giles was instantly on alert. “Do you have the Slayer and her husband?” The seconds it took for Travers to answer were an eternity to Giles.

“No.” He growled. “They continue to elude capture. But it’ll only be a matter of time. See you soon, Mr. Shackleford.”

Giles sagged against the wall, relieved by the news. He trusted Elsmeth, but he’d underestimated Quentin in the past and had nearly lost Anya and Buffy in the process. He’d simply been on pins and needles since their arrival, afraid to put his complete faith in Elsmeth’s assertion of Buffy’s safety.

The door to the study opened, and Elsmeth strode in, carrying a tray of tea.

“You didn’t believe me.” Elsmeth stated, amused. “I should be upset, but the Slayer is your daughter, so I’ll forgive you this slight.” She was still smirking as she took a seat next to Giles.

“I did believe you.” Giles stammered, then sighed at her look of amusing disbelief. “I just needed to hear it from his mouth.”

Elsmeth leaned her elbows on her knees. “You love her as fiercely as any child borne of your loins. I understand the need for reassurance. Come, have a seat. Tell me what you’ve planned.”

Giles sank into the high-backed chair with a weary sigh. “Travers cancelled the Executive meeting he had scheduled for today. Our plan was to assist the other members of the Council in preventing his use of Bitty’s blood.” Giles took a sip of the tea Elsmeth pressed into his hands. “He thought to use Dawn’s blood to unlock the power within Bitty.” Giles told her. “But that’s impossible. We performed the ritual shortly before Buffy was kidnapped. Whatever power Bitty may possess has already been unleashed.”

It was past time that Rupert knew the truth about the child. Elsmeth had spent many nights researching what little was known, and she felt Rupert should know what she’d discovered.

“Rupert, the only power that child has is ceremonial at best. She is a symbol of what can happen when the barriers of hate are broken down. I’ve read the prophecy. It’s more talk than bite. She is the embodiment of love and forgiveness and understanding. That’s her real power. It is what we all have within our souls. Hers carries more weight because Slayers and Vampires are natural enemies. If they can overcome their hatred, then there is hope for the rest of us. Do you understand, my dear friend?”

Giles nodded his head. “Then why was Dawn’s blood needed? If Bitty is a normal child, then why?” He asked, his eyes bore into hers, demanding an answer, an explanation to make all of this more palpable.

“I did not say she didn’t have any power. She’s telepathic, as you know. She will be able to sense demons. She will be able to perceive the true nature of beings. All of that was locked inside of her, but nothing more.”

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

Like father, like daughter, Buffy mused watching as Spike and Emma slept soundly through the pounding rain and the slamming car door. She smiled wistfully, already unbuckling her seat belt to join them in the back of the car. She was halfway over the seat when she felt a cold hand on her rear.

“Morning”, she said over her shoulder. Spike was ruffled, sleepy-eyed and yummy. She couldn’t resist leaning closer and pressing her lips firmly to his. A girl got used to her morning snog, even if it did happen in the back of a Range Rover.

“Morning, luv.” Spike finally murmured when they reluctantly pulled apart. He didn’t tell her they were creating a spectacle with her shapely ass in view for everybody to see. That fact didn’t seem so important when he realized where they were. “We’re here.”

Buffy grinned. “Yes, we are, and you slept the whole way down. Hmm…” She said, tapping her finger against her cheek. “Who was right about someone, who shall remain nameless, needing a nap? Hmm… who was that, I wonder?”

Spike rolled his eyes, deciding to ignore the love of his life to check on his second love. “There’s my princess.”

Buffy’s grin matched Spike’s. “Hey, pumpkin, did Daddy wake you?” Emma’s answer was a spit bubble-laden coo.

“Doubt it.” Spike quipped. “Your snoring didn’t wake her earlier.” Spike felt the burn of Buffy’s emerald glare on him, but decided it was best if he didn’t look up. She would see the laughter in his eyes and probably retaliate in kind.

“I do not snore.” She told him.

“Uh huh. Keep telling yourself that.”

Joanna’s timing was either perfect or not depending on which Develin you asked. Spike chuckled at the emerald glare aimed in his direction.

“We haven’t much time. The train leaves in about an hour.” Joanna spared a brief glance and smile in their direction and started up the car.

“We’re going to have to get rid of this car.” Spike commented as he rummaged around in the back for something quick to eat. “Can’t just leave it on the street or anywhere near the Chunnel terminal.”

Joanna eased into traffic. “There are a couple of car parks around the station. We can leave the car there. Do you have passports?“

Score one for Willow’s diligence and Rupert’s connections, Spike thought. “Yeah, we have them. Even got one for Bitty.”

“Wherever we leave it has to be close enough so you can take the sewers to the station.” Buffy piped in. They hadn’t really discussed how Spike was going to meet up with them, and this was as good a time as any.

Spike shrugged, rubbing his thumb across Emma’s forehead. “I’m not worried about that, pet.”

“I am.” Buffy reached across the short space and gripped Spike’s wrist tightly. “I need to know how you’re going to get back to us. I don’t want to leave anything to chance.” Buffy shook her head, her brown hair falling like a veil over Emma.

Spike glared at the car seat, wishing he could pull Buffy into his arms, and reassure her. “Hey…there’s nothing on this earth that can keep us apart. I’ll make the train Buffy. You just worry about what I’m going to do once we’re alone in Paris.” The last part he whispered into Buffy’s ear. He then nibbled it, sitting back to wiggle his brows.

Spike’s leer was actually heartwarming. If he was already plotting sex, then that was as good as a guarantee. What was she saying? He was always plotting sex. Nevertheless, he had her convinced.

”I know you’re old enough to take care of yourself.” She admitted shyly, fingering the collar of Bitty’s shirt. “But I worry, and probably will worry for the rest of my life.”

Spike lifted Buffy’s chin until they were at eye-level with each other. “I waited over a hundred years for someone… to be concerned about me. Don’t think for a second it doesn’t warm my dead heart to know you love me.”

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

Parked a few blocks away, but within sight of the Council headquarters, memories assaulted Giles as he stared at the wrought iron gates. Memories of maroon carpeting, Murphy’s oil-scented wood, and the thousands upon thousands of texts lining the hallways. So many memories - some good, some bad - but all centered on a place that had been a refuge, a penance for his youthful indiscretions.

“Do you sense something, Giles?” Willow asked worriedly. Her green eyes shifted from Giles to the building. She felt power, strong and pulsating.

“No, Willow, just memories. Nothing life-threatening.”

“Umm… Giles, you can’t be nervous. That’s my job. I’m the nervous, brainy type. You’re the stoic, brainy, English type. You can’t switch roles.”

Giles took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. “You’re right. I can’t allow myself to be distracted, not in there. I’ll need to be focused once I’m inside.”

“The magic buffers.” Willow supplied. “Elsmeth tweaked Tara’s spell.” Willow had watched in amazement as the herbs Elsmeth added increased the power contained within the tiny bags they’d prepared in Sunnydale. The glamour should hold until we dissolve it. Don’t worry.” Willow laid her hand on Giles’ arm. “I’m sure everything is fine with Buffy and Spike too.”

“I know they can take care of themselves and Bitty, but this is Travers we’re dealing with. He’s a crafty sonofabitch.” Giles growled. “I underestimated him before and Buffy nearly lost her life. I won’t be caught off guard again.”

Another squeeze to his arm forced Giles to look at Willow. She had her resolve face on.

“He underestimated us this time. He thought we’d lie down and lick our wounds. Like ewww, but so not the point. Travers is a pompous poopie, and pompous poopies make mistakes. His mistake was not killing us when he had the chance because that was the only way to prevent us from coming after Bitty. So no more of this waffling or worrying. Got it? Do I make myself clear?”

Giles nodded, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You’ve made yourself perfectly clear.”

“Good.” Willow harrumphed. “See what happens when you get me nervous? I start babbling.” The time had come. She had to let Giles go or he’d be late. She still wasn’t comfortable with Giles’ plan. Going into the belly of the beast alone. If Buffy knew, she’d have ixnayed that plan, but Buffy wasn’t here, so they did what they must.

“Babble or not, Willow. You have a point.” Giles squeezed Willow’s hand. “Elsmeth, thank you. We wouldn’t have gotten this far without your assistance. One more thing, I want you to contact Olivia and Edgar Smythe-Bailey. Find out what they are planning, and see if you can be of some assistance. Their plans maybe foolhardy, but their intentions are good. I want to help them anyway we can.”

With that, he pursed his lips together and opened the car door. Two pairs of eyes watched as he walked quickly up the street. In an instant, he changed from the man they knew into the man Willow despised.

“God’s speed, Rupert.” Elsmeth whispered. “God’s speed.”

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

Giles clenched his fists behind his back to keep from wrapping his hands around Quentin’s neck and squeezing the life out of this repulsive man. He was so smug, gloating over his prize.

“Look at them, Mr. Shackleford. Blood from children, yet they are the most powerful substances on this planet. And I have them both.” Quentin murmured, holding the two vials of blood in his hand.

Giles cursed softly, drawing an inquiring look from Travers. Giles steeled himself not to flinch under the man’s perusal.

“Is there something you want to tell me, Mr. Shackleford? There were no problems with obtaining Miss Summers’ blood were there? You didn’t do anything which would lead the authorities back to me?”

Giles smiled. “No, sir. As far as the authorities are concerned, Dawn Summers decided not to go home, and instead, headed to a motel with a boy. They won’t be investigating the incident any further. I made sure of that.”

Giles’ explanation seemed to satisfy Travers, for he clapped his hands together lightly. “Very well. I’m not really all that concerned to be honest with you. Even if the police were to believe them, the reputation of the Sunnydale group is not on the up and up. They’ll just dismiss them as flakes.”

Giles bristled at the assessment, but kept his cool. The Sunnydale PD was incompetent and blind, but even they wouldn’t ignore all that had occurred in the last few months.

“Will you require my assistance at your meeting?” Although, he knew the truth, Giles was curious to see how much Travers would reveal to his henchman.

Travers eased into his chair, his brow furrowed in thought. “I have no doubt the meeting will be acrimonious, but I’ll handle those people who oppose me in ways not easily attributed to me. I’ll have my guards with me. I may need you to take care of a member of the Council, though. His name is Edgar Smythe-Bailey. You might remember his son,” Travers snickered, “the late Reginald Smythe-Bailey.”

“I believe I remember Reginald.” Giles snickered only because it was expected of him.

“Yes, I’m sure you do. Unfortunately, you won’t be able to confront the father; I am leaving shortly for Scotland.”

Giles crossed his arms over his chest, gripping his arms to keep from showing his concern. “Why?” He had to word this carefully not to give away himself, but also his knowledge of what was going on. “Have they found her?”

Quentin closed the box containing the blood, crossing over to his wall safe. He didn’t turn around to answer Giles.

“My granddaughter is sick. Colic or something, and I have decided it is far too dangerous to leave her in Scotland. I’d feel much better with her within reach.”

Try as he might, he couldn’t hold his tongue. “Will she be alright?”

If Travers noted the genuine concern in Shackleford’s voice, he didn’t comment. “Yes, she will. The local doctor assured me this is a common occurrence, especially when the mother’s milk is not available.” Quentin’s mouth curled up into a sneer. The thought of Buffy Summers touching his Catherine was beyond reprehensible. That situation would need to be taken care of before he could proceed with his other plans.

“There is only one other problem we’ll need to address.”

Giles’ eyes rose up to look Travers in the eye. “The Slayer. Ms. Buffy Summers. She’s more persistent than I thought she would be. Once the child’s identity is established to the Council, I would like for the constant threat that is Ms. Summers to go away.”

“You want me to kill her?” Giles asked.

Travers laughed. “No, we can’t kill her. Not yet anyway. If she died, there’d be questions. Questions I would rather not answer. No, what I’d like to happen is for my granddaughter to cease to exist.”

Giles was speechless. Travers wanted Bitty dead. It didn’t make sense. He’d kill him where he sat if he was seriously considering Bitty’s murder.

“Want me to kill the kid? After everything you’ve done to get her?” Forget the fact, Bitty was an innocent; she was also his granddaughter. Flesh of his flesh in a roundabout way. He loved her as fiercely as he loved Buffy, and he’d kill anyone who tried to lay a hand on her. But, as was becoming something of a habit, Giles had clearly underestimated the madness of Quentin Travers.

“Mr. Shackleford, you’re a man after my own heart. Catherine, though, is too important, too cherished to kill. No, my granddaughter must never know her birth parents. I will not tolerate Buffy or William the Bloody popping up in Catherine’s life. They must believe her lost forever.”

Giles kept his eyes pinpointed on a spot directly behind Travers. If he looked at him in the eye, he’d kill the bastard. It was disheartening to think that at one time Giles had admired Quentin. How did he not see the evil that lurked beneath the surface, the need for power and control? Giles’ eyes were open to the truth, and he could see the dark aura that surrounded Travers.

“Whatever you want me to do, I’ll do.” It was the best Giles could offer at the moment.

“Splendid.” Travers closed the box containing the vials and came around the desk to slap Giles on the back. “Our business is almost concluded Mr. Shackleford. I must say your services have been admirable, with a few missteps.”

Oh, how Giles wanted to wipe that smug look off Travers’ face. But he could wait. As they say, revenge was best served cold.

“Yes, sir.” Giles answered dryly.

“Has there been any sign of the Slayer?” Travers asked, rifling through the papers on his desk.

“No.” Giles answered honestly. “There’s been no word from any of our operatives that they’ve been spotted either here or New Orleans.”

Travers guffawed. “They were never going to New Orleans. That was all a ruse. Not a very good one, at that. I’m surprised by Rupert’s utter lack of imagination. I fully expected them to lie to my face. It is the way we’ve always handled our affairs.”

Giles crossed his arms over his chest, regarding Travers curiously. “Who knows? I know I won’t underestimate Buffy Summers again.” Giles bit his tongue to refrain from uttering Buffy’s married name. Giles would do that, but not Shackleford.

“Yet, you were hoodwinked at the airport.” Travers said, his amusement evident. “But never fear, we know where she will be.”

At that Giles straightened up, he kept his hands tucked under his arms for fear that Travers would see his fists clenched tightly.

“And where is that?”

Travers’ brow furrowed as he gazed at Giles, causing Giles a moment’s panic. Was the glamour wearing off? Did something happen to Tara or Willow to cause it to fail? Travers finally lowered his gaze to the box in front of him.

“She’ll come here for the child.” Travers tapped his fingers, the sound dulled by the desk blotter.

“And when she does? What then?” Giles had to know, even though, the thought made his blood boil.

“I haven’t decided yet. Depending on how successful I am at using Catherine, I may allow Ms. Summers and her consort to produce again. Or I may have them killed.” Travers shrugged as if plotting the demise or impregnation of a Slayer was an everyday occurrence.

Giles felt the air leave his lungs, his eyes blur, and his neck enflame.

“I should leave.”

Travers’ bewildered look clued Giles into the awkwardness of his statement.

“I would like to check the perimeter myself. I’d rather not be caught unawares.” Giles pulled himself up to his full height. “Or would you rather the Slayer and her friends waltzed in unencumbered?”

“That won’t be necessary, Mr. Shackleford. We are leaving for Scotland in fifteen minutes.”

Giles nodded brusquely. He was trapped. He could try to contact Willow and Elsmeth. He only hoped the glamour would hold, at least until they were out of London. As long as they were in the air, Buffy and Spike had that much more time to escape and hide. He was willing to risk his life to ensure their continued safety. After that, he’d take his chances with Travers. The way he felt about the man, Giles was certain he could hold his own.

-----------------------

TBC....

Chapter 35  

A/N: Surprise, surprise, a new chapter! Thank you for your patience (6 months) and continued interest (all the emails, LJ comments). I have more I could say, but then that would keep you from the story. So here we go with Ch. 35, Patience. Rather appropo, wouldn’t you say.

They were in the middle of a war that hadn’t been declared yet.

There was no denying the truth. Not when it was outlined in colorful charts and maps, detailing a steadily increasing rise in demonic activity. A connection could be made with the birth of the Slayer’s child, but Yvonne wasn’t ready to take that leap. Because once it was determined, the fate of the child was sealed. In the fight between good and evil, sacrificing one to save millions was unfortunate, but necessary.

Yvonne closed the file, placing her hand over the title page. Olivia poked her head inside, smiling when she saw her boss was alone.

“Olivia, come in.” Yvonne opened her desk drawer, sliding the folder inside. “What news do you have?”

Olivia sat, crossing her legs as she did. “The jet is fueled and waiting. Flight destination is unknown. But I would hazard a guess. He’s going to the child.”

 “To bring her here, presumably.” Yvonne tilted her head to the side, pondering this new information. “Quentin is shrewd. Presenting the child to the full body of the Council would invite dissension. He wouldn’t be able to control the reaction, but,” Yvonne stated, using her glasses to stab at the air, “within the confines of the Executive committee, he could convince a smaller group and influence many.”

Olivia sighed in defeat. “Then there is nothing we can do to protect the child? We leave her in the hands of a madman, who will use her to start a war.”

Yvonne pursed her lips together. Olivia groaned softly, recognizing Yvonne’s displeasure. “You are one of our best operatives, Olivia. I understand your… friendship with Rupert Giles and his charge, but first and foremost, you are a Watcher. You can not become emotionally attached to these people. As unpleasant as that sounds to you, we must sacrifice that which makes us compassionate.”

Olivia refused to agree with that notion. Hadn’t she witnessed the falsity of that assumption? Hadn’t she seen how the friendships and love that surrounded Buffy Summers had served to keep her safe, to assist her in the fight?

The phone trilled softly, piercing the silence that was becoming uncomfortable in its length.

Yvonne answered, listening to the voice on the other end. “Yes, she is. Hold please.” She pressed her hand over the receiver, amused. “You have a call, m’dear. Would you like for me to leave?”

Olivia shook her head, mortified. “I’m sorry. I… Hello.”

“Olivia? This is Willow Rosenberg. We need to talk.”

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

Waiting was not something she did well. Slaying demons, vamps, giant Praying mantis, screwing Spike into next week, even twiddling wood into stakes.  All things she was good at. She could even count her short stint as mom as going quite well, if the rosy cheeks of her daughter were any indication. But waiting patiently for Spike to emerge from the tunnels? Nope. She wasn’t doing this well at all. Dammit, he’d had enough time to hide the Rover and double back to the station. Thirty minutes at superhuman speed, and he should have been here by now.

Buffy rocked Emma, her hand clasping Emma’s. “Don’t worry, sweetie. Daddy will be here soon.” Of course, Emma didn’t answer, but Buffy swore she smiled. An impossibility to be sure, but then she was an extraordinary little girl.

“Fearless.” She said, brushing her lips across Emma’s brow. “Just like your Dad.” Buffy pulled the strap higher on her shoulder, shielding her breast from view.

She alternated between rocking and scanning the tracks. “Don’t know why I’m worried. He’s one hundred and twenty-seven years old.” She informed Emma. “He’s fought demons and mobs and me. Probably stolen so many cars, he can do it in his sleep. And that’s bad. Very bad.” She reiterated, realizing the tone of her voice.

Joanna approached, holding two cups, water for Buffy and coffee for herself. She’d debated getting Buffy a  cup of coffee too, but she knew Emma was nursing every few hours, so it was better to be safe than sorry.

“He’ll be along shortly.” Joanna offered.  It sounded weak to her ears, but she felt she had to say something. “My, that sounds tremendously naive.”

Buffy grinned, relaxing slightly. “But appreciated.”

Her eyes scanned the open lobby of the terminal. If their lives weren’t in danger, she might be impressed with her surroundings, but she wasn’t. One second people blocked her view. The next second, all she saw was Spike, striding purposely towards her. She met him halfway, throwing one arm around his neck. She felt his arms around her waist, pulling her and Emma close.

“You’re late.” Buffy mumbled.

“I know. Didn’t mean to worry you.” He leaned away from her, giving him enough room to press his lips to hers. Had to reassure her. Had to reassure himself that they were safe. He hadn’t intended to cut things so close, but he had to make sure the car wouldn’t be found. 

“I wasn’t worried.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. Just an understatement.

“Uh huh.” Spike said amused. He pressed another kiss to her lips. “Best be on our way, pet.” As he uttered that sentiment, the PA system announced the boarding of their train. Joanna handed him their passports and tickets and started off towards the security gate.

“Did you get a chance to talk to Glenda?” Spike asked, his eyes darting from passenger to passenger.

“She was at the crypt with Xander. Anya was at the house. No news on the spell. She did say Giles and Willow were here and everything was going according to plan.” Her voice was slightly tinged with worry, and Spike picked up on it. His hand drifted from her shoulders to the dip of her back. She felt his fingers drifting softly along the hem of her jeans and sighed.

“Red and Rupe know what they are getting into, luv. They’ll be fine.”

They were stopped for the moment behind an elderly man, who’d dumped the entire contents of his shaving bag onto the security table. Spike stepped in front of Buffy, bending until their heads touched. “Are you going to be okay?”

Buffy looked up as well as she could, and nodded. “Yeah. I’m worried about them, but they’ve been in worse situations.”

Spike shook his head, running a finger down her cheek. “I wasn’t talking about them. I was talking about the train. Traveling underwater. It’ll be like...” He whispered.

Buffy flashed to the moment when she realized she was in her coffin. It was terrifying and it stole her breath, but feeling Emma squirming in her arms, shifting her tiny legs so she could be comfortable, served to push that fear away.

“It won’t be.” She answered him, looking directly into his eyes. “Because you’ll be with me. You and Emma.” And as she said it, she believed it deeply in her heart. Nothing was ever going to be the same because she had them, and along with Dawn, she was complete.

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

The hum of the jet’s engines was not loud enough to drone out the sound of Travers’ ranting. Giles’ mouth twitched to break out in a smile, but he held it in. He leaned forward on his elbows, studying Travers.

“Trouble?” Giles asked.

“Yes.” Quentin held the phone tightly in his hand. “Timmons isn’t answering. In fact, I can’t get anyone on the phone.”

Giles sat up. “Maybe the phone lines are down. Could be the weather.”

Travers’ eyes glinted angrily. Giles watched as the man across from him took several breaths, attempting to calm himself before he spoke.

“It is not the weather, Mr. Shackleford. They have my granddaughter!”

Giles almost corrected him, but didn’t. Travers would eventually discover his deception, but not at this moment.  Buffy and Spike needed time and he was determined to give it to them. 

“They couldn’t have gotten far.” Giles intoned. “We’ll find them.”

Travers guffawed. “Excuse me if I don’t put much faith in your services. If I were a suspicious man, I’d think you were purposely slacking off on the job.”

Giles gritted his teeth, appearing to be offended. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and pinned Travers with angry eyes.

“I’ve done my job. I brought the blood. I contained the Slayer’s Watcher and her sister. If you want me to handle the situation, I will. Only say the word.”

Travers gave a curt nod, properly chastened. “We mustn’t quarrel. Now is not the time.”

Giles eyed the closed door of the cockpit. “No, it isn’t. We’re wasting valuable time as it is on the runway. The sooner we’re in the air, the sooner will be able to get some answers from Timmons and his men.” Giles continued to regard Travers, never taking his eyes from him. Convincing Travers to go to Scotland was only part of his plan. He also needed to keep him from using the spell and discovering it was virtually useless.

Quentin stared at his clasped fingers, silently studying Giles. All wasn’t lost. Even if Buffy had Catherine, all he had to do was summon her with the spell. But there was a part of him that wanted to see Buffy suffer, wanted to see her crumble as he snatched Catherine away from her again…forever.

“The pilots need to know your plans.” Giles asked harshly. Giles was reluctant to bring up the spell, but knew he had to mention it. It would appear suspicious otherwise. “There’s nothing to stop you from using those witches,” he said disdainfully,  “once we get there. But I’d rather know what we’re facing. I don’t like going into things blind.”

Quentin closed his eyes, trying to quell the nausea that had crept unnoticed into his stomach. He recognized the source of the uneasiness and it disgusted him immensely to know it was present, although on a subconscious level. He would not allow fear of failure to keep him from acting decisively. Mr. Shackleford was right. Buffy and Spike would be hindered during the morning hours. They would have to stop and hide up until they could safely move again. That was one thig in his favor. The other was Catherine. By now, they probably knew she was sick. He could count on their paternal feelings to keep them within reach of a hospital or doctor.

When he opened his eyes and gazed upon his traveling companion, his mind was clear.

Travers looked up, his eyes hazy. Giles felt a chill go down his spine. “Tell them to proceed to Scotland. I want to know everything that happened last night. Once I do, then I will decide what to do with Ms. Summers and her consort. They will dearly for touching what is mine.”

Giles nodded curtly, rising from his seat to notify the pilots.

“You can have the vampire once we catch them. I will deal with Ms. Summers, myself.”

Giles turned quickly as his mouth filled with the sour taste of bile. God help them all when Travers discovered their ruse.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 

Her loyalty was being tested, and there was nothing she could do about it. Yvonne didn’t inquire as to the true nature of the call, but the look she’d given Olivia as the phone was handed back to her, spoke volumes.

“That was Willow Rosenberg.” She offered truthfully. “She wants to meet.”

Yvonne frowned. “She’s in London? Is Rupert with her?” The wheels were turning. Olivia could see the machinations in Yvonne’s eyes. How would she play this latest development?

Olivia shook her head. “She didn’t say. I doubt she would.” A quick glance told her she only had twenty minutes to get across town to Claridge House for the meeting.

“They need you, Olivia.” Yvonne told her, standing up to gaze out her fourth-story window. Down on the street, life went on, cars passed by, and Quentin Travers held the reigns of power at the Council. “I’m assuming you have a meeting?”

Olivia debated lying, but that would serve no good purpose. They were all working on the same sides, even if their methods and motivations were different.

“Yes.”

Yvonne turned, a resigned smile to her face. “Then, you’d better go. I’ll expect a full report when it’s concluded.”

“Of course.” Olivia agreed, though she had no intention of betraying Giles’ trust. Giles wanted to protect Buffy’s child. Defeating Travers happened to be the only way to ensure her safety. Olivia was certain Giles nor Buffy would have concerned themselves with Travers if he hadn’t attacked them first.

She didn’t have much time, as Willow had told her to arrive within a half-hour of the call. After that, she would assume Olivia was plotting against them. It would be close, but she’d make it. There were things happening in England, stuff Giles wouldn’t have knowledge of, no matter his connections. She owed him the truth. It was the only way to repair their tattered friendship.

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

The waiting was interminable. If she could conjure a spell to fast forward to the end of this adventure, she would. Not only for Buffy’s sake, but her own as well. Yes, she was being selfish. She wanted good things, happier times for her best friends and for her and Tara. All in the relative safety, ha ha, of Sunnydale, California, USA.

Magic can only do so much, Willow.

Elsmeth’s intrusion into her daydream was unsettling and aggravating, but that was the point, wasn’t it? To remind her of the terrible acts she’d perpetrated upon her closet friends and lover.

“Actually, no, m’dear. You’ve taken care of your own punishment. I am used to communicating in this manner, and I forgot you weren’t.”

Willow smiled as she turned her gaze to Elsmeth. I’m sorry. I’m jumpy. I wish Olivia would get here already. Willow scanned the crowd again, searching the milling crowd again for Olivia. She signed in defeat.

Elsmeth maintained a serene façade, but on the inside she was nearly as anxious as Willow. Giles was an old and dear friend, and he was in danger every moment he spent in Quentin Travers’ company. Hopefully, Olivia would be of assistance.

“I see her.”

Elsmeth followed Willow’s outstretched hand towards the edge of the park. Olivia threw up her hand in greeting and hurried towards them.

“Willow… It’s good to see you again.” Olivia’s aura hummed with nervous tension.

“Same here. Sorry, it’s under these conditions.” True statement, but the last time they’d met was during the Gentlemen’s visit and that wasn’t all tea and roses either, Willow mused. “Do you know Elsmeth?”

Olivia nodded. “We’ve met.”

They’d still be here tonight if someone didn’t take hold of the conversation and get it moving. “Have a seat, Olivia,” Elsmeth suggested, taking a seat on the cold marble of the fountain. “You should know, Giles is with Travers.”

“Travers captured him? How?” She asked, defeated.

“No… Giles…we performed a glamour to make him appear as Shackleford, Travers’ head bully.” Willow hurriedly explained. “We don’t know what’s going on, but we do know they are heading towards Petershead, Scotland. Travers thinks Buffy’s baby is there.”

Olivia slumped, her breath rushing out rapidly. “Bloody idiot. What possessed him to do that?”

“It wasn’t planned. He was only supposed to deliver Dawn’s blood and find out about Buffy and Spike. It wasn’t supposed to go this far, but it has, and I want to know what you can do to help him.” Willow was barely keeping her voice civil. Giles wouldn’t be in danger if Olivia had been honest with them about Reginald. Maybe, just maybe, all of this could have been prevented if they, no, Olivia hadn’t kept secrets. 

“Olivia, Giles was aware of the danger. Regardless of that, he felt it was necessary to undertake this risky expedition. He wanted to give Buffy and her husband time to flee from Scotland with their child.” Elsmeth reasoned smoothly. She hoped her explanation would give both women a chance to cool down.

Olivia’s eyes widened. “They have her. She’s safe.” Olivia covered her face with her hands. Willow and Elsmeth exchanged surprised looks.

“This is wonderful news.” Olivia announced, her voice hoarse with suppressed tears. “Yvonne will be pleased.”

“Who’s Yvonne?” Willow asked. Too many unknown players in this game, and she didn’t like it one bit.

“My boss.” Olivia watched closely as the wheels began to turn within Willow’s brain. The moment Willow made the connection, Olivia braced herself for her ire.

“Your boss? Is this the same person who gave the order to lie to Giles about Shackleford? The same person who knew Xander was being used and said nothing? The same person who knew Travers was harboring a dangerous psychopath, and did nothing to protect the Slayer?”

Olivia shifted, uncomfortable on the cold marble and from the ire. There was nothing she could say to defend Yvonne, and she also knew Willow would not be reasonable and listen to the very valid reasons for their actions. So she decided in that moment to push on, to ignore the rather large elephant in the proverbial room.

“There is a belief among... many members that Buffy’s child is evil.” Olivia met Willow’s eyes, momentarily shocked by the flash of black in the green. “If she’s with Buffy, then she’s safe from them and Travers." 

“They would kill a baby.” Willow stated incredulous. She shook her head. “Of course, they would. They’ve done it before.”

“Mistakes have been made.” Olivia acquiesced. “We’re trying to prevent another one from happening.” Her arms were crossed over her chest in a purely defensive stance. “Before you judge us too harshly, you might want to remember who’s been fighting the darkness for more years than you’ve been alive. No one was prepared for the baby’s birth or the ramifications of it. So please give us a moment to adjust.” Olivia blinked, realizing in her zeal that she’d gotten in Willow’s face, their nostrils a hair’s breadth away from each other.

“Sorry”, she said, scooting back a reasonable distance. “They are concerned her birth has started a chain reaction to end the world as we know it. I read a report this morning documenting a rise in demonic activity since the birth. As you can guess, people are connecting the dots.”

“Incorrectly. Incorrectly.” Willow stood, resisting the urge to rub the numbness out of her butt. She only hoped the blood rushed quickly back into her backside because she was really close to feeling herself up. “Bitty is eight days old. Eight days.”

In eight days, the world could be destroyed and made over again. Eight days was nothing in the life of a powerful being. Elsmeth sighed. “Are your fellow Watchers making plans to go after Buffy and Spike?”

“Not at the moment. Though, Yvonne wasn’t exactly forthcoming with information. These latest attacks have her concerned, more concerned than I’ve seen her since we started this plan to oust Travers.” Olivia murmured, fumbling in her pocket for her keys.

“She knows we’re dealing with a more powerful force than a mere human.” Elsmeth shook her head. “She knows the only thing it can be is the First Evil. I’m sure that sent her and the rest of those codgers into a tailspin.” Elsmeth’s step faltered a bit. A full on war with the First would… She wouldn’t…couldn’t think of the consequences. The stakes had been risen indeed, no wonder in this day of enlightenment, the council was quite willing to kill the child to protect the world. It was, unfortunately, a better trade-off.

“We must hurry. The full coven must be convened. We’re definitely going to need more help.”

And that Willow though, was the understatement of the year. Goddess, she missed the simplicity of Sunnydale’s apocalypses.

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

“You could have been killed, Edgar.” Yvonne shouted, which was a testament to how annoyed she truly was with him at the moment. She paced, her agitation showing with every step. “What did you hope to accomplish? We had everything under control.”

At the utterance of that ridiculous statement, Edgar arose from behind his desk. “Under control? Travers has operated without impunity for months, years. Do you really believe talking to him, stripping him of his position, possibly jailing him, will stop Quentin from doing whatever he pleases? I had to do something to protect my son. To protect all of our children from this mad man.”

Yvonne slumped against the edge of his desk. “Edgar… I know you’re still grieving, but you can’t allow that to cloud your judgment in these matters.”

“This isn’t about grief, Yvonne.” Edgar took her hands in his. “It’s about doing what’s right. And you know I’m right. What Travers has started is slowly rolling out of his control. He just doesn’t know it yet. The First has his eye on our dimension. These reports”, he reached around her to pick up the file, “prove it.”

Yvonne pulled the file from Edgar’s fingers, glancing down briefly at the evidence she knew all too well. Edgar, though, misguided was right, but it was hard to alter course once things were started. (I know that doesn’t sound right) “All of this may be futile. There’s nothing to say the First will go meekly back into hiding once the Powers stop Travers. It’s about more than him, Edgar. It’s about the child. The power she possesses cannot be ignored. She is a threat. As long as she lives, the balance will always be tilted in our direction.”

The Balance…the balance between good and evil was a thin line that many had crossed and returned to their respective sides. How many acts deemed good by the Council were actually nothing more than acts of evil? How many young girls had been killed to allow another to take her place, to become the Slayer? It was all relative, really. Reginald had committed crimes as Travers’ assistant, but in the end, he was a good man, who only wanted to protect the Slayer. Rupert Giles had killed the human form of the hellgod, Glory, yet, he was praised. It was all relative.

His back was to her, his hand disappearing into the bank of books lined along the shelf. When he pulled out the bottle of Glenlivet, Yvonne smiled. It was only 11:30, but she could use a stiff one and gladly accepted the proffered glass.

“The balance,” Edgar told her, after taking a long swig, “is always shifting, Yvonne. We have the power to make sure she does not become an entity in this long-suffering war. If we do nothing, then we are condemning this world to anarchy.”

Yvonne sipped and thought. “Dramatic. That’s so very unlike you, Edgar.” She smiled, her features softening, the crow’s feet around her eyes highlighted.

“Circumstances have pushed me to loosen my tie, so to speak.” Edgar sighed, tapping her fingers against his glass.

“Have you spoken to Olivia today?”

“We were supposed to meet, but she wasn’t in her office when I stopped by on my way in this morning.”

Yvonne searched his face for deception and found none. “Willow Rosenberg is in London. I’m assuming with Rupert. The question now becomes did they follow the Slayer or is he following them? Either way, we may be able to use their presence to force Quentin’s hand.”

Edgar’s eyes narrowed, attempting to see the machinations going on in Yvonne’s mind. “Meaning? We use Ms. Summers and her baby as bait. To bring Travers to London? He’s already coming back here.”

Yvonne shook her head, her smile no longer comforting. “To deliver him to the Powers. To end this once and for all.”

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

One minute she was staring at the walls of their stateroom, comparing it to the bayou shack they’d hidden in during their honeymoon, and the next thing she knew, she was rolling over into Spike’s solid chest.

Spike’s arm was sliding around her waist, pulling her hips into his pelvis.

“Hey.” She said drowsily.

“Hey. Didn’t mean to wake you.” He mumbled into her hair. His arms tightened around her waist, his hand stroking her stomach.

“I wasn’t asleep.” Buffy countered, her eyes closed.

“And yet, there’s evidence to the contrary.” She could feel his chuckle from her shoulder blades down to her thighs and wiggled against him in retaliation.

“Minx,” he moaned, his hand drifting down to hold her thighs still. He’d been tempted earlier when he walked in, and was presented with the pretty sight of her ass, ripe and lush and his for the tasting. But he could hear Emma, could smell the soap Buffy had used to clean her. Unfortunately, he could also smell the soiled nappy, its scent fairly strong through the closed bathroom door. As the reality of sex and parenthood hit him, he cracked his neck and restrained his libido. He might not be able to ravage his wife, but there was nothing to keep him from feeling her up while she slept.

“I never imagined it could be like this.”

Spike had nearly fallen asleep when Buffy’s softly voiced words drifted to his ear.

“What’s that luv?” He said, shifting gingerly.

Buffy eased onto her back, lifting her arm so that it laid above Emma’s head. She turned her eyes towards their sleeping daughter.

“Do you remember when we used to sit and argue about diaper duty?” Was this how she imagined their lives would be once Emma was born? In those quiet moments after sex, after patrol, when they could only dream of Emma, they would argue about diapers and feedings. Knowing full well, they’d be climbing over each other to get to the nursery.

Spike snickered. “Yeah. I remember.”

“I want more moments like this.” Buffy’s vow was soft-spoken, but the weight of it was not lost on Spike.

He smiled as he rolled and draped as much of his body as possible over Buffy’s tiny frame. His fingers played softly across her face, stroking her brow, her cheeks, her lips.

“The hard part’s behind us. We got her back, and it'll take a helluva lot more than Travers and his threats for us to lose her again.” He held her stare, becoming lost in the sea green of her eyes. She shifted her hips, so he fell into the cradle of her legs.

“Have I told you I love you today?” She asked, lifting her head slightly off the bunk. Her lips touched his tentatively, teasing his lower lip with a quick swipe of her tongue.

“You might have said it once or twice, but I’m old and my memory is faulty.” What he didn’t say was that the heat of her body was making it increasingly difficult to remember his name. His hands slipped from their purchase on her face to cup her head and back, supporting her while his lips began a thorough play of her mouth.

When Spike pulled away to allow Buffy to breathe, there was a storm brewing within her body. A storm that was quickly doused by the wet gurgle of their daughter, who it seemed couldn’t sleep through her parents somewhat subdued makeout session.

“Oh, my god. She saw us.” Buffy gasped, pushing feebly at Spike’s chest. He didn’t budge, but merely buried his head in Buffy’s dark tresses and began laughing.

“Buffy, she can’t tell what we’re doing. It’s all a blur to her. We’re nothing more than a Mommy-Daddy shaped Hershey kiss.”

Buffy grasped a handful of hair and tugged his head back, looking at him in disbelief. Was it the demon in him that was making him take this in stride or was she really becoming prudish in her motherhood?

“Really?”

“Promise. The only child we’ve scarred for life is Dawn.” He drew back, regaling her with a smile rarely seen by others. “And she’s turned out relatively well balanced.”

Buffy grinned. “Relatively. Not withstanding all your efforts to turn her into mini-Spike.” Once, in what seemed another lifetime, she would have balked at Dawn learning anything from Spike. He was a bad influence she told herself and Joyce and Dawn and Giles and the Scoobies. That wasn’t true anymore, hadn’t been for a long time. There was a good man inside Spike, the kind of man her mom wanted her to love, wanted her to marry. And Joyce had known all along that Spike was different, that there was more to him than the hard outer shell.

“She is my apt pupil.” Spike remarked, rolling nimbly off Buffy. He swayed as he stood, though he tried to cover it before Buffy saw.

“I saw that,” Buffy remarked, scooping Emma up in her arms. She sat on the side of the bunk, watching with weary, concerned eyes. “You haven’t eaten in nearly two days. I remember our first Thanksgiving Spike. You…you looked like S.H.I.T.”

Spike braced his hands on the overhead bunk. “We’ll find a butcher in Paris. I’ll be alright, and don’t you even think of asking me to bite you because I bloody well won’t. I’ll nibble on your delectable flesh whenever the urge hits me, but I won’t drink from you. I’ll never drink from you.”

From the way his eyes flashed with flecks of gold and his jaw tensed, Buffy believed him, but Angel had thought the same thing, and he’d taken a chunk out of her neck.

“I wasn’t offering, but if the need arises…” She didn’t want to argue with Spike about this, but if he expected her to watch idly while he wasted away, he had another thing coming. They’d fought too hard to get here for her to lose him because of his exalted sense of chivalry. She’d willingly given her blood to save Angel. Spike deserved that and more.

The silence ticked on for a few more minutes before Spike sat down beside her, his head dropping to rest on her shoulder.

“Emma’s asleep.” He said, wrapping his arm around them.

“Yeah.”

“Wanna cuddle?” He asked shyly and Buffy couldn’t help but grin. One more thing they held in common: Fierce protectiveness of the ones they loved.

“Yeah.”

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

“What do you want to do?” Giles asked. “How do you want to handle things once we arrive at the house?” Giles’ face was unreadable, though his foot tapped lightly on the carpet. He was out on a limb with this plan, making things up as he went along. He had no way of knowing if Shackleford had a plan B in case things went to pot at the house.

“I want to strangle someone. Mr. Timmons, preferably, depending on the amount of effort it takes to capture the Slayer and Catherine. “I know you’re of the belief they’ll rest on their laurels, but I don’t have your faith. Buffy Summers has been anything but predictable since she was called.” Travers huffed, tugging on the hem of his vest. These were all reflex motions to him; the watch, the links, the vest. They were supposed to be calming influences. But not this time. This time the rage was too fresh, too strong, and he wanted to kill. Was this streak of rage a sign of growing affection for the child? Or the usual irritation with Buffy Summers and Rupert Giles.

Giles nodded, his mind churning out ideas and plans for delaying Travers from discovering the truth. “Yes… I’ll deal with Mr. Timmons. There is another option. You can use the spell.”

Mentioning the spell was a gamble, one which Buffy would balk at, but to not do so would raise suspicions.

“No, I want it to be a last resort.” Travers shook his head as he answered. “Catherine has been ill in recent days. I would rather not put her at anymore risk. Besides, Mr. Shackleford,” he said, his mouth twisting into a grin, “I would rather witness Ms. Summers’ devastation when she realizes she’s lost.”

“Then it is a game.” Giles commented, undeniably shocked. “A test of wills and not a desire to change the world to your liking.” These weren’t questions, but statements and observations of the facts. Travers hated Buffy. Hated him too, for that matter. In spite of all of that, Giles never pegged Travers for holding a grudge, but it was obvious he had. Buffy had thumbed her nose at the Council, its rules and regulations, at the very things Travers held near and dear. No wonder he wanted to take Bitty and remold her into his creation.

Quentin was quiet, thoughtful as he studied his companion. Giles had to wonder if he’d given too much of his real identity away with his words.

“Life, Mr. Shackleford, is a game. It’s an never-ending tourney to see who will come out on top.” Sagely, as if he were speaking to one of the younger Watchers, schooling him to the truths of the world, Travers continued. “I am only one of many participants. In a game that has been played for eons with each side alternating wins and losses equally.”

Quentin guffawed softly. “So you see, I am only doing what comes naturally. And I detest Buffy Summers. She has never shown me, the Council and our traditions and rules the proper respect. She does not deserve to be the Slayer, but…”, he sighed, “the alternative is out of my reach.”

“Faith.” Giles murmured. Killing Buffy would be Travers’ best option, but the Slayer line no longer went through her. It went through Faith, and from what little information Giles could obtain on the rogue Slayer, many attempts had been made on her life, and each attempt had been rebuffed. How ironic. Buffy had been killed twice, and Faith could not be killed by the Council’s best assassins. 

“Yes, unfortunately, all my attempts to reacquire her, to reeducate her, to eliminate her have been unsuccessful. For her sake, let’s hope the American penal system has better luck.”

“Doubtful. If you want to kill a killer, you have to turn them into the prey.” They were his words and they left a bitter taste in his mouth because of they rang true in Buffy’s case. The Master and Glory both turned the tables on Buffy, forcing her to be on the defensive and in the end her life was lost.

Giles shuddered. It could not happen again. He couldn’t bear. None of them could.

“No truer words have been spoken, Mr. Shackleford.” A smile crossed Travers’ face. “Thank you.” At Giles’ confused look, Travers chuckled.

“My faith in my ability to outwit Rupert and Ms. Summers was shaken, but no more. We will find her. I will have Catherine back. Once we arrive, we must move quickly. For now, Mr. Timmons’ life is spared. I need him and the others to go into the city. Question everyone. Someone has to know something useful.”

The phone buzzed, startling Giles. He answered with a great deal of trepidation. It could be news about Buffy and Spike or even about Willow. Not once did he consider the call to be dangerous to his well-being. He listened, letting a small sigh escape from his tightly pressed lips, and hung up.

Travers was watching him, curiously. “Has there been word?”

Giles shook his head, the effort to keep a smile off his face taxing. “No, that was the pilot. We’re entering final approach. We land in ten minutes.”

Travers’ disappointment was evident. Mumbling under his breath, he closed his eyes, letting his head drop onto the seat back.

“Where are they?”

Giles could only shrug. Seemed that was, indeed, the question of the hour. God’s speed, Buffy. God’s speed.

“They are out there somewhere. We’ll find them.”

One eye popped opened, and within its depths Giles saw only the coldness of a soulless creature staring back at him. “I have every faith we will. For I shall not leave any stone unturned in my search for Catherine.”

Sunnydale… Dawn. Anya. Home.

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

Standing in the shadow of the building, Buffy watched as the terminal emptied of passengers going out into the streets of Paris. Streets that were familiar to her, though she’d never travelled them. And the memories she had of them were very different from what she saw today. Cobblestone paths lined by oil lamps. Small, non-descriptive shops with carts of fruit and fresh-made breads outside replaced the modern day shops and car rental sites. She could see it all thanks to a vision sent to her as they’d slept on the train. Buffy pulled the crudely drawn map from her pocket. The house was less than thirty minutes from the station. Thirty minutes until Emma would be safe, shielded from Travers’ magicks. And though it offered the safest refuge possible, Buffy couldn’t forget it was a place of death. She had to let it go. She knew that, but when she thought of what had occurred within its walls, what she’d witnessed, she couldn’t help but shudder. Buffy glanced over to where Spike sat with Emma. Her heart melted at the look on his face. Pure unadulterated joy softened his features. The paleness of his hands against the pink of Emma’s blanket was endearing. Watching them, her heart hurt with love for them. Her eyes burned with hot tears and she blew all the air out of her lungs through clenched teeth. She couldn’t lose them.

“I won’t lose them.” She said quietly. She wouldn’t lose any of them, and that included Giles and Willow, who they’d left behind in England. Or Dawn and Tara, Xander and Anya in Sunnydale. They were family, a rather eccentric and extended lot, but family none the less. While Travers was loose, none of them were safe, which meant Buffy was going to have to leave their safe haven in Paris and return for one final battle against the head of the Council.

“I worry when you’re quiet, luv. Seems unnatural.” 

Buffy spun, surprised. “That had better be a compliment.” She teased, hoping to divert his attention.

Blue eyes peered into hazel. He noticed the blush to her cheeks, the red rimming her eyes. Spike could point out his observations, attempt to push Buffy to tell him what had upset her, but from the slightly rigid way she held herself, that way would lead to nothing good. She’d tell him. Or she wouldn’t. He had to accept there would be some secrets between them.

“Hmm,” Spike whispered in her ear, “compliment or insult? What would you do if I said it was a compliment, luv. Hmm? If I said it was an insult, would those pretty eyes glitter like the most brilliant emerald, forcing me to beg for your forgiveness on my knees?  So many choices for a man to decide upon.” Her skin tingled from the mere timbre of his voice. The warmth of it flowed over her body, making her feel more alive than she thought possible.

Buffy arched her brow, edging closer to him. “Incorrigible.” She whispered conspiratorially.

Spike’s brows rose, the very picture of innocence. “That’s what you keep saying, Mrs. Develin. Personally, I just don’t see it.” His hand slid around Buffy’s neck, caressing her hairline with his thumb.

“People rarely see their own faults. You taught me that, sweetie.” A quick kiss to boost his ego and then she was turning in his arms to stare at the car rental kiosk where Joanna was filing out paperwork.

“What’s taking so long?” Buffy huffed. 

“Mommy’s got to learn patience, Em.” Spike whispered. Buffy didn’t have to look at them to know the picture she’d see. Spike would have his chin resting on Emma’s head, his eyes closed to heighten his senses. She knew he wanted to imprint everything that made Emma, Emma, so when she was gone from his sight, when he had to leave her, she would always be with him.

“I know patience. I just don’t do it well.” Buffy turned away from her perusal of Joanna. It was a pointless exercise. Staring at her wouldn’t make the process go faster, any more than staring at the phone would get it to ring.

Spike agreed. “Especially when every moment spent outside of the barrier means another minute Travers has available to get to Emma.”

Buffy cocked her head, studying Spike through hooded eyes. “Are you sure you weren’t a psychic in another life?”

That got a chuckle out of Spike. “Must not have been a good one if I didn’t know about you and Dru."

Brows arched, hazel eyes narrowed to tiny black dots. Oh, boy, the look of death. “Did you just put me and Dru together in the same sentence?” (ha!)

Spike swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing attractively against the paleness of his skin. Buffy wouldn’t allow it to distract her. “Now who’s quiet?” Buffy queried, snickering.

“If Jayme had kept quiet, would we be here, pet? Would there be an Emma?” Spike leaned over, pressing a kiss to Emma’s tiny fist.

It took a moment for her brain to acknowledge the seriousness of Spike’s questions. She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Why… what? Yes,” She said, gripping Spike’s chin. “Yes. We would be here. You, me, Dawn, Emma. If I believed anything else, I’d go mad.”

Spike nodded his agreement, reaching out with his free hand to loosen Buffy’s grasp on his chin. He brought her hand to his lips and bestowed a kiss on it. “I do love you, Mrs. Develin.”

“And I love you too.” Buffy grinned, her smile becoming broader as Joanna stood and shook the hand of the rental car agent. “It’s time to go.”

Buffy smirked as Spike muttered a soft “finally” under his breath. “And here I thought you were the patient one.”

“I waited a bloody long time for you, Buffy. A bloody long time.” He reminded her.

Buffy’s mouth dropped open, snapping shut as a grin broke out over her face. Spike knelt at her feet, settling Emma into her car seat. Buffy copied him, balancing on the balls of her feet beside him. She glanced repeatedly at him, all the while butterflies took flight within her belly.

“I know you did.” He could hear the blush in every syllable of her words. “Thank you.”  She whispered, shyly.

If she had looked up at that moment, Buffy would have seen that his eyes were brimming with love and admiration for her. Only for her. He nodded, wordlessly taking her hand. “It was worth it.” 

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

He was supposed to be strong, stoic, and deadly. Which basically meant standing behind Travers with his hands behind his back, glaring at the stuttering Timmons.

“I don’t know how many there were. But they got past the gate somehow and took out Walter.” Timmons’ head whipped to his right, daring Walter to contradict him. “Then they made their way upstairs. We fought them, but they were able to overtake us. I think that nurse was working with them. She’s been talking to herself and…” He stopped his rambling as Giles shifted on the balls of his feet.

“Look…” he shouted, obviously terrified Shackleford was going to kill him. “We tried everything. They were too strong.”

Quentin’s brow rose, but he continued to stare silently at the four trussed-up men. When he spoke, there was some amusement to his tone. “Really, Mr. Timmons? If you’d done everything, we would have been contacted last night when capturing Catherine’s abductors might have been possible.” Three steps took him to Timmons, his hand striking like a cobra. Blood trickled from Timmons’ mouth where Travers’ signet ring hit him.  

“Do not lie to me, Mr. Timmons. It only serves to lower my opinion of you, and I’m sure you know Mr. Shackleford’s policy on fabrication.”

Timmons’ eyes went wide, imagining the blade Shackleford carried slicing across his throat. He had to convince them he was not to blame or these might be the last moments of his life. “I…I didn’t see them as a threat. She…she was a tiny slip of a girl. You said she was a blonde. We…” he looked frantically at his cohorts, who visibly shrank away from him, “outnumbered them.” He offered pitifully.

“Them? Who else was with her?” Travers demanded. His hand struck like that of a cobra, and grabbed a handful of hair. He yanked Timmons’ head back, forcing the man to look him in the eye. “He…he…dark haired…strong. I think it was the father.”

“Spike?” Travers’ query wasn’t directed towards anyone. He released Timmons’ head. “Chap about thirty years old, slight build?”

Timmons nodded vigorously, happy to provide information that wouldn’t get him killed. Travers was deep in thought as he motioned Giles over. Timmons flinched as Giles walked past him, fearful still that his life hung in the balance.

“The operation seems to have been a success. How very unfortunate.” Travers shook his head in disgust.  “Mr. Mears was obviously not as smart as he thought. Unfortunately, this news has changed things. We will have to contend with two supernaturally powered creatures, instead of one. Their assistance will be needed. Untie them.”

“Blasted.”

Giles watched him go, somewhat amused by Buffy and Spike’s continued vexation of Travers. Lord knew they enjoyed twisting him about. He was glad to shift their attention to someone much more deserving.

“Please, Shackleford! We did our best! C’mon, how long have we worked together?!” Timmons screamed, girlishly Giles thought, as he advanced on them, knife in hand.

“We need you.” Giles said simply, amused by the fear Shackleford invoked in these men. He wasn’t gentle as he cut the bonds restraining them. He catalogued their injuries, marveling at the restraint Spike and Buffy showed towards the men standing between them and Bitty.

Leaning casually against the wall, he slapped the blade of the knife against his palm.  “I don’t have to tell you how disappointed I am. You’ve made me look bad in front of my employer. Another mistake and you’ll join Dewey on the unemployment line…forever.”

He stared for a few more seconds, before turning and exiting the room. Travers was at the far end of the hallway, shouting into his phone. He was distracted, not paying any attention to him or the other men. Giles could easily slip away. All he needed was to contact Elsmeth and viola within an hour, he’d be back at the coven. So simple. So easy, and yet, he hesitated, wanting to stay close to Travers to ensure Buffy and Spike’s continued safety. If he wasn’t going to run, he needed to do something. The phone lines hadn’t been cut. That much he knew from Travers continued calls to the house. There was a phone downstairs. He could contact Elsmeth and find out what if anything they’d learned about the spell and Buffy and Spike’s location.

Not waiting another moment, lest Travers end his call and see him, he took off down the stairs. He was taking a big risk. Travers or Timmons could catch him, exposing his ruse, but it was a gamble he was willing to take.

He stared stupidly at the numbers pad, trying to remember the city code for London. Cursing his brain fart as Xander would call it, he quickly punched in the numbers to his “second” home.

“It’s a blessed day at Devon Coven, how may I direct your call?”

“Elsmeth, please. Tell her it’s Rupert Giles.” He held his hand over the receiver, listening to the activity on the second floor. Wonderful thing about older homes was the built-in motion detectors of its creaking floor boards. It seemed like ages while he waited, while it was only a matter of minutes.

“Rupert, we’ve been worried.” Luckily for Giles, Miranda had the foresight to mentally call out to her. They were just pulling into the garage as she did. “Are you alright?” She asked aloud for Willow’s benefit.

“Yes, but I don’t have much time. We’re on our way back to London, where in all likelihood, Travers will use the blood ritual to teleport Bitty back to him. Are you prepared to block it?”

Giles heard Elsmeth tell Willow he was on the phone. “Don’t need to. Buffy and Spike are someplace safe, where there’s a nice barrier that keeps magic, Travers-style magic out.”

There was nothing he wanted to believe more, but he had to be sure. “Are you certain?”

Elsmeth chuckled. “This makes the second time you’ve doubted my word, Rupert. I’m going to start taking offense to it. But yes,” she told him, sensing perhaps now wasn’t the time to tease her rather stodgy friend, “we are as certain as we can be without invoking the spell ourselves. That’s as much of a guarantee as I can give you, old friend.”

“And I appreciate that, Elsmeth. I appreciate everything you’ve done for Buffy and myself.”

“Anytime, Rupert. Anytime.”

Giles rang off, promising Elsmeth he would call again as soon as it was safe to do so. Left unspoken, though, but definitely implied was the fact that this could be there last call, and if she didn’t hear from him to assume the worst. What he didn’t know and wouldn’t realize until much later, was that the worst had already occurred.

“Why hello, Rupert.”

TBC….