The Prophecy (continued)

Chapter 16

England, March 28th

Shackleford stared impassively at the unconscious man. The doctors had given him a sedative after removing the bullet from his shoulder. He was a waste of space in Shackleford’s opinion. The Slayer should have taken him out when she had the chance. If she had, she would be at home with her family, and this dope would be the one in the hospital or better yet, a grave.

If she died, he would go down in history as the person who killed the most powerful Slayer in his history. He didn’t deserve the honor. For now, the Slayer and her child lived. His men would contact him if their status changed.

His phone rang and he answered.

“Yes.” He drawled.

“Is he awake yet?”

“No. I can wake him if you like.” Shackleford stood over the unsuspecting man, his hand raised to strike him.

“No, leave him. I want him rested for later. They tell me you should be arriving within the hour. Strap him to the gurney and deliver him to the house. A room has been set up for your special activities.”

Travers glanced through the one-way mirror into Warren’s new lair. It was a sparse room with a cot, sink, toilet, and table. It would be Warren’s new home, until such time as his usefulness expired. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be too long in Travers’ opinion. Any other time, he’d be a little put out that someone was attempting to harm the only Slayer they had working for them, but with the conception of the Prophecy child, he wished the young man all the best.

“What exactly are you looking for?” Shackleford didn’t really care. As long as Travers paid him, and paid him well, he’d torture Warren till one of them died.

Travers lit the cigar dangling from his fingers. “Pieces to the puzzle. The Council always suspected there was more to the Prophecy than was translated. The original text was never found. Just the translation from the Gregorian monks, and their work was suspect. They may have deliberately left out certain passages in hopes of protecting the child.”

“And that worked so well last time.” Shackleford quipped.

“Yes, well, this Slayer and her lover have defied the odds before. I know Ms. Summers. She’ll do everything in her power to have this child.” Travers couldn’t forget the way she’d defied the Council and the Knights of Byzantium to protect her sister, the Key.

Travers exited the small cottage on the outskirts of Newcastle, and climbed into the back of his car. “I’ve always been of the opinion that Jayme found the original text, and translated it in whole. Once he found out the truth about Martine, he was never the same. He was a loose cannon that should have been eliminated once the Prophecy was averted, especially after he discovered the connection between Martine and himself.”

Shackleford sighed. How many times would he have to listen to Travers berate a man who’d been dead at least a 100 years.

Hoping to steer the conversation back to the present, Shackleford asked. “Do you want me to contact you when we arrive or once I have the information you want?”

Travers thought for a minute before deciding. “Contact me once you have something important. I will be in a meeting discussing what to do in the eventuality Ms. Summers should die.”

April 21st

The isolation, the scare tactics had taken their toil on the young man. He’d lost at least fifteen pounds. Travers guessed it was from nerves or suspicions they were drugging his food. Travers thought Warren should have been grateful, in Travers’ opinion, for the reprieve he’d been given. He wasn’t facing twenty years in prison like his two cohorts, and his shoulder and wrist had been tended to. In the three weeks, he’d been in England, he’d been treated quite well. It was time for Warren to repay his generosity. Shackleford stood next to Travers, watching Warren through the one-way mirror.

“Well, Mr. Shackleford, I hope we will have more success today with our young guest.” Travers sneered in a tone that demanded results today.

“Yes, we will, sir.” Shackleford pulled out a pair of brass knuckles and showed them to Travers. “I call these my equalizers. They work every side.”

Travers grinned, glad to be on Shackleford’s good side, and not his bad. Come to think of it, he mused, Shackleford only had a bad time.

Warren was scared. He didn’t know who had him. He was just happy to be alive, and not in jail. Though, this place wasn’t much better than prison. He hadn’t seen the sun in weeks, and he actually felt some empathy for vampires and demons. He wondered how long they would keep him alive. He had answered their questions, and still they asked more.

Travers studied Warren, like the caged animal he was. Warren paced the small room. Travers’ patience was slowly waning with the young man. He was a man who expected results. He pulled a chair over to the desk, watching impassively as Shackleford stepped into the room. Travers had to smile as Warren stumbled back, nearly cowering into the corner.

“Sit.” Shackleford ordered, and Warren collapsed into the chair. Warren’s eyes never left Shackleford’s face. It had always amazed Travers’ at Shackleford’s ability to remain completely impassive. His face was blank, devoid of any facial expressions, which would give something away.

Shackleford circled Warren, pulling the brass knuckles out of his pocket. “You know the drill. Start from the beginning and don’t leave anything out.”

Warren’s head spun, trying to keep an eye on the menacing Shackleford. “I’ve told you all I know.” Shackleford’s hand lashed out, the force of the blow causing Warren to black out momentarily.

“Begin.” Shackleford instructed him. Warren held his cheek, but couldn’t stop the flow of blood from the pierced skin.

“I met Jonathan and Andrew at a D&D convention. We started hanging out. Then, we decided to get rid of Buffy. Well, I decided to, the other ones didn’t know. We set up surveillance to watch them. We stole a diamond from the museum, and froze the guard.”

Travers sighed hard. He could recite this story word for word. There had to be something there. Some small clue they’d missed.

“I told you everything. If you don’t believe me, listen to the tapes. Watch the video.” His face was on fire. Warren touched the skin under his eye and winced.

“We’ve searched your place in Sunnydale. There were no tapes. There were no videos. Do you see our problem?” Shackleford gripped Warren’s shoulders, squeezing the muscles tightly.

“Look, man, I don’t know what you’re looking for. I wanted Buffy dead. When she got knocked up, it seemed like the perfect opportunity. Would have worked too if the demons hadn’t been afraid of that stupid kid.”

Travers sat up, finally interested in the show. Now, this was something new. He rapped lightly on the glass.

Shackleford glared at Warren as he left the room. As soon as he exited, Warren fell to the floor, sobbing hysterically.

It wasn’t supposed to end like this. He was gonna be rich and powerful. Now his life was going to end with him pissing his pants in a tiny room, only god knew where. At least, Buffy was dead. That thought cheered him greatly.

“Ask him which kid were they afraid of. Then, I want you on the next plane to New Orleans. I want my best person tailing the newlyweds.”

Warren scrambled into a corner as Shackleford re-entered the room. “What? I told you everything I know.”

“Which kid were they afraid of?” He lifted Warren up by the collar.

Warren looked puzzled. “Kid? What kid?”

Shackleford’s eyes narrowed into slit. Warren nodded his head. “Oh, that kid. Dawn, the slayer’s sister.”

April 23rd

The three-story house on Canal Street was unassuming, except for the large banana tree in the front yard. Françoise’s grandfather had planted the samplings when she was a child, and now the tree covered one side of the house. Its leaves huge and shading, which was the reason Françoise gave the room to Spike and Buffy. It would allow them to open the curtains in their room during the day, without exposing Spike to the sun’s deadly rays. The soft light from outside cast shadows about the room, falling carelessly, but harmlessly on the sleeping couple.

They had arrived on Sunday, late, due to a two-hour rain delay in LA. Both felt the pull of their former sire and lover, but ignored it. This was their story, not his, and neither were anxious to expose their new marriage and unborn child to Angel’s expected scorn and disapproval. So they sat in the airport, kissing and talking, like any married couple. When they finally boarded the plane, Buffy was barely awake. Spike thought she might fall asleep standing, but the flight attendants took pity on them, and allowed them to board first. As soon as Spike sat down, Buffy curled up beside him, and was snoring.

The laughter of the garbage men working on the street below woke Spike. He opened his eyes, squinting as he took in his surroundings. Turning his head, slightly, careful not to wake the blonde nestled at his side, he checked the clock on the bedside table. 10:05. They had stayed out pretty late last night. After dinner, they took in a burlesque show. Buffy gleefully told him, she’d always wanted to see one, so he took her to the Canal Bus Stop Bar & Grill. The dancers asked her to join them on stage to join, and she did, shocking the audience by kicking her leg high in the air. Of course, he had to hold her stomach to do it, but the dancers and audience appreciated the effort. Spike merely shook his head, and kissed her.

“My, my Pet, aren’t we still flexible.” He teased.

Buffy grinned. “What? I never told you I was an ice skater?” Spike wiggled his brows, and told her they try that leg kick later.

Spike smiled at the memory of what they had done later that night. Buffy stirred in her sleep, burrowing her head further in Spike’s embrace. “Any closer, Pet and you’ll be under my skin.” He whispered, placing a soft kiss to her temple. She was under his skin, in his blood. She was his wife, the mother of his child. Could his unlife be any better? No, it wasn’t possible. To be given such gifts after spending so long taking life was a blessing and a curse. Buffy, Dawn, and Bitty were his world. If this was a dream, he never wanted to wake up. If he was the one that had been infected, then let him live this hallucination.

He turned on his side, studying the face of the woman who’d captured his heart, gave him a soul. A year ago, he was lost, adrift in the pain and horror of her death. He’d felt those same feelings multiplied ten-fold when she and Bitty had been so close to death. Today, he couldn’t imagine being happier. He was centered, settled. Buffy did that for him. She was his anchor.

He stared at her hand resting on the pillow. He reached out, tracing the simple gold band with his fingertips. How could something so small symbolize something so powerful?

Spike smiled as Buffy’s fingers moved under his. Her eyes opened, and he was again confronted with the beauty and mystery that was his mate. Her eyes held so much of what she was feeling, and his heart felt a jolt from the love he saw reflected in them.

“Hey, hubby.” She said, reaching up to plant a kiss on his lips.

“Hey, wife.”

“What time is it?” Buffy’s hand strayed to her stomach, caressing her daughter as she slept.

“A little after ten. Are you hungry?” Spike asked, swinging his legs off the bed.

Buffy considered the two possible answers to that question as she gazed appreciatively at Spike’s naked body. On the one hand, she was starving. And on the other hand, she really wanted to continue with their activities from the night before, or was it morning of. Bitty gave her the answer she was searching for by sending a kick to her kidneys.

“Your daughter wants food.” Buffy smirked, rubbing the latest area of attack. “She’s getting really good with the kidney punches.” She remarked, allowing Spike to pull her off the bed.

“I’ll go down and see if there’s anything to eat in the kitchen.” Spike opened the door at the same time, a short, brown haired woman with a “Who Dat?” t-shirt and jeans on, was knocking.

They both jumped, startled by the other’s appearance. Spike recovered first, extending his hand to the woman. “Good morning, Françoise.” He said.

“Good morning, Spike. I take it you had a good dinner. ” She asked, mesmerized by blueness of Spike’s eyes.

“Yes, we did. Thank you for recommending Antoine’s. The food was delicious.”

“It is a N’awlins landmark. Still the best after all these years.”

“Spike, could you see if they have any banana peppers? I really would like some of those.” Buffy came out of the bathroom, her eyes closed as she struggled to pull her hair into a ponytail.

“Ah, Pet.” Spike started, then stopped because he really didn’t know what to say. “Buff, we have company.”

Buffy stopped in her tracks, backpedaling into the bathroom as quickly as possible. Spike grinned at Francoise, who couldn’t help but grin back at him.

Spike pulled a shirt out of his bag, handing it to Buffy through the cracked door. A second later, a red-faced Slayer came out of the bathroom. “Francoise, I didn’t realize you were here.”

“Never you mind, my dear. If I had your body, I’d walked around naked too.” She laughed as she walked her middle-aged body inside their room. Spike closed the door behind her and going to stand beside Buffy.

“You’re being kind. I have a basketball for a stomach.” Buffy laughingly told her, but the way she stroked her stomach, told Françoise she didn’t mind.

“A beautiful basketball.” Spike commented, kissing Buffy lightly on the nose.

Francoise smiled warmly, watching the couple, and knew this was what her uncle had dreamt of, a day when vampires and slayers, mortal enemies would once again find love. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. They needed to get on the road, if they were going to get to Lafayette in time for the pig roast tonight.

“Francoise, what is it?” Buffy asked, concerned etched on her face.

“Before your arrival, I debated bringing the diary here for you to see. I wanted to give you time to enjoy yourselves in our city before burdening you with past. But the time has come for you to meet your destiny.” She told them.

“Call me selfish. My family has lived with the knowledge that one day this day would come, when the Prophecy child would be conceived. They want to meet you.” She said simply.

“We want to meet them.” Buffy said, looking up at Spike. Even if he doesn’t, he’s going to.

“They’re not here, though. You’re Cajun.” Spike stated.

“Very perceptive. Yes, my family lives in Lafayette.”

“How far away is it?” Buffy asked, her eyes darting to the sunlight streaming through the branches of the tree.

“It’s a two-hour drive. Michel’s car has been outfitted for such a trip. Spike will be quite safe.” She said, answering Buffy’s silent question.

Spike smiled down at Buffy. She worried about him. He worried about her. It was a never-ending cycle, and he loved it. “When do we leave?” He asked.

“In a hour. We have a light brunch prepared for you. So get dressed and come on down.” Francoise winked at Buffy as she walked out the door. Buffy looked down at her near-nakedness and groaned.

“Why is it I never look Slayery when it counts?”

Spike snickered, leaning down to suck on her bottom lip. “Let’s shower. It’ll save time.”

“Yeah. Where have I heard that before?” She said, wrapping her arms around his neck.

Giles said goodbye to Buffy, glad to hear they were finally going to get the diary. Since they left, he hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that something was wrong. He knew he shouldn’t worry. There had been no sign of Warren in California since the shooting. Andrew and Jonathan were in custody on a variety of charges. Jonathan had turned state’s witness, notifying the police about the true circumstances of Katrina’s death. If Warren ever showed his face back in town, he’d be facing a murder charge. If Giles ever saw him again, he was dead.

He smiled as he remembered the look on Buffy’s face as they said their goodbyes on Sunday. She literally glowed with happiness, and Spike had too, though he was still reluctant to show his true feelings around the Scoobies.

Giles almost felt as if his duty as a father had been completed. He’d raised his child, got her married to a reasonably decent man, vampire, whatever. He knew Buffy had all she would ever need for a happy life. Then, why couldn’t he shake this feeling that something evil was lurking around the corner waiting for them.

Anya’s laughter broke him out of his reverie. She was simply quite beautiful when she laughed, and lately she’d been doing a lot more of that. Or maybe, it was the fact he finally noticed what a delightful person she could be. She and Dawn were busily reading the latest women’s magazine, taking a test designed to cause any man to quake in his shoes. The dreaded compatibility test. They’d already forced him to take it, and now they were answering the female portion of the test. Willow and Tara had taken it, but said the results would be moot since they liked women.

Dawn gasped and looked with laughing eyes at Giles. Anya closed the book abruptly, and walked to the back office. Giles didn’t have a chance to ask what had happened because the phone rang.

“Hello, you’ve reached the Magic Box. How may I help you?”

“Giles, it’s Olivia.” Giles smiled warmly.

“Olivia, how are things in merry ol’ England?” He said, pouring himself another cup of tea.

“Travers knows about Buffy’s pregnancy.” She stated quickly.

Giles set the kettle down, afraid he’d drop it to the floor. “Could you repeat what you just said?” He asked, throwing an anxious glance towards Dawn. He moved so he was in a corner, and out of view.

“Travers knows. I don’t know how long he’s known, but he does. A surveillance team was sent to Sunnydale.” Olivia scanned the crowd, making sure no one was listening too intently.

“But how?” Giles stammered, trying to recall his actions of a month ago. “We were very careful.”

“Giles, luv, listen. I can’t talk too long. This is all I know. When you went to the archives to get Jayme’s diary, it was red flagged. Anyone requesting it was to be reported immediately to Travers. The warning was overlooked until someone noticed Willow’s attempt to hack into Jayme’s files. After that, the whole thing snowballed.”

Giles took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. Travers knew of Buffy’s pregnancy and about the Prophecy, but he would being the head of the Council. “You said a surveillance team was sent here. Do you know if they are still here.”

Olivia shook her head. “No, I don’t. Are you thinking they might be in New Orleans with Buffy and Spike?”

“Yes, I am. I hate to ruin her honeymoon, but she must be on guard.”

“Look, Rupert, I have to go. I’ll call you later.” Olivia quickly shut off her phone, throwing it into her bag. Travers walked by, tilting his head in greeting to her.

“Of course.” Giles said distracted.

“What’s going to ruin Buffy’s honeymoon?” Anya asked softly. Giles nearly dropped the phone, so startled he was by her presence. He looked around to see if Dawn heard her, but she was engrossed in her magazine.

“Not here, Anya.” Giles said, escorting her into the training room.

Anya stood with her hands clasped in front of her, waiting for Giles to finish rubbing non-existent lint off his glasses.

“The Council knows about Buffy. They’ve sent someone to watch her. I ..” He stammered.

“Want to call Buffy and warn her.” She finished for him.

Giles nodded, his mind on a hundred different things. “She has to be on guard. Who knows what Travers might do?”

“If he wanted her dead, he could have gotten to her in the hospital.” Anya took him by the hand, and guided him to the couch. Giles felt like a four-year old being comforted by his mother. But Anya looked nothing like his dear old Mum.

Anya sat him down on the couch, and joined him.

“Yes, that’s true. I hadn’t thought of that.” Giles admitted.

“Maybe he was waiting to see if Warren would succeed. You can tell Buffy to watch her back, but they have to get that diary and whatever else Charles Jayme left for them. And they are newlyweds. They need to be able to have a little vacation from fighting the good fight.”

“What could Travers be waiting for? If the baby is born, the prophecy is fulfilled or maybe it’s enough that she was conceived.” Anya waited while Giles mumbled through different theories and thoughts. She rubbed his hands while he talked, all the while surprised he allowed the contact.

Giles looked up sheepishly, realizing he’d ignored Anya’s presence, while reveling in the feel of her hands on his. She looked so beautiful, Giles forgot his troubles for a moment. He wanted to reach out and kiss her to thank her for listening to him, but he didn’t. That didn’t stop Anya from doing it though.

When she pulled back, Giles’ eyes were wide with amazement. “I got tired of waiting.” She said shyly.

“Oh. Sorry about that.” He said, kicking himself for not being more eloquent.

Anya stood up, embarrassed. “I’ll go get the others.” She said, avoiding his gaze.

“Anya, wait.” He said, grasping her hand as he stood. “I…” He stammered, staring at his partner, his friend, her head hung low.

“Oh, for goodness sake, this is ridiculous.” He said, taking her head in his hands, and lowering his mouth to hers. Anya’s arms went around his neck, clutching him tightly as her mouth opened under his. Their tongues touched tentatively, almost shyly, until Anya’s body became pliant and molded itself to Giles’. They both remembered the kiss from before, and how right it seemed at the time. The same feeling overcame them this time, and they gave into it.

Anya glanced shyly at Giles as she patted her hair, and straightened her clothes. Okay, they kissed. She could act normally. She was a 1000 year old woman. She could handle the butterflies and weak knees. Just because he was a terrific kisser, and she hadn’t felt that big of jolt through her system since she turned Olaf into a troll. No, she could walk out front, and act as if nothing had happened. Yeah, right. Who was she kidding?

Giles had to shake himself. He was not some young buck experiencing his first kiss. He was a forty-four year old man. He was a Watcher and a business owner. By god, he was British. Stoicism was in his blood. But by the blood, she was an exciting, vibrant woman. But this being Sunnydale, their personal relationship, as limited and new as it was, would have to wait.

“Anya, uh, I enjoyed that.” He said, smiling.

“I did too, Giles. Or do I call you Rupert since we’ve shared bodily fluids?”

Giles grinned broadly at her bluntness. It was refreshing, and endearing. He walked over to her, placing a chaste kiss to her forehead. “Call me whatever you like, Anya.”

“We’d better get out there before they come barreling in here.” She said, squeezing his hand.

“Yes, we should. I still don’t know what, if anything to say to Buffy.”

“We’ll figure something out.”

The door to the kitchen swung open, and Buffy and Spike peered inside to find Françoise and Michel sitting at the table, which was laden with food, and what Spike sincerely hoped was blood.

“Buffy, Spike, have a seat.” Francoise said, her smile warm and inviting.

Spike pulled out the chair for Buffy to sit. Her mouth watered at the sight of the shrimp salad and bread. Bitty gave her a soft kick of approval. Spike sat next to her, still hesitant to drink his lunch in front of strangers.

“Don’t be shy, Spike. We have had other vampires stay with us. We’re used to the sight.”

Michel nodded along with his mother. “I hope those two guys didn’t disturb you.” He commented, taking a swig of the cold mint tea.

“What two guys?” Spike asked cautiously. “ We didn’t see anyone when we came out.” Spike informed him.

“Two guys were up on your floor asking about available rooms.” Michael said, wondering why his mother was looking at him so intensely.

“Michel, did they say which room they were in now?” Françoise asked, her Cajun more pronounced as she spoke to her son.

“No, Mama. Why? What’s the problem?”

Buffy put her fork down, staring at Françoise. “Is there a problem, Françoise?” Spike reached for her hand, giving it a squeeze.

“I don’t want to alarm you, but two men checked in yesterday, and they were asking which rooms had the least amount of sunlight. They said they wanted a room in the shade. I told them those rooms had already been reserved, and gave them another room. I thought nothing of it, until Michel mentioned finding two men on your floor.”

“It could be nothing, Pet. I’ll give Giles a call and see if he’s heard anything. Don’t worry.” Spike cupped her chin, planting a kiss on her temple. “Feed my little girl, and I’ll be right back. Do you have a phone I can use?” He asked, getting up.

“I’ll show you.” Michel pushed the door opened and took Spike into the office.

Buffy stared at the shrimp before stabbing it with the fork. Françoise regarded the small woman, noting the worry on her face.

“Buffy, please do not worry. You are safe here.”

Buffy shook her head, sadly. “I’m not safe anywhere, except with Spike.”

“Yes, you are. He loves you very much. I can tell.” She said, patting Buffy’s hand. “Eat. There is nothing you can do on an empty stomach.”

Buffy smiled tightly, but dug in to the salad. She was famished, and Françoise was right. She would be of no use if she fainted away from hunger.

“Françoise, what should I expect from the diary? I’m trying to be strong and everything, but this is my baby, and I’m scared for her, for all of us.”

“Buffy, I have only read the diary once myself. What I know about it comes from my grandpapa and my mother. It is a story of a man at odds with his conscience and his sense of duty. It is the story of a young girl, who had to grow up too soon, and died too young. But it is also about hope. My great-uncle was not perfect. He tried to right a wrong.” She concluded.

“At least we know, Rupert. I agree with Anya, they would have made their move by now if they wanted Buffy dead. Not saying they don’t, but they may be waiting to see what’s in the diary.” Spike said, scrubbing his chin.

“What are you going to tell her?” Giles asked.

“The truth. We don’t lie to each other. She needs to know.”

“Whatever you think is best, Spike. She is your wife.” Giles added with a smile.

“Yes, she is. We probably won’t get a chance to read it till tomorrow. I know Buffy will want to talk to you after she does, though.”

“That’s fine. I’ll stay at the house tonight with Dawn and the girls. Just to make sure the Council doesn’t try to get to Buffy through Dawn.” Dawn looked up at the sound of her name, and pointed towards the phone.

“Spike, Dawn wants to talk to you. We’ll speak later.” Dawn grabbed the phone.

“Hey, Giles told us what’s going on. You and Buffy okay?”

“Yeah, Bit. You keep close to the witches and Giles. Warren and his crew may be out of the picture, but the Council is just as deadly.”

“I know worry-wort. You just take care of Buffy and Bitty. I’m not worried. We’ve faced the Council before. We’ve beaten them at their own game. We can do it again. Tell Buffy I love her. Oh, and I love you too.” She said, hanging up.

Spike could only shake his head at the receiver. He wished he had the Bit’s optimism, but when it came to humans, such as the Council of Watchers, his bravado took a back seat to realism.

“Shackleford, our cover’s been blown.” Dewey told his boss as they pulled away from the curb. Shackleford rubbed his eye, and then quick as a snake, his hand grasped the muscles at Dewey’s neck, pinching them till his eyes watered.

“What did I say? Tail them, and nothing else. You’ve only been here 24 hours, and you’ve already been made.

Dewey gasped. “We’re not sure. The owner’s son caught us up on their floor. We made up some story. I don’t know if he bought it. They haven’t kicked us out, so we may be in the clear.”

Shackleford released his painful grip on Dewey’s neck, and sat back calmly in his seat. “Very well, we wait and see. Have they left the hotel or met with anyone other than Francoise Hemmings?”

“No, sir. They got in very late last night, and didn’t awaken till just a few hours ago. Lande is watching them now, but at last report, they were having a lunch. The vampire went into the office to make a phone call, but Lande wasn’t able to hear what was said or who he spoke to.”

Dewey chanced a glance at Shackleford and found the man staring blankly ahead. Dewey had worked with Shackleford long enough to know he needed to keep his mouth closed. He drove to a small seedy motel, not too far from the B & B. Shackleford wanted to be within walking distance, but not too close that his marks would become familiar with his face.

“Call me in 1 hour. I want a full report.” Shackleford pulled his duffle out of the back seat, and slammed the door close. Dewey let out the breath he’d been holding, and pulled away, grateful that the only injury he’d sustained was a bruised muscle.

“Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Oh, shit.” Dewey mumbled. They were gone. The Slayer and her vampire were gone, and they had no idea where they were. By the time, he’d gotten back to the house, Lande had lost them. A quick search of their room, revealed no information as to where they went.

Shackleford would blame him. As the leader, he had to be responsible for his man. He dreaded waking Shackleford with the news, but he had to. If there was anyone who could track them down, it would be him. Dewey’s hand shook as he pulled out his cellphone. He punched the memory code for Shackleford’s mobile and waited.

“You lost them. I know. They are on their way to Hemmings’ family home in Lafayette. Pick me up in 15 minutes, and don’t be late.”

“Yes, sir.” Dewey said with a sense of dread. He cast a harsh glare at Lande, and told him to get his stuff. They were going on a little trip.

Buffy watched the landscape change as they left the hustle and bustle of the city. Gone were the strip malls and fast food joints littering the landscape outside of New Orleans, they were going south, deeper into the roots of Louisana. To the places where time stood still, and the people were less complicated. As the scenery changed and the foliage got thicker, Buffy could understand why Charles Jayme chose this place to settle. Here he could escape. Here he could forget what happened in Paris, and in London, and concentrate on alleviating his guilt.

“What are you thinking Luv? Spike asked, stroking her back, lazily.

“How beautiful and peaceful it is here. How easy it would be to forget when all you see is nature.”

Spike heard the awe in her voice, and smiled. Buffy was a city girl. She’d probably never seen this many trees, this much greenery in her life, unless she spent a lot of time at the botanical gardens. He had been born in the city, too, but his time was very different from hers. He’d lived through the changes industry and progress brought on the world. It no longer surprised him or wowed him. But hearing her amazement, brought some of the innocence of his youth back.

“This was the perfect place for him to come.” She continued. Spike didn’t have to ask who the he was.

“You can never fully escape your past.” He said, looking out the tinted window. When Spike first saw the car, the thought passed that Buffy would be a widow longer than she’d been a wife. But the tint had been specially done, with an aluminum base which blocked out the sun’s rays without making the care look weird.

“Are we talking about Charles Jayme or you?” Buffy asked, caressing his face.

“Him. You’ve helped me to see that a man is judged by what he does today, not by what he did last week, or month ago or even a century ago.”

“Have I told you I loved you today?”

Spike thought about all the looks and touches she’d bestowed on him in the few hours they’d been awake. Words didn’t matter so much when you could feel it, touch it, taste it, surrounding you like a shroud.

“Nope, but you can if you want to.”

“I love you”

“I love you, too.”

Buffy stared at the house in front of her, and smiled. She’d seen movies where they depicted the lifestyle of the Cajun people, their houses and their customs. Never had she imagined it was the truth. The house was a rambling wood shackled house, that looked as if it was the original home of Charles Jayme. She felt the strength of the place, though. Knew it was ingrained in the people. No wonder the Cajuns were chosen to keep the prophecy safe. They were the only ones who could.

“Spike, wake up. We’re here.” Spike smiled in his sleep, his hand reaching up to cup Buffy’s breast. She hissed and smacked his hand away.

Buffy looked up, fearful Michel or Françoise had seen Spike groping her. She was relieved to see their attention focused on negotiating the wooden bridge leading up to the house. Keeping her eyes on them, she allowed her hand to drift down his stomach to his crotch. She gave him a squeeze and heard him moan. Sure she had his attention, she whispered hotly. “If you ever want me to do that again, stop faking, and wake up.”

Spike sat up quickly, his eyes clear and mischievous. “You are so gonna get it later, Pet.” He said, leaning down to lick her ear. Françoise turned around to tell them about the welcoming committee on the porch, but she only saw Spike whispering in Buffy’s ear, for which Buffy was eternally grateful.

“Mama, Grandmere has invited everyone.” Michel commented, pulling the car around to the back. The only space to park was under a Willow tree. The good thing about that was not only the shading it provided, but also its proximity to porch. Spike would be able to run the short distance into the house with no problems.

“Are you ready?” Francoise asked, lightly.

“As ready as we’ll ever be.” Buffy answered, stepping out of the car, and into the sunlight. “Here we go, Bitty.”

Xander paced back and forth in front of the window, checking the street every now and then.

“Do sit down, Xander. If they are watching us, do you really think they’ll not notice you staring out the window?” Giles chided. He wondered if his reaction was due to concern for Buffy or guilt for kissing Anya.

“Sorry, Giles. Just hate knowing the Council’s been out there the whole time watching us, and we didn’t know it.” Xander said, taking a seat next to Anya. He tried to look into her face, but she was staring intently at Giles, listening to him discuss their options.

“We have to act as if we know nothing. I’m going to try and call Olivia again. See what she’s found out. In the meantime, I’m staying at the house tonight with Dawn.” He said, smiling at her.

“We can have a sleepover.” Anya piped in. Giles’ eyes widened, and the rest just shook their heads at her suggestion.

“Ah, An, why would we do that? Now, that’s suspicious behavior.” Xander quipped.

“I think it’s a good idea.” Tara said. “We’ve done it before. And we really do have a valid reason. Did you forget we’re supposed to be working on the nursery tonight?” Tara clasped Willow’s hand under the table.

“That’s right, guys. We only have a few more days before Buffy and Spike return.” Dawn said, pulling her to-do list out of her bag. Anya nodded her approval, glad to know Dawn was keeping up with the good habits she’d taught her. “We still need to finish putting the wallpaper up, and assemble the crib.”

“This is good people. We have a plan.” Anya said, hoping to get them up and moving out of the store so she could wrap her arms around Giles again.

Giles got up from the table, his hand accidentally brushing Anya’s shoulder. They both started, and Giles hurried away, fearful he’d pull her out of her chair and kiss her senseless, Xander be damned.

Anya got up from the table, too, as a customer came in. Xander touched Willow’s hand. “Will, can I talk to you in the back?”

Willow nodded. “Yeah, sure, Xander.”

Tara reluctantly let her hand go. Willow closed the door to the training room, her face concerned. “What’s up, Xander? You’re not keeping anything from Giles, are you?”

Xander’s face showed his surprise and innocence. “No, no. This has nothing to do with Giles and the Council. I wanted to ask you about Anya.”

Willow hopped up on the pummel horse, looking down into Xander’s expectant face. “What about Anya?”

“Do you think things between us are getting better?”

“Better in what sense, Xander? In the sense, she doesn’t want your intestines as a garter or in the sense that she’s no longer staring daggers at you?”

“Ah, neither of those is close to what I was thinking.” Xander quipped, but his stomach did a little lurch visualizing his insides as a garter belt.

“Oh,” Willow said, grinning. “I don’t think she hates you, but Xander it’s only been three weeks since Buffy’s shooting. You’ve got to give her time. Don’t rush things.” Willow swung her feet.

Xander sat down heavily on the couch. “You know this epiphany stuff is great, but what if it doesn’t work. What if she doesn’t want to get back together?”

Willow hopped down, joining him on the couch. She laid her hand on his shoulder. “You’ll survive. You may have to settle for her friendship, and a limited one at that. I don’t know what Anya is going to do. I never thought Tara would take me back, but she did. And look at Buffy and Spike. If they aren’t the poster children for forgiveness, then no one is.”

Xander nodded. “I know, but all of you started out as friends. Anya and I were never really friends. We went straight for the nookie. I’m just afraid we have nothing to build on.”

Willow sat up, grabbing Xander’s hands as she did. “If Anya doesn’t take you back, will you go back to the drinking, self-absorbed Xander of a month ago?” She stared deeply into his eyes.

“No.” He said. “No!” He said more forcefully. “I don’t want to go back to the person I was.”

Willow threw her arm around his shoulder. “That’s all you can do. Take care of yourself first. The rest will fall into place.”

“Travers sent a surveillance team to New Orleans to trail Buffy. I don’t think he’s much interested in what you’re doing in Sunnydale.” Olivia admitted.

“Does he know about the diary? The real diary?” Giles asked.

“No. He suspects there may be another one, but he doesn’t know for sure. And get this, Rupert. He thinks the Prophecy wasn’t complete. He believes there was a part of it that the monks didn’t translate.” Olivia sat at her desk, tapping her pen against a book.

“That would explain why he hasn’t tried to kill Buffy.” Giles commented, taking his glasses off and rubbing them clean with his handkerchief.

“Yes, it would. There’s something else. I don’t have confirmation on this, but Travers has been making a lot of day trips to a house in Newcastle. No one knows who’s staying there or why. It’s a sort of safe house. I’ll try to find out who’s there, but..”

“Warren.” Giles interrupted. “It makes perfect sense. Travers’ people probably picked him up the night of the heist. That bastard!” Giles screamed.

“Rupert, why would he help Warren?” Olivia asked.

“I’ll tell you why.” Giles stated angrily. “To further his own agenda. To assist him in preventing the baby’s birth. He won’t even try to understand there may be a positive outcome to her birth.”

Olivia could say nothing, understanding Giles’ anger with Travers. The man was closed-minded and refused to see anything other than what he wanted.

“Olivia, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have lost my temper.”

“I understand, Rupert. You’re worried about Buffy, so am I.”

“Well, there’s nothing to be done until Buffy calls. She’s not in New Orleans at the moment. She went to meet Charles Jayme’s descendents. We’ll just have to wait until she contacts us.” He said, morosely.

Buffy was nearly in tears after talking with Françoise’s mother. The elderly woman, named Marie, had pulled Buffy to her ample breast, stroking her hair. “Mon petite. We have waited a very long time for you to arrive. But my aren‘t you a tiny one, even with the child weighing you done.”

Spike was worried all the pressure was going to start to wear on Buffy, but she was a trooper. She had lived with being the Chosen One for six years. She could survive this. He hoped.

“You have chosen a fine man to impregnate you.” Buffy choked on her laugh, watching Spike’s eyes bulge. She didn’t think he’d ever been shocked by anything, and she was only too happy to witness this bit of embarrassment.

“Ah, thank you.” Buffy said. She saw Francoise out the corner of her eye, shaking her head at her mother’s bluntness.

“After two hundred years of waiting, it’s finally here.” Marie said, guiding Buffy into the large dining room. Inside, were roughly thirty people, all staring at Buffy and Spike with wonder in their eyes. Spike immediately went to Buffy’s side.

“Spike, you don’t have to worry. They are all family members.” Francoise told them, noting the way Spike held himself.

“I always worry, when it’s Buffy.” He admitted sheepishly. “It’s a hard habit to break.”

Spike had to wipe at his eyes to keep the tears welled up there from falling. I thought the Bronze’s wings were spicy. That thought didn’t stop him from taking another taste of the jambalaya,though.

“You’re going to be sick.” Buffy remarked, as she sucked the head of a crawfish. If she wasn’t pregnant, she knew she’d never touch the nasty little sucker, but Bitty had strange tastes.

“That’s the great thing about being dead. You don’t have to worry about stomach aches.” He said with a wink.

Marie heard his comment and cackled. Buffy couldn’t help but laugh. She couldn’t believe this family had taken them in, treated them like their own. They regaled them with stories of gator fights and moonshine stills, of hard times on the river when the oil refineries came along. It was fascinating and a little humbling. Her life seemed infinitesimal in the face of their history. Françoise waited till the plates had been cleared, and the music started, before retrieving an old padlock box and bringing it into the kitchen. She set the box down on the table and handed the key to Buffy.

Buffy stared at the key, weighing it in her hand. It wasn’t heavy. It was definitely larger than any key she’d ever seen. It was what this key opened that made her hand fall to the table. It was going to literally open a Pandora’s Box. Once the box was opened, there would be no turning back. All the secrets, all the lies the Council had kept hidden for over 200 years would be exposed. Spike squeezed her arm, and she turned to look at him, smiling tightly. His eyes held hers and she felt his strength and love. They’d faced worse. They’d lived worse. This would be no different.

Her hand shook as she placed the key inside the old lock. She turned it and the lock swung open.

“I’ll leave you to it.” Françoise said as she walked out the kitchen.

Spike closed his eyes briefly. Afraid of the answers, afraid not to ask the questions.

Buffy pushed the top back, and peeked inside. There were faded pictures of Martine inside, along with two books. One was the official Watcher’s diary, the other was Martine’s personal diary. Buffy handed the items to Spike, and rooted around till she touched on a dry piece of paper. She pulled it out as well. It was a rolled parchment, very old and in a language she didn’t know.

“Does this look familiar?” Buffy asked Spike, handing him the parchment.

“Yeah, the same symbols were used in the book where we found the prophecy. Do you think this is the original or an addendum?”

Buffy laughed. “An addendum, sweetie. Do you think they went ‘oh, I forgot to mention this‘?”

“Smart ass.” He retorted back. “So, that’s Martine. She was beautiful.”

“Yes, she was.” She said wistfully. “So, where do we start?” She asked, placing the pictures to the side.

“I think you should read her diary. You have a connection with her, Pet. You are the only one who can understand what was going through her mind. You are the Slayer. She was the Slayer. You’re pregnant. She was pregnant.”

Buffy nodded. “Have I told you how freaky it is that you’re so observant? It’s really attractive on you, but still a little creepy.”

“Thanks, Pet. I’ll take that as the off-handed compliment, you meant it to be.” Spike winked at her. “I’ll start with Jayme’s diary. Since Giles was the one who translated the Prophecy, we’ll take this back to Sunnydale with us.” He said, holding up the rolled paper.

“Are you going to read it or stare at it?” Spike asked as Buffy sat unmoving. Martine‘s diary was in the same place it‘d been a half hour earlier. He watched her from the doorway. The steel cords of the Zedeco music wafted in, lending an eerie feel to the night.

Buffy looked up, a wry smile on her face. “It’s her diary, Spike. Martine’s own words. It seems a little intrusive.”

“I think she’d understand if you read it. In fact, it seems as if she’s trying to communicate with you anyway. This is just another means of doing that.” He said, pushing off , and coming to sit behind Buffy in the huge chair. She sighed as she leaned back.

“If it’s going to upset you, don’t read it. We can take it back with us, and have Rupert go over it.”

“It’s not so much that it’ll upset me. I’m a walking, talking bundle of nerves Spike. I get teary trying to decide what shirt to wear. I just don’t want anything to happen to you or Bitty. I don’t want you to get upset. Martine died, Spike. Her baby died, and I feel a connection to them. I just..”

“Shh. You’re not Martine. I’m not Henri.”

“I know. She tried to make me see that in my dream.” Spike reared back slightly puzzled by that statement.

“What dream?”

Spike pulled Buffy into his lap, her head on his shoulder, her fingers linked with his.

“I can’t believe I didn’t remember it until now. It was right before I woke up in the hospital.”

“Well, we have been busy with other things.” Spike teased her.

“Yeah, other things.” Buffy grinned, holding his left hand up. She kissed the gold band on his hand, sighing as she did.

“So, tell me about this dream.”

“I think I was in heaven.” Spike’s arms tightened around her waist. “The baby was gone. I thought I’d failed her, and you.” Buffy sniffled.

“Then, Martine appeared and she had a baby in her arms. It was Bitty.” Spike stared blankly ahead. His mind replaying memories he’d tried hard to repress in the last 3 weeks.

“She told me that love had saved Bitty, and that there was much left to do to protect her. She told me the diary was the key. The key would protect the baby.” Buffy reached up, hugging Spike tightly around the neck.

“So,” Spike began, his voice heavy with effort to keep from crying. They’d been so close to dying. So close in fact, that Martine had been able to contact Buffy. “The diary will help us to protect Bitty, but how? Did Martine give any clues as to that?”

Buffy stroked his head, feeling the tremors that racked his body. “No. She just said to rely on my friends and family, and they would show me the way.”

Spike nodded in her embrace. “Are you okay?” She asked, pulling back to caress the worry lines off his brow.

“Yeah,” he said gruffly. “Just hate hearing how close I was to losing you both.”

Buffy smiled softly. “But you didn’t. I’m never leaving you again. No matter how tough things get. I’m not leaving.”

“Me neither. I love you, Pet. Always and forever.”

“Here and beyond.” She said, paraphrasing their vows.

TBC

Comments? Send feedback to the Author

Ch. 17

A/N: This chapter isn't as long as usual. I wanted to introduce a few people and say goodbye to New Orleans. Hope you enjoy it. And I hope (ie cross your fingers) to have a new chapter up by Tues. I've been neglecting this story, and I plan on making it up to my fans. Thanks for sticking with me.


Ch. 17: Return to the Past


Monday, June 21, 1787

I have no choice but to put to pen my feelings and my experiences. At least that is what the obnoxious man who came to the farm all those months ago tells me. I hate what he has turned me into. A killer. A murderer. Nevermind, the things I kill deserve to die, but do I have the right to be their judge, jury, and executioner? I feel like the King, deciding who is worthy of life and who is not. I have blood on my hands. Green, blue, red liquid streams down my arms and over my body. My hair and skin reek of the slaughter of hundreds of demons, and I feel empty and hollow.

IS THAT WHAT I SHOULD WRITE IN YOU, MY BELOVED DIARY!!!!

This wasn’t how my life was supposed to turn out. I was going to marry Christophe Lambert. He lives, sorry.. lived down the road from my uncle Pierre’s farm. We grew up together. My first kiss came from him, and now he lies dead, blown to the winds. Those creatures turned him into my enemy. My lover, no longer.

I must... go. I can’t think right now. I’m so sorry, Christophe. I’m so sorry.


Thursday, June 24

He wants me to tell you I killed a Turok demon today. It was not hard to turn its neck and separate it from its body. The hard part was the hands and arms that tore at my clothes. When the fighting was done, I stood naked in the meadow. I was free.

I’M DYING AND HE DOES NOT UNDERSTAND. I HATE WHAT I AM! HE REVELS IN IT. I AM A KILLER. I USED TO MILK COWS.

I’m sorry. They don’t want to read about me. About my feelings. The others that will follow they can’t know the loneliness I feel.

Monsieur Jayme... the Watcher.. the keeper, he is not so bad. He is not my Uncle Pepe. I miss him. I miss his awful cooking and his belly-rumbling laugh. I miss singing with him in the early morning, with dew wetting my underskirts.

Jayme stares at me. Watches me. Hah, that is funny. He watches me. He is a Watcher. That is his job. And mine is to slay. I am good at my job. The Turok is dead.


Tuesday, July 17th

We are going to Paris. Jewel of France. Place of my birth. I told Jayme that and he stared hard at me. I think I am a burden to him. My mind wanders during the fights. I can’t tell him its because my heart is empty. I feel nothing. I almost wish for death.


“I feel nothing. I almost wish for death.” Buffy repeated. She turned her head, burying it in Spike’s neck.

Spike blinked back tears, and put the book down on the table. Martine was Buffy after her resurrection. The isolation and the hatred for what she’d become. He wrapped his arms tighter around Buffy and Bitty.

“Spike, Spike. I need to breathe.” Buffy told him, as she pushed back against his arms.

Spike lessened his grip, but didn’t take his arms from around her. “Sorry, Pet. I...”

“I’m okay, Spike. It hit a little too close to home, but I’m fine. I’m better now. I have you.” She said, putting her head back down on his chest.

“And I’m not letting you go.”

“I’m counting on it.” Buffy stared at the diary, and her heart ached for Martine. Buffy couldn’t say if she would have felt any different if she’d been in Martine’s shoes. When she was called, her only troubles were her parents’ divorce and moving again. Martine lost everything. Her uncle, her home, and her lover.

“She was so broken, Spike.”

“Yeah, but things got better. We know that much of the story. She met Henri, and they fell in love. We just have to get through this first year, and...” He said, unable to continue because the following year Martine and Henri would be dead.

Buffy looked up, her eyes shadowed. “She died. They died. Nothing can change that. She told me in my dream that I wasn’t to feel sorry for her because she’d loved. So, that’s what I’ll take from this. She found a truer love and it healed her. Like you healed me.”

She took his head in her hands and kissed him on the lips, his arms tightening around her waist, drawing her closer. Bitty decided her parents needed a little reminder of why they were reading these diaries, and kicked. They pulled apart breathlessly and stared in shock at Buffy’s stomach. Like children in a candy store, they giggled with barely suppressed glee.

Spike reached under Buffy’s shirt and placed his hand on her belly. He could feel the thrumming of Bitty’s heart and he smiled. Buffy was a little envious of the connection between father and daughter. Spike got to hear Bitty’s heartbeat anytime he wanted to, and she didn‘t. But there were special Mommy things that Spike never got to experience, so she guessed they were even. Spike would never know the pleasure and honor she felt in carrying this small wonder in her body, knowing her life was connected to hers. Buffy knew if they never had another child, she would cherish these moments for the rest of her life.

“Hey, little one. Did you have a nice nap? We haven’t heard from you since this morning.” Spike told her.

“All those Cajun spices probably woke her up.” Buffy stroked Spike’s hair, marveling at the softness. “I hope she has your hair.” She said out of the blue.

“What?”

“Your hair is much softer than mine. And how is that? You’re dead. We use the same shampoo.” Spike chuckled and kissed Buffy hard on the lips. “Don’t be bitter. We’re expected to live for centuries. Do you want us running around with bad hair?”

“You’re so vain, but I love you.”

“Ditto, luv.” He said. Glad to have something as mundane as hair to talk about.

“Do you want to continue? Or can I interest you in a whirl around the dance floor?” They could hear the soft strains of the Zedeco music wafting throughout the house.

“Can we do both? Dance and then read?” Buffy struggled to stand up, finally having to get a push from Spike.

“Yep.”

“I’m glad one of remembered our French. Why didn’t Francoise tell us the bloody book was in French?” Buffy complained half-heartedly. She could laugh about it now. When she’d opened the book and discovered she couldn‘t read it with her limited knowledge of French, she cursed and cried. Spike recognized the hormonal outburst and calmly picked the book up. To her utter embarassment and horror, Spike spoke French flawlessly. Of course, he would. She griped in her mind. He had to not only be right 90% of the time, but he had to be smarter than her too. So, she cried again at the injustice of it all.

“I could remind you that I actually attended college, but that would only get me the floor tonight, and I’m still on my honeymoon.” Spike joked, taking Buffy’s hand and twirling her around. They laughed and swayed to the music, oblivious to the onlooker that had come into the kitchen.

Francoise stood in the doorway, smiling with joy at the young couple. She was thrilled to see her little gamble worked. The contents of the diaries were not meant to be read by oneself, but with the lover’s assistance. The books were their gift, not just for the Slayer, but for her mate as well. She closed the door to the living room, giving the lovers more privacy.

“I wouldn’t kick you out of bed, Spike.” Buffy reassured him. “With it being so hot and humid here, I need your body to cool down.”

Spike pulled her closer till they were mere inches apart. “I thought I heated you up, luv. If I’m lacking in that department, I’ll just have to try much, much harder.” Buffy gulped, her tongue darting out to lick her dry lips.

“Try harder. Please.”



Dewey peered through the mosquito netting, trying to get a closer look inside the house. They had state of the art equipment, but nature wasn’t impressed. The vine from the swamp trees provided a thick cloak around the house, keeping the family safe from intruders, and intruders safe from the family, but Dewey and his team didn’t know that. Holding the binoculars as best he could with his fingers taped together, he narrowed in on the shadows dancing across the front window.

Dewey dropped the binoculars, cursing at the pain that shot up his hand. Damn Shackleford. He wasn’t the one that had lost them. But Shackleford didn’t discriminate in his punishment. Dewey was lucky it had only been his fingers, and the only reason it had been, was the fact they had to get on the road to catch up with the couple. Dewey couldn’t wait till this job was over, and he could move on to the next one. Preferably one that didn’t have anything to do with Shackleford and that organization he worked for.

Shackleford crawled along the damp ground, moving closer to the side of the house. The people dancing and singing in the back yard were ignorant to the threat that lurked just outside of their sight. It would be so easy to slip inside the house, kill the vampire, and snatch the Slayer. Of course, she’d put up a fight, but he always came prepared, he thought patting the tranquilizer dart in his pocket. Buffy Summers would be on her way to England before the first cries of alarm could be shouted.

It would be so easy.

Shackleford listening to the sounds of the night, trying to familiarize himself with his surroundings so he could blend in unnoticed. Which wasn’t possible out here. The people knew what belonged and what didn’t, and unbeknownst to Shackleford, the Hemmings clan was well aware someone was trespassing on their land.

Marie rocked in her chair, her corn pipe wedged between the few teeth she possessed. She hummed an old tune her mother used to sing to her as a child. She turned her head, never opening her eyes as she smelled the change in the air. Her nephew, Larue clapped his hands loudly as he backed over to where she sat.

“Auntie, we have visitors. Should we give them a down-home welcome to the swamp.”

“Hush, child.” Marie admonished, straining her elderly ears. She could hear them talking, their voices carried on the wind. Three men. She didn’t like party crashers, especially when she was the one throwing the party. They had to be after the young ones inside. Well, that just wasn’t going to do.

“Larue, mon chere, I want you to go inside and tell Buffy and Spike to be ready to leave. Tell them not to worry. We will take care of these men.” Marie swatted Larue on his butt as he passed and cackled loudly. Enough of a laugh that it carried across the bridge to Dewey and Lande.

Spike caressed Buffy’s back, turning the pages till they came to the new year. 1788.

“Ready, Pet.”

“As I’ll ever be.” Buffy answered, laying her hand on Spike’s stomach.


January 1st, 1788

A new year. A fresh start. At least, that is what Jayme tells me. He is excited about the new year. Says things have gotten better around the hellmouth, and soon he will be able to rejoin his family in England. I am jealous. He has a family. He has ties. He told me I could come. Meet his wife and his children, but I think not. If I get too attached to him, to them.... well, I don’t want to hurt again. But enough blah. It is a New Year, and I have had too much to drink. It is early morning. Jayme is asleep. I am too excited to sleep. I will try, though. Good night, my friend. Good night.


Jan 15th

Sorry, I have not written. It has been a most unusual fortnight. There was a vampire pack on the outskirts of town. They had been attacking the village, taking a few victims each night. Jayme got word of them and sent me to clear them out. Well, I did. I fought them each and every night till there was but one left. A man. He... he should have died with the rest of them, but I could not kill him. We fought all night, till the first rays of the sun peeped over the hills. But did he run for cover? No. He stayed and stared at me, with eyes that seemed to pierce deep into my soul. I felt drawn to him, even as I raised my stake to kill him. We stood so close, he could have broken my neck in mere seconds, and I would not have known I was dead. The sun was my savior, my salvation, for it appeared behind my back. Then, and only then, did he flee.

“Now, we’re getting somewhere.” Spike said eagerly. Buffy peered up at him.

“Spike. This isn‘t a romance novel.” Buffy said, grinning at the look of horror on his face. Okay, scratch smut novels off his reading list.

“No, it’s a pattern. Don’t you see, luv? They fought like we fought. No wonder they fell in love.” Buffy couldn’t argue with logic like that so she simply settled down for the rest of the story, steeling herself for the inevitable ending.

“Aw, honey. That’s so sweet.”

“Are you making fun of me, woman?” He said, his nose inches from hers.

“Sure am. Want to fight?” Buffy said, threading her fingers through his hair.

Spike looked around the room, fully intent on giving Buffy a good fight, when he saw one of the men they’d met earlier walk into the room.

“Sorry to disturb ya’ll, but Auntie Marie says to get your stuff together. There be some people out there, hiding, and we want to get you out of here as soon as possible.”

“What?” Buffy said, panicked. Spike lifted her out of his lap, and strode to the window.

“Don’t! Please. We have everything under control. We know where they are. How many of them hide in the swamp. We can smell them. We’re taking bets to see which one gets taken by a gator.” Larue grinned at the shocked expression on Buffy’s face. “Oh, didn’t you know? The place is surrounded by them. But we don’t bother them, and they don’t bother us. Now, those city folks outside. Well, me be thinking they gonna be dinner.”

“Couldn’t happen to a nicer group, mate.” Spike bent to pick up the diary, which had fallen to the floor. Buffy stood by, her hand draped protectively around her stomach. He could see the fire in her eyes and knew nothing was going to stop the explosion about to occur.

“I’m sick of them. All of them.” She said angrily. “First, Warren and his loser friends nearly kill me. Now, the people I’m supposed to work for are stalking me. What the hell is up with that? She’s a baby. An innocent little baby, and..” Spike wrapped her up in his arms, kissing her brow.

“They do not understand the prophecy because they do not want to.” Francoise stated as she joined the three in the living room. “The child is peace, a bridge between the two worlds. Some are frightened by that, but it is only their own ignorance. Do not fret, Buffy and Spike. Your child will be born, and she will live a long life filled with love.” Francoise cupped Buffy’s chin.

“Listen to my Francie. She is wise for her age.” Marie said as she warbled into the room. Dewey frantically signaled to Shackleford and Lande that there was something going on.

“It is time for you to go, my blessed children. We will take you by boat to the intercoastal. There my cousin, Bebe will pick you up. Ask him about his recipe for jambalaya. It’s not as good as mine, but don’t tell him that. He will take you to a safe place for the night. In the morning, all will be well. I promise you. Now, go out the back while we handle those folks out front.” Buffy bent low to kiss the elderly woman.

“We’ll bring the baby back for a visit.” Buffy told her. Spike stroked the old woman’s face and whispered in her ear. “30 years earlier, and things might have been different, mon petite amore.”

“Damn right, vampire. I wouldn’t let you out of bed.”



Lande swatted at the mosquitoes hovering around his head. At this point, he didn’t much care if Shackleford fired him or not. He wasn’t used to working in these conditions. Hell, no one was, save the people who lived in this miserable place.

He was still smarting from Shackleford’s earlier beating of him. If the girl and her husband slipped past them, more power to them. He was sick of this country and its people. Give him France any day over this new world. So caught up in his ramblings, Lande did not hear the crack of the small branches as they broke under the tremendous weight of the creature crawling through the underbrush. Gators may not have good vision, but they can detect heat and movement, and Lande’s arm flailing drew the gator to him like an erne flapping on the surface of the water.

The agonizing scream and gunfire that erupted from the west end of the house provided perfect cover for Buffy and Spike to slip unnoticed onto the platoon boat. Spike covered them with a blanket as they floated past the scene. He was glad Buffy couldn’t see the body being dragged into the murky depths, the fingers still twitching.

He felt Buffy trembling in his arms. “Hey, luv. We’re okay. Just one of Travers’ boys got spooked.”

Spike looked down into her eyes, and saw them filled with tears. “Oh, god. Buffy? Buffy, are you hit?”

“No. I’m fine. It was the sound. The bullets. I remembered.” She said, pressing her face into his shirt.

There was no need for her to elaborate. The shooting. Her shooting. Spike drew hearts on her back, not speaking, just being there to support her.

“I’ll turn the engine on as soon as we clear Potter’s point.” Spike followed Larue’s outstretched arm to an area not 200 feet in front of them. “Just sit back and relax. Everything will be alright.”



Dawn always wanted younger siblings to torment. She figured she’d done such a terrific job on Buffy, she had to share her talent with future generations of Summers. That had never happened, but she couldn’t really complain. Looking at Anya, Tara, Willow, and Xander sprawled on the floor, tackling the crib, she realized she’d gotten her wish.

“Guys, maybe you should read the instructions? They put them in the box for a reason.” Dawn crossed her arms over her chest, glaring at them. They were ignoring her, and she was ready to hose them all down for being such babies.

“I don’t need instructions, Dawn. I build things for a living, Dawn.” Xander told her in a tone that had Dawn searching for a hammer.

“Well, obviously, you don’t build cribs because this one’s still not up.” Anya snarkily replied back.

“Guys. We have 2 days. 2 days to get this room completely finished before Buffy and Spike get home. We really need to stop fooling around.” Willow said superiorly.

Anya and Xander stared at her as if a third eye had popped up on her forehead. “Excuse me?” Anya said, the sarcasm dripping off her tongue.

“We’re not the ones who can’t keep our hands off of each other long enough to put the border on the wall.” Xander chimed in, saddened to realize that a few months ago that would have been him and Anya.

“We can keep our hands off each other. See?” Willow said, putting her hands up for Anya and Xander to inspect. “This is us, keeping our hands to ourselves.” She stuck her tongue out and promptly turned around, only to crash into Tara.

“Oh, great. Lesbian Laurel and Hardy.” Anya remarked. “I’m going to see what’s happening with Giles. You guys are giving me a headache.” She didn’t really have a headache. She just wanted to be with Giles.

“I’ll come with you.” Dawn offered, needing a bread from babysitting.

They came down the stairs to find Giles pacing with the phone cradled to his ear.

“I’m happy to hear you and Spike are alright, Buffy. No, I think you should rest. I’ll call the airline tonight to see if we can change your ticket. Now that we know for certain you’re being followed, I do think it’s best if you return to Sunnydale as soon as possible. I know this ends your honeymoon one day early, but I’d feel safer with you being here. At least, we’d have a smaller area to protect.”

“And that’s the irony of today, Sunnydale being safe. We should be back at the B&B tomorrow morning. As soon as Francoise feels it’s safe to come for us. I’ll call you when we get there or try us at this number. 1-866-CRAWFIS, without the H.” Buffy giggled at the silence that greeted her.

“You do know how to spell crawfish, Giles?”

“Yes, I do, Buffy.” Giles said exasperated by the impish giggle coming from the phone. God, he missed that impudence. “Dawn is here. She wants to speak to you.” Giles handed the phone to Dawn, who grinned broadly at it.

Dawn took the phone from him, eager to talk to her sister. She turned to say thanks and saw them staring at each other. The look they shared reminded her of the sly glances Spike and Buffy gave each other. Her mouth gaped wide open. Spike was right. God, she couldn’t wait to tell him.

“Dawn? Dawnie?”

“Oh, Buff, sorry. Got distracted. You’re coming home early. Sorry.”

“No, you’re not.” Buffy said, smiling.

“You’re right.” Dawn admitted unabashedly. “I’ve missed you guys.”

“We’ve missed you too.” Buffy yawned loudly into the phone. Spike pressed a kiss to her hand and followed Bebe to the small back room. Buffy watched him go and sighed. She was so whipped.

“Did you read the diary?” Dawn asked, trying not to turn around and see what she knew she would see. This was going to get ugly fast.

“We read a few enteries. She was so sad in the beginning, Dawn. God, it was like looking in the mirror.” Buffy told her, her heart still pained for Martine.

“Are you okay? I mean, hearing what she had to say. Are you okay?”

Buffy smiled into the phone. “Yeah, Dawn. I’m fine. I have Spike. That girl is thankfully a distant memory. My life is too full of love for me to ever go back.”

Dawn grinned. Things couldn’t get any better. Buffy and Spike were madly, madly in love. She was going to be an aunt. Willow and Tara were moving in together. Giles and Anya and Xander. And… The crib.

“I’ll let you go. See you tomorrow.” Oh shit, Dawn thought. The room won’t be ready. The surprise will be ruined. That wasn’t going to happen. No it wasn’t. Not on her watch. “Love you. Love Spike. Bye.” Dawn turned, shoving the phone back into a startled Giles’ hand, before she raced back up the stairs.

“Buffy?” Giles asked surprised.

”Giles?” Buffy asked perplexed. “What happened to Dawn?”

“She ran out of here like Satan was after her.”

“That’s ridiculous, Giles. Lucy is way to busy running the Corporation to come after someone like Dawn in person.” Anya helpfully told him. Buffy shook her head over the comment, but admitted, it was good to know such things.

Giles agreed. “That’s good to know, Anya.”

Anya smiled shyly and slid over to him, her hand seeking his.

“Well, Buffy, call us tomorrow. Bye.”

“Bye.” She said, confused and worried by the strange behavior of her family. I hope the house is still standing.

“What’s up, Buff? Everything alright in good ol’ Sunnydale?” Spike asked, a grin spreading across his face at Buffy’s eye roll at the phone.

Buffy shook herself, and put the phone back on the cradle. “We know some weird people. Did you know that?”

Spike lifted her in his arms, kissing her lightly on the nose. “Been telling you that for years, luv.” He laid her down on the bed, smiling down at her. Her hand as usual was around her stomach, the other played with his pants’ leg.

“You know this is the last night we’ll be alone? Well, for the most part.” Spike remarked, draping his body over hers. The bed springs creaked with his added weight but held firm. The bed wasn’t much bigger than his sepulchre, but it was clean. They’d slept on worse, but any place with Buffy in it was better than any place without her.

Buffy rolled her eyes at the implication of his statement. Didn’t matter where they were, Spike always wanted her. And she always wanted him. They were two of a kind. No one else was perfect for them, but each other. “With our luck, we won’t scare the gators with all the noise, they’ll think it’s some kind of mating call. They’ll be a hundred of them outside our door by morning. Do you really want to tempt fate, like that?”

“You betcha.” Spike said, cupping her breasts as he nibbled her ear.



Dawn bounded up the stairs, hoping the three would be working and not chatting, but the stars were not in her favor tonight.

“I see you’re all in the same positions I left you in earlier.” Dawn said dryly. “Well, news flash. Buffy and Spike are coming home tomorrow. We are going to have this room ready for them. So Tara and Willow separate. Tara finish the border. Willow help Xander with the crib. Giles and Anya!” She screamed from the top of the stairs. “Come up here and finish putting up the curtains. I’m going to finish the flowers on the dresser. Okay. Everyone has his or her orders. Now go to work!” She told them, clapping her hands together.

Giles held Anya in his arms, breathing in her perfume. “We’d better get upstairs before Dawn comes down here.”

“In a minute.” Anya said, stretching on her toes to kiss him. His hands squeezed her tiny waist, drawing her closer to his firm lips. She stuck her tongue tentatively out to trace his bottom lip. Looking up at him, with eyes shaded by desire, she said. “Now, we can go.”


Giles looked at the room with something akin to fear. Being a neat freak, the clutter of it had him breaking out in hives.

“Well, it seems we have a lot to do.” Giles said, looking around at the eyes trained on him. “Let’s get to it, people. They’re coming home tomorrow, and I’m sure you would like to have this done by then.”

“See, all we needed was a captain for this ship.” Xander said as Willow read the directions out loud.

“Yep, just call us the Titanic.” Dawn quipped.



Shackleford was ready to murder the entire Hemmings clan. “We lost a man!” He barked into the phone. His agitated tone had Travers’ arching his brow in surprise.

“Did the Slayer kill him?” Impossible. She didn’t kill humans.

“No, an alligator ate him. We barely made it out of there ourselves. That damn clan held us hostage. We lost the girl and the vamp.” He admitted. Shackleford slammed his hand repeatedly against the dashboard. Dewey looked over, concerned the airbag would go off, which might not be a bad thing after all. But then Shackleford would probably blame him for that too.

“Where do I send my condolences?”

“France.” Shackleford answered just as sarcastically. That brief exchange seemed to snap him out of his tirade, and Travers could sense Shackleford was returning to his usual bastard self. “The Slayer escaped by boat. We don’t know where they are staying tonight. We will find them in the morning.”

Dewey sped along the dusty road, his face blank save for the tick in his cheek. Death wasn’t anything new to him. He’d fought in many official and unofficial wars. But these things didn’t happen to people like him and Shackleford. He was a merc. He was ready to die by bullet, bomb, or blade, but a fucking reptile. To be taken out by an animal with a brain the size of a pea. No, that was wrong, and it didn’t bode well for the success of this mission.

“Head to Sunnydale. They‘ll be returning there as soon as possible, if I know Rupert. You‘ve missed your chance to discover what Jayme‘s relatives knew. Let them go home. Get settled, relaxed in their vigilance, then we’ll strike.”

Travers hung up, leaning back in his chair. He studied the pictures of Spike and Buffy at their wedding. Their smiling faces taunted him. He would have let the Slayer have her vampire lover as long as she fulfilled her duties, but this child. She was a different matter all together. Her power would not be contained, and she could possibly be swayed to the dark. He couldn’t afford to let her live, no matter how innocent she seemed.



“You certainly like to live dangerously.” Buffy gasped as Spike collapsed beside her.

“It’s all your fault... luv. If you weren’t so damn beautiful and sexy, I’d be able to stay away from you.” Spike kicked at the sheet entangled around his feet, and with a near-shout of victory, yanked it up to cover them. Buffy lay on her side, still trying to catch her breath, her arm and leg straddling his body.

“Don‘t want you to say away from me.”

Spike chuckled as Buffy‘s fingers played with his nipples. “Not a problem, Pet.” Spike lifted her wandering fingers to his lips, kissing the tips.

“Now go to sleep, I have plans for you in the morning.”

“I can’t sleep, Spike. You’ve got me all wired, and I want to play.” She purred, her eyelashes fluttering against her skin.

“How am I supposed to fall asleep?” She said, peppering kisses on his chest.

“I could read to you? Until you fell asleep.”

Buffy’s eyes glistened. “Another hormone attack?” Spike asked her gently. She shook her head.

“Are you going to read to our daughter?” She asked, her lip trembling.

“Yeah, Luv, I am.” Buffy could see them sitting in the moonlight, a book of fairytales in one hand, their precious little girl in the other. She was never more in love with him than when she thought of him with their child, their creation. She caressed his face, pouring all the love she felt into the gesture.

Spike accepted the gesture, feeling the force of her love burn a path straight to his heart. “Alright, you vixen. Now, sit back and relax.”

Buffy snuggled up next to him, her hand reaching out to steady the book, and also to make Spike more comfortable. Okay, so she wanted him to rub her back and hair, but she was being a considerate wife, nevertheless.


February 14th

It is Valentine’s Day. And don’t think the irony is lost on me. I am the vampire Slayer, and here I am flirting rather shamelessly with the enemy. But Henri makes me laugh, even when we’re trying to kill each other. I haven’t laughed in so long. It seems like another lifetime ago since I felt this free. Henri surprised me tonight. He brought me flowers. They were gorgeous wildflowers. I asked him who he killed to get them, and he laughed till he cried. I told him we shouldn’t be doing this. And he asked me why? I told him it was wrong, and of course, he had an answer for me. Always has to have the last word. So, he told me if it would make me feel better we could fight to the death. End it all now. Be rid of each other once and for all. It hurt my heart when he said it, and I ran as fast as I could from him. Stupid man. I should want him dead, but I don’t.


February 15th

There were 3 murders last night. Close to where I left Henri, and I cannot help but feel responsible for the deaths. I did not do my duty and people died. I cannot let this affair continue. Obsession is a better word for it. I look forward to seeing him each night. I eagerly await the fight, the battle, the opportunity to try and best him. Why is that? Why does a dead man make me feel so alive? Tonight, I tell him this has to end. We are enemies... Aren’t we?


February 15th

I have done something so awful and wonderful, and if it hadn’t been for those Fryal demons attacking us, it might have gone further. I confronted Henri, and for the first time since the first time we met, we fought. There was no talking, no laughing, no joking. We fought and became what we were all along. Slayer. Vampire. Till something snapped, a crackle in the air, in us, and we were fighting no longer. We were in each others’ arms, grasping and stroking with our mouths and tongues. I tasted my blood on his lips, felt the bruises rise on my flesh as he held me tightly. So close, yet so far. I yearned for him to claim me, and he heard my call. He sunk his teeth into the flesh of my neck, and the world went white, as pure and clear as a star bursting in the sky. I was not afraid. I did not fear for my life, for I knew somewhere deep in my soul. He would not hurt me. And he didn’t. He licked my wounds, then brought his mouth to mine in a kiss that bound me to him.

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