[A/N: Okay, so I apologize for the delay from hell, but I swear I’m working on everything. Right now, though I can’t seem to concentrate on more than one story at a time, so that’s what I’m going to do. Just focus on the one thing that’s calling the muse. Otherwise I’m just going to end up severely annoying said muse. My thanks, as always, go out to my wonderful beta, Spikeslovebite, the irreplaceable Tam. I so could not do this without her. Title (which is actually a paraphrase, but you’ll see where I got it from) and quotes are as attributed. I own nothing, but I’m working on the house.]

Previously: Quentin Travers has acquiesced to Anya’s bargaining and there’s been a deal struck between the Council and the new Scoobies. Riley, though, seems to have gone off the deep end. . . And Buffy’s in heavy labor. This picks up immediately after the last installment.

Book Three

Chapter Twenty-three: The long wait for angels

For he who can wait, everything comes in time.
François Rabelais, Panurge, Pleiade edition

Miracles occur,
if you care to call those spasmodic
Tricks of radiance miracles. The wait’s begun again,
The long wait for the angel,
For that rare, random descent.
Sylvia Plath), Black Rook in Rainy Weather

When you see a rattlesnake poised to strike,
you do not wait until he has struck to crush him.
Franklin D. Roosevelt





A soft knock on the door broke into his musings, and Spike slid into his jeans before answering it. Grace was standing in the doorway, a tray of supplies in hand. She smiled at him and started to speak, but a hand held to his mouth shushed her immediately. In a whisper, she asked, “Is she sleeping?”

“Appears to be.” He glanced over his shoulder, then turned back to the witch. “Not rightly sure why that is.”

“It’s her body’s way of gearing up for the stress ahead of it.” Grace moved around him, putting the tray on the dresser. “She won’t sleep long.”

Even as Grace was speaking, Buffy started stirring. Her legs curled up and a low groan of pain sounded in her throat. “How far apart are those pains?”

“Every couple of minutes. No more than two, I’d guess.” Spike grabbed a tee-shirt, slipping it over his head. He flinched when she slapped a pair of sweats into his chest.

“Change. Those jeans aren’t gonna be comfortable in a little while and you might as well lose the shirt.”

“Why?” He tugged it over his head, hanging it on the chair.

“Two reasons. It’s gonna get all nasty and,” Grace sighed as she stared at him unabashedly. “You are too fine for clothes.”

It took him a minute, but when he did grasp what she’d said, Spike leered at the witch, laughing when she sighed dramatically. “Thought you were one for the Sapphic view.”

A loud snort was his answer. “Not this girl. I prefer outdoor plumbing.”

His laughter was loud and only interrupted by Buffy’s long whine of pain. “This is not fun. Can this be over?”

Spike was at her side in an instant, helping her to a semi-sitting position. “Doesn’t sound like much fun, sweets. But you’ll make it through.”

Grace was suddenly all business. She handed Spike an oversized tee-shirt, obviously one of her own, saying, “Help her get into this.” Once Buffy was covered, Grace sat on the edge of the bed. “I need to take a look and see how close you are. So just lay on the bed and spread ‘em.”

Buffy’s eyes went wide and she glanced between the two. “What?”

“You knew this was gonna happen, sweetie. I need to take a peak.” The older woman smiled, tapping her hand on Buffy’s leg. “Can’t do this without looking.”

With more reluctance than was warranted, Buffy sighed loudly, then laid down on the bed. Spike moved aside, but Buffy’s hand reached for his and he dropped to kneel on the floor beside her. “At least it’s not everyone takin’ a peak.”

Startled greenish eyes widened and Buffy gulped a bit. “Everyone?”

Her hands busy positioning Buffy so she could get a clear grasp of how far along the labor was and how soon they could begin working on her breathing, Grace answered distractedly. “In a hospital setting, everyone looks. Doctors, nurses, interns, and sometimes if you’re lucky a midwife. If you aren’t lucky, sometimes the janitor gets a peek.”

“Oh, no way. I’m so glad we opted for this.” Buffy glanced over at Spike, a slight grimace on her face.

“Would’ve been a bit more difficult for Spike, you know.” Grace stated. “He’d’ve had a helluva time hiding, and hospitals aren’t as forgiving when their doctors and nurses get drained.” She looked up at Buffy. “Relax, sweetie, this’ll only take a minute.”

Grace ducked down, her hands probing gently but firmly. Buffy squeezed Spike’s hand as a new pain gripped her innards. Within moments, Grace was moving back. “Well, want the good news?”

“Sure.” Both blondes spoke at once.

“You’re fully dilated and ready to go. So whenever you feel like pushing, you can go ahead and do that.” She slapped Buffy on the calf, grinning madly.

“What’s the bad news?” Spike was the one to ask, because Buffy was still struggling through the pain.

Grace stood up, reaching for a towel. “Buffy’s got to watch the strength. This could go a lot faster than we think, and we have to remember that those little babies aren’t as strong as their mother. At least not yet. So push but don’t push with all your strength, okay?”

Buffy gritted her teeth. “Right. I’m sure I can do that.” Her tone and the slightly wild look in her eyes belied that agreement. “I’ll just hold back.”

“We could still go to the hospital and get you some drugs.” Grace focused on the two of them, waiting for their decision.

“No. No drugs. No hospital.” Buffy was emphatic, leaving no doubt in anyone’s mind what she wanted. “Wanna do this here.”


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


The rooms weren’t up to his usual standards, but Quentin Travers realized that Sunnydale was not known for its appreciation for fine details and the standards of English aristocratic amenities. All in all, the hotel – going by the inappropriate name of The Sunnydale Arms – wasn’t quite as bad as he’d imagined. Though it certainly wasn’t The Savoy.

Quentin had dismissed Spencer the instant their lift doors had opened. He wanted no eavesdropping for what he was about to instruct Nicholson. While he trusted that – for the moment at least – there were no hidden motives behind the quest to have the behavioral modification chip removed from William’s head, he wanted to be certain there would be no reprisals.

And he also wanted to update the Defence Minister.

The military presence, albeit a small squad, did not sit well with him at all. He’d expected that the orders to stand down would have been delivered. The conversation he’d had with the Minister had been – he checked his watch – almost four hours previously. Either the squad in Sunnydale was incommunicado, or they were ignoring the orders. Travers would lay odds that it was the latter.

Since that was the case, he wanted his wetworks teams, the New York and London operatives, in place before the military was prepared to strike. He, along with Giles and Wyndam-Pryce were all agreement about the need to protect the infants. There wasn’t a doubt in Travers mind that any number of organizations would want to secure them. Daywalkers, or more properly dhamphyrs, were a rarity. Those born to Slayers were even more . . . They were prizes, priceless on the demon markets, their blood powerful and if something were to happen to either of the infants, or their mother, the history books would be filled with the rampage of William the Bloody.

The Scourge of Europe would no longer be the bedtime story to scare the newer Watchers.

“Nicholson.” Quentin motioned him over to the window. “Make sure that surgeon is on his way. And after you’ve done that, get the Defence Minister on the phone.”

“Again, sir?” There was a hint of questioning in the Scottish voice.

“Yes.”

When it was clear that was all he was going to say, Nicholson reached for his cell phone. “Is there anything else, sir?”

A deep sigh broke from the older man, and he suddenly looked every day of his age. “Find out how soon Miss Summers is going to be delivering those babies.”

“Right.” Nicholson turned his attention to the phone, only to pause when Travers spoke again.

“Give the order for the teams to go out. Surveillance only, for now. They are only to engage if the Americans do.”

“Yes, sir.”

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


Willow knew she was being followed.

Twice now, when she’d ducked into different shops along Main Street, the same man had stopped, doubled back, retracing his steps. It was a dead-give-away. He didn’t have the look of a vampire, but there were lots of other demons able to pass for human. She didn’t, for a minute, fool herself into believing he was one of the good guys. He looked too. . . He just didn’t look like a good guy.

Hiding behind the counter at Finyl Vinyl, Willow watched the dark haired male double back again. The girl behind the counter, sporting pink dreadlocks and numerous piercings, interrupted Willow’s inner mumblings. “You wanna slip out the back?”

Startled into a yelp, the redhead jerked and turned around. “What? Huh?”

“Looks like you’re trying to avoid tall, dark and stalker.” The girl pointed a heavily hennaed finger toward the back of the store. “Go through the incense, at the end of the reggae section, then head towards the left. Back door is just past the bathrooms.”

Willow goggled at her for a minute, stammering out a much garbled, “thanks,” then fled.

She had to warn someone – anyone. But Willow wasn’t sure if any of the others would even talk to her.

And the only safe place she could think of was the one place in all the world she wasn’t wanted. Or welcome.

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


“There is jack shit going on out here. Only ones stupid enough to be out are the brand new baby vamps.” Faith tossed a stake end over end, sighing deeply. “Why are we out here?”

“Because someone has to provide a diversion.” Wesley was beginning to question the wisdom of their earlier decision.

“Yeah, coz there’s a real need for one of those.” Faith turned around, walking backwards.

Before she could continue, Oz interrupted. “Maybe we should circle closer to Buffy’s. Keep an eye on the homefront.”

Faith gazed expectantly at Wesley, knowing his was really the deciding vote. If it were up to her, she would’ve called it a bust an hour before. Wesley glanced down at his watch, nodding his head. “Agreed. The danger is much closer to home. Perhaps we should do a reconnaissance sweep of the blocks adjacent to Revello.

“Cool.” Faith headed to her left, with Oz right behind her.


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


Giles was just locking the door when the phone began ringing. He weighed ignoring it, but when the answering machine kicked in and Nicholson’s voice filled the shop, he changed his mind. Throwing an apologetic look in Anya’s direction, he reached for the phone.

“Rupert here.” His expression darkened almost immediately, and he motioned Anya to stay silent. “Thank you.”

With a sigh, he pulled her close. “Travers believes Finn is ignoring orders. The Defence Minister has already contacted the American Chief of Staff and been assured that the Initiative squad was ordered to stand down and retreat.”

“What does that mean?” Anya’s chocolate brown eyes flashed with dark fire.

“I believe that means he’s operating outside acceptable military channels.” Giles grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the door. “We really must get to Buffy’s.”


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



Old Mrs. Khan watched the dark vehicle idling in front of her house, peering surreptitiously through the curtains in her second floor bedroom. The nondescript SUV had pulled up almost an hour before and since that time, no one had gotten out, nor had anyone from the block approached it. She’d been feeding the baby koi in the front yard pond when the black vehicle arrived and she’d been spying on it ever since. Mrs. Khan had lived her whole life, at least since her family had been freed from the Internment Camps after World War II, in Sunnydale and she’d never pretended the town was normal. Two of her children had married Brachens, something her old-fashioned husband never forgot, while another one had married a Jewish lawyer from New York and moved away. She was never sure which was the bigger sin in her husband’s eyes, but at least the first two had stayed in town.

Right now, she was on the phone with her son, Nick; who was in turn, on the phone with his brother in law. Every detail she gave them was being broadcast through the underground network Spike and Lawson had set up, via the friendly-demons.

Halfway across town, listening to George’s end of the conversation with Nick Khan, Lawson was marshaling the remaining friendly demons. They were spread thin, what with some of them guarding the hellmouth, some trailing after the Initiative soldiers and still others following the Council operatives, there were few to spare. On the upside, reports corroborating Mrs. Khan’s indicated that the vehicle belonged to the military. Whether Initiative or not, was still unclear.

Either way, someone was going to have to keep an eye on it. Someone other than eighty-six year old Mrs. Khan.

As he was trying to find someone to keep an eye on the vehicle, Lawson’s phone rang. Hoping it was someone volunteering to swing by Mrs. Khan’s, he barked without a greeting, “I need you to cover something that’s just come up.”

“Really? What’s that?” Faith practically purred into the phone, her words ending in a husky laugh as she listened to Lawson back-track and splutter. “Dude, chill. What’s just come up?”

“Unidentified vehicle on Hibiscus. Informant says you can’t miss it.” Sam breathed a deep sigh, listening as Faith conferred with Wesley and Oz.

It didn’t take more than a moment, when she was back on the line, intoning, “We’re heading over there. See what’s what.”

“Great.” He hesitated, adding, “Thanks.”

“No worries. We’re on it.” Faith clicked off, allowing Lawson to reassure, through George and Nick, Mrs. Khan that someone was on the way.



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


“All units, give your twenty.”

One by one they reported in, all except Watkins. “Deployed and ready.”

“Affirmative. Move on my mark.”

“Sir!” The radio crackled to life again before Riley could give the order to move on Buffy’s house. “Subject approaching target premises at rapid pace!”

“Identify.”

“Redhaired female. Subject matches description of Rosenberg.”

“Stand down. Do not apprehend. Target could be dangerous.”

“Affirmative.”


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


Tara was just heading for the second floor when someone started frantically pounding at the front door. “I’m coming. Hold on.”

She flung the door open, not prepared to find Willow on the other side. Tara flushed, stammering out a hesitant greeting. “Willow – what. . . Hi.”

“Tara.” Willow gaped at her for a few moments, eyes bulging and lungs gasping for air. “Um. Hi.”

The two former lovers stared at each other for a long while. For once, it was obvious Tara was the more composed. Willow was flushed and panting from her sprint to the house, while Tara, fresh from the shower, was the picture of nonchalance.

“Hey, Willow.” The blond blocked the door, only opening it just enough to slip through, keeping Willow outside. “What’s up?”

Willow stammered out nonsense for a bit, growing more agitated, until finally, her hands flapping wildly and face bright red, Tara took pity on her. Tara’s right hand clasped Willow’s bringing the other girl to a standstill.

“Breathe, Willow.” A slight smile curved Tara’s lips. “Okay. What’s got you so upset?”

She was proud of herself – able to keep her own emotions under control – while Willow visibly fell apart. “Riley. And . . . and Warren. He’s back and now Warren’s missing and I tried to tell Wesley about it, but he . . . “

Just as Willow was about to get going again, Tara motioned her to silence. “We know about Riley. He was at the Magic Box earlier.”

That deflated the redhead considerably. “Oh.” Willow’s shoulders drooped and, although it appeared to dishearten her, she calmed somewhat. “Well that’s good. That you know.”

“Yeah.” The sound of heavy footsteps pounding down the stairs distracted Tara for a brief second, so she missed Willow’s mood change.

“Okay. Well. I should go then.” She paused, hoping expectantly that Tara might try to persuade her to stay, but Tara didn’t. Sudden tears filled Willow’s eyes and she felt like her heart was breaking all over again. “I’ll just, you know, go.”

Tara’s attention focused on her former lover. “Willow?”

When all the other girl did was pause, Tara extended an olive branch. “Maybe, after the babies are born, it’ll be okay to stop by.”

She nearly laughed when Willow whirled around, confusion and expectation warring with hope on her features. “Really?”

Then, when the full import of what Tara said hit her, she gulped. “Babies? As in more than one? When? Huh??”

“Sometime today, I’m guessing. And yeah, more than one.” The blond smiled, opening the door as Dawn’s voice calling her name finally reached her. “I gotta go. I’ll. . . I’ll call you, okay?”

She left a still stunned and spluttering Willow on the porch.

Willow stared at the front door, reeling from the last few minutes. She hadn’t expected Tara to be the one answering the door. Maybe Dawn or Spike, but not Tara. She hadn’t been prepared, hadn’t been ready. All the feelings she had for Tara resurfaced, leaving her bereft when Tara closed the door in her face. Willow sagged against the post, defeat written in her posture.

A throat clearing off to her left startled her and Willow jumped.

“Hi.”

“Who are you?”

“I’m Kennedy. The new Slayer.”

Willow gaped at her, unable to process the girl’s statement. “Who?”

“I’m the new Slayer. I just got Called.” Kennedy took a step forward, almost crowding Willow. “Who are you?”

“Oh. Sorry. I’m Willow. . . A friend of Buffy’s. Well, I sorta, kinda . . . yeah. Tara was. . . um. . . she was my girlfriend.” Willow knew she was babbling, making absolutely no sense, but she couldn’t help herself. She’d been flustered and off-balance all day, since she discovered Warren was missing.

Kennedy was smiling, finding the insane babbling more than a little adorable. “Wanna try that again?”

Blowing out a breath, Willow tried calming herself. “Sorry, I’ve been rattled all day.” At Kennedy’s questioning look, Willow offered more. “It’s a really long story.”

The darker girl shrugged. “No big deal. I’m not really welcome around here and I’ve got nothing else to do.”

“Oh. How come. . . You know, I get what you mean.” Willow stared out into the early evening, understanding why Kennedy wasn’t comfortable. But Willow was caught in a dilemma, obviously they wanted Kennedy close by, and she knew they didn’t want her around. “How come you’re out here?”

“The vampire told me to stay out here.” Her contempt wasn’t hard to hear, it was clear in the disdain dripping from her tone. “Told me I needed to stay alert in case something happened.”

Understanding finally dawned. Tara said babies! That means. . . “Buffy’s in labor?”

“Yeah.” There it was again, the clear disapproval. Willow didn’t comment, instead pulled the younger girl around the side of the house.

“We can stay in the backyard.” The former witch had her own reasons for wanting to stick close, the least of which was another attempt to draw Tara out, hopefully even just a glimpse of her. At least Kennedy’s a Slayer. She probably wouldn’t let anything happen, right? Willow led the other girl to the backyard, plopping down on one of the chairs while Kennedy did the same.

“So how did you get Called?”

Never happy unless she was the center of attention, Kennedy willingly launched into a biased version of the last few days of her life.









Okay, so the next chapter of this will absolutely be up one week from today. I promise. It's all ready to go, I'm just searching for the right quotes. So no more torture. Thanks to everyone who's still reading, your thoughts, reviews and support really mean an awful lot to me.