[A/N: I’m working toward a resolution (hah! Pun intended) with this and hoping to tie up all the loose ends shortly. *Rechecks her chapters* Ah, yeah, well, that could mean we’ve got another twenty or so chapters to go with this. . . Since you know how wordy I can be although I prefer the term thorough. Anyway, this is chugging along nicely, and I’ve gotten a fair amount written in the last couple of days. Ah, some stuff in this chapter might have a high squick factor, so if you’re squeamish, I apologize in advance. Title and quotes belong to someone other than me, and the disclaimers mean the short redheaded guy owns it all. *Wonders what would happen if I bought the short guy on E-bay* ]

Previously: Xander’s come back to Sunnydale because of Cordelia’s vision; Travers is gearing up the teams; Nicholson has made contact with the surgeon; Buffy’s had both babies, one of each, and Riley’s given the order to take the babies. This picks up immediately following the last chapter.

Book Three

Chapter Twenty-Six Shadows of Evil

We sometimes feel the shadows have got hold of us,
the shadows of evil.
But still, it’s up to us to fight.
Dan Totheroh and Stephen Vincent Benet, The Devil and Daniel Webster,

The awful shadow of some unseen Power
Floats, tho’ unseen, amongst us.
Percy Bysshe Shelley, Hymn to Intellectual Beauty

Fascism is not defined by the number of its victims, but by the way it kills them.
Jean-Paul Sartre, “On the Execution of Julius and Ethel Rosenberg,”

I'm afraid, based on my own experience,
that fascism will come to America in the name of national security.
Jim Garrison

I can taste more than feel
This burning inside is so real
I can almost lay my hands upon
The warm glow that lingers on
Moved, lifted higher
Moved, my soul's on fire
Moved, by a higher love
I surrender all control
To the desire that consumes me whole
And leads me by the hand to infinity
That lies in wait at the heart of me
Moved, lifted higher
Moved, my soul's on fire
Moved, by a higher love
Heaven bound on the wings of love
There's so much that you can rise above
Moved, lifted higher
Moved, moved, by a higher love
By a higher love
I surrender heart and soul
Sacrificed to a higher goal
Moved, moved by a higher love
By a higher love
Depeche Mode, Higher Love, from Songs of Faith and Devotion, 1993 (written by Martin Gore)



Both babies were washed, dried, and diapered. They were now sleeping together in Connor’s old crib. Each one wrapped in an appropriate colored blanket, thoughtfully provided by the two visiting witches.

Buffy was still trying to expel the afterbirth, and judging by her grunted complaints, all was going well. Tara dried off her hands, watching from the bathroom door. Hesitating for a moment, she waited until Buffy panted between pains before asking quietly, “Do you mind if I let everyone know you’re all okay and about the babies?”

Spike shook his head. “No, tha’s all right, Glinda. Imagine they’re dyin’ to know. Might as well tell ‘em.”

“Okay. I need to change anyway.” A wry frown crossed her lips when she glanced down at herself. The smell finally hit her and she blanched. “Yeah. I really need to change.”

“Go on, pet. We’ll be fine.” He focused on Buffy then, tightening his hold on her. “Easy now, kitten, ‘m not made of steel.”

Tara giggled at Buffy’s disgruntled expression, then eased from the room. Once in the hallway, she leaned her head against the wall, inhaling deeply. She didn’t realize how hot and close it had been inside the bedroom until she’d left. Sweat pooled between her breasts and her head was swimming.

Relieved exhaustion flooded her muscles and her belly clenched. I can’t believe how hard that was . . . and Buffy’s the Slayer. Tara’s eyes drifted closed. Oh Goddess! I hope it goes easier for me!

A shaky laugh escaped her, and Tara finally started to head for the stairs. I wonder what everyone’s going to think? They got lucky. . . One of each.

Tara started down the stairs.


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While they waited for the elevator, Ian took stock of his companions. The first two were as he remembered, nondescript features: one dark-haired, the other a bit lighter, both with a lean and competent look. Obviously field operatives, since he’d spotted tell-tale shoulder holsters on them.

The newcomer, though, was a bit different. He wasn’t armed – at least not that Ian could tell, nor was he unremarkable. He was strikingly handsome, with bright blue eyes and sandy blond hair, and unlike the others he sported a goatee and mustache tinted heavily with ginger. His looks, though, weren’t all that set him apart. His Scottish burr and demeanor did more. This man was quite obviously in charge.

He flipped open his phone, hitting one number. Before the elevator arrived, he was speaking rapidly into the phone, using – of all things – Latin. Ian was only able to identify the language because of his background. Medical terminology used enough Latin for him to recognize the sounds, if not the words. Sudden suspicion clouded his mind. Would British Intelligence agents be speaking Latin?

Ian wasn’t sure.

The elevator doors opened and the other two held the door while the Scot hesitated.

“Bloody. . . Right.” The Scot shoved his phone into his pocket. “We have a problem.”

“Sir?” Dark brunet queried.

“Our opponents have initiated movement. I’m sorry doctor, but this may take a bit longer than anticipated.”

Before Ian could respond, the cell crackled to life. “My manners are horrible, forgive me. I’m Nicholson.’

“Ian Darrow.” They clasped hands and Ian noticed right off how strong Nicholson’s grip was.

“Our time table’s all shot to hell.” He directed his comments to their still nameless companions. “The gaffer wants us to hold back until all’s clear. We may need to intervene.”

Neither man spoke, though both nodded in understanding. Directing his next comment to Ian, Nicholson continued, “Your patient may run into a spot of interference. However, I’m to bring you along.” Turning his attention once more to his ringing phone, he added, “You’ll need to be briefed.”

His initial suspicion that it was British Intelligence seemed to be confirmed. Strangely comforted by that fact, Ian relaxed.

There wasn’t much else he could do otherwise.



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



Oz smelled the gas fumes seconds before the engine smoothly clicked into motion. His quiet warning, “They’re moving,” almost wasn’t necessary, because Faith stiffened at nearly the same instant.

“Shit. Better call the house.” Faith crabbed forward, poised to run.

She never had the chance, because no sooner had she finished speaking, when the engine roared into gear and the truck slid away from the curb. Wesley had flipped open his phone, momentarily fumbling with it. He juggled it awkwardly, grimly nodding his thanks to Faith, who caught it before it hit the ground.

Moments later, he was back on the phone with Giles, issuing a warning. “They’re on the move. We’re just behind them.”

Not wasting time on further conversation, Wesley clicked off, then followed after the other two. Oz was already half a block ahead, Faith about midway between them. Realizing her reluctance to leave him alone, Wesley waved her on. “I’ll alert Lawson and the Council. You go on ahead.”

When she hesitated, Wesley got more insistent. “Faith, I’ll slow you down. You have to get there first.” He made a shooing gesture, urging her, “Go!”

Faith didn’t wait to be told a third time. She backtracked, then took off running through Mrs. Khan’s yard heading straight for Revello Drive. The Initiative still had to follow streets, she was on foot. Wesley watched her go, punching in numbers rapidly.


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



The phone and doorbell sounded simultaneously, causing a dilemma until Connor opened the door before Dawn could, though she was right behind him. Giles reached for the phone.

Connor’s rather belligerent, “What the hell do you want?” was very nearly drowned out by Giles’ uncharacteristically loud expletive –

“Oh, fuck!”

Realizing all eyes were upon him, Giles held up his hand, forestalling all comments until he hung up, just seconds later.

“The Initiative is on the move.”

His announcement far overshadowed Xander’s completely unexpected presence.

“That was Wesley.”

Before he could elaborate, the phone rang again, and Dawn reached around Connor to pull Xander inside. “Hello, Xander. Why are you here?”

“Cordy had a vision, said I needed to come. To help Buffy.” He took a quick glance around, freezing when he spotted Anya hovering in the hallway.

“Well this is awkward.”

Dawn looked around helplessly, completely nonplused. Connor shrugged, his attention drawn to the agitated and hushed conversation Giles was having, leaving Dawn on her own with the others. She nearly jumped out of her skin when a hand touched her shoulder, then breathed a sigh of relief when Tara’s voice broke the charged silence.

“Close the door, please, Xander.”

He absently swung it closed, his eyes still on Anya. A slight smile crossed his features when she made a funny face, though his heart was breaking. “What’s going on?”

“We’ve got a bit of a crisis.” Giles clicked on his cell phone, punching in a series of numbers. “The Initiative is . . . well, Riley’s come back and brought a. . . Oh, dear.”

“How about somebody fill me in?” Xander pointedly looked away from Giles, hoping Tara’s answer might be a bit clearer.

And it was. Quickly, Tara gave him a rundown of the past few days, leaving out the most relevant information – the babies. She was saving that news for when she had everyone’s attention.

“Tara?” Dawn interrupted, motioning her head toward the stairs.

Unable to keep her bright smile to herself, the blond broke into a wide grin. “We should wait until Giles is off the phone.”

Anya slipped behind Tara and tiptoed up the stairs, fleeing from a confrontation with Xander. She didn’t want to see him, let alone speak with him, and the very last thing she wanted was to be left guarding someone with Xander as back up.

While Anya was heading upstairs, Dawn was pestering Giles to get off the phone. Instead he held it to his ear, motioning Tara to explain.

“Everyone’s healthy, Buffy’s labor was pretty easy and well, it’s a boy and a girl.”

Dawn’s happy squeal had Xander and Giles covering their ears, but Connor just tapped her between the shoulders, effectively cutting her volume in half.

“One of each! So cool! Which one was first?” Rapid fire questions spewed from Dawn’s mouth, not giving Tara any time to answer.

“Labor?” It was Xander’s question she focused on, knowing she was going to have to explain everything. “Boy? Girl? What’s going on?”

“Well, they’re a little early, but since they’re twins, it’s okay.” Tara moved to sit down on the couch, Xander following her.

“How? Who?” He straightened, his eyes boring into hers. “Oh. . . Spike? But vamps. . . they can’t!”

Connor’s ironic laughter echoed in the sudden quiet. “Dad said you were dense, but I didn’t believe him.”

“Dad? Who are you?” The former Scooby jumped to his feet, squaring off against Connor.

Rolling her eyes, Dawn grabbed Xander and forced him back onto the couch. “That’s Connor.”

“No way. Connor’s just a baby.”

“Yeah, well, not so much. Willow’s spell sent him away and he came back older.”

“Holy crap! So he’s Angel’s kid?” Xander stared, his eyes focused on Connor, but not really looking at him. “And Buffy’s . . . “

Xander’s voice trailed off and Dawn shared a concerned look with Connor. She sat down beside him, her hand on his forearm.

“So why did Cordy want me to come here?”

“You said she had a vision.” Giles finally put away his phone, concentrating on Xander’s questions. “My guess is the vision had some insight into our current situation.”

“Which is?”

“Not quite dire.”

When Giles hesitated, Dawn jumped right in. “Buffy contacted the Initiative so they could come take out the chip.”

Judging by his expression, Dawn could tell Xander wasn’t entirely happy with that news, but she quickly forestalled his negativity. “It’s their decision, Xander and it’s gotta come out. What’s happening right now is proof enough.”

“Because Riley’s here?”

“It’s not just Riley.” Giles picked up the explanation. “They want to take the infants and, most likely, experiment on them. We cannot allow that, Xander.”

It took Xander less than a minute to make up his mind, and when he did, it was exactly as Cordelia had predicted.

“Well, we can’t let that happen.”


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



It was getting to him.

His hands were shaking. He could feel her trembling in his arms, her muscles taut and bunching from hours of stress. Strands of her hair clung to both of them, plastered against their skin by her sweat. Spike’s legs were cramped and sore, feeling like leaden weights beneath him.

The air was heavy, pressing down, rich with the scent of Buffy’s blood mixed with the sweet tang of mother’s milk. Each scent played on his nerves, pulling at them, leading toward one direction. Spike fought the draw, fought to keep his own raging hormones under control. He wanted to put his fangs deep, re-affirming their bond, touching her the deepest way he knew. Wanted to be buried deep inside, feeling every inch of her, surround himself in her warmth.

A low growl pealed through his chest, causing ripples of reaction to roll through Buffy’s exhausted body. She whined softly in response, the sound high in her throat. The iron grip he’d been exerting abruptly snapped. His low, rolling growl morphed into something stronger, becoming deep and more guttural. Grace looked up from her position between Buffy’s legs, unsurprised to see Spike in game face, fangs scraping over Buffy’s neck and shoulder. She clamped down on her own fear, though she quickened her movements. Sneaking a glance over her shoulder, Grace managed to get Kait’s attention silently urging her to leave the room.

Spike’s hands flexed around Buffy’s waist, twitching from his suppressed energy. The air around him fairly crackled. Deciding she could wait to finish cleaning up Buffy, Grace got to her feet.

He could hear their hearts’ reactions, the beats speeding up in response to the increased flow of adrenaline, but Spike was beyond caring. He needed to mark his woman, needed to reaffirm their bond, to acknowledge the enormity of what had just transpired. His eyes snared Grace’s, flashing amber and gold, though he only growled softly – mostly in content – as she edged toward the door.

His sex was hard and heavy, pulsing with borrowed blood, responding elementally to Buffy’s state. Blood and fluids coated her inner thighs, clung to the short hairs covering her womb. By tiny increments, one hand crept over her skin as Spike’s better angels warred with his base need.

From somewhere outside himself, Spike watched his inner battle, unable to stop his own actions. Buffy’s head leaned back, falling naturally into the hollow of his shoulder, a soft sigh escaping her lips. She blinked twice sleepily, when his right hand cupped her breast, this time allowing another, deeper sigh to run through her. Tracing his tongue over her steadily throbbing pulse, Spike finally gave into his desires.

His fingers dipped into her, sliding through the sticky fluids covering her. She was plump, swollen from her earlier exertions, the skin soft and tender. Buffy flinched, mewling a bit in protest. His need abated somewhat, mollified by her pliancy. Spike rumbled into her shoulder, dropping open-mouthed kisses on every inch. Soft whispered words were spoken into her ear, and it took Buffy long minutes to grasp what Spike was saying, and even longer for her to react.

Her voice was equally soft, the hand she brushed over his face gentle, but her words were laced with iron. “I love you more than I’ve ever loved any other man. But if you don’t keep your hands to yourself, I’m gonna hurt you.”

Spike cupped her sex almost protectively, his voice deep in his throat. “Oh, kitten, need to touch you. Can’t help myself.”

“You so aren’t getting any closer than this, not for a while, buster.” She flinched again, shying away from his touch. “Spike, I’m serious.”

“So am I, sweets. Wanna taste you, to feel you all soft an’ swollen. . . “ He nipped her earlobe, then ran his fangs over her skin.

“Spike,” she whimpered at him, pushing his hand away. “Don’t.” She sniffled, fighting tears. “Please.”

It wasn’t really her words, or the please that made him rethink his wants, but the tone of her voice. A sigh shook him and Spike reluctantly slid his fingers from her body. “All right, love. It’ll kill me, but I’ll be good.”

Spike let his legs give out and they both dropped to the floor. “Gimme a minute, pet, an’ we’ll get into the shower.”


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



Silence had lapsed between the two girls and Willow was desperately searching for a way to keep Kennedy talking, and herself at the house. Why she wanted to stay, Willow couldn’t begin to guess. It was obvious none of them wanted her around. Tara barely spoke to her; hardly even looked at her. She could admit – at least to herself – that all the fault for the rift was hers. She’d been the one out of control, unable to face the enormity and reality of what she’d done. All that power and talent had gone to her head, so much so that her morals had been corrupted. In the last few months since her powers had been stripped, Willow had been forced to reexamine her actions. What she’d discovered about herself hadn’t been pretty.

Willow had been forced to self-realization and she hadn’t liked what she’d seen. For the last couple of weeks, Willow had wanted to talk to her old friends – to Buffy and Xander – and apologize. But mostly she needed to see Tara, to make amends for. . . To just see her.

Kennedy turned to say something, but Willow’s attention was caught by the sudden appearance of Faith, who burst into the backyard at a full run.

“Move it.”

“What’s going on?”

“The G.I.s are on the move. Get inside and get armed.” When Kennedy hesitated, Faith paused, then walked toward them. “If they catch you outside, they’ll roll right through you.”

“Aren’t they the good guys?” Kennedy got to her feet, facing off against Faith.

The older Slayer stared her down, knowing there was no time to argue with the newer Slayer. Instead, Faith just turned her back, flinging over her shoulder, “Do what you like. They aren’t here to protect or save anyone.”

Willow bit her lip, torn with confusion. She glanced over at Kennedy and made her decision. “Faith! Wait!”

She hit the deck just steps behind Faith and with a last look at Kennedy, she slipped inside the house.


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



Encountering the two witches in the hallway, Anya wasted no time breaking the bad news. “We have a problem.”

“What kind of problem?” Grace dried her hands on the towel Kait handed her, eyes on the former demon.

“I don’t know if anyone’s told you about Buffy’s ex-boyfriend showing up and being in charge of his demon hunting Army buddies, but he’s back.”

Kait stared at her partner. “The Initiative?”

“You know them?” Anya shifted nervously, having no other outlet for her pent-up, nervous energy.

The two witches shared an emotional look. “We had to. . . We lost some friends to their experiments.” Kait covered Grace’s trembling hands, her own voice scarcely above a harsh whisper.

Anya calmed a little, somehow reassured now that the witches might be of some assistance. “Rupert might want to speak with you both.”

Another look passed between the two and Kait nodded to an unspoken comment from the taller woman. “You stay with them. I’ll talk to Giles.”

Grace closed her eyes in gratitude. “Okay. That’s fine. I’ll let Spike know.”


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



“Location in sight. Perimeters are secure.”

“Confirm location of targets.” Riley’s voice was devoid of any emotion; no one would ever guess one of the targets had been his first love.

“Hostile Seventeen is still on the second floor.” There was a break in communication for a moment, then the disembodied voice broadcast over the airwaves. “Target one is with the Hostile. Unknown A and B are also in proximity.”

“Acknowledged. Move on my signal.”







I hope all that celebrated Thanksgiving had a good, happy day, and to those that don't -- I hope you had a lovely day just because.