[A/N: Yeah, I know, I said this was coming to an end, depending on the cooperation of certain characters. Well, I’m not sure that cooperation is forthcoming. (Just why did Whedon have to fashion characters with a voice of their own?) Title and quotes are as attributed, and the disclaimers, as always are in full force and effect. Okay, so I know the quotes don’t exactly cover every emotion in this chapter, I’m focusing on two particular characters. When you read the chapter, hopefully, you’ll get it. I know I did. But them, I’m picking the quotes, right? Everyone say thanks to Tam a/k/a Spikeslovebite, without whom none of this is possible. Smoochies, mama. You are da best.]

Previously: The mop-up after the battle with the Initiative, and the removal of Spike’s chip. This picks up immediately following the last installment.

Book Three


Chapter Thirty-four. Nothing can make bitter into sweet

I think you have to pay for love with bitter tears.
Edith Piaf


It is so much more difficult to live with one's body than with one's soul.
One's body is so much more exacting:
what it won't have it won't have, and nothing can make bitter into sweet.
David Herbert Lawrence

In your white lace and your wedding bells
You look the picture of contented new wealth
But from the on-looking fool who believed your lies
I wish this grave would open up and swallow me alive

For the bitterest pill is hard to swallow
The love I gave hangs in sad coloured, mocking shadows

When the wheel of fortune broke, you fell to me
Out of grey skies to change my misery
The vacant spot, your beating heart took its place
But now I watch smoke leave my lips and fill an empty room

For the bitterest pill is hard to swallow
The love I gave hangs in sad coloured, mocking shadows
The bitterest pill is mine to take
If I took it for a hundred years, I couldn't feel any more ill
The bitterest pill is mine to take
If I took it for a hundred years, I couldn't feel any more ill

Now autumn's breeze blows summer's leaves through my life
Twisted and broken dawn, no days with sunlight
The dying spark, you left your mark on me
The promise of your kiss, but with someone else

For the bitterest pill is mine to swallow
The love I gave hangs in sad coloured, mocking shadows
The bitterest pill is mine to take
If I took it for a hundred years, I couldn't feel anymore ill!
Paul Weller, The Bitterest Pill (I ever had to swallow), The Jam, Snap! (1983)


Exhaustion was beginning to set in and the effects of all the emotional ups and downs of the last twenty-four hours was starting to wear on Buffy. She wanted to go upstairs, collapse on her bed and just sleep for hours. If not days.

She couldn’t though, because there were a dozen people still in her house and she had two babies needing her attention. Thankfully, at the moment they weren’t clamoring for it, though that could change on a dime.

Her biggest problem right now was to get all these people to leave. Oz was snoring lightly, his head resting on the back of the couch. Kait and Grace were making noises about leaving and hopefully they were taking Willow with them. Buffy had no idea where Dawn and Connor were, but Anya was in the kitchen, hiding from Xander who currently was in the living room. He was talking to Wesley and the other Watchers. Kennedy was around somewhere but at the moment Buffy didn’t care about her.

Only she, Giles, and Spike were in the dining room. The doctor had just wandered into the kitchen, searching for something other than whiskey to settle his nerves. Buffy dropped into the chair next to Spike, slumping forward, her head pillowed on her arms. Spike had rested his elbows on the table, cradling his head in his palms. Giles was sitting opposite them, his gaze settled on the blond duo.

Taking pity on them, Giles got to his feet. “You should get some rest. I’ll send everyone home.”

It was a measure of how tired they both were when his only response was a series of grunts.

Within moments, the noise level had dissipated, punctuated by the soft opening and closing of the front door.

“I’ve sent everyone off. Xander is going to stay with Oz.” Buffy barely acknowledged his announcement, but Spike swiveled to face him. “Wesley’s going to stay. Anya and I will be back later.”

“Thanks, Rupert. ‘Preciate it.” Spike pushed away from the table. “C’mon, love, let’s go on upstairs to bed.”

“Kay.” When she didn’t move, Spike nudged her gently.

“Kitten, you’re goin’ to have to get up an’ do this yourself. I can’t carry you.”

Giles stepped into the room. “I’ll get her. You head on up.”

“Cheers, mate.” Leaning heavily against the wall, Spike watched as Giles helped Buffy to her feet.

“You’re going to need your sleep, my dear. You best go on up now and get some while you can.”

Some muffled complaint emerged from Buffy, but she moved, getting slowly to her feet. At the doorway, where Spike was waiting, she leaned into him, whining softly. “Mmmm, I’m so tired.”

“I know, sweetheart.” He curled his arm around her shoulder. “Some kip ‘ll do us both.”

“Ahuh.” She turned to Giles, who was watching them both, bemused affection lighting his eyes. ‘Don’t call, Giles, even if the world is ending.”

A soft chuckle escaped the Watcher. “I think we’re safe for the rest of the day.”

Both blondes groaned. “You’ve just jinxed us, you know.”

The sound of knuckles hitting wood resounded in the dining room and in the hallway. “That should cover us.”


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


Tara hadn’t wanted Oz to go, which surprised her. She normally wasn’t the clinging type, though right now, she was feeling a bit shaky. Between all the stress and strain of the last few hours, coupled with the unexpected addition of Willow’s presence, Tara was off-balance.

It would be nice to just settle into her bed with the added security of Oz by her side. Funny how with Oz, the tables were turned. With Willow, Tara had been the grounded, practical one, while Willow was the flighty, free spirit. Perhaps it was because Oz was naturally grounded, his feet firmly planted. He allowed her to be weak, to be flighty, to be the dreamer, to be the one with wings.

Right now, though, as Tara slipped out of her clothes and into her oversized nightgown, she just wanted someone to cuddle up to.

Her bed was lonely and cold.

Dropping heavily onto the mattress, Tara flopped down, her head just barely hitting the pillow before her eyes were closed.



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



Anya held her tongue only long enough for the door to close behind them. “I can’t believe he came back.”

Giles didn’t need to ask whom, it was patently obvious who Anya was complaining about. There wasn’t much he could say, except, “He was rather helpful during the fight.”

A sarcastic snort greeted his statement. “How helpful was he? Did he trip over his own feet and knock out one of those soldiers?”

“Nothing quite so dramatic, dear.” He held the car door open for her. “He was in the way of a bullet and Spike saved his life.”

She was silent as he walked around the car, her eyes tracking his movements. “Really? Spike saved Xander’s life?”

Putting the car in gear, Giles nodded. “He did.”

Anya was quiet for a moment, then a suppressed giggle burbled from her. “I bet that sticks in his throat.”

A smile played about Rupert’s lips. “I’m quite sure it does.”

He outright laughed when Anya primly responded with one word. “Good.”



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



Willow was quiet on the walk home, while the two older women chatted softly. She hardly needed the escort since it was mid-morning by the time everything had been squared away and the women were ready to leave. Kait had checked on the babies just before, declaring them healthy and developmentally fine.

So here she was, walking home with the others trailing behind her, their voices no more than quiet buzzing in her ears.

For the first time since losing her powers, Willow felt like she had a purpose. While it wasn’t what she had become used to, at least it was something. It gave her some hope.

What didn’t offer any hope at all was how she’d been ignored by both Buffy and Tara. Neither one of the girls had spoken to her and Buffy hadn’t even looked at her. It hurt.

She knew they were both angry. She understood that. The damage – the way she’d hurt both of them – was almost too great to overcome. There wasn’t anything she could do to change it, though, because that would just cause even more hurt. What was done, was done.

How could she apologize when the wounds were deeper than any she could imagine?

There was no way. And it finally dawned on Willow that she’d caused all this pain.

It was all on her conscience.

And that was the bitterest pill of all.



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



Nicholson held the door for Travers and Ian Darrow as the two men followed him into the suite. The doctor was still stunned by the revelations about his patient and he was listening intently as Travers elaborated on the explanation Giles had given him.

The questions he’d posed had, so far, been intelligent, well-thought, and insightful. They were also probing and putting Travers more and more on the spot.

More than once during their conversation, Nicholson had been forced to suppress a grin. Though the old man was in his element, expounding on what the Council was, their objective and the whole reason for a Slayer; it was obvious the doctor wasn’t cowed by his gravitas.

As he closed the door behind them, Nicholson abruptly realized what Travers was doing. The old man is recruiting.

Darrow was a perfect candidate. Unmarried, no children, no extensive family ties, a highly-skilled and qualified physician, who didn’t happen to be squeamish or flinch in the face of the new and strange. Eyeing the doctor with dispassion, Nicholson gauged how fit he was. Judging his age to be about late thirties to early forties, Nicholson could see why Travers would think the man might prove a decent candidate. A hair below Nicholson’s six foot one, and the bare beginnings of a less active lifestyle starting to show, Darrow was a more than decent prospect. He was obviously smart, skilled, and adaptable, qualities the Council always looked for.

He caught the look on Travers’ face, realizing the chairman was waiting for his assessment. When he nodded, Travers smiled thinly.

“Come, doctor, I’m sure you’re in need of a hot shower and some rest. Shall we meet again,” Travers checked his pocket watch, “Say about half two?”

It was clear Darrow was going to decline until a wide, jaw-cracking yawn stretched his mouth. “Oh dear, pardon me.” Registering the offer only at face value, Darrow agreed. “Very well, sir. I’ll see you both then.”

His room door was barely closed behind him when Travers handed Nicholson a glass of whiskey. “An interesting evening, don’t you agree?”

“Rather, sir.” Nicholson lifted the tumbler to his lips. “Was this really the right course of action, sir?”

“Bit late to be re-thinking things, Robert.” Travers sipped his scotch slowly. “This is the path your actions put us on. Why question it now?”

It was the opening Nicholson wanted. “True, but why did you follow it? It’s hardly your style.”

“Ah, but Robert, you forget. This Council has been mired in tradition for centuries, moving forward only when outside elements force radical change.” Travers settled onto one of the chairs, facing his protégé. “When I joined the Council following the Second World War, I was determined to change nearly everything.” A rueful sigh shook him. “Unfortunately, the old guard in charge wouldn’t allow it.”

“Really, I’d no idea.” Nicholson dropped into the chair opposite.

The warm smile Travers directed at him undermined his harsh words. “Yes, well, Council history was never your strong suit.”

Nicholson could feel the embarrassment bloom on his face. He couldn’t deny the observation – he hadn’t paid all that much attention during those particular lectures. At the time, he’d thought them more than boring, they were utterly stultifying to his twenty-something brain.

About to respond, he was interrupted when Travers continued, “That is neither here nor there. The truth is, I must either adapt or relinquish control of the Council to younger, less tempered men.” He paused, closely watching for Nicholson’s reaction. “And that is something I’m not quite prepared for yet.”

Robert was tempted to respond, but some inner instinct had him merely nodding in understanding. He had a lot to think about, knowing Travers was onto all the scheming and subterfuge within the ranks.



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



After the witches had gone, Dawn and Connor switched babies, each holding their respective, younger counterpart. Connor was intently staring at the boy, his eyes riveted on the tiny features.
“What are you looking at?” They were facing each other on the bed and Dawn had been watching Connor instead of the baby in her arms.

“Who do you think he looks like? I think she looks more like Buffy.” Connor shifted so they were sitting side by side, his gaze roving from one baby to the other.

“Not sure. It’s kinda hard to tell, coz they’re so small.” Dawn shrugged, cooing when the infant pair blinked up at them. “Her eyes are so blue!”

“No, they’re green.” Connor prodded the baby, making her open her eyes again. “See, they’re just like Buffy’s.”

Dawn laid the baby girl down on the bed and she protested a little, screwing up her mouth, preparing to cry. Her eyes popped open and both teens jumped a little.

“Whoa! Did you see that?”

“See what?” Spike’s tired voice sounded from the doorway, startling them.

“Gah! Don’t do that!” Dawn jumped off the bed, hands on her hips. “You need a bell.”

“Not so loud, Dawnie, I’m really pooped.” Buffy grumbled from behind Spike, sounding equally exhausted.

“Yeah, you look like hell.” Lifting the baby up, Dawn stepped away from the bed. “You should lie down.”

“That’s why we’re here.”

Somehow sensing their mother’s proximity, the two previously quiescent infants started mewling and whining. Stumbling tiredly toward the bed, Buffy gestured for one of the babies. “Give me one and try to keep the other calm.”

“What are you gonna do?” Connor got up from the bed, reluctantly handing the boy over to Spike.

“They have to nurse. And Kait seems to think the best thing for them is me.” Buffy pointed to the burping cloth on the changing table, trying to get herself and the baby settled. “She thinks that’s one of the reasons why you were always so hungry.”

“What?” Confusion colored both teens voices as they spoke in tandem.

“Superhuman babies needed superhuman food, or some such.” Spike paced back and forth, holding the infant on his shoulder. The baby quieted, nuzzling against his father’s neck.

Understanding came swiftly to Dawn. “Huh. I guess that makes sense.”

“Only time will tell.” Buffy eased the baby under the cloth, peeking to make sure she aligned the tiny mouth with her nipple.

“I was hungry?” Connor voiced the question stuck in his head.

“Always.” Dawn sighed. “Dude, it felt like all we did was feed you every hour.”

Her comment embarrassed him, which angered Connor a little. “Wasn’t really my fault,” he retorted. He shrugged, moving toward the door. “Sorry.”

Spike stepped in front of him, blocking his way. “Wasn’t like that, pup.” He shot a dark look at the other teen. “All babies are like that. Nothin’ but appetites, is what they are.”

“Oh.” The defensive stance deflated and Connor’s shoulders drooped a little.

Buffy laughed, then quipped, “Dawnie made up for it, because she’s still constantly eating.”

“Haha. Funny.” Dawn started to flounce away, but Buffy called her back.

“Can you take her? She’s asleep but she needs changing.” Handing her up to Dawn, Buffy gestured Spike over. “Thanks, Dawnie.”

Luckily for all of them, once fed the twins stayed asleep, even through the diaper changes. Buffy was asleep before Dawn laid the baby boy down and she and Connor slipped quietly from the room, hoping not to disturb any of them.

It wasn’t until the teens were out in the hallway that Dawn realized – “How stupid are we?”

“What?” Connor looked at her like she was insane. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“We forgot to ask their names!”

They stared at each other for a few seconds, then broke into barely suppressed laughter.



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



Walking the familiar route between Buffy’s house and the Magic Box, Riley found his thoughts drifting to the past. Countless times he’d traveled this way during his first time in Sunnydale. When their original orders to move operations here were given, Riley hadn’t understood why. Understanding dawned, though, when he’d been on location for less than a week. Sunnydale was a hot spot for hostile activity – the hot spot – even better than Quantico was. He’d quickly grown to love the town.

Once he’d met Buffy, he could see himself in Sunnydale for good. While it wasn’t a big town, there was more than enough going on to satisfy someone like him. The fact it was his girlfriend’s hometown only made it better.

Yet somehow it had all gone wrong.

Buffy didn’t turn out to be quite the perfect fit he’d thought she was. Slowly but surely, everything around him unraveled, became unglued. Too much changed too quickly and he wasn’t able to keep up. Within a few months, he’d gone from Maggie Walsh’s – and the Initiative’s – fair-haired boy to being an outcast and fugitive.

Eventually, it got so bad that nothing made sense but the military. His relationship with Buffy fell apart completely, his career seemed almost irretrievable. And then his health failed. All those drugs and supplements Walsh had pumped into him damaged his heart and it all crashed. Buffy’s lack of support during that time just highlighted how empty their relationship had become.

That emptiness had driven him to seek validation elsewhere. It probably wasn’t the smartest thing in the world to look for what he craved with vampires, but Riley laid the blame for that particular kink right at Buffy’s feet. The startling information that his girlfriend had slept with a vampire had severely impacted his self-esteem. Part of the Initiative’s testing was vampire stamina, reaction to stimuli; which invariably led to sex. Riley had seen how vampires responded to sexual stimuli and he’d been shocked.

He’d always felt threatened because of Buffy’s strength and skill. Her abilities wounded his pride and sense of self-worth. Those things had taken another beating with the discovery of her past. Watching the increasing sexual tension between his girlfriend and Hostile Seventeen only made matters worse. There were times he could almost see the passion between them.

In order to preserve what little sense of self he had left, Riley felt he had no other option but to leave. There was only a twinge of guilt when he’d issued that last ultimatum to Buffy, but at the time, he’d believed it was justified. Buffy’s response hadn’t really disappointed him. He’d expected her to react exactly as she had.

So he’d gone, attempting to put Sunnydale and his disastrous relationship with Buffy behind him. Weaning himself off vampire floozies wasn’t easy, but his buddies – especially Graham – were there for him. He’d thrown himself back into the Initiative in an effort to prove himself all over again. In that process he’d become more zealous, become the best Initiative officer; began believing wholeheartedly in the mission.

Never expecting to set foot in Sunnydale again, Riley had begun the long, slow path to restoring his psyche. Xander’s letter opened a score of barely healed over wounds, but it was Buffy’s request that truly had him bleeding again. Seeing her in person wasn’t at all the way he’d imagined.

She’d moved on.

Unfortunately, she’d moved on with Hostile Seventeen. Worse, she was happy. Happy and – unbelievably so – heavily pregnant.

Initially revenge hadn’t been on his mind.

But the hurt and anger and disgust swirled together in his gut, forming a hard core of hate and Riley hadn’t bothered to tamper it.

Compassion, understanding, and acceptance all burned away in the face of his anger and disdain. Spike didn’t deserve Buffy, or anything else.

That disgusting thing had stepped into Riley’s place, taken the life he – Riley Finn – deserved. This was the life he should have been living with Buffy.

Anger had drive him to the decision to remove the abominations Buffy was carrying.

It was disgusting.

Whatever it was in her belly had to go, and Spike had to die.

It was that simple.

Riley didn’t know how they’d beaten him and his men, but this couldn’t be the end. He had to think of some way to survive this, had to escape.

Because this wasn’t the end.

He was going to get away.

And Spike was going to suffer.


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



She didn’t feel the blanket being pulled up over her shoulder. Didn’t feel the mattress shift beneath another body.

Never felt the body lay down beside her. Nor did she feel the kiss that was brushed on her shoulder, or the arm that slid around her waist.

She didn’t feel any of that, but somehow, through the exhaustion and deep sleep, Tara knew she wasn’t alone anymore, so she settled further into the arms holding her and slept easier.

Oz pulled her close, satisfied with his decision to return.









This is coming to an end -- and I know I posted it up there in my other notes, but I really do mean it. I'm not tired of the genre, not really, but I'm not able to write as much as I'd like to -- what with the new job and all, so I've had to cut down on how many WIPs I work on. So I think, this is going to be the last in the Originsverse. I hope you've all enjoyed it as much as I have. It's been a really great ride.