Origins:Revelations
by Niamh

Book Two, Chapter 15. A Hard Days Night.


O that a man might know
the end of this day’s business ere it comes!
Julius Caesar, act v, sc. i

This day I breathed first – time is come round,
and where I did begin, there shall I end.
My life is run his compass
Julius Caesar, act v, sc. iii



Spike was sitting up in bed, his injured right arm propped up on a pillow, Buffy on the bed next to him, their heads close together, voices low and muted. She’d left the door open partially, but Wesley knocked anyway, pushing it open further when Buffy responded, then stepped aside to allow Tara entry.

“Oxford.” Spike looked up at his fellow Englishman, noting the bloodshot eyes and fatigue. “Glinda. Where’s the wolf?”

“Went home to get some sleep,” was Tara’s soft spoken answer.

“How are you feeling?” Wesley took catalog of the visible injuries. This did not bode well. But it was encouraging that he was up and talking.

“Been better.”

Tara came round to the far side of the bed, looking closely at his swollen face. Smiling at Buffy, she glanced at Spike, asking, “May I?”

Cocking his head to the side, the vampire looked at the witch. “Gonna work some good mojo?”

Shaking her head yes, Tara motioned for him to lean forward into her hands. Muttering a soft incantation, Tara’s hands warmed considerably, the heat passing into Spike’s skin. The bruises around his eyes faded to yellow and those on his chest lightened considerably. Taking a step back, she smiled again. “I’ll do it again in the morning.”

Spike smiled in response, gratitude evident despite the pain.

Motioning her to the chair, Wesley leaned against the crib, remarking, “You sure this is the best place for the baby? You need your rest.”

“Should be up an’ around this time tomorrow. Won’t be completely healed, but I’ll be on m’feet.” The blond pair on the bed studiously avoided looking at each other and both were surprised by Wesley’s next words.

“So I can assume Buffy’s blood is helping greatly then?”

Two pairs of glittering eyes stared at him, but Wesley was already gesturing at them. “Relax. I meant no censure. It was merely a statement of facts. You had to have some thing more potent than regular human blood. Given your relationship, to find otherwise would have been more of a surprise.”

Spike’s low growl sounded in the room, prompting Wesley to once more apologize. “I’m very sorry. Watcher training is sometimes hard to overcome.”

Laying a hand on Spike’s arm, Buffy said, “It’s still kind of private for us. Not everyone would be so practical or so non-judgy.”

And that was a nice way of saying that most of her friends wouldn’t approve if they knew.

“Right then. I’m sure this isn’t why you wanted us up here. My guess is Angelus?”

“Yeah. Last time he got all stalker-guy. Got into my room. Left creepy hand-drawn pictures of me sleeping and lots of other stuff, dead flowers, he killed Willow’s fish…” Buffy ran through the list of his actions in her head. ‘Things kept getting scarier and scarier and he tried to kidnap Mom. But then he killed Jenny and, well, this part wasn’t real but we all remember it that way– he took Dawn, but Spike brought her back before he could get to her.”

“He was busy tendin’ to Rupert. Was savin’ the bit for after.” Spike waited for a minute, then continued, “Point is, he’s not comin’ the way I would. He’s gonna try an’ pick us off one at a time.”

Wesley interrupted, “Any idea which of us might be first on his list?”

Reaching over to clasp Buffy’s hand, Spike thought for a moment. “No way of knowin’. What’s more important, we need to decide about restorin’ the soul.” He knew he didn’t care one way or the other, save that dusting Angelus left him as the head of the Aurelius line, Spike knew it mattered to Buffy and possibly Angel’s crew.

Picking at some imaginary lint on her jeans, Tara added, “I don’t have the spell, Willow does. I could ask her, but I’m not sure she’d give it to me. We might have to find it ourselves.”

“It’s too early to call Giles, to see if he can get anything out of the library that might be helpful.” Wesley double checked his watch, mentally calculating the time difference. “But he’ll be up in a couple of hours, I’ll call him before I retire for the night.”

“What about minions?” Buffy asked but Spike was shaking his head.

“Doubt it. He did it last time an’ all he got was trouble from them. He’s too long away from runnin’ a nest for it. It’d be easier to do what he’s already done.”

“What’s that?” Wesley had his hands stuffed into his jeans pockets, trying hard to keep his eyes open. He was suddenly exhausted.

Spike sighed, reluctance a clear emotion. “Used the Sire’s bond, an’ seein’ how he’s the head of the blood line, we all felt it.”

That woke him up. “So you’re telling us that Sunnydale is about to be over-run with Aurelian vampires? And you aren’t fit to fight?”

“Easy Oxford. Nearest Aurelian is me, an’ I’m not answerin’ any call Peaches sends out. Now or ever. ‘Side from me, Dru was in Brazil, Penn’s dead, and there’s a few others, but it’ll take time before anyone gets here. Don’t imagine that we’re gonna have to worry ‘bout the others before, well, at least a week.”

Tara gripped the chair arms. “So we have a little than a week before Angel starts. What about the Huntsman?”

Blowing out a breath, Buffy said, “With any kind of luck, he’ll get what he’s here for and leave.”

Wesley shared a look with Spike. “That’s one of the things Rupert’s gone to London for, to find information about the Huntsman. Hopefully his research will support my theory.”

“What’s that?”

“That the Huntsman won’t leave until the traitor is judged.”

“The traitor?” An unbidden image of Willow flashed in Buffy’s brain and unknowingly it also surfaced in other’s heads.

“Once the traitor begins to…the process of betrayal, the Huntsman usually appears, and when the final act of betrayal is complete, traditionally that’s when the Huntsman strikes. The hounds retrieve the traitor, and they go before Gwyn ap Nudd for judgment.

“So your theory is that the Huntsman is here to actually do some good? What about all those dead girls?” Buffy’s voice held a bit of disbelief, but it was clearly more of a procedure than real.

“That, I believe, was in response, in payment for releasing you from heaven.”


~*~*~


Cordelia was more than halfway to San Francisco when she abruptly changed her mind about her destination. Checking her rearview mirror, she made a quick u-turn and headed back toward Los Angeles. If she was going to hide out and be inconspicuous, she was going to do it in a warmer spot than northern California. San Diego was good. Tijuana might be better.

Either way, she was guaranteed more sunlight than San Francisco would provide and right now, sunlight was her new best friend. Glancing down at the gas gauge, Cordy figured she’d stop for the night at the next exit. There was no way anyone would find her there.


~*~*~


The kitchen was empty when they finally headed inside, dirty dishes piled in the sink and food warming on the stove. Dawn could hear the low murmur of voices in the living room, but she couldn’t tell who was in there.

Grabbing a plate, she motioned for Casey to get one, then started piling spaghetti on her plate. She was really hungry and the events of the last twenty-four hours and the emotional roller-coaster were beginning to tell on her. She was tired. Really tired.

They had just sat down at the counter when Anya strode into the kitchen. The baby was mewling loudly, his I’m-hungry-feed-me-now cry piercing the silence. “I don’t know what to do for him. He just started crying.”

Before Dawn could answer, footsteps pounded on the stairs and Buffy’s rapid words were countered by Tara’s slower drawl. “So, that worked well didn’t it? Way better than one of those baby intercom thingies.”

“Well, I forgot I had it in place. But yeah.” And Tara’s proud smile lit up the room. “It’s pretty cool. It was only on an emergency basis though. Should wear off sometime tomorrow.

“Hey. How’s the hungry boy?” Tara smiled at Anya, motioning for the baby, which the ex-demon reluctantly relinquished, despite his wails of hunger.

Anya watched Buffy and Tara, one holding the baby and the other getting his bottle ready and uncaring of the two teens in the room, burst into tears. Grabbing the sponge, Anya did what she always did when she was upset, she cleaned.

Unsure of how to approach her, but knowing somehow that Anya needed to talk and figuring that she desperately needed a friend, Buffy motioned the two teens inside. “Anya?” The slayer stood at her side, while Tara stuck her pinky in the baby’s mouth, trying to calm him a little while they waited for his bottle to heat.

“I just don’t understand how come it’s not okay to talk about things when other people are around? How come? Is it wrong? Am I thinking incorrectly?” She wiped away a tear, leaving a streak of foamy bubbles across her face. “And why would that make him angry enough to do that?”

Neither of the other two had an answer, but at this moment Anya wasn’t really looking for one. “Babies are cute and warm and fuzzy and cuddly and holding them is wonderful and sometimes they smell so sweet and what is there not to like?”

Tara grabbed the bottle from the pot, testing it against her wrist, then stuck the nipple into Connor’s mouth, which gave her enough time to come up with a reply. “I think men don’t feel the way we do about babies – or at least some women do.”

“I’m not even sure I want to marry that man right now. He asked me, you know.” She blew out a breath, disturbing an errant curl that was drooping across one eye. “He even got me a ring, but I just don’t know.”

Buffy finally found her voice. “Xander asked you to marry him?” She paused, thinking hard. “When? How come you didn’t say anything?”

Anya huffed again, blowing out another breath hard enough to disturb the mound of soap suds in the sink. “He asked me the night we,” she paused, avoiding Buffy’s suddenly earnest gaze. ‘The night we fought Glory.”

“Oh.” Buffy’s face fell a bit, but she recovered quickly. “Still, this is happy news, right?”

Anya’s voice dropped to a near whisper. “I don’t know anymore. I’m just not sure.”


~*~*~


The clarion of alarm echoed in their room, startling them all. Spike’s ‘what the bloody hell?’ was drowned out only by Buffy’s unintelligent yowl.

Tara waved a hand and the noise stopped. Sheepishly, she apologized. “Sorry. I did that last night for the baby. It’s supposed to sound when he’s in a different room from me and crying. He’s probably hungry.”

Buffy got up from the bed, saying, “Well let’s go get him,” and turning back to Spike, “You want more blood now?”

Thinking to himself for a minute, realizing the more he drank now, even regular stuff, the quicker he’d heal, Spike said, “Yeah, please, kitten.”

“Back in a bit.”

The girls were out the door and halfway down the stairs, voices trailing behind them before either Brit realized it.

“I would have thought Buffy had no interest in children.” Wesley’s dry observation pulled Spike’s attention away from contemplating his blanket and his thoughts.

“Tha’s an infant. Bit different from children. Babies; all females go crazy over ‘em.” Spike’s assessment was nearly as dry as Wesley’s had been.

Wesley shifted, taking the chair Tara had just vacated. He was rather reluctant to broach this subject, but he’d come to think that he and Spike had something of a friendship and he felt compelled to discuss some things with him. But he really didn’t want to disturb his recovery.

Spike, for his part, was watching Wesley; waiting for him to spill whatever it was that had him looking so sour. He was about to prod him a bit when Wesley broke his silence.

“I owe you an apology, Spike.”

A furrowed brow, oddly reminiscent of Spike’s vampiric guise met his words. “How so?”

“Bringing Angel’s son here. It was wrong of me, I shouldn’t have.”

His further comments were cut off when Spike interrupted him. “What’re you on about? Couldn’t rightly go elsewhere could you?”

He gaped at the blond for a second, then recovered. “Bringing the child of Buffy’s former boyfriend isn’t exactly good form.”

A rather inelegant snort sounded in the air. “You git.” He softened the insult with a laugh. “Thinking wrongly on that one. ‘S not a problem. But thanks for the apology. ‘S not many that would.”

Before Wesley could get on that subject, Spike continued, “’Sides, where else were you thinkin’ of goin’? You know a whole lot of people with enough knowledge of Peaches to keep the sprog safe?”

Gazing at the other man and completely surprising himself in the process as well, Spike said, “Did the right thing, Oxford. Can’t have Angelus killin’ his own flesh an’ blood. Killin’ demons is different, vamps are different – that sprog’s a bloody miracle. Shouldn’t die because his da is wrong in the head.”

Staring at him and trying to process what Spike had just said, Wesley was forced to a realization that both Buffy and Giles had already had to acknowledge. William the Bloody was far from the average vampire.

His mouth was open and the words flowing out in an uncharacteristic moment, long before he could take them back. “That’s not the chip, is it? That’s…you don’t think Angel would come after the boy?”

“‘S not what I said.” He stretched his legs for a moment, testing the healing. “He’ll come after the boy. He’ll come after all of us. ‘M probably first or second on his list, tied up with the slayer. Jus’ dunno which of us he’s gonna come for first.”

Wesley steepled his fingers, thinking deeply. “You have ideas who else will be a target?”

“You. The sprog. Niblet. An’ then there’s the extras, ones he’s not lookin’ for specifically, but wouldn’t mind takin’ jus’ to worry the rest of us, make us scramble tryin’ to rescue whoever it was.”

‘Add Cordelia to that list. And probably Fred.” At Spike’s quizzical look, Wesley explained, “Winifred Burkle, we rescued her from Pylea when Cordelia got trapped there. She’s been with us ever since.”

“Didn’t know the cheerleader was that important to him.” Spike shifted on the bed, his muscles jumping and flexing from the healing and his arm was itching badly again. Obviously the morphine was wearing off. Might need more if he was going to try and sleep tonight. He was tired and nearly every inch of him hurt. Tara’s touch had helped some and he thought the swelling was down, but the dull ache in his head was back, his right arm was actually jumping, the muscles were anyway, his back ached and his chest was itchier than all hell and his legs kept cramping on him. This was a bitch. The side effect of rapid healing was the internal violence with which it occurred. There was no bloody way he was going to get through the next twelve hours without nearly all the morphine.

“Oxford, have Buffy bring up the morphine, would you?”

Wesley studied him for a moment, noting the drawn and exhausted look, the grey tinge to Spike’s normal pallor and the lines of fatigue bracketing around his mouth, realizing what he was seeing.

“Right. I’ll send her up and get everyone else settled. As you said, this can wait a bit. Besides, Angelus can’t get in here, so we are safe for the moment.”

Spike closed his eyes, clenching his teeth against the pain blossoming in his head after Wesley left the room.


~*~*~


He passed the State Highway patrol officer doing eighty-five just before the Sunnydale exit. For half a mile, he ignored the lights and sirens, but he finally stopped at the off-ramp. Wasn’t like he cared much, but he really didn’t want a passing motorist calling in a complaint about a dead CHP officer on the side of the road. Because that would mean he’d have to ditch the Viper. And he really liked this car.

Angel waited until the cop leaned down to ask for his license and registration and then struck with cobra swiftness. His fangs were in the cop’s neck before he finished speaking and the taste of anger and authority was so delicious, he was drained and dumped in short order.

He rolled into Sunnydale just after nine, according to the Viper’s clock, time enough to establish his presence, let people know he was here.

Angel grinned, slowly driving through the streets of this sleepy little town. Sleepy. Hah. Pulling into the driveway of the old mansion on Crawford Street, Angel grinned once more. He really did like this place. Liked its proximity to – well – the Hellmouth, and the Slayer and…well, everything.

Whistling tonelessly, Angel sauntered to the doorway.

Oh, yeah, it was good to be home.

Grinning broadly, almost laughing in anticipation, Angel crossed over the threshold and howled with pleasure.



Okay, unlike that last chapter, this one I actually liked, but that means probably no one else will. In any case, if you like it or hate it, please let me know. Coz, I'm really not sure.


[A/N: Sometimes inspiration won’t come at all which makes trying to write frustrating beyond belief. I’ve been going through something of a dry spell coupled with lots of residual pain from my dislocated shoulder (which makes typing problematic). Perhaps I just need to watch certain episodes of the show all over again and get aggravated with the writing and dangling plot threads...yeah, and chalk it up as research. Anyway, I’m struggling a bit here, so any thoughts (kind hopefully) you can send my way would be greatly appreciated. The title is from Phil Collins from the album Face Value and the quotes are as attributed. Disclaimers in full force and effect. I own nothing but the plot and a few minor original characters.]

Previously: Spike is recovery not nearly fast enough to please Buffy and everyone else is waiting to see what happens. Angelus has arrived in Sunnydale.



Book Two. Chapter 16. Coming In The Air Tonight.


I’ve seen your face before my friend
but I don’t know if you know who I am
well, I was there and I saw what you did
I saw it with my own two eyes
so you can wipe off that grin,
I know where you’ve been
its all been a pack of lies.
Phil Collins, In the Air Tonight


It hadn’t taken very long for everyone to settle down once those not living at Revello Drive departed. Dawn was the first one to go to bed, aside from Spike, who’d never left his, since she was practically asleep on her feet by the time Casey left with Xander and Anya. The conversation had been guarded around the teen, but he knew something was wrong, since Xander insisted on driving him home, even though his house was in the opposite direction from their apartment.

Dawn was followed rapidly by Tara, who first got bottles ready for middle of the night feedings and brought the baby upstairs, settling him in Buffy and Spike’s room. Wesley had tried staying up, guarding the house, but by eleven o’clock, he was sitting on the couch, fast asleep. The first time Buffy had to go downstairs to get a bottle for the baby, she’d tried waking him up, but when he didn’t budge, so she just took a throw blanket and covered him.

Everyone was out cold when she woke the second time, the house still and silent. She could hear various snoring sounds coming from Dawn’s room on her way down the stairs and it brought a smile to her face. She didn’t blame Dawn for any of what had happened, because, really, none of it was her fault. She laid the blame squarely on the shoulders of all those nameless, faceless monks that had conspired in some way to bring all of this about. If not for them and Glory, she wouldn’t have had to jump. But she also wouldn’t have Dawn. It was kind of a tough call there. She wouldn’t trade her sister for anything and really if she had to do it all over again, she probably would have done it…well, no, might not have done everything the same. Would’ve trusted Spike a little bit more. Might not have reacted so bitchily if she knew then…and so would have dumped Riley sooner.

Buffy giggled a little bit, the sound strangely muffled in the quiet house, listening to Wesley shift and mutter in his uncomfortable sleep. This was her favorite time of night, when everyone else was asleep and the night’s patrol was over. Glancing at the clock, she realized it was close to three and it was about the time she and Spike had been getting back home after patrol lately. He’d roused a little bit when the baby woke up crying, though still groggy from the effects of an entire bag of morphine, and Buffy figured she’d warm him up some blood and make him drink while she fed the baby.

She was standing in the kitchen, watching the microwave heat up Spike’s blood and keeping an eye on the bottle on the stove, when the first tingles of awareness shot through her spine. Her back stiffened, the hackles on her neck rising, but she gave no outward indication that she was able to sense anything different. Buffy was certain he couldn’t get in the house, since the disinvite had been done earlier and she was also fairly certain that even if he somehow managed to get an invite, he couldn’t do any violence. It didn’t help her nerves though. She was the only one awake, and the only one strong enough to take him on.

The microwave pinged, drawing her attention, and in that moment, she had something of a plan forming in the back of her mind. She grabbed both the mug and bottle, wandering sleepily back into the living room. Checking the big picture window, Buffy didn’t see anything, but the feeling didn’t dissipate any. Mug and bottle got placed very carefully on the table next to Wesley’s sleeping form, as she leaned over close to his ear. “Wesley. Wake up. We have company.”

He didn’t stir the first time, but when she whispered in his ear the second time, Wesley slowly opened his eyes, whispered just as softly back, “He can’t get in the house.”

“I know that. I think he’s circling the house trying to figure out how many of us are here.”

“You aren’t thinking of going out there are you?’ When she didn’t answer, he grabbed her wrist, holding on as forcefully as he could. “Buffy, you can’t. It’s not safe.”

“No, I know that, Wes. I just want to see if I can figure out what he’s doing.” There was the creak of a floorboard from behind them, and they both whirled around, but it was just Tara, silently making her way toward them.

“He’s outside. Just got here,” was what she said by way of greeting. At Buffy’s questioning look, she explained, “Sort of like what I did with the baby, only geared for him. Lets me know when he’s nearby. It just woke me up.”

“How come we didn’t hear anything?” Buffy had grabbed the taller girl’s hand, pulling her down to crouch beside them.

“For me only, remember?” Tara’s hair fell in front of her face and she brushed it aside. “So now what do we do?”

“Can you pinpoint where he is from the alarm?” She felt rather than saw Tara’s response of no. Buffy kept her eyes on the front window, while Tara focused on the back door. Motioning Wesley with her hand, Buffy got down on her knees, skittering to the front door. A low growl sounded from the second floor and all three of them scrambled for the stairs. Running full out now, Buffy crouched low before entering her bedroom, wary of what might greet her on arrival. She was not prepared for what she saw.

Standing on wavering feet, Spike was in game face, the baby cradled in his injured right arm, a cocked crossbow in his left. The bow was aimed at the window. She was aware of Wesley behind her. Tara was still racing up the steps. Cautiously she inched around the doorway, still crouched low to the ground. Careful to stay out of the line of fire, Buffy edged closer to Spike. Once inside the room, Buffy could see what had gotten Spike up and out of bed, not that she needed visual confirmation. Angel was standing outside their window with a wide, leering grin on his features.

Her breathing sounded very loud in her own ears and she could clearly hear the sounds of the two breathing deeply behind her. Spike’s voice was just a rumble in the air, his ‘stay down’ unnecessary, but it managed to calm her. Okay. First thing…get the baby.

She was about to open her mouth to tell Spike she was coming to get the baby, when Tara’s softly hissed ‘Spike’ got their attention.

Without waiting to worry about whether they were listening or not, Tara continued to whisper. “Just get the quilt off the bed, Buffy, and be ready to cover Spike.”

Only Spike questioned the instruction, Buffy already moving away from the wall toward their bed. “What are you plannin’?”

“When I say so, just drop down, okay?” He had no idea what the hell she was thinking, but it damn well better be good.

“Buffy?”

“Yeah. Got it.”

“Okay.” She paused, whispering something in Wesley’s ear and then, “Go!”

Wesley walked boldly into the bedroom, drawing Angel’s attention away from Spike, and Tara stood behind Wesley, muttering an incantation. While Spike collapsed to his knees and Buffy swirled the quilt over him and the baby, a bright, blinding light filled the bedroom.

Angel howled in anger, his hands coming up to shield his eyes, and he stepped back away from the light, falling off the small piece of roof outside the window.

There was complete quiet in the room, then, “Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Spike? Spike? Are you okay? Oh, my God. Grab the baby.”

Tara dropped to her knees, speaking the words to end the incantation, then moving quickly to get Connor and Spike out from under the quilt. Wesley double checked the window, making sure it was locked and secured, then as he stepped away, he said to Buffy, “I’m going to make sure everything is secure in the rest of the house.”

Before either of the girls could respond, he was making his way methodically through the house, starting with Buffy’s bathroom.

Spike had passed out, still holding the squirming infant against his side. Tears were filling Buffy’s eyes and she passed the baby to Tara, trying to re-arrange Spike’s sprawled limbs until they were aligned straight enough for her to lift him back into the bed. The baby continued to cry and Buffy finally remembered what had woken her up. “I left his bottle downstairs, and blood for Spike.”

“I’ll get them both. Is he okay?” Tara was on her feet, preparing to head downstairs when Buffy hauled Spike up in her arms.

“Oof! He’s heavy.” Dropping him on the mattress, Buffy grabbed hold of his good arm and pulled him toward the head of the bed. “Yeah, just too much for him, I guess.”

Tara nodded heading out of the room. Encountering Wesley in the hallway, he accompanied her down to the first floor. By unspoken agreement, they retrieved the bottle and mug and headed right back up the stairs to Buffy and Spike’s room.


~*~*~


So that’s where they were. Wesley had acted quicker than he expected. How very smart of the ex-watcher- running to the Slayer for protection. And wasn’t that a nice surprise.

What he didn’t like at all was the witch. He hadn’t been prepared for that occurring, using a bright sunlight spell to temporarily incapacitate him.

The traitor.

His signature was all over the house, on the grounds surrounding it. His anger with Drusilla’s whelp had grown the second he neared the Slayer’s house, which had prompted his foray onto the roof. He was there in bed, in her bed, where the infant was…he’d watched while Spike had gingerly gotten up, nearly laughing in glee when Spike realized who was standing casually on the roof, staring at the window.

That look on his face had been worth the trip to Sunnydale, and oh, how the not-so-mighty have fallen. Angel had always known the bastard was weak, his reaction just now proving it. Little Spike was afraid for his humans…

And he should be.

Oh, yeah, he should be.


~*~*~


“Obviously we need better wards around the house or a better warning system.” Spike swam toward consciousness to the sounds of Wesley’s voice. “Do you think you can adapt that spell further to alert us if Angelus enters the property?”

His comments had to be directed at the witch, because he heard four heartbeats in the room and one he’d recognize if he was dust. “I can try. I’m not sure how much energy it would require and I’m really not sure about my ability to keep it going.” Tara’s voice was low and filled with self-doubt.

“Can we find an alternate power source, like maybe electricity or something?” Buffy’s voice sounded close to his ear and Spike realized his head was in her lap and it was her fingers that were brushing back and forth across his face. He couldn’t stop the groan from emerging from his mouth, nor could he fight the muscle tremors rippling through his legs. “Spike? Are you okay?”

“Payin’ for m’own stupidity,” was his wry comment. “Fuckin’ hell, that hurts.”

“What happened?” No point in denying he’d passed out from a combination of pain and excessive amounts of morphine, not when they’d all seen him hit the floor, which is the last thing he remembered.

“Tara did it.” Buffy’s voice held a note of pride that he’d never noticed before. The witch must have silently protested, because the next words out of Buffy’s mouth were, “Tara actually did it all tonight. She’s got this great alarm thing, like the baby thing, and, she’s got a ball of sunshine spell. How cool is that?”

Evidently Glinda must’ve done something else to protest, because Oxford added his penny’s worth of praise. “It really was quite remarkable. You’ll have to instruct me how to use it.”

“Good. So the wanker’s gone, right?” His question forestalled anymore comments on the witch’s talents and then he remembered, “Didn’t drop the sprog, did I?”

“No, Connor’s fine.”

He grimaced and Buffy immediately moved to try and make him more comfortable. “Tha’s his name? Connor? Suppose Peaches did that before his soul went walkabout?”

There was a short silence then Wesley said, “It was the last thing he said to me before he changed.”

Spike heaved a long drawn out sigh, sounding much put upon, then saying, “Suppose we’ll have to call him that then. Still think spawn was the better choice.”

“Spike, that’s not nice.” Buffy tried, but Tara’s giggles were infectious and even Wesley managed a little laugh.

“How long was I out for?” Spike finally opened his eyes to find himself exactly where he thought he was, his head pillowed on Buffy’s lap as she rested her back against the headboard.

“Not long, only about ten minutes.” Wesley’s voice answered.

“Right then. Need a drink, kitten.” He hated to admit it, but he felt worse than he had earlier.

There was a rustling of noises and Tara laid the baby down in his crib while Wesley got to his feet. “We should be all right for the rest of the night, good night, all.”

And he was gone, followed quickly by Tara, who whispered a soft, ‘sleep sweet’ and then she too was gone.

Lifting Spike’s head up so she could move to lie down next to him, Buffy stared into his eyes. “No more fighting about this. You have to take what you need.”

“Buffy, you keep insistin’ and I say no.” He steeled his features, trying hard to stick to his guns. He knew she was going to argue with him. He just wasn’t entirely sure how she was going to play this. He thought he was prepared for any argument she could come up with. He was wrong.

“Spike? What if that had been our baby? What if…” His look of utter disbelief stopped her flow of words.

“Buffy, wha?” Pausing, he tried to gather his thoughts. “What are you sayin’?”

“I think it’s pretty obvious. I’m trying to talk some sense into you.” She moved closer to him, one arm around his waist, the other tucked under her head. “You can be so stubborn, you know that?”

He chuckled. “You wanna be the kettle or the pot?”

She pinched his ass in partial response. The spoken one was, “I’m being serious here, Spike. You know it’s a possibility. What would have happened then? And what it the attacker had been human? What then?” She paused once more, letting her words sink into his thick head. “Spike you can’t keep sipping. Two or three mouthfuls aren’t enough and you really aren’t going to drain me, so stop worrying about it.”

His eyes watched her as she spoke, trying to gauge her conviction and sincerity. They weren’t going to agree on this subject. Maybe if he hadn’t known how badly she bled during her monthlies, he might not be so stubborn about this and…he inhaled deeply. The smells coming off her were delicious. Anger. Fear. Arousal. Buffy. Mate. And still bleeding heavily.

“Sweetheart. Listen to me. I’m not putting both of us at risk.” He could feel the dissension rising within her, the argument coming back around to it again, but he cut her off before she could continue. “No. Listen. C’mon, kitten.” Spike nudged her with his bad right hand, getting her to look up at him. “He’s looking to unnerve us. Knows you’ll cave before I do.”

“Cave?” Her whole demeanor changed, her back instantly stiffening with pride and some other emotion Spike wasn’t quite ready to identify. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He paused, suddenly unsure of what to say and how to say it, without one of two things happening. The first and the lesser of the two would be Buffy getting angry and taking it out on Angelus, the other being with him sleeping on the couch or worse, tossed out on his ass. Drawing in very unneeded air, Spike looked into her eyes and for a split second thought about not answering her question, but then she leaned in and brushed a delicate kiss on his chin. “He knows a part of you, sweetheart, knows how strongly you protect those you love and he knows you can get rattled when your heart is involved.”

“He doesn’t know me anymore.” Buffy ran her hand up his injured arm, finally curling around his neck. “He doesn’t know me half as well as he thinks he does. No one’s known me quite as well as you. Even before you were chipped, you knew me.” Resting her head against his chin, Buffy got as close as his numerous injuries would allow. “So, since you know me so well, what will I do?”

He barked a little short laugh, his left hand worming its way down to cup her hip, then his lips brushing a kiss over her hair. “Probably what he least expects. He knows something’s up with me, tha’ I’m not full strength.”

She thought for a minute, nestled in the circle of his arms, just breathing deeply. “You know…he knows now you’re hurt for some reason. He also knows about the chip.” He just listened, knowing instinctively that she was just thinking out loud. “So…we play it like that, that you’re injured and still have the chip. In the meantime, we heal you as quickly as possible and make arrangements to get rid of the chip.”

Spike didn’t say a word waiting patiently for her to finish. “How long do you think it’ll be before any of the Aurelius vamps come visting?”

“Not sure. Could be a week at the earliest, but tha’ depends on who’s closest. If it’s Dru, last I knew she was back down in Brazil. No one else is here in the States.”

“You sure about that?” Her tone was gentler than the question but he wouldn’t have taken offense anyway. It had been a long time he’d been away from his side of the killing fields, his information could be wrong.

“No way of knowin’. I know Dru’s not nearby. Can’t tell so much o’ the rest. Only Angelus is near.” He wasn’t going to lie to her, they’d know the truth soon enough.

“‘Kay.” Little kisses were laid on his bare chest, warming him all over. “So. How do you wanna get the chipectomy? Wanna use a demon-friendly surgeon or call the Initiative?”

Despite his earlier stupidity, he’d been feeling kind of okay until she brought that up. What a choice. A surgeon who could easily botch the job or the sanctimonious bastards that had rendered him useless. “Dunno. We got a time limit on this?”

“Don’t you want it out?” She was mystified by his unenthusiastic response.

“I do. Jus’ don’ wan’ to be a vegetable after.” Spike wanted the damn thing gone, did he want it badly enough to possibly face another of her exes? They’d already survived the biggest hurdle of all- and it wasn’t Angel. For some odd reason he still couldn’t fathom, it was Xander. If Buffy could face his daily disapproval, maybe seeing Cardboard wouldn’t be so bad. But there was a bigger hurdle to his getting the hardware removed. That impediment was one fellow Englishman- one Rupert Giles, ex-watcher and current father figure.

Spike knew he had to mention it, knew it wasn’t just about them. This affected everyone in the house. “What about Rupes? Your watcher is liable to have somethin’ to say. And Dawn? What about her and the witch?”

“Let me worry about Giles.” She didn’t brush him off, but clearly she wasn’t worried about it. “Dawn and Tara will be okay with it.”

“Not so sure the Watcher is gonna be okay with this.” Spike was too tired to argue, which for him, had to be a first. “Where’s m’blood, woman?”

Placing a kiss on his cheek, Buffy got up and helped him to a semi-sitting position. Handing him the cooled mug of twice warmed blood, Buffy said, “I don’t think Giles is gonna be all that hard to convince.”




[A/N: I’ve been in lots of pain lately, for a couple of different reasons and its just been a major pain in the ass. The biggest bright spot has been all the wonderful reviews. Things are going to start heating up again, those last couple of chapters were really sort of like a calm between storms. So, here we go...The title is from Herman Melville (I paraphrased it somewhat) and the quotes are as attributed. Disclaimers in full force and effect. I own nothing.]

Previously: Buffy and Spike have talked about chips and blood. Angelus stopped by the house to say hello, but didn’t get a chance to speak, because Tara came to the rescue. This picks up later the next morning.


Book Two. Chapter 17. The Ragged Edges of Truth

Truth titillates the imagination far less than fiction.
Marquis de Sade, L’Histoire de Juliette,
ou les Prosperities du Vice, pt. 3.

Truth, like light, is blinding.
Lies, on the other hand, are a beautiful dusk
which enhances the value of each object.
Albert Camus, The Fall, p. 126

The truth is a snare; you cannot have it, without being caught.
Soren Kierkegaard, The Last Years: Journals 1853-55

Truth uncompromisingly told will always have its ragged edges.
Herman Melville, Billy Budd, Sailor.


Even though they’d given her permission to skip school, Dawn was up early. The baby’s cries had woken her and she couldn’t really get back to sleep. She could hear everyone else moving around downstairs, and she knew Spike was still in bed, but there was no reason for her to be up. It took her a while to finally decide she was getting up and by that time Buffy was in the shower. Both the baby and Spike were sleeping again.

After using the bathroom in her mother’s old room, Dawn snuck inside Buffy and Spike’s room. The baby was on his belly, a tiny little lump in the middle of the crib, his dark hair the only spot of color against the pale sheets and blanket. Spike, on the other hand, was sprawled out on the bed, left arm flung wide while the right one was still propped up on one of the pillows. He was sound asleep, his breathing very slow and steady, occasional rumbling noises emanating from his chest. Dawn stood in the little patch of sunlight just watching him, weird thoughts running through her head.

I wonder if that’s why I sleep that way when I’m really tired…does he dream? He stirred, his injured arm jerking with a muscle spasm, then settled quickly. I really hope he’s not mad at me. I don’t want him to be. I can’t believe he got this hurt trying to protect me. Is he crazy? We could have just run away…he didn’t have to stay…oh, God. He could have been gone. Dust. Tears pooled in her big blue eyes and Dawn sniffled loudly in the quiet room.

There was no change in his muscles, no change in his breathing to indicate he wasn’t anything other than asleep, but Spike’s voice broke into her musings. “Mornin’, Platelet.”

“Ack.” Wiping the tears from her eyes, she sort of griped back at him, “Geez Spike, you scared the hell out of me.”

“Nice to know I still can.” His groan of pain seemed to come from his toes and he stretched a bit, trying to ease the healing itch. He hated this part of the rapid healing. Felt like fire ants were crawling around inside his skin for days. Least this time he had morphine to help. When that bint Glory had taken her frustrations out on him, he’d had to keep himself inside a bottle of whatever he could find, but this time he had the good stuff. Right now he needed another shot of it. His skin felt like it was on fire.

“Are you feeling any better?” He’d almost forgotten she was still in the room.

“Eh. Sort of. All itchy.” He was about to ask her to go get him something to soothe it, when her voice caught his attention.

“Why did you do it?”

“Do wha’?” He struggled to lift his head up and she scooted to his side, lifting him and piling the pillows behind him so that he was no longer flat on his back.

“Stay and fight. Why?” She sat down on the bed, one leg folded underneath her, staring at his still battered features.

She had a look on her face that was so reminiscent of her sister he wanted to laugh. He would have too, if it wasn’t the look he hated. “Needed to make sure you were safe. Couldn’t let anything happen to you.”

“But why?” She looked away from him then, mumbling softly, “It might be better if I wasn’t here. No one would get hurt then.”

Without his enhanced hearing, he never would have heard her, but her words went straight to his heart. “Dawn. Look at me.”

The eyes that focused on his were swimming with tears and a very dark blue. “Don’t think like tha’. Your sis couldn’t take ‘nother thing goin’ wrong. Couldn’t forgive m’self if somethin’ were to happen to either of you.”

Her head shook in denial. “Why? I don’t do anything but make people hurt. Glory beat your ass and sucked Tara’s brain because of me. Buffy…” The tears that had been threatening finally slid down her cheeks and when he reached out his hand to wipe them away, Dawn flinched. “You shouldn’t…why did you do it again to protect me? I’m not…I shouldn’t even be here. All I do is destroy everything around me.”

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. This couldn’t… “Niblet? Wha’ are you thinkin’? Wasn’t your fault at all what happened. Not then an’ not now.” This time when he reached for her she didn’t flinch, she just collapsed against his side, her head resting on his chest. “Not your fault, sweets. None o’this.”

Running his hand down her long brown hair, Spike wished for a moment that he could really put his arms around her, letting her cry on his shoulder like he did before Buffy came back. Hugging her tighter with his arm, Spike kept up his litany, trying to comfort her. She mumbled something else through her tears and he pushed her back a little, searching her face for signs of what she’d just said.

“Dawn? C’mon. It’s not your fault.” Using his thumb to wipe her eyes, Spike tilted her face so that she couldn’t avoid looking back at him. “Love you. Do you know that? Love you like no one else. You’re m’ Niblet.”

He’d thought that would have calmed her, thought she was settling down, but at his softly worded declaration, Dawn burst into fresh tears. She pulled away from him, getting off the bed, her hands balled into fists. “Don’t love me. It will just end up…just…how can you love me?”

“Because I do.” His voice was calm and deep with emotions he rarely showed anyone. She was so upset she was shaking and he started to get up out of the bed realizing abruptly he was still bare-assed naked under the sheets. “Dawn, c’mere. C’mon.”

Despite her shaking her head no, Dawn sat back down on the bed, this time perched on the edge. Spike reached for her hand, lacing their fingers together. “I love you, Niblet. Not the same way I love your sis, but I love you. Have to take care of the ones I love, an’ tha’s you. Both of you.”

Her chin lifted in stubbornness, Dawn refused to look at him, almost growling out, “Doesn’t mean you’re supposed to die for us.”

“Yeah, it does. If tha’s how I keep you safe, then tha’s wha’ it means.” He wasn’t going to fail either one of them ever again. If he had to dust to keep them safe, he would.

“No dammit! Don’t you dare die on me. I need you. Stupid vampire! I need you…” Her voice trailed off after the outburst, her free hand brushing away more tears. “You can’t die. I need you.”

“Niblet. You don’ need me. You’ll be fine without me if it comes to it. You did fine…this summer.” She stared at him, not really believing what he was saying.

“No. I didn’t…I wasn’t fine all summer. My mother was gone…my sist…God, you’re so stupid! Joyce was dead and she…and Buffy, and…the only one of my family that was left was you! I wasn’t fine. I needed my mother!” Her voice had risen to an almost shriek, uncaring about the baby or anyone else overhearing. “Damn you, Spike! I needed both my parents! My mother and my father! I needed my mommy and my daddy. And all I had was my father!”

The words had spilled from her in such a rush that she had no idea what she’d said, until she looked up into his face and saw that he’d heard her.


~*~*~


Hot water. Yay for showers and hot water. Buffy was in an okay mood. Well, a way better mood than yesterday. After Angel’s- Angelus’- late night visit, they had stayed up a little bit longer and Buffy had finally convinced Spike to take more blood from her. They’d also reached a decision about the chip. They weren’t going to make inquiries, either about surgeons or the Initiative, until Giles came home and they had a chance to confer with him. For some odd reason, Spike insisted on telling Dawn and he also wanted Tara to know before they got it removed. Buffy had an idea that it was because he cared for the both of them and valued their opinions.

She wasn’t stupid enough to think Xander was going to agree with it at all. But right now, not so sure I care what Xander thinks.

The bathroom door was open just enough in case the baby woke up or if Spike needed her and her train of thought was interrupted by a sound she hadn’t expected. Unable to hear clearly because of the running water, she quickly rinsed off, closing the taps.

Dawn’s voice came through the open doorway, but her words were muffled, her voice low, then she heard “doesn’t mean you have to die for us.”

Grabbing a towel, Buffy stepped closer to the door in time to partially hear Spike’s response, “if tha’s wha’ it takes to keep you safe, then tha’s wha’ it means.”

Resting her head against the door jamb, Buffy almost had to hold herself up. I’m an idiot, coz I know he loves me and God, I do love him back. Dawn was speaking again, well almost shouting. “Stupid vampire! You can’t die on me. I need you.”

You tell him Dawnie! I need him too. Stupid vampire is right. Can’t die on us. We need him too much. Buffy heard his idiotic reply and then Dawn was shrieking at him, only this time it was things Buffy hadn’t heard from her sister before now. Her own tears were sliding from behind closed eyelids as she listened to her sister. “I wasn’t fine all summer. My mother was gone…my sist…God, you’re so stupid! Joyce was dead and she…and Buffy, and…the only one of my family that was left was you! I wasn’t fine. I needed my mother!”

Buffy had to stuff her fist in her mouth to stop her own sobs and she slid inside the open door, her eyes barely able to see the pair on the bed through her tears. “Damn you, Spike! I needed both my parents! My mother andmy father! I needed…” Dawn’s voice broke and she collapsed in a heap, “my mommy and my daddy. And all I had was my father!”

Buffy’s head snapped up in time to watch Dawn realize what had flown from her mouth.


~*~*~


The words had poured forth from her mouth in a torrent, heedless of the consequences, like water held back too long by a dam.

Dawn realized a split second too late what she’d just said. Tears stopped and every muscle froze. Spike was staring at her, almost studying her features. Afraid to move, afraid to stay, Dawn felt the air behind her change, and before she could get up and run, Buffy was there with one hand on Dawn’s shoulder and the other clutching her towel. Involuntarily, Dawn dropped her head down, completely missing the look shared between the two adults.

Why can’t I ever learn to shut up?

No one said a word. The room was very silent; the only sounds the rapid breathing of the two youngest occupants.


~*~*~


He knew when she’d turned off the shower. When she stepped onto the rug. When she’d grabbed the towel. When she started listening to Dawn. When her own tears started to compliment her sister’s. When she’d come back into their bedroom.

But she wasn’t the focus of his attention. Dawn was. Her words, her pain, and her heartbreak were his focus. And it narrowed even further at Dawn’s slip of the tongue. He’d nearly said something harsh about Hank Summers, then the gist of her words caught him. Dawn wasn’t talking about Hank– she was talking about him. And she obviously never meant to say it out loud, because her face was more shocked than his.

Searching her face, Spike took stock of her features. It had been a very long time since he’d seen himself in a mirror, but he knew his own face, knew when it looked back at him. Why the bleeding hell didn’t I see this before? Am I just as blind as the rest of those idiot Scoobies? Dawn looked like his mother. Raising his eyes to the green depths of his heart, Spike also saw Buffy’s features within her sister…no. They weren’t sisters. Not really. The sudden conviction of that notion wouldn’t be shaken.

Over Dawn’s head, Spike stared at Buffy, his eyes on hers. He smiled, then mouthed, ‘I love you.’ On her answering smile and whispered, ‘I know’ he turned his attention to…their child.

Reaching out his hand, Spike traced a finger down her nose. “That’s mine.”

Dawn jerked her head up so fast she nearly ended up with Spike’s finger in her mouth. Her raised eyebrow and expression weren’t his, which he pointed out by remarking, “That’s all your…Buffy.”

“My Buffy?” Dawn finally found her voice.

He thought hard for a second, unsure what to say, just settling on, “Not sure how you wan’ to word it, pet.”

She was silent for long minutes, then finally on a deep, indrawn breath, Dawn said, “You’re my parents. My real honest-to-god parents.”

When neither one said anything to refute her, Dawn continued, “It’s in the journals Wes brought. I had to know.”

They shared another look over her head, while Spike said, “You took them from the watcher’s. Stole ‘em.”

Lying wouldn’t pay, not at this point. “Sort of. Wasn’t going to keep them. I put back the first set I took.”

“It’s okay Dawnie. I guess I understand.” Buffy sat down in front of Dawn, next to Spike. “I think I would’ve done pretty much the same thing.”

Spike remained silent, knowing his actions probably would’ve been worse, but for once letting common sense rule his tongue. Buffy leaned against his shoulder, her hand reaching out to hold onto her…well, sister really doesn’t fit any more does it?

“So what did you find?” Buffy was curious now.

“They’ve been tracking Slayers for a really long time, and they’ve been trying to give them the key for almost as long, but, uh, something kept getting in their way.”

Somehow knowing this was going to end up as his fault even if it wasn’t, Spike asked, “An’ wha’ was that?”

“In the beginning it was because the Slayers weren’t strong enough, or they died just before the monks could come up with a form for the key. But then it was because of a Dark Warrior who was destined to help a Chosen One.” Dawn caught Buffy’s eye and they shared a smile. “A Vampire who kept battling and defeating the Chosen Ones.”

“Been readin’ far too many of the watcher’s books, there, sweet bit. Lay off with the forebodin’ language, will ya?” Spike had grimaced at her intonation, looking away from both the girls.

“I counted seven Slayers you fought – were there more? Oh!” She peeked at Buffy, but went on. “Some Slayer you fought just before World War I? She died of her injuries later. So really, you already have a third.”

He growled at her then – a real honest to goodness growl. Dawn realized she’d overstepped a line but wasn’t really sure what it was. Was he more upset about killing the slayer slowly or something else?

“How long have these blokes been followin’ me?” He was aggravated, but he wasn’t really sure why.

“Since the Boxer Rebellion.” She couldn’t look at either of them, wary now about their reactions to what she was telling them. The tension within Spike had grown considerably, especially since she’d mentioned him fighting slayers, and her sister…no, Buffy was just sitting there quietly taking all this in, not saying a word. Which had her more wigged than she wanted to be.

“Bloody fucking hell.” He was…he felt…he didn’t know what he was feeling. Didn’t mind so much about Dawn being a part of him, but he really didn’t like the fact that the monks had been following his actions for years.

“It’s all in the journals. Well, as much as they knew. I wasn’t sure it was you until they found you again in New York, all decked out in leather and bleached hair.” She tried for being as nonchalant as possible and somehow managed to achieve it.

“Niblet…” His warning was clear.

“What? What am I…?” His eyes shifted to the side, toward Buffy and Dawn finally realized what they’d been talking about. “Oh. Sorry Buff…” She stopped talking, then in a very small voice, said, “Mom?”

But Buffy had only been half listening to their conversation, instead she’d just been watching the two of them, and hadn’t really heard what Dawn had just said. They really do look alike. It was really scary how alike they were. “It’s okay, Dawnie…I know. It’s okay.”

She and Spike had talked about his past some, in the dark hours when they were the only two beings awake in Sunnydale. He hadn’t been all true-confessions, but she knew him well enough to read between what he said and what he wouldn’t say. This information from an independent source wasn’t that big a deal. She wasn’t stupid; he couldn’t possibly have killed the only other two slayers he’d ever fought. He was good, but killing every slayer he’d fought would mean he was the vampire equivalent of a slayer. Although…

What had startled her was their resemblance. Without much of a warning, and completely off topic from their prior conversation, Buffy blurted out, “You look just like each other. You didn’t get anything from me.”

And if it wasn’t so serious, Spike would’ve teased her about the petulance of her tone. “She did, Love. Got plenty from you.”

Buffy was shaking her head in denial. Looking at the two of them with a new perspective, she had to admit it. “How did we miss this? Your noses, eyes, pretty much the structure of your faces, and Dawnie got your height.” Her pout was adorable but Spike was ignoring it for now, beginning to point out all their similarities.

“Her mouth is all you, kitten. Attitude. Mannerisms. She may look like me, but her personality is all you.”

Opening her mouth to protest, Buffy was interrupted by Dawn, who snarked at both of them, “Sitting right here in the room. On the bed with you.”

“Sorry. Our bad.” Buffy glanced over at Spike who was watching Dawn with a strange look on his face.

“You look like m’mum.” He smiled then, a bit sadly, continuing, “she had hair like yours, only with more of a curl to it. Long and dark, always wore it up. Took it down only to brush…it was down past her waist.” His voice trailed off and both girls held their breath, hoping he would continue, but he kept his silence.

Spike looked away, his eyes on a long dead vision, his mum with Gordie and Janet and…his da, before they were all gone and just the two of them were left. Buffy tilted her head at Dawn, silently asking her to move and when she did, Buffy shifted so she was facing Spike. Her left hand reached out to cup his chin gently, drawing his gaze back to her. For long seconds he was still not seeing her and Buffy was afraid he was going to shrug her off, when suddenly he was looking at her. His brilliant blue eyes gazed into hers and Buffy’s eyes filled with tears at the expression on his face.

“Family. Spike, we’re a family.”

“Yeah.” He shook off the memories of his first family, smiling at her. “Yeah.”

His hand wiped away tears she didn’t remember shedding and Buffy nuzzled a kiss into his palm. Very slowly, she inched closer to him, her words for his ears only. “Yours Spike. We’re yours. I’m yours.”

Resting his forehead against hers, his big hand still cupping her cheek, her hand now resting on his shoulder, Spike rumbled softly, “I love you, Buffy Anne Summers. F’rever.”

Pulling her close, tucking her head under his chin so that her breath warmed the spot where his heart used to beat, Spike breathed deeply, raising his eyes to where Dawn stood watching them.

“C’mere you.” He rumbled at the teen, gesturing her forward with his left hand. Buffy moved her legs, creating a spot for Dawn, who just put her head down on Buffy’s hip. Spike smoothed out her hair, slipping the brown strands through his fingers. Dawn wiped the tears from her eyes, while Buffy curled her arms around Spike.

His voice was low and deep, curling like warm liquid chocolate through both of them, the words a promise and an oath. “Love both of you. My girls.”

They were quiet for a long time, none of them willing to break the silence, until there was a rustling of sorts and the baby started crying.


There's some parts of this one that I'm not sure about, so please, let me know what you're thinking about this


[A/N: Plots and stories are funny things. The author gets this idea, and it sort of sits for a while, germinating, while the author goes about their daily routine, sort of like a pea (and we all grew them at a certain point for science), until it breaks through its shell and starts this wonderful process of producing flowers and then finally, it produces some fruit. You can’t push the process any faster, you can’t magically make a plot grow in mere minutes and no amount of nagging or prodding or pleading will speed that up. You kind of just have to go with the flow. When that process is impeded by outside sources, it sometimes stalls, creating that wonderful state we all know as writer’s block. I know, I’ve suffered from it. Plots sometimes get advanced in very subtle ways, very often without the reader realizing that the plot actually has advanced while the action seems very slow. Character interaction plays a very key part of most stories, and I’d like to think this one in particular. Okay, I’ll get off my soapbox now, because I know you want to “get to the story and move the plot along” since apparently, I’m not doing enough of that. Title is from Spandau Ballet, only because the damn song was echoing in my head so I figured what the hell (the song is Communication) and the quotes are as attributed. Disclaimers in full force and effect.]

Previously: Oz and Tara ran into a changed Willow, who isn’t quite sure how to deal with what she saw; Angel stopped by and knows about Spike’s current state of health; and Dawn accidently let it slip about her parentage. This is later that same day.



Book Two. Chapter 18. Communication Got Me Down.


The communication
of the dead is tongued with fire
beyond the language of the living.
T.S. Eliot’s memorial inscription, Poet’s Corner, Westminster Abbey from Little Gidding

Seldom, very seldom, does complete truth
belong to any human disclosure;
seldom can it happen that something is not a little disguised,
or a little mistaken.
Jane Austen, Emma

Women’s propensity to share confidences is universal.
We confirm our reality by sharing.
Barbara Grizzute Harrison, Secrets Women Tell Each Other


He’d gotten precious little sleep. He hadn’t expected to get much in any case, the news from home giving him more than enough reason for concern. But there was a sense of impending doom that Giles felt he needed to avert that was causing him the most amount of worry. Just over five hours ago, he’d been sitting in this same library, in nearly the same damned chair and the uneasiness hadn’t dissipated at all. In fact, it had grown bigger, sort of like a spill of dark liquid leaching into a pristine white tablecloth.

An hour ago, he’d gotten a phone call from Wesley, updating him on everything. Nothing was good. The old adage no news was good news was being tested in this case. There were no new developments and the status was still piss-poor. Giles was beginning to think they were heading into deeper troubles, rather than coming out of it all.

He also wasn’t quite sure what they should do about Angel.

Angelus.

It was almost beginning to not matter what they called him. Neither one of his appellations fit him. There was nothing angelic about the vampire. But, really, old man, he could hardly walk around being called ‘satan’ or ‘devil’. Even if those names fit him better.

Glancing down at the weighty book on the table before him, Giles shook his head and focused once again on the matter at hand. At the moment he was searching out possible mentions of the monks or the Key in the Slayer Annals. So far, it was a waste of his time, and he had no reason at all to continue searching, and he really…didn’t…

What the bloody hell?

It wasn’t possible. Had to be just a coincidence. He was frozen in place, staring at the name on the page in front of him. It was the list of Slayers from the year 1603 to 1699, including some potentials. It couldn’t possibly be the same girl. Had to just be a misprint or a similar name. But the hair on his neck was rising and his stomach was telling him it wasn’t just a similar name, wasn’t a misprint. Ignoring the looks his increasing agitation was garnering, Giles got to his feet and headed directly to the books he’d been reading the night before.

Flipping quickly through the pages, at first he passed right by the information he was looking for. Heading back to his seat, the book in hand, the pages rustling loudly in his haste, Giles was mumbling to himself under his breath. “Can’t be. Got to be wrong. Has to be wrong. Just a…”

There it was. 1623. Isabeau de la Fontaine, delivered of a son, after dying in the year 1622.

Looking down at the book on the table, there it was again. Isabeau de la Fontaine, potential, identified in the year 1619. Never called as a Slayer.

Ripping off his glasses, Giles flipped a few pages back in the smaller book, finding another girl who’d given birth to a vampire’s child. Bryn of Rhuddlan, died 1587, gave birth to two children, first in 1588 and then again in 1591. Searching through the Slayer Annals, Giles found her identified as a potential in 1585.

Only two so far. Might just be a coincidence.

Could be.

But he really didn’t think it was.

Sitting down heavily in his chair, Giles got set to cross reference all the girls.


~*~*~


“Buffy?” Tara’s voice broke into the other girl’s musings, drawing her back into reality.

“Hey. What’s up?” Damn. Cornflakes are all soggy, now. Wrinkling up her nose at the lumpy mess, she got up from the counter, dumping the bowl’s contents into the garbage.

“Last night at the supermarket? Oz and I ran into Willow.” Buffy looked at her, waiting for her to continue. “She’s changed.”

“What do you mean?” Pausing, she rambled on, “Willow’s, Willow. Always the same. Well, not so much, she did change from high school to college girl and…” Catching sight of the bemused look on Tara’s face, Buffy said, “Never mind. Tell me.”

“I’m not sure what she did, but she’s not the girl I dated.” Trying for composure, Tara inhaled deeply, continuing, “The thing is, she’s done something. She’s darker, you know?”

“Tara? Try again, coz I’m not following you.”

“Right. When we saw her, I checked her aura, because, well, she looked different. Her face was all white, all her color was gone, and…and…her hair is shot through with black. So I checked.”

She now had Buffy’s full attention. “Go ahead, tell me.”

“I got a glimpse of what she’d done. It’s not good. She did something to call forth…I’m not certain, but whatever she did isn’t working the way she thinks it is.” Tara took a deep breath. “Whatever she did – the goddess – the response was, ‘be careful what you wish for’.”

“Oh, no.” This didn’t sound too good. “So this means?”

“That Willow’s either not prepared for the answer or…or she’s gotten exactly what she’s asked for.” Tara was fiddling with the breakfast dishes, not really looking at Buffy while she explained her impressions.

“Which is?” She’d stopped what she was doing, her attention fully focused on the other girl, realizing she was about to hear something she didn’t necessarily want to know about the girl who used to be her best friend.

“Something really not good.” Purposefully unloading the dishwasher, Tara missed the narrowing of the Slayer’s eyes, her own agitation increasing every time she thought this through. She’d spent half the morning debating with herself about telling Buffy and Spike her suspicions over what she’d inadvertently discovered about Willow, and earlier, when she’d stopped outside their room, she’d heard Dawn’s voice, so Tara had thought better of interrupting them.

“Tara? What aren’t you telling me?” Buffy had been watching her, realizing that Tara was very upset about what she was about to say.

Blowing out a breath, Tara said, “I think the reason why Spike got hurt is because Willow summoned the knights.”

Buffy stared at the witch, a hundred different thoughts racing through her head. No, she wouldn’t do that, my Willow wouldn’t…you so sure about that Buffy? This is the same Willow that hurt your sister and her own girlfriend and brought you back from heaven…and who else has she been hurting? What else has she done that you don’t know about? This isn’t the same girl you first met five years ago…this is someone else. Buffy got a faraway look in her eyes, staring into nothingness, not seeing the girl in front of her.

“Does she hate me that much?” Unaware that she’d said the words out loud, Buffy was startled back to herself by Tara’s soft hand on her arm.

“I don’t think it’s you she hates. I’m not sure what she’s feeling anymore.” Tara watched carefully as Buffy snapped back to herself, concern for the other girl overpowering her own sense of unease.

“So why would she do something like that? What’s the purpose behind summoning the knights?” This was bewildering. Buffy couldn’t understand why someone would do something like that. “The knights were there to hurt Dawn, why would she summon them?”

Drawing Buffy toward the back door, Tara tried to settle her thoughts. They were the only ones downstairs at the moment. Dawn was out with Casey, Wesley had gone to the Magic Box, and Spike and the baby were still sleeping upstairs. It was as good a time as any to talk about what she’d seen in Willow’s aura. Before they knew it, the girls were seated on the back step, basking in the late October sunlight.

“I’m not sure, completely sure about this, so you have to…to just trust me on this, okay?” Tara looked at Buffy, unconsciously wringing her hands, trying to come up with a way to voice her concerns. Without waiting for a response, she tried again, ‘I just…the thing is…” She sighed deeply, stilling as Buffy’s hand touched her arm, then Tara blurted out, “Her aura is dark. And not good dark. Sometimes dark can be good, like dark purple or dark gold, or dark blue and…and dark green. But this was dark red and black and…”

The steam seemed to go out of her and Tara slumped down further on the step she was sitting on, her hands clenched together tightly. Bowing her head, hiding her face in her hair, her voice sounded very softly between them. “I think Willow is trying to hurt Spike. I think she tried to get his true face to show.”

The air was very silent, the street noises so very far away in that moment, like they belonged to another place and a different time, like the noises of everyday had no business being part of the conversation taking place on the back porch. Neither girl moved, each of them lost in the enormity of what one had just confessed to the other.

The truth isn’t always kind, nor is it caring of what was before or what will come after, only that it is heard. Truth never has an easy birth. But once it arrives, there is a feeling of rightness, a sense of having known what the truth is before it is even uttered, an inescapable moment, when the speaker and the witness know, deep in their souls, that the truth has been revealed.

Buffy shivered, a chill working its way up her spine, dancing across every nerve. Her voice, when she spoke after so long a silence, was even and uninflected, almost devoid of emotion. “She wants to hurt him because of me. Because I’m not what she wants me to be. Because I haven’t gone to her, or accepted what she did. Spike may have been the target of her anger, but she’s really pissed at me. Why else would she do what she did?”

There was no question about believing Tara. Buffy knew as soon as the other girl had spoken that Tara was speaking truth. Willow had done the summoning. Had set into motion events that she couldn’t control…but hadn’t Willow always done that? How many times had Willow felt slighted or wronged or betrayed in some way, only to lash out when control of a situation escaped her? When Oz left and she had no control over anything, Willow had lashed out and caught them all up in a spell that had colossal impact…and then, when she’d jumped…again, there was Willow with the non-acceptance.

“Oh, God. Tara…she’s…oh, my God. She’s going to keep going until something bad happens, right?” Buffy turned wild eyes to the other girl, her hand clenching and unclenching around her wrist. “What…she can’t. I can’t lose him. I…”

Tearing herself away from Tara, Buffy was through the back door before the other girl even realized that she was gone. The sound of feet pounding up the stairs was audible outside, then the sound of a door banging open echoed through the backyard. Barely able to make out their voices, Tara could only guess what Buffy had done upon entering the room.

Dropping her head down into her hands, Tara tried to stop the tears, all the while knowing it was futile.


~*~*~


He’d taken the last of the liquid morphine after Dawn left the room earlier. There hadn’t been all that much anyway, and it was mostly just to calm the muscle spasms that had been wracking him since he’d drunk from Buffy at first light. He’d gotten a concession of sorts from her, when he’d agreed to drink. He wasn’t going to take more than just little bits until her…on the condition she agreed to wait until her courses were done. She hadn’t liked his condition, had in fact almost started another argument about it, but he’d verbally boxed her into a corner and she had no choice.

They had enough human blood on hand anyway that he could, if he wanted to, gorge himself on, but strangely enough he wasn’t all that hungry. What he was, was itchy and sore and he could really use a good soak and he needed to wash his bloody hair.

It was easier right now to focus on the physical ailments rather than the other things that had gone on in the last forty-eight hours, anyway. At least the physical reminders were fading. The other stuff…Spike groaned and rolled over onto his side. Pretty much everything was healing, although he was still hovering near the halfway healed mark. Buffy’s blood would do the trick.

The baby shifted in his sleep, rustling the blankets a bit. Spike didn’t know much about babies, but he did know that two day old ones weren’t supposed to move around. They were just supposed to lay there. This one was restless. Shifting about, snuffling in his sleep, he was unusually active. Fair enough. Child was of supernatural parentage, stands to reason something would be different about him. His parents were both master vampires; no doubt he’d gotten something from both of them, since they weren’t normal.

Which brought him back to thinking about his own…Dawn. From the first moment he’d laid eyes on her, he’d known there was something about her that called to him, something on such a deep level that he’d never questioned it. Just known she was somehow part of him. He’d never imagined that she literally was part of him. She was his.

His daughter.

Part of him was beyond angry that the monks had planted the Gem here, specifically for him, to lure him in, then engineered other events of his unlife to suit their purposes. He didn’t mind so much being love’s bitch, but he resented the hell out of being destiny’s plaything. Part of him hated the monks. They’d stolen something from him- and from Buffy- using the Initiative to do their dirty work, in turn stealing the blood and tissue samples from Initiative labs and…creating Dawn.

His anger didn’t matter then.

Wasn’t at all important.

Because every wrong thing the monks had done was outweighed by the one good thing they had done.

They’d given him Dawn.

His daughter.

And through her, the monks had given him a second blessing. Because of Dawn’s appearance, he’d gotten the unattainable girl. He’d gotten Buffy.

So the anger wasn’t important at all.

Spike just let it go, and like vampire dust drifting away, the anger disappeared.

When the baby had cried, after Dawn had dropped the bombshell on them, he’d realized yet another benefit. Because of the monks, and Dawn, he and Buffy had the same chance that Angel and Darla had been given, and that…that was something he’d always wanted. Home. Wife. Family.

Opening his eyes to stare at the crib, Spike watched Connor shift around again. He was getting ready to let loose a full throated cry when big, cool, strong hands lifted him up to an equally strong, cool chest. Crooning softly, Spike laid back down on the bed, Darla’s son cradled protectively in his arms. The baby settled down, mewled once, going right back to sleep.

“Your mum had the right way of it. Rather than hurt you, she did the right thing, to protect you.” His low voice rumbled in his chest and it wasn’t until his breathing hitched that Spike realized he had tears in his eyes. “Much as I hated your mum half the time, she did the right thing. Only thing she forgot was taking your idiot father with her. But tha’s all right, got old uncle Spike to watch out for you.”

Brushing a hand down the baby’s back, he said, “Promise to the memory of your mum, and my daughter, I’ll do m’best to keep you safe.”


~*~*~


Her feet hit the steps at a dead run, pounding at the same rate as her heartbeat. What Tara had just said to her chilled her to the bones. Coupled with what Wesley had said last night, Buffy was nearly in a full blown panic.

She knew it had taken a lot for Tara to admit that it was all Willow’s doing, to face the realization that Willow was at the root of what was happening now, that she was the reason Dawn was in danger, that Spike had nearly been dusted. In fact, save for Angel going homicidal again, almost all the bad stuff that had been happening lately was all Willow’s fault. Even the Huntsman’s appearance was her fault.

Buffy slammed through the door to their room, gasping breaths sucking in much needed air, her panic receding somewhat at finding the two of them curled up together on the bed. Connor was sleeping in the crook of Spike’s arm, his nose pressed up against the vampire’s chest, Spike’s right hand resting lightly on his back. Tears welled up in her eyes and she really wasn’t even sure why they did so.

Spike’s voice was soft in the room, trying not to disturb the baby sleeping in his arms. “What’s wrong?”

“I…Tara thinks Willow cast a spell, did something to bring the knights here.” Agitation was clear in Buffy’s voice and Spike opened his eyes to find her wringing her hands and pacing the room.

“An’ you came charging up here because?” He wanted to know the real reason her heart was pounding like a trip hammer and her breathing was off.

“Spike, she wants to hurt you. She wants you gone. I can’t…I’m not…I can’t let that happen. I don’t think I could survive that.” Buffy hadn’t stopped moving, unable to sit still or calm her panic.

“Kitten,” he paused waiting for her full attention. “Buffy, c’mere.” Almost reluctantly she moved toward their bed, still unable to stop hyperventilating “‘Member what you said ‘bout me? That I wouldn’t go away even if you sent me? How I’d keep at ya ‘til you took me back? Buffy, c’mere.”

Holding his arm out, he gestured for her to come closer. “Buffy, I love you more than you understand. If somethin’ were to happen– even if I got dusted- I’d find a way back. ‘M not leavin’ you, kitten. Ever.”

She moved onto the bed, Connor snuggled tightly between them, his arm covering them both, his hand firmly on her butt. Buffy looked into his eyes, seeing again the look of fierce tenderness he held just for her, “I love you. Have from the first. Not goin’ to waste any more time. Got you, Niblet, and spawn here to worry over. Not goin’ w’out a fight.”

Her hand reached out to cup his cheek and Buffy felt the walls around her heart crumbling away to nothing. “God, Spike– how could I not love you?”

Spike’s slow grin warmed her heart. Not quite how he wanted them said, but he’d take this until she was ready to say the others.


~*~*~


The phone ringing was an annoyance her sleeping mind didn’t want to deal with, so she tried ignoring it. It would ring for a while, then stop for a little bit, then start ringing again. Really, couldn’t you just leave me alone?

Groaning and rolling over at the same time, Willow finally gave in and reached for the phone. ‘What is it now, Xander?”

There was silence for a moment, then his voice drifting over the line asked, “How did you know it was me?”

“Xander? It’s a witchy thing.”

“Oh. I thought maybe you got Caller ID.” There was a hint of a tease in his voice, but Willow wasn’t in a playful mood.

“What do you want, Xander?” Her exasperation was clearly audible, even to Xander.

“Geez, Wills, you could be less happy to hear from me, you know.” Slight hurt came over clearly despite the phone line and Willow winced a bit. She was being a little too mean to him.

“Sorry, Xand. Have a bit of a headache. Not feeling so chipper.” Sitting up now, Willow twirled the phone cord around her fingers. “But what’s up?”

“Dunno if anyone’s called to tell you, but Angelus is on the loose and possibly on his way to Sunnydale.” Willow’s entire body stiffened, every nerve on alert.

“What happened?” Willow’s voice was eager, impatient for Xander’s explanation.

As he launched into what happened, Willow sort of turned him out, the beginnings of a plan formulating in her head. Angelus is back. I’m the only one with the restoration spell, and…he’s going to come looking for me. He’s going to try and kill me.

“Xand? Does anyone have an idea if he’s coming here soon?”

“I haven’t talked to Buffy since last night.” Not wanting to tell Willow about what had happened between him and Anya, he focused instead on something else that bothered him enormously. “Wills? Are you sure you did this spell to bring Buffy back correctly? She’s all on board with the Spike-is-good train and I don’t get it– unless it’s some spell you did that went all wonky.”

Willow’s anger coiled and wound through her, rattling the edges of her nerves. The snap in her voice got his attention though, penetrating his usually slow wits. “No, Xander. That’s not me. I didn’t make any mistakes.”

“Okay. No need to get all huffy with me.” Xander’s voice held a trace of fear, but he knew Willow would never hurt him. “Just thought you should know.”

“Thanks Xander. Nice to know someone is still my friend.” The bitterness in her voice was clear and something Xander couldn’t let go unremarked.

“C’mon Wills, you know I’ll always be around.”

“I know, Xander.”

With a promise to meet him later at the Magic Shop, Willow hung up the phone, her mind running through numerous situations and scenarios. How to keep Angelus off my back with out becoming dinner.

Focusing a bit, Willow held out her hand, willing a small ball of sunshine into existence. Not satisfied with that, she breathed out some Latin, changing the sunlight to flame, watching it dance across her hand. Closing her hand into a fist, Willow smiled slightly.



I'm sure you guys all know by now, reviews are the bestest thing ever. Please let me know how you feel about this one...please?


[A/N: I’m trying to get back into the groove of writing, after having a terrible bout of pain, and hopefully I’m over that hump. I have a definite game plan in mind, but its coming slower than I had thought. My apologies to those of you who were looking for a quick pay-off. There’s a mention to certain of my girls...and hopefully they’ll know it when they see it. The title is from Sir Francis Bacon (Religious Meditations, of Heresies) and the quotes, as always, as attributed. Disclaimers in full force and effect.]

Previously: Angelus is in Sunnydale and now Willow’s been told. Giles has found some more intriguing information, but he hasn’t told anyone what he’s found. Dawn has told Spike and Buffy what she found in the journals. Is everyone going to give up the information they are holding? This picks up three days after the last chapter, upon Giles’ return home.



Book Two, Chapter 19. Knowledge is Power


A single conversation with a wise man is better than ten years of study.
Chinese Proverb

You can discover what your enemy fears most
by observing the means he uses to frighten you.
Eric Hoffer



Wesley paced along the length of the small hangar, waiting for the plane carrying Rupert to debark. His connecting flight from Los Angeles had arrived ten minutes ago and the passengers were about to…there were the first ones.

He’d offered to get Rupert when Buffy had slightly balked when Spike had said the two of them would go. It was clear to all of them but her that Spike was just about fully healed, even the bruises were gone, but Buffy wasn’t easily convinced.

So that was how Wesley found himself waiting for Rupert. It was also how he and Buffy had been patrolling along with the ridiculous Buffybot Spike had had commissioned.

He couldn’t possibly imagine what Spike had been thinking…well; actually he could, which just made the entire situation quite funny. Spike’s expression had been priceless when Buffy jeeringly referred to the thing as ‘skirt girl’.

Tara and Dawn had collapsed in a fit of giggles while the vampire had just stalked from the room, imprecations falling from his lips.

“Wesley?” Giles’ voice broke into Wesley’s musings and he turned to greet the older man.

“Hello, Rupert. How was your flight?”

“Thankfully uneventful.” Giles searched Wesley’s face, noting the fatigue around his eyes. “Not sleeping well?”

“Hardly sleeping at all. While Angelus has been quiet, we fear he’s solidifying his position by taking over already organized nests.” Wesley paused as they shouldered past some travelers, then resumed talking once they were outside the airport. “Spike is back on his feet, which is good news. But no one’s heard from Willow.”

Glancing sideways at his companion, Giles commented wryly, “Obviously not a good sign.”

Without looking at his fellow Englishman, Wesley nodded.


~*~*~


Dawn was sitting on the floor of the living room, the television on, Connor on a blanket beside her, phone at her ear, chattering away with Casey, while Buffy was in the basement doing laundry. Tara was off at late classes and Spike was upstairs when Wesley and Giles came through the door.

Barely registering their presence, Dawn waved hello, going right back into her conversation. Motioning Giles into the kitchen, Wesley offered him a drink, explaining, “Dawn’s got a boyfriend. She spends a fair amount of time attached to that thing.”

Before Giles had a chance to comment, Buffy was in the kitchen, hugging him. “Hey. Welcome back. How was dreary old London?”

“Not so dreary. But then I was hardly outside at all. Spent most of my trip in the Council libraries in fact.” He tried maintaining a straight face, but Buffy’s welcome was far too enthusiastic for him to remain stoic.

“Right. Go Giles with the researchy trip. So, you gonna tell us all the good stuff?” Buffy reached around Giles, opening the refrigerator and grabbing a bottle after glancing up at the clock.

“I thought perhaps I’d wait until everyone is assembled, rather than go over this numerous times.” Giles watched her closely, noting that the gauntness and shadows that had clung to her seemed to be easing somewhat.

“How are you doing?” Giles wanted to know and it seemed like now was a good time to ask.

Putting the bottle on the stove to warm, Buffy stole a glance toward Wesley, then shrugged. Very softly she said, “I’m doing okay. Was afraid for a little bit that I’d lose Spike and Dawn, but I’m okay.” Smiling at him brightly, Buffy continued, “Not perky Buffy yet, but working my way toward sometimes chipper.”

Checking the bottle’s temperature, Buffy put it back into the nearly boiling water, smiled at Wesley, saying cryptically, “He’s a bit late…wonder why?”

Wesley’s answering smile was a bit lopsided, but his response was equally cryptic. “He’s been going a bit longer every time.”

Just then an ear splitting wail rang through the house and two things happened at once. Dawn yelled “Buffy!” and thumping feet were heard on the stairs.

Spike’s voice reached them. “Niblet, instead of addin’ to the racket, pick up the sprog an’ bring him inside.”

To which she replied, “I’m on the phone.”

Which just caused the other two in the kitchen to laugh, but Giles failed to see the humor in any of it.

Spike entered the kitchen with a caterwauling Connor cradled to his chest, a look of pure chagrin on his features. ‘Kitten, tha’ girl needs to get off ‘er butt and take care of the sprog.”

Realizing the kitchen was more occupied than he thought, Spike said, “Never mind. We’ve the convention here already. ‘Lo Rupes.” Handing off the infant to Buffy, Spike perched on the counter. “How was the old sod?”

“It was fine. What I saw of it in any case.” Giles realized that only Tara was missing from this group that he needed to update so he asked, “When will Tara be returning?”

Spike answered without taking his eyes away from where Buffy was cuddling Connor, “Not long. ‘Bout half an hour at most. Got lots to share, Watcher?”

“I do, and I’d rather do this once.” He was tired and he wanted to get into his own bed and sleep until sometime late tomorrow morning.

Wesley asked, “Is she coming home right after classes?”

“Don’t rightly remember,” was Spike’s idle response, but then he shook off his reverie. “Think she an’ dog boy were supposed to be here for movie night.”

“Dog boy?” Giles looked between the other two Englishmen, clearly not understanding.

“He means Oz.” Buffy’s voice was laced with something Giles couldn’t quite pick up on, he thought it might be confusion, but he just discounted it as his own misreading of the entire conversation.

“Oz and Tara are– getting along?”

Spike choked back a snorted laugh, saying, “S’right Watcher. Go away for a bit an’ the whole soddin’ Hellmouth goes a bit wonky.”

At Giles’ completely baffled look, Spike and Wesley filled him in on all the details of what he’d missed while Buffy listened, feeding Connor.


~*~*~


Two days she’d been working diligently, relentlessly perfecting the spells and glamours she was going to need to protect herself from Angel. She’d known as clearly as her own name, that he was coming for her.

No one else could perform the soul restoration. No one else knew it. She wasn’t going to do it. Wasn’t even going to give the spell to Buffy so that someone else could try. She also wasn’t going to wait while Angel played his stalkery game. No. Going to take control of the whole situation. Maybe…Angel will kill Spike and then I’ll take care of Angel. Make him all poofy and everything will be like it should be. I’ll have Tara back and Buffy will be my best friend again and life will be good. Yeah. That’s what I’m going to do.

Mind firmly made up, Willow went back to studying the books strewn across her bed.


~*~*~


Dark blue eyes framed by dark lashes surveyed the room, idly noting the broken porcelain bits and tattered lace littering the floor. Dainty feet pirouetted round the room, snippets of songs bouncing off the blood splattered walls. A delicate, deceptively fragile ivory hand cupped the cheek of her latest find- a luscious little girl wrapped in layers of silk and lace- then pulled back, leaving a line of crimson across one cheek.

“Mmmmm. Mummy likes that…lovely pretty ribbons of red dancing all about, curling round.” A cool tongue licked a path from a puckered nipple upwards, pausing to nibble delicately at the throbbing pulse, lapping at the blood pooling in a hollow cheek. “Lots of pretty ribbons for Mummy. Does precious kitty want to play?”

Sharpened nails slid down the mostly naked torso, tweaking already engorged nipples, then dipping lower, lower still. The form beneath the questing hand was quiet, the only sounds gasping, panting breaths as cool, blood-slick fingers slithered downwards. Dipping two fingers into the warm pussy of her latest prize, Drusilla laughed softly as her toy’s hips raised up, the girl silently begging for more.

“That’s it, little kitty cat, purr for Mummy.” Sinking her fangs into the breast in front of her, Drusilla stilled, taking long gulps, then stilled again as she felt the silent pull, the feeling of…home…of Daddy. It was not the first time she’d felt it, but this was by far the strongest. Cocking her head to the side, Drusilla listened to the call of her Sire, a call only she could hear…

Pistoning her fingers in the toy’s warm pussy, Drusilla growled her joy at the thrumming in her veins. Ripping her mouth away, she cooed her delight, forgetting about the willing body beneath her hands. “Daddy’s home, little pussy…pssssssss. My little pussy shall be just for Daddy now.”

Running her tongue over the bucking form of her latest human, Drusilla singsonged into the girl’s flesh. “Daddy’s home…Daddy’s home…and he wants his little girl.”

Watching now as her human bucked and writhed in orgasm, Drusilla smiled. “Yes…little pussycat shall be Daddy’s prezzie.”

~*~*~

Buffy was changing Connor’s diaper, something Giles absolutely never envisioned his slayer doing. Tara and Oz were clattering in the front door, but Giles’ full attention was on the two figures on the floor. Buffy was kneeling by the fireplace, Connor on his blanket and Buffy was actually, and evidently happily, changing the infant’s nappy. He shook his head, trying to come to terms with this vision. He’d thought about waiting to give them his biggest discovery in private, but the sight in front of him had him so rattled that Giles just blurted it all out without thinking.

“You aren’t the first, you know. There have been other Slayers who had children. It’s a rare occurrence, I’ll grant you that, but it has happened.” He paused when Buffy looked at him, her eyes calmly digesting this information. Spike had stilled at the first sound of his voice, lowering the volume on the television, but gradually everyone present had focused on his words, each of them anxiously awaiting whatever else was about to escape from his lips.

“The last slayer to have a child was actually pregnant when she was called.” Remembering what had happened to her, Giles rushed on, “But she wasn’t the first. What is more remarkable were the others.”

“What others?” Buffy shared a look with Spike, knowing which slayer Giles had been referring to and why he’d nearly tripped over himself to skip the story of Spike and Nikki Wood.

“The ones who managed to fall in…the ones who weren’t called, but were identified as potentials, and their fates.”

Spike got up off the chair, going to stand beside where Buffy and Connor were, his hand unconsciously stroking her hair. “Go on, Watcher, may as well finish it.”

“The information regarding vampire pregnancies was fairly easily found, however, my research did turn up an interesting fact I’m sure none of us considered. The males are all of the same line. They are all Aurelians.”

Buffy’s hand reached up to clasp Spike’s and their fingers entwined, his thumb brushing across the back of her hand. It was his voice that asked the question they were both thinking. “Why’m I gettin’ the feeling there’s more to this story?”

“Because there is.” Giles focused his full attention on the couple in front of him, fully aware what he was about to tell them could literally change their lives.

“Six well documented cases of vampire pregnancies, all of them human girls with Aurelian males.” He ticked them off one by one on his fingers.

“Ariadne of Crete, died in 1137, had two children; one in 1138 and another in 1142.

“Amalie of the Franks, died 1222, had four children; 1224, 1226, 1227, and the last in 1230.

“Sorcha of Clan MacDonald, died in 1282, had three surviving children; 1284, 1285, and 1286.

“Miriam of the City of Grenada, died 1301, one child; 1303.

“Bryn of Rhuddlan, died in 1587, had two children born in 1588 and 1591; and the last recorded was Isabeau de la Fontaine, died 1622, one child in 1623.”

The room was quiet, none of those present willing to make a sound. Buffy couldn’t look at Spike, afraid of what emotions she would find on his features. She could feel his eyes on her, could feel his tension in the stiffening of his muscles and before she could risk a glance upwards, Giles was speaking again.

“It was Isabeau that lead me to the second part of this, the other half of this puzzle. Isabeau was identified as a potential slayer in 1619. She was never called. Bryn was identified as a potential in 1585. All the others I mentioned were identified within five years of their first deaths.”

Spike was staring down at Buffy, willing her to look up at him, which she finally did when he unconsciously tugged on her hand. The fierceness of the look in his eye coupled with the set of his jaw loosened the coils of fear that had settled in her belly. Buffy smiled up at him and she watched as the ferocity grew.

Heedless of the small drama being played out on the floor of the living room, Giles finally spoke again. “The as of yet unrecorded vampire pregnancy took a bit more uncovering. Darla and Angel. Darla was turned by the Master. Do you know when?” At Spike’s shaken head, Giles said, “I believe it was 1609. She was an indentured servant, actually working as a whore, just as the rumors implied. If she is who I now believe her to be, she was born Darla Witherspoon, identified as a potential in 1602, who ran away from home when the Council attempted to approach her in England.”


~*~*~


Willow was standing in the middle of Restfield, working on perfecting her ability to conjure fire out of thin air. She’d been practicing outside now for about an hour, leaving the safety of her parents’ home when one of the curtains got singed.

The fireball spell was proving trickier than she’d imagined, working well only about a third of the time. The sunshine spell was fine, in fact was better than fine, as the vampire dust at her feet attested to. Transmuting the energy from sunshine into flame wasn’t as easy, and for all of her hard work, Willow was no more accurate than when she first started.

Why isn’t this working? This should work without a hitch – so what’s the damn problem? Holding her palm open, Willow blew out a breath, breathing life into the invocation. A tiny pulsing light bathed her pale features, casting almost noon shadows as it flittered above her head.

Willow stared up at the light for long moments, contemplating the sight overhead and the nature of fire. Think Willow…what is it that…sunlight, glass, dry leaves. Is that? No. Too complicated and it’ll take too long. Think. Put your thinking cap on and work this darn thing out.

“Sunlight to flame…” Pacing back and forth, Willow started muttering chaunts beneath her breath, trying to come up with one that would be simple and effective– and fast. “Sunlight to flame…sunlight to flame, never go out in rain. Nope. That’s just silly. Flame, game, same, name, dame, claim, fame, tame…nothing fits.”

A low laugh echoed off the marble surrounding her and Willow’s head snapped up, trying to pinpoint from which direction the sound originated.

Glancing overhead, Willow uttered a single word ‘widen’ and the area bathed in light enlarged.

Casting a wary eye all around, Willow waited, instinctively knowing nothing excited Angelus quite the way fear did.

Long minutes passed, or so it seemed, without either adversary speaking. Willow crossed her arms over her chest, a bored expression drifting across her features, hiding her internal agitation well.

She knew what he was trying to do. He was trying to get her to panic, to leave the safety of the sunshine. Not gonna happen, big guy. I’m way smarter than you – can soo outplay your game right now.

Angel was impressed. Little Red was all grown up, trying to play with her elders. He could feel the power pulsing within her and he could also sense the deep well of anger nearly swallowing her. She was…magnificent. Or, she will be when she’d fully come into her power.

Oh, boyo, would ya look at that one. She’s a bright dark one…an dorcha geal realta. She’d make a right fine vampire. He laughed again, for the joy of watching her and the thrill of chasing her.

She’d expected him to laugh, wasn’t fazed by his mirth at all. But unlike before, when by now she would’ve been a babbling mess, Willow was determined to remain silent.

“Well, well, well. Look at how little Willow has grown. Not scared of me either. That’s such a shame. I must be losing my touch.” He paused, watching her try to pinpoint his location. She aimed a small ball of sunshine at a spot, but he’d already moved from there.

“That’s not very sporting now, is it? And all this time I thought you liked me. Was all that an act for Buffy’s sake?” She launched another one at him, but again, he’d moved before she could narrow down his position.

“Not a very nice greeting for someone who came to town just to see you. I was expecting something less hostile. I mean really, Willow, where’s the love?”

She was looking off to her left and she finally spotted him. Angel was leaning against a crypt in a deceptively casual pose, his arms crossed as he leaned back, his ankles crossed as well, a slight smile playing on his face. He was hidden just enough from the sunshine to ensure his safety and had waited patiently until Willow turned around.

“Gotta say, I’m liking the new look. Treading a bit on the dark side, aren’t you?”

Willow arched a dark brow, holding her silence. “So tell me, Willow. How come you’re out here all alone? Buffy desert you? Hmmm?”

He paused, staring her down, willing her to say something, but she held her tongue.

“Where’s your boy?” He sniffed, inhaling deeply, his inhalation ending in a surprised, spluttering laugh. “Oh, I’m sorry…should be asking where’s your girl. Willow, I’m surprised– an innocent girl like you? What are the neighbors saying?”

His grin got wider, watching as her composure started to crumble. “So, Willow, don’t you just love the taste of a juicy, wet pussy? Just where is your girl? Oooohhhh, is she the tasty one living with Buffy? Wonder if she and Spike share?”

Willow’s resolve wavered and she sent a ball of sunshine winging toward Angel, but he laughed, disappearing into a crypt before the light could hit him.

His cruel and callous laughter echoed around the interior of the mausoleum, bouncing back at her from all sides, and its echo still rang in her ears as she raced home.


Okay, I know you're all pissed because I haven't updated in a while, but show me some love anyway. Please?