Origins: Revelations
by Niamh


[A/N: I’ve had a couple of weeks from hell. Literally. I’ve been unable to type, the pain in my arm so intense that nothing’s been helping it. I’m so sorry about not being able to update. I feel so badly about it. I promise to make it all up to somehow. Please don’t be angry with me. The title is from Aristotle as quoted by Diogenes Laertes in Lives of Eminent Philosophers, and the quotes are as attributed. Disclaimers in full force and effect.]

Previously: Drusilla is in Sunnydale with Angelus. Spike and Buffy have claimed each other as Mates. This is three weeks after their encounter with Drusilla.


Book Two. Chapter 24. Hope is a Waking Dream.

What reinforcement we may gain from hope;
If not, what resolution from despair.
John Milton, Satan, Paradise Lost, bk. 1

There was no hope, but everyone felt the courage of despair.
Rose Wilder Lane, The Ghost in the Little House

And thus it is that in the depth of love there is a depth of eternal despair,
out of which springs hope and consolation.
Miguel de Unamuno, The Tragic Sense of Life



She kept waiting for things to change, little signs that something was different about her since she and Spike had exchanged claiming and mating bites, but aside from feeling him all the time and at times being able to key into his emotions and thoughts, there were no outward signs. Everything was normal. Well, as normal as their lives were.

That didn’t stop her from searching her face in the mirror, three weeks after they’d mated, looking for signs of bumpies or fangs. Nope. Nothing there.

Spike stood in the doorway of the bathroom, watching Buffy go through the funniest thing he’d ever seen in a long time. At this precise moment, she was lifting her lips over her gums, looking for signs of elongating canines. She was adorably funny and he was having a hard time suppressing his laughter. She hadn’t seen or sensed him yet, but that was only a matter of time.

He’d come up here for something else entirely, but had gotten sidetracked when he’d caught a glimpse of her antics. Connor was sleeping in his crib and the rest of the household was gone, Dawn and Tara both at school.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Spike tried to stop the laughter that was bubbling up inside him. “I’d imagine your reflection would be bit hazy if all that other stuff were to happen.”

Buffy turned, blushing furiously at being caught in the act of checking her own mouth. “How long have you been watching me?”

“Long enough, goldilocks.” His eyes held a spark of mischief. “If you’re looking for fangs, love, don’t think it’s gonna happen.”

‘Why not?” She paused, realizing how jealous that sounded and how weird that was. “Um, not that I really want fangs and bumpies, coz, um, not so nice, but how come?”

Spike moved further into the bathroom, almost closing the door behind him. The usual scents assaulted his supernatural sense of smell, but Spike tuned them out, narrowing on Buffy. He’d come upstairs to get something from his wallet but her crazy behavior, combined with her mouth-watering scent distracted him. There was something about her that was different, newer…

“Coz, kitten, I’d have to turn you for that and ‘m not likely to be doing that anytime soon.”

“No?” She pouted a bit, her lower lip jutting out, teasing him.

“Not bloody likely.” He ran a finger over her lips. “Course I’d still be your willin’ slave, but I like you this way…warm and…” He nuzzled his face into her hair, nudging at her with his nose. “You smell fuckin’ delicious, sunshine. Wanna eat you all up, little girl.”

Her arms reached up around the back of his neck, holding him against her as his words set off tiny explosions in her. “Delicious?” His arms encircled her from behind and Spike ground his erection into her ass. “Me?”

“Fuck, yeah.” His fangs grazed his mating marks on her throat and tiny droplets of blood rolled around his tongue. “Yeah, richer, stronger. Fuller…” Spike sniffed her again, this time without the intent of seduction. Spike spun her around, his eyes intent on her, searching her face.

Dropping down to his knees, Spike pulled her close, inhaling deeply. He’d smelled something like this before…

Raising his eyes to hers, Spike grinned at the question in her eyes. He got to his feet, then lifted her up in the air, dropping kisses across her torso.

“Spike, what are you doing?” His growling laugh caught her attention and she pulled his head away from where it nestled between her breasts. “Spike? What is wrong with you? What are you doing?”

The pout was back and Spike dropped her onto the bathroom counter, attacking her pouting lips with a fervor. Breathless from his kisses, Buffy forgot his weird behavior.


~*~*~


Dawn was sitting in the cafeteria with Janice waiting for Casey to get there so they could eat together.

“Christmas is less than a week away. Do you know what you’re gonna get him?” Janice asked, trying to figure out what she should get her own boyfriend.

“He said he wanted some game for the PS2.” Dawn scrunched up her face. “But I gotta get Buffy’s, too, and something for Giles. I’m done with everyone after that.”

Janice sighed, grousing. “You suck. I haven’t even started. Not fair. How come you’re nearly done?”

“Spike gave me money over the weekend. Figured I might as well get it done. It was easy shopping for him.”

“Yeah? Whadidya get him?” Janice was curious.

Dawn snickered. “I got him music. The Essential Clash and, um…The Buzzcocks.”

“Cool.” Casey’s voice came from behind her and he kissed her then sat down. “Remind me to ask him if I can copy them after Christmas.”

A light went on in Dawn’s head and she smiled at him. “Sure. I can do that.”


~*~*~


Everything was cold. She was cold. Tendrils of wet hair wrapped themselves around her throat and she couldn’t move her hands to get them away. Her fingers, when she tried flexing them, were swollen and battered and at least two of them were broken. Her once perfect nails were ragged and she was pretty sure a couple were bleeding sluggishly. Her skin felt like it was stretched out, sucked dry, and every nerve ending was dulled and aching. Her left wrist was sore. There were small, razor thin cuts running the length of her arms, stinging her every time she moved. Her skin was hot there and across her butt, but everywhere else she was cold.

Whatever clothing she’d been wearing was long gone and there were no blankets to cover her. Not that it mattered. She couldn’t see anything but the ceiling above her, or, if she angled her head down, the tips of her breasts and the bed she was tied to. But she didn’t want to think about that, about what was anchoring her here and now, so instead she focused her gaze upwards, staring at the ceiling. She imagined all sorts of things, counting bumps and crevices in the flat surface above her, finding interesting patterns.

There was no way of knowing how long she’d been tied up, no way of remembering what had gone on before. She was nothing. There was nothing beyond the hurt, and the smell of burning hair and the coppery metallic scent of blood. Her stomach no longer growled, it had been days since she’d had anything resembling real food. Was it days? I don’t remember.

Her once flawless skin had been shredded and torn, mottled and bruised, every inch sporting some mark, some new flaw. Tears were an indulgence, something she permitted herself only when she knew she was alone, when those tormenting her left her alone. She was crying now, silent salty tears sliding down the side of her head for what once was, what would never be again.

I’m gonna survive this. Gonna…not going to let this kill me. Not going let either of them kill me. A sob welled up in her throat and she gritted her teeth, trying to force the sound down and away, so that her captors wouldn’t hear her.

Little tingles of awareness shot down her spine and she knew what it meant. Since the first night, she’d tried to retreat, to shrink away from the pain, to escape away, all to no avail. The pain dragged her back, kept her mind tied to her body, aware of every cut, every bleeding, seeping wound. There was no hiding.

Not even her mind would go away…leave her body behind, let them do what they would to it, because the shell no longer mattered, the skin wasn’t important.

She grimaced, hearing the first noises that heralded her captor’s arrival. Thin leather straps circled her wrists, others binding her legs to the posts of the bed; strips that were once wet with water and allowed to dry were now slick with her blood, tightening and digging into her bleeding flesh. Despite knowing resistance was only spice to his torture of her, she couldn’t help writhing on the bed, twisting and trying to loosen her bonds in a futile effort to get away from the monster walking down the hallway toward her.

Scrabbling like a rat in the cage, she whined and pulled at the bonds holding her tight, bringing blood to the surface, letting it drip down onto the bed below her.

Her nerves shorted, muscles tensing and flexing with anticipation when she caught a glimpse of him in the doorway. His pants were riding low on his hips, arms crossed over his barrel chest, a malicious grin lighting his dark features and a feral twinkle in his eyes. She stilled, knowing something was different…he was different right now.

Fear welled up, seizing her, catching in her throat. Her heart was pounding in her chest, breaths hard and drying her throat.

No…no…no…no…not this. Not now…

She wasn’t aware of her whispered pleas to a God that had forsaken her, to a monster without a soul for a moment of compassion that would never come.

Rough calloused hands brushed across her broken and bleeding skin, smoothing over the puckered and pebbled softness, a low rumbling growl erupting from his chest as she shrank away from him. Sharp nails scored over her nipples, raising welts from illusory gentle hands. Blood welled up from the marks left behind, pooling on her, running down the hills of her breasts toward her neck.

The mattress dipped below his weight, as he settled between her legs, watching her try and close her thighs against him, words she didn’t understand, didn’t want to understand spewing from his mouth. No no no…her mind was screaming at her now, knowing instinctively that he was about to commit the final act of violation on her.

Without further warning, his fingers shot straight into her core, dry thrusting into her, nearly lifting her ass from the bed.


~*~*~


Wesley and Giles were working tirelessly, trying to find a complete copy of the translation of the Romany text Jenny had made before she died, and trying to find a surgeon who was willing to travel to Sunnydale. The night meeting he’d had with Lilah Morgan had been a miscalculation on his part, since Lilah had done nothing but try to recruit him for Wolfram & Hart from the moment he sat down in the restaurant. It had disconcerted him no end, especially how she had phrased the offer. He’d been so focused on obtaining assistance about the chip that she had caught him off guard when she pitched the idea. Because of her demeanor, once Wesley got his bearings, he held off mentioning the purpose of his request for the meeting. His guard had been up; his inherent suspicion of anything from Wolfram & Hart setting off warning bells that Wesley had just clammed up and held his tongue. So that was one avenue of chip removal that he refused to pursue further.

According to rumors, or so Willie had said, Angelus and Drusilla had skipped town two weeks ago, searching for lost lambs. Both men were afraid they were looking for the other members of the AI team, especially since they’d lost contact with Cordelia.

She’d called a couple of times, checking in and letting them know she was safe. Gunn had also called in, informing Wesley that he and Fred were hiding out in the underground of Los Angeles, living on the streets. Even Lorne had checked in, from Las Vegas, where he was working in one of the casinos. But nothing from Cordelia in a couple of days, which just increased Wesley’s distraction.

The two Englishmen had just exhausted their last contact, the last surgeon on their list refusing to remove the chip. They were sitting in Rupert’s office, neither one of them in the best of spirits.

“Do we have a way of contacting the Initiative?” Wesley’s voice finally broke the silence.

Giles looked up from his contemplation of the text in front of him. “I believe Buffy knows how to. I tried to disassociate from that aspect of her life.”

Wesley nodded, then got up to pace around the small space, “We’re going to have to tell them. Might as well be tonight.”

Rupert grimaced. “Happy bloody Christmas.”

“Indeed. I take it this will not be received happily.”

“Not likely.” Giles feared that would be a gross understatement.

~*~*~


Willow was pacing outside the lecture hall. Tara’s presence called out to her from behind the closed doors, but she had no idea if her sudden appearance was going to be welcomed. Doesn’t matter any now. Don’t care. Need to see her. To feel her. She’s mine. My girl.

The class broke and suddenly the hallway was full of people emerging, laughing, chattering and going about their day. Tara was one of the last to leave the lecture hall, surrounded by a group of smiling people Willow didn’t know. Placing a hand up, Willow muttered ‘mute’ and all the noise receded.

“Hello, Tara.” Willow’s voice was surprisingly controlled, none of her nervousness showing.

“Willow. How are you?” Tara’s eyes shifted left and right, noting the sudden hush that fell over her study group. Realizing it wasn’t natural, Tara stared at Willow, then said, “Release them Willow, or this discussion will never get started.”

Chastised, Willow complied. “Can we go someplace to talk at least?”

“What’s there to talk about? You’ve changed, Willow. You aren’t the same girl I fell in love with. And I’m not the same either.” Tara moved out of the way of the passing students, stepping further away from Willow.

“I’ve…I’ve been thinking and well, I guess you were right. I should’ve asked for help, told you what I was planning.” Willow played with the edges of her sleeves.

“I suppose that’s an admission, but really, Willow, it’s not enough.” Tara’s voice was cool, her personality almost wouldn’t allow for anything harsher, and there was a firmness that Willow hadn’t ever heard before.

“What would be enough?” Willow was at a loss.

Tara was shaking her head. “Until you figure that out, Willow, I can’t be around you.” Taking pity on the girl she used to love, Tara smiled a bit. “You have a lot of people that still care, but you need to figure stuff out.”

With Willow sputtering in confusion, Tara tried one more time, “You hurt a lot of people, those same people that care. You need to figure out what’s more important.”


~*~*~

Buffy looked up at the ceiling, every muscle loose and rubbery. Daytime sex with Spike was the best she decided. Didn’t matter really what time of day, but there was something about him being inside her during the day that made her toes curl more than they normally did when she thought about Spike.

She was flat on her back; Spike’s head nestled between her breasts, his arms curled around her protectively. He was quiet, so quiet that she thought he might be asleep and she didn’t want to disturb him if he was. This was so comfy…Buffy shifted a bit, running a hand through his curls, her mind a bit blank. She sighed and felt Spike reposition himself.

His low voice rumbled out of him, “Wha’s wrong?”

She rubbed hard into the spot at his nape, the one he loved for her to massage, saying, “Nothing. Go back to sleep.”

“You sure, kitten?” His voice was so sleepy. I love that sound.

“Ahuh. Pretty positive.” She hugged him closer. “Nothing’s wrong here.”

“Mmmm.” He nestled closer, a kiss brushing against her skin.

“Spike? What do you want for Christmas?” Buffy’s hands stilled a bit, waiting for his answer.

“Nothin’. Already got more than I hoped for. Don’t need anythin’.” She could feel his eyelashes fluttering against her breast and the sensation caused Buffy to almost miss his words.

“Not about what you need, silly. Christmas is about getting something you want really badly and can’t get for yourself.” She played some more with the hair at his neck, her fingers combing his curls.

“Sunshine, got all that. Got everythin’ I want right here.” He paused, knowing this was a perfect opening to tell her what he suspected, but he hesitated, wondering if he should let her figure it out on her own.

“C’mon Spike, there has to be something you really want.” Buffy knew she was pushing, but she wanted so badly to tell him what she was thinking…

Spike lifted up to look down at her. “Buffy, isn’t anythin’ I want that I don’t already have.” He paused, his eyes intent up on her. “Wha?”

There was a look he’d never seen before on her– hope and fear and something else swirled in her green eyes. “You sure there isn’t something else that you want?”

Oh, she’s got something on her mind. “All right, what is it?”

She looked up at him shyly, unsure what to say now. “Never mind. I’ll just surprise you on Christmas.”

“You sure?” Spike nudged at her, seeking entrance into her depths again. “C’mon, sunshine, tell me.”

“Nope. It’s gonna be a surprise.” Buffy angled her hips, using her hot hand to guide him back inside her. Her pussy contracted around him and Spike forgot what it was they had been talking about.

~*~*~

Oz caught up with Tara before she got to the bookstore where they were actually supposed to meet.

“Hey.” His voice startled her from her thoughts of Willow and Tara jumped in surprise.

“Hey.” He could see she was upset, but knowing her, she’d start talking before he asked, so he waited her out. His patience was rewarded not moments later.

“Ran into Willow just now. I thought she was going to apologize, but she didn’t. I really don’t know her the way I thought I did.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to say something, but Oz wasn’t sure waxing philosophical would work at the moment, so he kept silent.

“You know she’s never once said she was sorry for any of it. What she did.” Tara sighed, smiling sadly. “And she has no idea that I know what she did to Spike.”

“Sometimes learning the hard way is the only way some people learn.” Oz opened the shop’s door, letting Tara step through.

“I guess. Its just hard watching it.” She sighed, looking over her shoulder at the short man.

“Always is.” He pointed her toward the coffee bar and just like that the discussion was done.

~*~*~

It was hours later when Giles and Wesley were finally able to get a moment alone with Buffy and Spike to tell them about the last attempt at finding a surgeon.

Just before they left for patrol, as Giles was staying home with Dawn and Connor since Tara had study group and Wesley was going with them. Since Drusilla’s first night, Spike had been adamant about someone else patrolling with them. He didn’t want to take a chance of getting separated and one of them getting hurt. He never voiced it, but Buffy knew he was thinking of two things; her getting overwhelmed by sheer numbers and Angelus deciding to use humans against them. So she didn’t balk– much.

They were heading out when Giles stopped them. “Buffy? Can you wait a moment? I’ve got some news.”

“What’s up?” Buffy turned around, lifting her hair into a loose ponytail. Spike was pulling on his duster and perked up at Giles’ tone.

“Wesley and I contacted Dr. Sutter, the last surgeon on our list, in Canada. I think I can safely say we’ve exhausted all possibilities here. I don’t believe extending our search to Europe will have anything but similar results.” He waited a beat, letting that news sink in before he spoke again. “We could use a normal surgeon.”

The blond couple shared a look, which neither of the other two could interpret. Their silent communication lasted longer than normal; and Giles was about to ask something when Spike growled and stormed from the house.

It was Wesley’s quietly worded question that startled them. “How long have you and Spike been mated?”

Giles took off his glasses to peer closer at Buffy, spluttering out, “How? When? Why didn’t you say something?”

Buffy stayed silent for a minute, an odd look on her face and as she heard the closing of the front door, she started talking. Deciding to answer Wesley first, Buffy said, “about three weeks ago.” Then she giggled and said, “okay, it was the Thursday before Thanksgiving.”

“Ah.” Giles smiled, remembering the very strange things Buffy had done on Thanksgiving which now all made more sense. “And you kept this to yourselves because?”

“Its private, Watcher. Not somethin’ for the masses.” He was suddenly leaning against the door, arms crossed and features set. Spike’s stance and tone were a bit belligerent, but Giles had come to learn that was just the vampire being defensive. Giles had expected something like this– been waiting for it actually, and wasn’t really all that surprised.

“Have you noticed any changes?” He couldn’t help asking. Curiosity and the need to chronicle were so ingrained he sometimes lost sight of when both traits became a bit offensive. Spike grunted, not answering, but Buffy leaned over and thumped him.

“We can sorta talk to each other.” Buffy shot her mate a look, admitting, “Okay, Spike can talk. I’m still working on the verbal. But I can do pictures and emotions. Go me!”

“Spike, is that normal?” Giles was warming up to the subject but was thrown for a loop at the other Englishman’s answer.

“Dunno. Never done this before.” Spike relaxed against the doorjamb, belligerence gone.

“Never done this? Weren’t you and Drusilla mates?” He stopped speaking at the shake of both their heads. Well that was bloody news. He’d thought for sure the two had been mated. “But the Watcher’s Diaries state that.”

Spike’s snort of disgust was drowned out by Buffy’s incomprehensible grumble.

“Should know by now, Rupes, those diaries aren’t always accurate. Lots of things the Council doesn’t know about.” Spike stepped closer to Buffy. “Wankers haven’t a clue half the time.”

Wesley stirred, folding his arms across his chest, remarking, “Indeed. The Council has not been very forthcoming or accommodating in the past.”

“Not sure I trust them at all.” Was Buffy’s softly worded statement, while Spike stated calmly, “No reason to. Haven’t done right by you at all.”

She leaned back against him as his arm snaked around her waist and his lips brushed against her hair. His next words brought them right back to the start of this conversation. “So unless we go abroad, we’ve stalled, yeah?”

“We’ve hit a brick wall, I’m afraid.” Once more Giles and Wesley watched while the two communicated silently.

Spike’s voice broke the silence, a deep sigh indicating his capitulation. “Fine. Call them. ‘M not happy with it, but they put the bloody thing in there, they should be the ones takin’ it out.”

He broke away from Buffy, signaling the end of his patience and, as far as he was concerned, the end of the conversation. “C’mon, if you’re still comin’. Night’s still young.”

And he was out the door and down the steps before Wesley had even moved.


~*~*~

Oz was wrapping amp cords and putting away his equipment when he heard the first out of place rustlings. It stopped when he stopped moving, so he knew there was someone in the practice space he and the rest of the band had rented. Not to mention that he could smell whoever it was, he just didn’t recognize the signature.

Working more quietly, Oz finished up his tasks, eager to get going and not liking the feeling of being watched. The hackles on the back of his neck rose and Oz knew his control would slip the moment whoever it was showed. Thinking quickly, Oz reached into his pocket and, trying to shield his movements from whomever was watching him, opened his cell phone and punched in a series of numbers.

Hopefully, the elaborate system Giles had come up with would work and the signal would reach Buffy and Spike in time, and keep Tara away.

There was no time to finish the message, because a low growl sounded from behind him and Oz closed the phone, slowly turning around to face the threat.

Without a word, he began to morph, knowing he stood a far better chance of survival as the wolf. His own answering growls reverberated around the enclosed space and Oz’s last fleeting rational thought was about the equipment that was about to be damaged.

Growls and rumbles filled the air along with the screech and whine of destroyed electronic equipment. Panting for breath, the werewolf crouched on all fours, waiting for his foe to return from the shadows. A flicker of movement caught his attention and once again the two supernatural beings fought. Two sets of canines ripped into skin, snarling and slashing.

The vampire hadn’t expected this– hadn’t remembered this about the human at all– had imagined this one would be less of a challenge. But he was more than holding his own against the master vampire.

The vampire retreated again, hiding once more in the dark shadows, waiting for the werewolf to make a mistake. Blood was running from various claw wounds and bite marks, but he’d managed to inflict his own damage because the wolf was favoring his left hid leg, blood matting the reddish fur.

Using that knowledge, the vampire attacked on the left, trying to rip the wound open further. But the wolf was prepared for this, and sprang for the vampire’s throat, its jaws sinking in, closing around the vampire’s throat and shaking.

Growling deeply in growing fury, Angelus forced his finger’s into the wolf’s mouth, prying it open and away from his flesh. Something cracked and the wolf roared in pain, yowling and whimpering in fear.

Unable to stay and finish the kill, the blood flowing too fast and strong from his own wounds, Angelus clamped a hand around his bleeding neck and fled.



n, I apologize for taking so long with these updates. I simply cannot do them faster. I wish I could, because I’m dying to get this finished. Not in a bad way either, I just want to tell the story. Title is from that Welsh group, The Alarm (really you should go listen) from the album of the same name and the quotes are as attributed. Disclaimers, as always, are in full force and effect, coz Joss owns it all.]

Previously: Having exhausted all surgical avenues, the two Watchers have told Buffy and Spike of their findings, and now their choice about chip removal have narrowed to one. Oz and Angel had a run-in, and this picks up immediately after.



Book Two, Chapter 25. Eye of the Hurricane.


Thou born to match the gale, (thou art all wings,)
To cope with heaven and earth and sea and hurricane
Walt Whitman, To the Man-of-War-Bird

Calm fell. From Heaven distilled a clemency;
There was peace on earth, and silence in the sky;
Some could, some could not, shake off misery:
The Sinister Spirit sneered: It had to be!’
And again the Spirit of Pity whispered, ‘Why?’
Thomas Hardy, And There Was a Great Calm


The view from the hill looks bleak from where I stand
The waters are come in unto my soul
I can’t cry no more my eyes are bone dry sore
There’s a river of tears flowing down to the sea

I’m a desolate soul on a desolate shore
Destined to walk alone
Into the crucifix night
The storm of a cross
I live to love again and again
All my life

Oh eye of the hurricane
I walk away in the wind and the rain
Into the eye of the hurricane
Face to face
The Alarm, Eye of the Hurricane, 1990




“Look, I’m not chipper and cheery about this either. So not wanting to trust the Initiative, but Spike, it has to come out.”

They’d been bantering back and forth for the better part of an hour, not really fighting, as far as Wesley could tell, although there were moments when it was abundantly clear that Spike was not happy about using the Initiative. Wesley, thanks to some late night sharing over pints, had the background on the situation, probably even more than Giles had. Because Spike had been more forthcoming than usual that night, Wesley also knew what had transpired between Buffy and her former boyfriend.

And while Spike couldn’t remember specifically if Riley had been present during some of the more twisted “experiments” Wesley suspected Riley Finn had tested the vampire’s strength more than once. So his sympathies weren’t even in doubt in this situation. He didn’t want to subject Spike to more abuse at the hands of the military. Which was why he opened his mouth when there was a lull between verbal sparring matches.

“I’d like to be there to ensure nothing untoward happens.”

Both blondes looked at him, one confused and the other, it appeared, more than relieved someone else picked up on his apprehension and distrust.

“Why?” Spike sighed. Sometimes his woman was a bit too slow on the uptake.

Wesley’s answer was quick. “Because, like Spike, I don’t believe that the Initiative would just willingly let him go once they have him again.” Taking a deep breath and sharing a look over her head with his fellow ex-patriot, Wesley finished with, “nor do I trust that your former companion won’t seek some sort of revenge while Spike is incapacitated.”

The two Englishmen shared another look. Wesley’s support meant more than Spike was willing to admit and he was reassured by the idea that someone other than Buffy was going to keep an eagle eye on the proceedings. And not just someone. Spike had a healthy respect for Wesley that was more the beginnings of real friendship than anything else.

Buffy was about to speak when three cell phones simultaneously chirped.



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


Tara was in the library of UC Sunnydale, studying for her last final, head immersed in abnormal psychology and oblivious to anything else, when her cell phone vibrated in her bag, making it jump across the table.

Jumping a little herself, Tara grabbed her bag, and reached inside for the buzzing phone. Looking down at the voice mail message, Tara quickly packed up her things and with a quickly murmured “sorry” to her study group, she got up and left the building.



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


Giles was just settling down to read, after putting Connor down, when his cell phone rang. Fumbling for it, he heard Dawn’s door open, then the quick patter of her feet, and the thud of them hitting the stairs.

“Giles? Did your phone go off?” Seeing the item in his hands, Dawn held up a hand, “don’t bother. Its Oz. Something’s wrong, because he didn’t finish the message.”

“Yes I see that.” Giles checked his own, just in case, then snapped his head up. “Go upstairs and check Connor. I’ll get everything ready.”

“What do you mean everything?” Dawn watched him carefully, trying to figure out what he was going to do.

“If he’s hurt, he’ll need transport to hospital. I’m going to get the car. See to the baby please.” Giles grabbed his coat, motioning Dawn toward the stairs.

“Wouldn’t it be safer if Connor and I stayed here?” She faced Giles from the stairs where she’d started ascending.

He thought for a moment, weighing the options. There was no way of knowing until they found out where he was, what the situation was. “Perhaps waiting might be best. Do you know where he was going to be tonight?”

Dawn shrugged. “Nope.”

“Right then. We’ll wait. Dawn, check on the baby anyway.” Giles motioned her toward the second floor, then shrugged out of his jacket.

Placated that he wasn’t going to rush out, Dawn headed up the stairs.




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


Moving quickly from the library, Tara hit automatic dialer and got Spike on the first ring.

“What do you know Glinda?” His voice was steady, no hint of anything going on other than him waiting for her phone call.

“He’s rehearsing.” Was her first statement.

“Where?” He motioned his companions to silence.

“Not far from the college, one of the old converted warehouses on the end of Main Street.”

“Which one?” He moved closer to Buffy, letting her listen in.

“Not sure. Never been to rehearsal with him.” Tara was using her intuition, letting her feet guide her in the right direction. “I’d do a locator, but it would take too long.”

“All right. I’ll head over there with Buffy, an’ send Oxford for the wheels.” Clicking off the phone, Spike indicated to Buffy and Wesley what Tara hadn’t said. “We need to go now. Got a hunch dogboy could use a hand.” Pointing to himself and Buffy, he said, “we can get there faster without you.”

“I’d best go for the car then, in case we need to get him to Sunnydale Memorial. I’ll call Dr. Thomas, let him know we might be coming in.” Wesley headed off toward the cemetery’s entrance, Buffy and Spike just behind him.

“Oxford. Watch your back.” And with that the two blonds took off, running full out toward the warehouse district.



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


Tara closed her eyes after ending the phone call, inhaling deeply and centering herself. She was worried about Oz, knowing the quiet man wasn’t the type to jump and send messages that weren’t false alarms. He was more likely to downplay any danger.

Once she achieved a sense of calm, Tara thought to herself . . and realized how incredibly vulnerable she was in the nearly deserted area between the college and the warehouse district. Shaking her head at her own stupidity, Tara immediately cast the sunlight spell, sending the ball of sunshine up and over her head. There. That will keep me safe for now.

Reaching out her senses, Tara started off toward her left, following her intuition.



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


Spike, on the other hand, was using his knowledge of two things, the musical underground and his sense of smell. Not quite on a level with a werewolf’s, Spike’s heightened sense was enough to lead him unerringly to the rehearsal building, once he had a general location.

Buffy was running alongside him, holding back because she was relying on his sense of smell, and she stole a glance over at him, noting he’d slipped into game face and was sporting a grimace.

“Angelus was here.” He ground out as they skidded to a halt outside a boxy-type former factory with a sliding metal door. Taking note of the light rapidly approaching from their right, Spike slipped out of game face. “Glinda’s here, pet.”

Buffy swung her head to look and ran down the alleyway to meet her.

Spike had slipped inside before they returned, leaving the door partially opened. The interior lights were on, illuminating a plain hallway running parallel to the door, with perpendicular hallways and doors leading away from the front. Spike was nowhere to be seen and not willing to speak out loud in case Angelus was still in the building, Buffy held a hand out to stop Tara and silently called out to Spike.

His voice sounded in her head, “to your left, kitten, third hallway halfway down.”

Motioning Tara to come with her, Buffy followed his instructions.



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


The room was a shambles. Destroyed amps and ripped cabinets littered the floor, electronic cables and speaker wires hanging from the ceiling. Sparks flickered here and there and Spike grimaced when he passed a destroyed Stratocaster and the remains of Oz’ bass. Stepping over the debris on the floor, he gingerly made his way methodically through the room.

A low pain-filled groan caught his attention and Spike picked his way over to it. Oz was on the floor, blood pooling beneath his injured leg, half morphed between wolf and man. Knowing he could smell his presence, Spike kneeled down, talking quietly. “All right mate, its jus’ Spike. Girls are on their way. Gonna get you to hospital.”

Looking back over his shoulder, he called out, “Slayer, need to get Oxford here.”

Turning his attention back to the werewolf beside him, Spike asked, “where else you hurt?”

Oz turned his eyes to Spike, growling softly and trying to get the words out, but could only gasp, “ribs . . .leg. . . . jaw.”

“Right then. Don’t talk.” Spike leaned over, checking the wound on his left leg. Grabbing Oz’ ripped shirt, Spike tied off the wound, slowing the bleeding.

Buffy and Tara were behind him, leaning over his shoulder, surveying the damage to Oz. Placing her hand on Spike’s shoulder, Buffy said, “Wesley’s almost here. He called Dr. Thomas, they’re waiting for us to get there.”

Tara knelt down on the other side, her hand on Oz’ injured jaw. “Relax. We’re gonna get you out of here.”

Lifting her eyes to Spike, Tara asked, “can you lift him without jarring his ribs?”

Obviously the girls had heard their conversation, and Spike nodded. “Can try. Should be okay.” Looking down at Oz, Spike queried, “you ready?”

“Yeah.” Oz barely nodded, but Spike was already lifting him up, trying not to jostle him overly.



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


Wesley pulled up in Joyce’s Jeep, the back seat already down and a blanket on the floor. He was waiting at the back when the four of them emerged from the warehouse. At first glance Oz looked nearly dead, but on a second look, he was alert and responsive. Spike carried him easily, the girls trailing behind him. Buffy jumped up into the back of the Jeep and Spike passed his burden off, then hopped up in beside her.



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


Hours later, when Spike crawled into bed beside her, Buffy rolled right into his arms, nuzzling against his bare skin. “How is he?”

“All right.” Wrapping his arms around her, Spike whispered, “well, he will be once he’s asleep.”

She had gone to bed before him, inexplicably tired, leaving the three Englishmen to sit up with Tara while she watched over Oz. Dr. Thomas had patched him up, setting his jaw, wiring it closed, then wrapped his ribs and sent him home after stitching up his leg. By mutual agreement and despite his aunt’s protests otherwise, they’d brought Oz back to Revello Drive.

It was nearing daybreak when Spike came up to bed and Buffy hadn’t slept well or deeply, tossing and turning, unable to sleep despite the fatigue that was weighing down her muscles. Connor too, had spent a fitful night and he was back in his own bed after spending a few hours in with Buffy.

“Go back to sleep, kitten.” Spike ran his hand over her from shoulder to hip, raising gooseflesh in his wake.

“Don’t wanna sleep.” She nibbled at the hollow of his shoulder, her hands holding onto him. “Spike?”

“Yeah?” His voice was low and husky, his hands making idle patterns on her skin.

“Hold me please?” She sounded like such a little girl, like she had months ago when she’d first come back, that it shook him out of his lethargy.

“You okay sunshine?” Angling down to look at her, Spike saw the fear she was doing her best to hide. “What’s this then?”

“Dunno. Just thinking about when you got hurt, I guess.” She shrugged, hiding her eyes from him.

Spike licked his marks, his tongue raspy against her soft skin. “Don’t need to be worryin’ ‘bout me, ‘m fine an’ once this bloody chip is gone we’ll be fine.”

He heard her sniffles then felt the soft wash of a few tears that slid down her cheek. Spike wasn’t entirely certain what had prompted this reaction from her, but it wasn’t something he’d expected. Rolling her onto her back, Spike hiked up the flimsy slip of lace she was wearing, his hands strong and firm around her hips. Nudging his way between her hips, Spike slid inside her warm depths.

Silken heat surrounding him, Spike thrust slowly in, then pulled out a bit. Buffy whimpered at his retreat, her hands holding onto his ass, forcing him back in. “Love you, kitten. . . I do.”

“Me too. . . “ she stared up into his eyes, smiling a little when he licked the tears from her skin, letting small wisps of laughter escape when his fingers tickled her sides. “Spike, stop. C’mon.”

Grinning down at her, he surged up inside her, hitting the spot that made her breathing hitch and gasp. The pressure built slowly, murmured words mixed with drugging kisses, her legs wrapped around him, holding him there. . . “oh. . . “

Rolling through them the orgasm grew until they were both gasping for air, cool lips soothing the raging heat of her body. “Spike . . . oh god. . . “

“Stay with me love . . . come with me. . . “ his hands gripped her shoulders, fingers digging into tender skin, his forehead resting on hers. “Need you . . . always. . . fuck. . . oh god. . . “ he groaned into her mouth, breathing with her.

“Now. . . tha’s it . . . fuckin’ . . . “ Buffy whimpered, tightened around him, her entire body convulsing, contracting, arching up into his. Spike ground into her, pumping hard, gasping out her name, exploding in her depths.



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


Angelus limped his way back to the mansion, battered and bleeding from his battle with the werewolf. Well that had been a surprise. Not a pleasant one either. He didn’t remember if he’d ever heard about the boy being a werewolf.

Drusilla was waiting for him, lounging against the fireplace, her latest pet bound at her feet, both women naked and waiting for him. “What happened Dearest? Did the nasty doggie get you?”

He slumped against the wall, blood congealing down his chest and throat, thick and clotted. “Dru. . . “

His raspy voice was harsh, the sounds alone enough to hurt. “Come here Daddy, I’ve got what you need.”

Tugging on the chain that held the girl in place, Drusilla stood up and closed in on Angel. “Poor Daddy. . . all battered and torn.”

“Shall I clean you?” Suiting action to words, Drusilla dipped her head and licked a path through the clotted mess at Angel’s neck. “Mmmmmm lovely messy.”

The girl at her feet whimpered, drawing their attention. Angel growled, his need for fresh blood overriding his need to have Drusilla writhing beneath him. Pulling on the leash in Drusilla’s hand, Angel brought the girl to her feet. Grinning, yet reeling from the blood loss and pain, Angel fell on the girl’s neck, his fangs sliding easily into her jugular.

Nearly draining the girl dry, Angel let her drop from his hold, stepped over her slumped form, then, with Drusilla trailing behind him, Angel strode from the room.

Bypassing the bathroom, Angel walked into his bedroom. Looking at the girl tied up in his bed, the big vampire smiled, his grin stretching across his features and crossing his arms over his chest, he said, “hello Cordy. Miss me?”



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


Connor woke her not long after Spike had fallen asleep, his cool body wrapped around hers protectively. Spike was so very . . touchy feely, affectionate even. He was spoiling her rotten, if she thought about it for a minute. Every time he went out, he came back with something, even if it was just something she liked to eat. Come to think of it, it was mostly chocolate he brought home, even on poker nights. And he brought home something for the other girls too, at least once a week.

Lifting Connor up from his crib before his cries could escalate into earsplitting howls for his bottle, Buffy made her way downstairs to the kitchen. It was still fairly early, barely seven thirty in the morning, well, early if most of the household were nocturnal, which it was. Dawn had gotten up on time and left for school, as her note and lack of presence indicated and Tara was still downstairs, watching over Oz. Wesley and Giles must have gone back to the apartment they were sharing, although as she peeked out the back door, she spied Wesley sleeping on the lawn furniture, so Giles must still be around.

It took bare minutes to fill and warm Connor’s bottle and the entire time she kept up a running monologue to the attentive infant. He really was a cute baby, thankfully looking more like his mother than his father. Buffy wondered what on earth she might have been thinking with that. . . . Angel was not really a gorgeous man, not that looks were everything but . . . he wasn’t bad looking either. And yet, in a comparison between the vampires she’d loved, Angel came out a way distant second. The vampire sleeping upstairs was far and away the better man and not just looks wise.

Before she jumped, before Glory, life, at least hers, had been bathed in absolutes – colors of black and white, good and evil, right and wrong, sometimes charged with red. Since returning – since she’d been ripped from heaven, life had been. . . all about shadings, nuances – everything in the in-between. The grey. Nothing was absolute anymore, nothing carved in stone. . . well, there was one constant, one thing she could rely on and trust that it wasn’t going to disappear. . . to fade in the harsh light of day or disappear under the glow of perfect happiness.

Buffy brushed a kiss over Connor’s forehead, words tumbling unchecked from her lips, unaware and uncaring that she’d garnered an audience. “Yup. Your real daddy is a jerk, you know, just a big old dumb jerk. Can’t love without a soul, kinda makes you wonder what he was like when his heart beat. But we’re not gonna think about him, nope. Nahuh. Coz he’s just not worth it.” Another kiss dropped down on his head and Buffy swore he smiled at her around the nipple.

“Oh, but your new daddy. . . . I guess the real one . . .” Buffy’s voice faltered for a moment, then went on, “he’s different. Crazy, but different. Don’t think there’s anything he wouldn’t do. . . . he didn’t leave when I was gone . . stayed to take care of our Dawnie. And he doesn’t need a soul to do good things. How come he doesn’t? I think . . . dunno what to think sometimes. . . . he just . . he takes my breath away. He loves me so much. . . he loves all of us so much, even you.”

Connor’s hand reached up toward her mouth, his fingers pulling and touching her and Buffy automatically kissed each one of the tiny digits. “Promise you won’t tell anyone? It’s a secret, but you have to promise not to tell anyone, okay?”

In the back of her mind, Buffy knew how ridiculous it looked, carrying on a conversation with a two month old infant, but she didn’t care. Lifting him higher, Buffy whispered her secret against his skin, too low for anyone else to hear, even the vampire watching her from the shadows of the hallway.

“See why you had to promise? That’s my good boy. I knew I could trust you.” A watery giggle escaped from her when Connor looked up at her and smiled. “Oh you did. . . you smiled at Buffy. Yes you did. C’mon give mommy Buffy another one, c’mon Connor boy, you can, yes you can.” Her voice lost its serious tone, lilting with almost laughter.

To Spike’s ears and eyes, Buffy looked happier than he’d seen her in a very long time. Completely alone with the baby, she dropped the defenses she always carried, the worries and cares of just being the Chosen One.

The tiny nightshirt she wore over the minuscule nightgown did nothing to decrease his need for her, in fact, it just served to whet his appetite, but he was content to just watch her, to listen to her with their surrogate son.

Didn’t matter how Connor came into their lives, he was theirs. They’d both claimed him it seemed, if going by her statements to the baby were any indication. He leaned a shoulder against the wall, his eyes intent upon the two in the kitchen. She wasn’t even aware of his presence, her every sense focused on the baby in her arms. He’d never have pegged her as the maternal type, but thinking about it, it made a weird sort of sense. What set her apart from the other slayers he’d known was the depth of her heart – her love – her capacity for it.

She might’ve feared, just after her mother had died that she was losing her heart, but the truth was, it wasn’t that she couldn’t love, it was that she was afraid to love. Buffy loved with everything she had and when it wasn’t reciprocated fully she was hurt in equal measure. He was brought back from his musings by the sound of her light laugh and her words.

“There’s daddy Spike’s big boy. You burp like a champ.” She giggled again and the sound was pure sunshine.

He must’ve moved or made some sort of sound, because she became aware of him, standing there watching the two of them. Turning around to look at him, Buffy’s breath caught in her throat. Spike was leaning against the wall, his legs crossed at the ankles, black jeans riding decadently low on his hips, the buttons only half done, arms crossed over bare chest, eyes sleepy and curls wild and disheveled, tousled from his short sleep. And all that is mine. . . . gah.

She gasped for air, her eyes drinking in his form. “How . . . how long have you been watching me?”

“Woke up missing you.” Was all he said as he pushed away from the wall.

Buffy met him halfway, drawn to him by the love in his bottomless blue eyes. His hands flexed around her hips, his breath washing over her. His voice, when he spoke, was husky, raising gooseflesh and sending her every nerve into overdrive. “Come back to bed with me, sunshine.”

Without waiting for her response, Spike lifted them both up into his arms, heading back upstairs.



[A/N: I’m working on it, this story and the other one (and the new ones that I have nasty plot bunnies hounding me about), but I recently re-injured my arm just a little bit, and its been very slow going. My profound and deepest apologies, I can’t tell you how sorry I am. There might be some things in this chapter and in others that might upset some of my readers. Sorry if those things bother you, but its all part of the story and well, blast away if you like, but be prepared for me to blast right back. Title is from Emily Bronte (and the entire quote is below) and the quotes are as attributed. Disclaimers are in full force and effect.]

Previously: Oz had a confrontation with Angelus, neither one of them coming out the victor. Wesley is concerned because Cordelia hasn’t checked in. Buffy and Spike have been mated, which Giles just discovered, but they also have all reached the conclusion that the only way to remove the chip is by contacting The Initiative.

Book Two. Chapter 26. A soundless calm descends


Lightning makes shadows in the storm.
Nightmare and bliss tell the silent truth.
Thelonius, Shadows in the Storm (1988)

The line-storm clouds fly tattered and swift.
The road is forlorn all day.
Robert Frost, A Line–Storm Song.

But, first a hush of peace—a soundless calm descends;
The struggle of distress, and fierce impatience ends;
Mute music soothes my breast—unuttered harmony,
That I could never dream, till Earth was lost to me.
Emily Brontë, The Prisoner





The chirp of his cell phone woke him from his much needed sleep. For a long moment, Wesley wasn’t sure of his surroundings, but as wakefulness crept up on him, the memories from last night stole through him.

Transporting Oz to and from hospital hadn’t proved a problem at all; It was the in-between and the after that was a problem. Caught in mid-morph, frozen by the pain, Dr. Thomas hadn’t been able to set his jaw until the poor guy had been drugged. It had taken triple the amount of painkillers – based on normal human physiology and even then, Oz still sported claws and fur. At least his mouth had reverted to almost human proportions. Dr. Thomas hadn’t wanted to give him more drugs, afraid it would impede his healing.

Tara had, unsurprisingly, insisted on bringing him back to Revello Drive, and no one had really objected. Settling him in the basement, amidst Tara’s things had almost gone unnoticed, although Giles had cautioned that it might be necessary to chain him. Again Tara had objected, insisting that it wasn’t necessary that Oz wouldn’t hurt her and, to prove her point, she’d climbed into bed beside him.

Giles was still downstairs with them, keeping an eye on Oz’ progress and he’d come out to watch the sunrise. Wesley realized he must’ve fallen asleep sometime before the sun actually rose, because he’d missed it completely.

It must have been cold this morning, because the blanket. . . wait a moment. I didn’t bring a blanket out with me. . . Wesley reached for his cell phone, distractedly wondering about the mysterious presence of the blanket.

“Yo English.” Gunn’s deep voice greeted him.

“Hello Charles.” He winced, realizing he sounded barely awake and suddenly aware of an annoying crick in his neck.

“Checking in. Haven’t heard from Cordelia, man, I’m starting to get worried.”

It had been on Wesley’s mind also. She hadn’t gone more than two days without checking in, but now it had been close to five and Wesley was very worried that something had happened and Cordelia was lost to them.

“No word then?” He knew his question was going to have a negative response, but he needed to ask nonetheless.

“Nope. Nothing.” Gunn turned aside to address a remark to Fred, no doubt, and Wes waited until he was done.

“Very well, we’re going to start looking. Hopefully, she’s still . . . . “ his voice trailed off as he realized that hope was a very illusive commodity at the moment.

“Yeah. I getcha. Lemme know if you need any backup.” Gunn had an idea where Wesley had gone, but he didn’t want to say out loud where they were in case someone over heard.

“Probably won’t be necessary. My resources are more than adequate, but I shall let you know if we require your aid.” Wesley was about to disconnect when Gunn’s wry amusement stopped him.

“Dude, why you always sound like you swallowed a dictionary?”

Despite his worry about Cordelia, Wesley smiled. “Properly spoken English is never out of place.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just find Cordy.” Gunn clicked off, leaving Wesley to figure out how to find Cordelia.



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

Giles had gone upstairs earlier, when Dawn had still been home, her footsteps disturbing his light slumber. Tara knew he was worried, concerned for her and wary of what a wounded werewolf might do in the throes of drugged pain. But she wasn’t worried. Oz wouldn’t hurt her, not even an out-of-his-head Oz.

She trusted him. Trusted him probably the way Buffy trusted Spike; that no matter what or how bad the pain got he wouldn’t ever hurt her, because he loved her.

Tara didn’t delude herself into thinking it was the same kind of love, because Spike and Buffy definitely had a groiny thing going on and while sometimes she was curious, it just wasn’t filled with passion.

Oz whimpered in pain and Tara ran a hand over his arm, soft, soothing murmurs sounding in the still air. She’d managed to snatch some sleep here and there, mostly when he’d been out cold and it was enough for now. Once he was out of the woods, she’d be able to completely surrender to sleep, but until then she’d manage.

Six months ago, if someone had told her, hell, if she’d dreamed this clairvoyently, she wouldn’t have believed any of it. Willow gone from her life – after playing god – Buffy and Spike a happy couple – and Oz as her, well, pretty much her best friend. Yet this was her life.

This was her family. One vampire, one Slayer, a werewolf, a witch – Tara stifled the giggle that was threatening. Her life sounded like a title from the Chronicles of Narnia or a weird adjunct to Harry Potter. She suddenly wondered if one of them should write all this up and somehow get it published as fiction, because most people wouldn’t believe it. Maybe I’ll be able to get Spike to do it, ‘coz he’s got a way with words. I’m sure he could do something like this.

Her companion groaned again and Tara watched him wince in pain. Her hand rested on his chest and Oz’ eyes flickered opening barely to focus on her. His hand clasped hers, their fingers entwining and he closed his eyes in relief. Tara smiled, settled in beside him, and waited until he drifted back into restless sleep.


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


Two floors over her head, Spike had just put Connor down in his crib; letting the boy watch the mobile the girls bought him last week. He thought it was a ridiculous thing, but was secretly pleased, because it was some educational black and white thing with bright splashes of red. None of the girls had said anything, but he knew this silly thing had been picked with him in mind.

Which was kind of gratifying, but in a way, a bit silly. They should’ve picked it with the sprog in mind, not me. Trailing a hand over the boy’s legs, Spike tickled him and then focused on the blond watching him. She had a smile on her face and Spike raised an eyebrow in question. As answer, she crooked a finger at him and as he stalked in her direction, Buffy giggled.

“Not supposed to laugh at your mate, sunshine.” He faked a bit of a pout and Buffy sighed.

“No? Why not?” She watched him come closer, her eyes focused on his face, drinking in his expression.

He pounced on the bed, trapping her underneath him. “Coz, kitten. He’s the Big Bad an’ he’ll eat you up for laughin’.”

Her breath caught on his words, his expression no longer playful. “Oh you will?”

Spike pushed up her nightgown with one hand, his fingers inching toward her warm center, his mouth at her neck, brushing over his marks. “Yeah” he breathed against her, “yeah. Eat you all up.”

Two fingers slid inside her, Buffy gasping into his cheek, her hands looking for a way to hold onto him. “Oh. . . yeah. . . hhmmmm.”

Buffy pushed at his jeans, her warm hands scrabbling to free him from the confining denim. “Now. . . c’mon. . . “

Trailing his slick fingers up beneath the lace, Spike licked the salty skin of her neck, his fangs grazing over the scarred marks and Buffy writhed against him. “Spike, please. . . don’t tease me.”

“Not teasin’ . . . Love you.” His erection popped free, seeking her warmth. “Need you baby. . . so. . . yeah. . . that’s it.” He slid inside, both of them gasping for air, panting with the effort to hold back. She was living warmth, surrounding him in heat and sunshine. “Love you beautiful girl, I do.”

“Love you back.” He froze in mid-thrust, his eyes riveted on her eyes. Buffy stared back at him, not flinching from the sudden intensity in his laser bright blue eyes.

Spike couldn’t speak, couldn’t focus on anything but her eyes. There was no hiding, for either of them. His heart was laid bare, equally to hers. Buffy flexed around him, her hips moving involuntarily. “Do you . . . say it.” His voice was a hush, a bare whisper of sound.

Her lips quirked, almost like she was going to tease him, but then she took a deep breath, gathering her courage and, looking deeply into his eyes, she whispered, “love you Spike.”

His head dropped down, his forehead against her lips, shielding his eyes from her. Gruff with emotion, Spike said, “once more. Say it.”

She almost laughed from sheer nerves. Blowing out a breath, Buffy said, “look at me.” Spike lifted his eyes to hers, tears pooling in his cerulean depths. Her smile took his breath away and he smiled at her. “Love you.”

“Oh god. . . . bloody hell, kitten, I love you, I do.”

Cool lips curled over her face, words of love murmured over her. His hips pumped into her, his cock bumping into her, thumping against the spongy bundle of nerves, driving her into oblivion. Her body arched up, her inner walls clutching at him, milking him hard. “Love you, love you. . . good . . . fuckin’ hell. . . yeah . . I love you.


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

Time had no meaning. Daylight meant nothing. Night brought pain, not relief. Pain was constant, measured in breaths, her sense of self gone.

Cordelia had stopped crying – after Angel had raped her repeatedly, ignoring her feeble attempts to beat him off – taking her brutally, ripping into her, splitting her asunder. Blood and other fluids dripped from her vagina and her ass, pooling on the mattress below her body. Cuts adorned her, most of the newer, fresher ones still bleeding sluggishly and the scent of blood was thick in the air around her. She couldn’t breathe without taking it in, the scent of it pervading everything, clogging her nostrils and throat.

It was easy now to slip away, to lose herself some place where her mind disconnected from her body, getting free of the pain. Beyond caring about anything, she focused only on the ceiling above her, her mind blank.



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


Buffy was swimming toward waking when she realized two things. The first was a rolling sense of something being very off and the second was that there was approximately one hundred and sixty seven pounds of dead weight in the middle of her back. While the feeling of Spike laying on her was normally comforting and something she didn’t even think twice about, yet at this particular moment, it was causing a tiny bit of distress. She was face down on the bed, some of the pillows below her head and one wrapped up in her arms and Spike was laying almost fully on top of her, his arms right next to hers and his head resting on her shoulder. The reason why this wasn’t okay was the icky feeling in her belly. Telling herself it was just nerves didn’t actually work and the unease grew until it became imperative for her to disturb the vampire sleeping on her.

“Spike.” No movement. “Spike, wake up.” Wiggling a little bit to try and jostle him awake, Buffy tried again, “c’mon Spike, get off me.”

Again, there was less than no reaction. Having a mate that slept like the dead was not always a good thing. Spike didn’t require a whole lot of sleep, but when he did sleep it was deeply and fully, pretty much the way he did everything. Grumbling a bit louder, Buffy tried moving around to dislodge him. “C’mon you big oaf. Get off me.”

The weird queasy feeling was getting worse and she really needed to pee also, making her desire to slide out from under him very necessary. Shifting her elbow and shoulder, Buffy succeeded in moving him a little bit, enough to get his head off her right shoulder and onto the exact middle of her back. By small increments, Buffy was able to wriggle out from under his hold and she slipped from the bed and hightailed it into the bathroom.

Once there, she wasn’t sure which was more urgent, the need to pee or the overwhelming need to calm her belly. She hesitated, nearly bouncing from foot to foot, then realized what she was doing and blew an exasperated breath out in frustration with herself. Blond much? Geez, just pee already.

Laughing at herself, Buffy did exactly that, then fought the nausea that crested up in her throat. Ugh. Uhoh. This is soooo not good. Gonna. . . Leaning over the sink, Buffy gagged, holding back the bile that was rising. Ew. Just, not good. Why do I feel like this? Did I pick up some weird bug?

Rinsing her mouth after flushing the toilet and washing her hands, Buffy faced herself in the mirror. She didn’t look any different, there weren’t any dark circles under her eyes and no sign of anything else wrong, other than a tired look in her eyes. But lately that look was there all the time, so she didn’t think anything of it. Fatigue is my friend, she thought, always hanging around. So much was going on, their life was really complicated, and getting tougher by the day. Her sleeping patterns had been off for weeks, since Connor’s arrival almost, since she had been sleeping on a similar pattern to Spike’s. But now, because the baby was up earlier than was permissible by god, she had to get up with him and make sure he was fed. She’d been surviving mostly on stolen naps and stamina, but it appeared that had all caught up with her.

Heading back into the bedroom, Buffy watched as Spiked rolled over and buried his face into the pillow she’d abandoned in her desperation to reach the bathroom. His purring growl rolled through the room like thunder and she smiled a bit at his possessiveness. Connor stirred again in the crib and Buffy was tempted to leave him there, but she changed her mind as she neared the infant and smelled his diaper. Another wave of nausea surged up and it was all she could do to lift him up. “Oh C-man, what is this in your pants? Ugh. Baby boy, this is stinky.”

Making quick work of cleaning him up Buffy then ran downstairs to get him a bottle. There was stirring in the living room, which she deliberately ignored and made quick work of getting Connor back upstairs and into bed with her and Spike. She needed to sleep. Everything else, including Oz, could wait until she felt better. Scooting into the bed beside Spike, Buffy curled an arm around Connor and propped up the bottle with one hand, closing her eyes. The sleeping vampire shifted, rolled over and wrapped his arm around her, his head once more in the crook of her neck. Sighing once, Buffy leaned down and kissed the top of Connor’s head, settling back against Spike and was asleep before the baby had finished half the bottle.


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

Willow was pacing around her bedroom, her eyes narrowed in concentration. She’d waited outside Tara’s lecture hall this morning, hoping for a glimpse of her former girlfriend, to no avail. The honey-blond girl hadn’t been in class this morning, in fact, according to someone in her study group, she’d abruptly left them all last night in the library, without so much as more than a single word.

She knew what called her away. Well, knew who it had been. Had to be Spike or Buffy needing Tara’s help for some slayage emergency. It was aggravating. They were always interfering in her plans, in things she wanted and it was time it stopped. Can’t have those two messing up my life anymore. Its all their fault anyway. Spike with his over-protectiveness and meanness and hey! Evil vampire there, no soul to make his all-judgy-ness anything near being right. And Buffy with her oh I need Spike and >b>Spike is good now and spells and magic are bad . . . Willow pivoted on a heel, unaware she was gesturing wildly, her voice a soft sneering whine in the stillness of her room. And what’s with the Oz thing? Why was Tara all with the hanging with Oz and Oz? Neither one of them was . . . Tara was gay, and not liking of men so. . . and. . .

Huffing out a deep breath, Willow tried to gather the threads of her agitation and mold them into something more manageable, something she could use, but there were too many targets for her ire.

Buffy. Spike. Tara. Oz. Oh yeah, and Angel. Damn people just kept getting in her way. Giles. Willow pursed her lips, an idea beginning to form in her head. It worked once, maybe a second time would be the charm.

All I need to do is figure out how I’m going to get it done. . . And once I have that, everything else will take care of itself.


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


Making his way into the kitchen, Wesley tried weighing his options, trying to figure out who he should discuss his worries about Cordelia with first. Time was crucial. If she was merely missing and out of cell phone range that was one thing; but there was a real niggling fear in his heart that it wasn’t something so simple. Angel and Drusilla had left Sunnydale briefly, only returning the other night. And Cordelia was missing.

The two were tied together.

If Cordelia was being held by the two vampires, time was of the essence. They couldn’t leave her in their hands. Not if he called himself her friend, not if he cared anything for her.
Standing at the kitchen counter, his eyes staring out into the neighbor’s yard, Wesley’s sense of foreboding grew exponentially. He knew, in his gut, that Cordelia was in grave danger. Time to rally the troops.

Putting the kettle on and getting the coffee pot ready, Wesley opened one of the cabinets and figured he might as well get a substantial lunch together as he was waiting for the occupants of the house to begin the day.



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


Contrary to what she thought, Spike wasn’t very deeply asleep. He was swimming in and out of wakefulness, aware of sounds and movements, but he was tired; as tired as she was, but he was being lazy and not getting up when he heard Connor rustling about, and very unwilling to deal with the smell the infant was emitting. So when she climbed back into bed, Spike curled around her and fell back further into sleep once he knew she was there.

His arms snaked around her, left hand sliding up underneath the nightgown, holding onto her breast and his other worming its way beneath her head. Spike nuzzled the back of her neck and unconsciously registered her slowing heartbeat and breathing and also the faster rhythms of the infant beside her. In the recesses of his mind, Spike was aware this was far more domestic than he’d ever thought he’d be, moments like these not even in the scope of his understanding as a human. Victorian families did not sleep all jumbled together like this, at least those of his social standing; Vampires, on the other hand were essentially solitary, although he and Drusilla had often slept entwined, but he knew of nests where all the vampires slept together like puppies.

But he also knew that he would not trade these moments for anything. Moments like this, when he and Buffy were twined about each other, were worth any price he had to pay. He also felt closer to her than he’d ever felt to any other being. He wanted to crawl inside her skin and stay within her forever. Opening one eye, Spike gauged the time of day by the light filtering in behind the dark curtains. Soft noises reached his ears from downstairs and he knew someone else had to be up and around. It was just a little bit after noon and he knew the sprog would be looking for something to eat and he could get up and put him back in his crib, but Spike didn’t want to leave the warmth of his own bed.

His hand flexed around Buffy’s breast and he smirked sleepily when she shifted in his embrace. A smile played about his lips and his hips flexed against the warmth of her ass, his erection insistently nudging her. Buffy’s arm left its spot over the baby and curled around to lay on his thigh. Sliding his thigh between both of hers, Spike let his hand drop down to cover her bare mound, moving aside her hand. His fingers teased the curls shielding her pussy and she arched toward his hand like the kitten he called her. His unnecessary breathing sped up, as he drank in the scent of her arousal. Parting the folds of her core, Spike let two fingers brush around her clit, tantalizing both of them. She was so wet and warm, it always astonished him just how much – and how very different their temperatures were. Here, as he dipped into her, was where it showed most. Within her depths, in the heat and slippery dampness that coated his fingers better than a second skin, was where it mattered most, where it manifested. A whimpering mewl escaped her mouth and she breathed out his name in a hush. Dark navy blue eyes fluttered open, watching her arch up into his questing fingers, her body knowing, responding to his touch even in her sleep.

Spike leaned closer, his mouth against her shoulder, blunt teeth nipping and pulling on her skin, his tongue licking patterns between each bite. Buffy let loose a breathy moan, which made him harden more. His cock was hard and heavy, his hips angling between her legs, the tip of his cock sliding between her ass and her pussy. He wanted inside. . . . wanted to be buried. . . . wanted her warm liquid depths to swallow him whole.

“Open up for me, little girl . . . c’mon, lemme in.” His voice was another caress across her skin, his hands creating magic within her. Buffy slowly reached behind her, cupping his head, languidly moving toward his touch.

“Mmmmm.” Her eyes fluttered, fighting against the need to watch what he was doing, wanting to savor his touch without distraction. A hard bite sent shock waves through her and Buffy couldn’t fight him any longer when his fingers plunged into her depths simultaneously. “Spike. . . oh. . . “

She breathed out heavily, when his tongue and teeth pulled away from her skin and a cool breath wafted over the bites. His thumb brushed over her clit, once, twice and pressed down hard on the third, sending a jolt through her. “C’mon baby. . . lemme in.”

Oohhh. . he called me baby. . . never. . . oh. Baby. Buffy cracked open one eye and found two little blue eyes peeking up at her. She froze, her body stiffening up under his touch. Oh no. Nahuh. This is not happening. I’m so not doing this with him in the bed with us.

He didn’t notice at first that she had frozen under his hands, but when she pushed him away a bit, Spike growled. “Wha? Buffy?”

“We can’t. Just can’t. I can’t do this right now.” Spike growled again and Buffy started babbling. “No. He’s watching me. I mean us. He’s awake and I can’t.”

Spike leaned up on his hand, almost dumping her on the mattress. “What the fuck do you mean, he’s watching?” His head swivelled around looking for an intruder.

It took her a minute to get his attention, because his gaze was sweeping all around the room. His eyes were narrowed on the door, but it was closed, and he shifted his gaze to the window. “No one’s watching kitten. Now what the hell are you blathering about?”

Wordlessly, she grabbed his face and tilted his head down toward the mattress, and after a moment, Spike focused on what she was showing him. Connor had dropped the bottle and his eyes sparkled when Spike looked at him and a baby grin crossed his features. The vampire looked from Buffy to Connor and back again, before it dawned on him what Buffy had been saying. A leer formed on his lips and a definitely wicked twinkle sparkled in his eyes. “Spawn won’t know what’s going on. Won’t care either. C’mon kitten, lemme in.”

“Are you crazy?” Buffy spluttered as his hand snaked up under her nightgown, his fingers brushing across her mound. “Spike. . . no. No way. Not while he’s. . . Spike!” She shrieked out that last bit, when he pushed his fingers inside her wet core.

“C’mon kitten. . . need you so much.” He watched her face, knowing she was wavering and one more touch, one more kiss would put her over the edge where she didn’t care any longer, where it wouldn’t matter if there was a marching band trooping through their room. Connor’s flailing arm smacked against her and Spike groaned internally as her eyes went wide again.

“Nooohh. . . we are so not doing this in front of him.” Her hips bucked involuntarily, arching into his hand.

“Yeah, we are.” Spike’s lips curled up in a leer and his tongue poked out between his lips. “Oh yeah, sunshine, we are. . .”

“No.” She reached up, bracing her arms on his shoulders as if to push him away and Spike kicked off the blankets, forcing her legs wider. “We are not.”

Buffy knocked his arm out, pushing him to the side and rolling over on top of him, while he bucked up and rolled over again. They thudded onto the floor and he twisted at the last second so that she landed on top of him and he grinned up at her. “Outta view now, love.”

She gaped at him for a moment, unable to think clearly, and he took advantage of her momentary lapse by flicking her nipple with his tongue. He rolled over once more, tucking her beneath him. “Gotcha now sweetheart.”

“Spike. . . “ her protest was cut off by his mouth, his hips wedging between hers. His cock teased at her entrance and Buffy forgot all about why she’d been objecting.









I've recently gotten some not so positive reviews and while I understand that not everyone can like everything I've written, I'd prefer that if you do have a complaint and/or something constructive to say, that you leave an email address so that I can contact you and explain why I've done some of the things I've done.



[A/N: This isn’t going to be pretty, what’s about to happen, so there’s your warning. I don’t know how this is going to turn out, in terms of graphic descriptions, so if you get squicked, my apologies in advance, but this is the way the story is going to be. That being said, I like Cordelia, liked her from the beginning, and well, I’m sorry that its her that has to go through this. Title is from one of the quotes and the rest of the quotes are as attributed. The disclaimers, as always, prove that I own nothing, Joss has it all.]

Previously: Buffy’s been wondering how the mating has changed her; they’ve all reached the conclusion that contacting the Initiative is the only way to remove the chip; Oz and Angel fought with neither coming out the victor; Wesley is worried about Cordelia, who has been missing now for about five days. This picks up where we left everyone.

Book Two, Chapter 27. Planning lies with men.


Planning lies with men; success lies with Heaven.
Chinese proverb.

Our planning may leave something to be desired,
but our designs, thank God, have been flawless.
Noor, Queen of Jordan, on the birth of her fourth child in six years

There will be no rescue, no intervention for us. We can only save ourselves. Many of you know influential people abroad, you must call these people. You must tell them what will happen to us... say goodbye. But when you say goodbye, say it as if you are reaching through the phone and holding their hand. Let them know that if they let go of that hand, you will die. We must shame them into sending help.
Hotel Ruwanda, 2004



Wesley’s less than quiet movements in the kitchen gradually attracted the attention of his fellow Englishmen. Rupert was first into the kitchen, wandering in bleary-eyed yet wide awake.

“Tea’s done.” Wesley indicated the teapot on the counter then placed another rasher of bacon on the stove.

They made desultory conversation until Spike appeared a little while later, the baby tucked under his arm like a football. Connor was gurgling happily and Spike searched around for his bouncy chair, grumbling about babies and their weird hours.

His comments struck the other two as funny, and Giles was quick to point out, “aren’t vampires supposed to sleep all day?”

“Pppfffttt. Older we get less sleep we need.” Spike plopped the infant into the chair, then lifted the chair onto the counter and dropped a few rattles into the baby’s lap.

“That explains your eccentricity then.” Wesley’s deadpan delivery had them all chuckling, but his next words sobered the mood completely. “It’s been five days since I’ve heard from Cordelia.”

Giles’ comment was drowned out by Spike’s question. “How often was the cheerleader calling in?”

Wesley stared down at the counter top while the other two exchanged glances. “Every other day.”

“You think Angel has her.”

Giles voiced the fear Wesley had been loathe to mention. “I believe it more than possible. Angel was. . . showing signs of developing feelings for Cordelia, before and after our sojourn in Pylea.”

The older man thought for a moment, his mind going over what he knew about Angel. “If he does have her, it would fit his previous patterns.”

“Would. Think we need to do some daylight re-con. Might wanna take the bot.” Spike had a feeling in his gut that they had her. “Might not be much worth savin’,”

“Figures you would argue against saving something.” Xander’s voice sounded from the hallway, anger evident in his tone.

All three of the men in the kitchen turned to look in the doorway, and it was Spike’s comment that broke the uncomfortable silence that followed Xander’s pronouncement. “What the bleedin’ hell are you doin’ in my house?”

“Your house? This isn’t your house. This is Buffy’s and Dawn’s house. You have no rights here.” Lines of fury were written all over the younger man’s features and his stance was belligerent enough that both Giles and Wesley moved between Spike and Xander.

“Is mine. Just as both those girls are mine.” Folding his arms across his chest, Spike leaned a hip against the counter, his laser bright eyes boring into angry brown orbs. Not that he cared whether Harris knew the truth of things, but Spike figured that Buffy should be the one to spill the beans about all of it. If Harris didn’t back down though, Spike would be more than happy to enlighten him. “Question is why’re you wandering into my house without knocking. You’ve no manners, whelp. None ‘t’all.”

“I came to see Buffy. Why are you still here?” Xander wasn’t going to back down, wasn’t going to show any fear or any softening of his attitude toward this particular male. In Xander’s mind, the last person Buffy should show signs of wanting was Spike. He’d tried to kill them, done more damage than anyone, even if it was in a round-about way.

Spike sighed deeply. “I live here.” He turned away, showing his back to the boy and opened the refrigerator. “Tell me again why you’re darkenin’ m’door.”

He could hear Xander’s teeth grinding from his position all the way across the room. “I came to see Buffy.”

“She’s sleepin’, whelp.” Spike leaned on the open refrigerator door, his eyes narrowing on Xander as the other started in again. Giles watched the interplay between the two, exasperation growing with each exchange. “Xander, what is you want to see Buffy about?”

“Just wanted to talk to her. Nothing more than that.” His tone softened a bit when he answered the older man, but just barely.

“I said she’s sleepin’. She’s exhausted, ‘m not waking her for nothin’.” Spike punctuated his comment by nearly slamming the refrigerator door closed, then stalked closer to the younger man. “Might do better next time to call.”

“Right, so you can just hang up on me like you did last time? I don’t think so Spike. I don’t trust you. How do I know you haven’t drained her or tied her up or done something else to hurt her.” The expression on Spike’s face darkened considerably and he took a menacing step closer to Xander, who, to his credit, didn’t back away from the enraged vampire.

‘Wouldn’t hurt her you bastard, ‘m not like that. She’s mine, you git. Mine to take care of an’ worry over, not yours, so worry ‘bout your own girl.” Wesley stepped between the two, his eyes on the shorter man.

“Spike. Calm down. This isn’t important. We have other things to worry about besides . . . this. Spike.” Xander had moved forward, one fist raised as if to strike as his nasty words broke through Wesley’s and Spike leaned forward, silently daring Xander to take a shot at him.

“Gentlemen.” Giles pushed his way between the two, hands raised to calm them. “Xander, is there a pressing need to see Buffy?”

“No. Just making sure she’s okay and,” he shrugged, his look a cross between chagrin and worry. “Haven’t seen her in a while, just wanted to, you know, see if she’s okay.”

Spike snorted in disbelief, shaking his head and turning away from the boy, mumbling something under his breath. He went back to the refrigerator, his hearing focused on the conversation behind him until Wesley leaned against the sink and whispered at him. “I think you’re right. We should get the bot out and have it re-con with us. Do you think he’s holed up in the mansion again?”

“Yeah.” Pushing aside various leftovers and drinks, Spike located his blood on one of the shelves then straightened up to answer the other man. “Would work. ‘M not up for daytime work, but could head over through the sewers.

Wesley addressed Spike’s last comment before Xander had interrupted them. “Do you really think he might have turned her?”

A shake of his head and Spike replied back, “not his style. Likes to play with his victims firs’, an’ then he turns ‘em. Breaks ‘em, ya know?”

“So you think she might still be alive?” Wesley watched as Spike put the blood in the microwave, preparing to warm it up.

“Might be. Not sure how alive, “ he paused, knowing this was the part none of them wanted to face. “Could be he’s toying with her, makin’ her watch and witness all sorts of things, but ‘m not sure of that. If he had feelin’s for her, he’d move right onto the hurt.”

Nodding his acceptance of the possibilities, and what Spike didn’t say, Wesley stared off at a spot over Spike’s shoulder. He couldn’t imagine anyone being able to withstand the kind of damage Spike was implying Angel could inflict. Cordelia had hidden depths, strengths he hadn’t imagined she was capable of as a teenager; Wesley had seen the woman she’d grown into and she was formidable, but that didn’t necessarily ensure her survival. They had to move fast in order to save her, regardless of whatever anyone else thought. “I’m going to get the bot out of storage.”

Ignoring the other two men who were still talking, Wesley moved toward the basement steps, intent on freeing the Buffybot from the confines of its storage box. Giles had managed to calm down Xander, convincing him that when Buffy went to bed last night she was fine, just tired. Spike drank his blood, watching Connor and half listening to the hushed tones of the Watcher.

He heard a door creak open upstairs and Spike grimaced. Fuckin’ hell. Wanted to let her sleep longer. An’ now she’s awake. Maybe I can convince her to go back to bed before she realizes what’s goin’ on. Spike fixed his eyes on the door to the hallway, and he waited for her feet to pound down the stairs, but he didn’t hear them. Without a word, he left the kitchen and made his way up the second floor, focusing on her presence.

“Kitten?” He knocked softly on the bathroom door, then slipped inside when she didn’t answer. Buffy was on her knees in front of the toilet, vomiting. Her face was flush, tears leaking slowly from her eyes and her breath hitched softly. Spike wrinkled his nose at the smell, then opened the window before lifting her hair off her neck. “You okay, sunshine?”

A sullenly muttered “no” was his only answer.

“All right sweets, I’m right here.” He was rubbing her back, his touch soothing her. Buffy leaned back into him and she sighed against his shoulder.

“I don’t feel good at all.” She whined softly, wiping her mouth. Spike leaned forward, grabbing the toothpaste off the sink and handing it to her. “Just a little bit of that, don’t wanna get sick all over again.”

Buffy curled into his arms, tears slowly dripping down her cheeks. “I’m so tired. All I wanna do is sleep.”

Spike got to his feet, then leaned down to lift her up in his arms. “So back to bed with you.“ Propping her up on the edge of the counter, he flushed the toilet, then directed her “spit that out, sweetheart.”

Using her finger, Buffy took some toothpaste and swished it around her mouth then spit it out. Spike looked up at her in time to see the adorable pout that drove him crazy. “Hey, now, what’s wrong?”

The sniffles and pout got worse. “I don’t feel good.” A hiccup broke through and Buffy grimaced at the sour taste. Motioning to the toothpaste, she whined, “Can’t I please swallow some of that?“

“That’ll jus’ make it worse. Want me to see if we have somethin’ else?” Spike wasn’t exactly sure what else would be good for her, but he’d be willing to try whatever she wanted to make her feel better.

Her face lit up just a bit at that. “Maybe some coke? Or, oh. . . ginger ale.” She thought for a minute, her eyes staring into his. “I don’t think we have any though.”

“‘S all right, I’ll send one of the watchers for it.” That said, he lifted her back up, then headed into their bedroom. “Back to bed missy.”

“Stay with me?” She nuzzled into his neck, her breath hot against his skin. “Please?”

“Can’t love. Oxford is worried ‘bout the cheerleader, an’ the whelp is down there too.” He had no idea why he’d mentioned any of this, because he knew his girl, knew she would –

“Let me down.” Buffy pulled away from him, her fingers twisting into his shirt.

“No.”

“No?” Inwardly, part of Buffy was cheering, because she really didn’t think her stomach could handle much of anything other than just curling up into bed, but another part of her, that stubborn generalissimo was yelling, no, go downstairs and sacrifice yourself to make sure everyone else is fine.

“Jus’ said that, didn’t I?” Spike deposited her on the bed, lifting the blankets over her. “Nothin’ that needs your immediate attention. We don’t even know where the girl is, much less have a plan ‘bout anythin’ else.”

Buffy slid out from beneath the blanket and Spike folded his arms and raised an eyebrow. “You gonna be stubborn an’ bullheaded ‘bout this?” She raised her eyes to look at him, and grinned at the fierce expression on his face.

“Spike, it’s what I’m supposed to do.” But he was shaking his head in refusal, and his hand pushed her back down.

“No. It’s not. Don’t have to do it all by yourself anymore, remember? ‘S what I’m supposed to do. We can handle this without you. You rest, an’ when you feel better, you get up.” When she moved to do just that, he pushed her back down again. “Kitten, how’s that belly? Still writhin’ and rollin’? Wanna puke on Angelus? Maybe that’ll stop him.”

Despite the way she currently felt, that image of puking all over Angel made her giggle. “Spike.” She whined, in a half-hearted attempt to see how far he would go to keep her in bed, but as soon as his name was out of her mouth, he dropped down beside her.

“Heart’s beatin’ too fast, love, and you’ve gone cold again.” Lifting the blankets once more, Spike dropped a kiss on her forehead, “don’t push yourself. We’ll check things out and won’t move until you feel better. I promise.”

Before she could protest some more, which they both knew was just an act, Spike was gone and she could hear his feet pounding down the stairs.


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


Xander had broken off his conversation when Spike left the kitchen, almost following him up the stairs. His progress was only stopped when Wesley came back up the stairs with the Buffybot on his heels.

“Hello Xander! Wesley let me out. I don’t know him.” The blinding smile of the bot made all three men snicker. “Giles. You’re my watcher. Are you going to polish your glasses and huff at me?”

Giles felt his lips twitch and Wesley had to hide his laughter behind a kitchen towel. Xander was shaking his head, almost afraid to say anything in case the bot would focus on him. But the bot, in the way of all simple creatures, focused on the one being most likely to get annoyed by its attention, in this case it was Xander.

“Does Anya still give you orgasms?”

Completely missing Giles’ reaction, Wesley exploded with gales of laughter while Xander blushed furiously. “Spike used me to get orgasms, but then the really real Buffy kissed him after Glory gave him all those sexy wounds and he stopped.”

“Really. Must you? Does this thing have an off switch?” Giles was searching frantically under the bot’s hair, looking for some sort of switch, when Xander waved him off. “Just tell it to be quiet and not mention sex.”

“But that was my primary programming.” The bot stared up at the two men, blinking curiously. “Well that and patrolling. I kill vampires.”

“Yes you do. And that’s what we need you for now.” Giles was completely flustered. Why on earth hadn’t they allowed Willow to finish the reprogramming? The bot was ridiculous, was it really any wonder that Spike insisted they lock the damn thing in a box?

The bot shrugged then chirped cheerfully, “okay. I’ll wait until you need me.”

“Right. You do that.” Giles shook his head, effectively blocking any further thought of the bot from his mind. Before he could ask Wesley why, Xander had pre-empted his question. ‘So what’s the deal with bringing out the bot?”

“Spike thought it would be a good idea since Buffy’s not feeling so well.” Nodding his head in understanding, Giles remained silent, while Xander continued questioning Wesley. “What’s the what?”

“Cordelia hasn’t checked in with me in five days.” Wesley looked pointedly at Xander. “We think Angelus has her. Spike believes he’s back at the mansion.”

Without any hesitation at all, Xander said, “when do we go?”

Spike’s feet sounded on the stairs and Giles said as he rounded the landing heading into the kitchen, “as soon as we decide who is going.”

Surprising them all, Spike said, “not goin’. ‘M stayin’ put. Buffy’s not feelin’ well. Wants ginger ale.”

Giles looked at Spike, a question in his eyes, but the younger man avoided his gaze, ducking his head. He didn’t want to say anything about why Buffy wanted ginger ale, because he had no answers to the questions Giles might pose. “Spike do you remember the layout of the mansion?”

He shook his head. “Never went into parts of it – was in the chair. Got the first floor, but he could have her anywhere.” He paused a bit, dredging his memory for the layout of the mansion. Grabbing a napkin, he looked around for something to write with; he ended up at the desk in the living room with paper and pencil. Quickly he sketched out the first floor layout, while Rupert watched over his shoulder. Pointing to one corner of the drawing, Giles said, “that’s the stairway to the second floor, but the first floor bedrooms are here, yes?”

Spike was nodding his head. “Yeah. There’s the cellars also. Rooms were here,” he marked that with an X, “an’ here might be where he’s got her.”

Wesley stood leaning against the door looking down at the drawing while Xander listened from a few paces behind Rupert.

“Where will they be holed up for the day?” Wesley was concerned about disturbing any of the vampires in the mansion and possibly getting caught.

“There was a master suite on the mid-level. House really had a couple of floors. Angelus left me on the first floor – while he and Dru slept on the next up. Was jus’ a couple of steps.”

Spike sketched that out. “But m’recollection of that area isn’t clear.”

Giles lifted the first paper, passing it to Wesley. “We’ll leave now – “

“I’m going.” Xander’s voice broke in, interrupting the three Englishmen.

“It’s not a rescue. We’re just going to ascertain whether she’s there and where he’s keeping her. Once we have that information we’re coming back here to decide what to do. How best to get her out of there.” Spike was concerned that the three of them would do something stupid and get themselves caught, and forcing himself and Buffy to rescue the rescuers.

“He’s likely to have alarms set up, he did last time. Don’t take unnecessary chances. No heroics, yeah?”

“Right.” Giles and Wesley nodded their agreement but Xander started to object, but at a look from the older man, he agreed.

They were gone in minutes, leaving Spike with a sick Slayer and a gurgling infant.


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


The house was quiet, although he could hear the tympany of the various heartbeats echoing in the air around him. Connor’s was thumping away fast and steady, a regular tripping rhythm that made him smile. Counterpoint to the infant’s rapid beats were the two below him, Glinda’s fluttering, delicate and calming; Oz’ heavier, labored with pain and slowed by excessive medication; yet still strong for all that. But the other, fainter beat of his mate, though muffled and almost far away, still, for all that, the one he knew best.

Connor babbled baby nonsense behind him and Spike turned round to stare at the boy for a moment. The changes his life had undergone, all the things he’d seen and done, and not one of the humans of his acquaintance thought it odd or worried about leaving him alone with a defenseless infant. Never crossed their minds to worry about the boy. Not that he would – there were some lines even he balked at crossing. The child was family, much as he hated to admit it, the baby was Aurelius, despite having a beating heart. And one did not. . . . well he didn’t – some of the others might – and he could probably count on one finger who else wouldn’t harm the infant – but he wouldn’t.

The boy was family.

Just like Buffy. Just like Dawn – his own daughter. And Glinda. She was family, too. Those were the ones he’d chosen. And Rupert. And Oxford. Spike sighed, wondering when in hell he’d traded his vampire clan for one of his own choosing; a pretty much all human one.

He supposed, if he thought about it logically, the process had started that night when Angel had tried to suck the world into hell. When he’d sought her out, theoretically to save Dru and his own ass from destruction. At least that was how it started. What ended up happening was so bloody bizarre.

Would he have done it differently?

Not sought out the girl, just gone along with the harebrained scheme of his grandsire and let the world get sucked into hell. A snort escaped from his lips. Not bloody likely mate.

Connor’s eyes watched him pacing back and forth drawn by the gesturing arms and the cadence of his voice, gurgling in counterpoint to the quiet raging of the vampire.

Spike wouldn’t trade any moment of the last few years – if this was waiting for him. He loved Buffy with everything he was – every part of him – and he believed she loved him just as much. The claim had solidified their bond, forging it into something very real and tangible, and well, if that bond came with other bonds connecting him to yet more humans, so be it.

He’d accept that.

Hell. Already did.

A giggle burst from Connor’s mouth and Spike lifted the boy from his chair. Holding him high on his chest, Spike said, “c’mon sprog, let’s go see what our Buffy is up too.”



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


After Spike left her, Buffy rolled over onto her side, curled around herself. Slayers aren’t supposed to get sick or be exhausted. Super powers are supposed to let me skip all those icky things. Except they didn’t. Not really. Her super powers just let her heal faster. So I should be fine in a couple of hours, just need a little more sleep, and some ginger ale and I’ll be good as new Buffy. The only problem was, she couldn’t go back to sleep. She could hear the noises from downstairs and if she concentrated, could hear the murmured voices of the men. I should go check on Oz. See if he’s okay.

Buffy started to get to her feet, when Spike’s feet pounded on the stairs.

“Hey. Thought I told you to stay put?” He was inside their room, Connor in his arms, gurgling happily.

“Was just gonna check on Oz.” She settled back on the bed knowing he would just hack at her until she listened to him.

“Jus’ did. He’s sleeping. Glinda’s got everythin’ under control. So don’t bother gettin’ up.”

He sat down on the bed, letting Connor wriggle out of his arms, his eyes on her face. “Feelin’ any better?”

Buffy sighed. “A bit. I’m just really tired. Keeping up with you and this little guy is harder than I thought.” Connor rolled over onto his back, feet kicking in the air. At the sound of her voice, he angled himself toward her, moving his body closer to her.

“Dunno what to do ‘bout that.” He thought for a minute, “maybe we need someone to get up with the sprog in the mornin’s.”

“What? You mean like a babysitter or a nanny? We can’t afford that.” She looked down at the gurgling baby.

“Maybe we can’t, but I’d bet Peaches has a stash, hell, I know he does.” Spike watched the boy wriggling around and then roll over. “Is he supposed to do that?”

“Not really. I’m not sure. Gimme the book.” They’d taken to keeping copies of What To Expect The First Year in various spots around the house in case they needed to consult with it. Which for them, happened at least once a day. Spike leaned over to snag the book from the dresser and Buffy said in a hushed voice, “put him on the floor and then see what he does.”

He looked at her kind of funny but did what she asked. Connor was on the floor of their room before he could protest. The baby started to whine and Spike leaned down to pick him up again but Buffy held out a hand, halting him. They watched from the bed as Connor rolled over and got up on his knees. “Get the book.”

Spike handed it to her without a word.



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


There was a grim silence in the car, none of its occupants willing to engage in idle chatter, and the bot, for once, picking up on the quiet didn’t fill the silence.

By unstated agreement, Wesley had grabbed the keys for the Jeep, and he parked it half a block from the mansion. Giles spoke, his voice very quiet. “All we are doing now is reconnaissance – no heroics. If you locate Cordelia, you cannot let her know we’re here. Her survival just might depend on it. If any of the vampires are awake, do not continue the search. Just leave.”

There were no arguments.

They exited the Jeep, the humans and the robot and set off for the mansion.