[A/N: So sorry about the delay in updates, but I haven’t been able to do much typing at all, due to the shoulder pain, and I’ve managed to get a little bit done every day. This is the result of those efforts. Hopefully it will live up to all expectations. Title is from one of the quotes, which are, as always, as attributed. Disclaimers are in full force and effect.]

Previously: Buffy couldn’t calm Connor down, and the baby reacted negatively to Willow. Spike’s noticed something is off and everyone else is having weird thoughts.

Book Two. Chapter 37. What love can do

An illusion which is a real experience is worth having.
D.H. Lawrence, The Ladybird

What staggers me is not the persistence of illusion,
but the persistence of the world in the face of illusion.
A. G. Mojtabai, Mundome

Is not this whole world an illusion?
And yet it fools everybody.
Angela Carter, Nights at the Circus

With love’s light wings did I o’erperch these walls,
For stony limits cannot hold love out,
And what love can do, that dares love attempt.
Romeo and Juliet, act 2, sc. 2, l. 66-8.

This is one of the miracles of love:
It gives … a power of seeing
through its own enchantments
and yet not being disenchanted.
C. S. Lewis, A Grief Observed



Dawn kept looking over her shoulder, her eyes drawn to the dark shadows between buildings, the darker shadows where no light penetrated. The feeling of something – or someone dogging their footsteps wouldn’t leave her and she knew her behavior was bugging Casey but she couldn’t stop herself.

Being outside at night was somehow wrong.

Okay, it is Sunnydale and weirdness only gets weirder at night, but the feeling crawling along her skin right now was beyond ookie. This was . . . I’m eleven again and there’s more than one evil vampire out there. . . .

This was knowing the monsters in your head didn’t just exist there.

This was . . . . Nothing more than bad memories coming back to haunt you at the worst time, Dawn.

Rolling her eyes at herself, and her over-reaction to being out after dark, without Buffy or Spike around, Dawn slipped her arm though Casey’s and ignored the darkness creeping closer.

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


Oz played with a melody that was working its way through his head, his eyes unfocused as his fingers plucked out the chords for the song he’d yet to finish writing. The strains of the acoustic rang in the air of his otherwise quiet apartment and he couldn’t shake the image from his mind, the one his melody was invoking.

A scent teased at his nostrils, his clothes and skin covered with it and for a long moment Oz just let his mind drift. Sandalwood and honeysuckle and dark blond hair, soft limbs. . . Oz thought his mind was playing tricks on him when Tara’s face swam into his consciousness. Why am I thinking about my ex-girlfriend’s new girlfriend?

Because – her scent is all over you.

Oz’ fingers faltered on the strings and he put the guitar down. Memories and perceptions can be altered, but his wolf senses over-rode what his human mind knew. His senses were telling him he’d been with Tara for days – without any hint of Willow anywhere.

Grabbing up his dry erase board, Oz left a note for his roommates and headed for. . . . well, he wasn’t sure where he was going, but his nose would know.

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

It wasn’t hard at all to pretend panic.

For some inexplicable reason, at least at the time, Faith had lied to the California State authorities upon her entrance into the system. She’d listed Buffy Summers as her sister and next of kin.

And for some equally bizarre reason, no one had questioned it ever.

With the gut-clenching, throat-constricting fear riding her belly, Faith played her hand with the warden. Thankfully, the warden was of the male persuasion – and not immune to Faith’s contrite act and more than willing to allow her to make a phone call, in exchange for Faith’s complete compliance.

Wasn’t the first time she’d sold the use of her flesh to get something.

Was just the first time she did it for someone other than herself.

Hope I’m there in time B – otherwise this is just gonna piss me off more.

With a smile that never reached her eyes, Faith slipped out of the prison issued jumpsuit and got ready for another performance.


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

Spike had goaded Giles into ordering food for them all, using the argument that Buffy was exhausted and looked about to keel over from fatigue and hunger to get the old man to open his wallet. Not that the older man minded. He seemed to be willing to delve deeper into what both he and Buffy had been trying to tell them.

The bell over the shop entrance rang and Spike got to his feet, surprised when Willow’s dog-boy came in with a white board and marker. Wesley pivoted in his chair, his eyes pinned on the new arrival and Giles started to speak, but the phone ringing pulled his attention away from their visitor.

“Oz?” Buffy’s question broke the silence at the same moment Giles picked up the receiver.

The werewolf smiled, which consisted of nothing more than a raising of his upper lip and he pointed to the dry erase board. “Something’s up. I smell like Tara.”

He’d expected a bit more of a reaction than he got, which was Spike merely tossing aside a book he’d been reading, then head for the training room as a distressed groan emerged from Buffy; and Wesley pivoting on his chair, then writing down something on the papers beside him.

The arrival of Willow’s former boyfriend triggered a memory within Wesley that he felt an almost desperate need to write down before it eluded him. The words poured from his pen, in short flowing script and Wesley fought the pull of the distraction of the voices around him. The growing list of – warnings from a grim-voiced Dawn, repeating words in a language she did not speak surfaced in his head and Wesley quickly wrote them down, ignoring the discussion going on over his head.

Can’t help but think this is all in some way connected. The images in my head, the cryptic warning. . . . Wesley laid it out on paper, then spoke, interrupting whatever discussion was being conducted around him. “Do either of you have any recollection of a message delivered by Dawn?”

Spike and Buffy shared a look, but it was Giles who spoke. “Was it delivered in Gaelic? Or some other . . I’ve a sense of something teasing at the edges of my memory and I cannot seem to grasp it completely.”

“Yes. That would be my vague recollection also.” Wesley jotted down another note, idly noting that Spike once again had the whimpering baby in his arms. “When was the last time the baby had a bottle?”


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


There were a couple of moments, especially when everyone first woke up, that had given Willow butterflies.

When the baby screamed and wouldn’t let her hold him.

When Buffy got a far-away and distracted look on her face.

When Tara had gone to get snacks earlier.

Every time something like that happened, Willow held her breath, hoping – praying the spell would hold and solidify.

The spell itself was perfect – and she even used English – not some other ancient obscure language that she couldn’t speak. The ingredients for the casting had been perfect.

Her intentions were clear.

It was a simple stupid spell – so how come when she’d cast it there had been – some sort of mystical block? No, wasn’t a block. . . . was more like ties – threads, braided together into a beautiful and unbreakable tie. Bonds.

Willow couldn’t trace the source of whatever it was – couldn’t figure out what exactly was stronger than anything she’d ever encountered before – so she just ignored it, tried to pretend it didn’t exist. But she couldn’t just ignore something that was eternal and elemental, deep and strong as an ocean and as solid and sturdy as the earth’s core. And because she couldn’t just ignore it she had serious doubts about the spell’s stability. She had a horrible sinking feeling that it was going to come crashing down – and she was filled with doubts about what she’d done.

Tara stroked her hand down Willow’s arm, brushing her knuckles deliberately over the sides of her sensitive breasts and Willow’s resolve and faith in her actions was bolstered.

I did the right thing.

This is the way it’s supposed to be.


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


He didn’t know what had given the Slayer’s people the arrogance they were currently exhibiting, and he honestly didn’t care, because they were playing right into his hands. The smell of the little girl and the boy was intoxicating – deliciously fresh and untouched – both of them. Inhaling deeply, his senses focused on the two teenagers walking boldly down the dark streets of downtown Sunnydale. Ahhhh, untouched virgins. . . . Angel watched them swinging their hands between them, noting the body language of not-yet-lovers and smirked.

Soon . . . .

The slayer’s sister stopped, peering around and checking shadows for . . . Me?

Oh this is touching. . . she’s feeling something following her and she’s sensing. . . Realizing that he didn’t want to fully reveal his presence until he was ready, Angel slipped further away, taking to the rooftops instead of being on street level. It would be harder for the girl to sense him.

He was in the mood to play with his prey, to stretch out the hunt.

Let Dru deal with all the guests. . . . Daddy’s girl loves a party anyway. I’ve got better things to do with my night.

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


Obviously this wasn’t Connor’s first trip to the Magic Box, because there was canned formula and a bottle on a shelf in Giles’ office, which they managed to get heated by jury-rigging something with the electric teapot. He stayed quiet as long as Spike held him, which by turns amused the slayer and aroused a sense of jealousy that she couldn’t control.

“How come you can get him to be quiet?” Her pout was adorable, and Spike wondered what the watchers would do if he actually acted on his impulse to pull her onto his lap and nibble on it while someone else tended the baby.

“Dunno, sweets. Might be the lack of heartbeat or the boy’s sense of smell.” Instead of diving for her lip, Spike looked away, catching the speculative look on Giles’ face. “What’s that old man?”

He shook his head. “Loathe as I am to admit it, you do have a probable reason why the infant reacted the way he did.” Giles reached for one of his personal journals, thumbing through it for a moment before continuing. “He is only a few months old and his mother lacked a heartbeat for nearly the full term of her gestational period. It’s quite possible that the lack of same is a comfort for him, instead of alarming.”

Apparently he found what he was looking for, because he stopped speaking then said, “by the way, Buffy, that was Faith on the phone. Evidently she’s had a few alarming slayer dreams in the past week. Have you been plagued similarly?”

Without moving from her spot in front of Spike, Buffy glanced over at Giles, snuck a glance back at Spike as she rolled her eyes and said, “no Giles, I haven’t had any slayer dreams. . . but then would I remember if I did or didn’t?” Spike hid the grin while she started on a rant. “Isn’t this part of why we’re here? Because something’s off and none of us can make with the eureka! I’ve got it?”

“Actually its eureka! I’ve found it.”

“So not the point. You know what I mean.” Buffy gave him a look that spoke volumes about his nitpicking over word usage and faced her watcher squarely.

“Spike and Connor have bonded, which is wiggy enough. Spike has claimed me, which should be even wiggier and isn’t. . . . Oz smells like Tara. . . which is . . . “ a strange look crossed her features and Buffy burped then made a face like sour milk had curdled in her belly and before any of them could ask her what was wrong now, she grunted and ran for the bathroom.

Her retching could be heard through the suddenly quiet shop and without thinking about his actions, Spike stood up, handed the baby off to Wesley and took after Buffy. The other three men exchanged looks while Anya quickly shooed the last customers from the shop.

“Giles? I think there’s something wrong with Buffy.” Anya stepped in front of him, a quirky smile on her face that looked more likely to turn into tears than not, and she said, “perhaps you should make sure the claim is okay before we do any more research. Claims that are tampered with can be . . . well, I’ve actually never heard of anyone trying to tamper with a claim, but there’s always a first for everything.”

“Indeed. Perhaps you are right.” Directing Wesley to hand him one of the books on his desk, Giles said absently to Anya, “you might want to see what’s keeping dinner.”

Handing his journal to Wesley, Giles pointed out the passage he’d been searching for, then turned his own attention to the other book.

“So you did make note of this prior to today. Have you looked for any other, well, clues wouldn’t be an improper word, would it?” Wesley wrote down something else on the papers, using Rupert’s journal as a guide.

“Hhmm?” Giles didn’t look up from his reading until Oz banged his hand on the table, trying to get the Englishmen’s attention. “What?”

“Oh dear.” Oz was writing furiously on his board, erasing and starting again, when Giles reached out and stayed his hand. Looking down into the concerned eyes of the werewolf, Giles asked once, “are you certain it was Angel?”

The only answer he got was the squeak of the marker against the board.

It was enough.

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


Buffy was crying.

She on her knees, hunched over the toilet, her stomach clenching hard, bile and the remains of everything she’d eaten that day forcing their way back up her esophagus. A hiccup escaped her mouth and she groaned softly, trying to force air into her body.

The creak of the door opening behind her was masked by the upsurge of vomit which also explained why she jumped when a damp hand-towel was pressed against her face.

“Breathe kitten.” His voice was a welcome sound, his presence solid against her back. Strong hands slid around her belly and lifted the hair off her neck and cool lips nuzzled behind her right ear.

She leaned into him, letting the small movements of his hands and fingers calm the tempest raging inside her. From beneath lowered lashes she watched the muscles of his forearm flex and move – the actions lulling her into serenity.

“Do you love me?” Her whispered question, if it startled him, didn’t show in his movements. They remained strong and steady, matching her slowing breaths.

“I do.” The vibrations of his chest deep voice rolled through them both and she settled closer into his embrace.

“How long do you think we’ve been mated?” Her voice was oh-so-soft, and he could feel when speaking made her belly clench.

“Doesn’t matter. For-bloody-ever. A day. Time doesn’t matter.” Spike settled his weight, shifting so that she was shielded between his limbs, his body surrounding her, protecting her from the outside world.

Buffy’s fingers entwined, playing with the rings she wore. “So nothing can break this, right?”

“Right. Leastways that’s what the legends all say.” Trying for a bit of levity, he quipped, “‘course the legends also mention yours truly. Used to be Big Bad . . . “ a sigh escaped him and he caught her twisting hands in one of his. “I love you. Doesn’t matter what’s going on now with this nonsense. This wrongness we’re both feelin’. One thing I do know is that I love you. Promised you I’d never leave. That means never.”

Meshing their fingers together he continued, “claim means ‘m yours and you’re mine. For always.”

Lifting her hands to his mouth, Spike kissed both palms, folding each hand into a fist. “Promise.”

Buffy stared down at the fists he’d made, then slipped the ring on the middle finger of her left hand off. It was white gold or silver with delicate filigree on the exterior, like lace leaves or vines. Inside was an inscription she couldn’t read. Before she could stop herself, Buffy pointed it out to him. “What’s this mean?”

He took the ring from her, mumbled something that sounded like “poesy ring” then stopped. When he spoke again, Buffy didn’t understand the language, but it didn’t matter because Spike did. “Eras, es, eris meorum solum amorum aeternum.”

“Meaning?”

Spike shifted so he was looking into her eyes. “You were, you are, you will be my only love eternally.”

“Oh.” Buffy stared down at the circle in his hands, her teeth biting at her lower lip. A watery shimmer covered her vision for a moment and she glanced up at him. There was so much emotion – his jaw was clenched, his eyes dark and intent, almost midnight blue, blazing into her, reading her soul.

“Yeah. Oh.” A slight smile – not a smirk at all, crossed his lips and he leaned closer then pressed his lips against her forehead. Buffy laid her head on his shoulder, her hand covering his open palm, the ring held tightly between them.

“This so beats the other ring you gave me.”

He chuckled, the sound reverberating against her ear, the movement of his chest forcing her closer to him.

“Do you have any ideas about any of this?”

Spike twisted their hands so that their fingers were clasped, the ring still between their palms. “Lots. Not sure any of them might explain all of this. Got more questions than answers, and more as the night goes on. Right now ‘m worried why your innards are rebelling and determined to be out. The rest can wait a bit.”

Buffy made a face, wrinkling her nose and furrowing her brow at his mention of her stomach. Her thumb brushed over his index finger. “Can we. . . I dunno what it is. Could it be part of the wonkyness or is it something else? And is there any way to tell?”

Spike’s shrug shifted them both and he nudged his nose against her hair. He sniffed her, then shifted her a bit more in his arms. “You smell different – like me an’” he did it again, then pulled back a bit. Shifting their hands, he eased the ring back on her finger then brushed his thumb over the marks on her neck. “These are fresh – like we renewed the claim – not that it needs it. Do you trust me?”

They were face to face now and Buffy’s eyes were trained on his, not once wavering. Her lashes lowered and she whispered, “I think you’re the only one I do trust.”

“Don’t. . . . Christ, Slayer, you. . . “ he shook his head, for once words escaping him. Clearing his throat, Spike took a moment to compose his thoughts. “Don’t get angry with me kitten, but, I think I need to do this.”

“Do what? Bite me?” Buffy watched the look on his face change and she blurted out, “I can feel you, what you’re feeling, almost what you’re thinking and that was pretty clear. And,” she added almost shyly, “I think I want that too.”

“Right then. Won’t take much, just enough to know.” He kissed her forehead then trailed his lips down her hair to the marks on her neck. His tongue licked over her skin and tingles swept through her nerves.

“Oh. . . oh.” Her breathy little gasps urged him on and her fingers digging into his forearms caused an answering rumble in his chest. “Please.”

The second he morphed into game face Buffy shivered, her body knowing what was about to happen, even if her mind wasn’t fully capable of remembering. His fangs grazed the marks and the shivers increased, edging her closer to him, her hands easing up his arms to reach under the hem of his sleeves. Latching onto her neck, nipping at the vein pulsing beneath her skin, Spike gently eased into the marks, reopening them. At the first pull, his eyes flew open wide and the growl emerging from his throat echoed in the small bathroom. On the second mouthful the growls subsided into chest deep purring, while Buffy clawed at the skin of his shoulders, raising finger-tip sized welts over his skin. She sighed as he licked closed the punctures, her head pillowed on his strong arm, watching his jaw for his reaction.

From behind hooded eyes he stared at her, a look on his features that she was willing to swear she’d never seen before. It was feral, possessive and it reinforced to her that she was still dealing with a master vampire, one who held an enormous power over her life. . . and her heart.

“Spike?” Her hand reached out to him and he caught her fingers between his teeth.

“Buffy. . . . you’re pregnant.”

“I am?” Fear filled her gaze as she scrambled to understand. “No I wouldn’t . . . if. . cheat. . I . . that’s not me. I’m not that girl and I wouldn’t do that if we are together. Spike you have to believe me.” Her belly clenched, fear riding high, her heartbeat accelerating, thundering in her ribcage. “I swear I didn’t.”

He stared at her while she babbled, a blank expression on his face, then as her words reached him, he pulled her close, brushing his lips over her forehead. “Kitten. . . . Buffy. . . Buffy.“

Her words finally trailed off when his fingers dug into her shoulder, she turned scared eyes to him. “Dunno how it’s possible, an’ right now, it hardly matters. . . . It’s mine.”

Relief flooded through her and she slumped in his arms. “Oh thank god.”

This time he smiled, ending the tense moment by pulling her against his chest, his strong arms wrapped around her. “Mine, kitten. Both of you.”

Insistent knocking and Rupert’s voice from the other side of the door pulled them from the short peace of their moment. “Buffy? Spike? We need to talk. Oz remembered his attacker was Angel. And I’ve also found one of my journals. Can you please come out so we aren’t conversing through the door?”

“Give us a moment. We’ll be right there.”

Having to settle for that, Rupert snapped his journal closed and walked back into the shop area.


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



They were eating pizza, uncaring of his presence just beyond the bright lights of the restaurant. Angel crouched down, perched on the rooftop of the building opposite, his eyes trained on the two teenagers.

He could taste the anticipation running through his nerve endings. Time to make his move. . . she knew something was following them. . . despite her seeming unconcern, Angel knew the slayer’s sister couldn’t be this ignorant. And it was time. . . .

Time for the slayer and her pet vampire to know.

Know he was waiting. . . watching.

The two teens got up from the table, heading for the door, both of them laughing and smiling brightly.

A smirk crossed his features and Angel let them cross the street, dropping to the ground soundlessly when they walked past his perch.

Time. . . . .





Okay, I'm not going to pressure anyone here, but you guys have to know something -- how much each and every review affects me, personally. I love hearing from you all. . . and hey, if you've never reviewed, just a quick line works wonders. I've been so down in the dumps because of my shoulder . . . but that's me whining and I won't do it. Please, make my day and give me some sugar. . . . Nia