[A/N: I lied. Its been longer than 3 days and it’s been a huge struggle getting this chapter typed up. Thank you all for your kind words and nice reviews. I greatly appreciate it and it really helps my mood and muse. Thank you all. Title is taken from one of the quotes, which are as attributed. Disclaimers are in full force and effect.]

Previously: Faith is on her way to Sunnydale; Oz and Wesley have been trying to piece together what’s going on and why none of them can remember the recent past. Angel attacked Dawn and Casey.

Book Two. Chapter 40. Grief fades in and out

If grief could burn out
Like a sunken coal
The heart would rest quiet
The unrent soul
Be as still as a veil
But I have watched all night
The fire grow silent
The grey ash soft
And I stir the stubborn flint
The flames have left
And the bereft
Heart lies impotent
Phillip Larkin, Grief

Like love, grief fades in and out.
Mason Cooley City Aphorisms, Ninth Selection

Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak
Whispers the o’er-fraught heart and bids it break.
Macbeth, act iv, sc. iii

Faithless is he that says farewell when the road darkens.
J.R.R. Tolkien




Faith ditched the second stolen car at the next truck stop exit, hitching a ride with a trucker who was going past Sunnydale.

The truck stop was big enough and busy enough that it would probably take the cops a while to figure out her direction; although the way her luck usually ran, she’d get a smart cop who’d check in with Buffy.

Doesn’t matter. I’m still going. Watcher-man will think of something after I get there. Just gotta figure out what’s what.

Ignoring the trucker’s attempts to make conversation, Faith closed her eyes and tried once more to make some sense on the conversation that had started this whole crazy night.

What wasn’t Giles saying? He’d never once mentioned Angel, but he said Wesley was with him. . . . what’s up with that?

Walking down the interstate’s off-ramp, Faith scanned the sights before her. Sleepy little SunnyD. Home sweet home. Somewhere out there. . . all sorts of baddies are waiting for a fight.

Breaking into a run, Faith headed right for Revello Drive.


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


With Dawn cradled in his arms, Spike motioned for the others to follow him. “Gotta get her to hospital.”

He looked around, his eyes focusing on the only unknown in their company. “Who’re you pet?”

Not exactly using a welcoming tone, Spike also didn’t sound too wary. He’d seen her fight, land a few blows on Angelus and was willing to wait for her explanation before he reacted.

“My name’s Kirsten. “ She wouldn’t look at him, which Spike found odd, but he wasn’t watching too closely.

“Where did you learn those moves?” Buffy was very curious, with her eyes trained on the girl, she hadn’t missed the hesitation before she answered. Nor did she miss the sideways look at Spike.

“Ah. . . my dad. He’s a . . . fight instructor.” The hesitation was obvious.

Spike was about to question her further when Dawn started stirring. “Conversation’s not done, pet. Don’t disappear on us either.”

The threat was there and Kirsten, knowing she was busted, just said, “yes sir.”

Which would have made him snicker but it was said too honestly for that.


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


His head was buzzing, white noise masking every other sound. In his restless sleep, his brain didn’t register the continuous beeps; neither the quiet presence of the bot nor the unobtrusive nurses disturbed his slumber.

Xander’s head slumped forward, his body unconsciously seeking a more comfortable position, hitting the edge of Cordelia’s bed.

The bot powered down, self-adjusting to the after midnight rhythms of the hospital.

All was quiet on the fourth floor.


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


Her wails of grief bounced against the walls of the small room, searching for release from containment. Emergency room personnel shied away from the sounds and from the man who was pacing in front of the door holding the young girl.

Spike growled, menacing and deep, at anyone venturing too closely out of curiosity. He could hear what the others couldn’t, the low soft tones of the slayer as she tried to calm her sister, and the increasing desperation in Buffy’s tone.

Wesley was out in the waiting area with the other girl, waiting for Rupert and Anya to arrive with the baby. Spike glared at the short, kind of round woman hurrying in his direction, and was surprised when she just shushed him.

“Just gonna give her something to calm her down, then Dr. Thomas will stitch her up. I promise, Spike, you’ll be able to take her home before daybreak.”

“Wait. You know me?” Spike stepped out of her way, but put a restraining hand on her arm.

“Of course I do. You’re Buffy’s mate.” She paused, watching his reaction, continuing over Dawn’s cries, “let me go in. She really needs this.”

This time Spike let her go.


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


Getting Dawn to the hospital was easier than getting her inside. Once she’d woken up, she had done nothing but fight. Her tears and shrieks flowed freely and in her grief, she swung her hands wildly, catching Spike’s chin more than once.

With one look at her bleeding face and wild state, the emergency room personnel had waived them on, more than one of them recognizing both Buffy and Spike. The room was all the way in the back, used only when the rest of the emergency room was hopping, and very close to the basement.

Spike carried the struggling teen inside the room, only retreating when Dawn’s screams became too much for his hearing. Unfortunately, that left Buffy alone with her.

Dawn was shrieking incoherently with the only recognizable word her boyfriend’s name. Buffy couldn’t get near her, every time she made an attempt, Dawn lashed out physically. She was about to give up and get Spike when the door opened and a kindly looking nurse strolled in.

“Dawn? I’m going to give you something for the pain.” The roundish woman approached the gurney, watching the teen warily.

“No. Go away.”

“Sorry sweetie, can’t do that. Give me your arm.”

“Go away.” Dawn growled at her.

The woman clucked her teeth. “Sweetie, you don’t scare me. I’ve got a ten year old werewolf at home. Now give me your arm.”

The volume grew. “I said go away.”

“We can do this easy or hard. Easy is you giving me your arm and we’re done.” She paused for a second, smiled at a gaping Buffy, then said, “hard is me having the orderlies come in, strap you down and then you get the shot.” Once more she paused. “Doesn’t matter much to me, but either way its gonna happen.”

Dawn didn’t say anything for long moments – until she looked up and flinched away from the steely look in the nurse’s eyes. “Fine. Do it. Not like I care.”

Grudgingly she held out her arm.

Maureen Osborne stepped closer and administered the sedative that would calm Dawn’s nerves.


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


The alpha male halted, his nose aimed at the ground, his back stiff and unbowed, searching once more for traces of the traitor.

The Huntsman watched as the hound moved silently through the night.

He bayed once, sending a signal out to the rest of his pack and the Huntsman could feel them all closing in, and yet. . . as intuitive as his canine charges, the Huntsman could sense a split in the scent. . . some break, something that wasn’t right. Some ephemeral scent of wrongness. . . . almost as if there were two. . . .

The Huntsman strode down the street, trailing the alpha hound, as they neared the traitor’s refuge, the alpha paused, waiting for the rest of his pack to surround the house. . .

Every window was dark . . .

There was no sign of life. . .

The alpha sat back on his haunches, his eyes on the house, waiting. . . .

Waiting. . . . .

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


She was numb.

Blood and tears were drying in strips down her face, stinging the cuts Angel had put there.

Doesn’t hurt anymore.

Nothing hurts anymore.

There was nothing but ache where her heart used to be.

The pain was. . . . cottony. Wooly. . . . not real. Whatever she shot me with really freaking works, coz I’m not feeling anything.

She was noodlely. Rubbery.

Don’t feel real in my own skin.

Wanna just lie down. Tired. Wanna. . . no more. . . . don’t wanna feel.

Casey.

Dawn couldn’t muster up any more tears. They were dried up and gone, disappearing the instant the sedatives hit her system.

No tears. Can’t cry. She took away my tears.

Mommy . . . . want my mommy. Where’s Daddy? Mommy get Daddy. . . . wanna wear his coat. Makes me feel all safe.

Mommy? Please get Daddy.

Need my Daddy.

Buffy watched as Dawn crumpled onto the gurney, her voice sounding more and more childlike. Dawn was unaware her mental ramblings weren’t; Buffy could hear every single word.

The emotion broke through her inertia and Buffy bolted for the door. Finding Spike the minute it was opened, since he was leaning against the opposite wall, she motioned him in.

“Want my Daddy. Will he hold me like he did when you were gone Mom? Don’t want anyone else dying on me. I’m all wrong. It’s all my fault. Glory and Tara and the knights, Buffy-Mommy died and it should have been me. . . . and now Casey.” Dawn’s voice pitched and halted, a bare whisper of sound.

“Hurts. . . . Mommy?” Dawn picked up her head, her blurry eyes focusing on the two figures in the room with her. “Daddy’s here. I love you Daddy.”

Tears were sliding down Buffy’s face and, as she stole a glance up at Spike, she could see them pooling in his eyes also. The two blonds shared a look, neither one saying a word. Spike crossed the short distance to where Dawn lay, his arms shrugging out of his duster. Laying it over the babbling girl, Spike smoothed her hair away from her face.

“Real daddies are better than fake ones. . . . “

Spike didn’t stop touching her, letting her grab his free hand and tug it to her, his eyes never leaving Dawn’s. “Monks made you my Daddy, is that why you love me?”

“No sweetness, I loved you before they made you mine.” He had no clue what she was rambling on about, at least he didn’t think so, but he knew she was upset and there was no point in making it worse.

“All I do is destroy. Glory said so. Everyone dies because of me. I’m no good.” Dawn rocked into their clasped hands, the tears pouring forth again. “My fault. All my fault. Casey’s dead . . . . why Daddy? I did it. My fault.”

He couldn’t let her think that – not for one second. “Oh, Sweet Bit, no. Not your fault. None of it. Shush now.”

“Yes it is. . . they made me and all I do is destroy. It’s all my fault.”

Disregarding her injuries, Spike lifted her from the gurney into his arms, holding her weeping form against his chest. Collapsing onto a rolling stool, Spike held on, crooning softly while Buffy brushed her hand over Dawn’s hair and down her shoulder.

Motioning Buffy between the examining table and the gurney, Spike said, “push it there kitten.”

Understanding him, Buffy did so, locking the gurney in place. Somehow the two of them got Dawn up on the examining table sandwiched between them, with the two girls covered by his duster. Still babbling, every word like a knife in his gut, Dawn was unaware she was still crying. Her hands were clutched around his tee-shirt, fisting it as shivers rolled through her body. He guessed she was going into shock but he couldn’t keep her warm – that was for Buffy to do and he could feel the heat from her smaller form radiating outward.

Dawn’s head was pillowed over his right arm, and with his left, Spike reached for Buffy. His fingers found hers curved around Dawn’s waist, and he laced them together. A low rumble built in his chest, rolling like soft distant thunder, comforting them all.

“Hush now, Sweets. . . Daddy’s got you. No more tears.”

“He’s dead. . . Spike, he’s dead and it’s all my fault and . . . I’m just wrong. I wish I was dead.”

“No, baby. . . don’t say that. None of this is your fault. None.”

The sound of Buffy’s tears reached him as her grip tightened around his fingers. Her voice, nearly as brokenhearted as Dawn’s sounded along with his. “No Dawnie. . . you aren’t. . . . not your fault. None of this. . . Please, sweetie. . . . “

“My fault. . . . all my fault.”

She just kept repeating it over and over, until finally the exhaustion and sedative worked and Dawn fell asleep.

Neither of the other two moved, holding her still and safe in the protective circle of their arms.


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


The minute hospital personnel had waived them through, Wesley headed back out the door to call Rupert at the shop, to let him know what had happened.

It wasn’t until he wandered back inside that Wesley realized he’d left the girl alone, unattended and instantly regretted that when he didn’t see her sitting in the waiting area. Cursing himself for his small blunder, Wesley sat in the main waiting area facing the doors, so he could watch everything coming in and out of the emergency room. He was caught off guard, though, when a soft voice sounded from the chair to his right. “Hey.”

“I thought you’d run out.” He sat up, leaning his elbows on the chair arms, looking down at the young girl sitting next to him.

“Spike said not to go.” She shrugged, as if that explained it all.

And it did, only if you knew Spike well, which Wesley wasn’t so sure this girl did. But there was something nagging him about this one – especially her appearance. He stared at her for a few minutes, noting the shape of her face, the changeable eye color – even as she looked at him, they were changing, and the tilt of her head. It all nagged at him, like he should somehow know this little girl. “How well do you know Spike?”

“I, um. . I know him through Dawn.” That was as good an answer as any she could really give him, but Kirsten knew if she said too much, there were going to be far too many questions, ones she didn’t want to have to answer – ever.

Apparently that response had been enough for Wesley, at least at this moment, because his attention was diverted by a commotion from outside. When he got to his feet, Kirsten did the same, taking her cues from him.

Nurses and a couple of EMT’s wheeled a covered gurney in and behind it, in the commotion, Giles snuck inside with Anya, holding the baby, just steps behind him. The concern on the older man’s face was heavy and he strode quickly to the pair. “Is that?”

“Probably Dawn’s boyfriend. He didn’t make it.” Wesley motioned for Anya to step out of the way of a passing intern and moved them further away from curious on-lookers. Waiting until they were in a small alcove, Wesley continued. “We didn’t get there soon enough. It was Angel. Dawn’s inside with Spike and Buffy. Her injuries appear superficial, but,” he paused again, blew out a deep breath and said, “I’m hoping that’s all. We haven’t heard anything yet.”

“Oh dear god.” Giles looked around, searching the emergency room for someone who might be in charge and able to give him some answers. Spying Kirsten for the first time, he asked, “who is this?”

Wesley leaned closer, so that Kirsten couldn’t overhear him. “She’s a friend of Dawn’s. I believe she’s a potential. She showed up in time to help with Angelus.”

Giles eyed her speculatively, his lips firm and his eyes unflinching.


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


There weren’t any lights on when Faith got to the house. The backdoor key, usually hidden under the deck, was still there and Faith thought about using it to let herself in, then thought better of it.

Last thing I wanna do is piss off Buffy.

Walking around the house, Faith didn’t notice signs of anyone being home. Hoisting herself up and into the tree outside Buffy’s room, Faith maneuvered herself so she could get a look inside Buffy’s room. Peeking in the window, she spied the crib and nearly fell out of the tree. What the fuck? B’s got a kid? Can’t be. . . . she was gone. . . So who does the brat really belong to?

Swinging down from the tree, Faith headed for the back door again. Maybe I should just. . . . . The phone started ringing, interrupting her musings.

“Willow, Tara?” Giles’ voice sounded through the kitchen and Faith put her head as close to the open window as possible. “Dawn’s been attacked. We’re at Sunnydale General. She’s . . we should be out of here before sunrise.”

Not waiting for more of the message, Faith took off in that direction.


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


Oz had left the shop at the same time as Giles and Anya, but instead of going to the hospital, he headed over to UC Sunnydale, looking for some answers. Neither Wesley nor Giles could tell him why he smelled of Tara; Spike had at least been able to confirm it – and he’d also told Oz the scent was more than a couple of days old. It was like they’d started to absorb each other, in the way lovers did. So Oz was at least assured he wasn’t going crazy, he wasn’t imagining her scent.

So dude, you smell like the girl. And in a good way, not like going after her in the furry state.

He stopped his van, a pensive look across his features. Last time, well the one he remembered anyway, last time his wolf had wanted to rip out Tara’s throat. . . . Nope, don’t feel like doing that right now.

Connecting with his canine self was always interesting. Wolf didn’t formulate clear thoughts, was pretty much emotion driven, intensifying Oz’ own emotions, magnified them tenfold. Calling on the wolf now, Oz let Tara’s smell override all the others and got the shock of his life. Instead of rage, the wolf radiated . . . . pack. Tara was pack . . . more than pack . . . she was female pack . . . .

Oz came back to himself, more than surprised to feel a hard aching arousal pulsing through his muscles. “Whoa.”

That was weird.

Staring down at his crotch for a long minute, Oz wondered idly what was it about him and lesbians. . . .


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


The door creaked open and the nurse from earlier stuck her head in, then came inside the room. Spike sat up slowly, disengaging his hand from Buffy, his eyes trained on the woman.

“Dr. Thomas is on his way. He’s gonna take a look at Dawn’s face, see how many stitches she’ll need.”

“Is she really going to need a lot?” Buffy started to get up, when a wave of dizziness swept through her. Eyes closed so she could fight the nausea she completely missed Spike’s move to her side.

“Stay put, kitten, no need to get up just yet.”

“You should keep crackers or pretzels with you. It’ll help.” Buffy sent a questioning look at the woman, who countered with, “I was with you when Dr. Thomas confirmed your pregnancy, don’t you remember?”

The two blondes shared a look. It was Spike who answered her though, not Buffy. “Watchers think someone’s tried to break the claim – there’s some strange mojo working. Don’t remember anything recent.”

“Have you talked to Tara? She might be to help trace the spell’s origins.” Buffy looked at her quizzically, about to ask her a question when the door opened and a kind-faced man in his early forties opened the door.

Greeting everyone, he stepped close to Dawn, then gently rolled her onto her back. Most of the furrows down her cheek were closed up, only one, by her eye, was still sluggishly seeping blood. “This isn’t as bad as I’d thought. Shouldn’t take more than twenty or so stitches. Given time it’ll fade and won’t be noticeable at all. She won’t even remember them.”

“Don’t think its gonna be that easy Doc.” Spike’s tone was laced with sarcasm.

“No. It never really is.”

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


Wesley was the first to see her. He got to his feet, shaking his head in disbelief, believing his eyes were deceiving him. Can’t be her. . She’s in prison.

But the illusion it wasn’t Faith was shattered the second she approached the information desk and slapped both hands down, gaining the attendant’s undivided attention. “Got Dawn Summers here?”

He was at her side before Giles realized what had drawn Wesley’s attention. “Faith? When did you get home?”

“Wes?” Faith looked up at the Englishman, a question and plea in her eyes. “Just got in. Cruised past the crib and heard the news. Came right here. Haven’t even unpacked.”

Even as she was speaking Wesley was shaking his head and fighting a grim smile. “We’re all over here. Spike and Buffy are with her now.”

“Faith?” Giles nearly jumped out of his chair, completely ignoring what Anya was saying as he spied the female Wesley was talking to. “How on earth? How in god’s name did you escape?”

Simultaneous exclamations from the two brunettes effectively reminded Giles what he’d just said and he at least had the grace to look apologetic. He scrambled to cover up his blunder by almost shouting, “customs! Goodness that was quick.”

Faith was shaking her head, while Wesley just stood gaping at the older man.

“Is this really Faith? The other slayer? Why is she here? What’s going on Giles?” Anya’s whispers were much quieter than Giles’ but no less excited.

“Yes.” Was all the answer Wesley and Giles could give her, the only answer either of them had. It was for Faith to supply the details.

The dark-haired girl folded her arms over her chest, her stance both belligerent and defensive at the same time. “Look, I’m here, so that should be enough.” Pointing at the infant Anya was holding up to her shoulder, she asked pointedly, “Who is this?”






This one was a hard one to write and I'm not sure any of it works, so your input would be greatly appreciated. Slainte, Nia.