[A/N: Sorry for the delays in updating. Hopefully my arm will ease a bit and things will get better and I’ll be able to update quicker. Thanks to all of you for sticking with me on this. You’re all the best. Title is from one of the quotes which are as attributed. Disclaimers are in full force and effect.]

Previously: Faith’s broken out of prison and is in Sunnydale, although Buffy doesn’t know it yet; Angel has killed Casey. This picks up where we left everyone.

Book Two. Chapter 41. Savage and serene in one hour


The change from storm and winter to serene and mild weather, from dark and sluggish hours to bright and elastic ones, is a memorable crisis which all things proclaim. It is seemingly instantaneous at last.
Henry David Thoreau, The Writings of Henry David Thoreau, vol. 2,

Our life is March weather, savage and serene in one hour.
Ralph Waldo Emerson, Montaigne; or, the Skeptic

Alas! it is the hush of suspense, and in many lands it is the hush of fear.
Winston Churchill, A Hush over Europe,
broadcast to the United States from London, August 8, 1939




“Maybe we should table this conversation until we get out of such a public venue.” Giles spoke before the glaring between the two girls could escalate into an exchange of words that wasn’t appropriate for the waiting area of a hospital emergency room.

Kirsten looked from one of the older females to the other, her eyes wide with surprise. She’d heard about Faith, but never expected to actually meet her. . . . and so far, all the stories had been true. Despite the fatigue, and the lines of anger bracketing her wide mouth, and the obviously borrowed clothes, Faith was just as . . . . charismatic and compelling as she’d been told.

Wesley grabbed her shoulder, pulling the slayer off to the side, away from Anya. Kirsten couldn’t hear everything that was being said, but she knew, just by the set of Wesley’s shoulders and his stance, what he was saying. Kirsten turned her head to watch them more closely, and it was funny listening to Anya whispering to Giles about Faith and how dangerous she was while Faith looked anything but.

The four adults were all lost in their own conversations, none of them paying attention, when a furtive moment by the doors caught her attention. “Giles?” Kirsten whispered softly, trying to get his attention without looking like she was getting his attention. “Giles. There’s a vamp by the door.”

“What? Where?” Giles peered over his glasses, then adjusted them on his face to see more clearly. Keeping his deceptive pose and without moving away from Anya, he nodded to Kirsten. “Keep an eye on him. I’m going to alert Wesley and see if I can find out how soon we’ll be out of here.”

At that he patted Anya on the arm, then got to his feet. As he passed Wesley and Faith, he caught the taller man’s eye and motioned his head toward the doors, mouthing “vamp” while walking to the desk. “Excuse me nurse, is there any information on Dawn Summers’ condition?”

The attendant looked up, then pressed a button on her computer screen, and without removing her eyes from the screen, said, “She’s still in examining room 10. I have nothing more on her status.”

“Room 10? Thank you.” He stepped away from the counter, turning his back on the nurse’s station. “She’s in room 10.”

“I’ll go.” Anya stood up, preparing to take the baby out of the path of any possible fighting and Giles held her back for a moment, whispering, “let Spike know we have visitors.”

Her smile was bright, but it never reached her eyes. Anya gathered up the baby’s bag and headed directly for the rooms. When the security guard tried to stop her, she looked up at him as she pinched Connor beneath the blanket and the baby’s howls started right on cue, Anya said, “sorry. His mother is in the back and he needs to nurse.”

With a bright and disarming smile, she sailed right past the man and on into the back.


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Working quickly and efficiently, Dr. Thomas had Dawn’s face stitched up before either of the blondes had expected. The stitches were tiny, dark knots across her skin, like lace wings elongating her eyebrow. Buffy leaned into Spike’s side, noting with a fair amount of fatigue and irony, although she was unaware of it, “she’s gonna have a scar like yours.”

Dr. Thomas was shaking his head. “I hope not. Whoever stitched up Spike’s eye did a terrible job.”

“No one did it. Just left it alone.” He shrugged, looking down at the young woman in his arms. “Slayer’s blade did this. Must’ve had it blessed.”

Before Buffy had a chance to say anything, there was a sharp knock on the door and Anya strode in with a softly whimpering Connor in her arms. “Giles wants to know how soon we can go because there are vamps hanging around by the door.”

She looked around, noticing Dawn’s sleeping form, remarking, “they knocked her out. What did they use?”

Connor’s whimpers got louder as he smelled his family and Anya dumped him into Buffy’s arms. “That other slayer is here.”

Glancing at what she thought was two strangers, Anya leaned in, speaking in a stage whisper, “I don’t think you should trust her Buffy, remember last time? She stole your body and slept with Riley. Although you aren’t getting orgasms from anyone right now.” She paused, thinking hard, then smiled brightly, “Wait, you must be getting them from Spike since you are mated. Do you remember it?”

Giving Spike a very knowledgeable once-over, Anya ignored all attempts to be shushed and kept right on talking. “He is very pleasing to the eye and appears well endowed, plus he’s got vampire stamina. Are you sure you don’t remember?”

“Anya? Vampires? Waiting room? Subject. Stay on it.” Buffy wasn’t going to blush, promised herself and yet despite that she could feel her face getting flush.

“Why doesn’t anyone ever want to talk about sex?” Before either of the blonds could elaborate, she held up her hands. “Okay. We only saw one, but Faith and Wesley are on it. That strange little girl noticed it first.”

“Chit’s still here?” Spike was heading for the door, after exchanging a look with Buffy. “Get ready to bolt, ladies, once we’re all clear.”

“Spike?” Buffy’s voice stopped him just before he stepped out into the hallway.

His eyes met hers, understanding and emotion swirling in the ocean-blue depths. “I know kitten.”

And he was gone.

Sparing a look down at Connor, Buffy smiled when the baby smiled up at her, while directing her words at the doctor. “How soon can we take Dawnie home?”


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


No sign of Giles or Oxford.

Where’s the chit – Kirsten?

A flash of swirling dark hair down a darkened and otherwise empty corridor caught his eye and Spike moved in that direction. An “ooph” and a grunt sounded off to his right and Spike slid past an open door to find Giles and Kirsten battling a lone vampire. As he watched, Giles pushed off from the wall, knocking the vamp into Kirsten’s makeshift stake and he was about to comment when he got hit from behind.

Going down in a tangle of limbs, Spike bucked up, throwing off whatever had knocked into him, whirling around to nail his assailant with a left hook. The vamp’s head snapped and he reeled back, arms pinwheeling, into Wesley, who shoved him back at Spike; with a deep growl he kicked up, catching the vamp across the face, giving Wesley time to stake it.

The sounds of a major smackdown sounded in the hallway was coupled with the unmistakable husky timbre of Faith’s voice as she taunted her opponent. Spike moved past Wesley, leaning against the doorframe. “Shouldn’t play with the locals, pet, they get a bit tetchy about it.”

“You know me. Gotta get my groove on anyway I can.” Faith tossed the vamp over her shoulder, letting him roll along the floor before she looked over at Spike.

“Faith.” He nodded at her, his voice and face expressionless.

She returned the greeting. “Spike.”

He smirked at her, noting her disheveled state and questionable wardrobe. “Just stopping by for a visit?”

“Nah.” The vamp came at her, charging wildly and she sidestepped him, almost slowly, her eyes never leaving Spike’s. “Got a feeling I might be needed.”

“Could be. . . Might not find so warm a welcome.” He tossed her a stake, waiting for her next move.

“Goes both ways. Lots of hard feelings all around.” Faith turned her back on Spike to trade blows with the vampire. Tiring of the play, she took the next opening and brutally rammed the stake into his chest.

“Had some time to think. . . . maybe it’s time to let all that go. Start over again.” Her body froze as her gaze slid past where Spike was as she focused on the small blond figure beside Spike.

Buffy stared back, her face as devoid of expression as Spike’s had been.


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


Drusilla was holding court when he finally made it back to the mansion, although it looked otherwise. Jenner was leaning against the wall next to the fireplace, his eyes on the whirling female as she giggled softly, his pose deceptively indolent.

Older than Angel by a good fifty years, Jenner had only responded because of the lure of the hellmouth and the traitor. A black-haired blue-eyed Welshman, Jenner had been working on the docks in Plymouth when Darla had turned him, but unlike Angel, he’d not stuck to her skirts for more than a decade, her possessive rages inciting his own temper once too often. He didn’t particularly care for Angel – but his anger with William the Bloody ran too deep. Their history was checkered with botched deals and betrayals, albeit on both sides, but this latest bit of news brought Jenner out of his element, willing to take the chance in order to bring Spike down.

The only other of his kind he had as much anger toward was the newly returned master of the house. His antipathy for Angelus was purely personal; while he actually enjoyed William the Bloody’s company. The current source of his anger was based solely on business and dealings that had gone sour.

Angel sauntered into the mansion via the garden, his skin prickling and nerves jumping. Too many masters here . . . . Aside from Jenner, Angel was the oldest vampire and he had a feeling despite their age difference, Jenner would give him less trouble than the others. Toussaint could be a problem and with him there was always Rebecca to worry about. As he got further into the room, Angel realized only Jenner and Drusilla were present – along with a few of his remaining minions – which was curious. He watched Drusilla dip and sway for a moment, a grin crossing his features at her antics.

“Did you hunt well Daddy? Were the little ones delicious?” Not waiting for his reply she blew playful kisses at him, then waggled her fingers. “Daddy played too long. . . missed the glowing little girl . . . tsk, tsk. Mustn’t play with our food. Mummy always said so.”

“You know I can’t resist Dru.” Angel slapped her ass, wrapping his swollen hand around her neck, squeezing gently. “Should’ve come with me . . . . and you know Darla is the one who taught us how to play.” He paused, then moved away from her. “Jenner. Glad you decided to come.”

The big vampire shrugged, his eyes never moving from Drusilla. “Plenty of reasons to.” He waved a hand and three of his minions emerged from the shadows by the stairs. “I’ve made arrangements for my own accommodations.”

The air crackled with the unspoken animosity between the two master vampires. They were, despite protestations otherwise, strikingly similar in looks. Jenner was a bit taller, and a tad bit brawnier, but they both sported squared jaws and heavy brows. Angel tended to softness, while Jenner was pure muscle, due to his years on the docks, resembling the rough hewn granite of his homeland. After meeting Jenner, it had struck Angel that perhaps Darla was searching for a specific look in her men; tall, brawny and he’d suffered from pangs of . . . not jealousy, because by then he’d had Darla six different ways to Sunday, but. . . more along the lines of inadequacy. Jenner had clearly been in Darla’s mind when she’d picked Liam out of a drunken haze and turned him – though he hadn’t known it at the time. It had only become clear once he’d met the master vampire and had Darla missing from his bed for a week after their initial meeting.

Jenner pushed off from the wall, his minions drifting to his side. “I’ll be in touch.” Eyeing Drusilla, who’d stopped swaying to watch the two of them, a vicious smile playing about her lips, he continued, “I’m staying on the waterfront. Send word when you have something for me.”

Without another word Jenner and his men left the mansion.

Angel watched them go, his mind more on Jenner’s actions and unwillingness to stay in the mansion than his killing of the teen; his musings making him unprepared for Drusilla’s attack. Her nails scraped along the left side of his face, in an eerie similarity to what he’d done earlier to Dawn. Her snarls and snapping jaw sounded far too close to his neck for his liking and Angel pushed her off, trying to hold her at arm’s length. “What the fuck?”

“Daddy’s been very naughty. Gone out without his best baby girl. Can’t have that now, can we?” Her nails dug into his wrist, puncturing the skin and drawing rivulets of fresh blood from his veins. “Mustn’t hunt without me. . . else sunshine will take you. . . “

“Its still full dark out Dru, what the hell are you talking about?” Angel threw her off him, sucking on the wounds she’d given him.

Her maniacal laughter echoed against the walls of the sitting room and she slithered to her feet, sinuous movements designed to put all thoughts of her attack out of his mind. “Daddy mustn’t travel alone. . . slayer’s got too many friends for that.”

“Dru. . . . they were careless. . And you were the one who told me to go hunting! What the fuck are you complaining about now?” She’d been the one to push him earlier – sensing something different in the air, something off.

She was shaking her head. “Tsk, tsk, Daddy. . . . baby slayers have come out to play. . . Nasty little girls who can do more than mummy ever dreamed. . . . come for you. . . . must stay away. Bad little baby strawberries. Rotten. Deadly.”

“Dru. . . . enough.” Ignoring her attempt at a warning, Angel focused on their guests. “Where the hell are Rebecca and Toussaint?”


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


Lawson had watched from the shadows while three more minions were dusted by the Slayer’s people. For humans they fared better than he’d expected, the vampires had been clearly outclassed from the onset of the fight, even without the presence of William the Bloody.

Unable to get close, he had missed the conversation between Spike and the dark-haired girl, but it was clear to his eyes there wasn’t much love lost between them. He wondered briefly if this was the Slayer, but when a small blond woman appeared, Sam knew he’d been wrong. She’s the one. . . and no bigger than a minute. Geezuz she’s tiny.

An older man, slightly greying, peered from one of the girls to the other and gestured them all to silence. That has to be the Watcher. . . . so who’s the other guy? Taller, thinner than both the others, Lawson couldn’t figure out who he was. Sliding closer, he heard the unmistakable cadence of a third British accent and he slid back into the shadows, thinking. Tall and dark was English. Older and greying was English. William the Bloody was English. What is this? Us against them again?

The group moved away and he lost visual contact with them.

Having gotten some of the information he wanted, Lawson waited until they left, making his way back to the mansion.


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Hearing Faith was back in Sunnydale and actually seeing her in the flesh were two completely different things. Buffy had heard Anya, she just hadn’t digested the reality of it all. Seeing Faith, as she faced her mate, caused a whole different set of simultaneous reactions off inside her head. Without any conscious awareness of what she was doing, Buffy stepped in front of Spike, her eyes boring into Faith’s. Last time they’d seen each other had been in the aftermath of the body switch, after Faith had already slept with Riley – and hit on Spike.

“You’re supposed to be in prison.” It was the first thing Buffy could think of that wasn’t an outright growl.

“Was there until a few hours ago.” Faith didn’t physically shrug, but the attitude was still there.

“Why are you here?” Buffy’s voice was clipped and she didn’t even relax when Spike stepped closer to her back.

“Buffy?” Giles voice broke into the non-conversation the two slayers were having and he continued without waiting for acknowledgment. “We should continue this discussion in a safer location. Both Dawn and Connor should be in their own beds.”

Silence greeted his statement, as both slayers assessed the other, gauging trustworthiness. Spike’s hand reached for Buffy’s and, on contact, she relaxed. “C’mon kitten, let’s get the kiddies home.”

Wesley spoke, motioning to himself and Faith, “we’ll meet you back at the house.” With a pointed look at the prison escapee, he jerked his head and started off.

Anya handed the once again mewling infant to Buffy all the while muttering under her breath about unstable boyfriend and body-stealing people.

“Where’s Bit?” Spike watched Wesley and Faith, a niggling feeling of eyes on the back of his neck making him wary.

“She’s with the doctor still.” They all trailed behind Buffy as she headed back toward the examining room. “He said Dawn would be okay to leave when I got back.”

And she was. Dr. Thomas had gotten a very groggy Dawn up and into a wheelchair while the others had dealt with the vampires. Tired and teary blue eyes barely opened at their reappearance, though Dawn smiled sadly when she saw Spike.

Crossing the room in a couple of strides, Spike knelt down by the chair, his hands smoothing back Dawn’s disheveled hair. “Ready to go home?”

Her lower lip quivered as fresh tears flooded her eyes. A soft sob broke from her mouth and all Dawn could do was nod her head.

“Right then.” He started to get to his feet when another sob from Dawn caught his attention. Spike wrapped his arms around her, holding her against his chest, letting her tears fall.

Giles tapped Buffy’s shoulder, whispering softly, “I’ll just go get the Jeep. Anya?”

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


Their footsteps were muffled, despite the lack of any other traffic, vehicular or otherwise, as Faith and Wesley walked through the dark streets of Sunnydale.

Wesley stuck his hands in his pockets, suddenly realizing he’d rushed from the Magic Box without a warm enough jacket and the night had turned cold. A glimpse over at his companion told him she wasn’t faring much better, though, like him, she was doing her best to ignore it.

“How?” The question escaped from his mouth before he had a chance to think about it, or censor his thoughts.

“Easier than I thought it would be. Could’ve just walked out.” Dismissing the ease of her escape, Faith asked the one question that had been bugging her. “Who does the brat belong to?”

Wesley sighed, wondering just how much information he could or should share with her. “I’m not sure about his paternity. His mother appears to be Darla. His origins . . . . “ following his impulse, Wesley gave Faith as much information as he could. “We are under some sort of cloaking or forgetting spell. There’s not much information we have at the moment, but Buffy has no memory of what happened following her battle with Glory and I have no idea why I’m here – other than it appears Angel’s lost his soul.”

“What?” Faith stopped walking, turning to face Wesley. “How the hell did that happen?”

“Again, I’m uncertain of how, because of the spell. Evidently the reason why we have some knowledge of all this is because of the claim between Buffy and Spike. The spell appears to be incomplete because of their mating.”

They resumed walking, the cold making the urge to linger dissipate.

“So. . . . maybe these Slayer dreams I’ve been having could help with that.” The admission was reluctant, although it was clear to Wesley that Faith’s offer was genuine.


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


Kirsten hung back, watching all of them, afraid to disobey Spike and yet wary of intruding too much. Weird thing was none of them seemed to remember her, not even Dawn, which was seriously strange. The need to run away, to go back to where she belonged was an urge she had to fight very hard against. At the same time, though, was the fear something else was about to go down and once more Dawn would be in danger.

Thank god, though, Giles hadn’t caught her slip.

Just have to remember no more mistakes. Can’t tell anyone else. Dad’s gonna be so pissed when he catches me. Mom would understand though. . . . maybe. . .

Though there was the question of credibility and just how much she’d be believed if she actually told the truth.

She trailed behind Buffy, her eyes drifting between the slayer and her vampire. They really were. . . . Kirsten sighed, a smile crossing her features. They were a fairy-tale come true – something out of legend. The scarred and damaged warrior, hiding the pure and sensitive soul behind the mask of brutality wandering for years in the dark until the beautiful, fierce, deadly girl stole his heart.

Mentally rolling her eyes, Kirsten sighed. They’d both knock her on the head for that one. . . . and privately they’d be mush. But too bad, coz it’s true. . . only they don’t think its all that weird. . . but I think they were made for each other. As she watched them standing by the door, Spike rested one hand on Dawn’s shoulder, his other reached out to run a finger over Buffy’s cheek, cupping her chin and then the baby’s head; Kirsten knew, no matter how much trouble she was going to get in, coming back had been the right thing to do. Besides, now she just had more ammo to tease them with.

The Jeep pulled up and Spike turned his head, catching her eye. “C’mon pet, time to go.”


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