[A/N: Every word is an effort lately. . . . Thanks so much for the support. Title is from of of the quotes, which are as attributed. Disclaimers in full force and effect. I own nada, zip, zilch, nothing.]

Previously: Faith and Buffy have at least seen each other; Dawn is being released from the emergency room. This picks up immediately following the last installment.

Book Two. Chapter 42. Our memory is our coherence

Mild brown eyes beckon me to the past,
but memory provides no clue.
Mason Cooley, City Aphorisms, Eighth Selection

Ah! you can die,
the world can collapse,
I have lost the one I love.
I must now live in this terrible solitude where memory is torture.
Albert Camus, The Misunderstanding, act 2, sc. 2

I construct my memories with my present.
I am lost, abandoned in the present.
I try in vain to rejoin the past:
I cannot escape.
Jean-Paul Sartre, Nausea

You have to begin to lose your memory,
if only in bits and pieces,
to realise that memory is what makes our lives.
Life without memory is no life at all ...
Our memory is our coherence, our reason,
our feeling, even our action.
Without it, we are nothing ...
Luis Buñuel




There wasn’t enough room in the Jeep for all of them, since Connor’s car seat took up most of the backseat, especially with the added presence of Kirsten. Until Spike decided to climb in the back with Dawn, Buffy was afraid someone else was going to have either double up or get out and walk.

Buffy watched him climb in effortlessly, her sister cradled gently in his arms. He hadn’t caused her any further discomfort, not once jostling her even enough to disturb her broken ribs. Dawn was still crying, tears sliding down her face, keeping the cuts open. Didn’t matter her own eyes were blurred, Buffy could barely stem the tide of her own tears, listening to the soft sobs of her broken sister, her heart wrenched.

The attack, and by whom, had been completely unexpected. Angel. If she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes, Buffy never would have believed it.

Angel had attacked Dawn.

Casey was dead because of Angel.

Dawn’s heart was broken because of Angel.

Had she done something to cause this? Was all this her fault again?

Spike’s calm low tones broke through her self-absorbed thoughts and she suddenly couldn’t imagine being the cause of all this. There had to be some other explanation for how Angel’s soul had disappeared yet again.

She couldn’t have been so stupid a second time.


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

Faith remained quiet, her mind concentrating on all the jumbled dream images in her head, searching for the one thing that could explain this and make it all clear again. So far, the answer was proving elusive, but she knew, given enough time, it would surface. For now, though, she was better off just thinking.

Wesley’s mind was working, searching for a logical explanation. One thing bothered him, and he knew he’d need to research it more closely, because it was nagging at him. How come he could remember Darla was Connor’s mother – and why didn’t that strike him as odd? Darla is a vampire. How is it possible for her to conceive?

They turned onto Revello Drive, both of them slowing their pace when the darkened house came into view.

“Spare key’s under the deck.” Faith said at the same time Wesley asked “how come Willow and Tara aren’t awake?”


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


Curled up in Spike’s arms, Dawn gave into the tears again. Every couple of breaths another shudder would overtake her muscles and she’d lose all control again. His arms were strong around her, shielding her from the outside world but nothing could ease the pain in her heart.

All my fault. It’s all my fault. Casey’s dead because of me. . . . . Stinging tears slid into the cuts lining her cheek, mixing with the blood, washing through the furrows. Snot and bloody tears leaked from her, but Dawn didn’t care anymore. Casey’s dead. . . . I killed him.

Not even the soft rumbles of Spike’s voice helped, despite how safe she knew she was, Dawn’s guilt grew. Casey won’t be . . . . he tried so hard to protect me and its my fault he’s dead.

My fault. . . . . My fault.

A sob broke from her lips – just his name and the pain swam into her, sweeping through every part of her. Oh Casey.

I’m sorry.

It’s all my fault.


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


She felt so tiny in his arms.

Broken.

Shattered.

Her entire body was shaking with uncontrollable tremors, tears and grief swirling inside her, seeking some release.

Spike held her face to his still chest, hoping some of his strength would help her hold it together, at least for a little while. Until they could get her to sleep . . .

The rising tide of anger was rapidly. . . . Spike had no idea why Angel was attacking, Dawn of all people, and at this particular moment, he didn’t much care why. All he knew was one of his girls had been hurt – and the physical damage was the least of it.

A muscle ticked in his jaw, and, had she seen it, Buffy wouldn’t have missed the control Spike was exerting. Dawn nestled into his tight hold, more tears wetting his shirt. As the salty wetness spread over the black cotton, Spike started an internal list of how many ways to inflict pain.

His foot tapped against the side of the Jeep, and as he was about to complain about how long a ten block trip was taking, he lifted his eyes to see the familiar houses of Revello Drive. “Bout bloody fuckin’ time.”

Dawn sobbed out Casey’s name and he tightened his hold on her, whispering something he hoped was more soothing than the thoughts circling round his head.


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


Faith and Wesley were just crossing the next door neighbor’s lawn when the Jeep pulled into the driveway. Three doors opened almost before the wheels stopped moving and not surprising, Buffy was the first one out.

Spike was emerging from the back with a still weeping Dawn cradled in his embrace.

“Giles? Get the door please.” Buffy directed her troops, motioning for Anya to bring Connor inside while she helped Spike get Dawn inside, her eyes trained on the small blond girl waiting at the front steps. It was easier to focus on her than deal with the other uninvited presence at her door. Too bad she was only human. . . . vampires had to at least get an invite before they could just walk in the door. Buffy grimaced, not wanting to deal with any of this – Faith – Kirsten – Angel – right now. She should be able to focus on Dawn, take care of her. Dawn needed her – all this other stuff could wait.

Making her decision as they hit the front door, Buffy shared a look with Spike. He nodded once, indicating his understanding, then, once they crossed the threshold, he shifted Dawn around balancing her weight better in his arms. Everyone was inside, even Faith, who stood just inside the door, uncertain of her welcome. Spike’s voice from upstairs forestalled whatever Buffy had been about to say and she took the baby from Anya and in a move that surprised no one more than herself, said, “c’mon Kirsten, you too.”

Buffy got to the top of the stairs in time to see Spike kick open the door to Dawn’s room, growling when the door started to swing back toward him.

“Lemme get that.” She hurried down the hallway, Connor’s head nestled against her shoulder. “We need to get her out of those clothes and into pjs.”

Kirsten followed them into the room, her eyes darting between the two adults. Spike put Dawn down, laying her very gently on the bed, then stared down at the softly weeping teen. One-handedly Buffy tried to get Dawn’s boots off, until Kirsten quietly asked, “want me to do that?”

The sound of her voice drew a sharp look from the blond pair, one set of eyes speculative while the other somewhat more welcoming. “Take Connor? I’ll get her ready.”

Suiting action to words, Buffy handed off the baby, who, to their surprise, didn’t protest being held by the stranger. Spike’s raised eyebrow posed a question to his mate, who responded with a shrug and distracted look. Dawn was murmuring incoherently, the pain medication kicking in and making her drowsy and lethargic.

Attention drawn back to her sister, Buffy directed Spike to get her something to sleep in while she carefully undressed her. Bruises marred her skin, livid purple marks on both arms and in a grim circle around her neck. Angel had broken six of Dawn’s ribs, which were wrapped tightly, and severely bruised her throat. Thank god though, she wasn’t that badly hurt. Physically she would recover in a month or two . . . . but her baby sister’s heart had just been broken, ripped out and stomped on, and that wound might never heal.

Buffy brushed back Dawn’s hair, running her fingers across her battered cheek, her touch gentle and unaware of the tears falling from her own eyes. “I’m sorry Dawnie. . . . I’m so sorry. I wasn’t there to protect you.”

“Mommy.” A soft whimper broke from Dawn and Buffy couldn’t tell her Joyce was dead, she’d never remember the lie anyway.

“Mommy’s just getting something. . . . try and sleep, Dawnie.”

“Don’t wanna. . . want . . . . Daddy?” Dawn’s bloodshot, bleary eyes focused on Spike, who had moved to stand behind Buffy. “There’s Daddy. . . . I’ve got a vampire daddy. . . says I’m . . . . mother and Janet.” She reached for him, then a grimace crossed her features as pain rippled through her. “Ow. . . ow. . . ow.”

“All right, Niblet, need to stay still. ‘M right here, not goin’ anywhere.” He settled onto the bed, near her hip, his cool hand cupping hers. How the bleedin’ hell does she know ‘bout my mother and Janet?

“Stay with me?” Dawn settled down the minute their hands met and Spike couldn’t find his voice when she said, “safe with my Daddy. . .. Spike.”

He shared a long look with Buffy, Dawn’s drug induced babbling added more questions for the watchers to go over.

“Yeah, sweets, all safe now. ‘M gonna keep you safe.” With his free hand, Spike held onto Buffy’s, his thumb brushing over the top of hers, “gonna keep you all safe.”

Kirsten watched them, suddenly aware that neither Buffy nor Spike was in possession of all the facts at the moment – somehow their knowledge of the truth about Dawn had been stripped from them. . . . did they know about her being pregnant? What had happened that caused this shift? She’d taken a huge risk, coming back to save Dawn, risking getting caught and exposing her secrets. Connor nuzzled against her neck and Kirsten fought a giggle. This was so weird. Holding him, she reached a decision, one she was determined to keep. If I have to explain . . . well, me, I’m only explaining it to two people. Hopefully, they’ll take it on faith and not give me too much shit about it. But I had to come back. . . had to. For Mom’s sake. . . . and Dad’s too.


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


Muted noises filtered through her sleeping brain, tweaking her senses and causing her consciousness to begin the swim toward wakefulness. Her body was sated, limbs loose and languid and for long moments after her eyes opened, Tara just basked in the feel of her lover curled in her arms, Willow’s soft breaths washing over her bare limbs.

But the sounds from downstairs got a bit louder, strange voices and noises echoing through the house at . . . Tara squinted at the clock, shaking her head in disbelief, two forty three in the morning. Deciding the amount of noise couldn’t possibly be Buffy alone returning from patrol, Tara rolled away from Willow and got up out of bed. With a last wistful gaze back at her lover, she whispered a muffling incantation and then slipped through the door.


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


Wesley headed directly for the kitchen, Faith trailing behind him, as Giles and Anya began cleaning off and putting away the weapons. With no idea how soon Buffy and Spike would be coming back downstairs, Wesley figured it was going to be a long night and he fired up the coffee machine and the kettle. He couldn’t explain to anyone, including himself, how he knew where things were stored in Buffy’s kitchen, yet he did.

The lack of clear memories had been bothering him most of the night, since Buffy first walked into the Magic Shop shortly before five in the afternoon, worsening when Spike arrived with nearly the same vague feeling Buffy had complained of. It might have been easy to discount one of them, but the both of them with corroborating feelings – and not to mention the evidence of the claim – had only worsened his unease. Mentally, he tallied over his “known” facts.

Darla is Connor’s mother.

Buffy and Spike are mated.

Angel has lost his soul.

Oz has bonded with Tara, without Willow’s presence.

“Faith? Your dreams, about how long have they been disturbing?” Wesley folded his arms over his chest, leaning back against the counter, his eye on the kettle.

She looked up from shredding the napkin and he could see the movement of her mouth where she was chewing on the inside of her cheek. “Which set?”

“You’ve had more than one set of disturbing dreams?” He stood straight, his attention now focused on her.

“Well, yeah. Had ‘em for a while.” She paused, finally looking up at him. “Look, can we wait with the interrogation until Buffy’s here?”

“I think that would be for the best.” Giles’ voice sounded from the living room doorway, interrupting whatever Wesley might have been about to say. “There’s been so much information we’ve lost there’s very little way of knowing for certain what is a product of the spell and what is not.”

He walked further into the kitchen, his eyes sweeping around the room as if taking inventory. “The knowledge is there, like something hovering at the edges of memory, yet we are unable to recover it.” He paused for a moment, obviously gathering his thoughts. “I believe the effects of the spell were blocked by the mating bond between Buffy and Spike, and while part of me is appalled by that bond, another, more tolerant part of me is aware this was a natural progression of something already existing that I am currently unaware of.”

Everyone relaxed, waiting for Giles to continue. “Additionally, the spellcaster seems to be ignorant of several other things that have also disrupted the stability of the spell. Connor’s presence for one, another is, unfortunately, Angel’s current soul-free status.” He paced forward a bit, glasses off and in his hand. “Which concerns me, because we have no way of knowing what kind of forces Angel might have arrayed against us.”

“Spellc. . .caster?” Tara stood in the doorway between kitchen and dining room, fuzzy slippers on her feet and frumpy bathrobe wrapped around her. “What’s going on?”

“Apparently, we’ve had someone try and cast a spell on us that hasn’t completely, well,” Giles answered her, as Wesley moved the kettle away from the burner. “It appears either the casting was faulty or the effects of the spell have been blocked by the presence of a mating bond between Buffy and Spike.”

The blond witch stood still for a moment, trying to absorb exactly why all these people were in the kitchen at this hour, in addition to what Giles had just told her. “Buffy and Spike are mated?”

Her confusion only grew when she took in the two brunettes she had never met. “Who is this?”

“Its me, Wesley. Don’t you remember me?” His expression grew more thoughtful as he realized he remembered her, but she apparently had no recollection of him.

Shaking her head, she stuttered out, “Sorry, no, I don’t.”

Anya gave a little snort, then shifted her gaze between Faith and Giles. “This spell has affected each one of us differently. Which means there was more than one point of focus for the spellcaster. We need to find out what is going on. I can’t have my life or my money in jeopardy very long.”

But Tara’s statement seemed to have triggered some flare of awareness in Wesley, because he looked up, then said very quietly, “eureka! I’ve got it.”

Both Anya and Giles stared at him, aware of Buffy’s earlier tirade in the Magic Box and Wesley waved his hand briefly for a moment. “Tara? What is the last clear memory you have?”

They waited patiently while the blond girl thought, Faith the only one with a half-disinterested expression on her face. Finally, after long moments, Tara spoke.

“Last thing I remember was Mr. Giles going back to England and Buffy was de.. . dead. Sp. . . Spike was living here, taking care of Dawn. And. . . and Willow . . . . “ she shrugged, afraid that this was all somehow wrong.

“That’s it.” Wesley nearly banged his hands down the counter, barely restraining himself at the last second.

“What is?” Giles glanced at his younger counterpart, a clear question in his gaze.

“The last time I have a clear, real memory is from sometime in August. And Buffy was dead. She’s obviously not now, so that has to be the point where our collective memories were altered.”

“Are you telling me that we are only discovering our altered memories now, in,” Anya gazed over at the wall calendar, noting the month. “In December?”

“No, that’s not what I’m suggesting at all. What I am suggesting is that it was that point in time the spellcaster wanted to recreate.”

Giles settled his glasses back on his face, contemplating Wesley’s theory. “If that is the case, it might be wise if we try to discover exactly how this spell was designed and by whom.”


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


Robbie is so gonna kill me. Kirsten closed her eyes, shutting out the sights and sounds around her, searching for the bond she shared with her older brother. It was still there, though, stretched very thin, but still real, still true. He’s so gonna kick my ass, but Daddy’s gonna be worse. Opening her eyes again, Kirsten found discerning blue eyes focused on her, a very assessing look in his eyes. I am so very busted.

Buffy was rustling about the bedroom, picking up Dawn’s destroyed clothes and stuffing them in the trash bin. Kirsten tracked her movements, knowing Buffy was doing the cleaning just to stay busy. Her back was to Spike, her body almost parallel with Kirsten’s and Kirsten could just see Buffy’s expression out of the corner of her eyes. She knew a split second before Spike, that Buffy was crying, but only because she saw the tears start.

Spike was on his feet, his arms wrapped around Buffy’s shoulders before Kirsten reacted. “Kitten?”

She turned in his embrace, burying her face against his chest. “I’m supposed to keep her safe. To protect her. I promised Mom I would. . . . I failed her. She wasn’t safe tonight.”

“You did nothin’ wrong love, spell’s playin’ with all of us.” His hands ran down her back, soothing her as best he could. “Not your fault.”

“It is. . . . what if he’s around because of something I did?” The words were tumbling from her mouth before she could stop their flow.

Spike stared down at the top of her head for a moment, anger warring with grief and some disbelief for her thinking that. “Buffy. . . tha’s just fear talkin’. Look at me love,” when she kept her eyes averted, he tilted her chin up, his fingers holding her face. “Those marks of mine aren’t a week old – they’re older. We smell too much like each other. That baby here,” he pressed his other hand against her belly. “This is mine too. . An’ ‘m gonna guess an’ say that didn’t happen last week. Have to be at least a month along, kitten, otherwise I couldn’t be so sure.”

Wrapping his arms around her again, he rested his forehead against hers. “There’s no way the bond we share would allow for what you’re thinkin’. Wasn’t you this time.”

Kirsten knew she shouldn’t be a witness to this moment. This was. . . very private. She closed her eyes again, shutting down all her senses, waiting until one or the other of them called her by name. She missed when Buffy leaned into Spike, her hands holding onto his shirt, her body seeking reassurance from him that he wasn’t just saying all this to ease her guilt. She missed too, when Spike lowered his head, his lips brushing across Buffy’s, soft words of comfort and love issuing forth.

For long moments they stood together, until Connor’s whimpers of discomfort mingled with Dawn’s groans of pain.

Kirsten came out of her trance state to find concerned hazel green eyes staring at her. For a moment, Kirsten swore there was recognition and awareness there, but Buffy blinked and the knowledge was gone. “Hey. You okay? You were like a million miles away.”

It took her a minute to shake off the trance and find her voice. “Yeah. I’m good. How’s Dawn?”

“She’ll be all right. Needs to sleep now.” Spike answered as Buffy said, “we need to get this little guy settled.” Lifting Connor from Kirsten’s arms, she said, “I’ll be right back. You can borrow something of Dawn’s to sleep in.”

“Yeah. I’ll, um, do that.” Kirsten watched Buffy go, then headed straight for Dawn’s dresser. “I’ll just grab something comfy and change.”

“Do that. When you come back, we’re gonna have ourselves a bit of a chat.”






Please leave a review. I'm curious to see how some of this works, because I was editing it right up until the last possible second, and then I just couldn't edit anymore. So, be kind and let me know what you think of it.