[A/N: I’m struggling with almost every word I’m writing. I’m so sorry about these updates, but I can’t possibly push anymore than I am. Quotes are as attributed and the title is from not even a quote, but a painting by Salvador Dali. . . and I’m sure you’ve all seen it. Disclaimers are in full force and effect, meaning I own nothing.]

Previously: The Aurelian vampires are joining forces; while the good guys are reeling from an attack on Dawn that left her boyfriend Casey dead. The spell is blocking their memories and none of the scoobies has a clear picture of what is going on. . . . This follows the last installment.

Book Two. Chapter 43. Persistence of memory


Real knowledge is to know the extent of one's ignorance.
Confucius

Time is just something that we assign.
You know, past, present, it's just all arbitrary.
Most Native Americans, they don't think of time as linear;
in time, out of time, I never have enough time,
circular time, the Stevens wheel.
All moments are happening all the time.
Robin Green and Mitchell Burgess, Northern Exposure, Hello, I Love You, 1994

We are here and now.
Further than that, all knowledge is moonshine.
H.L. Mencken

I do not believe...I know.
Carl Jung

Existence really is an imperfect tense that never becomes a present.
Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche

Everything you can imagine is real.
Pablo Picasso

Did you ever wonder if the person in the puddle is real,
and you're just a reflection of him?
Calvin and Hobbes

Reality is merely an illusion, albeit a very persistent one.
Albert Einstein



Buffy changed Connor out of his dirty diaper, getting him quickly into a warm sleeper. He mewled in sleepy protest a couple of times, then settled down when his mouth found his thumb. With a quick kiss on his forehead, Buffy tucked him into his crib, a baby cookie monster by his side.

She stopped, just short of the doorway, grabbing her pajamas. There was dried blood all over her, a mix of Casey’s and Dawn’s, transferred from her sister’s clothing. The dark gummy splotches covering her brought tears to her eyes, and Buffy was hard pressed to stem the tears again. Dawn shouldn’t have to deal with this kind of stuff – shouldn’t have had so much death and destruction around her. And how could she believe any of this was her fault, all this because she had been given to them by the monks. . . . how could she believe the bullshit Glory had fed her about being evil?

It was a silly question, and Buffy knew it even as her mind was thinking it. Dawn believed Glory because at the time, they hadn’t understood anything about the Key – what it did, why it existed and how it could be used. They still didn’t, or so she thought. Perhaps that was another one of those memories . . . . Buffy stared at herself in the bathroom mirror, bloodstained washcloth in her hand, wondering exactly how much of her life she didn’t remember.

How did Spike . . . . And why do I just trust him so much? It had to happen . . . I had to trust him before we mated, otherwise I wouldn’t have agreed to it. The last thing I remember was . . . . fighting Glory. The tower. Oh my god. I remember the tower. I jumped. . . . to save Dawn.

The washcloth dropped from her hand, splattering wetly against the tile floor, watery blood seeping from its edges.


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


“So you’re telling us whoever cast this spell wanted to recreate a moment in time when Buffy was dead?” Giles stared at the younger Englishman, disbelief written across his features.

“It’s the only theory I can come up with that even begins to make a bit of sense out of this whole situation. These are the facts, as we currently know them. Buffy and Spike are mated. Angel has lost his soul and has attacked twice now, Oz first and again tonight. Darla is Connor’s mother.”

Wesley’s pronouncement of Connor’s maternal parentage stunned the rest of them, leaving them all silent. Tara’s stuttering question brought them all back to the present. “Who is Darla?”

“Darla is a vampire. Angel dusted her when Buffy was sixteen. . . . four years ago.” Giles answered her, his eyes steadily on Wesley. “How is it possible? Connor is an infant. This is. . . . Wesley do you realize what you are hypothesizing?”

“I do. I realize its beyond the pale, but can you honestly say that it is completely and utterly impossible? We’ve already established Buffy’s death and subsequent resurrection . . . how is this any less improbable?”

Once more Giles was silenced, his mind working up several different scenarios and possible explanations as to how and why they were currently in this situation. Wesley’s compiling of the information they knew to be fact was in itself a feat, since the known factors changed almost hourly. Conceding his point for the time being, Giles said, “I suppose there isn’t a more credible explanation for any of this. What we do need to unravel is this spell. If it is at all possible, that is.”

“How. . . how do you . . . how can we do that?” Tara ducked her head, embarrassed by her stutter.

Giles and Wesley both smiled kindly at her, though, which eased her discomfort just a bit.

“Last year, when Buffy was trying to discover information about her mother’s illness she used a trance.” Giles started explaining, only to be interrupted by Anya.

“Oh, Cloutier’s spell. Tirer la couverture.” Anya turned a bright smile on those present, which Faith thought was quite bizarre. “But Buffy said it didn’t work.”

“You and I both know its not possible for it to have failed.” Giles peered steadily at Anya, waiting for her agreement. “She also admitted later on it did work, although she had been unprepared for the information revealed.”

“So does this mean anyone can do this whatever?” For the first time since Tara came into the kitchen, Faith spoke up, directing her question to either of the watchers.

“Anyone who is familiar with breathing techniques and meditation.” Wesley looked at each of the faces arrayed around him. The only one of them who might not be immediately capable of the trance was Anya, though her past as a demon gave her an edge none of the rest of them had.

“So basically, any one of us.” Faith, in typical fashion, was the one to state the obvious.
“Basically.”

“So. . . which one of us is gonna be volunteered for this?” Faith shifted her glance between the two watchers, noting when the Englishmen shared a look she couldn’t readily interpret.


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


Buffy had been gone for far too long and Connor wasn’t fussing because Spike would have heard him clearly. Kirsten was back from her trip to the bathroom, the borrowed pajamas two sizes too big, making her look like a little girl playing at dress up. Spike fought the smile the sight of her invoked, knowing it wasn’t quite appropriate.

Gone too long. . . getting to his feet, Spike pointed a finger in Kirsten’s direction. “Stay in this room, pet. Be right back.”

He didn’t close the door completely on the way out and she didn’t bother to either. Kirsten knew it was likely Angel wouldn’t attack again now – considering the hour – but she wanted to be able to get to weapons quickly – just in case.


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


Didn’t take him long at all to find her, she was sitting on the toilet in her bathroom, head down in her hands, soft sobs ripping through her.

He hesitated for a brief moment, just watching her, gauging how bad she was. When she didn’t register his presence, Spike knelt down in front of her, his hands sliding along the outside of her thighs. Expecting some resistance, Spike was braced for her initial rejection. Instead he found himself almost falling when Buffy practically fell into his arms.

“Hey, love, what’s all this then? The only answer he got was more tears and slight hiccupping and her fingers digging into his shoulders. “Kitten?”

Spike pulled away from her, just a little, his strong hand reaching out to cup her chin. Tilting her head up so their eyes could meet, he was staggered by the raw pain reflected in her mostly green eyes. “Oh, kitten, what’s wrong?”

“I remember. . . . what happened with Glory.” Her voice cracked and broke, tears sliding down her cheeks, then dropped to a bare whisper. “I remember. . . the tower and. . . jumping. Don’t remember after. . But I was dead.”

“Oh god sweetheart.” Spike gathered her in his arms, encircling her in whatever warmth he could lend her. He had hoped she wouldn’t remember any of that . . . hoped, even knowing it was hopeless, because once this was all sussed out, she would remember. “Sorry, Buffy, so damn sorry.”

She sniffled, reaching for a tissue to blow her nose. “Why?”

“I blew it. Failed you. . . . my fault you had to jump that night.” Her tears were triggering his own and Spike clenched his jaw, fighting the emotion.

“No.” Buffy shook her head, fingers lingering on his cheek, brushing across his lips. “Wasn’t your fault. It was what I had to do.”

She searched his eyes for a long moment, drew in a quavery breath and shocked him completely. “I trusted you . . . . to take care of Dawnie for me. Knew you would, better than anyone, because you love her. And me. And I asked you because I loved you then . . . . just didn’t know how to say it.”

Her lips found his, warm and wet, and Spike pulled her close with a groan. “Love you. . . so bloody much.”

“I know.” Buffy whispered with a shaky laugh, her eyes boring into his. “I love you right back.”

A wide grin split his features, then faded away as he remembered the night’s events. “Have to suss out what’s going on kitten. Need to know.”

Buffy slipped her hand into his as he got to his feet. “Yeah we do. And then we need to sleep.”

“We?” He raised an eyebrow, watching her reflection in the mirror.

“Yup. You can stay up, but Buffy and baby Buffy need to sleep.” She smiled back at him, even though his reflection wasn’t there and he could see the strain and fatigue around her eyes.

“Could forego questioning the chit, so’s you and bitty-bit could get some kip.”

“No, we’ll do this first.”

“Right then. Lead, on MacDuff.”


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


“I think perhaps, you might be the best candidate.” Unexpectedly, Giles had his eyes on Faith, watching her intently.

“I could do it.” Tara’s voice broke in timidly, but Giles only smiled at her warmly, shaking his head negatively while he did so.

“Me? Why me?” Confused by this completely unexpected show of support, Faith couldn’t stop the questions.

Giles sighed, trying to gather his thoughts before speaking. “We are all affected by this spell, except you. You were miles away from Sunnydale at the time and weren’t part of this at all. I believe it would be easier for you to discover the magic and spells involved since none of us is entirely certain what is actually going on.”

Catching onto Giles’ meaning, Wesley backed him up. ‘You are the only one of us untainted by this. In fact, you somehow appear to be immune. Giles is right. We have no real way of discovering anything until this is done. At the very least we should be able to discover who is the focal point.”

“Makes no difference to me.” Faith shrugged, displaying a certain amount of non-chalance that was belied by her enthusiasm. “How soon are we gonna do this?

“That’s basically up to you.” Wesley reached for an empty cup, pouring himself some coffee.

“Then let’s do it.”


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


Kirsten was sitting caddy-cornered to Dawn’s bed, her head resting in her cupped hands, watching the other teen sleep. Her head turned to look at the doorway as Spike, followed by Buffy, came back into the room.

He made no mention of her pose or her position, but his warrior’s instincts noted it and approved. Chit’s smart. . . got good instincts. . . never met a baby slayer before. . . looks like we’ve got one here though. . .

“How is she?” Buffy also noted her position and her thoughts were remarkably similar to Spike’s. How do we test a potential?

“Sleeping.” She shrugged, getting up from the chair, moving toward the window, then peering out behind the curtain. “Hasn’t moved since . . .. .”

“Good.” Buffy moved toward the bed, her hand automatically running through Dawn’s long dark hair. She sat down on the edge of the bed, her eyes focused on the smaller girl. The silence stretched between the three of them, the two adults unsure how to start the conversation.

Spike leaned back against the wall, feet spread wide in a deceptively lazy pose, his eyes locked on the slight figure at the window. “So pet, gonna tell us who you are an’ how you knew about all this?”

Buffy hid the smile his question raised, watching Kirsten closely for her reaction. Kirsten looked down, staring at her feet. It was obvious she was trying to decide how much she was willing to share and equally clear how uncomfortable she was. They waited her out though, neither one of them about to push.

Taking a deep breath, Kirsten looked up, her eyes on Dawn and started to speak.


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


“Are you sure about doing this right now?” Giles turned concerned eyes on Faith. “It is nearly four. Would you rather get some sleep first and then attempt the trance?”

Faith shrugged. “Nah. I’m pretty wired. Wouldn’t be able to sleep or settle down for another couple of hours anyway. No time like the present.”

“Do you have the sand and incense?” Anya stared at Giles wondering if they were going to have to make a quick run to the Magic Box for supplies.”

“The sand isn’t as important as the incense. As long as someone casts a strong circle around Faith, she’ll be fine.” Giles shook his head, then continued, “I’m sure between us, we can cast a strong ritual circle.”

“We should set up in the living room.” Wesley suited action to words by getting to his feet and moving toward the room in question.

There wasn’t much free floor space, the Christmas tree and Connor’s portable bed taking up most of the room. Wesley pushed one of the chairs back, then moved to lift the coffee table. Faith, catching on to his intentions quickly, grabbed the other end of the table and helped him move it temporarily into the dining room.

Anya and Tara were piling gifts neatly under the tree and Giles was mapping out the room’s cardinal points. “Faith, I believe you should face east.”

Tara got an incense burner from the fireplace mantle. “Which. . . what kind of incense do you need? She finally managed to stutter out the question after a few tense moments.

“Sandalwood. . . . . frankincense. . . ah, juniper and dragon’s blood.”

She thought for very long moments, an unquiet look upon her features. “I think we have those. Let me go look.”

And she was gone in the next moment, following her intuition, her feet flying down the stairs.


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


“Before I start to tell you, can I ask you a couple of questions?”

The two adults shared a look, then Spike responded, “can ask. Might not get any answers.”

“I suppose that’s okay.” She shrugged, then wandered back toward Dawn’s desk. “How much do you remember about the last couple of months?”

“Not much. Mem’ries are a bit blurry.” Again Spike answered her while Buffy stayed silent.

“The reason why I’m here is because of Dawn.” Kirsten easily hopped up on Dawn’s desk, swinging her feet back and forth. The idleness was deceptive because her hands clenched the desk’s edge on either side of her, her knuckles showing almost white.

“Why?” Buffy asked.

“I came back to save her.” Kirsten had the words out of her mouth before Buffy was finished talking. She looked away from the sudden watchful wariness in both of them. “She was. . . Casey. . . . I helped once before when the knights were attacking.”

“What?” Buffy’s almost yelled question almost blocked out Spike’s low-voiced, “when?”

“Homecoming dance. The knights attacked and Spike got really messed up. Totally trashed.” She paused, her eyes on the floor, unwilling to look at them. “You were this close to being dust.”

Buffy stared at Kirsten for a long moment then turned anguished eyes on Spike. “Knew something bad happened.”

“‘M all right now, sweets.” His eyes met Kirsten’s “an’ this still doesn’t explain how you knew about this an’ why you’re helpin’.”

She sighed, knowing it was time and also knowing she couldn’t get out of telling them. But maybe it’ll be easier if I tell them who Dawn is first . . . “look at her.”

Both their eyes focused on the sleeping teen. “Who does she look like?”

Kirsten fell silent, waiting for them to make the connection. She’d heard Dawn after they’d gotten her in the room – and it was obvious the other teen knew the truth. It wasn’t long before Spike looked up, his eyes resting on Buffy while he spoke. “She’s ours, isn’t she? Mine and the Slayer’s.”

“Yeah. She is.” Kirsten paused, racking her brain for more information for them. “I don’t know how the monks did it. But I know somehow the Initiative was also involved.” She didn’t know everything, all the specifics, since no one had ever told her or Robbie.

Buffy was staring at Dawn, her mind racing. Just how much have I forgotten? I don’t remember anything but jumping. . . what the hell else have I missed? And why is this happening? She looked at Dawn, really looked at her. Oh my god. She does look like Spike. I know she looks little bit like me, but damn. . . . she looks just like him.

Kirsten’s voice broke through her thoughts. “So now you know.” That was the easy part. Trying to pick through all the things she knew, Kirsten stared down at her hands. “I’m here because I had to help.”

Spike’s mind was jumping to conclusions he wasn’t sure were wrong. “How long have you known you’re a baby slayer?”

“My whole life.” Oh shit. So didn’t want to admit that.

Buffy’s eyes bored into hers. To her credit, Kirsten didn’t flinch. “Tell me how you knew all along.”

“My parents told me.”


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


All sorts of witchy supplies were in the basement, in the new bedroom. Tara wondered why the room was decorated to her taste and even had some of her books and things lying around, but couldn’t take the time to figure it out. . . and how did I know this stuff was down here and not upstairs? Self-explaining it as part of the general wonkiness made it easier to just accept, get the stuff Giles had asked for and move on.

Clutching the requested items to her chest, Tara hurried back up the stairs, to find Faith sitting cross-legged on the living room floor. She was sort of facing the Christmas tree, her eyes slightly unfocused, her face set and her chest rising and falling steadily. Giles and Wesley were circling around her, one behind the other muttering protective incantations.

Handing two of the resins to Anya, she and the other girl quickly got the incense lit. As they got the last one to flare, the chanting stopped and the mingled scents wafted through the air and Giles silently motioned them all out of the living room and into the dining room. Uncertain of how long it would take Faith to slip into the trance, Giles indicated they should all sit and get comfortable.


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


“An’ who might they be?”

Oh crap. How stupid am I? How the hell am I gonna get outta this one . . . Crap. Crap. . . this is just craptastic. Kirsten refused to look at either of them, keeping her eyes downcast and away. Spike straightened up, then leaned one shoulder against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. “You grew up here in Sunnyhell, didn’t you?”

It wasn’t really a question and Kirsten was well aware of it. “Yeah. Was born here.”

“Talkin’ to you pet is like pullin’ teeth.” Spike’s patience, never one of his strong points, was thinning. “You’re gonna have to be a bit more forthcoming, princess.”

Buffy glanced over at him, a funny little smile playing on her lips. “Spike?”

“Yeah kitten?”

“Take a look at her. . . . a real look.” Buffy’s words echoed Kirsten’s earlier ones and the significance wasn’t lost on Spike. He did as his mate asked, his eyes focused on the little girl sitting on the desk. Dark blond hair, doe eyes of changeable color – at the moment they appeared to be a pale aqua – framed with thick dark lashes, high cheekbones and a pert nose with an off-center bump. . . . wide mouth. . .

“Wha’?” He hesitated, not certain he was understanding her. “Kitten?”

The Slayer looked at Kirsten. “You came because Dawn was in trouble. How did you know?”

“Someone had a vision.” Her next words were soft, barely audible. “Please don’t ask me who.”

Kirsten?” Buffy got up from the bed, standing in front of the young teen. “Tell me who your father is.”

Miserable eyes lifted to hers and Kirsten tried not to, but she couldn’t help herself, her eyes flicked to Spike.

“What year were you born?” Spike had caught the look, same as Buffy and not giving Kirsten a chance to lie, fired the next question at her.

She answered before she really had time to think. “2002.”

Buffy caught the panicked look in Kirsten’s eyes and knew. “It’s all right. I think I understand, okay not understand really, but I get it. What you’re saying. And not saying.” She half shrugged, a bright sparkle in her eyes. “Spike?”

He was staring at the two of them, his eyes wide and unblinking. “Well then.”

And the room fell silent.

Spike was trying to wrap his mind around what their questions had revealed. This . . . baby slayer really was . . . this . . oh fuck. . . this is the bitty one she’s got all tucked away safe an’ sound . . . does she realize this? Course she does. . . holy fuckin’. . . . “kitten?”

He moved away from the wall, needing to touch her, to feel her beneath his fingers. At the first touch of her skin, he inhaled deeply, nostrils flaring, jaw clenching. His fingertips brushed over the almost baby-soft skin of her cheek, his eyes mapping the contours of her face, his nose scenting her closely. She was tiny, smaller than Buffy and as he searched her features he looked closely for traces of his own. They were there, but blurred, softened by Buffy’s . . . his jaw clenched again, as it struck him just how much of a risk she’d taken to come back – to save Dawn.

And the implications of that registered in his head seconds after he recognized the risk Kirsten had taken. Dawn wasn’t – she wasn’t supposed to have survived her confrontation with Angelus. The anger and fear and frustration of it all rose up in him, rousing his temper to a pitch he’d never shown any of them before. Kirsten tensed beneath his fingers and Spike stepped back, giving her room and himself space. The muscles in his cheek tensed, and it took every ounce of willpower he possessed for him to hold onto the ragged edges of his temper.

Kirsten’s eyes widened, feeling the anger rising off her father in waves. Some of it was directed at her, and she knew she was in for a rough night, but there was more to his anger at the moment than just her presence where she shouldn’t be.

Spike practically ground out the words. “Took an awful risk coming back here, princess. Only somethin’ terrible should’ve made you think it was worth wrecking everythin’.”

She started to speak and he held up his hand, motioning her to silence. “Seein’ as how you already admitted why,, you can’t deny it. An’ ‘m not sure I really wanna know how you could manage such a feat, but ‘m not feelin’ real understandin’ at the moment.” He stabbed a finger at her, forcibly holding back from hitting her. “Put yourself in danger, you did. . . . an’ what bleedin’ insane notion got into your head made you think you could take on Angelus? By your bitty self?”

His voice was rising and Kirsten felt the first stirrings of real panic flooding through her belly. “What the bleedin’ hell did you possibly think you’d be able to do?”

Buffy had been silent while Spike approached Kirsten, watching while his eyes focused on this unexpected little girl. Her hand strayed to her belly. Well, not completely unexpected. . . . . It had taken her a minute to follow his line of thought, but the moment he started speaking, she knew his temper was hanging by a thread. The muscles in his cheek and temple were throbbing, almost pulsing to a non-existent heartbeat. His finger rose in the air, almost poking at Kirsten and when his voice rose to a near shout, Buffy decided it was time to intervene.

“Spike?” Her voice was quiet, her hand still covering her belly protectively and she took a step toward him, angling her body away from the bed, moving closer to Kirsten. “Calm down for a minute.”

His eyes were glittering, swirling with unstated emotions she knew were churning up inside of hm. “C’mon Spike. Just for a minute, please, calm down.”

He relaxed fractionally, seeing the concern in her gaze.








Well, there you have it. . . at least some of her story. . . . and okay, Im' nervous about this one, so give it too me honestly. . . is it any freaking good?