[A/N: I’m trying so hard to get this all out, but the near constant pain interferes with the muse. At the moment, the muse is winning. Lucky for you, isn’t it? Title is from one of the quotes and they are as attributed. Disclaimers, as always, are in full force and effect.]


Previously: Faith has undergone the trance, only to pass out in front of Willow’s bedroom. Lawson’s returned to the mansion to a waiting Drusilla and Spike is out looking for someway to vent his anger and frustration. This picks up shortly after the last installment.

Book two, chapter 45. Mingled yarn

I have realized that the past and future are real illusions,
that they exist in the present,
which is what there is and all there is.
Alan Watts

A hallucination is a fact, not an
error; what is erroneous is
a judgment based upon it.
Bertrand Russell

The web of our life is of a mingled yarn,
good and ill together.
All’s Well That Ends Well, act iv, sc. iii

If our web be framed with rotten handles,
when our loom is well nigh done,
our work is new to begin.
God send the weaver true prentices again,
and let them be denizens.
Elizabeth I, The Sayings of Queen Elizabeth, ch. 11,
by Frederick Chamberlin

Fiction is like a spider’s web,
attached ever so lightly perhaps,
but still attached to life at all four corners.
Often the attachment is scarcely perceptible.
Virginia Woolf, A Room Of One’s Own, ch. 3



Jenner hadn’t planned on staying long on the hellmouth, and anticipating the possible need for a quick getaway, left his own personal ship waiting at the harbor. He’d spent some time in London, when its hellmouth had been active and unlike most of his brethren, he’d hated it. The chaos, the constant bickering and jockeying for position and not to mention the near constant influx of otherworldly demons – it had played havoc with his unlife. Jenner preferred controlling his own place, absolute control, allowing no others refuge in Plymouth and its surroundings. Which was why he always had his own transportation.

With only a half dozen handpicked minions, Jenner had effectively cleared out Sunnydale’s waterfront in the twenty-four hours since his arrival.

Angelus is an idiot. Wasting time playing games with children, focusing on tormenting the Slayer. Used wisely, a Slayer’s presence was a benefit to a prudent master vampire. From the sources he’d spent the last few hours questioning, Jenner had discovered the current Slayer’s history – and her connection to both Angelus and William.

Staring out into the pre-dawn sky, Jenner contemplated his possible options. He could jump the gun and blindly side with Angelus while keeping his options for escape open – or he could wait, biding his time and see what would happen. William, while impetuous and impulsive, had the uncanny knack of always surviving, if not coming out the better of any situation. Which was, he supposed, part of the problem. In the past, Jenner had always chosen the path of prudency, and thus, losing out to William.

Time to make a choice . . . . Dismissing his minions, Jenner prepared to settle his large bulk in the king-sized bed. I’ll sleep on it. Another day or so won’t change anything. . . except give me more information.

Realizing he’d already inadvertently reached a decision, Jenner stripped down and climbed beneath the silk sheets.

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


Spike slammed back another shot of bourbon, carefully watching the rest of the bar patrons, his eyes constantly scanning the faces. He had no idea what he was looking for, but he knew, sooner or later one of the human-looking demons was going to trip up and cause a fracas. He was counting on it.

His wait wasn’t a long one.

By the time he’d finished half the bottle, a fight had broken out between a coil’ach-dubh and two vampires. Waiting a bit, until all the surrounding demons got involved, Spike let a grin cross his features.

Taking advantage of the chaos, Spike dove into the fray, attacking both sides with impunity. He didn’t care which side was right – didn’t care about anything but easing his own temper and anger. Throwing caution – and punches – to the wind, Spike gleefully fought, reveling in the pointless violence.

Completely pushing everything else from his mind, Spike howled with glee as he used fist and fangs on the bar patrons.


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


Giles lifted Faith from Buffy’s arms, his eyes narrowed in thought, wondering if he’d been fooled by her insistence she was okay enough to attempt the trance. What concerned him though, was the deeper question of what had actually caused her collapse.

Was it the amount of magics in the house? Or was it the rebound effects of all these magics? Or is it something as simple as fatigue? He had no way of knowing either, or also knowing exactly what Faith had uncovered. What he could glean from Faith’s few comments wasn’t enough to establish who was the focal point or from where the spell originated.

Not enough information. Though it was telling where she’d lost consciousness, as were her last words. Giles thought about mentioning what Faith had said when he caught Wesley hiding a yawn.

Buffy motioned him downstairs, where he and Wesley set up Faith on the couch. Sharing a look with his fellow former watcher, Giles motioned him away from the two slayers. “She collapsed outside the room shared by Tara and Willow.”

“Did she give any indication of what she was seeing just before?” Wesley questioned the older man.

“No. Nothing clear at all.”

Wesley looked back over his shoulder to glance at the two girls. Buffy was laying a blanket over Faith’s inert form and she swayed, fatigue stealing over her. “There isn’t much we can do now. It’s nearly seven. Perhaps we should all just get some sleep.”

There wasn’t much else they could do. They were all reeling on their feet and he had to agree with Wesley. “Agreed. The bedroom downstairs is currently unoccupied. Do you want it?”

“No, Rupert, you go ahead. I’ll stay up here.” Wesley shook his head, motioning toward the chair.

Giles raised an eyebrow. “That can’t possibly be comfortable.”

“It won’t be. But I think one of us should be up here. It’s all right.” He shook his head one more time. “Go ahead.”

Nodding his acquiescence, Giles turned his attention to the three young women who were still awake. “Why don’t you all go on to bed. There’s nothing more we can do tonight. . . er, this morning.”

Buffy started to protest, but a yawn stole through her and she shook her head, letting out a husky chuckle. “Yeah. I’m just gonna get a bottle for C-man, coz I’m sure he’ll be up soon.” She motioned for Tara and Anya to go ahead. “The room downstairs is empty, Anya, why don’t you crash here.”

Yawning heavily, her natural exuberance weighed down by exhaustion, Anya nodded sleepily and trudged toward the kitchen and the basement steps.

Starting to protest a bit, Tara looked at all of them, thought better of what she was about to say, then headed for her own bed.

Sleepily Buffy followed after Anya, getting a bottle ready for Connor, finding her way upstairs.


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


Surveying the carnage around him, Spike inhaled deeply, the varying scents of demon blood heavy in the air. His grin widened, and he swallowed his satisfaction, stretching his neck from side to side.

The anger and tension was eased, released in the unabashed violence of a simple mindless bar brawl. Spike didn’t care – didn’t matter to him at all – who bore the brunt of his anger, all that mattered was he hadn’t resorted to sparring with Buffy. And he kept his promise. He hadn’t sought out Angelus, stayed away from any possible confrontation with the older vampire.

Grabbing a couple of bottles of bourbon from behind the bar, Spike gauged the distance to the nearest sewer cap, grinning madly when he realized there was one in the alley just outside the back door. Heading out the back, Spike grabbed a discarded jacket from the floor, growling out a warning to the barkeep as he shouted something about payment.

Not once in his nocturnal wanderings had he even caught a glimpse of the she-bitch hound that had followed him patiently from Revello Drive.


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


it’s nine-thirty.

Sun’s up. It’s broad daylight outside and Spike’s not back yet. Where the hell is he? Buffy fiddled idly with the blankets tucked around her and Connor, debating with herself whether to go out looking for him. She’d only catnapped in the two short hours since she’d come upstairs. Connor had been stirring and she’d given him the bottle, cradling him in her arms, her mind not on her tiny company.

Where the hell is he? He promised. Refusing to believe something bad may have happened to him, she focused instead on his disregard for convention, most especially his refusal to hide from sunlight. She absently kissed the top of the baby’s head and closed her eyes for a brief moment.


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


Kirsten rolled over, disturbed by the whimpers coming from Dawn. She’d been stirring for the last couple of minutes, the drug-induced sleep beginning to wear off. Her previous sleep had been deep, Dawn unmoving and silent nestled beneath the comforter, despite the noise in her room of three people talking. Instead of going to get Buffy, Kirsten decided to deal with Dawn’s distress on her own. Judging by the noises, Dawn was having nightmares. Figuring any comfort was better than none, Kirsten left her spot on the floor, climbing into the bed next to her.

“Shhhh, Dawnie, I’ve got you.”

Dawn whimpered some more, moving about restlessly, but when Kirsten reached for her hand, she settled down and fell back to sleep.

It wasn’t long before Kirsten also gave into sleep again.

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


The house was quiet when he ran in the front door, Wesley asleep in the armchair, Faith sprawled out on the couch. He guessed Rupert and demon-girl were still somewhere about, since the Watcher’s car was still parked in front.

Spike took the stairs two at a time, dropping his duster on the newel post as he practically ran past it. Buffy was facing her bedroom door, eyes closed in slumber and arms around the sprog, who was also asleep.

A smile broke out over his features, as he took in the sight before him. The fiercest slayer he’d ever fought was tucked up in bed, an innocent tiny infant tight against her side, both of them sleeping peacefully. The fact he wasn’t there for any other reason than to crawl in beside her didn’t give his demonic nature a pause.

She was his; he was just as equally hers.

Connor stirred, mewling softly in his sleep and Spike gently lifted him from the circle of the Slayer’s arms. The baby quieted, knocking against his shoulder with a tightly closed fist, which uncurled at the feel of Spike’s finger rubbing over it.

Giving the boy a moment to snuggle against him, Spike made certain the curtains were closed over the windows. Buffy stirred, rolling over to curl closer into the pillows and blankets.

Figuring he had a bit more time, Spike put the baby down and headed for the shower.

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


She was dreaming, visions of the past night replaying themselves over and over in her tired mind. Those last moments with Spike, the vision of Angel choking Dawn . . . . Buffy tried swimming toward wakefulness, away from the painful images.

Fighting the pull of sleep, she opened her eyes when the bed creaked behind her and strong arms wormed their way around her body. Buffy stiffened, relaxing when a deep whispered voice sounded in her ear. “Mornin’ goldilocks.”

“Hey.” Her voice was equally soft, husky from lack of sleep. He was spooned up behind her, one leg wedging its way between hers.

“Miss me?” Tiny kisses were traced over her shoulder as he nuzzled her.

“Thought you were gonna get stuck.” She rolled over, sliding beneath his angled form.

His left hand trailed down her side from shoulder to hip, resting at the curve, his thumb rubbing lazy circles over the softly jutting hipbone.

Buffy’s hand stroked his hard bicep, noting how small it looked against his strong arm.

“Wasn’t gonna get caught, knowing you were waitin’ for me.”

She glanced up at his face, the snarky retort dying on her lips. He was staring down at her with a look in his eyes she couldn’t name. Awe, adoration and fierce love combined, shining with enough force to steal her breath.

“I love you.” His fingers stroked the side of her face, eyes roving over her features. “Woke up all out of place this mornin’. Arms felt empty, like part of me was missing, lost.” Spike paused, watching as she shook her head in agreement. “Felt like. . . somethin’ vital was gone. Saw you sitting there in the shop, an’ knew it was you. Don’t want that ever again.”

Her hand caressed his cheek while he spoke, tracing the small lines of stress and fatigue at the corners of his eye.

Spike grabbed her hand, pressing a kiss into her palm. “Would cross the desert for you.”

His next words were silenced by her lips, then she pulled away, whispering softly, “you’ve already done so much for me.”

“You’re m’whole world, kitten.” Tears welled up in her eyes and he caught one on the tip of a finger. “Hey now, what’s this for?”

“Don’t leave me. . . “ Buffy choked up, unable to say more, hoping he understood.

He did. “Not goin’ anywhere.”

His hand settled on the valley between her breasts, resting over her heart. “Everything ‘ve ever wanted is here, with you.”

Buffy reached for him, drawing his mouth down for a kiss. “We’ve done this before. . . . how come we don’t remember it?”

“Must be the spell. ‘Coz I’d bloody remember bein’ here with you, doing this . . . “ and his fingers found a nipple, stroking it to hardness. “Or this.”

That same hand slid down to cup her mound, parting her pussy, sliding roughly against her clit. Her hips arched up into his touch, legs parting to grant him better access.

She was already slick, aroused by just his nearness. Questing fingers honed in on her slippery channel, sliding in and out, his thumb pressing heavily on her clit. Panting softly through opened mouth, Buffy gasped out his name.

Every touch set off sparks. His touch on her nipples sent shockwaves straight to her womb. His fingers buried in her pussy had her writhing, clenching, tightening her inner muscles around them.

“Spike. . . need you.” Her hand grabbed his wrist and the play of his muscles as he thrust his fingers inside her made her head spin.

“Mmmmmm.” His head dropped down so he could nuzzle her neck and the vibration of his voice had her gasping desperately for air.

Her fingers dug into his arms, nails scoring half-moon lines of red wherever she held on tightly. Spike slid between her legs, his hips parting her thighs, hard cock nestled against her warm wetness.

Buffy pushed her feet up, rubbing her toes against his thighs, the angle giving him better access to her center.

Mouths met, lips and tongue melding together. Hands groped and soothed, cool flesh meeting overheated skin. Buffy couldn’t stop the tremors coursing through her, didn’t want to stop the delicious sensations of Spike’s hands touching her everywhere. They were quiet, neither one able to talk, words beyond them.

Inch by agonizingly slow inch Spike slid his cock inside her, her wet core swallowing his cool hard length. Halting when he was fully embedded inside her, Spike fought for control. She was molten silk, her warmth surrounding, engulfing him. Living, breathing, pulsing velvet walls enclosed his impossibly hard cock, sucking him deeper inside with every thrust. Every nerve sparked with fire, the slippery slide of his flesh into hers inducing sensations he’d thought beyond him.

She was fire. Burning embers coiled in an ever tightening vice.

“Fuck. . . . Love you, love you. . . f’rever. . . . “ Voice like rough, raw chocolate whiskey rasped against her ear, Spike’s words triggering internal spasms in her womb.

He was marble, living, almost breathing, soft, oh-so-touchable . . . . thrusting in . . . driving . . . His hard cock filling her completely, nudging her higher and higher with each pulsing thrust.

“Oh god . . . oh god. . . . Spike. . . . gonna. . . need to . . . please.” Breathy half whispers, little girl husky with desire drifted over his skin, notching his answering need higher.

“Never. . . . felt. . . oh fuck!” Her legs wrapped around his waist, holding him tight. His pelvic bone hit her clit and her inner walls rippled over him and his spine arched, taut muscles clenching in response, overloading his body.

Reeling up, his knees spread her wider, opening her up to his heated gaze, changing his angle of entry. Cool hands circled her hips, raising her up to meet his slow thrusts. Sapphire dark eyes focused on the spot where their bodies met, mesmerized by the sight of her pussy spread open, his for the taking. “Fuckin’ . . . . god. . . mine. . . . never. . . B’fore.“

His thumbs spread her wider, tensing over her aching clit and Buffy mewled, whimpering out her need for him, her nails scratching along his arms.

“C’mon. . . baby. . . . fuck. . . . aaugghh” Circling her clit with both thumbs, Spike felt the impossible to miss beginnings of her orgasm rip through her and clenched his jaw, desperate to hold on until she fell.

Glazed green gold eyes lifted to his, a soft whisper breaking through his labored breathing and he crashed with her over the edge.

“Love you. . . . always.”

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


“Nothing so dire as the end of the world, but it is an end. Or rather it could be.” A deep rumbling voice filled her head, but it was too dark to see who’d spoken, the accent, though, gave an indication who it might be, though she wasn’t sure. “Then again it could just be a different beginning.”

“Cryptic much?” Trying to get her bearings in the absolute darkness surrounding her, Faith turned in a circle, one hand stretched out away from her.

“How will I know which it is?”

“Now isn’t the time. There is much more to come.”

“They are coming.”

Buffy’s voice came out of the darkness and Faith turned sharply in that direction. “Who’s coming?”

“Not too much longer.”

“Christ B, not you too. Could you cut a girl a break and tell me without playing the Riddler?”

The darkness faded and Faith could see Buffy standing beside a crib, her hands resting on the sides. “What’s the matter Faith? Not up to playing guess my line?”

“No. Not really.”

Buffy shrugged, smoothing the blankets, her eyes on the bedding. “He’s Angel’s son, you know. But the others won’t be.”

“Others?” Faith stared at her counterpart, watching as she restlessly fiddled with the blankets. “B? What are you telling me?”

Another voice sounded in the dark, this one coming from somewhere behind Faith. “Nothing you shouldn’t already know. You have to remember all of this, what we tell you. The hardest thing to face is when your friends betray you.”

“Friends? What friends?” Faith whirled around, coming face to face with a short guy with dark hair and eyes and a sad smile on his face. “I don’t have a whole lot of friends ya know.”

“Who said anything about your friends? Maybe it’s the monsters who have friends.” The little guy walked around her, facing Buffy, then glanced up at Faith. “You really should trust her a bit more. She’s not so bad. Saved my life once or twice.”

“Its up to us to protect them.” Buffy finally looked at her, a strange look in her eyes. “From the monsters.”

“Monsters? You mean the bad guys, vamps and demons, right?”

“Sometimes the monsters are a bit closer. Sometimes they don’t wear a different face. You need to warn them. . . You need to wake up and warn them. . . c’mon Faith, wake up.”

She woke with a lurch, eyes wide open and wary, trying to remember where she was. For a long minute, Faith couldn’t make the connection between where she’d woken up the day before and just now. . . . And then it all came back to her.

The increasingly ominous dreams and the seeds of fear they engendered; the urgency to get back to Sunnydale and finally, the harrowing hours before sleep.

Everything came flooding back.

Angel’s lost his soul . . . . and the kid is his.

Buffy and Spike, so didn’t expect that.

Blond girl. . . Tara. . . hey, wait a sec.

Where the hell is Willow?

Faith got up from the tangle of blankets and stood over Wesley’s sleeping body.

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


Pain radiated everywhere, breathing hurt. Not moving hurt. Not breathing hurt.

Dawn slowly opened her eyes, hazily focusing on the wall opposite her bed. There was no break in awareness, no waking up to a moment of forgetfulness. The memories of what happened the night before were there, full blown and in technicolor, replaying constantly in her mind.

Angel’s face as he squeezed her throat, blank and uncaring.

Casey’s set jaw as he faced off against the face of her own personal demon.

Somehow, she’d always known Angel would be the one – even knowing her childhood memories were false – the fear of being held by Angelus was enough to freeze her heart.

Casey. . . . silent tears slid from her eyes, pooling into the pillow beneath her head. Its my fault. I should have warned him, told him. . . . something. A shudder broke through her and Dawn stuffed her fist into her mouth.

She was aware of someone in the bed behind her and for a moment – a very short moment, she was confused. But then she remembered a vague vision of Kirsten fighting alongside Spike. . . .

Dawn struggled to sit up, fighting the nauseating pain every inch. She wanted nothing more than to just give in and collapse again, but she wouldn’t. Determined to escape for just a moment, Dawn slowly got to her feet.

Tears of pain mingled with the grief and she halted, trying to get a deep breath and unable to because of her broken ribs.

No more pain. . . can’t.

Its all my fault.

Panting rapidly, Dawn tried to fight the crisp shards of pain arcing through her with every step.

Wincing deeply, she finally made it through her door.

A wave of dizziness washed over her and everything went dark.

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


Willow stretched, rubbing her eyes of sleep. Tara was snuggled next to her, still deep in slumber, an untroubled look on her face. Willow breathed a relieved sigh, realizing the spell was still holding.

It has to hold.

I did the right thing.

The red-head leaned down, brushing a light kiss across her girlfriend’s face.

No mater what, I did the right thing.




Nollaig Shona Dhuit for those of you who celebrate Christmas -- and for those that don't Happy Hanukah -- and for those of you like me, Happy and Healthy Solstice. May peace and joy surround you all this season. . . . and if you love me, you'll send a little sugar my way. . . . and please leave a review. Think of it as an early prezzie.