[A/N: I’ve been having so much trouble with just getting my thoughts down, because my time is stretched so thin and my health is sort of suffering. Please forgive me of the delay in updates. I’m going to try and be a bit more proactive with this block, and push to get the chapters out. The sad part is, the story is all there, in my head . . . It’s just getting it from head to paper. *sighs* I need a secretary. Title is from one of the quotes, which are as attributed. Disclaimers in full force and effect.]

Previously: Cordelia has surfaced from her coma; Faith and Jenner had a second encounter; Spike has told Giles and Wesley about Dawn; and Willow’s escaped, for the moment, from the hounds. This picks up a few hours after the last installment.

Book Two. Chapter 53. A siege of waiting


But the bones didn’t try
The door; they halted helpless on the landing,
Waiting for things to happen in their favor.
Robert Frost,.Two Witches

The roots of the grass strain,
Tighten, the earth is rigid, waits — he is waiting —
And suddenly, and all at once, the rain!
Archibald MacLeish, Memorial Rain

With ruin staring you in the face,
there is nothing worse to live through
than a siege of waiting and hoping.
If you manage to live through it,
nothing can ever jar your nerves after that.
Sue Sanders, Our Common Herd




The streets of Sunnydale were quiet, long time residents understanding the darkness wasn’t safe except in large numbers. One lone figure walked with a purpose through the streets, his form almost disappearing in between the glow of street lights. The walker wasn’t in ignorance of the dangers, instead the man was more than aware of them, but was unafraid. He knew there were others following him – he also knew their curiosity outweighed the bloodlust. Not that it mattered, he was quite willing to engage in some form of physical release.

He kept walking though, because he had more important things to do.

The bright lights of the emergency room entrance bloomed like a neon flower in the darkness and yet Wesley felt no relief. Somewhere behind those doors were four of the most important people in his world. Buffy, his former Slayer and possibly the embodiment of his greatest failure; Spike, an anomaly among men, brilliantly intelligent and violently psychotic; Connor, the miracle child born of two vampires; and Dawn. Wesley shied away from a description of the younger Summers girl, unwilling to delve into the reasons why he was on his way into the hospital at this hour of the morning.

It was too much for him to process.

His emotions, the feelings he was doing his hardest to suppress were the ones that forced him to action. Spike’s earlier statement “Dawn’s back in hospital” had put a chill around his heart that had absolutely nothing to do with the danger surrounding all of them.

Wesley was scared. And though he knew she was far too young – and just had her first boyfriend brutally murdered before her eyes – he couldn’t completely fool himself.

So that was why, at three in the morning, Wesley was walking the streets of the Hellmouth. The need to ensure with his own eyes Dawn’s continued existence was something Wesley refused to admit was anything more than concern for a family member he’d come to. . . . no, it was not love. It was something else.

Slipping in through the sliding doors was simple, as was gliding past the lax security guard. With a quick glance at the board denoting patient name and room, Wesley noted the irony of where Dawn was being held.

The door slid open silently and he paused on the threshold, letting his eyes adjust to the semi-darkness. Dawn’s still form was laid out on the gurney, bathed in the muted light from the overhead lamp. He could see Buffy on a bed behind her, fast asleep. Spike and the baby weren’t there, but Wesley had a feeling they’d only been gone a little while – and since one wasn’t going anywhere without the other, he knew they’d be back together.

Taking a deep breath, Wesley stepped into the room.


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


Spike was elbow deep in suds and gurgling baby, with a somewhat shocked nurse standing by, towel and dry clothes in hand. It wasn’t long after he’d put Connor back down with Dawn that the baby had woken up with a wail and a loud explosive fart that emitted an odor caustic to most demons. Before Spike had a chance to get the boy off the bed he was sharing with Dawn, the muck was seeping through his sleeper, and threatening to make the hospital a toxic waste site that rivaled the ones in three different dimensions. He’d emerged from the room, holding Connor at arm’s length and deliberately not breathing. Maureen Osbourne had been making her rounds and came upon the distressed vampire, taken one look at him and laughed so hard Spike had threatened to bite her.

Connor, however, was still softly wailing and getting a bit green around the gills, so instead of convulsing further, Maureen had motioned Spike into the pediatric rooms and gotten him supplies while Spike stripped off the infant’s soiled clothing.

They’d waited a half hour before putting the boy into the soapy water, mainly because he went through another diaper and a sheet before his bowels had finished emptying. The second Spike noticed the change in his temperature and smell, Connor was dunked into the water. He was now, held tight in his foster-father’s embrace, splashing happily for all he was worth, kicking and beating his arms and feet in the water.

This was not how Spike expected to find himself the night before a fight. This was not how Spike envisioned any night. But this was . . . . Fighting a grin, Spike looked down into the dark blue eyes of the innocent catalyst for part of the situation and found himself not regretting his existence. This child was a gift – same as Dawn – same as the new one, and nothing, no deranged master vampire, no off-kilter witch, nor any misguided social worker was going to blame either of those for their current circumstances.

His thoughts echoing Buffy’s earlier, Spike contemplated how he was going to keep the little ones safe . . . Dawn, if she was up and coherent, would do as she was told, but there remained Connor, who had to be protected. There weren’t any reserves, no Joyce or someone else they could trust to watch over either of them, make sure they stayed out of harm’s way. They had no warriors to spare. Not even Buffy could sit out this one, much as he would like her too. The future was too precarious. They had too many variables – although Jenner stated he would stand down – Spike couldn’t fully trust that he would. He‘d doubled crossed Jenner too many times for it not to rankle him.

A loud splash and low giggle from the squirming mass brought him out of his heavy thoughts and Spike nearly dropped the boy when Connor smiled and did it again, this time staring right into the vampire’s eyes. Oh you sly little pup . . . Gonna be a canny one.

Pulling the plug and draining the water, Spike thought about keeping Tara back, letting her be the one to guard Dawn and Connor, but realized that might not be realistic. She was the only one with enough mojo to keep Red off balance, if they couldn’t convince Giles he was needed for that. The list of ready warriors was thin – himself, Buffy, Faith, Wesley and perhaps Oz. . . . . Giles if he wasn’t using the magics, Tara . . . not enough against the swarm of Aurelian minions surrounding Angel and Drusilla. Possibly Lawson – he reflected on the moment the vampire had apologized to Buffy. . . . Perhaps he could convince him to fight against his sire. . . . It all depended on how deep his sense of loyalty went.

Using the spray nozzle, Spike washed the baby clean of suds, his mind not on his task. If they went by their usual luck, chances are the two would end up right in the thick of things, without anyone to watch over them.

That was unacceptable. So he had to think of someone, of some way they could keep both Dawn and Connor safe. And they needed to do it fast.


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



Drusilla was finally calming down, her keening cries devolving into whimpers and low murmurs, and a bit of coherency sneaking past her lips. Angel sat at the foot of the bed, watching as she wriggled and writhed against the restraints he’d put her in earlier. His big hand stroked up and down her leg, his eyes watching her face closely.

He’d been trying for the better part of the night to get her calm enough to talk, to tell him of her visions and had yet to garner even a modicum of success. Nothing she spouted made any sense to him at all, and his temper was hanging by threads.

The news from his slowly returning minions wasn’t much better.

None of them had seen Willow – in any of the locations he’d dispatched them to. The Slayer hadn’t been spotted either, although her people had been seen briefly at the house – neither she nor Spike had been there. Which puzzled him. And Angel hated being confused. He liked things orderly and actions to be logical – nothing going on seemed to follow any logic that he understood. That he refused to think the random movements of those around him didn’t revolve around what he wanted never crossed his mind. In his mind, Angel was the only law, the only center.

“Baby strawberries . . . little blue fishes. . . . Angry prince. . . . Daddy’s little girls. . . . Broken stars. . . . Swirly doors . . . broken stars . . . Daddy isn’t happy. . . . “

“Daddy isn’t mad, Dru, he’s not sure what you mean.” His hand tightened around her thigh, his fingers leaving bruising marks, causing a loud mewl from Drusilla.

“Miss Edith is whispering in my head with the pixies. They ppsssshhhhh and pitter patter all thru me . . . . Into my bloody bits and they won’t leave me alone. . . “

“How can Daddy get Miss Edith to be quiet? “

Drusilla narrowed her eyes, then snarled at him, gnashing her teeth. “Have to bring the King of Cups. He’s bound to enjoy the party.”

“There isn’t any party right now, Dru.”

A low hum sounded in the room, and she stared up at the ceiling, writhing against her bonds. “Parties will be soon. . . . “

Angel stared down at her, her last words echoing in his head. “Parties will be soon.”

A malicious grin sprouted across his features, a plan beginning to take form in his head.

Parties will be soon. . . .

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


Willow looked through the box of supplies, searching for the few things she hadn’t found in another place. She was still missing three key ingredients, including the focal point – an Orb of Thessulah.

The Magic Box had them in stock, but she dare not try and get into it, not with all the wards Giles had erected.

Unfortunately, the Orb was the one thing she couldn’t substitute – anything else she needed was completely replaceable.

Willow’s hand closed around a circular crystal, knowing just by its resonance it wasn’t the orb she needed. Muttering softly under her breath, Willow moved toward her computer. There has to be some place other than the Magic Box around here that has orbs. . . . I could get one as long as I don’t have to go to LA.

Just have to find out where. . . .

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


She was so still, so motionless, Wesley had a hard time believing she was still breathing on her own. Dawn wasn’t normally the calm and collected type, almost always in motion, long limbs and dark hair swirling about, her focus never on one thing at a time. On the cusp of being a woman, Dawn showed more than a bit of promise, because she was already a beautiful teenager. Someday she was going to be an absolutely gorgeous woman. . . . And she would have some lucky man in the palm of her hand. He stared down at her, afraid to disturb her rest by touching her and yet almost afraid not to touch. At the moment she didn’t look like herself at all. Dark bruises ringed her throat, and her exposed wrist, and one side of her face was swollen and black sutures rested like minuscule spiders on her pale skin. What Angel had done to her – and Cordelia – was so far from what either one of them deserved. Wesley clenched his fists, a muscle ticking in his jaw. None of them had talked about it, at least not since that night months ago when Connor was barely two days old, but he was willing to bet that none of them would sanction re-souling the vampire.

He didn’t deserve the consideration. Or the free-pass he’d likely get once the soul was back in place. Having a soul didn’t make you automatically a good person. History was littered with examples of human beings who’d committed atrocities with souls intact. And it was more than apparent, at least to him, Angel’s soul was nothing more than a mystical set of handcuffs for the sadistic, murdering bastard that he truly was. So when it came time, Wesley would be more than happy to add his opinions to the mix.

A noise in the corridor broke his train of thoughts and Wesley focused instead on the girl in front of him. He knew it was wrong, sneaking out to see how she was, and what had happened to bring her back into hospital, and yet knowing it was wrong hadn’t stopped him at all. So here he was, far too old to be feeling like this for a girl her age and . . . what the hell?

Dawn had shifted a bit, while he was standing there, and her left hand emerging from where it had been laying beneath the blankets. Wesley stared at the stark white bandage wrapped round her wrist, his mind refusing to acknowledge what his eyes were telling him. No. . . . she wouldn’t have. She couldn’t have . . . why would she have done that?

Of its own volition, his hand brushed over her side, his big hand cupping her uninjured cheek. Oh Dawn . . . this is not good.

He wasn’t a stupid man, in fact far from it, and he quickly glanced around the room, looking at the heart monitor, he knew what his intuition was telling him was correct. And Spike had deliberately given them ambiguous statements when telling them Dawn was back in hospital. Imagining what everyone’s reaction would have been, Wesley shuddered, his hand unconsciously tightening around Dawn’s jaw. She was so vulnerable, so heartbreakingly young and yet, inside her was an entity, an awareness that was eternal. Apparently eternity doesn’t grant you invulnerability or a certain amount of shielding from pain.

So intent was Wesley on his thoughts that he didn’t notice Dawn curling into his hand, responding to his touch upon her face. Her lips fell open, a soft breath escaping from her and her eyelashes fluttered. Wesley settled into the chair Buffy had left at Dawn’s beside, his hand still resting on her cheek, his head very close to hers. Pitching his voice very soft and low, he leaned closer, words tumbling from his mouth. “None of this was directly your fault, you have to know that. You have to understand . . . You aren’t what Glory told you, you aren’t evil or bad or wrong in anyway. You. Are. Innocent. Innocent, Dawn, you aren’t responsible for the actions of other people. Nor are you responsible for their deaths. It’s not your fault.”

She shifted closer, responding to his voice, the warmth and acceptance in his touch. “Stop blaming yourself. Stop hiding behind the guilt you are carrying, because it’s not yours to carry.” He paused, his thumb brushing gently over her face, gathering his thoughts. “Dawn, I wish you could see yourself as I see you. You amaze me sometimes, being able to cope with all this craziness.” He sighed, coming to a realization he hadn’t wanted to admit, even to himself. “You are so beautiful, make me forget things, things I have to remember. You are still so young.”

He choked back the next words, refusing to allow his brain to travel any further down that road. She was too young, their ages too much to overcome; and his tenuous position within the circle of those living in Sunnydale threatened by his attraction to her. There was no way he’d ever act on those feelings or allow anything to happen between them, and because of that he had to keep his silence. Not to mention any move toward her would cause Spike to rip his heart from his chest, restraining chip or not.

Dawn had started the climb toward consciousness when Connor’s wailing cry and noxious odor had assaulted the cocoon of cotton surrounding her. She’d heard Spike’s quiet exclamation, his hasty retreat from the room and she’d settled back down into slumber, not caring or curious about where he’d gone.

Sleep had smoothed through her, though this time the noises from the heart monitor and the soft respiration from Buffy registered. Dawn fought against awareness, wanting to remain asleep and numb. Her brain knew where she was, yet she stubbornly refused to open her eyes, unwilling to face the truth of the last few hours.

Wesley’s presence had been a shock and though she wanted to react, the drugs still coursing through her system wouldn’t release her from their grip. His words washed over her, his voice low and melodic filling her ears. It was enough to just listen to him, hear the cadence of his words, the comfort of his English accent giving her something other than her own unclear thoughts to focus on, a lifeline to cling to.

“You have to stay with us Dawn, because you and Connor are something we need to be reminded of every day. You are our hope. Hope what we do won’t be forgotten or in vain. Don’t give in, don’t stop living, no matter how hard it is.”

Her eyes flickered open and she could barely make out his form in the shadows around her bed, until he leaned closer, his face inches from hers. “I. . . . Would miss you horribly, so please, dear girl, don’t do this again.”

His hand brushed over her cheek and he jumped when she brought up hers to touch him. “Wes?”

Her voice was hoarse, croaking and rasped, damaged from Angelus’ strong grip around her and it brought home to him just how close they’d been to losing her.

“Dawn?” He moved closer, his breath wafting over her. “Oh thank gods. How do you feel?”

A soft groan emerged from her and a grimace of pain streaked across her features. “Like shit.” She shifted, trying to get comfortable and this time there was no mistaking or disguising the effects. Her breath came in fast pants, and her free hand moved to cover her ribs. “Ow. Ow . . . hurts.”

“Don’t move.” Wesley smoothed her hair back, idly noting the sweat along her hairline. “What is it you want?”

“Hurts to . . . to be on my side, I need to move.” Little gasping breaths sounded in the otherwise quiet room, and she tried to focus again on his face.

Thinking for a moment, Wesley said, “Brace yourself,” then slid his arms around her upper torso, lifting her up.

More sweat broke out, and tears began seeping from her eyes. “Hurts a lot . . . ow . . . Wes, put me down.”

He hit the button, raising the top of the bed a little, then gently lowered Dawn again.

“How’s that?”

“Better, I think.” She paused, wiping away the tears and trying hard to catch her breath without further pain. “Still hurts though.”

“I imagine that will be the case for some time.” He stared at her for a few moments, noting her struggle to stay awake and conscious. “Go back to sleep if you need to. Don’t worry about me. I’ll just be over here, keeping an eye out until Spike comes back.”

“Wes?” She picked at the blanket covering her, unable to meet his eyes. “Did you mean what you said? Do you really believe all that?”

“That none of this is your fault? Very much so.” He leaned over her once again, wiping away the sweat from her brow. Wesley fought the urge to kiss her there, instead saying, “It is the truth. You aren’t responsible for any of this.”

Dawn’s eyes had closed at the touch of his hand, letting his voice soothe her. When it was clear he’d finished talking, she whispered softly, “Thanks.”

Any time dear girl . . .

Slumping down in the chair, Wesley closed his eyes, his worry for Dawn eased just a little.


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


Pacing from the door to the loading bay, Spike watched the shadows lengthening all around him. Buffy and the others were still inside, awaiting the doctor’s release. They’d just spent the better part of the last two hours waiting on tenterhooks for the results of Dawn’s psychiatric exam, and Buffy had spent the last twenty minutes arguing with the doctor, willing to do anything to get her “sister” released.

He, on the other hand, was waiting for Lawson, his nerves on edge. Wesley had just left, heading for the Magic Box, instructions for Giles and Faith in hand. He’d been more than surprised when he’d gotten back into Dawn’s room to find Wesley snoring softly in the chair, within reach of the bed. Spike had figured on Giles being the one to arrive sometime during the night, but he wasn’t planning on the younger watcher to be the one to brave the streets of Sunnydale to see how Dawn was faring. Shrugging off his presence, Spike tucked Connor in beside Buffy and settled in another chair to watch over his family. Thankfully, the rest of the night had passed uneventfully.

Awareness thrumming through his nerves, Spike whirled around, turning to face the ER doors. “C’mon out, kitten.”

“Hey.” She stepped out, standing under the red and white neon lights. “No sign of him yet?”

“No, but he should be here in a few ticks.” As he reached her side, Spike kissed her forehead. “Where’s the sprog?”

“He’s sleeping in the carseat. Maureen Osbourne is with him.” Buffy stepped into his arms. “I figured I’d come keep you company.”

Instead of an answer, Spike motioned her to silence, then turned around to face the alleyway. Footsteps echoed and he moved into a protective stance, blocking Buffy from whomever was approaching. Seconds ticked by, and just as he was about to morph into gameface, Lawson stepped into the light.

“Spike.” He waited for Spike to acknowledge him, then moved closer. “I’ve got some news.”

“Do tell.”

“Have no idea if it’s anything important . . . but, Drusilla was in a frenzy when I got back to the mansion this morning. Ranting about strawberries and baby slayers. Angel was having a hard time getting her calmed down.”

Spike ignored the snort from behind him, focused entirely on the vampire in front of him. “Do you remember everything she said?”

With a shake of his head, Lawson said, “I only heard bits and pieces of it. They were locked in their bedroom when I got back.”

Buffy’s mutterings caught the attention of both vampires and neither one could hide the smile. “Like anyone would be able to understand insano-girl’s words.”

“Slayer, leave off.” Buffy slid out from behind Spike, eyeing the other vampire.

“Skip the cuckoo’s nest update. Is Angel getting ready to strike?”

“Not tonight. Drusilla was still ranting and he was sending out some of the minions for food.”

Twin sighs broke from the mated pair and Lawson smiled.

“Well that’s a plus.”

“Right then, Lawson, head over to the Magic Box and wait for me there. Slayer and I are gonna move the troops.”

The vampire left, somewhat dragging his feet and the two left behind shared a glance. Without another word, Spike pulled out his cell phone, punching in Wesley’s number. “Oxford, you at the shop yet?”

He stared at Buffy, waiting for Wesley’s response.

“Just sent Lawson over there.”

“Yeah, listen, just. . . . Yeah, put Rupert on.”

Buffy watched the exasperation build on his face, as his fellow Englishmen discussed something she couldn’t hear. “Rupes. . . . Rupes, listen. We’re bringing the kiddies home, gonna . . . What?”

He paused, listening as the elder watcher outlined his thoughts. “Hold on, I’ll ask the Slayer.”

Spike looked at her, clearly not thrilled with his suggestion. “Watcher wants us to bring the kiddies there.”

As he’d thought, Buffy was shaking her head. “No. Dawnie’s going home, to her own bed. Tara and Anya can stay with them while we meet with Jenner.”

Spike relayed her response, then barked out, “Whatever. Don’t want any . . . but the two Slayers and us. Don’t care what . . . “

Looking down at Buffy, Spike said, “Whelp says the cheerleader’s wakin’ up.”

“Great. One more thing to worry about.” She glanced up at him, whispering for his ears only, “So that’s where he’s been the past couple of days.”

“Appears that way. He also said two of Wesley’s mates are upstairs with her now.”

“Well that’s good. At least we don’t have to worry about her on top of everything else.”

There was the crackle of noise on the other end and Spike held the phone away from his ear. “Jus’ sit tight. Have the girls meet us at the house.”

With a grimace at the wrangling going on at the other end of the phone, Spike disconnected. “C’mon love, let’s get the kiddies.”

In silence the two of them turned back inside, purposefully ignoring the other vampire in the shadows.

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


Unbelievable as it was, Willow found another orb in Sunnydale, in the nursery of all places. A wry grin flashed across her face and she very nearly had to stop herself from giggling hysterically. She’d gone looking through bookstores and other places in Sunnydale that carried crystals and other decorating items, hitting pay dirt in the gardening supply store on the outskirts of town, going by the unlikely name of Dig ‘n Plant. The only reason she’d tried either one of those spots was her memory of Giles using his orb – the first time she’d re-ensouled Angel – as a paperweight. Taking the chance that some other shopkeeper would stock them in the decorating portion of the store, Willow had gone on the search.

Pocketing her change, Willow lifted the bag from the counter, idly noting the time. It was getting late, and she needed to get home before it was full dark, only because she didn’t want any last glitch foiling her plans.

Almost ready . . . Just a few more things. And well, I still need to find my notes from last time . . . So, first thing in the morning, I’ll be ready.

And then everything will be fixed.


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


Maureen Osbourne was holding a whining Connor when they arrived back in the room. Buffy headed straight for the baby, holding out her arms for him. “Hey, little guy, what’s wrong?”

“I’m not sure. He woke up just a few moments ago, fretting and complaining. Didn’t settle down either when I picked him up.”

“Aw.” He snuffled against Buffy’s neck, banging his tiny fist, then as he caught her scent, Connor settled down.

Once he stopped whining, Buffy asked the most important question on her mind. “How soon is Dawn gonna be ready?”

“They’ll be brining her back in shortly. Doctor Thomas wanted to make sure her reflexes were okay.” The nurse paused, looking from one blond to the other. “Her blood test came back with some anomalies.” At the worried look on Buffy’s face, she rushed to continue. “Nothing bad health-wise, just some strange readings. Something in her blood managed to process all the drugs. With the amount that showed up in her first blood test, there should still be traces of it now. But there aren’t any.”

After a long silence, during which neither of the blondes spoke, Maureen went on. “She’s not entirely human is she?”

“No. She’s not.”

Buffy’s reply was cut short, because the door flung open and an orderly pushed a wheelchair ensconced Dawn into the room.

She still looked horrible, dark bruises and swelling not receding in the short hours since her attack. Spike crouched down, his eyes roaming over her injuries.

“You okay, Platelet?”

The concern in his voice was her undoing and tears slid down her face.

“Oh baby girl. . . . “

His arms circled round her, holding her much like Buffy was doing with Connor. Murmuring soft words into her dark hair, he let her cry, not once attempting to stem her tears. “Go ahead, jus’ cry it all out. ‘ve got you.”

Buffy drifted over to them, unable to stay away. Her hand brushed down Dawn’s hair, her voice a softer counterpoint to Spike’s.




I think some of you are forgetting about the timeline here, so just a quick recap. Willow cast the spell the day after Christmas, which was way back in chapter 36 -- everything since then has only taken place in the course of 2 days -- so any progress made with different couples has only occurred in the last 48 to 56 hours of this timeline. Dawn and Casey's attack happened on the night of the 26th and Faith only killed the demon on the 27th. This chapter takes place over night into the 28th and jumps forward into nightfall. I hope this clears things up.