Thanks Tam for everything

[A/N: I’ve been sick as hell the past couple of weeks, but hopefully by the time this is posted, I’ll be feeling all better. (This was written 8 June 2006) Title and quotes are as attributed and disclaimers are, as always, in full force and effect.]

Previously: Jenner and Spike have reached an agreement; Lawson has sworn loyalty to Spike; some new information about one of the resurrected potentials has come to light; this picks up shortly after the last installment.

Book Two. Chapter 58 Planning is indispensible

In a battle all you need to make you fight
is a little hot blood and the knowledge
that it’s more dangerous to lose than to win.
George Bernard Shaw, The Statue, in Man and Superman, act 3

The surprise is half the battle.
Many things are half the battle,
losing is half the battle.
Let’s think about what’s the whole battle.
David Mamet and Brian DePalma, The Untouchables, 1987

In preparing for battle
I have always found that plans are useless,
but planning is indispensable.
Dwight D. Eisenhower, quoted by Richard Nixon in “Krushchev,” Six Crises, 1962




This was not the first time they’d faced Angelus, and though numbers appeared to be in his favor, Spike had assured them Lawson would come through with his end of things.

So when an oddly out of breath Lawson barreled through the shop door, under a slightly smoldering blanket, sometime around three in the afternoon, only the customers did a double take. Giles, Oz and Wesley, who were honing weapons in the back, didn’t even know he’d arrived until Anya’s shriek echoed through the showroom.

“Are you crazy? Stomp out that blanket away from the highly flammable and explosive merchandise.”

Wesley merely raised an eyebrow, leaving it for Giles to go see what was causing a ruckus out front. The two men shared a look, then went back to the weapons. Faith was thumping away at the bag, while the bot waited in the corner. Explaining the Buffybot to Faith had been difficult, although her only comment “So he had a full service blow-up doll built” had Giles spluttering momentarily.

Anya had grabbed Lawson by the arm, almost dragging him to the back of the shop, muttering dire imprecations under her breath the whole time. She stopped short, letting go of the very surprised vampire at Giles’ appearance. “Could someone have given him a map of the tunnels? One that was enchanted to show him exactly how to get here without setting himself and my merchandise on fire?”

“Your merchandise?” Giles chose to ignore the rest of her diatribe, knowing full well that was merely her way of venting her nerves.

“Really Giles, is that all you were paying attention to? You know very well it’s our merchandise.” Anya huffed at him, folding her arms over her chest.

“Indeed.” He stared down at her flushed face, a small grin playing about his lips and a twinkle in his eyes. “I was in fact paying close attention. Perhaps we can work on creating such a map later, after we’re done with Angel.”

Unsure whether Rupert was patronizing her or not, Anya’s aggravation had no further outlet. “Fine.”

The bell over the door sounded, rescuing her from more humiliation and she practically stomped off, a false smile plastered on her features.

“Interesting woman.” Giles shifted his attention to Lawson, who then asked innocently, “She your wife?”

“What? No. . . . No, Anya is merely an employee. She’s an ex-vengeance demon.” Quickly changing the subject, Giles hustled Lawson into the training room.

Sam stared at the Englishman, wondering how his impression could have been so wrong.


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

Late afternoon shadows diffused the sunlight sneaking past her curtains when Willow finally came to.

Her head was all fuzzy, the ends of her hair singed and small blisters bloomed on the fingers of her right hand. Numbness spread up her hand, past her elbow and her shoulder was sore, as if she’d landed on it heavily after a fall.

The distinct smell of fried wiring and over used electricity pervaded her room and as she rolled to her side, Willow saw the evidence of small fires all about her bedroom. Every electrical outlet, light fixture and electronic device was covered lightly with splotches of black soot, and her alarm clock had stopped dead.

Her mouth was gritty and when she brushed a hand over her face, Willow discovered she’d had a nosebleed.

What in the name of Hecate. . . .

The last thing she remembered was searching for the translation of the ensouling curse. Pushing herself up, Willow tried clearing her head. She felt like she was wound in cotton batting or stuck underwater and she couldn’t hear anything because her ears were ringing. Swallowing hard, Willow tried to pop her ears, to no avail.

Gingerly she climbed off her bed and on very wobbly legs, she headed for the bathroom. Not daring a look in the mirror, Willow turned on the taps. Barely stepping out of her clothing, she turned on the shower jets and slumped to her knees.

Just need to get clean and some food and then I’ll figure out what happened. The hot water stung her flesh, just like when she’d gotten a really bad sunburn, making her feel worse. Ouchies . . . This hurts.

Don’t wanna think . . . Need to get myself together. . . . think Willow. . . . what’s the last thing . . . Oh!

The memory of finding the notes and the translation flashed through her head, although she still couldn’t figure out what had triggered the blackout or the fires.

Did I do something? Try the curse. . . . Or what?

She had no memory after finding the notes, nothing there but fuzzy blankness. Willow stayed under the stinging water a long time, until her skin was waterlogged and wrinkly.

But she still had no answers.

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


For now, Tara was staying at the house, with newly reinforced wards, watching Dawn and Connor. Once the sun went down, though, Anya would be settling in; both girls prepared to spend the night and guard the two noncombatants.

Buffy was lacing up her boots, while Spike checked weapons, when a thought occurred to her. “You know, when things settle down a bit, we should teach Dawnie how to protect herself.”

Spike peered at her from his spot by the Christmas tree, a double-headed axe in his hands. “Been thinking that might not be a bad idea.” He paused, reaching for a wicked looking knife. “Might be best for all of them.”

“All of them?” She stood up, tucking extra stakes inside her boots, then snagging her own dagger.

“All the wee ones.” Spike tossed her a short sword, keeping the axe for himself. “Soon as they can walk, we should start teachin’ them self defense an’ whatnot.”

Buffy stared at him, a strange look on her face, not saying anything for long minutes, Kirsten’s words about how her father had taught her how to fight crossing her mind. Spike wasn’t paying attention until he moved away from the weapons bag. “Wha?”

She shook her head. “That’s really. . . . all parenty of you.”

It was his turn to stare at her. Their eyes met and locked, neither one looking away.

“It’s what we are, innit?”

“I think it just kinda hit me, you know? We’ve got kids. Okay, so Dawnie’s already full grown and Connor’s not really ours but . . . we’re parents.” A funny look crossed her face and she blurted out, “I’m not sure I’m ready for all this.”

With a shake of his head, Spike reached for her hand. “You aren’t doing it alone. We’ll manage somehow.” Raising her hand to his lips, Spike pressed a kiss into her palm. “Can’t be much harder than controlling minions.”


Purposefully ignoring his comment about minions, Buffy changed the subject slightly. “Spike? . . . . I’m not giving him up. Connor’s ours too, right?”

He squeezed her hand. “Too right. Boy stays with us.”

Neither one mentioned, though both were thinking along the same lines, that Angel without a soul couldn’t be trusted with a kitten, much less an infant. Even if it was his flesh and blood.

Not that either of them expected him to survive the coming confrontation.


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

Though his body had been completely engaged while he’d been systematically fucking and teaching Harmony a lesson, Angel’s mind had been fixed on other pursuits, mainly how to finally get back at Buffy and her pathetic sidekick.

He had the basics of a plan, and as he pounded into Harmony, he decided simplicity was best.

Instead of worrying about everything, he was going to concentrate on his problems one at a time. There was nothing he could do about Jenner and Willow was, for now, not a problem. First thing he needed to do was get rid of Buffy and Spike. Then he could worry about Willow.

Landing a harsh slap on Harmony’s ass, Angel picked up his clothes and stalked from the room.

Time to get things moving.


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

Despite Anya’s protests about lost revenue, Giles closed the shop at half past four, just after Buffy and Spike’s arrival.

When Xander got to the shop a few moments later, Giles insisted it was time for Anya to go. She balked, not relenting until Spike pulled her aside.

“Anya.” He motioned her away from the others, toward the area where divination supplies were kept. “You can still get to Arashmahaar if you need to, yeah?”

“Of course I can. I was one of D’Hoffryn’s favorites.” She peered up at him, a perky grin on her face, preening under his attention. “Wait. Why do you want to know that?”

“Coz, if anythin’ goes wrong, will you be able to get Niblet an’ the sprog out of here?”

She pondered his question seriously, wringing her hands together. “I don’t know. You might have to pay a price.”

“Yeah, I’m aware of that, just need to know if everythin’ goes pear shaped tonight, the kiddies’ll be safe somewhere.” His look was grim and she realized he was deadly serious.

“Sure, I can do it.”

Spike nodded, saying, “That’s why I need you to go.”

Anya glared at him, slapping his arm at the same time. “Not fair, how you got me to agree to leave, Spike.”

“All’s fair in love and war, pet. Now go watch the kiddies with Glinda.”

She flounced off, grabbing Xander and her purse in the same motion, tugging him to the door. “Come on Xander. Let’s go.”

Buffy smiled after her, having heard exactly how Spike maneuvered Anya into doing precisely what he wanted.

“So how are we gonna know if Lawson’s thingy worked?”


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


“I used to hate you. You do know that.” Dawn stared down at the sleepy baby, who was tucked up against her side. Connor returned her stare calmly, as if he understood exactly what was going on in her head. “I probably should still hate you, since all this is pretty much your fault.”

Connor grabbed hold of her hand, lifting her fingers to his mouth and gumming whatever he could get his jaws around. Anger and self-loathing filled her and Dawn tried pulling her hand away from him. The baby had other ideas, though, because he held on tightly and Dawn gave up, letting him keep her fingers as a chew toy.

“But it’s not really your fault. At least that’s what Wesley says.” Pitching her voice lower and affecting a cultured British accent, Dawn said, “You aren’t responsible for other people’s reactions.” Lapsing back into her own voice, she continued, “I’m not sure I buy that, but it’s not like you did anything but be born. So how could all this mess be your fault?”

Dawn had no idea why Tara had dumped the baby in here with her, because she was utterly useless at the moment. At best, she could just sit and watch him, she couldn’t get up and help him if something happened. Couldn’t Tara have just left me alone? Anything’s better than being stuck here with Sir Gums-A-Lot.

His giggle caught her by surprise and Dawn stared down into his blue eyes. “What’s so funny? There’s nothing to laugh or even smile about, don’t you get that? Your father’s a homicidal vampire, who decided he needed to chew on me and my boy . . . “ She inhaled deeply, feeling the stab of pain streak through her. “Your father decided he. . . . “

Big, fat splotchy tears rolled down her cheeks and the lump in her throat threatened to choke her. Dawn pulled her hand forcefully away from Connor’s hold, unwilling to touch Angel’s child. Connor looked at her, a frown forming on his face, then rolled over to his belly. Turning her face away from him, Dawn let the tears come, unable to hold them back. I hate him . . . I hate him. He needs to fry in hell again for another hundred years. Always. I hate him.

She wanted to shriek, wanted to get up and beat something, stomp it into the ground and just never, ever stop; but the pain cresting through her with each sob kept her grief silent, contained. Her hands fisted at her side in an attempt to keep herself from touching Connor, from striking out at him. It was a near thing, and Dawn kept her jaw clenched tightly, eyes screwed shut.

She cried, for how long she didn’t know, until the feel of tiny fingers pulling on her face and rapid breathing broke through the angry grief. Dawn lifted her hand, starting to push Connor away from her, when she dared a peek.

He had crawled up on her pillow, his fat little belly up against her shoulder, hands reaching for her face and was just lying there looking at her. “Why can’t you just go away? Why? Why did you have to be born? Coz my life needed to be even more miserable?”

Their faces were inches apart and all Connor did was smile at her.

Dawn heaved out a sob, feeling the broken edges of her ribs grind against each other, and everything went black for a few seconds.

When her vision cleared, Connor was still there, staring at her, his baby eyes watching her carefully. Once her eyes fluttered open, his closed, almost in relief and Dawn realized something in that moment.

If she was truly evil, like Glory had claimed, she would have hurt Connor. Slapped him, pushed him from the bed, something. . . .

Anything.

He was completely helpless lying there next to her. He wasn’t doing anything but just breathing and, well, being. He’d even innocently chewed on her fingers while she thought about hurting him. But she hadn’t done any of those things. Hadn’t acted on her anger.

She knew it was wrong to take it out on him.

It wasn’t his fault.

The things his father did weren’t because of Connor or his birth. Or even her. Angel did those things because he was a sick, sadistic bastard who didn’t know right from wrong or care about anyone except himself.

Not even Spike, in his worst moments of grief or anger had ever raised a hand to her. Oh, he’d threatened, and she’d learned to walk very carefully when he was enraged, but he’d never done it. Even in his unchipped state, he’d never done it. Dawn stared at the small baby lying beside her. If all vampires are evil – how come Spike can do that?

And if I’m supposed to be evil, it shouldn’t matter to me that Connor can’t protect himself. But it does. I don’t really want to hurt him. I want to get back at Angel. Does that make me evil? Thinking about it for a moment, Dawn decided no, wanting revenge didn’t necessarily make her evil, just made her angry.

Dawn tried rolling a bit to her side, so she could face Connor, but the pain forced her to stay on her back. Instead she kept her face angled so she could look at him. Her tears had dried up, and she reached her hand up to still his squirming legs. “Hey, little man, think you could chill on the trying to walk thing for a little while?”

Running her finger up the bottom of his foot, Dawn almost smiled when he starting laughing. She kept doing it, just listening to the sounds of his baby laughter, letting her mind stay blank.


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

Instead of sleeping, Jenner was pacing the length of his bedroom, occasionally looking out over the docks lining Sunnydale’s harbor. His mind kept replaying the conversation with Spike from the night before, and there was some niggling sense of reticence on the part of William. He still didn’t understand what had driven Spike to side with the Slayer against his own kind – and not just his own kind, but family.

Family consisting of Angel and Drusilla. He could almost understand betraying Angel, hell, on more than one occasion he’d wanted to dust the arrogant prick himself. Drusilla, though, was another matter altogether. Whatever had happened to drive William from her side had to have been life changing. In fact, it had to have been more than just that. The William he had known over the years would never have strayed long enough to fall in love with another vampire, much less a human.

And for William to have fallen for a Slayer . . .

Now that attraction Jenner could finally understand. It had been years since he’d laid eyes on a Slayer, well over a hundred. When London’s Hellmouth had been active – way back in the late 1870s to just before the turn of the century, the Slayers had been located there. He’d come into contact with more than one during those years and while he acknowledged their obvious physical charms – not one of them moved him the way the dark-haired Slayer did.

Faith.

Her name is Faith.

A smile crossed his features and Jenner saw her as she’d looked the night before, all tensed and poised with anticipation. His hands had itched with the need to touch her, but he’d held back, for once in his long existence uncertain of his reception with a female. The only other time he’d had a momentary twinge had been when he’d been turned. Darla had caught him just before a voyage, and he’d already said his goodbyes to his family – his wife and children.

Susanna had loved him, genuinely mourned for him, going on as best she could. When he’d finally gone back to their home to see her, she’d looked so sad he’d actually approached her. She’d loved him enough to accept him back, even after learning what he’d become – and he’d never once betrayed her. Drank from her, yes, he’d done that. But they’d both known he couldn’t stay with her, not until she aged and died. His unchanging nature prevented that. He vaguely remembered worrying about her reaction when he’d told her what had happened – what he’d become. But Susanna hadn’t been unaware of the darker side of life, hadn’t been completely ignorant of magic and the other realms.

Faith reminded him of Susanna.

Their eyes were the same; dark, mysterious and deep.

Otherwise, they were nothing alike. He couldn’t picture Faith with a houseful of children, or tending the farm animals. Or doctoring the sick.

He could though, picture Faith dancing amid the flames of a Beltaine fire, or conjuring spirits, seeking answers from other realms.

So maybe Faith did have more in common with Susanna than he’d thought.

His attention was diverted from thoughts of Faith when Hawkins knocked on the bedroom door, then flung it open.

“Glynnis is gone.”


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

Done with his shower, Angel drifted back into the master suite, determined to get Drusilla back to coherency. If Ray and the others had gotten the right sedatives, she would still be sleeping. Hopefully the undisturbed rest would give his blood time to work, so instead of a liability he could little afford, she would be the asset he needed her to be.

She was unshackled, curled up in the middle of the bed, soundly asleep. Her dark hair snaked over the linens, partially shielding her face from his view. Angel sat on the bed next to her, his fingers trailing up her arm to her shoulder. He shook her, softly calling her name. Sometimes, when the madness was upon her and she finally slept, waking her this way helped her make the transition into lucidity. Sometimes.

Sleepy dark blue eyes looked up at him and Angel realized they’d been open while he’d sat woolgathering and he smiled down at her. “Time to get up Dru.”

“Are we going to play today?” Her voice was childishly sweet, making him instantly hard.
“What are we going to play, Daddy? Shall it be a tea party for all the pretty girls?”

Despite the words, Angel could clearly see Drusilla was back in control of herself. “We are going to play. Time to get serious with the Slayer.”

Drusilla curled her feet under her, rising up to wind her arms around Angel’s neck. “Oohhhhh . . . What nasty thing has Daddy planned for the bad little girl?”

“I’m tired of this, Dru. We’re going to do what I should have done a long time ago. We’re going to pay a visit.” His hands curled around Dru’s thin arms, holding her against him. “Once we’re done there, I’m going to seek out a witch.”

Her head ducked down against his neck, Drusilla growled playfully, then giggled. “Mmm . . . is Daddy going to let his little girl play?”

“That’s exactly why I woke you up, Dru. I want you beside me.”

Clapping her hands, Drusilla uncurled from around him and got to her feet. “I do so love a party.”

Throwing his head back, Angel laughed at her expression. “I’ll be outside, giving the minions their orders. Don’t be waste any time Dru, I want to be in place before long.”

Humming softly to herself, Drusilla just nodded her understanding, then headed into the bathroom.

Angel did just as he said he would, giving his minions orders in preparation for the upcoming fight. Harmony flounced into the hallway just as he was starting, her eyes narrowed and focused. “I want to help.”

“And why is that Harmony?”

“Because. . . . Spikey was mean to me and he threw me out of his crypt. He’s not really a nice boyfriend. He’s such a freak for being with the Slayer.”

He was about to voice a retort when another voice sounded from behind him.

“I want to help too.”

Looking over his shoulder, Angel gave the newcomer a feral smile. “Well, hello Glynnis . . . What brings you here?”





Some rather serious RL issues kept me off the computer for the better part of July, and now I'm moving, so updates are going to be a bit slow. I apologize to everyone and I hope you'll forgive me.