~~~50 years later~~~


A cool breeze from the ocean caused Buffy to shudder, and Spike wrapped his arms around her instinctively. In the years since they mated, they had lost contact with everyone outside of their own family, aside from an occasional visit from Anyanka, or an even more occasional phone call from an elderly Dawn in London.

When Giles had died thirty years earlier, he left Buffy the bulk of his estate, which, unbeknownst to anyone, amassed a small fortune. Years of milking a small collection of suits, and penny pinching had apparently allowed the Watcher to hide away the majority of his paychecks from the Council and the Sunnydale Library. Buffy quickly hid the money in a Swiss bank account, a fact that she only shared with Spike. The interest from Giles’ fortune was more than enough to fund a lavish immortal lifestyle, however, Buffy, Spike and their brood preferred to keep a much lower profile. “With every outlandishly spent dollar, comes attention,” Spike would often tell Buffy when she begged for a particular piece of jewelry or expensive gift. Despite scolding her on keeping their spending and profile low, Buffy would always find the much sought after item wrapped in gold foil on their bed the next night. Spike did everything in his power to make her happy, regardless of the attention or cost it brought. Buffy sometimes wondered if he stole some of the gifts, in hopes of not only pleasing her, but also regaining some of his “Bad Boy” clout. And though she could read his mind, she knew better than to bring the subject up, instead, resigning herself to allowing “boys to be boys.” Spike and Buffy had lost the need to verbally speak to each other within the past half of a century. Their mental connection was now so strong, that they carried out the majority of their conversations telepathically.

Buffy still continued to fight evil with Spike close at her side, but, she was now more careful with each of their lives, even if they were almost invincible, because of the two small children relying on them for support until their immortal powers became apparent. After giving birth to the triplets: Roxanne, Rupert, and Anya Leigh, Buffy had waited another twenty years before trying for another child, Althea, who they had no trouble conceiving.

While Buffy never regretted having any of her children, Althea was a handful in youth, and a terror in her immortal adulthood. She seemingly inherited all of her parent’s most evil attributes, and none of the good. Even Anyanka had alerted Spike and Buffy of their wayward daughter’s powers, after Althea had murdered a fragile, but powerful, Willow, and about a dozen other witches in Willow’s coven, in one of her many killing sprees.

One by one Althea was picking off the most powerful beings in existence, be they good or evil, simply to show that she could. Buffy hated to think of it, but her daughter was swiftly becoming her worst enemy.

--

Spike held a large, picture-filled book in front of the toddler in his lap. Colette was as blonde as she could be; with her father’s piercingly blue eyes, and her mother’s full, pouty lips, a trait she used on her father to get her way. At two years old, she had realized the manipulative power that pout held over her father, after her mother had used it to get her own way. She now had a pony and countless “princess” accessories covering the floor of her bedroom. To say she was Spike’s favorite would be an understatement. As he read the story of “Sleeping Beauty” to her, her pair of pink-footied feet kicked back and forth happily.

Buffy smiled when she entered their living room. Although they weren’t exactly in hiding, they thought it best to lay especially low until their two youngest children, Colette and Dylan, had reached adulthood. Buffy retreated into a training room set up in their seaside French manor. Expecting to be alone, Buffy was pleasantly surprised to find her 12-year-old son, Dylan, beating a dummy senseless.

“He never stood a chance.”

Dylan, a light brown haired boy with a handful of freckles strewn across his face, which was almost an exact replica of his mother’s, turned and grinned widely. His accent was decidedly Spike.

“Hullo Mummy! I’m getting better at this, I can tell! I’ve knocked the punching bag out of the ceiling twice already!”

“That’s wonderful, Dylan. Your father and I are very proud of your dedication.”

“Really, Mummy? Papa is proud of me?”

Buffy smiled and pushed a few strands of hair out of Dylan’s eyes.

“Of course he is…he always says that you work harder at everything you do than anyone he’s ever met.”

“How many people have you met, Mummy?”

“Many, many people, darling. Most of them are very bad too…so you always need to be careful, and on your guard.”

“Mummy…how old are you and Papa? I look different every year, but you and Papa never change….”

“Well, I’m almost 75 now, and your Papa…well, I’m not sure how old he is exactly dear.”

Spike folded his arms and leaned on the doorframe.

“You’re my wife and you don’t even know how old I am, pet? Tsk tsk. I’m coming up on 207 if you must know, son.”

“Papa!”

Dylan beamed and rushed to grab Spike’s hand.

“Look at what I did, Papa,” he said, pointing to the punching bad surrounded by ceiling tiles and dust on the floor.

Spike patted him on the back.

“I’m very proud of you, Dylan.”

Dylan beamed with pride at his father. Buffy smiled, until Colette’s shriek ripped through their home. Buffy’s heart felt as if it stopped.

“Colette!!!”

Running into Colette’s princess-themed bedroom sent Buffy into a panic. The cold sea air blew in through an open window, and Colette’s bed was empty, aside from an envelope lying on her pillow. Spike picked it up with a shaking hand.

The phrase, MUMMY AND DADDY was written in block letters on the front.

“Althea….”

--

Buffy hung the now ancient rotary phone back on the hook. Her children teased her relentlessly about being the last “land line” in existence, but she was grateful she still had some form of basic communication to the outside world. Buffy was too distraught to form words, so, she and Spike carried out their conversation telepathically, as they often did.

"Tara Lyn is on her way…but coming from the states, it’ll be at least four hours till she can get here."

Spike nodded, holding Buffy’s clammy hand gently in his.

“Buffy, love, we’ll find her.”

“Yeah.”

“And for all of her faults, Althea wouldn’t dare hurt her sister. She always doted on Colette more than even we did.”

"Yes, Spike, I know. I’m just terrified that she isn’t really the mastermind behind all of this.”

“What do you mean, love?”

“Spike, I didn’t want to think about it, but I’ve been hearing rumors that Angelus is back.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“I didn’t know for sure! I didn’t want to think about it, and I figured that after fifty years he would have forgotten about me…”

“Angelus never forgets anything, love. If he is back, that would explain Althea’s note…she always hated writing, even the slightest bit. But she’d be easily influenced by someone as charismatic as Angelus.”

“And as crazy.”

“Buffy, love, let’s not think about that now. The kids’ll get here, and we’ll sort this whole thing out, yeah?”

Buffy sank into Spike’s arms in exhaustion; although she was immortal, she still needed rest. For the first time in fifty years, nightmares muddled her sleep.

--TO BE CONTINUED!--