[A/N: I thought about taking a really long break, and just not writing anything at all or focusing on something that wasn’t this particular story. Which just shows how much of a fool I can be. Hopefully, you won’t be waiting as long for this story as you did the last one. Titles and quotes as attributed. Disclaimers in full force and effect. I own nothing.]

Previously: Riley has gotten a message from Buffy, whom he thought was dead; The Council has discovered Buffy’s pregnancy and deduced the likely father. This picks up shortly after the last chapter.

Book Three.

Chapter Three. Never in the expected manner

Surprise, the stuff that news is made of.
William E Giles, National Observer, 19 Oct 64

Life is a series of surprises,
and would not be worth taking or keeping,
if it were not.
God delights to isolate us every day,
and hide from us the past and the future.
Ralph Waldo Emerson, Experience, Essays, Second Series (1844)

It is an endless procession of surprises.
The expected rarely occurs and
never in the expected manner.
Vernon A Walters, On UN social circuit, 4 Oct 85


A story to me means a plot where there is some surprise
Because that is how life is— full of surprises.
Isaac Bashevis Singer, NY Times 26 Nov 78


Well, that's the thing about life,
is the surprises,
the little things that sneak up on you and grab hold of you.
George, Father of the Bride (1991)




The last six months hadn’t been easy, the punishment imposed by the Gods forcing her to learn how to function without the ability to perform magic at her fingertips. Daily, Willow cursed and railed against her fate, more often than not heaping the blame for her isolation on shoulders not her own. She alternated between blaming Giles and Buffy, but mostly her ire focused completely on the vampire she continued to believe had usurped her position in Buffy’s life.

For the first few weeks, Willow had fruitlessly researched every spell, every incantation, every meditation she could locate in an effort to recapture what she’d lost. And every single time she’d tried one, everything had fizzled. Candles wouldn’t light, incense didn’t burn, protection circles refused to close, nothing worked. Nothing. The only flicker of response had come in the course of meditating, though even now, nearly six months later, she shied away from even thinking about another attempt.

She’d been deep inside a trance, reality suspended around her when she’d felt the clear hand of Other ripping through the veils of time and space. That hand hadn’t been of the helping kind. Instead, it had manifested in shards of pounding, bone-numbing pain, strong enough to wrench through the trance and leave her panting for air. A second attempt two days following the first, left her a quivering mass of pain, blood dripping from her nose and a constant buzzing in her ears that had taken nearly two weeks to go away.

It was her third attempt that had truly scared her.

Just before the end of January, the night of the full moon, Willow had attempted the deep trance. As a precaution, instead of using Wiccan symbols of protection, she’d relied on the symbols of her childhood, the ones that still, despite her foray into the arcane, gave her a sense of peace. A series of mezuzahs ranged about her bedroom, on each side of her door and windows, and she clutched another in her left hand, while in her right she held her grandmother’s Star of David pendant. Willow had also decided to use the Hebrew prayers she’d learned as a child, the few she remembered.

Everything had been going well, much better than she’d expected, given her two previous attempts. Willow had a guarded moment of optimism, hope flaring inside her and she allowed herself to sink further into the trance. The success buoyed her spirits and Willow grinned, believing she’d discovered a way to circumvent her punishment.

Until the hand of Other reached out again.

One moment she was basking in the glow of peaceful meditation and the next. . . . The next, she was gasping for air through a throat that was slowly closing, ghostly, inanimate fingers tightening in a vice grip around her skin. Her arms were stuck at her sides, her entire body held immobile, control over herself gone. Whip thin tendrils of icy pain snapped through her body, flaying her muscles. Pulsing heat traveled through her blood, creating tiny rivers of pain meandering through her system. Laughter sounded in her ears, harsh and biting, pitched low and threaded with dark retribution. The laughter devolved slowly into words and Willow fought renewed tears.

“Warned you were, Red Willow.”

A second voice, this one higher and sounding more smug than angry, spoke over the repeated phrase. “No more chances. Try again and you forfeit all.”

The voices melded together as the pain increased and Willow was unable to stop the tremors shaking her entire body. Her eyes rolled back, drool pooled under her head and her last thought wasn’t anything more coherent than “Ow.”


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


The sun was barely breaking the horizon when the Army transport jet circled for landing over the runway of Sunnydale Airport. Riley refused to look at any of the other personnel with him, especially avoiding Graham’s eyes. He knew without having to be told what the other man’s opinion of this mission was. However, he also knew it wouldn’t change Graham’s willingness to accompany him. Whether Graham thought he was there to cover Riley’s ass or for some other reason, Riley almost didn’t care.

From the air, Sunnydale looked like every other small suburban city, houses all lined up on neat little streets, lawns manicured and orderly. None of the turmoil beneath the earth showed aside from the inordinate number of cemeteries. He was able to pick out the school, and from there it was easy for him to get his bearings.

“We need to secure housing first.”

Graham’s voice sounded in everyone’s earpieces and Riley pointed at Rodriguez, one of the men he’d been working with closely over the last few months. Responding to the next, unspoken question, Riley issued orders. “Graham and I will do recon, the rest of you off load the supplies into the vehicles waiting. Do not, I repeat, do not engage any of the locals unless absolutely imperative.”

When Simms, otherwise known as Sloth, started to speak, Riley motioned him to silence, then continued. “This town is full of hostile sub-terrestrials. Some of them are able to pass as humans without scanners. Be on alert at all times, until we get the equipment up and functioning. Daylight is not a hindrance to those who can pass as humans. Eyes and ears, men.”

That warning was sufficient for all of them and even Sloth kept his mouth shut. Richards, the medical doctor, shifted uncomfortably in his seat, and Riley said, “I’ll answer all questions at the debriefing, until then, follow normal protocol for setting up a satellite camp.”

“With a few more amenities.” Graham’s mutter caused low laughter among the others, and Sloth quipped, “Room service and cable? Sure beats the hell out of the jungle.”


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



In the months since Anya had dumped him, Xander had drowned his sorrows, alternating between drinking too much and not drinking at all. Most of his free time was spent with Cordelia, just sitting in her hospital room. Half the time no words were exchanged between them, since Cordy very rarely spoke to anyone and he was reluctant to fill the silence with idle chatter. He’d tried a couple of times, but she’d never even reacted, so he’d long since given up.

Physically, she’d healed. All the bruises and cuts were gone, only faint scars showing on her still pale skin. Xander wondered, though, if Cordy would ever recover.

Whatever torture Angel had inflicted on her had damaged her. She was not anywhere near recovered from the emotional pain. She might never be.

Fred and Gunn had stopped visiting every day, finally returning to Los Angeles and only showing up once a week or so, whenever Gunn could get away for the drive. Xander looked forward to those days, knowing someone would at least be willing to talk to him. He’d stopped going to the Magic Box – seeing Anya happy and laughing, sharing jokes with Giles and Spike – and hadn’t spoken to any of the others, either.

Oddly enough, he hadn’t sought out Willow either. His once unswerving loyalty to the redhead had been shaken to the core by her actions around Christmas. Xander had never expected Willow to act that way, to be willing to kill Dawn to fix everything. He hadn’t believed it, until Dawn had told him exactly what Willow’s intentions had been that night and how she’d nearly killed Connor.

That had been the last time he’d set foot in the Magic Box.

Tara and Buffy had both been in the shop, and once Dawn had started yelling at Xander, they’d intervened. Both blondes had been willing to forgive him his part in what happened, telling him they didn’t blame him at all, and he’d found some measure of peace in that. Dawn and Anya hadn’t though, and it was their emotions Xander found himself focusing on. He didn’t blame either of them. He’d let them both down – failing miserably as a man – just rolling over and believing Willow instead of anyone else.

Xander had walked away from them after that.

Only now, his last refuge was being taken away from him. Cordelia was being released from the hospital and she’d been emphatic in her refusal to stay in Sunnydale. She wouldn’t accept his offer of hospitality and instead insisted he take her to Los Angeles. They were going to move her stuff out of her apartment and into a place owned by a friend of hers – someone she called Lorne.

He was taking the next couple of days off, to help Cordelia and maybe see if he could figure out his own future.


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



Feeling like she’d been on a three-day bender instead of knocked out cold by anesthesia, Faith groaned into the stillness of her hospital room and tried to roll over onto her side. The pull of stitches and the dull ache around her abdomen had her rethinking that and she groaned a second time, adding a vicious grumble to the mix. Realizing quickly she wasn’t going to find a comfortable position flat on her back, she fumbled about for the bed controls and flicked them irritably.

“It’s not the bed’s fault, you know.” The dark voice held a thread of amusement, which just aggravated her further.

“You could show a little sympathy.” Faith moved her head, facing the deeper shadows in the still dark room. “I’m still recovering.”

“Yeah. Sure. Has that vaunted Slayer healing kicked in yet?” The amusement became an outright chuckle and in response Faith pulled the pillow out from beneath her head and tossed it at the voice.

“Don’t be a prick.”

Jenner stepped out of the shadows, her pillow clutched in one hand. “Oh, baby, you know you love it.” When she didn’t react he moved closer to the bed, offering the pillow. “So how are you feeling?”

She huffed out a breath. “I’m okay. Sore mostly.”

Faith tried looking out the window only to realize the blinds were down completely, blocking any view of the outside. “How late is it? Can we blow this taco stand?”

“It’s early enough. If you really are ready to leave we could go.”

“Oh, I’m so ready.”

Without waiting another moment, Jenner leaned down, scooping her up in his strong arms. Two quick steps had him at the doorway to her room and within moments, they’d escaped from the hospital.


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



For the tenth morning in a row, Tara woke up feeling out of sorts and under the weather.

And alone.

Lately, Oz had been spending more and more time in the house at Revello, reluctant to leave the women alone while Spike took Connor out on patrol. Buffy was unable to fight, the bulk of the late stages of her pregnancy making it impossible for her to even make the attempt. And every single night he’d fallen asleep, usually in her bed.

The hormonal changes, coupled with Buffy’s strength were making it difficult for anyone but Spike to try and keep her calm. She alternated between a hair-trigger temper and tears, which had everyone in the house – actually every one of them – walking on eggshells.

Tara groaned softly in her pillow, only to be hit with a wave of nausea that had her bolting from the bed. She raced up the stairs to the bathroom, hoping she didn’t encounter any obstacles along the way and didn’t even notice Spike standing in the kitchen, watching her race through the rooms. Her scent flooded the kitchen, and his nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply. The glass in his hands slipped, dropping down on to the counter, its contents sluggishly moving over the counter top.

"No fuckin’ way!"

He moved toward the bathroom, the unmistakable sounds of retching sounded clear to his sensitive ears. "Glinda?"


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



Wesley was just waking up, his brain already engaged in listing his tasks for the day when his cell phone started ringing. Deciding against letting it go to voicemail, he reached for it, overcompensating for his still lethargic limbs and instead of finding it, he got tangled up in his sheets, and nearly fell off the bed.

By the third ring, he gave up reaching for it and just disentangled his legs. It took him longer than usual, more than likely because of his rush to get to the phone. Once he had it in hand, Wesley angrily punched in the code for voicemail, holding it to his ear.

Leslie McKeown’s voice sounded softly agitated and he had to listen twice to the Scot’s urgent tones before he completely understood the entire message. After the second listen, Wesley completely understood the stress.

“A new girl’s been called. Council already has the bird. They’re briefing her now, with intentions to send her and a wetworks team to your area. There’s video of the Slayer and the cat’s well out of the bag. I’ll ring you before Saturday with more.”

Shutting off the phone, Wesley dropped back onto his bed. He thought over the reasons why they’d reached the decision they had, and how it was really the only safe course of action. The California penal system had placed Faith on their most wanted list after her escape from jail, and had begun clumsy surveillance on the Summers residence, interviewing neighbors and flashing Faith’s picture around. Thankfully, at the time, she and Jenner had been in England, however, it didn’t negate the danger to her.

If the California authorities felt Faith was a big enough flight risk – since Mexico wasn’t that far away – it was only a phone call to the Federal authorities and Faith would then be placed on international wanted lists. A situation they could not allow. It would call unnecessary attention to everyone in Sunnydale, leaving both Buffy and Spike, and not to mention Dawn and Connor in a very, very precarious position. There stood a very real threat of custody issues being raised, which neither teen could afford. Without a valid explanation for Connor’s existence and coupled with the already difficult social worker that had been overseeing Dawn’s case, the Summers household wouldn’t withstand the scrutiny.

The whole thing had been Faith’s idea – and she’d had the logical arguments to sway all of them. Not that there’d been much objection. Oddly enough, the one most vocal had been Spike. Faith had countered every argument he laid out, only getting stumped when he threw out, “Dyin’ makes it possible for you to get knocked up.”

Faith’s response had been equally sharp and just as equally to the point. “Not if all the parts aren’t working. Or something is done to stop it.”

Her tone of voice as much as her statement had gotten everyone’s attention. While Jenner looked on impassively, Faith had calmly laid out all her reasons why they should do this. First and foremost had been the California authorities and only further down on her list had been actual slaying duties. They had to fool California into believing something had happened to her and a fight – given her past – wouldn’t be hard for any of them to believe.

The autopsy had to list some cause of death and severe abdominal bleeding from a knife wound would more than accomplish it.

It had been Buffy’s softly worded question and Faith’s equally soft answer that sealed the deal for most of them. “What about a family? Don’t you want one of those?”

“Never had much of one to begin with. That’s your deal, B.” Faith had stared off, not looking at any of them, until a sniffle from Buffy caught her attention. “Someone like me would only screw up a kid. I’m better off playing cool aunt than mom.”

“What about a home?”

She finally turned to look at the older slayer then, “The only real home I have is yours, B. Last thing you need is me hanging around trying to steal your life.”


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



“Spike?”

“Oxford.”

The blond stared at his taller counterpart, waiting for him to speak. When the strained silence became too much for his patience, Spike snarked at him, “Now that we’ve established our names, care to tell me why we’re outside talking when we could be inside in the cold air?”

“I heard from my contact. A new girl’s been called.”

Spike shrugged his shoulders, dismissing the news. “So? ‘S what we expected, yeah? Not worried about that.”

“Well, perhaps you should be worrying.” Inhaling deeply, Wesley dropped the real bombshell. “Apparently they’ve found out about Buffy.”

“Fuckin’ hell.” The cigarette that had been on its way to his mouth dropped to the ground and Spike stomped on it forcefully. “Bloody, buggerin’, interferin’, fuckin’ wankers.”

“You must be referring to the Council.” Rupert headed up the walkway, his eyes following Spike’s pacing form. He addressed his question to Wesley. “You’ve heard then?”

“McKeown called me. No identity on the new Slayer, but he did say the Council was planning on sending her here with a wetworks team.”

“What?!” Spike whirled on Wesley, his face contorting with rage, eyes flickering golden. “How soon are they expected to arrive?”

Wesley sounded less happy than Spike looked. “If they’re already on the move, my guess is they’ll be arriving sometime in the next twenty-four hours.”

“Bloody hell.”

“I doubt the Council had a team on alert.” Rupert’s calmer voice broke through Spike’s visible agitation. “We have a bit of time. Granted, not much, but we have time.”

“There’s no way we’re prepared for this, Giles.” Wesley watched while Spike resumed pacing. “We thought we had time before they discovered Buffy’s pregnancy.”

“I think a more effective use of our time would be to get Buffy out of town.” Wesley finally dared to broach the subject he’d had on his mind for days.

“I’m so not leaving here.” Buffy stepped out the door and onto the porch. Her arms were folded over her breasts, resting on her distended belly. “I may be pregnant and not so good in a fight right now, but they are not gonna drive me outta my house. This is my town and I’m staying.”

Spike had stopped pacing the second her voice sounded in the soft night air. “Might be safer, kitten.”

It was almost as if the distance and two people separating them disappeared. Buffy’s voice softened and caught on a hitched breath. “Is that what you want?”

“God no.” He moved closer. “Don’t want you out of my sight. Need to see you, be near you. Hiding you away means me going one way an’ you the other.”

She stood on the top step, looking into his intent gaze. “I don’t wanna go. I want our babies born right here, with you and Tara and . . I don’t wanna be alone.”

He pulled her into his arms, eyes searching out Wesley over her bowed head. “No leaving town.”

“All right then.” Giles nodded his agreement. “We should discuss options for the birthing, in case of emergency.”

“The witches’ll keep her safe if needs be.” Buffy nodded her head against his chest, agreeing with Spike. “Kait an’ that hellion won’t let anything happen to her.”

“I still think we should talk to Dr. Thomas about the chip.”

“Oh!” Buffy looked up, her eyes shifting between the three Englishmen. “I called the old Initiative cover number. You know the emergency one?”

“You did what?”

“When?”

A low growl from the vampire holding her punctuated the other Brits’ questions and Buffy chose to ignore the flare of jealousy she felt from Spike. “The other day?”

She could feel his body stiffen, the lines of his muscles going rigid and inflexible. Buffy wormed her fingers under his tee-shirt, stroking the strong flesh. Concentrating on him alone, she focused inward, using the breathing techniques Grace had been teaching them. Finding the center of calmness Grace always harped on was getting easier and Buffy leaned further into Spike’s embrace. All the love and trust she had in him surged through the bond and Buffy knew the moment it slammed into him, because he faltered, his whole body going slack for an instant.

He dropped a kiss on her head, his arms tightening around her.

It was Wesley who broke the spell surrounding them. “So we potentially have both the Initiative and the Council to contend with.”

“Yup.” Buffy chirped out, almost too cheerfully, then in a complete change of subject, she said. “Anyone else want ice cream?”


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



Initial reconnaissance had been mostly a bust, which Riley had anticipated. Which was why they were all out again the minute the sun started sinking into the Pacific. His men were all in civilian garb, traveling in pairs, while the medic remaining behind in quarters. They’d secured a rental house not far from campus with more than enough room for them and equipment. Tomorrow he was planning on going down into the old base, but tonight, they were just roaming the streets, scoping out the natives.

They were all in radio contact, though he’d given them strict orders to keep low profiles and not to engage any hostiles unless they happened upon an out of control situation. He and Graham were patrolling Main Street, and they were approaching the bridal shop he remembered. A wry grin and a shake of his head, followed by a chuckle had Graham looking at him strangely, but Riley just waved him off without any explanation.

The Espresso Pump was just ahead and down the block a little further was the Magic Box. Riley’s feet slowed. He really didn’t want to walk past the shop and have Buffy or some of her friends recognize him. For once, the mission wasn’t the primary motivation and Riley motioned Graham to turn down a side street. Downtown Sunnydale was busy, lots of people milling around and for once, Riley was grateful the townsfolk were oblivious to the danger they were in. People streamed out into the night from the just ending movie and the two soldiers allowed themselves to be carried along by momentum.

He stepped out into the middle of the street, waiting for Graham to join him when a flash of something familiar caught his eye. Unconsciously he moved closer, aware of his heart thumping madly in his chest and the increased respiration. He lost sight of the dark gold hair for a moment, then peered around again, quickly scanning the crowds for her. It couldn’t be. . . The Buffy he knew would be in a cemetery – but then he checked his watch and realized it was still fairly early, only a little past nine. It might be her.

Ignoring Graham, Riley crossed the street, watching while the crowd thinned a bit. Yup, it’s her.

She was sitting at one of the outdoor tables, her back to the street and a dark-haired, scruffy-faced man opposite her. Her head was bobbing, hands gesturing animatedly. From what he could tell, she looked good, though he could be wrong too – it might not be her. His heart was telling him it was, and without much conscious thought, he kept walking closer.

Dawn stepped out of the shop, followed by another male, but Riley didn’t see her, nor did he hear the gasp of surprise and accompanying growl, because he was standing next to Buffy, listening to her rant to the guy she was sitting with.

Before his brain caught up with his mouth and eyes, Riley spoke.

“Buffy?”





to be continued. . . .