[A/N: I think my muse is on holiday. I have no idea where it is and the creative burst engendered by seeing James Marsters live is . . . fizzling out. I don’t know what to do. I can’t seem to jump start it at all. Anyone got any ideas? I sort of know why, since I’ve been working insane hours. . I apologize for the break, but it couldn’t be helped. My job was, well put it this way – my last overtime check was more than my regular check. But hopefully I can get this finished and you all won’t be screaming for an update from me. Title and quotes are as attributed. Disclaimers in full force and effect. I own nothing.]

Previously: Xander and Cordy are on their way to Los Angeles. Willow has been bitch-slapped one more time by the Gods. Riley, with Graham, has met with the gang in the Magic Box. This picks up immediately after the last installment.

Book Three

Chapter Seven A succession of moments

There are moments when you feel free,
moments when you have energy,
moments when you have hope,
but you can’t rely on any of these things to see you through.
Circumstances do that.
Anita Brooknert, Novelists in Interview, ed. John Haffenden (1985)

Life is a succession of moments,
To live each one is to succeed.
Corita Kent, Newsweek 17 Dec 84

Think naught a trifle, though it small appear;
Small sands the mountain, moments make the year,
And trifles life.
Edward Young, Love of Fame. Satire vi.

I realize that I always defined myself
in terms of what I wasn't.
I wasn't a good soldier like my father.
I wasn't the job.
I wasn't a good prospect for marriage or kids.
Always what I wasn't, never what I was.
And when you do that, you miss the moments
And the moments are all we've got.
When I thought I was going to die,
even after everything that's happened,
I realized I didn't want to let go.
I was willing to do it all over again,
and this time I could appreciate the moments.
I can't go back, but I can appreciate what I have right now.
And I can define myself by what I am instead of what I'm not.
Dr. Stephen Franklin, Babylon 5




“Did that satisfy your curiosity? Did you get any intel from that meeting?” Graham kept his expression blank, keeping his disappointment to himself. As far as he was concerned, that entire meeting was a bust and he had no intentions of repeating it.

Riley shot the shorter man a look, trying to get some indication of what he was thinking. When nothing changed on his face, Riley was forced to answer. “Yeah, I did.”

“You did?” Graham turned slightly, getting a glimpse of the expression on Riley’s face. “How did you get anything but hostility from that?”

“I know she’s hiding something, probably who the father is. And she doesn’t want me to know, so it’s obviously someone I don’t like.” Riley kept walking, his eyes on the four people half a block ahead of them. “If I were a betting man, I’d put my money on Spike.”

“He’s still a vampire.”

“I’m well aware of that.” He lapsed into silence for a moment. “I don’t know how it happened. And part of me doesn’t even care.”

Graham matched his stride to Riley’s easily keeping up with his pace. “But?”

“I’m not helping him. And if that means ignoring her request and taking out the vampire, then we do it.” A muscle tensed along his jaw and it wasn’t hard to see the hold he had on his temper was slipping. “He’s not human. He’s a demon. And what do we do with demons?”

“We put them down, sir.”

“Right.” Riley stopped as they filed into the house, watching as the vampire was the last in the door. “We put them down.”


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


Oz was alone in the kitchen, cleaning up after Tara’s impromptu baking session, the brownies out on the counter and most of the dishes put away. He could hear everyone clearly as they neared the front door and he started the dishwasher as Dawn and Wesley made their way noisily down the hallway.

“Hey.” Dawn looked around, not seeing anyone but him. “Where’s Tara?”

“She’s got an early final, so she’s downstairs trying to fall asleep.” He wasn’t lying, though he wasn’t telling the entire truth. They’d decided, right after agreeing to take his parents’ house together that they would tell Buffy and Spike first before they broke the other news. Although Tara did tell him Spike suspected.

“Aw, so you made brownies? That’s sweet.” Despite the ice cream run, Dawn snagged one.

Before he had a chance to tell her differently, Buffy and Spike were inside the house, Buffy heading directly up the stairs. “Not too late, Dawnie.”

Spike moved into the kitchen, getting a bottle of water from the refrigerator. He nodded at Wesley and stared at the werewolf. “Thought you weren’t gonna be here ‘til later?”

“Got an early start on rehearsal. Figured I’d stop by.” He didn’t avoid the vampire’s gaze, knowing he’d sense the change in his body temperature if he didn’t at least tell a partial truth.

The two supernatural men stared at each other for a moment, neither one saying a word. Dawn stole the water bottle in Spike’s hand, then with a “Night, guys,” tossed over her shoulder, she headed up the stairs.

“Gonna need to invest in a water company or somethin’, way those two drink.” Spike grumbled good-naturedly, reaching for the refrigerator again. “Don’t see what’s wrong with the stuff from the tap.”

Wesley quipped, “It’s not chic, Spike. You should know that.” A very noisy snort was his only answer. “Are you going to meet Connor?”

“Yeah. Soon as Buffy’s settled in. Her feet are sore.” Spike looked at Oz. “You stayin’?”

“Planned on it. Tara’s not feeling too hot. Figured I’d give her a ride to campus tomorrow.” Oz picked at some of the brownie crumbs, his eyes focused on Spike. When Spike raised his eyebrow, Oz smiled slightly.

“Good. You two can keep watch over the birds while I go patrol for the nasties.” Just like Dawn had minutes earlier, Spike headed upstairs without much fanfare.

Wesley stared after him, wondering why it felt like Spike and Oz had just shared some silent communication that he wasn’t privy to.


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


Willow fiddled with the components of an audio recording device, wondering – not for the first time – what she was doing. She’d thought when she ran into Warren that what he was doing wasn’t really wrong, but now she wasn’t so sure.

They’d been working on a new robot, one much more advanced than the Buffybot, and not much else. In the last two weeks, Willow was learning otherwise. Warren had video and audio surveillance in various locations around Sunnydale, including the Magic Box, Buffy’s house, Xander’s apartment, Spike’s crypt, and – something that really had her rattled – the Hellmouth.

It had taken her a week to believe he’d actually had the nerve to install cameras in their homes. Willow hadn’t been able to locate all the feeds, or why Warren was recording. Whatever it was, and for whoever, it couldn’t be for a good reason. There was a maniacal glint in his eyes that set her nerves on edge and sometimes, the way he looked at her gave her the wiggins.

There were no cameras inside Revello Drive, thanks to Spike’s constant vigilance, and that must also be the explanation for the lack of any surveillance at Giles’ residence. Willow was inordinately grateful for that fact, the last thing she wanted to do was see was Giles in the bathroom or Buffy and Spike having sex. Once was more than enough.

For the last few nights, Willow hadn’t been able to sleep, tossing and turning, her conscience weighing on her heavily. Her conscience – sounding eerily like the voice of Ceridwen – kept her brain active long after her body was exhausted, preventing her from sleeping at all. Part of her knew she should let the Scoobies know, but without something concrete, Willow knew she’d be rejected. And rightfully so.

Everything she’d done over the past few months had torn and shattered any trust the others might have once had. Willow hadn’t just burned her bridges, she’d obliterated them into dust, destroying any hope of reconciliation. She had no one to blame but herself.

The look into Ceridwen’s cauldron had stung; an unvarnished look at her own actions, none of which stood up beyond the moment. It had taken long months, and more than one reproving slap from the Goddess, but Willow had finally begun to see how very wrong she’d been. Jealousy, lack of self-esteem, hurt, grief, every negative emotion she’d ever harbored had fueled her past actions.

Buffy wasn’t to blame for her actions, nor was Xander, Spike or anyone else. Willow knew she was alone in bearing responsibility for her actions. Staring down at the computer chips laid out on the table, Willow knew she was at a crossroads.

I can keep doing what I’m doing – pretending like none of the past is my fault, and that no matter what I do, nothing will change. Or I could get some of this stuff together and try to make amends. Do something different. Maybe get back . . . no, I can’t think about doing this to get back what I lost. I have to decide that this is the right thing to do, because to do nothing is the wrong thing to do. Is this the right thing to do?

Warren was out getting supplies and Willow knew she only had a short window of opportunity before he returned. Grabbing schematics and various computer disks and printouts, Willow stuffed what she could into her backpack.

She put the finishing touches on the small robot, jumping every time she heard a noise. Ohhkay, Will, need to just chill. . . Not give everything away the second he walks back in the door. It took her a while, and more than one intense bout of nerves, but she finally managed to calm herself – just in time for Warren return from his errands.

Schooling her features, Willow prepared herself for the one thing she was never good at.


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



“Ugh. Spike?” When he turned to look at her, Buffy stuck out her feet. “I can’t get my shoes off.”

He snickered, mostly at the completely disgruntled look on her face, then stooped to remove the shoes from her feet. “Better, kitten?”

“This is the kind of fun that isn’t. My feet hurt.” Slightly swollen and pudgy toes wiggled in his direction and Spike couldn’t help himself. He dropped soft kisses on the tops, then took the aching parts into his cool hands.

“How much longer?” Now that he took the time to look, not only her feet were slightly swollen, but her ankles and calves were looking a bit thicker than normal. “Did they say anything about swollen feet?”

Buffy was silent while he worked on the sore muscles, only soft little grunts and deep inhalations an indication she was still awake. When he hit a particularly sore spot on her right instep, Buffy panted heavily. “She wants to see if I can go another couple of weeks. We’re at thirty-one weeks.”

She said that like it was supposed to be important, and though Spike had read all the books at the same time she did, his mind wasn’t on their conversation. “Supposed to be how many?”

“Forty. But because we’ve got twins. . . Spike, you aren’t listening to me.” Buffy pulled her feet away from his hands, her mouth drawn in thin lines.

He grabbed for a foot, his strong fingers capturing her ankle easily. “Am. Jus’ not focused, is all.” His thumb ran the length of her instep, pushing heavily. “He knows, or suspects he does.”

She dropped back, her head bouncing softly on the bed. He couldn’t see her face behind the mound of her belly, but the exasperation was clear in her voice. “I so don’t wanna think about him. Or what he thinks he knows.”

Spike moved to sit on the edge of the bed, looking down at her prone form. “We’ve got t’deal with this, pet. Whether we want to or not. They’re the only ones left who can get this thing out.”

A tiny bit of a whine crept into her voice. “I know. I made a mistake, didn’t I?”

“How do you figure that?” He was leaning over her now, his right hand curved over the rise of her belly. Spike could feel the babies moving, feel them adjusting and rolling about, trying to get comfortable.

“Asking for him.” She shifted, struggling to get into a better position. “I should have asked for someone else, right?”

Spike eased one arm beneath her, helping her to a semi-sitting position. “An’ jus’ who else were you supposed t’ask for? The Walsh bitch is dead. Do you even know anyone else in that group?”

The pout that drove him to distraction appeared on her face and Spike didn’t bother resisting it. He dove in for a quick kiss and a nibble, his mouth zeroing in on hers. He pulled away, noting that her eyes were glazed and her breathing heavier than normal. His smirk bloomed and she swatted half-heartedly at his chest when he laughed at her breathless question. “What were we talking about?”

He dropped a kiss on her belly, murmuring, “Talkin’ about me goin’ on patrol, an’ you gettin’ some kip.”

Buffy finished the roll onto her side, propping herself up on her elbow. “Nahuh. I think we were talking about something else.”

“Don’t worry about it, okay? ‘S not like we weren’t prepared for this. You called ‘im, an’ he came running.” Spike moved away from the bed and temptation, heading for the doorway. “‘M not angry, kitten. Jus’ need to go work off some frustration. ‘ll be back soon.”

“Take Connor with you.”

He was halfway out the door and he acknowledged her comment with a wave of his hand.
“I love you.”

That stopped him in his tracks. It wasn’t often that she said it and he knew whenever she did it was important. Though she’d gotten better, her saying those words were still a big deal. So he turned right back around, covering the distance between them in three strides. She was in his arms, his mouth covering hers before Buffy realized he’d even heard her. Her belly was squashed between them, his fingers digging into her hips, holding her tight against him.

“Say it again.”

“I love you, Spike.” She toyed with the collar of his shirt, her eyes staring up into his. “No one else.”

One more quick kiss and he was gone.


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


Patrol was, like Connor had said earlier, mostly a complete waste of his time. A handful of fledgling vampires and not much else troubled his walk through the rows of the peaceful dead. He’d sent Connor home, not anticipating much action. It was a school night, both he and Dawn had final exams coming up, and Spike knew for a fact that Connor hadn’t cracked a book in days.

Spike was more than aware of the two soldiers trailing him, but he ignored them. Neither was Finn, which suited him fine. He supposed that Finn thought he was being smart, sending two of his men that Spike didn’t know on sight to trail after him. Which just proved all over again how stupid Finn really was. He constantly underestimated Spike’s abilities, preferring to keep stereotyping him as “just” a vampire. He had no more in common with the glut of fledglings than Riley Finn or any of his other Initiative buddies had with regular Army soldiers.

Master vampires – especially Aurelian master vampires – were a definite breed apart. For centuries they’d managed to survive, outliving most of their brethren, including those from other lines. Spike could remember a time just after Darla left them to go haring off after the Master, when it had just been he and Drusilla and they’d stumbled into the territory of Corvus vampires. It had been touch and go for a bit, until one of the elders realized who they were. The two of them had lived like royalty, until he’d grown bored and killed most of them.

That Finn kept assuming Spike was nothing more than a fledgling kept a relative rein on his temper. Finn hadn’t always been present during the more restrained debriefing sessions that Walsh and her cohorts conducted, and it was also glaringly obvious he’d never read any of the records of those sessions. Just because the Scoobies had treated him like a failure didn’t make him one. Spike hadn’t survived – keeping himself and Drusilla hale and hearty – over a hundred years on his good looks alone.

His luck had just run out once he was back in Sunnydale.

There had been nothing to recommend the town the first time he’d visited just before the Master’s harebrained idea got him jammed up like a genie in a bottle, and he hadn’t liked it the second visit. Except for fighting Buffy. That had been a real joy. Thoughts of sparring with her still had him tingling all over, moreso now. Spike stopped pacing through Shady Rest, his coat swirling around his ankles. No reason to be out, still. Could go home an’ spend some quality time with Buffy. . . Since tha’s soon be a precious commodity.

It still boggled his mind, the idea of them being able to produce children. He’d thought when Dawn had first blurted out the truth she’d found in the journals that she would be all he’d leave behind when he was finally dust. His real legacy. Instead, fate had smiled on him, deciding he deserved something better. The irony of it was not lost on him.

Retracing his steps back toward Revello Drive, Spike mused over the changes. It was a habit he’d picked up – since he’d been chipped – pondering the alterations fate and destiny had spun into his life. He’d always, as a human, spent too much time in his own head, romantic dreams and whimsy ruling his days, especially as a boy. The chip, rendering his more violent tendencies null and void, had forced him back into that mode. At first he’d balked, trying desperately to hold onto that image of himself and then he’d just . . . accepted it. Accepted the limitations the hardware forced into his brain had placed on him.

Spike was half a block away from the house when he sensed the familiar and unwelcome presence hovering around the property. He paused for a moment, watching intently while the slight figure paced toward the front door, then retreated back to the sidewalk. It happened twice, which was more than enough for him to decide to take matters into his own hands.

"What do you want, Red?"

She hadn’t sensed him and the resulting yelp of surprise nearly had him shaking his head. Willow panted hard for a moment, trying to calm her heartbeat and breathing. Once she had a modicum of control, she blurted out, amidst nervous laughter, "Oh, hey, Spike. You scared me."

He didn’t respond, merely inclining his head in her direction. When she also lapsed into silence, Spike stepped between her and the house, effectively blocking her progress. "What do you want?"

"I. . um. . . wanted to talk to Buffy. Is she home?" There was a hopeful lilt in her voice, one all out of proportion to her earlier hesitance.

A quick glance over his shoulder proved his earlier suspicion. The only light in their room was dimmed, alerting him to the likely fact she was already asleep. At least he was hoping so. "She’s home, pro’ly already in bed, though." Spike stared down into Willow’s face, his expression set. "Can’t say that I’d be willing to get her up to see you."

"Oh." Willow looked away, unable to meet his intense gaze. "I guess I kinda deserved that." Her eyes darted to his, then away again. "I wouldn’t be here unless it was important."

Spike wasn’t moved. "Doesn’t much impress me, what you think is important."

It finally dawned on Willow that he wasn’t going to budge and she reached out to grasp his arm. When he reared back, avoiding her touch, she halted the motion, instead wringing her hands together and mumbling an apology. "Sorry. I’m sorry. I just. . . I really need to talk to her. Could you ask her if she would let me. . . talk?"

"Dunno, Red. ‘M not even sure she wants to be in the same room with you. Not sure any of us do." Spike folded his arms across his chest, his attention fixed on Willow. “What’s so bloody important anyway?”

Thinking if she managed to win Spike to her side, she had a better shot of getting to see Buffy, Willow poured on the charm and tried. “I know you’re probably all still really mad at me, but I found out something that might help you.”

“Help us? Why would we want your kind of help?”





Reviews would totally make my day. . week. . . but I'll totally understand if you're all too peeved at me to review.