[A/N: I have been so exhausted and consumed by the damn job that I don’t know which end is up – and to boot, my new roommate is arriving on October 7th, which just is gonna make life all that more interesting. I won’t say bad, because she’ll stop writing me spuffy smut and trust me, that’s a bad thing. Very bad. Anyway. . . my eternal thanks to Tam, who always makes me better – go now to Fang Fetish and/or Just Rewards and get in on the raffle for chocolate to help her and her son, who is just an angel. Title and quotes are as attributed and nothing belongs to me. Not a damn blasted thing. Except lots of bills.]

Previously: Willow’s tried to see Buffy, but Spike wouldn’t let her in; Riley is trying to figure out just who fathered Buffy’s babies; Nicholson is subversively undermining Travers’ efforts to get to Sunnydale; and Spike reasserted his position with Buffy. This picks up sometime the next morning.

Book Three

Chapter Nine The sin of broken faith


The heart may think it knows better:
the senses know that absence blots people out.
We really have no absent friends.
The friend becomes a traitor by breaking,
however unwillingly or sadly, out of our own zone:
a hard judgment is passed on him, for all the pleas of the heart.
Elizabeth Bowen, The Death of the Heart


They talk of a man betraying his country, his friends, his sweetheart.
There must be a moral bond first.
All a man can betray is his conscience.
Joseph Conrad, Under Western Eyes

I hate the idea of causes,
and if I had to choose between betraying my country
and betraying my friend,
I hope I should have the guts to betray my country.
E.M. Forster, Two Cheers for Democracy, “What I Believe,”

WHEN you were weary, roaming the wide world, over,
I gave my fickle heart to a new lover.
Now they tell me that you are lying dead:
O mountains fall on me and hide my head!
When you lay burning in the throes of fever,
He vowed me love by the willow-margined river:
Death smote you there — here was your trust betrayed,
O darkness, cover me, I am afraid!
Yea, in the hour of your supremest trial, I laughed with him!
The shadows on the dial
Stayed not, aghast at my dread ignorance:
Nor man nor angel looked at me askance.
Under the mountains there is peace abiding,
Darkness shall be pavilion for my hiding,
Tears shall blot out the sin of broken faith,
The lips that falsely kissed, shall kiss but Death.
Alice Furlong, The Betrayal



It was early and the quad was quiet, though there were pockets of students conversing in various locations; some at the tables surrounding the coffee bar and others on the lawns, hiding from the morning sunshine. Willow kept her eyes trained on the parking lot, hoping to catch a glimpse of Tara before she had to head off to finals.

Despite Spike’s very firm dismissal, Willow wasn’t going to give up. He’d brushed her off, telling her in no uncertain terms he wasn’t going to let her into the house until Buffy had okayed it. But Willow’s conscience wouldn’t let her throw up her hands and say she’d tried. So if Buffy wouldn’t listen, maybe, just maybe, Tara would. She had to try. What Warren was doing – selling information to the Council – was bad enough. What he was planning would amount to another apocalypse. Buffy and the others needed to know about both those things. Sooner rather than later.

So if Buffy and Tara wouldn’t listen, then she’d try Giles and Wesley – anyone. Eventually someone had to listen.

Willow was lost in thought, running all sorts of scenarios through her head, over and over, trying to come up with the best way to approach Tara when her mind finally registered what her eyes were seeing. Tara was sitting at one of the tables nearest the coffee bar, her companions blocked by other students, her head bent over a book. Sunlight picked out all the soft blond highlights, the faint breeze enough to send wisps of loose hair up into the air. She moved enough for Willow to catch a glimpse of her smooth cheek. Willow’s heart contracted, grief and guilt choking her until she could scarcely breathe.

She’s so beautiful.

Unexpected tears welled up and her breathing hitched on a stifled sob. Trying hard to compose herself and her thoughts, Willow braced herself for the coming confrontation. I can do this. Tara will listen to me, I know she will. I know it. She loves me still, even if it’s . . . she’ll listen. I know it.

On her feet before she realized it, Willow hesitantly approached the table, the whole time talking to herself. I’m going to forget I know what her kisses are like. Forget that I know every swell and curve of her breasts, the taste of her skin. . . her smell. What it feels like to sleep next to her, with her. . . oh, Goddess. I can’t do this.

I can. I have to. I really, really have to.

Long before she reached the table, the crowd around Tara’s table parted and for the first time she could see who was with Tara. Oh. I can do this. If anyone of the gang is gonna listen to me, it’ll be Tara and Oz. I can do this. This is good.

Or so she thought until she moved closer. Their arms were hanging down between them, both of them intent upon the texts in front of them and their fingers were linked loosely. As she watched, Oz squeezed Tara’s fingers. She responded by looking up at him and smiling. That smile froze the breath in Willow’s chest. That was her special smile, Tara’s I-know-something-really-special smile that had always warmed her.

Seeing it now, directed at someone else, seared her to the core. That’s my smile. Only for me! Only it wasn’t. Not anymore. As unbelievable as it seemed, that smile belonged to Oz.

Willow stifled the hysterical sob building in her throat and fled the quad.


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



The house was quiet. Dawn and Connor had already gone to school, the door closing behind Oz and Tara. Spike was upstairs, still sleeping and there was at least an hour before Grace was scheduled to arrive.

For once, Buffy was entirely alone.

Well, she thought, staring down at the enormous bulge of her belly, not entirely. The two babies were always with her, but at the moment, they weren’t clamoring for her attention.

Which left her ample time for thought, something she hadn’t necessarily indulged in frequently, or much at all in the past. Before dying, before learning, and ultimately understanding the value of quiet and solitude. Reflection of what was. Taking stock of her life.

She’d been done, thought her battles were all fought, her tenure as the Chosen One finished. Part of her still yearned for the peace she’d touched upon. The serenity. But the ache had long since dulled to something manageable, disappearing in the face of love surrounding her now.

Buffy knew if it hadn’t been for Spike and his willingness to stand between the shattered girl who’d had to dig her way from her own grave and the rest of the world, she wouldn’t be anywhere near recovered, much less looking forward to the future. A future Spike, of all people, had given her.

There were moments when she could hardly believe all the changes, some of which she wasn’t sure she was prepared to face. Her biggest worry wasn’t the Initiative or the Council. Situations and circumstances would determine the outcome of those confrontations. Riley would either help or he wouldn’t, and Buffy was pretty sure he wasn’t going to help. The Council’s motives were a bit more hidden, though she had a feeling if the commandos jumped the wrong way, the Council would move to protect their own. Or that’s what she hoped would happen. Hard to tell sometimes with the Council.

In typical Buffy fashion, she dismissed both groups.

What worried her – really worried her – was her family. Something was up with Tara, though Spike said it wasn’t anything bad and they’d hear about it when Tara was ready to share. And though Dawn tried so hard to prove to them she was better, Buffy knew differently. Her blue eyes were always shadowed with sadness and she wasn’t doing any of the things Buffy thought she should. It was hard to draw her out of the shell she’d retreated into, though every now and again, there were glimpses of the irrepressible girl Dawn had once been. Buffy could only hope time and love would work in their favor.

Connor, for all the awkwardness and weirdness that surrounded him, seemed to be adjusting well. He was learning how to cope with the incredible strength and agility his parentage had given him. Spike had started training him, and between his attention and Wesley’s, they’d managed to not only get him ready for school, but caught up enough on pop culture that he wouldn’t be an automatic outcast. For once, one of Spike’s weird quirks had reaped a benefit.

Buffy padded barefoot into the kitchen, her attention momentarily diverted from her thoughts by thirst. The teenagers were one thing. Most of the time she could pretend they weren’t really her responsibility, though she knew it wasn’t the truth. They didn’t really need her – not the way the infants would. I don’t know if I can do this.

It was more than a little late to decide that.

Worries that a normal mother faced – fear of giving birth and the pain involved – didn’t even give her pause. Her calling, her Chosen status, added so many complications. While Jenner’s assertion that he’d met Bryn of Rhuddlan and her vampire had set off a round of research, nothing Giles or Wesley uncovered indicated their longevity was more than a fluke, or, at worst, a case of mistaken identity.

Buffy needed something to hold onto, something tangible. Some proof that her expiration date wouldn’t come due in another five years. Neither Spike nor Jenner knew what effect a mating or claiming would have on a Slayer. Kirsten’s daring trip through time had given her some hope. A thin thread, but possibly that thread would be enough to hold onto. It would have to be enough.

Wonder what Mom would say about all this? I know she liked Spike, but would she be all on the bandwagon? Or would she be like Xander and Willow – not with the happy?

Buffy thought about her own babies and a fierce wave of an emotion she couldn’t even describe rose up, almost choking her in its intensity. She realized, after the plastic cup in her hand exploded, that she’d felt this way before. When Glory had Dawn. When Angel had Dawn. A deep, internal growl rumbled through her and Buffy had a feeling this ferocious emotion was a mix of maternal and Slayer and she promised herself – and her babies – that nothing was ever going to hurt them.

And whatever tried would have to go through her first.

Huh.

I guess I am all mom-ready. Who knew?

Suddenly doubt-free, Buffy picked up the splintered plastic, sweeping it easily into the trash.


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


"Rupert Giles?"

The voice was unfamiliar, but given the accent, Giles was more than willing to wager his last measure of scotch the caller was Leslie McKeown.

"Speaking."

"I’ve not much time, in fact our stalling tactics have about run out and time, on your part, is critical."

Glancing up from the book he was reading, Giles motioned Anya to silence. "And?"

"Despite our best efforts, we’ve run out of excuses. The teams are on the runways now, preparing to depart."

Rupert watched Anya flounce away, her indecently short nightgown revealing far too much skin for him to ignore. A slight grin played about his mouth as he recognized the depths she was willing to go to in order to distract him. Belatedly, he realized his caller was waiting for his response and, feeling more annoyed than worried, he gruffly spoke. "We anticipated this. I’m surprised you managed to hold them off as long as you did. Your efforts are greatly appreciated."

The silence lasted for a moment, then, in an unexpected burst of enthusiasm, McKeown burst out, "It’s an honor to help you, sir. Any time, anything you need, sir."

Well, this was unforeseen. "You’ve gone above and beyond, you and your associates. Watch yourself."

"Will do." There was another short pause and just before the connection was severed, the Scot whispered, "Mind your back."

Giles stared at the phone for a moment, contemplating what hadn’t been said. He’d gotten more information than expected and yet it still wasn’t enough. No knowledge of numbers, nor of who led the group, though Giles had his suspicions. Travers wouldn’t dare trust something of this importance to an underling.

No, Quentin Travers would see to this himself. The question was, how would he act?

Or what he would decide when confronted with the reality of life on the Hellmouth.


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



"We gotta stick around." Faith was lying crosswise on the bed, feet in the air, idly watching the television. "B’s gotta be stressing with her old honey back in town."

"Got any ideas what we should be doing?" Jenner leaned against the wall, his attention riveted on Faith’s nearly bare ass. "They want us to lie low and stay under the radar."

She shrugged, throwing a quick glance over her shoulder. "I think they want you to stay outta sight. Riley already knows about me."

“And I’m supposed to care that some covert military operation is hunting demons?” Jenner moved away from the wall, his steps taking him around the room. “I’ve been watching my back for longer than these soldiers have been alive. Combined.” His dismissive shrug was more eloquent than any words he might utter. “They can try all they like.”

“Do I need to remind you these are the same guys that managed to capture Spike?”

“How many of them did it take? Has he told you?”

Faith thought about it for a minute, shaking her head when she couldn’t remember. “Don’t think so.”

“They tasered him. Hit him with at least four or five shots.” He picked up a glass ashtray, idly tossing it into the air. “When he finally woke up, he killed eight of them before they were able to hit him again. I’d wager it wasn’t as simple as those soldiers made it out to be.”

She rolled over, her eyes following the movement of the ashtray. “He never said.”

“He wouldn’t. I doubt even Buffy knows exactly what went on while he was a guest of the military.” He palmed the ashtray, then laid it back down. “Not something an old vampire wants to admit. Humans getting the better of him and then experimenting? Spike doesn’t want anyone to know what really went on.”

“So how come you know?” Faith played with the hem of the long shirt she was wearing, her eyes back on the television.

“I pried it out of him one night, right after he killed Angelus. We were drinking and he was talkative.”

“Damn. You got him to spill on the commando boys?” Faith rolled onto her side, eyeing Jenner as he leaned over the foot of the bed. “Color me impressed.”

His deep chuckle resonated in the room, and he shook his head. “Have you ever seen Spike on a bender?”

“Can’t say that I have. Why?”

Jenner moved around to the side, his cool hand brushing over her bare leg. “Baby, he’s a funny drunk. Giggles, laughter, and you bloody can’t get him to shut up.” His hand met hers at the hem of her long tee-shirt. “Tosser is a complete git when he’s had a snoot full.”

“Snoot? What the hell is a snoot?” Faith idly watched Jenner’s hand slide beneath the tee-shirt, squirming a little at the feel of his calloused fingers tweaking her clit.

“It’s a nose. Thing used to smell with.” He inhaled deeply, his eyes never leaving hers. “Like I’m doing right now. Got a snoot full of your scent, baby, and it’s driving me crazy.”

“Is it?” Faith tried for demure, but knew she was going to miss the mark. Instead she raised her leg, exposing her bare pussy to his gaze. “Do I smell good?”

One thick finger slid inside her. “Good enough to eat.”

Her laugh was husky and dark, filled with desire. “Oh, baby, don’t let me stop you.”

Jenner rolled her onto her back, hands on her inner thighs, holding her open to his intense gaze. “You couldn’t even if you wanted to.”

“Who said I wanted to? You’re right where I want you.” Faith curled one leg over Jenner’s shoulder, directing him toward her pussy. “C’mon. . . what the hell are you waiting for? I thought you said I was good enough to eat.”

“I’m savoring my treat.” He laughed when she kicked his ear. “All right, baby. No need to get nasty.”

He held her down as his tongue searched out her core, his hands cool and strong against her skin. Faith had a moment to think and wonder why he was going so damn slowly and then. . . . she couldn’t think at all.

Could only feel.



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


The ringing of his cell phone distracted Wesley enough that he missed the step and nearly fell on his face. As it was, his tea splattered all over the pavement, splashing onto his shoes and on the hem of his jeans.

"Drat!"

Glancing around quickly to ensure that no one witnessed his graceless behavior or his completely unmanly exclamation, Wesley pulled the phone from his pocket and flipped it open. The call had gone to voicemail, and leaving it for a moment, he opened the Magic Box and turned off the alarm.

Settling himself in for the day, Wesley wiped the moisture from his shoes, grateful for the fact he took the tea without milk or sugar. Once he was organized, he punched in the numbers for his voicemail and listened as his secondary contact in the Council relayed crucial information.

As they’d suspected, Quentin Travers was heading up the expedition to Sunnydale, accompanied by the new Slayer, Kennedy Morganthau, her Watcher, one of the girls he’d gone to the Academy with, and several other senior staffers. What concerned him mostly was the wetworks team. They’d sent only four operatives, which set off internal alarms. Wesley had been certain they’d send more in light of their knowledge of circumstances in Sunnydale.

The fact they’d only assembled the smallest team possible had him warily reaching for the phone. Giles and Spike needed to know this, and he needed to confirm with either McKeown or Nicholson the actual numbers. If the Council had assembled a second team and dispatched them via a different route, it was imperative that they know about it.

Punching in the numbers for McKeown, Wesley formed different scenarios in his head. Giles and Anya weren’t due to arrive for another half hour, and Spike wouldn’t even be awake at this point. He could alert Lawson, who would start the process of alerting the Brachens and other friendly demons, but he wanted to be certain of the Council’s actions before he sounded the red alert. Although it was highly unlikely they hadn’t relaxed their watch, what with a cadre of Initiative soldiers in town.

"Got your message. Need a bit more information, if you’ve got a moment." Wesley didn’t identify himself, nor did McKeown. It would protect both of them a bit longer, should the signals be intercepted. "Have they sent more than one?"

There was a pause while some papers were shuffled on the other end and Wesley held his breath, hoping the news was good. "To your knowledge?"

A muffled answer in the affirmative was all he got before the connection was severed. Wesley moved the phone away from his ear, staring at it for long moments.

Deciding quickly that he’d better at least leave a message for Spike, Wesley nearly jumped out of his skin when a breathless Willow raced into the shop.

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


"Hello, Grace." Buffy held open the front door, letting the brash witch into the house. "Spike’s not up yet."

"It’s after ten, how come you’re letting him sleep?" Not standing on ceremony, Grace trooped into the living room, her boots thumping heavily. "Are you alone?"

"Yup, everyone else is gone." Buffy watched while Grace deposited her big carpetbag on the floor, the contents rattling and thudding heavily.

"Oh, that is not good, girl, and you know that. You’re getting toward the end and you need to have someone nearby at all times." Grace wagged a long, elegant finger in Buffy’s face. "Get that lazy man of yours outta bed."

Before Buffy had a chance to react, Grace was heading for the stairs, her long skirt trailing behind her. "Spike! Spike! Get yo’ sorry ass outta bed!"

She hopped up two steps, yelling at the top of her lungs, and nearly fell backwards when Spike appeared at the top in full game face, growling at her.

"Shut your gob, you evil, wretched bint. ‘M awake."

Grace stared up at him, her heart thumping wildly in her chest. Trying to give herself a moment, she shot a glance at Buffy, who was trying not to giggle, and struggling at the same time to get Spike calm. "Spike?"

When he swung his head to look at her, Buffy motioned to her forehead. "Bumpies."

"Oh. Right." Spike shook off his game face, thumping down the stairs. "Sorry, Gracie."

He didn’t even bother to look sheepish, but Grace considered herself lucky that he hadn’t jumped first and asked questions later. "No problem, Spike. Just lay off the growlies."

After a bit more grousing, from both Grace and Spike, the trio settled down, the two superbeings listening intently to the list of instructions Grace had compiled for them. They were just about to start on the necessary supplies when the house phone rang. Spike got up, leaving the two women alone. He was back in seconds.

"Buffy." He stood in the doorway, his eyes focused on her face. "Council jet took off. Travers himself is comin’ with the new bird." He paused for a moment, letting that news sink in. "Four of the brute squad is comin’."





Sorry for the long delays between updates. Among other things, RL has been a bit hectic. . . but what's worse is, I've allowed a review to get under my skin and it's been adversely affecting my desire to write or finish this story. I'm going to try and get over it. And, if any of you are interested, I have a Faith/Jenner one shot posted on my LJ. Thanks for sticking with me on all this. You are the best readers around. Thanks always. Nia.