I just found out I got nominated for Best Author at Love's Last Glimpse. Whichever one of you lovely readers did that, you have my thanks. I'd love to know who did it. . . . so I can thank you personally.

[A/N: I just want to thank you all for being so patient and for all your lovely reviews. Your kind words mean a lot to me. Okay. So can anyone tell me how come the first thing Angel always does when he goes “bad” or loses his soul he puts on leather pants? Leather pants aren’t necessarily evil. . . . anyway. Another thing is soul-free doesn’t necessarily mean emotionless – it just means (in my opinion) that there is no emotional attachment to any “bad” or “evil” act – no guilt, no remorse, nothing. There might however, be some affection towards others, but that is minor. The title is from Cindy Lauper’s tune (but really, its just a cliche and the lyrics don’t really apply) and the quotes are as attributed. Disclaimers in full force and effect]

Previously: Everyone’s back at Revello Drive, except for Willow. Angelus is on his way to Sunnydale, determined to remove the one obstacle to his soul’s return. . . . this picks up shortly after the last.

Book Two. Chapter 14. True colors

Though I cannot be said to be a flattering honest man,
it must not be denied but I am a plain-dealing villain.
Much Ado About Nothing, act I, sc. iii

the pulse of the hero beats in unison with the pulse of
nature, and he steps to the measure of the universe;
then there is true courage and invincible strength.
Henry David Thoreau, A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers


He decided he was going to keep a running body count. This way he’d know it was a good day by the number of drained humans he left behind. Today was shaping up as a good one – well technically it was night.

Three dead in Los Angeles. Two dead on the highway. And who knew how many more after he got to Sunnydale.

This was fun. The kind of fun he hadn’t had in years. Not even the last time – well Drusilla had been . . . he closed his eyes for a moment, sending a call through the bond. She might recognize it. Hell, she might even come . . . and wouldn’t that be another kick. If she did – if Drusilla did come, he’d be assured of some very fine cocksucking. Not that Drusilla wasn’t a good lay, but her true talents were elsewhere. The best benefit of not having to breathe – hours upon hours of oral sex. And Drusilla was the best – well second best cocksucker he’d ever had the pleasure of being with.

So if Drusilla responded to his Sire’s call, good. Even if she didn’t that was also good. Either way – because once he’d taken care of everything in Sunnydale, he would have all the time in the world to find her.

Teach her not to disobey a Sire’s call. Discipline Daddy’s little girl.

His sneer turned into an outright smug leer.

Oh yeah.

He was looking forward to some discipline. Maybe he’d keep Buffy alive while he disciplined Spike – remind him of some things he’d apparently forgotten.

Flipping the radio stations, Angelus finally found one he liked, singing very badly and uncaring of that, he drove on toward Sunnydale.

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


Leaving everyone in the kitchen, Dawn dragged Casey out onto the back porch, without a word or sparing anyone else a glance.

Plopping down on the top step, Dawn tucked her long legs under and looked up at Casey. Sitting down next to her, he stole a glance from the corner of his eye. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” The tone of her voice made that statement the lie that it was.

“I was worried, you know. Called you earlier and no one answered” he shrugged a bit, playing with the frayed knee of his jeans.

“We had to go out for a bit. Had to get stuff.” Thinking quickly, she said, “Wesley’s place was destroyed in a fire last night and his, well, everything is gone.”

“That sucks.” Casey leaned back, resting his weight on his elbows. “How’s Spike?”

He’d thought it was a simple question, but instead of answering, Dawn just started quietly crying all over again. ‘Dawn? I’m sorry. What happened? Hey c’mon. He’s okay, right?”

Dawn couldn’t answer him. She was trying so hard not to cry that the tears just kept falling.

“Dawn? Is he gonna be okay?” Casey was really concerned now, so he leaned up and touched her back.

And she crumpled, resting her head against him, her hands fisted awkwardly against his stomach. “He’s my . . . like my father, you know, my big brother and he’s like . . . he’s . . . He’s the strongest person I’ve ever known and the stupidest and he could’ve gotten killed last night and he was trying to protect me and . . he’s a jerk, you know?” Taking a hiccupping breath, she went on, “he’s Spike, you know, he’d do anything to keep me safe and those wa. . wankers that hurt him should die and they should all just freaking die.”

Casey put his arm around her shoulder, just holding her, listening to her until she finally couldn’t talk any more.

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

He wasn’t really awake, more like drifting in a haze, especially since Wesley had come in and taken the sprog. At least he thought it was Oxford. Could’ve been his brother Gordon. . . no, Gordie died when he was eight, wasn’t him. . . Wasn’t Ripper. . . Spike knew his brain was fried. Morphine was great. . . . bloody great good stuff for pain. Itchy no more. Some stupid tune was running through his brain and he couldn’t remember the damn words. Where’s Buffy? Didn’t like letting her out of his sight, not since she’d come back. . . his girl wasn’t gonna get hurt again, not ever. Sunshine she was, light in his dark . . given m’everythin’. Love her. Can’t get that damn song outta m’head. Bloody tune.

Humming only slightly off key, Spike thought he was dreaming when he heard her voice calling his name. “Buffy . . . my Buffy” he chuckled, imagining she was kneeling on the bed, her hands smoothing the sheet and pulling up the . . . . hey. “Buffy? Not dreamin’ am I?”

She giggled a bit. His ramblings were actually cute and she wondered if she should tell him that he’d said all of that out loud, including the bit about his brother. “No Spike, you aren’t dreaming, but it’s a good thing for you all those thoughts were about me.”

“Love you kitten.” His words were drawled, each one drawn and husky, sending shivers down her spine. “F’r’ever. Always. ‘Til we’re ol’ and gray.”

Despite his almost drunken state, Buffy knew he hadn’t meant that to be cruel. “We aren’t gonna get old. You won’t age and I’ve got an early expiration date.”

“Nope. Not gonna let you go alone. You go, I go. Pair. Mates. F’rever.” He pulled her close, his arm lacking its usual strength. “Love you kitten. Gonna grow old. . . figger it out. Love you.”

She found herself listening more to the sound of his voice than his words, but somewhere in the back of her mind, Buffy heard them. And as crazy as it sounded, she believed him. He’d come up with some crazy, insane, hair-brained idea and somehow he’d make it work. Her head was against his chest, her face in the hollow of his throat, his arm clamped around her body. She kissed his skin and Spike felt the ripples warming hm.

That damn tune was back in his head and he couldn’t help humming it.

“Spike? Do you realize you are humming Patsy Cline?” He could feel Buffy’s smile against his skin and he didn’t care what caused it.

“‘S a good song.” He didn’t care, it was just the damn thing was in his head and he couldn’t shake it. “Heard her sing it once, jus’ b’fore she died. Nice voice.”

They lapsed into silence, the only sounds drifting up from downstairs and the muted voices from everyone in the house. Everything was hushed, the October breeze ruffling the curtains on the open windows and the moonlight just starting to spill in through the glass. Her arm curled up around his shoulder, the other one resting against his injured right arm, her hand worming its way underneath his shoulder almost of its own volition. Spike’s good hand began running up and down her back, his fingers sometimes getting caught in loose tangles of her hair.

There hadn’t been many moments like this in her life, where she was just content to sit still and be – there’d always been something else to cause a distraction, some other thing needin her immediate attention. Even with Riley, she hadn’t been able to really relax, to trust in what they had enough to just let go. Come to think of it, had she ever really trusted Riley? Not the same way she trusted Spike. Because despite all the good things, Riley had done some really, really bad and hurtful things to her – in fact, their whole relationship had started out with lies, on both their parts, but she wasn’t supposed to tell people about being the Slayer. The cheating on her didn’t help Riley’s cause either. Sleeping with Faith while they’d been body swapped – that was so not good that, even now, almost two years later, it still hurt. The vamp whores? No . . that was not good either. That was so far from good it was in another country. And the bit with him blaming her for going to the whores? She wasn’t quite sure how that worked, because in her mind, it had still been cheating. You don’t cheat on your partner, you either split or you work things out.

Spike was humming again. She wasn’t sure this time what the song was, because she didn’t recognize the melody at all, but apparently it was one he remembered. His chest was rising and falling again in time with her own breathing. She wondered if he knew he did that or if it was just his body’s unconscious way of adjusting to the closest person. She kind of liked the idea of him breathing in time with her, no matter who else was in the room, made them more . . . joined. Or something like that.

Somehow the universe was playing a huge joke on her because the truly evil vampire, the one without a soul, the self-professed Big Bad, was the only guy she’d ever been round who hadn’t lied to her. Not once. Not ever. Even Giles had lied to her. And Xander’s lies? She could write at least a chapter on Xander’s lies - starting with the little forgotten moment when he’d tried to rape her, and then lied about not remembering it.

The man lying in bed with her had not ever lied to her. He’d been threatening, angry, violent, but never ever had he lied to her about anything. Not his intentions, his plans or his feelings. He valued honesty, which was just even more ironic, because demons weren’t big on truthfulness. Most of them anyway.

His eyes were closed and he was just lying there, enjoying the peace and quiet. There was no one that mattered but the two of them and he didn’t care what else was about to happen. What was coming for . . . he felt it. . . that unconscious instinctive call, the one sent out through the blood line. Fuck. Angelus. He hadn’t forgotten, but in light of his own situation, he’d pushed the issue of Angelus aside. Bloody bastard comin’ here. He didn’t want to do this, didn’t want to disturb the peace. . . “kitten? He’s headin’ this way. Comin’ for us.”

A heavy breath blew across his neck, warming him yet chilling him at the same time. ‘Sort of knew that. Figured he’d take out his people first.”

“No, sweetheart. He’s on his way now. Need to get Oxford and Glinda up here. Need to talk about this.” Spike drifted for a long moment, long enough for her to think he’d fallen asleep, so his voice startled her, “should get the bot out patrolin’. Maybe the whelp can go w’it.”

Buffy laid there for a few more minutes to see if he was going to say anything else and when he stayed silent, she asked very quietly, very strongly, “how much would you have to take to be up and around?”

He knew damn well what she meant and he didn’t want to get into this now. Not tonight. Not again. He should have known this wasn’t settled. “Too much. Don’ ask me again.”

Oh he was angry. She could feel it. His entire body had tensed up and she could see his jaw clenching and unclenching as he held his temper in check. Getting up from her spot, Buffy placed her hands on either side of his head, staring down at his face, noting the softness of his gaze as he looked up at her. “Spike. I . . don’t want anyone else with me for this. You and I can do this together, he’s not strong enough to take both of us. . . and he’s alone, right? No one’s with him. . . “

“Near as I can tell. He” and he hesitated a bit, reluctant to admit to her that he could feel this, “used the Sire bond callin’ to Dru, but he’s the oldest of the line. . . we all feel it.”

Another deep breath blew against him “Right then. So he’s alone.” Thinking a minute or two, she tried to remember everything about Angelus. “He won’t come for us right away – he’ll try to pick us off one by one right?”

“Yeah. No one goes out near dark alone. No one.” Thinking hard, Spike said, “rather you keep Niblet home, not let her out a’all.”

“Good idea.” Then in a rush, “how. . . if you drink again tonight and again all day tomorrow – how soon will you be up?”

“Will you not let this go?” God she was a stubborn bitch.

“No. I’m not going to until you give me a better answer.” She got that look in her eye he hated, that Slayer bitch on wheels look, the one that made him want to slug her.

Closing his eyes and praying for patience, Spike ground out, “three more good feedings, or so. Not much more than that, all right? Happy now?”

Her left hand cupped his cheek. “Look at me, Spike, please?” Her thumb brushed over his lips, tracing the lines, her eyes searching his face. “Spike. . . Slayer here, remember? I’ll be fine. I need you to be fine also.”

“Buffy. We have time to wait. He won’t come except to taunt us, at least not right away. We’ve got time for me to rest a bit.” Thinking a second, he said, “m’promise, kitten, he wants us scared enough to make mistakes. ‘M not making any.”

His good hand brushed away a tear and he pulled her down to his lips. “Love you. Now go get Oxford and Glinda.”


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

Anya had Connor now, his head resting on her shoulder, while Tara made the final preparations for dinner. Wesley was questioning Xander on what he remembered of Angelus last time, while Oz listened, sometimes adding his own comments.

Deciding not to wait for Buffy to come downstairs, Tara set out plates and transferred full bowls to the counter. Sticking her head out the door, she realized Dawn was crying and Casey was a bit overwhelmed.

“Dawnie?”

“Hey” the younger girl wiped her eyes and pulled herself away from Casey. “Sorry. Guess I’m tired and . . sorry Case.”

Smiling at her shyly, he said, “I’d be a really crappy boyfriend if I complained. Don’t worry about it.”

Dawn ducked her head, a blush spreading across her face.

Tara found herself smiling at the two of them. “Dinner’s ready, you’re welcome to stay, Casey.”

“Thanks. That’s cool.”

Giving them a few minutes, she slipped back inside, to find everyone eating, including Buffy, who was trying to talk and eat at the same time. “No one goes out alone, unless its broad daylight. If its close, we travel in pairs. We need to come up with some kind of survival . . self-defense thing so that if he does get one of us, we can get away.”

“You mean like crosses and holy water?”

“Yes Anya, that’s exactly what I mean.”

“Emergency kits. And we all have cellphones, right?” Buffy was gesturing with her fork, trying to eat as fast as possible.

“I want one of these. This is wonderful.” Anya looked at Xander. “Can we have one please?”

“One what?” Xander was suddenly very afraid of what she was going to ask for.

“A baby. I want babies Xander. Can we have one now?”

A very pained look crossed his features, something akin to a grimace and embarrassment. “Can we not talk about this?” He threw a quick look around the room, but no one was actually willing to meet his eyes.

“Why? Why can’t we talk about this?” Anya was at a loss. What was wrong about talking about having babies?

“The timing isn’t right, Ahn. Maybe we could talk about this later, after we get home, okay?” He was desperately trying to change the subject, anything to get away from this topic.

“Fine Xander Harris, you always want to talk about things later. What about when I want to talk about things? Does it matter to you that I want to talk about this now? Or that I want to talk about this in front of Buffy?” Anya bristled when he tried shushing her, moving away from his gesturing hands.

Xander took hold of her arm and Anya pulled away from him, misjudging the strength of his grip and she teetered off-balance, trying not to lose the baby or fall at the same time, and she was in real danger of falling hard when Wesley reached out a hand, bracing her against him.

“Xander!? What are you doing?” Everyone stared at him, while Anya got her bearings back, trying to comfort the scared and crying baby. “What is wrong with you? Can’t you see I had the baby?”

Anya moved away from Wesley, thanked him for helping her, then purposely turned her back on Xander and went into the living room to sit down. Her legs were shaking badly and she couldn’t get a deep breath. What just happened had scared her, badly. She needed to do some thinking.

The other four adults shared a look over Xander’s bowed head, none of them willing to comment too closely on what had just happened.

“I didn’t mean to grab at her.” His low voiced comment elicited no response, because not a one of them could really believe what they’d just witnessed. It had looked, from almost every view, like Xander was going to shake Anya, whether she had the baby in her arms or not. And that was not good.

There was a long painful silence in the kitchen, when finally Buffy said, “Tara? Wes? Spike wants to talk to you both. When you’re done eating maybe you should come upstairs.”

Dumping what was left on her plate into the garbage, Buffy left the kitchen to go back up to her bedroom, more than Angelus on her mind now.

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


She never shuts up. Always talking about things at the worse possible times. Why does she always have to bring up our relationship when everyone’s around? Xander stared at his hands as they flexed against the counter. Sometimes he wished she’d just keep her mouth shut. What the hell did she want to have a baby for? He was only twenty-one, he wasn’t ready for any of this – a girlfriend, yeah – full time sex, yeah – fiancee, he wasn’t so sure, but, well, he’d already asked her, but that didn’t mean they had to get married right away – they could have a long engagement, really long. But babies? Nahuh.

And why the hell was she cuddling that demon brat anyway? Kid shouldn’t even ben possible, and now Buffy could – the same thing could happen to her. How disgusting was that? And why would she want to? Xander figured that was probably the worst thing she could do.

Buffy wasn’t like that. All this Spike stuff, he couldn’t – refused to think of it as love – had to be the result of some side effect of the spell Willow had done to bring her back. Couldn’t be because she actually liked him or anything. So when the after effects wear off, she’ll toss Spike out on his ass and the worthless blood-sucking bastard will leave. And that’s good.

Firmly convinced once more that all this was going to end soon, Xander apologized to the other two adults. None of them, not even Xander himself, was really sure what he was apologizing for.


Okay, lemme know what you think about this one, becuase it nearly got completely scrapped.

Previously: Angelus is on his way to Sunnydale, searching for the one person he thinks is capable of restoring his soul. Spike is getting better after taking blood from Buffy and everyone is just in a sort of holding pattern. This picks up immediately after the last installment.

Book Two, chapter 15. A hard day’s night.


O that a man might know
the end of this day’s business ere it comes!
Julius Caesar, act v, sc. i

This day I breathed first – time is come round,
and where I did begin, there shall I end.
My life is run his compass
Julius Caesar, act v, sc. iii



Spike was sitting up in bed, his injured right arm propped up on a pillow, Buffy on the bed next to him, their heads close together, voices low and muted. She’d left the door open partially, but Wesley knocked anyway, pushing it open further when Buffy responded, then stepped aside to allow Tara entry.

“Oxford.” Spike looked up at his fellow Englishman, noting the bloodshot eyes and fatigue. “Glinda. Where’s the wolf?”

“Went home to get some sleep” was Tara’s soft spoken answer.

“How are you feeling?” Wesley took catalog of the visible injuries. This did not bode well. But it was encouraging that he was up and talking.

“Been better.” Tara came round to the far side of the bed, looking closely at his swollen face. Smiling at Buffy, she glanced at Spike, asking, “may I?”

Cocking his head to the side, the vampire looked at the witch, “gonna work some good mojo?”

Shaking her head yes, Tara motioned for him to lean forward into her hands. Muttering a soft incantation, Tara’s hands warmed considerably, the heat passing into Spike’s skin. The bruises around his eyes faded to yellow and those on his chest lightened considerably. Taking a step back, she smiled again. “I’ll do it again in the morning.”

Spike smiled in response, gratitude evident despite the pain.

Motioning her to the chair, Wesley leaned against the crib, remarking, “you sure this is the best place for the baby? You need your rest.”

“Should be up an’ around this time tomorrow. Won’t be completely healed, but I’ll be on m’feet.” The blond pair on the bed studiously avoided looking at each other and both were surprised by Wesley’s next words. “So I can assume Buffy’s blood is helping greatly then?”

Two pairs of glittering eyes stared at him, but Wesley was already gesturing at them, “relax. I meant no censure. It was merely a statement of facts. You had to have some thing more potent than regular human blood. Given your relationship, to find otherwise would have been more of a surprise.”

Spike’s low growl sounded in the room, prompting Wesley to once more apologize. “I’m very sorry. Watcher training is sometimes hard to overcome.”

Laying a hand on Spike’s arm, Buffy said, “its still kind of private for us. Not everyone would be so practical or so non-judgy.”

And that was a nice way of saying that most of her friends wouldn’t approve if they knew.

“Right then. I’m sure this isn’t why you wanted us up here. My guess is Angelus?”

“Yeah. Last time he got all stalker-guy. Got into my room. Left creepy hand-drawn pictures of me sleeping and lots of other stuff – dead flowers – he killed Willow’s fish . . . “ Buffy ran through the list of his actions in her head, ‘things kept getting scarier and scarier and he tried to kidnap Mom. But then he killed Jenny and well, this part wasn’t real but we all remember it that way – he took Dawn, but Spike brought her back, before he could get to her.”

“He was busy tendin’ to Rupert. Was savin’ the bit for after.” Spike waited for a minute,
“point is, he’s not comin’ the way I would – he’s gonna try an’ pick us off one at a time.”

Wesley interrupted, “any idea which of us might be first on his list?”

Reaching over to clasp Buffy’s hand, Spike thought for a moment. “No way of knowin’. What’s more important, he need to decide about restorin’ the soul.” He knew he didn’t care one way or the other, save that dusting Angelus left him as the head of the Aurelius line, Spike knew it mattered to Buffy and possibly Angel’s crew.

Picking at some imaginary lint on her jeans, Tara added, “I don’t have the spell, Willow does. I could ask her but I’m not sure she’d give it to me. We might have to find it ourselves.”

“Its too early to call Giles, to see if he can get anything out of the library that might be helpful.” Wesley double checked his watch, mentally calculating the time difference. “But he’ll be up in a couple of hours, I’ll call him before I retire for the night.”

“What about minions?” Buffy asked but Spike was shaking his head.

“Doubt it. He did it last time an’ all he got was trouble from them. He’s too long away from runnin’ a nest for it. It’d be easier to do what he’s already done.”

“What’s that?” Wesley had his hands stuffed into his jeans pockets, trying hard to keep his eyes open. He was suddenly exhausted.

Spike sighed, reluctance a clear emotion. “Used the Sire’s bond, an’ seein’ how he’s the head of the blood line, we all felt it.”

That woke him up. “So you’re telling us that Sunnydale is about to be over-run with Aurelian vampires? And you aren’t fit to fight?”

“Easy Oxford. Nearest Aurelian is me, an’ I’m not answerin’ any call Peaches sends out. Now or ever. ‘Side from me, Dru was in Brazil, Penn’s dead and there’s a few others, but it’ll take time before anyone gets here. Don’t imagine that we’re gonna have to worry ‘bout the others before, well, at least a week.”

Tara gripped the chair arms. “So we have a little than a week before Angel starts – what about the Huntsman?”

Blowing out a breath, Buffy said, “with any kind of luck, he’ll get what he’s here for and leave.”

Wesley shared a look with Spike. “That’s one of the things Rupert’s gong to London for, to find information about the Huntsman. Hopefully his research will support my theory.”

“What’s that?”

“That the Huntsman won’t leave until the traitor is judged.”

“The traitor?” An unbidden image of Willow flashed in Buffy’s brain and unknowingly it also surfaced in other’s heads.

“Once the traitor begins to . . the process of betrayal, the Huntsman usually appears, and when the final act of betrayal is complete, traditionally that’s when the Huntsman strikes. The hounds retrieve the traitor, and they go before Gwyn ap Nudd for judgment.

“So your theory is that the Huntsman is here to actually do some good? What about all those dead girls?” Buffy’s voice held a bit of disbelief, but it was clearly more of a procedure than real.

“That, I believe, was in response, in payment for releasing you from heaven.”


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

Cordelia was more than halfway to San Francisco when she abruptly changed her mind about her destination. Checking her rearview mirror, she made a quick u-turn and headed back toward Los Angeles. If she was going to hide out and be inconspicuous, she was going to do it in a warmer spot than northern California. San Diego was good. Tijuana might be better.

Either way, she was guaranteed more sunlight than San Francisco would provide and right now, sunlight was her new best friend. Glancing down at the gas gauge, Cordy figured she’d stop for the night at the next exit. There was no way anyone would find her there.


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

The kitchen was empty when they finally headed inside, dirty dishes piled in the sink and food warming on the stove. Dawn could hear the low murmur of voices in the living room, but she couldn’t tell who was in there.

Grabbing a plate, she motioned for Casey to get one, then started piling spaghetti on her plate. She was really hungry and the events of the last twenty-four hours and the emotional roller-coaster were beginning to tell on her. She was tired. Really tired.

They had just sat down at the counter when Anya strode into the kitchen. The baby was mewling loudly, his I’m-hungry-feed-me-now cry piercing the silence. “I don’t know what to do for him. He just started crying.”

Before Dawn could answer, footsteps pounded on the stairs and Buffy’s rapid words were countered by Tara’s slower drawl. “So that worked well didn’t it? Way better than one of those baby intercom thingies.”

‘Well, I forgot I had it in place. But yeah,” and Tara’s proud smile lit up the room, “its pretty cool. It was only on an emergency basis though. Should wear off sometime tomorrow.”

“Hey. How’s the hungry boy?” Tara smiled at Anya, motioning for the baby, which the ex-demon reluctantly relinquished, despite his wails of hunger.

Anya watched Buffy and Tara, one holding the baby and the other getting his bottle ready and uncaring of the two teens in the room, burst into tears. Grabbing the sponge, Anya did what she always did when she was upset, she cleaned.

Unsure of how to approach her, but knowing somehow that Anya needed to talk and figuring that she desperately needed a friend, Buffy motioned the two teens inside. “Anya?” The slayer stood at her side, while Tara stuck her pinky in the baby’s mouth trying to calm him a little while they waited for his bottle to heat.

“I just don’t understand, how come its not okay to talk about things when other people are around? How come? Is it wrong? Am I thinking incorrectly?” She wiped away a tear, leaving a streak of foamy bubbles across her face, “and why would that make him angry enough to do that?”

Neither of the other two had an answer, but at this moment Anya wasn’t really looking for one. “Babies are cute and warm and fuzzy and cuddly and holding them is wonderful and sometimes they smell so sweet and what is there not to like?”

Tara grabbed the bottle from the pot, testing it against her wrist, then stuck the nipple into Connor’s mouth, which gave her enough time to come up with “I think men don’t feel the way we do about babies – or at least some women do.”

“I’m not even sure I want to marry that man right now. He asked me you know.” She blew out a breath, disturbing an errant curl that was drooping across one eye. “He even got me a ring, but I just don’t know.”

Buffy finally found her voice. “Xander asked you to marry him?” She paused, thinking hard, “when? How come you didn’t say anything?”

Anya huffed again, blowing out another breath hard enough to disturb the mound of soap suds in the sink. “He asked me the night we,” she paused, avoiding Buffy’s suddenly earnest gaze, ‘the night we fought Glory.”

“Oh” Buffy’s face fell a bit, but she recovered quickly, “still, this is happy news, right?”

Anya’s voice dropped to a near whisper. “I don’t know anymore. I’m just not sure.”


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

The clarion of alarm echoed in their room, startling them all. Spike’s “what the bloody hell?” Was drowned out only by Buffy’s unintelligent yowl.

Tara waved a hand and the noise stopped. Sheepishly she apologized, “sorry. I did that last night for the baby. Its supposed to sound when he’s in a different room from me and crying. He’s probably hungry.”

Buffy got up from the bed, saying, “well let’s go get him,” and turning back to Spike, “you want more blood now?”

Thinking to himself for a minute, realizing the more he drank now, even regular stuff, the quicker he’d heal, Spike said, “yeah, please, kitten.”

“Back in a bit.”

The girls were out the door and halfway down the stairs, voices trailing behind them before either Brit realized it.

“I would have thought Buffy had no interest in children.” Wesley’s dry observation pulled Spike’s attention away from contemplating his blanket and his thoughts.

“Tha’s an infant. Bit different from children. Babies, all females go crazy over ‘em.” Spike’s assessment was nearly as dry as Wesley’s had been.

Wesley shifted, taking the chair Tara had just vacated. He was rather reluctant to broach this subject, but he’d come to think that he and Spike had something of a friendship and he felt compelled to discuss some things with him. But he really didn’t want to disturb his recovery.

Spike, for his part, was watching Wesley, waiting for him to spill whatever it was that had him looking so sour. He was about to prod him a bit when Wesley broke his silence.

“I owe you an apology Spike.”

A furrowed brow, oddly reminiscent of Spike’s vampiric guise met his words. “How so?”

“Bringing Angel’s son here. It was wrong of me, I shouldn’t have.”

His further comments were cut off when Spike interrupted him, “what’re you on about? Couldn’t rightly go elsewhere could you?”

He gaped at the blond for a second, then recovered, “bringing the child of Buffy’s former boyfriend isn’t exactly good form.”

A rather inelegant snort sounded in the air. “You git.” He softened the insult with a laugh. “Thinking wrongly on that one. ‘S not a problem. But thanks for the apology. ‘S not many that would.”

Before Wesley could get on that subject, Spike continued, “sides, where else were you thinkin’ of goin’? You know a whole lot of people with enough knowledge of Peaches to keep the sprog safe?”

Gazing at the other man and completely surprising himself in the process as well, Spike said, “did the right thing, Oxford. Can’t have Angelus killin’ his own flesh an’ blood. Killin’ demons is different, vamps are different – that sprog’s a bloody miracle. Shouldn’t die because his da is wrong in the head.”

Staring at him and trying to process what Spike had just said, Wesley was forced to a realization that both Buffy and Giles had already had to acknowledge. William the Bloody was far from the average vampire.

His mouth was open and the words flowing out in an uncharacteristic moment, long before he could take them back, “that’s not the chip is it? That’s. . . You don’t think Angel would come after the boy? “

“‘S not what I said.” He stretched his legs for a moment, testing the healing, “he’ll come after the boy. He’ll come after all of us. ‘M probably first or second on his list, tied up with the slayer. Jus’ dunno which of us he’s gonna come for first.”

Wesley steepled his fingers, thinking deeply. “You have ideas who else will be a target?”
“You. The sprog. Niblet. An’ then there’s the extras, ones he’s not lookin’ for specifically, but wouldn’t mind takin’ jus’ to worry the rest of us, make us scramble tryin’ to rescue whoever it was.”

‘Add Cordelia to that list. And probably Fred.” At Spike’s quizzical look, Wesley explained, “Winifred Burkle, we rescued her from Pylea when Cordelia got trapped there. She’s been with us ever since.”

“Didn’t know the cheerleader was that important to him.” Spike shifted on the bed, his muscles jumping and flexing from the healing and his arm was itching badly again. Obviously the morphine was wearing off. Might need more if he was going to try and sleep tonight. He was tired and nearly every inch of him hurt. Tara’s touch had helped some and he thought the swelling was down, but the dull ache in his head was back, his right arm was actually jumping, the muscles were anyway, his back ached and his chest was itchier than all hell and his legs kept cramping on him. This was a bitch, the side effect of rapid healing was the internal violence with which it occurred. There was no bloody way he was going to get through the next twelve hours without nearly all the morphine.

“Oxford, have Buffy bring up the morphine, would you?”

Wesley studied him for a moment, noting the drawn and exhausted look, the grey tinge to Spike’s normal pallor and the lines of fatigue bracketing around his mouth, realizing what he was seeing.

“Right. I’ll send her up and get everyone else settled as you said, this can wait a bit. Besides Angelus can’t get in here, so we are safe for the moment.”

Spike closed his eyes, clenching his teeth against the pain blossoming in his head after Wesley left the room.

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

He passed the State Highway patrol officer doing eighty-five just before the Sunnydale exit. For half a mile he ignored the lights and sirens, but he finally stopped at the off-ramp. Wasn’t like he cared much, but he really didn’t want a passing motorist calling in a complaint about a dead CHP officer on the side of the road. Because that would mean he’d have to ditch the Viper. And he really liked this car.

Angel waited until the cop leaned down to ask for his license and registration and then struck with cobra swiftness. His fangs were in the cop’s neck before he finished speaking and the taste of anger and authority was so delicious, he was drained and dumped in short order.

He rolled into Sunnydale just after nine, according to the Viper’s clock, time enough to establish his presence, let people know he was here.

Angel grinned, slowly driving through the streets of this sleepy little town. Sleepy. Hah. Pulling into the driveway of the old mansion on Crawfurd street, Angel grinned once more. He really did like this place. Liked its proximity to – well – the hellmouth, and the Slayer and. . . . well, everything.

Whistling tonelessly Angel sauntered to the doorway.

Oh yeah it was good to be home.

Grinning broadly, almost laughing in anticipation, Angel crossed over the threshold and howled with pleasure.



Okay, unlike that last chapter, this one I actually liked, but that means probably no one else will. In any case, if you like it or hate it, please let me know. Coz, I'm really not sure.

[A/N: Sometimes inspiration won’t come at all which makes trying to write frustrating beyond belief. I’ve been going through something of a dry spell coupled with lots of residual pain from my dislocated shoulder (which makes typing problematic). Perhaps I just need to watch certain episodes of the show all over again and get aggravated with the writing and dangling plot threads . . . . yeah, and chalk it up as research. Anyway, I’m struggling a bit here, so any thoughts (kind hopefully) you can send my way would be greatly appreciated. The title is from Phil Collins from the album Face Value and the quotes are as attributed. Disclaimers in full force and effect. I own nothing but the plot and a few minor original characters.]

Previously: Spike is recovery not nearly fast enough to please Buffy and everyone else is waiting to see what happens. Angelus has arrived in Sunnydale.

Book Two. Chapter 16. Coming in the air tonight.

I’ve seen your face before my friend
but I don’t know if you know who I am
well, I was there and I saw what you did
I saw it with my own two eyes
so you can wipe off that grin,
I know where you’ve been
its all been a pack of lies.
Phil Collins, In the Air Tonight




It hadn’t taken very long for everyone to settle down once those not living at Revello Drive departed. Dawn was the first one to go to bed, aside from Spike, who’d never left his, since she was practically asleep on her feet by the time Casey left with Xander and Anya. The conversation had been guarded around the teen, but he knew something was wrong, since Xander insisted on driving him home, even though his house was in the opposite direction from their apartment.

Dawn was followed rapidly by Tara, who first got bottles ready for middle of the night feedings and brought the baby upstairs, settling him in Buffy and Spike’s room. Wesley had tried staying up, guarding the house, but by eleven o’clock, he was sitting on the couch, fast asleep. The first time Buffy had to go downstairs to get a bottle for the baby, she’d tried waking him up, but when he didn’t budge, she just took a throw blanket and covered him.

Everyone was out cold when she woke the second time, the house still and silent. She could hear various snoring sounds coming from Dawn’s room on her way down the stairs and it brought a smile to her face. She didn’t blame Dawn for any of what had happened, because, really, none of it was her fault. She laid the blame squarely on the shoulders of all those nameless, faceless monks that had conspired in some way to bring all of this about. If not for them and Glory, she wouldn’t have had to jump. But she also wouldn’t have Dawn. It was kind of a tough call there. She wouldn’t trade her sister for anything and really if she had to do it all over again, she probably would have done it . . . . well, no, might not have done everything the same. Would’ve trusted Spike a little bit more. Might not have reacted so bitchily if she knew then . . . And so would have dumped Riley sooner.

Buffy giggled a little bit, the sound strangely muffled in the quiet house, listening to Wesley shift and mutter in his uncomfortable sleep. This was her favorite time of night, when everyone else was asleep and the night’s patrol was over. Glancing at the clock she realized it was close to three and it was about the time she and Spike had been getting back home after patrol lately. He’d roused a little bit when the baby woke up crying, though still groggy from the effects of an entire bag of morphine, and Buffy figured she’d warm him up some blood and make him drink while she fed the baby.

She was standing in the kitchen, watching the microwave heat up Spike’s blood and keeping an eye on the bottle on the stove, when the first tingles of awareness shot through her spine. Her back stiffened, the hackles on her neck rising, but she gave no outward indication that she was able to sense anything different. Buffy was certain he couldn’t get in the house, since the disinvite had been done earlier and she was also fairly certain that even if he somehow managed to get an invite, he couldn’t do any violence. It didn’t help her nerves though. She was the only one awake, and the only one strong enough to take him on.

The microwave pinged, drawing her attention, and in that moment, she had something of a plan forming in the back of her mind. She grabbed both the mug and bottle, wandering sleeping back into the living room. Checking the big picture window, Buffy didn’t see anything, but the feeling didn’t dissipate any. Mug and bottle got placed very carefully on the table next to Wesley’s sleeping form, as she leaned over close to his ear. “Wesley. Wake up. We have company.”

He didn’t stir the first time, but when she whispered in his ear the second time, Wesley slowly opened his eyes, whispered just as softly back, “he can’t get in the house.”

“I know that. I think he’s circling the house trying to figure out how many of us are here.”

“You aren’t thinking of going out there are you?’ When she didn’t answer, he grabbed her wrist, holding on as forcefully as he could. “Buffy, you can’t. Its not safe.”

“No, I know that Wes. I just want to see if I can figure out what he’s doing.” There was the creak of a floorboard from behind them, and they both whirled around, but it was just Tara, silently making her way toward them.

“He’s outside. Just got here,” was what she said by way of greeting. At Buffy’s questioning look, she explained, “sort of like what I did with the baby, only geared for him. Lets me know when he’s nearby. It just woke me up.”

“How come we didn’t hear anything?” Buffy had grabbed the taller girl’s hand, pulling her down to crouch beside them.

“For me only, remember?” Tara’s hair fell in front of her face and she brushed it aside. “So now what do we do?”

“Can you pinpoint where he is from the alarm?” She felt rather than saw Tara’s response of no. Buffy kept her eyes on the front window, while Tara focused on the back door. Motioning Wesley with her hand, Buffy got down on her knees, skittering to the front door. A low growl sounded from the second floor and all three of them scrambled for the stairs. Running full out now, Buffy crouched low before entering her bedroom, wary of what might greet her on arrival. She was not prepared for what she saw.

Standing on wavering feet, Spike was in game face, the baby cradled in his injured right arm, a cocked crossbow in his left. The bow was aimed at the window. She was aware of Wesley behind her. Tara was still racing up the steps. Cautiously she inched around the doorway, still crouched low to the ground. Careful to stay out of the line of fire, Buffy edged closer to Spike. Once inside the room, Buffy could see what had gotten Spike up and out of bed, not that she needed visual confirmation. Angel was standing outside their window with a wide leering grin on his features.

Her breathing sounded very loud in her own ears and she could clearly hear the sounds of the two breathing deeply behind her. Spike’s voice was just a rumble in the air, his “stay down,” unnecessary but it managed to calm her. Okay. First thing. . . Get the baby.

She was about to open her mouth to tell Spike she was coming to get the baby, when Tara’s softly hissed “Spike” got their attention.

Without waiting to worry about whether they were listening or not, Tara continued to whisper. “Just get the quilt off the bed Buffy and be ready to cover Spike.”

Only Spike questioned the instruction, Buffy already moving away from the wall toward their bed. “What are you plannin’?”

“When I say so, just drop down, okay?” He had no idea what the hell she was thinking, but it damn well better be good.

“Buffy?”

“Yeah. Got it.”

“Okay.” She paused, whispering something in Wesley’s ear and then, “go!”

Wesley walked boldly into the bedroom, drawing Angel’s attention away from Spike, and Tara stood behind Wesley, muttering an incantation, while Spike collapsed to his knees and Buffy swirled the quilt over him and the baby, a bright blinding light filling the bedroom.

Angel howled in anger, his hands coming up to shield his eyes and he stepped back away from the light, falling off the small piece of roof outside the window.

There was complete quiet in the room, then, “oh my god. Oh my god. Spike? Spike? Are you okay? Oh my god. Grab the baby.”

Tara dropped to her knees, speaking the words to end the incantation, then moving quickly to get Connor and Spike out from under the quilt. Wesley double checked the window, making sure it was locked and secured, then as he stepped away, he said to Buffy, “I’m going to make sure everything is secure in the rest of the house.”

Before either of the girls could respond, he was making his way methodically through the house, starting with Buffy’s bathroom.

Spike had passed out, still holding the squirming infant against his side. Tears were filling Buffy’s eyes and she passed the baby to Tara, trying to re-arrange Spike’s sprawled limbs until they were aligned straight enough for her to lift him back into the bed. The baby continued to cry and Buffy finally remembered what had woken her up. “I left his bottle downstairs and blood for Spike.”

“I’ll get them both. Is he okay?” Tara was on her feet, preparing to head downstairs when Buffy hauled Spike up in her arms.

“Oof. He’s heavy.” Drooping him on the mattress, Buffy grabbed hold of his good arm and pulled him toward the head of the bed. “Yeah, just too much for him I guess.”

Tara nodded heading out of the room. Encountering Wesley in the hallway, he accompanied her down to the first floor. By unspoken agreement, they retrieved the bottle and mug and headed right back up the stairs to Buffy and Spike’s room.


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

So that’s where they were. Wesley had acted quicker than he expected. How very smart of the ex-watcher – running to the Slayer for protection. And wasn’t that a nice surprise.

What he didn’t like at all was the witch. He hadn’t been prepared for that occurring, using a bright sunlight spell to temporarily incapacitate him.

The traitor.

His signature was all over the house, on the grounds surrounding it. His anger with Drusilla’s whelp had grown the second he neared the Slayer’s house, which had prompted his foray onto the roof. He was there in bed, in her bed, where the infant was . . . He’d watched while Spike had gingerly gotten up, nearly laughing in glee when Spike realized who was standing casually on the roof, staring at the window.

That look on his face had been worth the trip to Sunnydale and oh, how the not-so-mighty- have fallen. Angel had always known the bastard was weak, his reaction just now proving it. Little Spike was afraid for his humans. . . .

And he should be.

Oh yeah, he should be.



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


“Obviously we need better wards around the house or a better warning system.” Spike swam toward consciousness to the sounds of Wesley’s voice. “Do you think you can adapt that spell further to alert us if Angelus enters the property?”

His comments had to be directed at the witch, because he heard four heartbeats in the room and one he’d recognize if he was dust, “I can try. I’m not sure how much energy it would require and I’m really not sure about my ability to keep it going.” Tara’s voice was low and filled with self-doubt.

“Can we find an alternate power source, like maybe electricity or something?” Buffy’s voice sounded close to his ear and Spike realized his head was in her lap and it was her fingers that were brushing back and forth across his face. He couldn’t stop the groan from emerging from his mouth, nor could he fight the muscle tremors rippling through his legs. “Spike? Are you okay?”

“Payin’ for m’own stupidity” was his wry comment. “Fuckin’ hell that hurts.”

“What happened?” No point in denying he’d passed out from a combination of pain and excessive amounts of morphine, not when they’d all seen him hit the floor, which is the last thing he remembered.

“Tara did it.” Buffy’s voice held a note of pride that he’d never noticed before. The witch must have silently protested, because the next words out of Buffy’s mouth were, “Tara actually did it all tonight. She’s got this great alarm thing, like the baby thing, and, she’s got a ball of sunshine spell. How cool is that?”

Evidently Glinda must’ve done something else to protest, because Oxford added his penny’s worth of praise. “It really was quite remarkable. You’ll have to instruct me how to use it.”

“Good. So the wanker’s gone, right?” His question forestalled anymore comments on the witch’s talents and then he remembered, “didn’t drop the sprog did I?”

“No, Connor’s fine.”

He grimaced and Buffy immediately moved to try and make him more comfortable. “Tha’s his name? Connor? Suppose Peaches did that before his soul went walkabout?”

There was a short silence then Wesley said, “it was the last thing he said to me before he changed.”

Spike heaved a long drawn out sigh, sounding muchly put upon, then saying, “suppose we’ll have to call him that then. Still think spawn was the better choice.”

“Spike. That’s not nice.” Buffy tried, but Tara’s giggles were infectious and even Wesley managed a little laugh.

“How long was I out for?” Spike finally opened his eyes to find himself exactly where he thought he was, his head pillowed on Buffy’s lap as she rested her back against the headboard.

“Not long, only about ten minutes.” Wesley’s voice answered.

“Right then. Need a drink kitten.” He hated to admit it, but he felt worse than he had earlier.

There was a rustling of noises and Tara laid the baby down in his crib while Wesley got to his feet. “We should be all right for the rest of the night, good night all.”

And he was gone, followed quickly by Tara, who whispered a soft, “sleep sweet” and then she too was gone.

Lifting Spike’s head up so she could move to lay down next to him, Buffy stared into his eyes. “No more fighting about this. You have to take what you need.”

“Buffy, you keep insistin’ and I say no.” He steeled his features, trying hard to stick to his guns. He knew she was going to argue with him. He just wasn’t entirely sure how she was going to play this. He thought he was prepared for any argument she could come up with. He was wrong.

“Spike? What if that had been our baby – what if . . . “ his look of utter disbelief stopped her flow of words.

“Buffy, wha?” Pausing, he tried to gather his thoughts. “What are you sayin’?”

“I think its pretty obvious. I’m trying to talk some sense into you.” She moved closer to him, one arm around his waist, the other tucked under her head. “You can be so stubborn, you know that?”

He chuckled, intoning, “you wanna be the kettle or the pot?”

She pinched his ass in partial response. The spoken one was, “I’m being serious here, Spike. You know it’s a possibility. What would have happened then? And what it the attacker had been human? What then?” She paused once more, letting her words sink into his thick head. “Spike you can’t keep sipping. Two or three mouthfuls aren’t enough and you really aren’t going to drain me so stop worrying about it.”

His eyes watched her as she spoke, trying to gauge her conviction and sincerity. They weren’t going to agree on this subject. Maybe if he hadn’t know how badly she bled during her monthlies he might not be so stubborn about this and . . . he inhaled deeply. The smells coming off her were delicious. Anger. Fear. Arousal. Buffy. Mate. And still bleeding heavily.

“Sweetheart. Listen to me. I’m not putting both of us at risk.” He could feel the dissension rising within her, the argument coming back around to it again, but he cut her off before she could continue, “no. Listen. C’mon kitten.” Spike nudged her with his bad right hand, getting her to look up at him. “He’s looking to unnerve us. Knows you’ll cave before I do.”

“Cave?” Her whole demeanor changed, her back instantly stiffening with pride and some other emotion Spike wasn’t quite ready to identify. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He paused, suddenly unsure of what to say and how to say it, without one of two things happening. The first and the lesser of the two would be Buffy getting angry and taking it out on Angelus, the other being with him sleeping on the couch or worse, tossed out on his ass. Drawing in very unneeded air, Spike looked into her eyes and for a split second thought about not answering her question, but then she leaned in and brushed a delicate kiss on his chin. “He knows a part of you sweetheart, knows how strongly you protect those you love and he knows you can get rattled when your heart is involved.”

“He doesn’t know me anymore.” Buffy ran her hand up his injured arm, finally curling around his neck. “He doesn’t know me half as well as he thinks he does. No one’s known me quite as well as you. Even before you were chipped, you knew me.” Resting her head against his chin, Buffy got as close as his numerous injuries would allow. “So, since you know me so well, what will I do?”

He barked a little short laugh, his left hand worming its way down to cup her hip, then his lips brushing a kiss over her hair. “Probably what he least expects. He knows something’s up with me, tha’ I’m not full strength.

She thought for a minute, nestled in the circle of his arms, just breathing deeply. “You know . . . he knows now you’re hurt for some reason. He also knows about the chip.” He just listened, knowing instinctively that she was just thinking out loud. “So. . . we play it like that, that you’re injured and still have the chip. In the meantime, we heal you as quickly as possible and make arrangements to get rid of the chip.”

Spike didn’t say a word waiting patiently for her to finish. “How long do you think it’ll be before any of the Aurelius vamps come visting?”

“Not sure. Could be a week at the earliest, but tha’ depends on who’s closest. If its Dru, last I knew she was back down in Brazil. No one else is here in the States.”

“You sure about that?” Her tone was gentler than the question but he wouldn’t have taken offense anyway. It had been a long time he’d been away from his side of the killing fields, his information could be wrong.

“No way of knowin’. I know Dru’s not nearby. Can’t tell so much o’ the rest. Only Angelus is near.” He wasn’t going to lie to her, they’d know the truth soon enough.

“‘Kay.” Little kisses were laid on his bare chest, warming him all over. “So. How do you wanna get the chipectomy? Wanna use a demon-friendly surgeon or call the Initiative?”

Despite his earlier stupidity, he’d been feeling kind of okay until she brought that up. What a choice. A surgeon who could easily botch the job or the sanctimonious bastards that had rendered him useless. “Dunno. We got a time limit on this?”

“Don’t you want it out?” She was mystified by his unenthusiastic response.

“I do. Jus’ don’ wan’ to be a vegetable after.” Spike wanted the damn thing gone, did he want it badly enough to possibly face another of her exes? They’d already survived the biggest hurdle of all – and it wasn’t Angel – for some odd reason he still couldn’t fathom – it was Xander. If Buffy could face his daily disapproval, maybe seeing Cardboard wouldn’t be so bad. But – there was a bigger hurdle to his getting the hardware removed. That impediment was one fellow Englishman – one Rupert Giles – ex-watcher and current father figure.

Spike knew he had to mention it, knew it wasn’t just about them. This affected everyone in the house. “What about Rupes? Your watcher is liable to have somethin’ to say. And Dawn? What about her and the witch?”

“Let me worry about Giles.” She didn’t brush him off, but clearly she wasn’t worried about it. “Dawn and Tara will be okay with it.”

“Not so sure the Watcher is gonna be okay with this.” Spike was too tired to argue, which for him, had to be a first. “Where’s m’blood, woman?”

Placing a kiss on his cheek, Buffy got up and helped him to a semi-sitting position. Handing him the cooled mug of twice warmed blood, Buffy said, “I don’t think Giles is gonna be all that hard to convince.”


There's some parts of this one that I'm not sure about, so please, let me know what you're thinking about this

[A/N: I’ve been in lots of pain lately, for a couple of different reasons and its just been a major pain in the ass. The biggest bright spot has been all the wonderful reviews. Things are going to start heating up again, those last couple of chapters were really sort of like a calm between storms. So, here we go. . . . The title is from Herman Melville (I paraphrased it somewhat) and the quotes are as attributed. Disclaimers in full force and effect. I own nothing.]

Previously: Buffy and Spike have talked about chips and blood. Angelus stopped by the house to say hello, but didn’t get a chance to speak, because Tara came to the rescue. This picks up later the next morning.

Book Two. Chapter 17. The ragged edges of truth

Truth titillates the imagination far less than fiction.
Marquis de Sade, L’Histoire de Juliette,
ou les Prosperities du Vice, pt. 3.

Truth, like light, is blinding.
Lies, on the other hand, are a beautiful dusk
which enhances the value of each object.
Albert Camus, The Fall, p. 126

The truth is a snare; you cannot have it, without being caught.
Soren Kierkegaard, The Last Years: Journals 1853-55

Truth uncompromisingly told will always have its ragged edges.
Herman Melville, Billy Budd, Sailor.



Even though they’d given her permission to skip school, Dawn was up early. The baby’s cries had woken her and she couldn’t really get back to sleep. She could hear everyone else moving around downstairs, and she knew Spike was still in bed, but there was no reason for her to be up. It took her a while to finally decide she was getting up and by that time Buffy was in the shower, both the baby and Spike were sleeping again.

After using the bathroom in her mother’s old room, Dawn snuck inside Buffy and Spike’s room. The baby was on his belly, a tiny little lump in the middle of the crib, his dark hair the only spot of color against the pale sheets and blanket. Spike, on the other hand, was sprawled out on the bed, left arm flung wide while the right one was still propped up on one of the pillows. He was sound asleep, his breathing very slow and steady, occasional rumbling noises emanating from his chest. Dawn stood in the little patch of sunlight just watching him, weird thoughts running through her head.

I wonder if that’s why I sleep that way when I’m really tired. . . . does he dream? He stirred, his injured arm jerking with a muscle spasm, then settled quickly. I really hope he’s not mad at me. I don’t want him to be. I can’t believe he got this hurt trying to protect me. Is he crazy? We could have just run away. . . . he didn’t have to stay. . . oh god. He could have been gone. Dust. Tears pooled in her big blue eyes and Dawn sniffled loudly in the quiet room.

There was no change in his muscles, no change in his breathing to indicate he wasn’t anything other than asleep, but Spike’s voice broke into her musings. “Mornin’ Platelet.”

“Ack.” Wiping the tears from her eyes, she sort of griped back at him, “geez Spike, you scared the hell out of me.”

“Nice to know I still can.” His groan of pain seemed to come from his toes and he stretched a bit, trying to ease the healing itch. He hated this part of the rapid healing. Felt like fire ants were crawling around inside his skin for days. Least this time he had morphine to help. When that bint Glory had taken her frustrations out on him, he’d had to keep himself inside a bottle of whatever he could find, but this time he had the good stuff. Right now he needed another shot of it. His skin felt like it was on fire.

“Are you feeling any better?” He’d almost forgotten she was still in the room.

“Eh. Sort of. All itchy.” He was about to ask her to go get him something to soothe it, when her voice caught his attention.

“Why did you do it?”

“Do wha’?” He struggled to lift his head up and she scooted to his side, lifting him and piling the pillows behind him so that he was no longer flat on his back.

“Stay and fight. Why?” She sat down on the bed, one leg folded underneath her, staring at his still battered features.

She had a look on her face that was so reminiscent of her sister he wanted to laugh. He would have too, if it wasn’t the look he hated. “Needed to make sure you were safe. Couldn’t let anything happen to you.”

“But why?” She looked away from him then, mumbling softly, “it might be better if I wasn’t here. No one would get hurt then.”

Without his enhanced hearing, he never would have heard her, but her words went straight to his heart. “Dawn. Look at me.”

The eyes that focused on his were swimming with tears and a very dark blue. “Don’t think like tha’. Your sis couldn’t take ‘nother thing goin’ wrong. Couldn’t forgive m’self if somethin’ were to happen to either of you.”

Her head shook in denial. “Why? I don’t do anything but make people hurt. Glory beat your ass and sucked Tara’s brain because of me. Buffy . . . . “ The tears that had been threatening finally slid down her cheeks and when he reached out his hand to wipe them away, Dawn flinched. “You shouldn’t. . . why did you do it again to protect me? I’m not. . . . I shouldn’t even be here. All I do is destroy everything around me.”

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. This couldn’t . . . “Niblet? Wha’ are you thinkin’? Wasn’t your fault at all what happened. Not then an’ not now.” This time when he reached for her she didn’t flinch, she just collapsed against his side, her head resting on his chest. “Not your fault, sweets. None o’this.”

Running his hand down her long brown hair, Spike wished for a moment that he could really put his arms around her, letting her cry on his shoulder like he did before Buffy came back. Hugging her tighter with his arm, Spike kept up his litany, trying to comfort her. She mumbled something else through her tears and he pushed her back a little, searching her face for signs of what she’d just said.

“Dawn? C’mon. Its not your fault.” Using his thumb to wipe her eyes, Spike tilted her face so that she couldn’t avoid looking back at him, “love you. Do you know that? Love you like no one else. You’re my Niblet.”

He’d thought that would have calmed her, thought she was settling down, but at his softly worded declaration, Dawn burst into fresh tears. She pulled away from him, getting off the bed, her hands balled into fists. “Don’t love me. It will just end up . . . just. . . how can you love me?”

“Because I do.” His voice was calm and deep with emotions he rarely showed anyone. She was so upset she was shaking and he started to get up out of the bed realizing abruptly he was still bare-assed naked under the sheets. “Dawn, c’mere. C’mon.”

Despite her shaking her head no, Dawn sat back down on the bed, this time perched on the edge. Spike reached for her hand, lacing their fingers together. “I love you Niblet. Not the same way I love your sis, but, I love you. Have to take care of the ones I love an’ tha’s you. Both of you.”

Her chin lifted in stubbornness, Dawn refused to look at him, almost growling out, “doesn’t mean you’re supposed to die for us.”

“Yeah, it does. If tha’s how I keep you safe, then tha’s wha’ it means.” He wasn’t going to fail either one of them ever again. If he had to dust to keep them safe, he would.

“No dammit! Don’t you dare die on me. I need you. Stupid vampire. I need you. . . . “ her voice trailed off, after the outburst, her free hand brushing away more tears. “You can’t die. I need you.”

“Niblet. You don’ need me. You’ll be fine without me if it comes to it. You did fine . . . this summer.” She stared at him, not really believing what he was saying.

“No. I didn’t . . . I wasn’t fine all summer. My mother was gone. . . my sist. . . god you are so stupid! Joyce was dead and she. . . and Buffy and. . . the only one of my family that was left was you! I wasn’t fine. I needed my mother!” Her voice had risen to an almost shriek, uncaring about the baby or anyone else overhearing. “Damn you Spike. I needed both my parents! My mother and my father! I needed my mommy and my daddy. And all I had was my father.”

The words had spilled from her in such a rush that she had no idea what she’d said, until she looked up into his face and saw that he’d heard her.


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


Hot water. Yeah for showers and hot water. Buffy was in an okay mood, well, a way better mood than yesterday. After Angel’s . . Angelus’ late night visit, they had stayed up a little bit longer and Buffy had finally convinced Spike to take more blood from her. They’d also reached a decision about the chip. They weren’t going to make inquiries, either about surgeons or the Initiative, until Giles came home and they had a chance to confer with hm. For some odd reason, Spike insisted on telling Dawn and he also wanted Tara to know before they got it removed. Buffy had an idea that it was because he cared for the both of them and valued their opinions.

She wasn’t stupid enough to think Xander was going to agree with it at all. But right now, not so sure I care what Xander thinks.

The bathroom door was open just enough in case the baby woke up or if Spike needed her and her train of thought was interrupted by a sound she hadn’t expected. Unable to hear clearly because of the running water, she quickly rinsed off, closing the taps.

Dawn’s voice came through the open doorway, but her words were muffled, her voice low, then she heard “doesn’t mean you have to die for us.”

Grabbing a towel, Buffy stepped closer to the door in time to partially hear Spike’s response, “if tha’s wha’ it takes to keep you safe, then tha’s wha’ it means.”

Resting her head against the door jamb, Buffy almost had to hold herself up. I’m an idiot, coz I know he loves me and god, I do love him back. Dawn was speaking again, well almost shouting, “stupid vampire!. You can’t die on me. I need you.”

You tell him Dawnie! I need him too. Stupid vampire is right. Can’t die on us. We need you too much. Buffy heard his idiotic reply and then Dawn was shrieking at him, only this time it was things Buffy hadn’t heard from her sister before now. Her own tears were sliding from behind closed eyelids as she listened to her sister. “I wasn’t fine all summer. My mother was gone. . . my sist, god you are so stupid! Joyce was dead and she. . . and Buffy and. . . the only one of my family that was left was you! I wasn’t fine. I needed my mother!”

Buffy had to stuff her fist in her mouth to stop her own sobs and she slid inside the open door, her eyes barely able to see the pair on the bed through her tears. “Damn you Spike!. I needed both my parents! My mother and my father. I needed” Dawn’s voice broke and she collapsed in a heap, “my mommy and my daddy. And all I had was my father.”

Buffy’s head snapped up in time to watch Dawn realize what had flown from her mouth.


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

The words had poured forth from her mouth in a torrent, heedless of the consequences, like water held back too long by a dam.

Dawn realized a split second too late what she’d just said. Tears stopped and every muscle froze. Spike was staring at her, almost studying her features. Afraid to move, afraid to stay, Dawn felt the air behind her change, and before she could get up and run, Buffy was there with one hand on Dawn’s shoulder and the other clutching her towel. Involuntarily Dawn dropped her head down, completely missing the look shared between the two adults.

Why can’t I ever learn to shut up?

No one said a word. The room was very silent, the only sounds the rapid breathing of the two youngest occupants.


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


He knew when she’d turned off the shower. When she stepped onto the rug. When she’d grabbed the towel. When she started listening to Dawn. When her own tears started to compliment her sister’s. When she’d come back into their bedroom.

But she wasn’t the focus of his attention. Dawn was. Her words, her pain and her heartbreak were his focus. And it narrowed even further at Dawn’s slip of the tongue. He’d nearly said something harsh about Hank Summers, then the gist of her words caught him. Dawn wasn’t talking about Hank – she was talking about him. And she obviously never meant to say it out loud, because her face was more shocked than his.

Searching her face, Spike took stock of her features. It had been a very long time since he’d seen himself in a mirror, but he knew his own face, knew when it looked back at him. Why the bleeding hell didn’t I see this before? Am I just as blind as the rest of those idiot scoobies? Dawn looked like his mother. Raising his eyes to the green depths of his heart, Spike also saw Buffy’s features within her sister. . . . no. They weren’t sisters. Not really. The sudden conviction of that notion wouldn’t be shaken.

Over Dawn’s head, Spike stared at Buffy, his eyes on hers. He smiled, then mouthed, “I love you” on her answering smile and whispered, “I know” he turned his attention to . . . their child.

Reaching out his hand, Spike traced a finger down her nose. “That’s mine.”

Dawn jerked her head up so fast she nearly ended up with Spike’s finger in her mouth. Her raised eyebrow and expression weren’t his, which he pointed out by remarking, “that’s all your. . . Buffy.”

“My Buffy?” Dawn finally found her voice.

He thought hard for a second, unsure what to say, just settling on, “not sure how you wan’ to word it, Pet.”

She was silent for long minutes, then finally on a deep indrawn breath, Dawn said, “you’re my parents. My real honest-to-god-parents.”

When neither one said anything to refute her, Dawn continued, “its in the journals Wes brought. I had to know.”

They shared another look over her head, while Spike said, “you took them from the watcher’s. Stole ‘em.”

Lying wouldn’t pay, not at this point. “Sort of. Wasn’t going to keep them. I put back the first set I took.”

“Its okay Dawnie. I guess I understand.” Buffy sat down in front of Dawn, next to Spike, “I think I would’ve done pretty much the same thing.”

Spike remained silent, knowing his actions probably would’ve been worse, but for once letting common sense rule his tongue. Buffy leaned against his shoulder, her hand reaching out to hold onto her, well, sister really doesn’t fit any more does it?

“So what did you find?” Buffy was curious now.

“They’ve been tracking Slayers for a really long time, and they’ve been trying to give them the key for almost as long, but, uh, something kept getting in their way.”

Somehow knowing this was going to end up as his fault even if it wasn’t, Spike asked, “an’ wha’ was that?”

“In the beginning it was because the Slayers weren’t strong enough, or they died just before the monks could come up with a form for the key. But then it was because of a Dark Warrior who was destined to help a Chosen One.” Dawn caught Buffy’s eye and they shared a smile. “A Vampire who kept battling and defeating the Chosen Ones.”

“Been readin’ far too many of the watcher’s books, there, sweet bit. Lay off with the forebodin’ language, will ya?” Spike had grimaced at her intonation, looking away from both the girls.

“I counted seven Slayers you fought – were there more? Oh!” She peeked at Buffy, but went on, “some Slayer you fought just before World War I? She died of her injuries later. So really, you already have a third.”

He growled at her then – a real honest to goodness growl. Dawn realized she’d overstepped a line but wasn’t really sure what it was. Was he more upset about killing the slayer slowly or something else?

“How long have these blokes been followin’ me?” He was aggravated, but he wasn’t really sure about why.

“Since the Boxer Rebellion.” She couldn’t look at either of them, wary now about their reactions to what she was telling them. The tension within Spike had grown considerably, especially since she’d mentioned him fighting slayers, and her sister. . . no, Buffy was just sitting there quietly taking all this in, not saying a word. Which had her more wigged than she wanted to be.

“Bloody fucking hell.” He was. . . he felt . . . he didn’t know what he was feeling. Didn’t mind so much about being Dawn being a part of him, but he really didn’t like the fact that the monks had been following his actions for years.

“Its all in the journals. Well, as much as they knew. I wasn’t sure it was you until they found you again in New York, all decked out in leather and bleached hair.” She tried for being as nonchalant as possible and somehow managed to achieve it.

“Niblet. . . “ his warning was clear.

“What? What am I . . . ?” His eyes shifted to the side, toward Buffy and Dawn finally realized what they’d been talking about. “Oh. Sorry Buff. . .. ” she stopped talking, then in a very small voice said, “Mom?”

But Buffy had only been half listening to their conversation, instead she’d just been watching the two of them, and hadn’t really heard what Dawn had just said. They really do look alike. It was really scary how alike they were. “Its okay, Dawnie. . . I know. Its okay.”

She and Spike had talked about his past some, in the dark hours when they were the only two beings awake in Sunnydale. He hadn’t been all true-confessions, but she knew him well enough to read between what he said and what he wouldn’t say. This information from an independent source wasn’t that big a deal. She wasn’t stupid, he couldn’t possibily have killed the only other two slayers he’d ever fought, he was good, but killing every slayer he’d fought would mean he was the vampire equivalent of a slayer. Although. . .

What had startled her was their resemblance. Without much of a warning, and completely off topic from their prior conversation, Buffy blurted out, “you look just like each other. You didn’t get anything from me.”

And if it wasn’t so serious, Spike would’ve teased her about the petulance of her tone. “She did, Love. Got plenty from you.”

Buffy was shaking her head in denial. Looking at the two of them with a new perspective, she had to admit it. “How did we miss this? Your noses, eyes, pretty much the structure of your faces, and Dawnie got your height.” Her pout was adorable but Spike was ignoring it for now, beginning to point out all their similarities.

“Her mouth is all you kitten. Attitude. Mannerisms. She may look like me, but her personality is all you.”

Opening her mouth to protest, Buffy was interrupted by Dawn, who snarked at both of them, “sitting right here, in the room. On the bed with you.”

“Sorry. Our bad.” Buffy glanced over at Spike who was watching Dawn with a strange look on his face.

“You look like m’mum.” He smiled then, a bit sadly, continuing, “she had hair like yours, only with more of a curl to it. Long and dark, always wore it up. Took it down only to brush. . . . it was down past her waist.” His voice trailed off and both girls held their breath, hoping he would continue, but he kept his silence.

Spike looked away, his eyes on a long dead vision, his mum with Gordie and Janet and. . . His da, before they were all gone and just the two of them were left. Buffy tilted her head at Dawn, silently asking her to move and when she did, Buffy shifted so she was facing Spike. Her left hand reached out to cup his chin gently drawing his gaze back to her. For long seconds he was still not seeing her and Buffy was afraid he was going to shrug her off, when suddenly he was looking at her. His brilliant blue eyes gazed into hers and Buffy’s eyes filled with tears at the expression on his face.

“Family. Spike, we’re a family.”

“Yeah.” He shook off the memories of his first family, smiling at her. “Yeah.”

His hand wiped away tears she didn’t remember shedding and Buffy nuzzled a kiss into his palm. Very slowly she inched closer to him, her words for his ears only. “Yours Spike. We’re yours. I’m yours.”

Resting his forehead against hers, his big hand still cupping her cheek, her hand now resting on his shoulder, Spike rumbled softly, “I love you Buffy Anne Summers. F’rever.”

Pulling her close, tucking her head under his chin so that her breath warmed the spot where his heart used to beat, Spike breathed deeply, raising his eyes to where Dawn stood watching them.

“C’mere you.” He rumbled at the teen, gesturing her forward with his left hand. Buffy moved her legs, creating a spot for Dawn, who just put her head down on Buffy’s hip. Spike smoothed out her hair, slipping the brown strands through his fingers. Dawn wiped the tears from her eyes, while Buffy curled her arms around Spike.

His voice was low and deep, curling like warm liquid chocolate through both of them, the words a promise and an oath “love both of you. My girls.”

They were quiet for a long time, none of them willing to break the silence, until there was a rustling of sorts and the baby started crying.



Okay, I'm so nervous about this one, you have to let me know what you think. Please.

[A/N: Plots and stories are funny things. The author gets this idea, and it sort of sits for a while, germinating, while the author goes about their daily routine, sort of like a pea (and we all grew them at a certain point for science), until it breaks through its shell and starts this wonderful process of producing flowers and then finally, it produces some fruit. You can’t push the process any faster, you can’t magically make a plot grow in mere minutes and no amount of nagging or prodding or pleading will speed that up. You kind of just have to go with the flow. When that process is impeded by outside sources, it sometimes stalls, creating that wonderful state we all know as writer’s block. I know, I’ve suffered from it. Plots sometimes get advanced in very subtle ways, very often without the reader realizing that the plot actually has advanced while the action seems very slow. Character interaction plays a very key part of most stories, and I’d like to think this one in particular. Okay, I’ll get off my soapbox now, because I know you want to “get to the story and move the plot along” since apparently, I’m not doing enough of that. Title is from Spandau Ballet, only because the damn song was echoing in my head so I figured what the hell (the song is Communication) and the quotes are as attributed. Disclaimers in full force and effect.]

Previously: Oz and Tara ran into a changed Willow, who isn’t quite sure how to deal with what she saw; Angel stopped by and knows about Spike’s current state of health; and Dawn accidently let it slip about her parentage. This is later that same day.

Book Two. Chapter 18. Communication got me down.

The communication
of the dead is tongued with fire
beyond the language of the living.
T.S. Eliot’s memorial inscription, Poet’s Corner, Westminster Abbey from Little Gidding

Seldom, very seldom, does complete truth
belong to any human disclosure;
seldom can it happen that something is not a little disguised,
or a little mistaken.
Jane Austen, Emma

Women’s propensity to share confidences is universal.
We confirm our reality by sharing.
Barbara Grizzute Harrison, Secrets Women Tell Each Other


He’d gotten precious little sleep. He hadn’t expected to get much in any case, the news from home giving him more than enough reason for concern. But there was a sense of impending doom that Giles felt he needed to avert that was causing him the most amount of worry. Just over five hours ago, he’d been sitting in this same library, in nearly the same damned chair and the uneasiness hadn’t dissipated at all. In fact, it had grown bigger, sort of like a spill of dark liquid leaching into a pristine white tablecloth.

An hour ago, he’d gotten a phone call from Wesley, updating him on everything. Nothing was good. The old adage no news was good news was being tested in this case. There were no new developments and the status was still piss-poor. Giles was beginning to think they were heading into deeper troubles rather than coming out of it all.

He also wasn’t quite sure what they should do about Angel. Angelus.

It was almost beginning to not matter what they called him. Neither one of his appellations fit him. There was nothing angelic about the vampire. But, really, old man, he could hardly walk around being called ‘satan’ or ‘devil’. Even if those names fit him better.

Glancing down at the weighty book on the table before him, Giles shook his head and focused once again on the matter at hand. At the moment he was searching out possible mentions of the monks or the Key in the Slayer Annals. So far, it was a waste of his time, and he had no reason at all to continue searching, and he really . . . . didn’t. . . what the bloody hell?

It wasn’t possible. Had to be just a coincidence. He was frozen in place, staring at the name on the page in front of him. It was the list of Slayers from the year 1603 to 1699, including some potentials. It couldn’t possibly be the same girl. Had to just be a misprint or a similar name. But the hair on his neck was rising and his stomach was telling him it wasn’t just a similar name, wasn’t a misprint. Ignoring the looks his increasing agitation was garnering, Giles got to his feet and headed directly to the books he’d been reading the night before.

Flipping quickly through the pages, at first he past right by the information he was looking for. Heading back to his seat, the book in hand, the pages rustling loudly in his haste, Giles was mumbling to himself under his breath. “Can’t be. Got to be wrong. Has to be wrong. Just a . . . “

There it was. 1623. Isabeau de la Fontaine, delivered of a son, after dying in the year 1622.

Looking down at the book on the table, there it was again. Isabeau de la Fontaine, potential, identified in the year 1619. Never called as a Slayer.

Ripping off his glasses, Giles flipped a few pages back in the smaller book, finding another girl who’d given birth to a vampire’s child. Bryn of Rhuddlan, died 1587, gave birth to two children, first in 1588 and then again in 1591. Searching through the Slayer Annals, Giles found her identified as a potential in 1585.

Only two so far. Might just be a coincidence.

Could be.

But he really didn’t think it was.

Sitting down heavily in his chair, Giles got set to cross reference all the girls.

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

“Buffy?” Tara’s voice broke into the other girl’s musings, drawing her back into reality.

“Hey. What’s up?” Damn. Cornflakes are all soggy now. Wrinkling up her nose at the lumpy mess, she got up from the counter, dumping the bowl’s contents into the garbage.

“Last night? At the supermarket, Oz and I ran into Willow.” Buffy looked at her, waiting for her to continue. “She’s changed.”

“What do you mean?” Pausing, she rambled, “Willow’s, Willow, always the same. Well not so much, she did change from high school to college girl and,” catching sight of the bemused look on Tara’s face, Buffy said, “never mind. Tell me.”

“I’m not sure what she did, but she’s not the girl I dated.” Trying for composure, Tara inhaled deeply, continuing, “the thing is she’s done something. She’s darker, you know?”

“Tara?” Try again, coz I’m not following you.”

“Right. When we saw her I checked her aura, because, well, she looked different. Her face was all white, all her color was gone and, and, her hair is shot through with black. So I checked.”

She now had Buffy’s full attention. “Go ahead, tell me.”

“I got a glimpse of what she’d done. Its not good. She did something to call forth. . . I’m not certain, but whatever she did isn’t working the way she thinks it is.” Tara took a deep breath. “Whatever she did – the goddess – the response was ‘be careful what you wish for’.”

“Oh no.” This didn’t sound too good. “So this means?”

“That Willow’s either not prepared for the answer or, or she’s gotten exactly what she’s asked for.” Tara was fiddling with the breakfast dishes, not really looking at Buffy while she explained her impressions.

“Which is?” She’d stopped what she was doing, her attention fully focused on the other girl, realizing she was about to hear something she didn’t necessarily want to know about the girl who used to be her best friend.

“Something really not good.” Purposefully unloading the dishwasher, Tara missed the narrowing of the Slayer’s eyes, her own agitation increasing every time she thought this through. She’d spent half the morning debating with herself about telling Buffy and Spike her suspicions over what she’d inadvertently discovered about Willow and earlier, when she’d stopped outside their room, she’d heard Dawn’s voice, Tara had thought better of interrupting them.

“Tara? What aren’t you telling me?” Buffy had been watching her, realizing that Tara was very upset about what she was about to say.

Blowing out a breath, Tara said, “I think the reason why Spike got hurt is because Willow summoned the knights.”

Buffy stared at the witch, a hundred different thoughts racing through her head. No, she wouldn’t do that, my Willow wouldn’t. . . you so sure about that Buffy? This is the same Willow that hurt your sister and her own girlfriend and brought you back from heaven. . . and who else has she been hurting? What else has she done that you don’t know about? This isn’t the same girl you first met five years ago. . . this is someone else. Buffy got a faraway look in her eyes, staring into nothingness, not seeing the girl in front of her.

“Does she hate me that much?” Unaware that she’d said the words out loud, Buffy was startled back to herself by Tara’s soft hand on her arm.

“I don’t think its you she hates. I’m not sure what she’s feeling anymore.” Tara watched carefully as Buffy snapped back to herself, concern for the other girl overpowering her own sense of unease.

“So why would she do something like that? What’s the purpose behind summoning the knights?” This was bewildering, Buffy couldn’t understand why someone else would do something like that. “The knights were there to hurt Dawn, why would she summon them?”

Drawing Buffy toward the back door, Tara tried to settle her thoughts. They were the only ones downstairs at the moment, Dawn was out with Casey, Wesley had gone to the Magic Box and Spike and the baby were still sleeping upstairs. It was as good a time as any to talk about what she’d seen in Willow’s aura. Before they knew it, the girls were seated on the back step, basking in the late October sunlight.

“I’m not sure, completely sure about this, so you have to, to just trust me on this, okay?” Tara looked at Buffy, unconsciously wringing her hands, trying to come up with a way to voice her concerns. Without waiting for a response, she tried again, ‘I just, the thing is,” she sighed deeply, stilling as Buffy’s hand touched her arm, then Tara blurted out, “her aura is dark and not good dark, sometimes dark can be good, like dark purple or dark gold or, dark blue and, and dark green. But this was dark red and dark black and . . “

The steam seemed to go out of her and Tara slumped down further on the step she was sitting on, her hands clenched together tightly. Bowing her head, hiding her face in her hair, her voice sounded very softly between them. “I think Willow is trying to hurt Spike. I think she tried to get his true face to show.”

The air was very silent, the street noises so very far away in that moment, like they belonged to another place and a different time, like the noises of everyday had no business being part of the conversation taking place on the back porch. Neither girl moved, each of them lost in the enormity of what one had just confessed to the other.

The truth isn’t always kind, nor is it caring of what was before or what will come after, only that it is heard. Truth never has an easy birth. But once it arrives, there is a feeling of rightness, a sense of having known what the truth is before it is even uttered, an inescapable moment, when the speaker and the witness know, deep in their souls, that the truth has been revealed.

Buffy shivered, a chill working its way up her spine, dancing across every nerve. Her voice, when she spoke after so long a silence, was even and uninflected, almost devoid of emotion. “She wants to hurt him because of me. Because I’m not what she wants me to be. Because I haven’t gone to her or accepted what she did. Spike may have been the target of her anger, but she’s really pissed at me. Why else would she do what she did?”

There was no question about believing Tara, Buffy knew as soon as the other girl had spoken, that Tara was speaking truth. Willow had done the summoning. Had set into motion events that she couldn’t control . . . but hadn’t Willow always done that? How many times had Willow felt slighted or wronged or betrayed in some way only to lash out when control of a situation escaped her? When Oz left and she had no control over anything, Willow had lashed out and caught them all up in a spell that had colossal impact. . . and then, when she’d jumped . . again, there was Willow with the non-acceptance.

“Oh god. Tara. . . she’s. . . oh my god. She’s going to keep going until something bad happens right?” Buffy turned wild eyes to the other girl, her hand clenching and unclenching around her wrist. “What . . she can’t. I can’t lose him. I . . “

Tearing herself away from Tara, Buffy was through the back door before the other girl even realized that she was gone. The sound of feet pounding up the stairs was audible outside, then the sound of a door banging open echoed through the backyard. Barely able to make out their voices, Tara could guess what Buffy had done upon entering the room.

Dropping her head down into her hands, Tara tried to stop the tears, even all the while knowing it was futile.

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

He’d taken the last of the liquid morphine after Dawn left the room earlier. There hadn’t been all that much anyway and it was mostly just to calm the muscle spasms that had been wracking him since he’d drunk from Buffy at first light. He’d gotten a concession of sorts from her, when he’d agreed to drink – he wasn’t going to take more than just little bits until her – on the condition she agree to wait – until her courses were done. She hadn’t liked his condition, in fact had almost started another argument about it, but he’d verbally boxed her into a corner and she had no choice.

They had enough human blood on hand anyway that he could, if he wanted to, gorge himself on, but strangely enough he wasn’t all that hungry. What he was, was itchy and sore and he could really use a good soak and he needed to wash his bloody hair.

It was easier right now to focus on the physical ailments rather than the other things that had gone on in the last forty-eight hours anyway. At least the physical reminders were fading. The other stuff . . . Spike groaned and rolled over onto his side. Pretty much everything was healing, although he was still hovering near the halfway healed mark. Buffy’s blood would do the trick.

The baby shifted in his sleep, rustling the blankets a bit. Spike didn’t know much about babies, but he did know that two day old ones weren’t supposed to move around. They were just supposed to lay there. This one was restless. Shifting about, snuffling in his sleep, he was unusually active. Fair enough, child was of supernatural parentage, stands to reason something would be different about him. His parents were both master vampires, no doubt he’d gotten something from both of them, since they weren’t normal.

Which brought him back to thinking about his own . . . Dawn. From the first moment he’d laid eyes on her, he’d known there was something about her that called to him, something on such a deep level that he’d never questioned it. Just known she was somehow part of him – he’d never imagined that she literally was part of him. She was his.

His daughter.

Part of him was beyond angry that the monks had planted the Gem here, specifically for him, to lure him in, then engineered other events of his unlife to suit their purposes. He didn’t mind so much being love’s bitch – but he resented the hell out of being destiny’s plaything. Part of him hated the monks. They’d stolen something from him – and from Buffy, using The Initiative to do their dirty work, in turn stealing the blood and tissue samples from Initiative labs and. . . creating Dawn.

His anger didn’t matter then.

Wasn’t at all important.

Because every wrong thing the monks had done was outweighed by the one good thing they had done.

They’d given him Dawn.

His daughter.

And through her, the monks had given him a second blessing, because of Dawn’s appearance, he’d gotten the unattainable girl. He’d gotten Buffy.

So the anger wasn’t important at all.

Spike just let it go, and like vampire dust drifting away, the anger disappeared.

When the baby had cried, after Dawn had dropped the bombshell on them, he’d realized yet another benefit. Because of the monks, and Dawn, he and Buffy had the same chance that Angel and Darla had been given – and that, that was something he’d always wanted. Home. Wife. Family.

Opening his eyes to stare at the crib, Spike watched Connor shift around again. He was getting ready to let loose a full throated cry when big cool strong hands lifted him up to an equally strong cool chest. Crooning softly, Spike laid back down on the bed, Darla’s son cradled protectively in his arms. The baby settled down, mewled once, going right back to sleep.

“Your mum had the right way of it. Rather than hurt you, she did the right thing, to protect you.” His low voice rumbled in his chest and it wasn’t until his breathing hitched that Spike realized he had tears in his eyes. “Much as I hated your mum half the time, she did the right thing. Only thing she forgot was taking your idiot father with her. But tha’s all right, got old uncle Spike to watch out for you.”

Brushing a hand down the baby’s back, he said, “Promise to the memory of your mum, and my daughter, I’ll do m’best to keep you safe.”


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

Her feet hit the steps at a dead run, pounding at the same rate as her heartbeat. What Tara had just said to her chilled her to the bones, coupled with what Wesley had said last night, Buffy was nearly in a full blown panic.

She knew it had taken a lot for Tara to admit that it was all Willow’s doing, to face the realization that Willow was at the root of what was happening now, that the reason Dawn was in danger, that Spike had nearly been dusted. In fact, save for Angel going homicidal again, almost all the bad stuff that had been happening lately was all Willow’s fault. Even the Huntsman’s appearance was her fault.

Buffy slammed through the door to their room, gasping breaths sucking in much needed air, her panic receding somewhat at finding the two of them curled up together on the bed. Connor was sleeping in the crook of Spike’s arm, his nose pressed up against the vampire’s chest, Spike’s right hand resting lightly on his back. Tears welled up in her eyes and she really wasn’t even sure why they did so.

Spike’s voice was soft in the room, trying not to disturb the baby sleeping in his arms. “What’s wrong?”

“I. . . Tara thinks Willow cast a spell, did something to bring the knights here.” Agitation was clear in Buffy’s voice and Spike opened his eyes to find her wringing her hands and pacing the room.

“An’ you came charging up here because?” He wanted to know the real reason her heart was pounding like a trip hammer and her breathing was off.

“Spike, she wants to hurt you. She wants you gone. I can’t. . . I’m not, I can’t let that happen. I don’t think I could survive that.” Buffy hadn’t stopped moving, unable to sit still or calm her panic.

“Kitten,” he paused waiting for her full attention. “Buffy, c’mere.” Almost reluctantly she moved toward their bed, still unable to stop hyperventilating “‘Member what you said ‘bout me? That I wouldn’t go away even if you sent me? How I’d keep at ya ‘til you took me back, Buffy, c’mere.”

Holding his arm out, he gestured for her to come closer. “Buffy. I love you more than you understand. If somethin’ were to happen – even if I got dusted I’d find a way back. ‘M not leavin’ you, kitten, ever.”

She moved onto the bed, Connor snuggled tightly between them, his arm covering them both, his hand firmly on her butt. Buffy looked into his eyes, seeing again the look of fierce tenderness he held just for her, “I love you. Have from the first. Not goin’ to waste any more time. Got you, Niblet and spawn here to worry over. Not goin’ w’out a fight.”

Her hand reached out to cup his cheek and Buffy felt the walls around her heart crumbling away to nothing. “God, Spike – how could I not love you?”

Spike’s slow grin warmed her heart. Not quite how he wanted them said, but he’d take this until she was ready to say the others.


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


The phone ringing was an annoyance her sleeping mind didn’t want to deal with, so she tried ignoring it. It would ring for a while, then stop for a little bit, then start ringing again. Really, couldn’t you just leave me alone?

Groaning and rolling over at the same time, Willow finally gave in and reached for the phone. ‘What is it now Xander?”

There was silence for a moment, then his voice drifting over the line asked, “how did you know it was me?”

“Xander? It’s a witchy thing.”

“Oh. I thought maybe you got caller ID.” There was a hint of a tease in his voice, but Willow wasn’t in a playful mood.

“What do you want Xander?” Her exasperation was clearly audible, even to Xander.

“Geez, Wills, you could be less happy to hear from me you know.” Slight hurt came over clearly despite the phone line and Willow winced a bit. She was being a little too mean to him.

“Sorry Xand. Have a bit of a headache. Not feeling so chipper.” Sitting up now, Willow twirled the phone cord around her fingers, “but what’s up?”

“Dunno if anyone’s called to tell you, but Angelus is on the loose and possibly on his way to Sunnydale.” Willow’s entire body stiffened, every nerve on alert.

“What happened?” Willow’s voice was eager, impatient for Xander’s explanation.

As he launched into what happened, Willow sort of turned him out, the beginnings of a plan formulating in her head. Angelus is back. I’m the only one with the restoration spell, and . . . . he’s going to come looking for me. He’s going to try and kill me.

“Xand? Does anyone have an idea if he’s coming here soon?”

“I haven’t talked to Buffy since last night.” Not wanting to tell Willow about what had happened between him and Anya, he focused instead on something else that bothered him enormously. “Wills? Are you sure you did this spell to bring Buffy back correctly? She’s all on board with the Spike is good train and I don’t get it – unless its some spell you did that went all wonky.”

Willow’s anger coiled and wound through her, rattling the edges of her nerves. The snap in her voice got his attention though, penetrating his usually slow wits. “No Xander. That’s not me. I didn’t make any mistakes.”

“Okay. No need to get all huffy with me.” Xander’s voice held a trace of fear, but he knew Willow would never hurt him. “Just thought you should know.”

“Thanks Xander. Nice to know someone is still my friend.” The bitterness in her voice was clear and something Xander couldn’t let go unremarked.

“C’mon Wills, you know I’ll always be around.”

“I know Xander.”

With a promise to meet him later at the Magic Shop, Willow hung up the phone, her mind running through numerous situations and scenarios. How to keep Angelus off my back with out becoming dinner.

Focusing a bit, Willow held out her hand, willing a small ball of sunshine into existence. Not satisfied with that, she breathed out some Latin, changing the sunlight to flame, watching it dance across her hand. Closing her hand into a fist, Willow smiled slightly.


I'm sure you guys all know by now, reviews are the bestest thing ever. Please let me know how you feel about this one. . . please?

[A/N: I’m trying to get back into the groove of writing, after having a terrible bout of pain, and hopefully I’m over that hump. I have a definite game plan in mind, but its coming slower than I had thought. My apologies to those of you who were looking for a quick pay-off. There’s a mention to certain of my girls . . . and hopefully they’ll know it when they see it. The title is from Sir Francis Bacon (Religious Meditations, of Heresies) and the quotes, as always, as attributed. Disclaimers in full force and effect.]

Previously: Angelus is in Sunnydale and now Willow’s been told. Giles has found some more intriguing information, but he hasn’t told anyone what he’s found. Dawn has told Spike and Buffy what she found in the journals. Is everyone going to give up the information they are holding? This picks up three days after the last chapter, upon Giles’ return home.

Book Two. Chapter 19. Knowledge is power.

A single conversation with a wise man is better than ten years of study.
Chinese Proverb

You can discover what your enemy fears most
by observing the means he uses to frighten you.
Eric Hoffer



Wesley paced along the length of the small hangar, waiting for the plane carrying Rupert to debark. His connecting flight from Los Angeles ahd arrived ten minutes ago and the passengers were about to. . . there were the first ones.

He’d offered to get Rupert when Buffy had slightly balked when Spike had said the two of them would go. It was clear to all of them but her that Spike was just about fully healed, even the bruises were gone, but Buffy wasn’t easily convinced.

So that was how Wesley found himself waiting for Rupert. It was also how he and Buffy had been patrolling along with the ridiculous Buffybot Spike had had commissioned.

He couldn’t possibly imagine what Spike had been thinking. . . well, actually he could, which just made the entire situation quite funny. Spike’s expression had been priceless when Buffy jeeringly referred to the thing as “skirt girl.”

Tara and Dawn had collapsed in a fit of giggles while the vampire had just stalked from the room, imprecations falling from his lips.

“Wesley?” Giles’ voice broke into Wesley’s musings and he turned to greet the older man.
“Hello Rupert. How was your flight?”

“Thankfully uneventful.” Giles searched Wesley’s face, noting the fatigue around his eyes. “Not sleeping well?”

“Hardly sleeping at all. While Angelus has been quiet, we fear he’s solidifying his position by taking over already organized nests.” Wesley paused as they shouldered past some travelers, then resumed talking once they were outside the airport. “Spike is back on his feet, which is good news. But no one’s heard from Willow.”

Glancing sideways at his companion, Giles commented wryly, “obviously not a good sign.”

Without looking at his fellow Englishman, Wesley nodded.


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

Dawn was sitting on the floor of the living room, the television on, Connor on a blanket beside her, phone at her ear, chattering away with Casey, while Buffy was in the basement doing laundry. Tara was off at late classes and Spike was upstairs when Wesley and Giles came through the door.

Barely registering their presence, Dawn waved hello, going right back into her conversation. Motioning Giles into the kitchen, Wesley offered hm a drink, explaining, “Dawn’s got a boyfriend. She spends a fair amount of time attached to that thing.”

Before Giles had a chance to comment, Buffy was in the kitchen, hugging him. “Hey. Welcome back. How was dreary old London?”

“Not so dreary. But then I was hardly outside at all. Spent most of my trip in the Council libraries in fact.” He tried maintaining a straight face, but Buffy’s welcome was far too enthusiastic for him to remain stoic.

“Right, go Giles with the researchy trip. So. You gonna tell us all the good stuff?” Buffy reached around Giles, opening the refrigerator, grabbing a bottle after glancing up at the clock.

“I thought perhaps I’d wait until everyone is assembled, rather than go over this numerous times.” Giles watched her closely, noting that the gauntness and shadows that had clung to her seemed to be easing somewhat.

“How are you doing?” Giles wanted to know and it seemed like now was a good time to ask.

Putting the bottle on the stove to warm, Buffy stole a glance toward Wesley, then shrugged. Very softly she said, “I’m doing okay. Was afraid for a little bit that I’d lose Spike and Dawn, but I’m okay.” Smiling at him brightly, Buffy continued, “not perky Buffy yet, but working my way toward sometimes chipper.”

Checking the bottle’s temperature, Buffy put it back into the nearly boiling water, smiled at Wesley, saying cryptically, “he’s a bit late. . . wonder why?”

Wesley’s answering smile was a bit lopsided, but his response was equally cryptic. “He’s been going a bit longer every time.”

Just then an ear splitting wail rang through the house and two things happened at once – Dawn yelled “Buffy!” and thumping feet were heard on the stairs.

Spike’s voice reached them. “Niblet, instead of addin’ to the racket, pick up the sprog an’ bring him inside.”

To which she replied, “I’m on the phone.”

Which just caused the other two in the kitchen to laugh, but Giles failed to see the humor in any of it.

Spike entered the kitchen with a caterwauling Connor cradled to his chest, a look of pure chagrin on his features. ‘Kitten, tha’ girl needs to get of ‘er butt and take care of the sprog.”

Realizing the kitchen was more occupied than he thought, Spike said, “never mind. We’ve the convention here already. ‘Lo Rupes.” Handing off the infant to Buffy, Spike perched on the counter. “How was the old sod?”

“It was fine. What I saw of it in any case.” Giles realized that only Tara was missing from this group that he needed to update so he asked, “when will Tara be returning?”

Spike answered, without taking his eyes away from where Buffy was cuddling Connor, “not long. ‘Bout half an hour at most. Got lots to share, Watcher?”

“I do and I’d rather do this once.” He was tired and he wanted to get into his own bed and sleep until sometime late tomorrow morning.

Wesley asked, “is she coming home right after classes?”

“Don’t rightly remember” was Spike’s idle response, but then he shook off his reverie. “Think she an’ dogboy were supposed to be here for movie night.”

“Dog boy?” Giles looked between the other two Englishmen, clearly not understanding.

“He means Oz.” Buffy’s voice was laced with something Giles couldn’t quite pick up on, he thought it might be confusion, but he just discounted it as his own misreading of the entire conversation.

“Oz and Tara are – getting along?”

Spike choked back a snorted laugh, saying “S’right Watcher. Go away for a bit an’ the whole soddin’ hellmouth goes a bit wonky.”

At Giles’ completely baffled look, Spike and Wesley filled him in on all the details of what he’d missed while Buffy listened, feeding Connor.


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

Two days she’d been working diligently, relentlessly perfecting the spells and glamors she was going to need to protect herself from Angel. She’d known as clearly as her own name, he was coming for her.

No one else could perform the soul restoration. No one else knew it. She wasn’t going to do it. Wasn’t even going to give the spell to Buffy so that someone else could try. She also wasn’t going to wait while Angel played his stalkery game. No. Going to take control of the whole situation. Maybe. . . Angel will kill Spike and then I’ll take care of Angel – make him all poofy and everything will be like it should be. I’ll have Tara back and Buffy will be my best friend again and life will be good. Yeah. That’s what I’m going to do.

Mind firmly made up, Willow went back to studying the books strewn across her bed.


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

Dark blue eyes framed by dark lashes surveyed the room, idly noting the broken porcelain bits and tattered lace littering the floor. Dainty feet pirouetted round the room, snippets of songs bouncing off the blood splattered walls. A delicate, deceptively fragile ivory hand cupped the cheek of her latest find, a luscious little girl wrapped in layers of silk and lace, then pulled back, leaving a line of crimson across one cheek.

“Mmmmm. Mummy likes that. . . . lovely pretty ribbons of red dancing all about, curling round.” A cool tongue licked a path from a puckered nipple upwards, pausing to nibble delicately at the throbbing pulse, lapping at the blood pooling in a hollow cheek. “Lots of pretty ribbons for mummy. Does precious kitty want to play?”

Sharpened nails slid down the mostly naked torso, tweaking already engorged nipples, then dipping lower, lower still. The form beneath the questing hand was quiet, the only sounds gasping, panting breaths as cool blood-slick fingers slithered downwards. Dipping two fingers into the warm pussy of her latest prize, Drusilla laughed softly as her toy’s hips raised up, the girl silently begging for more.

“That’s it little kitty cat, purr for mummy.” Sinking her fangs into the breast in front of her, Drusilla stilled, taking long gulps, then stilled again as she felt the silent pull, the feeling of . . . home. . . of Daddy. . . It was not the first time she’d felt it, but this was by far the strongest; cocking her head to the side, Drusilla listened to the call of her Sire, a call only she could hear. . .

Pistoning her fingers in the toy’s warm pussy, Drusilla growled her joy at the thrumming in her veins. Ripping her mouth away, she cooed her delight, forgetting about the willing body beneath her hands. “Daddy’s home, little pussy. . . pssssssss my little pussy shall be just for Daddy now.”

Running her tongue over the bucking form of her latest human, Drusilla singsonged into the girl’s flesh. “Daddy’s home. . . Daddy’s home. . . and he wants his little girl.”

Watching now as her human bucked and writhed in orgasm, Drusilla smiled. “Yes. . . little pussycat shall be Daddy’s prezzie.”

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

Buffy was changing Connor’s diaper, something Giles absolutely never envisioned his slayer doing; Tara and Oz were clattering in the front door, but Giles’ full attention was on the two figures on the floor. Buffy was kneeling by the fireplace, Connor on his blanket and Buffy was actually, and evidently happily, changing the infant’s nappy. He shook his head, trying to come to terms with this vision. He’d thought about waiting to give them his biggest discovery in private, but the sight in front of him had him so rattled that Giles just blurted it all out without thinking.

“You aren’t the first, you know. There have been other Slayers who had children. It’s a rare occurrence, I’ll grant you that, but it has happened.” He paused when Buffy looked at him, her eyes calmly digesting this information. Spike had stilled at the first sound of his voice, lowering the volume on the television, but gradually everyone present had focused on his words, each of them anxiously awaiting whatever else was about to escape from his lips.

“The last slayer to have a child was actually pregnant when she was called.” Remembering what had happened to her, Giles rushed on, “but she wasn’t the first. What is more remarkable were the others.”

“What others?” Buffy shared a look with Spike, knowing which slayer Giles had been referring to and why he’d nearly tripped over himself to skip the story of Spike and Nikki Wood.

“The ones who managed to fall in . . the ones who weren’t called but were identified as potentials and their fates.”

Spike got up off the chair, going to stand beside where Buffy and Connor were, his hand unconsciously stroking her hair. “Go on, Watcher, may as well finish it.”

“The information regarding vampire pregnancies was fairly easily found, however my research did turn up an interesting fact I’m sure none of us considered. The males are all of the same line. They are all Aurelians.”

Buffy’s hand reached up to clasp Spike’s and their fingers entwined, his thumb brushing across the back of her hand. It was his voice that asked the question they were both thinking, “why’m I gettin’ the feeling there’s more to this story?”

“Because there is.” Giles focused his full attention on the couple in front of him, fully aware what he was about to tell them could literally change their lives.

“Six well documented cases of vampire pregnancies, all of them human girls with Aurelian males.” He ticked them off one by one on his fingers.

“Ariadne of Crete, died in 1137, had two children, one in 1138 and another in 1142;”

“Amalie of th Franks, died 1222, had four children, 1224, 1226, 1227 and the last in 1230;”

“Sorcha of Clan MacDonald, died in 1282, had three surviving children 1284, 1285 and 1286;”

“Miriam of the City of Grenada, died 1301, one child 1303;”

“Bryn of Rhuddlan, died in 1587, had two children born in 1588 and 1591; and the last recorded was Isabeau de la Fontaine, died 1622, one child in 1623.”

The room was quiet, none of those present willing to make a sound. Buffy couldn’t look at Spike, afraid of what emotions she would find on his features. She could feel his eyes on her, could feel his tension in the stiffening of his muscles and before she could risk a glance upwards, Giles was speaking again.

“It was Isabeau that lead me to the second part of this, the other half of this puzzle. Isabeau was identified as a potential slayer in 1619. She was never called. Bryn was identified as a potential in 1585. All the others I mentioned were identified within five years of their first deaths.”

Spike was staring down at Buffy, willing her to look up at him, which she finally did when he unconsciously tugged on her hand. The fierceness of the look in his eye coupled with the set of his jaw loosened the coils of fear that had settled in her belly. Buffy smiled up at him and she watched as the ferocity grew.

Heedless of the small drama being played out on the floor of the living room, Giles finally spoke again. “The as of yet unrecorded vampire pregnancy took a bit more uncovering. Darla and Angel. Darla was turned by the Master – do you know when?” At Spike’s shaken head, Giles said, “I believe it was 1609. She was an indentured servant, actually working as a whore, just as the rumors implied. If she is who I now believe her to be, she was born Darla Witherspoon, identified as a potential in 1602, who ran away from home when the Council attempted to approach her in England.”


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

Willow was standing in the middle of Restfield, working on perfecting her ability to conjure fire out of thin air. She’d been practicing outside now for about an hour, leaving the safety of her parents home when one of the curtains got singed.

The fireball spell was proving trickier than she’d imagined, working well only about a third of the time. The sunshine spell was fine, in fact was better than fine, as the vampire dust at her feet attested to. Transmuting the energy from sunshine into flame wasn’t as easy, and for all of her hard work, Willow was no more accurate than when she first started.

Why isn’t this working? This should work without a hitch – so what’s the damn problem? Holding her palm open, Willow blew out a breath, breathing life into the invocation. A tiny pulsing light bathed her pale features, casting almost noon shadows as it flittered above her head.

Willow stared up at the light for long moments, contemplating the sight overhead and the nature of fire. Think Willow . . . what is it that . . . sunlight – glass – dry leaves. Is that? No. Too complicated and it’ll take too long. Think. Put your thinking cap on and work this darn thing out.

“Sunlight to flame . . . “ Pacing back and forth, Willow started muttering chaunts beneath her breath, trying to come up with one that would be simple and effective – and fast. “Sunlight to flame. . . sunlight to flame, never go out in rain. Nope. That’s just silly. Flame, game, same, name, dame, claim, fame, tame. . . . nothing fits.”

A low laugh echoed off the marble surrounding her and Willow’s head snapped up, trying to pinpoint from which direction the sound originated.

Glancing overhead, Willow uttered a single word – “Widen” and the area bathed in light enlarged.

Casting a wary eye all around, Willow waited, instinctively knowing nothing excited Angelus quite the way fear did.

Long minutes passed, or so it seemed, without either adversary speaking. Willow crossed her arms over her chest, a bored expression drifting across her features, hiding her internal agitation well.

She knew what he was trying to do. He was trying to get her to panic, to leave the safety of the sunshine. Not gonna happen, big guy. I’m way smarter than you – can soo outplay your game right now.

Angel was impressed. Little Red was all grown up, trying to play with her elders. He could feel the power pulsing within her and he could also sense the deep well of anger nearly swallowing her. She was. . . . magnificent. Or she will be when she’d fully come into her power.

Oh boyo, would ya look at that one. She’s a bright dark one. . . . an dorcha geal realta. She’d make a right fine vampire. He laughed again, for the joy of watching her and the thrill of chasing her.

She’d expected him to laugh, wasn’t phased by his mirth at all. But unlike before, when by now she would’ve been a babbling mess, Willow was determined to remain silent.

“Well, well, well. Look at how little Willow has grown. Not scared of me either. That’s such a shame. I must be losing my touch.” He paused, watching her try to pinpoint his location. She aimed a small ball of sunshine at a spot, but he’d already moved from there.

“That’s not very sporting now, is it? And all this time I thought you liked me. Was all that an act for Buffy’s sake?” She launched another one at him, but again, he’d moved before she could narrow down his position.

“Not a very nice greeting for someone who came to town just to see you. I was expecting something less hostile. I mean really, Willow? Where’s the love?”

She was looking off to her left and she finally spotted him. Angel was leaning against a crypt in a deceptively casual pose, his arms crossed as he leaned back, his ankles crossed as well, a slight smile playing on his face. He was hidden just enough from the sunshine to ensure his safety and had waited patiently until Willow turned around.

“Gotta say, I’m liking the new look. Treading a bit on the dark side, aren’t you?”

Willow arched a dark brow, holding her silence. “So tell me Willow – how come you’re out here all alone? Buffy desert you? Hmmm?”

He paused, staring her down, willing her to say something, but she held her tongue.

“Where’s your boy?” He sniffed, inhaling deeply, his inhalation ending in a surprised spluttering laugh. “Oh I’m sorry . . . Should be asking where’s your girl. Willow I’m surprised – an innocent girl like you? What are the neighbors saying?”

His grin got wider, watching as her composure started to crumble. “So Willow, don’t you just love the taste of a juicy wet pussy? Just where is your girl? Oooohhhh, is she the tasty one living with Buffy? Wonder if she and Spike share?”

Willow’s resolve wavered and she sent a ball of sunshine winging toward Angel, but he laughed, disappearing into a crypt before the light could hit him.

His cruel and callous laughter echoed around the interior of the mausoleum, bouncing back at her from all sides, and its echo still rang in her ears as she raced home.


Okay, I know you're all pissed because I haven't updated in a while, but show me some love anyway. Please?

[A/N: Its been really slow going. I’m sorry. I can’t push it any more than I am. I had some of these chapters already written in anticipation of something like this happening, but I ended up posting nearly all of them. So now I’m stuck. Trying to play catch up with myself. Things will hopefully start to look up as certain real life situations get resolved, but don’t bank on updates any quicker than once a week. Hopefully I won’t lose any of my lovely readers. *hugs to each and every one of you*. Title is from Alfred Lord Tennyson, Locksley Hall and the quotes are as attributed. Disclaimers in full force and effect. I own nothing]

Previously: Dawn has spilled the beans about her genetic roots; Giles gave a brief explanation regarding vampire pregnancies; and Willow and Angelus have had a confrontation. This is later that same evening.

Book Two. Chapter 20. Wisdom lingers

A little knowledge that acts
is worth infinitely more than much
knowledge that is idle.
Kahlil Gibran, In A Second Treasury of Kahlil Gibran

Our most bitter enemies are our own kith and kin
Kings have no brothers, no sons, no mother!
Honoré De Balzac, Catherine de Medici expliquée, Souverain




Darla had been a potential.

It explained so much about her, who she was, why she was so formidable, and why, years after she’d dusted, Darla’s actions and memory still haunted Buffy. It also explained why the Master had turned her, why Angelus and the rest of them were so strong, why they rose to master vampire status so quickly. Even poor Drusilla, poor Drusilla? Where the hell did that come from Buffy? Buffy shook her head in askance at her own thoughts. Even Drusilla must have benefitted from the infusion of potential slayer blood.

Glancing up at Spike, she wondered just how much her blood affected him. She knew it was powerful. He’d said so more than once, but she wondered what the long term effects might be on him. Would he be stronger? Would he be quicker to heal with regular infusions of her blood? Almost guessing the train of her thoughts by the expression on her face, Spike knelt down by her side, pulling her into his embrace. His voice was a low hum in her ear, his words whispered so that only she could hear him.

“Explains a lot now, what Rupert’s sayin’. Never would’ve imagined it. Darla always was a right bitch, and more powerful than she looked. Downright scary sometimes.”

Wesley was staring down at the baby, who was wriggling around on the blanket, Buffy’s hand covering his belly. “So the boy has slayer and vampire strength in him.”

Giles cleared his throat, preparing to speak, when Dawn’s voice broke through the heavy atmosphere. “Buffy? What does that mean?”

Oh god. Dawn. Buffy looked at Spike, both of them realizing at that instant that not only was Connor the child of a slayer and a vampire but so was Dawn. The panic in her voice was clear, at least to both of them, but no one else in the room caught the emotion.

“Niblet?” Spike’s gaze shifted to where she stood in the doorway, phone in hand and a concerned look on her face. He could hear the buzzing of the disconnection from where he was and he got to his feet, walking toward her. “C’mon, sweet bit, hang up the phone.”

He took the phone from her, hanging it up on the receiver, leading her to the couch. “Why don’t we let Giles tell us what it might mean before we all go off the deep end.”

“I’m not sure what it means. Most of the children were out of the Council’s – their fathers“ The former watcher faltered for a moment, then continued. “It appears that the children were spirited away for their own safety. One of the girls – Sorcha of Clan MacDonald – one of her children, a boy by the name of Seamus was taken into custody by the Council. He died while in the Council’s custody and both of his parents disappeared with their other children shortly after.”

“There’s no records of what happened to the others. They just simply disappeared and there were no details surrounding the rest of their lives.” His comments were greeted with silence, Buffy and Spike lost in their own thoughts concerning both the children.

Buffy lifted Connor off the floor, holding him against her breast. Spike pivoted to face Giles, tension radiating off him in waves as he partially blocked Giles’ view of the two Summers girls.

Giles, sensing the impending fight, raised his hands in an effort to calm Spike’s temper. “Relax. The Council has no knowledge of Connor’s existence – or his lineage. And,” he added, “I felt no compelling need to enlighten them. The baby should be safe for the time being.”

“As safe as he can be with his insane father sniffing around.” Dawn’s voice was laced with sarcasm and it was Wesley’s quietly spoken words that shocked them all.

“Until we can eliminate the threat Angelus poses, hiding Connor might not be a bad idea.”

“Eliminate?” Tara questioned him while Buffy and Spike shared a long look.

“One way or another we are going to have to deal with Angel.” Giles responded to Tara’s question – his attention caught by the sight of his slayer holding onto the baby while Spike looked down into her eyes.

“Your decision, Pet.” They both knew Spike’s carefully worded statement pertained to Dawn as well as Connor and that admitting it out loud was just going to just add to the confusion and turmoil of the moment.

Buffy shook her head, refusing to think about letting either of them go. “No. Not now. He’s still safe here with us.”

The unspoken second half of that was that Dawn would still be safe with them was clear, at least to Spike and his eyes only wavered from hers to glance briefly down at Dawn, who was watching their exchange very carefully. He smiled at the teenager then shifted his gaze back to the other Englishman. “Right then, Rupes, what else have you got?”

Giles motioned Spike to sit, himself moving to take the chair that Spike had vacated earlier. This next part was going to be tricky, Giles didn’t for once fool himself about that and he braced himself for the outcry and the outright refusal he was certain to encounter.

“I did some additional research while I was in the Council’s library, following what happened with Dawn and the knights.” Buffy sat down on the coffee table, angled toward Giles, while Wesley settled against the fireplace and the others found seats in various spots around the room, realizing this was going to be an involved discussion.

“Spike’s injuries while protecting Dawn from the knights could have been avoided.” Giles knew he was drawing this out, prolonging the moment – but he couldn’t for the life of him, just open this up for discussion, without some sort of introduction.

“Not bloody likely. Got this hardware that prevents certain actions.” Spike’s tone of voice, and his words, cut through the room, and Giles had his opening.

Throwing a somewhat grateful gaze in his direction, one that he hoped Spike didn’t incorrectly interpret, Giles said, “Well, yes, that is true. But I believe its time to discuss the chip and its removal.”

Instead of the upheaval and outrage he fully expected and had doubly prepared himself for, his statement was greeted with complete and utter silence. So much so that the only noise was Connor’s quick inhalations and the ticking of the clock on the wall. No one moved and no one spoke.

Time crept forward slowly as Giles waited for the hue and cry of denials that never came. His gaze moved from Spike’s still figure standing in the middle of the room to Buffy’s seated form. Dawn had shifted forward, as did Wesley, but like Tara and Oz, neither spoke. There was a quiet giggle, and Giles looked about for the source, when it was joined by another low chuckle and all eyes were riveted on the blond couple. Buffy looked up at Spike, who turned to face her, amusement playing about his lips and her stifled giggle broke into a full laugh.

Misinterpreting the reason behind Buffy’s laughter, Giles attempted to interrupt her, but it proved impossible as she sunk further into mirth.

Finally, after long minutes of relieved glee, Spike’s voice finally broke through enough to calm everyone else’s growing concern. “Thought we were goin’ to have a hell of a time tryin’ to convince you.”

He chuckled again, looking toward the love of his entire existence and smiled at her wide grin. She opened her mouth to speak and another series of giggles erupted. “Spike thought you would be the one to object.”

Giles trained his eyes on both of them, his senses suddenly alert. “You’ve talked about this?”

“Just Spike and I. Kinda wanted to wait until you were back. But I made up my mind while Spike was still out of it.” Buffy’s voice was steady, no hesitation or doubt present.

Spike braced himself for the arguments from the others in the room, and although he hoped there’d be none, he expected more than a token resistance to their decision.

“Have. . have you decided how?” Tara’s voice broke the silence – and, it seemed, everyone’s reluctance to speak, because Wesley then asked, “Is removal even possible?”

Dawn’s comment was, “about time the stupid thing came out. Stupid thing to do to a vampire anyway. What were they trying to do? Create some controllable demon army?”

“Bit? That’s exactly what they were plannin’.” Spike addressed her comments first, while Buffy fielded the others.

“Not sure if it can be removed, but we need to find out. Tara? Do you think you and Giles could check out magical means? We have a couple of options – either the Initiative or demon-friendly surgeons.”

“There’s always Dr. Thomas. He might be able to help.” Oz’ quiet voice drew Spike’s attention.

“Who’s that?”

“He’s the dude that fixed you up. Works at Sunnydale Memorial.” Oz leaned forward a little bit, his gaze intent on the vampire.

Giles surged to his feet, heading for his carry-on bag. “I brought a list of surgeons. I’m not certain he’s on it.”

“Might not be listed in Sunnydale. He’s from Pennsylvania originally. Somewhere near Hershey Park I think.”

Wesley said, “there’s a fair number of demon-friendly medical personnel in Los Angeles also, if you want to travel.”

“No.” Spike’s one word answer was softened when he continued, “don’t want Angelus catchin’ wind of this – so its got to happen here – can maybe hide one or two people comin’ into Sunnyhell, but me leavin’? He’d know it quick enough. ‘M not leavin’ town for this.”

“Angelus? What’s he got to do with this?” Obviously there was something else he was missing, because Giles was suddenly confused.

“He knows about the chip, and he would be just twisted enough to send humans after Spike. Plus he knows Spike was injured. What he doesn’t know is how or why – and he can’t know or find out the real truth about Dawn.” There was a steely quality in Buffy’s last statement, almost as if she were warning the others.

“So we are going to find a way to remove the chip before Angel realizes its happening. And we’re going to confuse the hell out of him or at least try.” Buffy looked toward Giles, realizing he’d been too quiet in his lack of objections. “Giles?”

“Hhmmm?” Recognizing his distracted air had the feeling of disapproval, Giles shook himself. “Perhaps then a ruse to keep him occupied would be in order.”

“Huh?” Buffy looked to Spike for a translation while Wesley capitalized on the thought, his own internal cogs shifting into motion.

“The Buffybot.”

“‘Splain.” Was Buffy’s clipped command.

“Angel knows about the chip. Knows Spike is injured. Do we know how closely he’s watching us?”

“He tried being all stalkery guy again, but Tara saved the day.” Buffy beamed over at her friend, a big smile on her face, to which Tara blushed in response. “Oh! Giles – we need an eternal source of power – got one handy?”

“Of course Buffy, I packed one in my bags.”

It took a moment for Giles’ snarky comment to register, but when Dawn and Tara both giggled, it was all over and the room’s occupants all laughed.


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

Willow was seething. Her anger and resentment were almost palpable, another presence pacing along side her. She did not like this feeling. Angelus had, despite all her efforts to the contrary, managed to get under her skin earlier in Restfield.

He’d made her feel like stupid powerless Willow and she really didn’t like that. She was supposed to be the one in control; the cool-under-fire one who didn’t panic when the boogeyman came calling.

All those words from still stung, even though he hadn’t been that bad. It had still shaken her. The fact that he’d been able to creep up on her and get close caused a major case of the wiggins every time she really thought about it.

The more she thought about it, the more she just got aggravated. And how come no one had called her – well no one but Xander.

Oh no, I am not going to let that nasty vampire get the better of me. Nahuh. With renewed determination Willow focused her energy on making the spontaneous flame spell work.


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

He was really happy his other self had been so concerned about his humans that he’d insisted they all get cell phones. Angel thought about calling Cordelia but decided against it. He’d call her later, give her time to think about where he was, how close he might be. Gunn? No. Not unless dear Freddie was with him. . . But no. Angel realized he just really wanted to talk to his most trusted right-hand man. Not since the Scourge had ranged about had there been anyone he trusted . . .

Flipping open his phone, Angel hit the address book and dialed Wesley.


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

The laughter was slowly dying down when Wesley felt the vibration of his cell against his hip. He reached for it, standing away from the wall, his attention divided between the room and the phone. Glancing down at the display screen, he began motioning everyone to silence.

Waiting just long enough for everyone to still, Wesley opened the phone. “Angel.”

“Aw. That’s no fun peeking at the incoming number. Had to know you’d be the smart one.” There was amused disappointment in the vampire’s voice, almost as if he couldn’t complain about Wesley knowing who was on the other end, but wanting too in any case.

“What is it you want?” Spike had drifted closer, standing just to Wesley’s right, so that he could hear the entire exchange and the taller man shifted so that Spike wouldn’t have to strain so much.

“Want? Gee, that’s such an open question. I want lots of things.” There was a slight pause, as if Angel were really contemplating what he wanted. “I could say world peace, but really, that’s such a cliche, and so very far from the truth.”

“Yes, well, your point is?” Spike’s eyebrows rose in amusement, but he made no sound, waiting to hear what else Angel had to say.

“Not really the tone you want to take with me. If I want to talk, we’ll talk.” There was now a harder edge to the vampire’s tone, one that Wesley wasn’t at all comfortable with. “My point, Mr. Wyndam-Pryce, is that I wanted to check in, catch up on all the news. Find out how everyone is.”

Wesley and Spike shared a look, both of them trying to hold onto their mirth. Amazing how having someone else to listen to this relieved some of the fear. Buffy got up from the table, leaning into Spike’s side while she tried to listen also.

“Everyone’s fine.” Spike shook his head in agreement, a smirk playing on his features.

“Really? That’s so nice to hear. So tell me, has the infant sported fangs yet?”

“No.” Wesley was determined to not give Angelus any more information than absolutely necessary, giving him as little to go on as possible.

“No? Would’ve thought the boy would do that right away. Oh well, he’ll have them soon enough.” Buffy flinched and Spike pulled her and the baby closer, placing a silent kiss on the top of her head.

“Really Wes, the object of a cell phone is communication. So, please, communicate. I’m all ears.” There was an edge of irritation creeping into Angel’s voice and Spike’s smirk started to bloom into a grin, when Wesley just stated simply, “I’m not really all that chatty you know. Prefer to keep to myself.”

It took nearly all his will power not to laugh into the phone, but the looks that everyone around him were sporting was enough to send him over the edge. Really, what did Angel think he was dealing with? A bunch of easily scared teenaged girls? Intimidating phone calls might work if one of them was alone; but in this house, surrounded by a group of people, all of whom were either of supernatural origin or in their own way capable of battling one or two demons without any assistance. . . this tactic, of using a phone call, did not work. It was actually more of an annoyance. Wesley shook his head, not really sure he was really believing this. “Angel? Are we done here? I have things to do.”

“For now Wesley.”

And the phone disconnected.

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

Angel stared at the walls of the mansion, feeling distinctly dissatisfied and very perturbed. It shouldn’t have gone that way. Wesley should have been more on guard, more worried; shouldn’t have been flippant. I suppose he feels all safe and sound inside the Slayer’s house. But everyone has to move out of that safety sooner or later. And that’s when I’ll have you. All of you.

Fooling himself into believing that the Slayer’s people would be easy targets, Angel discounted their combined strengths, knowing as he did, that divided they would all fall. Like dominos. . .


I realize this one was a bit short, but I promise you all the next one is much, much longer. And as soon as I feel up to it, its going to get uploaded. Leave me a note, let me know what you are all thinking. That is if anyone is still with me. I'm not sure I have anyone reading these anymore.

[A/N: Sometimes you just have to take a step back, away from some things and then whatever it is sort of falls into place and everything works. That sort of happened here. Sort of. The plot points of this story are all done, its just a matter of getting it all on paper, or screen or wherever. I’m working on it. This chapter is a time compressing one, meaning that its going to be little snippets of moments in the next coming weeks, until it slows down again. Title is from Bonnie Franklin in the New York Times (An unhurried sense of time is in itself a form of wealth) and the quotes are as attributed. And the disclaimers are in full force and effect.]

Previously: Giles has come home with loads of information; Angel’s presence is being felt and everyone’s trying to find a way to get the chip removed.

Book Two, chapter 21. An unhurried sense of time.


Time is an illusion. Lunchtime doubly so.
Douglas Adams


We've erased a lot of the distinctions between night and day,
between weekday and weekend.
Our notions of time and space are collapsing.
Susan Orlean, Saturday Night in America


On Saturday, when Giles had been home for a couple of days, Spike showed up alone at the Magic Box, with a couple of books in hand and something obviously on his mind. It was fairly early for him to be up and around, which indicated something of importance. He’d come in through the tunnels, using the fairly busy underground routes in and around Sunnydale. The girls were meeting him here later, after they did some shopping. Buffy knew he was going to tell Giles about Dawn, and they’d told Dawn together what Spike was planning.

Giles was, for once, alone in the shop, Anya giving him the flimsy excuse of needing some girl time to herself and requesting the day off. He’d obliged, noting that something was bothering the girl, but secure that when she felt up to it, she’d no doubt tell them all what was on her mind.

“Rupert.” Spike rarely used given names in proper forms and when he did, the person always knew there was something important about to be said. “Niblet got into your flat when you were gone. Took some of the books Oxford brought.” He placed the set of four on the table, laying the smallest on the top. “She read them. Searchin’ out how she got here.”

The older man walked around the counter toward the books. “What did she find?”

Expelling air in a deep sigh, Spike sat down with his arms across the back of chair, unsure how to just say this. “She found out who she is.”

“What? Spike what do you mean she found out who she is?” Giles was confused. “Just tell me.”

After their talk the other day, when Dawn had slipped and told them, Spike had asked her for the journal so that he and Buffy could go over it. She’d given it to them and they’d read the thing together, picking up things that Dawn had missed, instances that she wouldn’t have known about.

Spike gestured toward the smallest journal. “Need to read that one Rupert. Should answer all your questions.”

Not wanting to wait, Rupert asked him again. “What’s in it?”

“Jus’ read the bloody thing. Answers are all in there.” Done with his questions, Spike got up and went back downstairs to start filling mail orders.

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

Two and a half hours later, Giles closed the journal and wiped his eyes, answers to nearly all his questions regarding the Key filling his head. The journal also supplied a few other answers, unfortunately those answers were for questions Giles had never bothered to pose before. He’d known, after they destroyed the Sunnydale branch of The Initiative, that human and demon experimentation had been an ongoing practice in the labs. He’d known and hadn’t once thought that samples might have been taken from either Spike or Buffy. Hadn’t even thought to look for them in the aftermath.

Giles was now faced with the truth that it wouldn’t have mattered even if he had thought to go back; however, he was also realizing that somewhere, someone had the samples that hadn’t been destroyed. Sometime in the future, some bizarre hybrid like Adam could be reconstructed from those samples. He stared off, not really seeing his surroundings, instead letting his mind drift back nearly two years. Defeating Adam and the Initiative had taken the combined strengths of all of them, and at the end, even Spike had been of some assistance. There was no telling what they might face in the future, what madman could possibly dream up with the samples. It almost didn’t bear contemplating.

His supposition about the monks had been correct, which in hindsight was of little comfort. They had been capable of manipulating energy with far greater skill than he’d ever seen or encountered and it appeared they were not originally part of this dimension. But the vessel they used to house the Key was something else entirely. The vessel was purely human – as much as the child of any vampire and slayer could be – and although she had been manufactured – she was most definitely the child of Buffy and Spike.

Which explained so much. The irony of the situation was that all summer, Spike had stayed to protect Buffy’s sister, never once imagining that Dawn was something more. That Spike harbored feelings for Dawn and they were reciprocated was never a question, at least in his mind. Now the information in the journal was doubly important, but Giles doubted any of them but him were aware of that fact. If the child of a slayer and a vampire was strong enough to house an eternal elemental energy, there’s no telling what else that child or other children were capable of, what other strengths they would exhibit.

The coming months with Connor were going to be enlightening ones.

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


It was domestic and very coupley of them; something that Buffy had never done with any of her other boyfriends, but everyone else was out doing their own thing and well, they needed to do some shopping. The house was dangerously low on groceries. But at least they had money to do the shopping with, because Giles had come through in a big way.

Unbeknownst to her, Giles had gone to the Council asking them for some financial support for their only active slayer. Citing the need for her to maintain her own household, since she had a dependent sister, Giles had pretty much effectively blackmailed the Council into providing housing expenses and incidentals. The Council had, in typical fashion, asked for concessions from Giles on her behalf and he’d resisted, refusing to budge on his position of requesting the necessary funds. But the Council had conceded the need for separate households, and understanding that the sister in question was not just another teenager; so they’d made arrangements for the payment, in full, of the mortgage that was still outstanding. All other household expenses, including the electricity and water bills, would be paid monthly out of an account Giles would manage. Anything else that was needed would have to be supplied by the Slayer herself.

So here they were, in the supermarket, her and Spike with the baby, shopping. Picking out foods. Buying diapers. Getting formula. Doing stuff she never ever thought she’d be doing, with probably the last person she’d ever thought to be doing all those things. But it was fun. Spike had a weird way of making everything easy. He was tossing boxes of pasta in the cart, while Buffy held the baby, dragging the cart behind him, grumbling all the while good-naturedly about how this was ruining his image.

Connor was resting against her shoulder and Buffy tried to reach for a jar of sauce that was over her head and she nearly brought down the whole display on top of the two of them. A little old lady who was in the aisle with them gasped, drawing Spike’s attention and he was there, holding the jars up, before any of them could fall. He got them back up on the shelf, then shifted his attention to her. He was all set to yell, but the look on her face stopped him short, so instead he gathered her into his arms, holding them both close.

“All right, sunshine?” He kissed her forehead, his hand cupping Connor’s as he let her lean into his chest.

“Yeah. I think so.” But she was shaking and he could feel it, so he knew she wasn’t really okay.

“How’s m’sprog?” Spike lifted the baby up onto his shoulder, wrapping his arm around Buffy. She was overreacting and they both knew it, but he wasn’t going to mention it. And they both knew it was because of the baby.

Neither of them was paying attention to anything around them until the old lady whose gasp had alerted Spike patted Buffy on the back. “Its okay dear. First baby’s take a bit of getting used to. You’ll learn.”

Buffy lifted her head to gaze into the kind face and sniffled. “I’m not used to this.”

“Its okay dear. You and your husband will find your way.” She smiled at the two of them, patting Buffy again, then laid her hand on Connor’s back. “It’s a boy, yes? I’m sure he’ll grow up big and strong, just like his daddy, here. Congratulations and good luck.”

With that, the little old lady walked away, but not before winking at Spike.

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

Cordelia was sitting on a lounge chair, listening to the waves break gently on the Mexican shore when the buzzing of her cell phone interrupted. Grumbling half-heartedly, she flipped open the phone without looking at the incoming number.

“Hello Cordy. How’s my favorite girl?”

His voice sent shivers down her spine and she didn’t speak, almost didn’t breathe.

“C’mon, Cordy, don’t forget to breathe.” The false sincerity in his tone was her undoing and she gasped in a few quick puffs of air.

Listening to her strangled gasps, Angel chuckled. “You know what’s great about cell phones? You never really know where the other person is calling you from.”

Despite the fact she knew he couldn’t be that close, since the nearest shelter was five hundred feet behind her, Cordelia whirled around, looking for him.

“Know what else is great about cell phones?” He paused, waiting for his question to sink in. “You can track them.” He laughed then, the sound going right through her.

The connection ended and Cordelia was left staring wild-eyed all around her, goosebumps erupting all over her skin.


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


Tara had gone on a date, with someone that Oz had introduced her to, and that was slightly weird, at least to Buffy. Spike was out playing poker and she was kind of at loose ends, although Connor was a handful. He was on the floor, playing with the toys everyone kept buying him whenever they went out, while she folded laundry. I am domestic Buffy. Go me. She smiled a little, wondering when she’d become a mom and how it didn’t give her such a weird feeling.

Connor was a sweet baby, as long as he wasn’t howling to be fed, and he was generally quiet. When the clothes were all folded Buffy watched Connor for a minute, as his plump little fist waved around the rattle. Aren’t babies his age supposed to just lay there and do nothing? According to the book Wesley had gotten – What to Expect the First Year – Connor wasn’t supposed to be moving or doing anything other than sleeping and eating. Instead he wriggled around and held things, grabbed at all sorts of stuff they waved in his face; he recognized them all too. He knew whenever Spike was in the room, sometimes crying until the vampire caved and picked him up, reacting whenever he heard Spike’s voice. Thinking for a moment, Buffy decided to try something. Very softly she called out his name, watching him as he stilled. She did it again and it was very clear that he heard her. The third time, he was struggling to move in her direction.

Buffy got up, walked a bit toward the front door and called him again. His arms and legs went crazy, flailing as he sensed she’d moved further away from him. She could see his face screw up into a bit of a scowl, which was adorable on his tiny features. Buffy moved closer and called his name. If a baby could snap his head up and look directly at someone, Connor did. Buffy called his name a third time and his little legs pumped up in the air like he was trying to run to her. Buffy laughed and Connor did it again. Dropping down to her knees, scooting over to him, she leaned down and nuzzled him.

“How’s my big boy?” Play nibbling on him, she blew raspberries onto his cheek and when Connor grabbed at her, Buffy cooed at him, “there’s my baby.”

“No. He’s not yours. Projecting much?” Dawn’s voice came at her from the kitchen and Buffy looked up into the angry eyes of her sister. No. She’s not my sister. That’s my daughter.

“Hey Dawnie. How was the movie?” Not realizing that Dawn was brewing for a fight, Buffy went right back to the baby without waiting for her answer.

“He’s not yours you know. Not really.” Finally Buffy heard the words Dawn was saying and she picked up her head to look at her.

“Dawn? I know that. I’m just playing with him.” Dawn made a face and Buffy waited for the outburst.

“But he’s not yours.” Oh, okay, that’s what’s bothering her.

Leaving the baby where he was, Buffy got to her feet, walking closer to Dawn. “I know who his parents are Dawnie. But its not fair to him to treat him like he’s unwanted. He didn’t ask for any of this.”

Dawn looked away, a set look on her features, “he’s still not your baby.”

“No. He’s not.” Buffy reached for her, pulling Dawn’s chin so that the teen had to look at her. “I don’t pretend that he’s mine either.”

Dawn’s eyebrow raised and her hip thrust out and oh boy does she look like her father right now, and Buffy could see Spike in her so clearly and she was just watching her not really hearing the words her sis. . daughter was speaking. “You sure about that?”

“Am I sure about what?” Buffy was confused.

“God are you even listening to me? Do you even know I’m here?” Dawn’s voice rose in volume, climbing toward ear-splitting levels.

“I know you’re here. Dawnie, why would I pretend that he’s mine?” Refusing to let her pull away, Buffy wrapped her hand around Dawn’s wrist. Dawn tried pulling away, but Buffy held on.

“Why wouldn’t you? Its Angel’s baby. . . isn’t that what you’ve always wanted?” There was real sarcasm in her tone and Buffy though perhaps Dawn’s reaction was partially for herself and partially for Spike. Does she think that I’m doing this because Connor is Angel’s? Knowing that she’d already had this discussion with Spike and he knew how she felt, but that no one else did, Buffy quickly realized that everyone might be thinking the same thing.

“No. I don’t want his baby. Honestly? I don’t want anything to do with him.” Buffy looked into Dawn’s eyes, trying to make her understand. “I’m so over Angel.”

Big tears sprung into Dawn’s eyes and Buffy pulled her close. “What’s really wrong?”

“Nothing.” Her jaw clenched and she pulled away from Buffy.

“Dawnie. Something’s bugging you. So dish.” Buffy grabbed Dawn’s hand and pulled her over to where Connor was on the floor. She sat down, then looked up at the teen and said, “c’mon, sweetie, sit down here with me.”

“Its just, you know, I see you with him and it seems like all you want is to take care of him and you know, what about Spike? And what’s with the baby? I mean I thought you didn’t want . . . you never said you wanted babies and now all of a sudden Angel’s baby is here and now you’re all oohh baby and aww and how come. . . its just not fair.”

Buffy hid her smile, because Dawn hadn’t breathed through any of that halting explanation, which didn’t even make much sense at all. The last words struck a chord, though, so Buffy focused on them. “What’s not fair?”

Finally breaking down, Dawn choked out, “because he gets to be a baby and I . . . I don’t . . All my memories about that are false. None of them are real and it . . would have been . . . “

Oh. That’s what’s this was all about. “It would have been different if at least part of them were real?” Buffy wasn’t sure what Dawn was getting at, or really trying to say other than she wished she’d been given memories of growing up with her real parents.

Dawn wiped her eyes, not looking at Buffy. “Yeah. If you know, the monks had planted memories of you and me and Spike as, you know, what we really are.”

“Would’ve been way complicated, don’t you think?” Buffy thought about it for a moment, then blurted out, “but couldn’t you just picture the look on Giles’ face? He’d have headed right for the books.”

Dawn let out a watery giggle. “What would’ve been even funnier would have been Xander’s reaction.”

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


Patrolling with the Buffybot was enough to drive him round the bend. Spike was not looking forward to being out there, trailing after the robotic image of his love, but they had all decided that one of them should be home at all times with the baby. Connor was thriving, had grown like a weed in the last two weeks, and was constantly wriggling around; doing things a normal infant didn’t do until much later. Things at the house had settled down also, Wesley had moved out to join Giles at his flat, since sleeping on the couch was decidedly uncomfortable and Buffy and Spike were contemplating a move into Joyce’s old room.

It was nearly time to get out there and patrol, and since it was his night to go, he was restless and pacing around like a panther without enough room to roam. Spike was also missing Buffy, since sleeping with an insatiable infant wasn’t his idea of fun. Probably as a side effect of his growth spurts, Connor was still eating every couple of hours, which left their sex life suffering. Not that Spike minded, well, he did, but the spawn came first, much as he hated admitting it. He didn’t care much as long as the sprog didn’t yowl at the top of his lungs, in the ear splitting howl he seemed to have perfected, whenever his belly wasn’t full.

There were moments too, when Buffy couldn’t soothe the boy and only Spike’s touch would settle him down. His theory was that the infant was used to the lack of a heartbeat and it in some way comforted him to be held by Spike. So there were long nights when he and the sprog were up and everyone else was asleep. Spike realized how funny it was when he was up late, the television on and he found himself with the infant in his arms and he was talking out loud to the baby. It had been the most surreal moment of his unlfe; William the Bloody, the Slayer of Slayers, watching late night infomercials with a two week old infant in his arms, one he had no intentions ever of harming. It was enough to cause him a serious case of, as Dawn or Buffy would put it, the wiggins.

Everyone was gathered in the Magic Box; Giles, Wesley and Anya arguing over some obscure point of demonology, Buffy was holding Connor and making faces and noises at him, Oz was hanging out by the front door, waiting for Tara to come back from classes and Dawn was also due to arrive in any minute. But he was restless. There was a itch along his spine that no amount of scratching would alleviate. He couldn’t shake the feeling; it was like a hum just beneath his skin, a nagging sense of some impending disaster.

He snorted mentally, ticking off the number of things that could explode in their faces. The Huntsman and the hounds had effectively stopped hunting the innocent or nearly innocent; Willow had drifted in and out of their lives, meeting here and there, accidently running into Tara, who still put her off about having a real discussion and then there was Angelus. That at the moment was his biggest worry. Angelus had been too quiet in the last couple of weeks, leaving subtle reminders of his presence.

The scariest moment had been when he’d tailed Tara home just a couple of nights ago. But that was nothing, really, in the scheme of things. Spike knew Angelus better than any one else, and he knew this was all part of the game, lulling them all into a sense of security and then he would strike. And strike hard.

He stopped pacing, turning on his heel to watch Buffy, his head cocked to the side. She was not classically beautiful, not like some other women he’d known, there was too much character in her face for that, but there was a beauty all the same. A smile traced across his face, as he stood just watching her, he completely was unaware his actions had garnered his own audience. Anya nudged Giles, who was standing behind her, pointing her chin in their direction.

Spike was standing on the upper level of the store, his eyes trained on Buffy and the baby, an expression on his face that Giles had never seen before. The soft lighting of the area at the table complimented Buffy but it was also clear that it wouldn’t matter what light she was bathed in, because it was obvious that in Spike’s eyes Buffy was everything. Anya sighed softly and Giles glanced down at her, catching the sadly wistful look in her eyes.

Anya had been unusually and uncharacteristically quiet since the arrival of Wesley and Connor. There were times he wanted to question her about why, and he’d heard from Wesley about the incident when Xander had frightened her, but he was fairly certain the reason behind her introspection. Even before his successful trip to England, Giles had begun to notice a rift between the former demon and her boyfriend, however he’d chosen to stay out of their situation. But the sadness in her eyes as she watched Spike eyeing Buffy called to him.

Giles laid a hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently, silently lending her some support. Spike moved, breaking the spell they were all under, leaning down to say something that only Buffy could hear and Giles made a snap decision. Buffy’s face lit up, her eyes glowing as Spike’s hand reached out to ghost along her cheek and she leaned into his touch. Watching the two of them, Giles knew he had to do what the crazy notion in his head was telling him to do.

Once more Spike leaned down, whispering something into Buffy’s ear that caused her to blush hotly and swat his arm. The leer on Spike’s face left no illusions about what he’d said or what was on his mind but somehow that didn’t really bother Giles.

“Buffy? Why don’t you go with Spike tonight,” and glancing down at the woman standing next to him, Giles continued, “Anya and I will stay with the baby.”

With a quick glance up at Spike, Buffy asked, “you sure? You don’t mind?”

“No. I don’t, but, well, I didn’t exactly. . . “ he hemmed and hawed so much that Anya finally came to his rescue, announcing, “I don’t mind. I’ve nothing else to do.”

“There. Its settled. You and Spike go patrol and we’ll sit with the baby.”


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

Wesley was heading to Los Angeles – in the quest for a demon-friendly surgeon – they’d run up against a brick wall. Dr. Thomas wasn’t a neurologist, was in fact an orthopedist who’s first choice in medicine had been obstetrics and the only other surgeon in Sunnydale was another obstetrician. Two others they’d contacted had refused, so Wesley had volunteered to try and get his contact at Wolfram & Hart to give up more information. The good news was they now had x-rays of Spike’s head, so that Wesley could use those to show them what the situation was.

Giles had privately told Wesley that it appeared they were going to have to contact the Initiative, which everyone had agreed was a last resort.

He was leaving as Dawn and Casey trooped in the door; his meeting with Lilah Morgan scheduled for nine. Dawn watched him go, a question in her eyes, but because Casey was present she never voiced it.

Anya’s greeting was subdued and Dawn knew there was something bothering the ex-demon but she was in the dark about that too. She was beginning to think that no one trusted her at all, when Buffy said, “Dawnie? Giles and Anya are gonna stay home and babysit tonight.”

“I don’t need one.” She very nearly stamped her foot, stopping when she realized how very childish that would be.

“Not for you – for Connor.” Buffy rolled her eyes.

“Oh.” Shrugging her shoulders, Dawn said, “okay then.” She thought for a moment, realizing Buffy was supposed to be home that night and Spike was supposed to patrol with the Buffybot. “Where are you going?”

“Out with Spike.”

They’d told Casey that Connor was Spike’s nephew, and that his mother had been badly injured in an accident and wasn’t going to recover. Since Spike was her only family, he got custody because the baby’s father was a jerk and in jail. The story wasn’t far off the mark and explained why Buffy and Spike had the baby.

“You kids have fun.” Dawn giggled when she realized Spike was tugging her sister toward the door, his impatience evident. “Gee Spike, you’re not gonna wait until full dark?”

His “no” was said as the door was closing behind them.

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


So far, patrol had been a huge bust, pretty much the way it had been since Angelus had come back into town. It was so dead in fact, that Spike was beginning to question why they were even bothering anymore, because even the humans seemed to have noticed. There were more people on the streets than he remembered seeing in a long time, and Spike looked over at Buffy, who was walking to his right, a somewhat distracted air about her.

“How come everyone’s out and about?” He was bored and if something didn’t show up soon, the itching along his spine was going to drive him round the bend.

“Thanksgiving is next weekend.” Buffy scrunched up her face, thinking about the holiday. ‘First one without Mom.” She sighed. “I guess I’m gonna have to figure out how to not ruin a turkey and learn how to make a decent pie.”

“Seem to remember that last one wasn’t so bad.” He swung around to watch her, walking backwards.

“Please, that turkey was overcooked and the only thing that came out perfectly were the mashed potatoes. Everything else was bad.” She made a face at him, more than willing to admit she wasn’t up for cooking an entire Thanksgiving meal.

“Ah. . . sunshine, you were also fighin’ a whole tribe of mystical Chumash that day.”

He paused searching his memory. “Yours truly was tied up and unable to help, Red was going on about exploitin’ the natives an’ the whelp ended up all sickly. It’s a wonder anythin’ turned out well.”

She stared at him, looking for any sign of sarcasm. When she found none, Buffy nodded. “There was a lot going on. I don’t remember though, why it was so important that everything turn out perfectly. It was only us, the only new one was you.”

Spike stopped walking. His eyes were on her and Buffy couldn’t fight the blush that bloomed across her cheeks. Dark blue eyes bore into hers and she didn’t want to blurt something out that would further embarrass her.

“So the only thing different was me.” He reached out to touch her chin. Deciding to leave that one alone, he thought about the time he’d spent with Giles. Knowing she’d never share her real feelings unless he was up front about it first, Spike whispered gruffly, “never did thank Red for that spell.”

“Thank her?” Buffy looked up at that, her eyes fixed on him. “Why’d do you wanna do that?”

“She gave me somethin’ I’d wanted.” He paused, watching as what he was saying registered. “Didn’t wanna admit it then but yeah, I wanted you.”

The truth was there, easily broadcast by his eyes on her. “Spike? Promise you won’t laugh?”

“Won’t laugh.” He kissed her forehead, waiting for her to speak.

“I thought you were the best kisser in the world.”

His smirk was back and he swaggered, then swooped back to tug her along. “Would’ve shagged you senseless if it had gone on longer. Then Cardboard wouldn’t have been around.”

Thoroughly surprising him, Buffy said, “I was trying to be normal. Riley was normal.”

Spike snorted out something too low for Buffy to make out, turning an innocent look on her. “Nahuh, Spike tell me.”

“All right. Should’ve . . . just. . . dunno. Soldier boy got off on the pain. Liked bein’ miserable.” He ducked his head, not looking at her, aware that this was a potentially dangerous subject for them to be discussing, but as usual, his mouth was moving before he realized it. “Didn’t like not bein’ the strong one. Tried to make you feel like you weren’t good enough.”

Buffy was quiet for so long that he thought she was building up for a good fight, but when he stole a glance at her, she was staring down at the ground, watching where they were walking. In a very small voice, she said, ‘I guess I missed that. I thought I needed normal. Everyone said that. . . . normal was what I was supposed to want.”

He made some sort of grumbling noise, but she was speaking again, “only one person ever saw me. Only one person that ever really got me.”

“Oh?” Half expecting her to say Willow or Angel, Spike was surprised when she flicked his arm. “What’s that for?”

“Yep. Only one.” She looked up at him, the soft moonlight playing across her features, her eyes dark and twinkling. “Imagine that a vampire understanding a slayer.”

Spike didn’t say anything, just watched her from under his lashes, waiting for her to speak. “Angel never really understood me. Did lots of things that . . . He made decisions on what he thought was right. But only . . .it was you. You were the only one who got me.”

Buffy stepped closer and his arms automatically curled around her. Reaching up, she curled her arms around his neck and Spike grinned. “I know you Slayer. That’s why.”

She whispered back at him breathlessly. “Yeah. I guess you do.”

He was about to lean down to kiss her when a voice came out of the shadows. “Really, that’s just. . . So sweet.”

They broke apart, going into an anticipatory stance, their figures almost back to back, waiting for Angel to show himself. He didn’t disappoint, emerging from behind a crypt, deceptively at ease. “Nice night, moon’s shining down ever so softly, and two lovers are out for a stroll. Makes a pretty picture.”

Unconsciously they shifted, moving so that their dominant hands were on the outside, standing almost side by side.

“You two are soo adorable together. Just cuter than anything. But I have to ask, who’s home with the baby? Did you just leave the two kiddies alone? Or is Willow’s girl there? Hhmmm?” Angel leaned back on his heels, his hands in his pockets.

Neither one of them spoke, for once Spike holding his tongue. But there must have been some change in his expression, because Angel started speaking again. “You know Spike, this won’t last. She’s human and, well, fickle. Can’t decide what she wants, can’t keep a man. You’ll get tired of her and leave.”

Without warning, about ten or so of Angel’s minions jumped down from the tops of nearby crypts and they were surrounded. Angel drifted off, knowing they would make short work of them, uncaring of the losses.

They were fighting, punching and staking right and left, and suddenly Buffy realized she’d gotten separated from Spike. Dusting the last of the minions she’d been fighting, Buffy searched around looking for him. Moving back toward where she last remembered seeing him, she didn’t start to panic until he wasn’t there, and there were only piles of dust scattered around. Moving faster, she half ran toward his old crypt, her eyes sweeping over the grounds of Restfield. Spying a dark spot and seeing something move in the shadows, Buffy set off in that direction, only to skid to a halt when she recognized what she was looking at. It was Spike leaning over someone, talking and gesturing wildly.

Buffy walked closer, then caught a glimpse of who Spike was talking to.

It was Drusilla.



Okay, I'm sure you all know the drill by now. My insecurity needs to know what you think about this. . . because without your input, I think its just a whole lot of crap. So, let me know, okay?

[A/N: Thanks to everyone who waited oooh so patiently for the story to get to this point. Everything that I’ve thrown into the cauldron is going to start bubbling and boiling and. . well, we’ll see whether this will be a bitter brew or something more savory. . . . The title is from a quote by Peter Ustinov, (Love is an act of endless forgiveness, a tender look which becomes habit) and the quotes are as attributed. Disclaimers, as always, are in full force and effect.]

Previously: Wesley has gone to meet with Lilah Morgan regarding surgeons; Dawn had a moment with Buffy about Connor; and Drusilla is back in Sunnydale. This picks up exactly where we left everyone.

Book Two. Chapter 22. Tender looks becoming habit.


At the touch of love everyone becomes a poet.
Plato

Love is something eternal, the aspect may change, but not the essence.
Vincent van Gogh

To love and to be loved is to feel the sun from both sides.
David Viscott

Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind,
And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.
A Midsummer Night’s Dream, act I, sc. I


There was something interesting that happened to females when infants were introduced. Even females that had never expressed an interest or desire or any other concern about children became enamored with infants. The tinier the better it appeared. Giles was fascinated by the entire process. Buffy was constantly holding the boy, Dawn was usually eager to play with him, Tara was downright motherly and, lo and behold, even the former vengeance demon Anya was reduced to googly eyes and sotto voce behavior. It thoroughly mystified him.

And while he could admit that the baby was kind of cute and appealing, he didn’t see the need to get all starry-eyed over his presence. What was interesting and perhaps of some importance, at least in his opinion, was the boy’s development. He reacted differently when certain people were around, and it appeared his sense of smell was acute, because whenever he smelled his bottle, he howled piercingly, until the bottle was put in his mouth. It was a wonder Spike hadn’t purchased earplugs to block out the sound. And it wasn’t crying. It was howling.

Like he was doing at the moment. Anya was in the kitchen, fixing his bottle, while Giles tried to calm the infant. It was proving unsuccessful. Connor was wriggling in his grasp, howling his displeasure to everything in the general vicinity, including dogs. Giles almost wondered if there was more than vampiric blood shared between Dawn and Connor, because the pitch in each of their shrieks had to be identical.

He was fumbling, awkwardly holding the baby up to his chest, trying to rub his back and pat him at the same time, while trying not to crumble to his knees because of the damage to his eardrums when Anya finally came back into the living room. “Giles. What are you doing?”

“Apparently nothing. Is that bottle done?” The frustration in his voice was evident and he unceremoniously thrust the baby at her. “Here. You take him.”

Anya cocked her head to the side, taking the baby and giving him the bottle all in the same motion, talking to the boy, making insane noises, but her words were directed at him. “Silly Poppa Rupie. . .he doesn’t know how to take care of hungry little babies. . . such a silly old man.”

Giles huffed a bit, when his brain registered what she was saying. “Really, must you?” He took off his glassed, peering at her intently. “I’m not old. Nor am I Poppa anything.”

Anya laughed. It was such a happy sound, one that she hadn’t made in quite some time, and it made him smile in return. She’d been so quiet lately, quite unlike her usual self, and it pleased him now to see her in a better frame of mind. “Giles. You need to lighten up and smile more. Makes you look younger.”

His retort of “well laughter suits you much better than brooding does,” was out of his mouth before he could censor it, and the look on his face made tears well up in Anya’s eyes.

“I haven’t had much reason to smile lately. I just don’t understand.” She looked away from him and he laid a hand on her arm, squeezing gently. He remained silent, waiting for her to elaborate. “If you love someone you shouldn’t say mean things. And tell them to be quiet all the time, right?”

“And your relationship shouldn’t be something to hide either.” She looked up into his eyes, trying to find some enlightenment there. “Am I thinking wrongly? These emotions. . sometimes I just don’t understand.”

He was beginning to, understand that is. So he told her. “I think you aren’t wrong. In fact, you’re quite right in believing that being in love shouldn’t be hidden. Its something to celebrate.”

“I used to think so. But now I’m not so sure. I think love hurts too much.” Anya sat down on the couch in a huff, jarring the baby a bit.

“Perhaps you’ve just gone about this all wrong.” He stood in front of her watching her closely.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” Anya flushed and looked away from him.

Rupert smiled slowly. “Because I’m just now realizing that you’re an amazingly attractive woman.”

Her gaze snapped up to his and he thought the blush blooming across her face was terribly attractive and distracting. “You are?”

“Yes. I am.” He smiled crookedly at her and sat down on the couch beside her, reaching for the remote. "Shall we watch some television?”

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

Realizing belatedly that Angelus’ minions were deliberately herding him away from Buffy, Spike tried repeatedly to break through and get back to her. His worry for her was uppermost in his mind and even with his superior strength, he couldn’t break through the number of minions blocking his way. It was only when he realized they weren’t fighting him that he actually stopped.

The hum just beneath his skin had become a near shout and Spike whirled around thinking it was some new threat that was causing it. Should have fucking known. Expected it so, why didn’t I recognize it? She was cradled, ironically enough, in the outstretched arms of a winged marble angel. Cradled? She’s bloody lounging there like the bleeding Queen of Sheba.

The sight of Drusilla, ivory skin clad in scarlet and black lace, against a backdrop of pure white marble, normally would have moved him. Would have had him aching to be buried inside her, surrounded by crimson blood. Now, looking at her posed, he felt none of the old pull, none of the old attraction. No pulsing need to join with her. Just a naggingly real fear that something had happened to Buffy. He scrambled mentally, trying to think of a way to extricate himself from this situation.

Playing for time, Spike paced in front of Drusilla. He waited for long moments, wondering what she was up to and why she would plan something like this. And as usual, she didn’t disappoint. “Hullo Spike.”

“Dru” was all he said, his eyes narrowed dangerously.

“Are you cross with me?” She pouted and where once it would have had him running to smooth things over or on his knees making it up to her, Spike just rocked back on his heels.

“Oh you are. . . . whatever for? Can’t be because I left you William, after all you left me first. Taken by sunshine.”

He remembered the first time she’d said that to him, a very long time ago, long before they’d ever decided to come to Sunnydale. He’d scoffed at her then, completely dismissing her. But he had been taken by sunshine. Call her that all the time. ‘S what she is. My sunshine.

Before he could say anything, Dru slithered away from the statue, flicking her fingers at the minions, dismissing them.

“Why did you come Dru?” He swung his arms wide. “Why bother? For him?” He couldn’t keep the bitterness from his voice. In the days and weeks following his escape from the Initiative labs, he’d tried everything to get some help – his distress sending reverberations through the bloodlines – yet none had responded, not even her. Instead he’d been forced to seek shelter and asylum from the Slayer. It had been the right thing, but his sire should have cared. “I needed you then and you ignored me. He calls once and you drop everything?”

“Miss Edith said you were already lost.” Drusilla tried placating him, but Spike was beyond caring.

“Fuck that soddin’ doll, Dru.” He looked at her, eyes hard and unfeeling, his nostrils flaring. “For once in your life, Drusilla, just tell me the truth, in plain English.”

“The truth? The truth is a whisper on the wind, a ray of light in the dark. The truth is not for the likes of us.” She was shaking her head, swaying a bit. “The truth already knows you, William. Sunshine and baby flowers. Precious little strawberries.”

Buggering fuck. “Drusilla you are mad as a hatter.” He flung out an arm, gesturing wildly, pointing her eastward. Spike stepped closer, until he was within touching distance. “He will be dust Dru. Leave now while you still can.”

She snapped at him, then giggled. “So brave and gallant, my knight, always protecting his lady fair.”

Spike rolled his eyes, loudly growling his aggravation. “Not yours Dru. Not for a long time.”

Drusilla curled into him, her hands on the duster’s collar. “Always mine Spike.”

He pushed her away, hard enough to make her stumble to her knees. “No Dru. Not then and not now.” He loomed over her, about to say something else when his attention was pulled away. That mouth-watering scent filling his senses was enough to tell him that his Buffy was on her way, he didn’t need her pounding hearbeat to know how close she was.

“Spike?” There was a quavering tone to her simple question, but he heard the tension clearly. Right then, she’s already seen Dru. How’re you gonna fix this one, eh, mate?

“Sunshine?” It took her half a dozen steps to reach his side, but as soon as she was in striking distance he hauled her closer, his eyes roaming over her, checking for obvious injuries. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” The hurt and fear were clearly audible in her tone and Spike knew it was because of the vampire behind him. She must have seen enough to misunderstand, or worse heard Dru’s last comment. He wasn’t hers. Had never really been hers, even when they’d been together. Spike stared down into Buffy’s eyes, his hands holding her shoulders so that she couldn’t possibly turn away from him. At first she wouldn’t look, wouldn’t return his gaze, but he shook her just a tiny bit and she finally looked up at him.

The emotion in his eyes humbled her. And yet there was still that tiny seed of doubt lingering in her mind. This was, after all, Drusilla she had found him with. Had it been Harmony, Buffy wouldn’t have felt it at all. But it wasn’t Harmony. Drusilla was the one constant in his life. And when she was gone. . . would it be Drusilla that he’d run too?

Drusilla was singing softly, swaying in time to a beat only she heard, her voice a bare whisper in the wind, and yet Spike felt no desire to turn away from the woman in his arms. His eyes bore into hers, midnight blue into forest green and he knew, oh yeah, nothin’ was worth losing her over. Not a bleedin’ thing on earth.

Without taking his eyes from Buffy’s Spike said to Drusilla, “go back to where you came from, princess. There’s nothin’ here for you.”

She couldn’t smile at him. Couldn’t make her face change expression. The only thing she could do was let the tears that had been held off by sheer force of will, well up in her eyes.

Sparing neither a glance nor another word for the vampire behind them, Spike moved closer to Buffy and kissed her forehead. Breathing out against her skin, he said, “c’mon kitten, let’s go home.”

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

Dawn was spying again. She stopped at the top of the stairs, straining her ears for any sound from the two adults downstairs, but she couldn’t hear anything. It was driving her crazy, not knowing what the heck was happening in her own house. And this was crazy, whatever it was between Anya and Giles. Well, not in the sense that it was icky, coz it kinda wasn’t. But more crazy because Xander was gonna lose his mind when he found out about it. And really, Giles should know better than this, coz he’s like old. And hey, it was way better than Giles and Joyce getting together. Dawn suppressed a giggle when she realized that had been one of the couples she had thought might have been her real parents. Nope. Sooo glad it wasn’t Giles and Joyce.

Once she’d found out the truth, it made complete and total sense to her. She’d never questioned it, about Buffy and Spike, never even thought to question it. It just made sense. In the hellmouthy, nothing really makes sense sort of way. There were some couples that just made sense to her and some that . . . she couldn’t see. Like Tara and Willow made sense in the same way that Willow and Oz had made sense. In a really weird way, Oz and Tara made sense too, but not in the smoochies kind of way. They sort of just fit together.

Like Buffy and Spike. If there were ever two people who fit together better than those two, Dawn had never seen them. Even though they’d only been together since Buffy came back, it felt like forever. Felt like they belonged to each other. It was so different from when Riley was here. He constantly belittled everything, without even realizing it. He dismissed her friends as useless, even while he tried to be a part of them, and he treated her and Joyce like they weren’t real. Dawn wrinkled up her nose. But hey, Riley was way better than Angel. At least Riley had just treated her like a stupid kid. Angel had treated her like a cross between a meal and an alien. Even knowing that those memories were fake didn’t do anything to making them any better.

Her ears pricked up and Dawn heard movement downstairs. Giles murmured something, then it sounded like he got up from the couch and walked into the kitchen. Taking the chance that he had, Dawn got up from her seat on the floor and made her way noisily down the steps.

Anya was changing Connor, after the chow hound had downed another full bottle and looked up when Dawn stopped at the doorway. “Hello Dawn.”

“Hey.” In preparation and as a cool cover, she had a full laundry basket in hand, using her chin, Dawn indicated the laundry. “I’m just gonna head down to the basement and you know, do some wash.”

“Okay. That’s a productive thing to be doing.” Anya nodded her head, then went back to her task.

“I’ll just do that then.” Dawn sauntered away, intent on her next target. Giles was in the kitchen, fiddling with the teakettle and obviously searching for something for them to snack on. “There’s cookies in the jar.”

He stood up so quickly that he nearly whacked his head on the cabinet, but managed to miss it by less than inches. “Dawn. You really shouldn’t sneak up on people.”

“Right. Coz I was being all stealthy.” She rolled her eyes and pretended insolence. She shrugged. “Anyway. There’s sweet stuff in there. Plus I think Spike has some chocolate hidden somewhere.”

“No. I was just looking for some biscuits.” Giles folded his arms across his chest, contemplating the teenager in front of him. He started to say something, then thought better of it. Judging by the look on his face, Dawn had an idea of what it was, and she decided to stop that idea from blooming into full fledged research.

“I don’t want to talk about it. About Buffy and Spike. Okay?” She moved toward the basement door, then looked at him over her shoulder. “I just wanted to know who I am. Who I really belonged too. It wasn’t anything more than that.”

“All right Dawn. I won’t bring it up unless you want to talk about it.” He understood her need to discover who she was, and who she was part of; it made perfect sense.

His easy agreement seemed to soothe her nerves, because she smiled at him and he was forcibly reminded just who her parents were when the smile ended in a slight smirk. “Thanks Giles.”

She was gone in a swirl of long dark hair, the sound of her feet thudding down the stairs countered by the light tap of Anya’s heels on the kitchen floor. Pausing to wash her hands at the sink, she turned to face him. “Connor’s asleep.”

“Oh good.” Giles suddenly didn’t know what to do with his hands and he was relieved when the kettle whistled. “I fixed us some tea.”

“Are you nervous?” Anya studied him carefully, her eyes watching his every move.

“I am.” He fiddled with the kettle, filling the teapot and placing it slowly back on the burner.

“Why? Am I making you nervous?” She smiled brightly at him. “I don’t mean to make you nervous.”

“Its not just you.” Deciding to take the bull by the horns, Giles stopped fiddling and looked directly at Anya. “Its me also. I’ve . . . I’ve developed. . . that is . . . “ oh buck up you git. “You are a beautiful and attractive and intelligent woman Anya. And you deserve much better than Xander Harris could ever give you.”

There. He’d said it. But he wasn’t prepared for her reaction at all, because when Anya burst into tears, Rupert Giles was at a complete loss. On the other side of the basement door, Dawn was silently screaming at him, give her a hug, c’mon Giles, just do it. Somehow, in the cosmic way of things on the hellmouth, he must have heard her, because Giles took two steps toward her and then folded her into his arms.

Peeking one eye through the partially opened door, Dawn pumped her fist once in the air, then with a huge grin, jumped down the entire flight of steps.


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

They were quiet the whole way home, both of them wrapped up in their own thoughts, neither one of them willing to share at the moment. Spike had a feeling he knew what was bothering her, but he wasn’t really sure he wanted to start this discussion anywhere but inside the safety of their own home.

For Buffy, seeing Drusilla had dredged up lots of memories and emotions she didn’t want to face. Not for a very long time. Drusilla had the love of both Angel and Spike and she feared that she would never, ever be able to compete with that, to carve out a place for herself. She’d known, deep down inside, in some way that Angel was more in love with her image than the real deal, but she wasn’t always so sure about Spike. Not that she doubted he loved her, but. . . sometimes the doubt about how long and how deeply would creep in. He’d been with Drusilla for over a hundred years. That was, in itself, an incredible feat. How could she hope to measure up to that? She wasn’t even going to have twenty more years with Spike. And that hurt. Because right now she wanted a. . . lifetime. A real lifetime. She wanted to be able to see Dawn grow up and have kids; hell, she wanted to see Connor grow up. But she wasn’t going to get that. And Spike would have a really long time to forget about her. A really, really long time.

Trudging in the back door, they missed the hurried movements and guilty expressions on the faces of the other two adults, wrapped up in their own thoughts. Giles and Anya bid them a hasty goodnight, slipping out the front door within moments of their arrival, barely imparting that Dawn was downstairs doing laundry and Connor was asleep in the living room.

Spike went to the basement door, telling Dawn they were home then locking up, while Buffy silently collected the infant and drifted up the stairs with him. Normally, since they were home so very early, Spike would have settled himself in front of the television and watched some movies or something, but tonight he didn’t even look at the television. He locked all the doors, left a light on for Tara and followed Buffy up the stairs.

She was just putting Connor in his crib when he walked in the doorway, and he stopped to watch her for a long moment. He knew she was upset about Drusilla, knew it was bothering her but he suddenly couldn’t think of a way to get her to open up. The only light in their room was from the small bedside table lamp and he thought, while watching her, that she was the most beautiful sight he’d ever laid eyes on. Figuring he might as well tell her that, Spike quietly murmured as he closed the door behind him, “you know she can’t hold a candle to you. You are the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.”

For once, he must have said the right thing, because she swung round to face him, her hands on the sides of the crib, her heart in her eyes.

“You are you know.” Seeing the denial on her face, Spike forestalled any vocalized refutation by closing the distance and repeating himself. “Trust me, kitten, she can’t compete with you at all.”

“Really?” Her voice was small and flooded with disbelief.

“Really.” He was standing close to her, nearly chest to chest, his hands resting on hers, his gaze focused intently on her. “Yeah. Really.”

Her eyes drifted closed and Buffy drew in a deep breath. His scent surrounded her, pulling her in and she swayed closer to him, just a little, but it was all the invitation he needed. Swinging up into his arms, Spike moved toward their bed, his words low and gruff against her ear. “If I have to prove it all night, I will.”

Arms around his neck, she nuzzled against the duster, wanting really to feel his skin. She must have made some noise, because he shifted her higher and her mouth sucked on a bit of his skin. He stopped in his tracks, inches from the bed, every nerve in him pulled taut. “Oh god, kitten. Don’t. . . not now.. . jus’ gimme a . . . “

His words ended in a growl when she nipped at the spot just under his ear. Spike couldn’t think, just wanted to feel her under his hands, responding to his touch. His brain was screaming at him to slow it down, but his body wasn’t listening. He moved his hands to grip her by the waist, rubbing his thumbs in circles on her skin. “Love you so much. . . so bloody much.”

Spike kissed her then, his mouth hungry and needy on hers, nipping at her lip, tongue curling against hers. She broke away, pushing the duster off his shoulders. “Spike. . . “

The momentary break gave him clarity. There were some things he needed to say to her, things she needed to understand. “Buffy. . . love, look at me.

He shrugged off the duster, tossing it on the chair behind him, stilling her almost frantic hands. “Hey, sunshine, listen to me. . . “ he caught the fear and tears in her eyes and he knew he had to speak before they got lost in each other. “Kitten, lemme hold you a moment. I want you to understand something.”

She nodded against his chest after burying her face against him, inhaling deeply. “I did love her.” He felt her stiffen in his embrace, but he knew he had to finish this. “I said did. .. . but it wasn’t anywhere near the way I feel about you. She freed me from being nothing, gave me enough to set me free of who I was. But she . . . much as I loved her, I wasn’t first in her heart. Not then. Probl’ly not ever.” Spike knew he was about to lay himself bare for her, but he didn’t care any more. He loved her, every inch, from her shampoo commercial hair to her incredibly powerful little feet; and it was time he made her understand what that meant.

“Dru was my way out. But you kitten, you . . . “ he smiled at her, a real genuine smile and tears welled up in his eyes as he looked at her. “You are everything. You make me feel things I’ve never felt, never thought I wanted to feel. You make me want things I told myself I couldn’t have anymore. I love you an’ I will never stop lovin’ you. Not if I live forever.”

Buffy pulled away from his chest, looking back up at him, tears sliding down her face. “I’ll love you even if you never love me back, kitten. I can’t help it. Don’t want to. Told you once I was drownin’, I meant it.”

Her hands slid beneath his shirt, curving up around his sleek back. She could feel the tension in him, feel that he was nervous about all this and Buffy just couldn’t fight it any longer. “I don’t want to lose you Spike. Not for any reason.”

“You’re not gonna sweetheart.” Inhaling deeply, Spike took one last gamble, and prepared himself for the rejection. “I . . . Buffy. . . “ he had to clear his throat, because the emotion was clogging it and he couldn’t force the words past his tongue, couldn’t even get them to form. . . but then a memory of another time he’d asked her something similar crossed his brain, and Spike grinned internally. Maybe. . . “I love you kitten. An’ I’m askin’ you to hear me out, before you say anythin’.”

Buffy smiled at him, then settled down on the bed, pulling him up after her. Her head hit the pillow and she waited patiently. He hovered over her, held away from her body by the strength of his arms, his face inscrutable. “The bond Dru an’ I shared was only Sire and Childe. . . nothin’ more. She wouldn’t . . . didn’t want to make it anythin’ deeper. An’ after a while I stopped thinkin’ about it.” Spike paused when she started to speak, saying, “Shush. I asked you to wait, yeah? Right then.”

“Stopped wantin’ anything deeper with her. With you, though, its different. All I want is more . . . somethin’ deeper. Something permanent. I want you with me . . no, not turnin’ . . . never that. But, kitten, I want . . . I’m askin’. . . : He slumped a little, his forehead resting against hers, unable to force the question out. Christ, why was this easier hopped up on magics than now? Coz now, you git, it means more.

“Spike?” Her arms were around him and he nearly couldn’t think anymore. “What are you saying?”

He blew out the breath he didn’t need to hold and ruffled her hair in the process. “I’m sayin’, Buffy, that I love you more than anythin’ else and that I want to make this permanent.”

Buffy brought a hand up to cup his cheek, forcing him to lift away from her forehead and look at her. “What are you asking me Spike?”

“Stubborn bint. Gonna make me spell it out for you?” He rolled over then, getting himself into a sitting position against the headboard, then pulled her over onto his lap. “All right then. Not gettin’ down on bended knee, already did that.” Taking a deep breath and not looking away from her, Spike finally spoke. “Guess I should have planned this out better, but . . . Buffy?”

Her smile was soft and full of love, something he never expected to see. “Spike? Would it help if you already knew the answer?”

Without thinking, the words shot out of his mouth, “bloody right it would. Never thought askin’ you to be mine would be this hard.”

Her giggle lit up the room and he realized belatedly what he’d just done. “Oh bollocks.” Spike watched her, then just finally said what he’d been thinking all along. “Wanna make you mine, kitten, want you to be my Mate. That means forever. Always. No matter what happens. We’d belong to each other.”


Please leave a review. I have no other validation than what you give me that this story is any good at all, that anyone likes it, that anyone thinks its worth continuing. I'm struggling with these chapters, because I really don't think they are any good, that any one thinks they are worth posting. So please, please, let me know. Just one little sign that you like it, that's all I ask. Thank you. Nia

[A/N: That last chapter wasn’t supposed to be so long, but somehow it became that way. The urge to write was on me, and well, I let the muse control it. I just copied down what he wanted. Blame it all on him. The title is from the Bard of Avon, Sonnet CXVI and quotes are as attributed. Disclaimers, as ever, are in full force and effect.]

Previously: Giles and Anya have bonded; Spike and Buffy had their first meeting with Drusilla, which prompted some heavy thoughts from both of them. This picks up immediately.

Book Two, chapter 23. An ever fixed mark.

For you and for me the highest moment,
the keenest joy,
is not when our minds dominate but when we lose our minds.
Anais Nin, Feb. 1932 from Henry and June

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O, no! it is an ever-fixed mark,
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.
Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle’s compass come
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error, and upon me prov’d
I never writ, nor no man ever lov’d.
Sonnet CXVI




Her smile faded a bit when she heard him say forever. “Spike, I don’t have forever.”

He grabbed her shoulders and held her still. “We don’t know that. Gonna have as long as I can give you, an’ even then it doesn’t matter. I’ll love you for the whole five minutes I have after you’re gone.”

Buffy’s brow wrinkled as she said, “five minutes? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Coz, sweetheart, I’m not living if you aren’t. Not going through that again. Chances are no one’ll be stupid enough to try an’ bring you back a third time.” He held on, his fingers almost digging into her muscles, willing her to understand what he was saying. “I couldn’t. . . not even for Lil Bit.”

“Oh. You . . . love me that much?” Her small hand reached up to run down his angular cheek, her eyes on his.

“Yeah. Been tryin’ to say that.” His hold on her eased a bit, letting her relax in his arms. “So?”

“So. . . you are asking me to . . . asking if I want us to belong to each other?” She was stunned, in a way. He was – the few times she’d paid attention when Giles was going over claims and mating, she understood that it was unbreakable, that it was powerful and that it was forever, more binding that any ring or legal documents could ever be – asking her to take a monumental step in their relationship.

It had only been a few months. . . since her return, since they’d become a couple. Was she ready for this? This was a huge commitment, bigger than anything she’d thought. She and Spike had sort of just drifted into this relationship, bypassing the dating thing she’d done with Riley. Unfair comparison Buffy, Spike is completely different from Riley. . . and stop thinking about him. Pushing him out of her mind, Buffy focused on Spike. He was pretty much everything she ever wanted but didn’t know; everything she needed and hadn’t realized. So what if it was only months. . . she had the sudden feeling that it wouldn’t have mattered if it was only days.

Buffy was silent for so long that Spike braced himself for the rejection he believed was coming. He looked away from her, his jaw clenched and body poised to get up and leave her alone, because he didn’t think he could sleep next to her if she refused him. She opened her mouth and Spike’s every muscle tensed.

“You want me to be yours. You want to be mine. That’s what you’re asking me, right?”
She wished he would look at her, because this was just so hard to say, so terrifying to admit.

“Yeah. ‘S what I’m askin’.” Her finger traced over his lips, and he unconsciously kissed the tip.

“Then maybe you wanna look at me when you get your answer.” Her words were a bare whisper between them.

Spike glanced down, prepared to look away quickly when he saw denial and was instead trapped by the love he found swimming in her eyes. Her hands pulled his forward, linking their fingers together. She opened her mouth, to say it, when her answer got caught in her throat and all she could do was nod her head in a yes. “Is that a yes, kitten? Coz I need to hear it.”

His voice was as quiet as hers had been and she finally managed to get it out. “Yes. That was a yes.”

The rumbling in his chest vibrated through her and Buffy melted into his arms. “Love you kitten, I do. Always.”

“Me too Spike.” She leaned closer into him and he could feel every inch of her against him and that was no longer enough. He needed to feel her around him, letting him sink into her depths.

Seemed like they both had had enough of talking, because the same instant his hands snaked beneath her shirt, hers wormed their way under his tee shirt lifting it up so that she could feel his skin. When they were both naked from the waist up, Spike leaned forward, reverently kissed both her nipples and then latched onto one of them. His hands caressed her and Buffy held him to her, her fingers smoothing up and down his sleek back, then resting in his curls.

His lips traced a path across her breasts, finding her other nipple. One hand wrapped around her, settling into the small of her back while his thumb made lazy circles over her puckered nipple.

She was melting, falling into him, wanting more when he moved, lifting her away from his mouth and hands. Buffy whined his name and Spike grinned a little, growling, “kitten, wanna be inside you, but this isn’t gonna work with clothes on.”

Standing her up, Spike popped the buttons on her pants, sliding them down to her feet in the same motion. One hand trailed up her inner thighs, parting her legs. His low rumbles of pleasure went right through her and he could sense the shift in her.

“C’mere.” he growled out as he pulled her closer. Buffy drifted toward him, gasping a little as two fingers slid up into her warmth. All her attention was focused on his fingers, the sensation of him gliding in and out of her, his thumb pressing on her clit. She wavered on her feet, her knees buckling at bit, forcing her to hold onto his shoulders.

One handed Spike somehow managed to get his boots undone and was working on getting them off his feet, trying to work the buttons on his jeans at the same time. Buffy broke free of the haze of want surrounding her to realize that he was struggling to get naked. Her small hands slid down his torso, cupping his ass under the denim. He stood, his fingers trailing wetly up and around her breasts. Buffy’s hand traced up his hipbone, over the hard planes of his shoulder and chest, finally resting on his face, her thumb tracing patterns over his lips. A soft smile bloomed across her features and one word slipped from her.

It was all the signal he needed. She’d done it. Said she wanted it and now. . . “Yeah, kitten. Yours.”

He closed the small distance between them, his erection hard against her belly, his arms reaching out to hold her close. They met each other in the distance between, lips melting together, tongues clashing. His hands were under her ass, lifting her up and Buffy wrapped her legs around his waist. “Need to feel you kitten. . . need you.”

Spike laid them down on the bed, his cock teasing at her entrance. “Now Spike, please.” She panted into his mouth, begging him to take her.

Shifting his hips, Spike pushed up and in, kissing her deeply at the same time. Buffy opened herself, guiding him in, her breath hitching when he finally slid in all the way. A tiny grunt of pained pleasure was forced from her and she whispered softly, “oh. You . . fill me.”

“Buffy. . . “ he was thrusting hard, angling deep, his forehead resting on hers. “Love you. Love you. . . . love you.”

Tears sprang to her eyes and she dug her fingers into his back, holding on. “Spike. . . Spike. . . “

Hard and fast he pounded into her, unable to slow down, thrusting out of control. His hips were pistoning into her and Buffy was writhing beneath him, holding on, her legs against him and Spike was going to. . . his balls were tight and hard and he knew she was close because she was frantically moving in time and his fangs were itching to taste her and he reared back, lifting her with him and he licked a path across her throat once and struck.

Buffy shrieked once as her first orgasm hit, then clamped her own teeth down on his neck and Spike was lost.

Her blood was on his tongue, inside him and he could feel her. . . every part of her, knew when her tears stopped then started again. His hips stilled, their gasping panting breaths filling the air, her tears pooling in the hollow of his shoulder and Spike felt his own tears welling up. He licked his marks closed, savoring the feel of her everywhere on him, her coppery sweet taste in his mouth.

Spike looked into her eyes, both wet with tears, his hands cupping her head, whispering softly, “mine.” He inhaled deeply, breathing out, “always. Forever. Mine. Till everything fades away an’ there’s nothing left.”

Buffy’s smile wavered a bit, fresh tears falling again. “Yes. Yours.”

His lips were gently on hers, then he whispered, “your turn.”

Her smile broke through the tears and she asked, “this means you can’t ever leave me, right?”

“Means I won’t. . . but yeah.” He waited, wondering what she was about to do.

Her arms circled round his head and she gave a good imitation of his growl, saying, “mine. . . mine. . . mine.”

Spike laughed then from sheer relief, then said back to her, “yours. Always. F’rever.”

Buffy’s head dropped down onto his shoulder, her breath warm against his skin. They were both quiet, neither one wanting to break the silence, Connor shifted in his crib, let loose a soft howl, then stilled again.

It seemed to break the silence between them and Buffy kissed the broken skin on his neck, feeling him shudder. His movement caused ripples through her and Buffy shifted a bit on his lap. “I’m not gonna get all fangy, am I?”

Spike laughed again, this one hard enough to forcefully remind her they were still intimately joined. “No. Though no one’s ever claimed and mated a slayer before. According to Rupert they were only potentials. Don’t rightly know what this is gonna do.”

“Spike?” There was a strange note in her voice.

“Yeah?” He leaned back a bit to look down at her.

“Can you never ever mention Giles again when we’re. . . . “

His laughter rumbled through both of them and he fell back, bringing her with him. She landed hard, and his hips bucked up, flexing in reaction. Instantly his expression changed and Spike reached up to cup her breasts. “That’s it kitten, need you again.”


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

They had practically run from the house, barely taking time to say good night to the two blonds and give them an update on the whereabouts of the two children. Giles didn’t question them on how patrol went, eager for once to escape the scrutiny of the normally too perceptive vampire. But Spike hadn’t noticed anything amiss, hadn’t picked up on the awkward atmosphere between himself and Anya, which was a blessing in and of itself.

He was quiet on the drive to the apartment she shared with Xander, unsure of what to say or how to broach any subject. Giles had come to appreciate much about the ex-demon, including her wit and drive, and he was beginning to suspect that he might harbor more than friendly or co-worker affection for the girl. But there was the very real complication of her current romantic partner. Until she gave him some indication that they were no longer a couple, Giles had to operate under the assumption they were. And he wasn’t a poacher. He’d wait until she was free; If she ever decided to cut the boy loose.

But until then, he wasn’t going to make a move.

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

Dawn heard them come in, heard Spike’s voice from the top of the stairs telling her they were home, then the slam of the front door indicating Giles and Anya had left quickly. Anya was strange, but she was cool, and since life was pretty good, Dawn wanted everyone to be happy.

Finishing up her laundry, Dawn headed for the living room, fully expecting to find Spike settled and already channel surfing. Instead the room was dark, only one light on and he was nowhere to be found. That was a surprise, because it was barely midnight and he rarely went to bed this early. Shrugging her shoulders, Dawn flipped on the television, curled up on the couch and prepared to watch bad late-night shows.

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

Buffy was draped over him, one leg curled over his hips, his cock still nestled in her depths and she was snoring lightly. Spike was wide awake though, his thoughts on the girl in his arms, one hand making idle circles on her bare back. He couldn’t sleep. Almost didn’t want to. He was listening to the sounds of Buffy’s and Connor’s breathing and heartbeats, his mind on what he and Buffy had just done.

It was the single most important moment of his existence. He had no words to explain to Buffy what it meant to him, how important her acceptance and yes, he could admit it now, her love meant. Buffy shifted, her mouth brushing against his skin in an unconscious kiss, and he fought off a shiver. Spike ran his hand over her from hip to shoulder, watching her as the skin of her back almost rose to meet his touch. She was gold and sunshine, her whole existence warming him, everything about her . . . There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for her. Wasn’t anything . . . he’d go out and slay demons for her every night, protect those she loved – anything she wanted. Emotions clogged in his throat, choking him, and Spike felt a sudden need to look at her face, to look into her eyes and tell her what he was feeling.

Rolling over gently, Spike rearranged their bodies and limbs so that he was laying over her; his arms going round her head, his hands ghosting through her hair. He studied her face in the dark, the only light now from a candle he’d lit much earlier, that was beginning to gutter, casting wavering shadows over her features. “I love you. So much. “

He’d slipped from her warmth during the shift and he wanted back in; wanted to stay inside her forever, become part. . . they were a piece of each other, half of a whole that had been broken for so long. Spike didn’t necessarily believe in the idea of soulmates, but he understood that there was more in heaven and earth that defied description. They defied description. He also didn’t believe in fate or destiny, life and unlife had thrown him too many curves to believe any longer, but he knew there was life after death, hell he was unliving proof of that. . . but the other kind of life after death; finding a piece of heaven when you least deserved it or least expected it. He’d found it, here, in her arms. With her. Sometimes he wondered if maybe he should still believe in destiny. . . .

He sat up a bit, looking down at the still sleeping woman beneath him. Of their own volition, his hands stroked over her every curve, feather light and reverent. His eyes drank in her appearance. That this. . . was granted to him, when he’d least deserved any being’s kindness humbled him, altered him in ways that he might never begin to fathom, made him more than what he was, more than the failed poet, more than the violent demon. . .

Following his fingers, Spike laid gentle kisses in a path from her belly to her breasts, unaware of the tears that pooled in his eyes. She’d been gone. Taken from him, from all of them. He’d never thought to see her again. Her light had gone out, extinguished too soon, in fight to preserve everything she loved. And he’d wept. Mourned her loss. Flung his tears and anger at the heavens, raging at a universe that had taken the one beautiful thing in his life, leaving him bereft. Empty.

His love was a fierce feral beast inside him, raging against what had been torn away, unable to truly wreak the havoc he’d wanted too when she was gone.

He’d raged, using the only things he had, fists and fangs, destroying the only things he could – his own kind. And his one fervent prayer – the only one he could ever remember saying for a very, very long time – his only request of the universe, had been granted.

Never had he wanted it granted in the way it had been, would have preferred to let her be in peace, but that wasn’t to be. She’d been given back to a world that didn’t appreciate her, didn’t know what it had in her – and to him.

She was back, flesh and blood and warm. . . oh god, warm beneath him, breathing, living. But she was broken. Broken by her journey back, broken by the heartache that had gone before; by life and heartbreak. And yet, she’d begun the inevitable process of healing. Starting with him. Buffy had wanted him, needed him – took strength from him.

And now here he was. With her. In their bed, their house.

Spike felt the pull of the poet he once strove to be raging through him, urging him to put pen to paper and compose something, anything to convey to her the breadth and depth of his emotions. Tamping down that urge, instead, he let his body worship hers, his lips reverently tracing every part of her, his words, meager as they were, a benediction, a plea, all whispered in gratitude for what they had now. “Love you, Buffy. So much.”

Kisses interspersed with words flowed from him, washing over the still form of his mate, his entire being focused on her. “Always. Forever.”

So intent upon her was he, yet still he missed the signs, missed the wakening and missed the tears falling silently at his hushed words of adoration; until warm hands reached to cup his cheek, tracing their own patterns on his alabaster skin.

She didn’t speak, listening instead to his deep rumbling tomes wash over her. Lines long forgotten from an old Scottish poem he barely remembered his grandfather reciting to his grandmother flashed into his head and he used it to tell her what he was feeling.

“You are the star in my every night.” His lips trailed across her belly, his hands caressing her gently.

“You are the brightness of every morning.” Spike licked and suckled at her nipples. “You are the face of my sun.”

His mouth licked a path upwards, toward her mouth. He caught the look in her eyes and all words, all thoughts fled. “‘m yours. All I ever was, ever will be. . . love you so much.”

Buffy threaded her fingers through his hair, holding him to her. “Spike.” She couldn’t talk, couldn’t think of anything to say that would compare to his words. So she showed him.

Her lips sought his, her hands slid across his sleek muscles, her body that called to his.

Following his earlier actions, Buffy laid soft kisses over his shoulders, tiny little teasing things, designed to drive him mad.

“Kitten. . . need you . . . need inside.” Suiting action to word, Spike nestled between legs, his cock bumping against her clit. “C’mon love, lemme in.”

Buffy shifted, opening herself, tilting her hips so that the head of his cock was wedged tightly just inside her. Spike was panting, his breath washing over her while Buffy was desperately trying to gain control. “Spike. . . love me.”

“Oh god.” And as he slid inside, the control he’d been relying on deserted him. “Fuck.”

His hips thrust hard into her, his hands clenching around hers, and there was nothing but the feel of her around him, the liquid heat enveloping him. . . the silky slide of her. . . Surrounding him, bathing him in her warmth. He groaned, unable to think, unable to be any. . . every nerve was on fire.

Buffy clung to him, her hips moving with his, her legs wrapped around his waist, anchoring them together. He was hard and solid, filling her, his cock bumping against her and all she could do was gasp and whimper.

He could feel the pressure building, gaining in intensity and speed, his thrusting increasing in speed, his balls tightening painfully and he was gasping out her name, breathing into her mouth, aching for her and he felt the fluttering, the spasming, the tightening of her pussy around his cock and Spike was lost. His orgasm rose up, engulfing both of them, breaking like a wave within her, shattering his world and reforming it into something new.








There it is. I'd like to thank all of the 34 people who reviewed the last chapter. I'm asking, please, let me know what you think. This one is really important, and if you haven't reviewed before, please, take 2 minutes and let me know what you think. Please?

[A/N: I’ve had a couple of weeks from hell. Literally. I’ve been unable to type, the pain in my arm so intense that nothing’s been helping it. I’m so sorry about not being able to update. I feel so badly about it. I promise to make it all up to somehow. Please don’t be angry with me. The title is from Aristotle as quoted by Diogenes Laertes in Lives of Eminent Philosophers, and the quotes are as attributed. Disclaimers in full force and effect.]

Previously: Drusilla is in Sunnydale with Angelus. Spike and Buffy have claimed each other as Mates. This is three weeks after their encounter with Drusilla.

Book Two. Chapter 24. Hope is a waking dream.

What reinforcement we may gain from hope;
If not, what resolution from despair.
John Milton, Satan, Paradise Lost, bk. 1

There was no hope, but everyone felt the courage of despair.
Rose Wilder Lane, The Ghost in the Little House

And thus it is that in the depth of love there is a depth of eternal despair,
out of which springs hope and consolation.
Miguel de Unamuno, The Tragic Sense of Life




She kept waiting for things to change, little signs that something was different about her since she and Spike had exchanged claiming and mating bites, but aside from feeling him all the time and at times being able to key into his emotions and thoughts, there were no outward signs. Everything was normal. Well, as normal as their lives were.

That didn’t stop her from searching her face in the mirror, three weeks after they’d mated, looking for signs of bumpies or fangs. Nope. Nothing there.

Spike stood in the doorway of the bathroom, watching Buffy go through the funniest thing he’d ever seen in a long time. At this precise moment, she was lifting her lips over her gums, looking for signs of elongating canines. She was adorably funny and he was having a hard time suppressing his laughter. She hadn’t seen or sensed him yet, but that was only a matter of time.

He’d come up here for something else entirely, but had gotten sidetracked when he’d caught a glimpse of her antics. Connor was sleeping in his crib and the rest of the household was gone, Dawn and Tara both at school.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Spike tried to stop the laughter that was bubbling up inside him. “I’d imagine your reflection would be bit hazy if all that other stuff were to happen.”

Buffy turned, blushing furiously at being caught in the act of checking her own mouth. “How long have you been watching me?”

“Long enough, goldilocks.” His eyes held a spark of mischief. “If you’re looking for fangs, love, don’t think its gonna happen.”

‘Why not?” She paused, realizing how jealous that sounded and how weird that was. “Um not that I really want fangs and bumpies, coz, um, not so nice, but how come?”

Spike moved further into the bathroom, almost closing the door behind him. The usual scents assaulted his supernatural sense of smell, but Spike tuned them out, narrowing on Buffy. He’d come upstairs to get something from his wallet but her crazy behavior, combined with her mouth-watering scent distracted him. There was something about her that was different, newer. . . .

“Coz, kitten, I’d have to turn you for that and ‘m not likely to be doing that anytime soon.”

“No?” She pouted a bit, her lower lip jutting out, teasing him.

“Not bloody likely.” He ran a finger over her lips. “Course I’d still be your willin’ slave, but I like you this way. . . warm and . . . “ he nuzzled his face into her hair, nudging at her with his nose. “You smell fuckin’ delicious, sunshine. Wanna eat you all up, little girl.”

Her arms reached up around the back of his neck, holding him against her as his words set off tiny explosions in her. “Delicious?” His arms encircled her from behind and Spike ground his erection into her ass. “Me?”

“Fuck yeah.” His fangs grazed his mating marks on her throat and tiny droplets of blood rolled around his tongue. “Yeah, richer, stronger. Fuller. . . .” Spike sniffed her again, this time not with the intent of seduction. Spike spun her around, his eyes intent on her, searching her face.

Dropping down to his knees, Spike pulled her close, inhaling deeply. He’d smelled something like this before. . . Raising his eyes to hers, Spike grinned at the question in her eyes. He got to his feet, then lifted her up in the air, dropping kisses across her torso.

“Spike, what are you doing?” His growling laugh caught her attention and she pulled his head away from where it nestled between her breasts. ‘Spike? What is wrong with you? What are you doing?”

The pout was back and Spike dropped her onto the bathroom counter, attacking her pouting lips with a fervor. Breathless from his kisses, Buffy forgot his weird behavior.


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

Dawn was sitting in the cafeteria with Janice waiting for Casey to get there so they could eat together.

“Christmas is less than a week away. Do you know what you’re gonna get him?” Janice asked, trying to figure out what she should get her own boyfriend.

“He said he wanted some game for the PS2.” Dawn scrunched up her face. “But I gotta get Buffy’s too, and something for Giles. I’m done with everyone after that.”

Janice sighed, grousing. “You suck. I haven’t even started. Not fair. How come you’re nearly done?”

“Spike gave me money over the weekend. Figured I might as well get it done. It was easy shopping for him.”

“Yeah? Whadidya get him?” Janice was curious.

Dawn snickered. “I got him music. The essential Clash and um. . The Buzzcocks.”

“Cool.” Casey’s voice came from behind her and he kissed her then sat down. “Remind me to ask him if I can copy them after Christmas.”

A light went on in Dawn’s head and she smiled at him. “Sure. I can do that.”


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


Everything was cold. She was cold. Tendrils of wet hair wrapped themselves around her throat and she couldn’t move her hands to get them away. Her fingers, when she tried flexing them, were swollen and battered and at least two of them were broken. Her once perfect nails were ragged and she was pretty sure a couple were bleeding sluggishly. Her skin felt like it was stretched out, sucked dry and every nerve ending was dulled and aching. Her left wrist was sore. There were small, razor thin cuts running the length of her arms, stinging her every time she moved. Her skin was hot there and across her butt, but everywhere else she was cold.

Whatever clothing she’d been wearing was long gone and there were no blankets to cover her. Not that it mattered. She couldn’t see anything but the ceiling above her, or, if she angled her head down, the tips of her breasts and the bed she was tied to. But she didn’t want to think about that, about what was anchoring her here and now, so instead she focused her gaze upwards, staring at the ceiling. She imagined all sorts of things, counting bumps and crevices in the flat surface above her, finding interesting patterns.

There was no way of knowing how long she’d been tied up; no way of remembering what had gone on before. She was nothing. There was nothing beyond the hurt, and the smell of burning hair and the coppery metallic scent of blood. Her stomach no longer growled, it had been days since she’d had anything resembling real food. . . was it days? I don’t remember.

Her once flawless skin had been shredded and torn, mottled and bruised, every inch sporting some mark, some new flaw. . . Tears were an indulgence, something she permitted herself only when she knew she was alone, when those tormenting her left her alone. She was crying now, silent salty tears sliding down the side of her head for what once was, what would never be again.

I’m gonna survive this. Gonna. . .not going to let this kill me. Not going let either of them kill me. A sob welled up in her throat and she gritted her teeth, trying to force the sound down and away, so that her captors wouldn’t hear her.

Little tingles of awareness shot down her spine and she knew what it meant. Since the first night, she’d tried to retreat, to shrink away from the pain, to escape away, all to no avail. The pain dragged her back, kept her mind tied to her body, aware of every cut, every bleeding, seeping wound. There was no hiding.

Not even her mind would go away. . . . leave her body behind, let them do what they would to it, because the shell no longer mattered, the skin wasn’t important.

She grimaced, hearing the first noises that heralded her captors arrival. Thin leather straps circled her wrists, others binding her legs to the posts of the bed; strips that were once wet with water and allowed to dry were now slick with her blood, tightening and digging into her bleeding flesh. Despite knowing resistance was only spice to his torture of her, she couldn’t help writhing on the bed, twisting and trying to loosen her bonds in a futile effort to get away from the monster walking down the hallway toward her.

Scrabbling like a rat in the cage, she whined and pulled at the bonds holding her tight, bringing blood to the surface, letting it drip down onto the bed below her.

Her nerves shorted, muscles tensing and flexing with anticipation when she caught a glimpse of him in the doorway. His pants were riding low on his hips, arms crossed over his barrel chest, a malicious grin lighting his dark features and a feral twinkle in his eyes. She stilled, knowing something was different. . . . he was different right now.

Fear welled up, seizing her, catching in her throat. Her heart was pounding in her chest, breaths hard and drying her throat. No . . . no . . .no . . no. . . not this. Not now. . . she wasn’t aware of her whispered pleas to a god that had forsaken her, to a monster without a soul; for a moment of compassion that would never come.

Rough calloused hands brushed across her broken and bleeding skin, smoothing over the puckered and pebbled softness, a low rumbling growl erupting from his chest as she shrunk away from him. Sharp nails scored over her nipples, raising welts from illusory gentle hands. Blood welled up from the marks left behind, pooling on her, running down the hills of her breasts toward her neck.

The mattress dipped below his weight, as he settled between her legs, watching her try and close her thighs against him, words she didn’t understand, didn’t want to understand spewing from his mouth. No no no. . . her mind was screaming at her now, knowing instinctively that he was about to commit the final act of violation on her. .

Without further warning, his fingers shot straight into her core, dry thrusting into her, nearly lifting her ass from the bed.


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


Wesley and Giles were working tirelessly, trying to find a complete copy of the translation of the Romany text Jenny had made before she died, and trying to find a surgeon who was willing to travel to Sunnydale. The night meeting he’d had with Lilah Morgan had been a miscalculation on his part, since Lilah had done nothing but try to recruit him for Wolfram & Hart from the moment he sat down in the restaurant. It had disconcerted him no end, especially how she had phrased the offer. He’d been so focused on obtaining assistance about the chip that she had caught him off guard when she pitched the idea. Because of her demeanor, once Wesley got his bearings, he held off mentioning the purpose of his request for the meeting. His guard had been up, his inherent suspicion of anything from Wolfram & Hart setting off warning bells that Wesley had just clammed up and held his tongue. So that was one avenue of chip removal that he refused to pursue further.

According to rumors, or so Willie had said, Angelus and Drusilla had skipped town two weeks ago, searching for lost lambs. Both men were afraid they were looking for the other members of the AI team, especially since they’d lost contact with Cordelia.

She’d called a couple of times, checking in and letting them know she was safe. Gunn had also called in, informing Wesley that he and Fred were hiding out in the underground of Los Angeles, living on the streets. Even Lorne had checked in, from Las Vegas, where he was working in one of the casinos. But nothing from Cordelia in a couple of days; which just increased Wesley’s distraction.

The two Englishmen had just exhausted their last contact, the last surgeon on their list, refusing to remove the chip. They were sitting in Rupert’s office, neither one of them in the best of spirits.

“Do we have a way of contacting the Initiative?” Wesley’s voice finally broke the silence.

Giles looked up from his contemplation of the text in front of him. “I believe Buffy knows how to. I tried to disassociate from that aspect of her life.”

Wesley nodded, then got up to pace around the small space, “We’re going to have to tell them. Might as well be tonight.”

Rupert grimaced. “Happy bloody Christmas.”

“Indeed. I take it this will not be received happily.”

“Not likely.” Giles feared that would be a gross understatement.

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


Willow was pacing outside the lecture hall. Tara’s presence called out to her from behind the closed doors, but she had no idea if her sudden appearance was going to be welcomed. Doesn’t matter any now. Don’t care. Need to see her. To feel her. She’s mine. My girl.

The class broke and suddenly the hallway was full of people emerging, laughing, chattering and going about their day. Tara was one of the last to leave the lecture hall, surrounded by a group of smiling people Willow didn’t know. Placing a hand up, Willow muttered “mute” and all the noise receded.

“Hello Tara.” Willow’s voice was surprisingly controlled, none of her nervousness showing.

“Willow. How are you?” Tara’s eyes shifted left and right, noting the sudden hush that fell over her study group. Realizing it wasn’t natural Tara stared at Willow, then said, “release them Willow or this discussion will never get started.”

Chastised, Willow complied. “Can we go someplace to talk at least?”

“What’s there to talk about? You’ve changed, Willow – you aren’t the same girl I fell in love with. And I’m not the same either.” Tara moved out of the way of the passing students, stepping further away from Willow.

“I’ve . . . I’ve been thinking and well, I guess you were right. I should’ve asked for help, told you what I was planning.” Willow played with the edges of her sleeves.

“I suppose that’s an admission, but really Willow, its not enough.” Tara’s voice was cool, her personality almost wouldn’t allow for anything harsher, and there was a firmness that Willow hadn’t ever heard before.

“What would be enough?” Willow was at a loss.

Tara was shaking her head. “Until you figure that out Willow, I can’t be around you.” Taking pity on the girl she used to love, Tara smiled a bit. “You have a lot of people that still care, but you need to figure stuff out.”

With Willow sputtering in confusion, Tara tried one more time, “you hurt a lot of people, those same people that care. You need to figure out what’s more important.”


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

Buffy looked up at the ceiling, every muscle loose and rubbery. Daytime sex with Spike was the best she decided. Didn’t matter really what time of day, but there was something about him being inside her during the day that made her toes curl more than they normally did when she thought about Spike.

She was flat on her back, Spike’s head nestled between her breasts, his arms curled around her protectively. He was quiet, so quiet that she thought he might be asleep and she didn’t want to disturb him if he was. This was so comfy. . . Buffy shifted a bit, running a hand through his curls, her mind a bit blank. She sighed and felt Spike reposition himself.

His low voice rumbled out of him, “wha’s wrong?”

She rubbed hard into the spot at his nape, the one he loved for her to massage, saying, “nothing. Go back to sleep.”

“You sure kitten?” His voice was so sleepy. I love that sound.

“Ahuh. Pretty positive.” She hugged him closer. “Nothing’s wrong here.”

“Mmmm.” He nestled closer, a kiss brushing against her skin.

“Spike? What do you want for Christmas?” Buffy’s hands stilled a bit, waiting for his answer.

“Nothin’. Already got more than I hoped for. Don’t need anythin’.” She could feel his eyelashes fluttering against her breast and the sensation caused Buffy to almost miss his words.

“Not about what you need, silly. Christmas is about getting something you want really badly and can’t get for yourself.” She played some more with the hair at his neck, her fingers combing his curls.

“Sunshine. Got all that. Got everythin’ I want right here.” He paused, knowing this was a perfect opening to tell her what he suspected, but he hesitated, wondering if he should let her figure it out on her own.

“C’mon Spike, there has to be something you really want.” Buffy knew she was pushing, but she wanted so badly to tell him what she was thinking. . .

Spike lifted up to look down at her. “Buffy. Isn’t anythin’ I want that I don’t already have.“ He paused, his eyes intent up on her. “Wha?”

There was a look he’d never seen before on her – hope and fear and something else swirled in her green eyes. “You sure there isn’t something else that you want?”

Oh, she’s got something on her mind. “All right, what is it?”

She looked up at him shyly, unsure what to say now. “Never mind. I’ll just surprise you on Christmas.”

“You sure?” Spike nudged at her, seeking entrance into her depths again. “C’mon sunshine, tell me.”

“Nope. Its gonna be a surprise.” Buffy angled her hips, using her hot hand to guide him back inside her. Her pussy contracted around him and Spike forgot what it was they had been talking about.

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

Oz caught up with Tara before she got to the bookstore where they were actually supposed to meet.

“Hey.” His voice startled her from her thoughts of Willow and Tara jumped in surprise.

“Hey.” He could see she was upset, but knowing her, she’d start talking before he asked, so he waited her out. His patience was rewarded not moments later.

“Ran into Willow just now. I thought she was going to apologize, but she didn’t. I really don’t know her the way I thought I did.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to say something, but Oz wasn’t sure waxing philosophical would work at the moment, so he kept silent.

“You know she’s never once said she was sorry for any of it. What she did.” Tara sighed, smiling sadly. “And she has no idea that I know what she did to Spike.”

“Sometimes learning the hard way is the only way some people learn.” Oz opened the shop’s door, letting Tara step through.

“I guess. Its just hard watching it.” She sighed, looking over her shoulder at the short man.

“Always is.” He pointed her toward the coffee bar and just like that the discussion was done.

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

It was hours later, when Giles and Wesley were finally able to get a moment alone with Buffy and Spike to tell them about the last attempt at finding a surgeon.

Just before they left for patrol, as Giles was staying home with Dawn and Connor since Tara had study group and Wesley was going with them. Since Drusilla’s first night, Spike had been adamant about someone else patrolling with them. He didn’t want to take a chance of getting separated and one of them getting hurt. He never voiced it, but Buffy knew he was thinking of two things, her getting overwhelmed by sheer numbers and Angelus deciding to use humans against them. So she didn’t balk – much.

They were heading out when Giles stopped them. “Buffy? Can you wait a moment? I’ve got some news.”

“What’s up?” Buffy turned around, lifting her hair into a loose ponytail. Spike was pulling on his duster and perked up at Giles’ tone.

“Wesley and I contacted Dr. Sutter, the last surgeon on our list, in Canada. I think I can safely say we’ve exhausted all possibilities here. I don’t believe extending our search to Europe will have anything but similar results.” He waited a beat, letting that news sink in before he spoke again. “We could use a normal surgeon.”

The blond couple shared a look, which neither of the other two could interpret. Their silent communication lasted longer than normal; and Giles was about to ask something when Spike growled and stormed from the house.

It was Wesley’s quietly worded question that startled them. “How long have you and Spike been mated?”

Giles took off his glasses to peer closer at Buffy, spluttering out, “how? When? Why didn’t you say something?”

Buffy stayed silent for a minute, an odd look on her face and as she heard the closing of the front door, she started talking. Deciding to answer Wesley first, Buffy said, “about three weeks ago.” Then she giggled and said, ‘okay it was the Thursday before Thanksgiving.”

“Ah.” Giles smiled, remembering the very strange things Buffy had done on Thanksgiving which now all made more sense. “And you kept this to yourselves because?”

“Its private, Watcher. Not somethin’ for the masses.” He was suddenly leaning against the door, arms crossed and features set. Spike’s stance and tone were a bit belligerent, but Giles had come to learn that was just the vampire being defensive. Giles had expected something like this – been waiting for it actually and wasn’t really all that surprised.

“Have you noticed any changes?” He couldn’t help asking. Curiosity and the need to chronicle were so ingrained he sometimes lost sight of when both traits became a bit offensive. Spike grunted, not answering, but Buffy leaned over and thumped him.

“We can sorta talk to each other.” Buffy shot her mate a look, admitting, “okay, Spike can talk. I’m still working on the verbal. But I can do pictures and emotions. Go me!”

“Spike, is that normal?” Giles was warming up to the subject but was thrown for a loop at the other Englishman’s answer.

“Dunno. Never done this before.” Spike relaxed against the doorjamb, belligerence gone.

“Never done this? Weren’t you and Drusilla mates?” He stopped speaking at the shake of both their heads. Well that was bloody news. He’d thought for sure the two had been mated. “But the Watcher’s Diaries state that.”

Spike’s snort of disgust was drowned out by Buffy’s incomprehensible grumble.

“Should know by now Rupes, those diaries aren’t always accurate. Lots of things the Council doesn’t know about.” Spike stepped closer to Buffy. “Wankers haven’t a clue half the time.”

Wesley stirred, folding his arms across his chest, remarking, “indeed. The Council has not been very forthcoming or accommodating in the past.”

“Not sure I trust them at all.” Was Buffy’s softly worded statement, while Spike stated calmly, “no reason to. Haven’t done right by you at all.”

She leaned back against him as his arm snaked around her waist and his lips brushed against her hair. His next words brought them right back to the start of this conversation. “So unless we go abroad, we’ve stalled, yeah?”

“We’ve hit a brick wall, I’m afraid.” Once more Giles and Wesley watched while the two communicated silently.

Spike’s voice broke the silence, a deep sigh indicating his capitulation. “Fine. Call them. ‘M not happy with it, but they put the bloody thing in there, they should be the ones takin’ it out.”

He broke away from Buffy, signaling the end of his patience and, as far as he was concerned, the end of the conversation. “C’mon, if you’re still comin’. Night’s still young.”

And he was out the door and down the steps before Wesley had even moved.


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


Oz was wrapping amp cords and putting away his equipment when he heard the first out of place rustlings. It stopped when he stopped moving, so he knew there was someone in the practice space he and the rest of the band had rented. Not to mention that he could smell whoever it was, he just didn’t recognize the signature.

Working more quietly, Oz finished up his tasks, eager to get going and not liking the feeling of being watched. The hackles on the back of his neck rose and Oz knew his control would slip the moment whoever it was showed. Thinking quickly, Oz reached into his pocket and, trying to shield his movements from whomever was watching him, opened his cell phone and punched in a series of numbers.

Hopefully, the elaborate system Giles had come up with would work and the signal would reach Buffy and Spike in time, and keep Tara away.

There was no time to finish the message, because a low growl sounded from behind him and Oz closed the phone, slowly turning around to face the threat.

Without a word, he began to morph, knowing he stood a far better chance of survival as the wolf. His own answering growls reverberated around the enclosed space and Oz’ last fleeting rational thought was about the equipment that was about to be damaged.

Growls and rumbles filled the air along with the screech and whine of destroyed electronic equipment. Panting for breath, the werewolf crouched on all fours, waiting for his foe to return from the shadows. A flicker of movement caught his attention and once again the two supernatural beings fought. Two sets of canines ripped into skin, snarling and slashing.

The vampire hadn’t expected this – hadn’t remembered this about the human at all – had imagined this one would be less of a challenge. But he was more than holding his own against the master vampire.

The vampire retreated again, hiding once more in the dark shadows, waiting for the werewolf to make a mistake. Blood was running from various claw wounds and bite marks, but he’d managed to inflict his own damage because the wolf was favoring his left hid leg, blood matting the reddish fur.

Using that knowledge, the vampire attacked on the left, trying to rip the wound open further. But the wolf was prepared for this, and sprang for the vampire’s throat, its jaws sinking in, closing around the vampire’s throat and shaking.

Growling deeply in growing fury, Angelus forced his finger’s into the wolf’s mouth, prying it open and away from his flesh. Something cracked and the wolf roared in pain, yowling and whimpering in fear.

Unable to stay and finish the kill, the blood flowing too fast and strong from his own wounds, Angelus clamped a hand around his bleeding neck and fled.











Okay, so, please leave a review and let me know what you guys think of this one. Coz, me, I kind of liked it, but hey, I'm not always the best judge of my own writing.

[A/N: Again, I apologize for taking so long with these updates. I simply cannot do them faster. I wish I could, because I’m dying to get this finished. Not in a bad way either, I just want to tell the story. Title is from that Welsh group, The Alarm (really you should go listen) from the album of the same name and the quotes are as attributed. Disclaimers, as always, are in full force and effect, coz Joss owns it all.]

Previously: Having exhausted all surgical avenues, the two Watchers have told Buffy and Spike of their findings, and now their choice about chip removal have narrowed to one. Oz and Angel had a run-in, and this picks up immediately after.

Book Two, chapter 25. Eye of the Hurricane.


Thou born to match the gale, (thou art all wings,)
To cope with heaven and earth and sea and hurricane
Walt Whitman, To the Man-of-War-Bird

Calm fell. From Heaven distilled a clemency;
There was peace on earth, and silence in the sky;
Some could, some could not, shake off misery:
The Sinister Spirit sneered: It had to be!’
And again the Spirit of Pity whispered, ‘Why?’
Thomas Hardy, And There Was a Great Calm


The view from the hill looks bleak from where I stand
The waters are come in unto my soul
I can’t cry no more my eyes are bone dry sore
There’s a river of tears flowing down to the sea

I’m a desolate soul on a desolate shore
Destined to walk alone
Into the crucifix night
The storm of a cross
I live to love again and again
All my life

Oh eye of the hurricane
I walk away in the wind and the rain
Into the eye of the hurricane
Face to face
The Alarm, Eye of the Hurricane, 1990




“Look, I’m not chipper and cheery about this either. So not wanting to trust the Initiative, but Spike, it has to come out.”

They’d been bantering back and forth for the better part of an hour, not really fighting, as far as Wesley could tell, although there were moments when it was abundantly clear that Spike was not happy about using the Initiative. Wesley, thanks to some late night sharing over pints, had the background on the situation, probably even more than Giles had. Because Spike had been more forthcoming than usual that night, Wesley also knew what had transpired between Buffy and her former boyfriend.

And while Spike couldn’t remember specifically if Riley had been present during some of the more twisted “experiments” Wesley suspected Riley Finn had tested the vampire’s strength more than once. So his sympathies weren’t even in doubt in this situation. He didn’t want to subject Spike to more abuse at the hands of the military. Which was why he opened his mouth when there was a lull between verbal sparring matches.

“I’d like to be there to ensure nothing untoward happens.”

Both blondes looked at him, one confused and the other, it appeared, more than relieved someone else picked up on his apprehension and distrust.

“Why?” Spike sighed. Sometimes his woman was a bit too slow on the uptake.

Wesley’s answer was quick. “Because, like Spike, I don’t believe that the Initiative would just willingly let him go once they have him again.” Taking a deep breath and sharing a look over her head with his fellow ex-patriot, Wesley finished with, “nor do I trust that your former companion won’t seek some sort of revenge while Spike is incapacitated.”

The two Englishmen shared another look. Wesley’s support meant more than Spike was willing to admit and he was reassured by the idea that someone other than Buffy was going to keep an eagle eye on the proceedings. And not just someone. Spike had a healthy respect for Wesley that was more the beginnings of real friendship than anything else.

Buffy was about to speak when three cell phones simultaneously chirped.


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


Tara was in the library of UC Sunnydale, studying for her last final, head immersed in abnormal psychology and oblivious to anything else, when her cell phone vibrated in her bag, making it jump across the table.

Jumping a little herself, Tara grabbed her bag, and reached inside for the buzzing phone. Looking down at the voice mail message, Tara quickly packed up her things and with a quickly murmured “sorry” to her study group, she got up and left the building.


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


Giles was just settling down to read, after putting Connor down, when his cell phone rang. Fumbling for it, he heard Dawn’s door open, then the quick patter of her feet, and the thud of them hitting the stairs.

“Giles? Did your phone go off?” Seeing the item in his hands, Dawn held up a hand, “don’t bother. Its Oz. Something’s wrong, because he didn’t finish the message.”

“Yes I see that.” Giles checked his own, just in case, then snapped his head up. “Go upstairs and check Connor. I’ll get everything ready.”

“What do you mean everything?” Dawn watched him carefully, trying to figure out what he was going to do.

“If he’s hurt, he’ll need transport to hospital. I’m going to get the car. See to the baby please.” Giles grabbed his coat, motioning Dawn toward the stairs.

“Wouldn’t it be safer if Connor and I stayed here?” She faced Giles from the stairs where she’d started ascending.

He thought for a moment, weighing the options. There was no way of knowing until they found out where he was, what the situation was. “Perhaps waiting might be best. Do you know where he was going to be tonight?”

Dawn shrugged. “Nope.”

“Right then. We’ll wait. Dawn, check on the baby anyway.” Giles motioned her toward the second floor, then shrugged out of his jacket.

Placated that he wasn’t going to rush out, Dawn headed up the stairs.



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


Moving quickly from the library, Tara hit automatic dialer and got Spike on the first ring.

“What do you know Glinda?” His voice was steady, no hint of anything going on other than him waiting for her phone call.

“He’s rehearsing.” Was her first statement.

“Where?” He motioned his companions to silence.

“Not far from the college, one of the old converted warehouses on the end of Main Street.”

“Which one?” He moved closer to Buffy, letting her listen in.

“Not sure. Never been to rehearsal with him.” Tara was using her intuition, letting her feet guide her in the right direction. “I’d do a locator, but it would take too long.”

“All right. I’ll head over there with Buffy, an’ send Oxford for the wheels.” Clicking off the phone, Spike indicated to Buffy and Wesley what Tara hadn’t said. “We need to go now. Got a hunch dogboy could use a hand.” Pointing to himself and Buffy, he said, “we can get there faster without you.”

“I’d best go for the car then, in case we need to get him to Sunnydale Memorial. I’ll call Dr. Thomas, let him know we might be coming in.” Wesley headed off toward the cemetery’s entrance, Buffy and Spike just behind him.

“Oxford. Watch your back.” And with that the two blonds took off, running full out toward the warehouse district.


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


Tara closed her eyes after ending the phone call, inhaling deeply and centering herself. She was worried about Oz, knowing the quiet man wasn’t the type to jump and send messages that weren’t false alarms. He was more likely to downplay any danger.

Once she achieved a sense of calm, Tara thought to herself . . and realized how incredibly vulnerable she was in the nearly deserted area between the college and the warehouse district. Shaking her head at her own stupidity, Tara immediately cast the sunlight spell, sending the ball of sunshine up and over her head. There. That will keep me safe for now.

Reaching out her senses, Tara started off toward her left, following her intuition.


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


Spike, on the other hand, was using his knowledge of two things, the musical underground and his sense of smell. Not quite on a level with a werewolf’s, Spike’s heightened sense was enough to lead him unerringly to the rehearsal building, once he had a general location.

Buffy was running alongside him, holding back because she was relying on his sense of smell, and she stole a glance over at him, noting he’d slipped into game face and was sporting a grimace.

“Angelus was here.” He ground out as they skidded to a halt outside a boxy-type former factory with a sliding metal door. Taking note of the light rapidly approaching from their right, Spike slipped out of game face. “Glinda’s here, pet.”

Buffy swung her head to look and ran down the alleyway to meet her.

Spike had slipped inside before they returned, leaving the door partially opened. The interior lights were on, illuminating a plain hallway running parallel to the door, with perpendicular hallways and doors leading away from the front. Spike was nowhere to be seen and not willing to speak out loud in case Angelus was still in the building, Buffy held a hand out to stop Tara and silently called out to Spike.

His voice sounded in her head, “to your left, kitten, third hallway halfway down.”

Motioning Tara to come with her, Buffy followed his instructions.


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


The room was a shambles. Destroyed amps and ripped cabinets littered the floor, electronic cables and speaker wires hanging from the ceiling. Sparks flickered here and there and Spike grimaced when he passed a destroyed Stratocaster and the remains of Oz’ bass. Stepping over the debris on the floor, he gingerly made his way methodically through the room.

A low pain-filled groan caught his attention and Spike picked his way over to it. Oz was on the floor, blood pooling beneath his injured leg, half morphed between wolf and man. Knowing he could smell his presence, Spike kneeled down, talking quietly. “All right mate, its jus’ Spike. Girls are on their way. Gonna get you to hospital.”

Looking back over his shoulder, he called out, “Slayer, need to get Oxford here.”

Turning his attention back to the werewolf beside him, Spike asked, “where else you hurt?”

Oz turned his eyes to Spike, growling softly and trying to get the words out, but could only gasp, “ribs . . .leg. . . . jaw.”

“Right then. Don’t talk.” Spike leaned over, checking the wound on his left leg. Grabbing Oz’ ripped shirt, Spike tied off the wound, slowing the bleeding.

Buffy and Tara were behind him, leaning over his shoulder, surveying the damage to Oz. Placing her hand on Spike’s shoulder, Buffy said, “Wesley’s almost here. He called Dr. Thomas, they’re waiting for us to get there.”

Tara knelt down on the other side, her hand on Oz’ injured jaw. “Relax. We’re gonna get you out of here.”

Lifting her eyes to Spike, Tara asked, “can you lift him without jarring his ribs?”

Obviously the girls had heard their conversation, and Spike nodded. “Can try. Should be okay.” Looking down at Oz, Spike queried, “you ready?”

“Yeah.” Oz barely nodded, but Spike was already lifting him up, trying not to jostle him overly.


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


Wesley pulled up in Joyce’s Jeep, the back seat already down and a blanket on the floor. He was waiting at the back when the four of them emerged from the warehouse. At first glance Oz looked nearly dead, but on a second look, he was alert and responsive. Spike carried him easily, the girls trailing behind him. Buffy jumped up into the back of the Jeep and Spike passed his burden off, then hopped up in beside her.


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


Hours later, when Spike crawled into bed beside her, Buffy rolled right into his arms, nuzzling against his bare skin. “How is he?”

“All right.” Wrapping his arms around her, Spike whispered, “well, he will be once he’s asleep.”

She had gone to bed before him, inexplicably tired, leaving the three Englishmen to sit up with Tara while she watched over Oz. Dr. Thomas had patched him up, setting his jaw, wiring it closed, then wrapped his ribs and sent him home after stitching up his leg. By mutual agreement and despite his aunt’s protests otherwise, they’d brought Oz back to Revello Drive.

It was nearing daybreak when Spike came up to bed and Buffy hadn’t slept well or deeply, tossing and turning, unable to sleep despite the fatigue that was weighing down her muscles. Connor too, had spent a fitful night and he was back in his own bed after spending a few hours in with Buffy.

“Go back to sleep, kitten.” Spike ran his hand over her from shoulder to hip, raising gooseflesh in his wake.

“Don’t wanna sleep.” She nibbled at the hollow of his shoulder, her hands holding onto him. “Spike?”

“Yeah?” His voice was low and husky, his hands making idle patterns on her skin.

“Hold me please?” She sounded like such a little girl, like she had months ago when she’d first come back, that it shook him out of his lethargy.

“You okay sunshine?” Angling down to look at her, Spike saw the fear she was doing her best to hide. “What’s this then?”

“Dunno. Just thinking about when you got hurt, I guess.” She shrugged, hiding her eyes from him.

Spike licked his marks, his tongue raspy against her soft skin. “Don’t need to be worryin’ ‘bout me, ‘m fine an’ once this bloody chip is gone we’ll be fine.”

He heard her sniffles then felt the soft wash of a few tears that slid down her cheek. Spike wasn’t entirely certain what had prompted this reaction from her, but it wasn’t something he’d expected. Rolling her onto her back, Spike hiked up the flimsy slip of lace she was wearing, his hands strong and firm around her hips. Nudging his way between her hips, Spike slid inside her warm depths.

Silken heat surrounding him, Spike thrust slowly in, then pulled out a bit. Buffy whimpered at his retreat, her hands holding onto his ass, forcing him back in. “Love you, kitten. . . I do.”

“Me too. . . “ she stared up into his eyes, smiling a little when he licked the tears from her skin, letting small wisps of laughter escape when his fingers tickled her sides. “Spike, stop. C’mon.”

Grinning down at her, he surged up inside her, hitting the spot that made her breathing hitch and gasp. The pressure built slowly, murmured words mixed with drugging kisses, her legs wrapped around him, holding him there. . . “oh. . . “

Rolling through them the orgasm grew until they were both gasping for air, cool lips soothing the raging heat of her body. “Spike . . . oh god. . . “

“Stay with me love . . . come with me. . . “ his hands gripped her shoulders, fingers digging into tender skin, his forehead resting on hers. “Need you . . . always. . . fuck. . . oh god. . . “ he groaned into her mouth, breathing with her.

“Now. . . tha’s it . . . fuckin’ . . . “ Buffy whimpered, tightened around him, her entire body convulsing, contracting, arching up into his. Spike ground into her, pumping hard, gasping out her name, exploding in her depths.


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Angelus limped his way back to the mansion, battered and bleeding from his battle with the werewolf. Well that had been a surprise. Not a pleasant one either. He didn’t remember if he’d ever heard about the boy being a werewolf.

Drusilla was waiting for him, lounging against the fireplace, her latest pet bound at her feet, both women naked and waiting for him. “What happened Dearest? Did the nasty doggie get you?”

He slumped against the wall, blood congealing down his chest and throat, thick and clotted. “Dru. . . “

His raspy voice was harsh, the sounds alone enough to hurt. “Come here Daddy, I’ve got what you need.”

Tugging on the chain that held the girl in place, Drusilla stood up and closed in on Angel. “Poor Daddy. . . all battered and torn.”

“Shall I clean you?” Suiting action to words, Drusilla dipped her head and licked a path through the clotted mess at Angel’s neck. “Mmmmmm lovely messy.”

The girl at her feet whimpered, drawing their attention. Angel growled, his need for fresh blood overriding his need to have Drusilla writhing beneath him. Pulling on the leash in Drusilla’s hand, Angel brought the girl to her feet. Grinning, yet reeling from the blood loss and pain, Angel fell on the girl’s neck, his fangs sliding easily into her jugular.

Nearly draining the girl dry, Angel let her drop from his hold, stepped over her slumped form, then, with Drusilla trailing behind him, Angel strode from the room.

Bypassing the bathroom, Angel walked into his bedroom. Looking at the girl tied up in his bed, the big vampire smiled, his grin stretching across his features and crossing his arms over his chest, he said, “hello Cordy. Miss me?”


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Connor woke her not long after Spike had fallen asleep, his cool body wrapped around hers protectively. Spike was so very . . touchy feely, affectionate even. He was spoiling her rotten, if she thought about it for a minute. Every time he went out, he came back with something, even if it was just something she liked to eat. Come to think of it, it was mostly chocolate he brought home, even on poker nights. And he brought home something for the other girls too, at least once a week.

Lifting Connor up from his crib before his cries could escalate into earsplitting howls for his bottle, Buffy made her way downstairs to the kitchen. It was still fairly early, barely seven thirty in the morning, well, early if most of the household were nocturnal, which it was. Dawn had gotten up on time and left for school, as her note and lack of presence indicated and Tara was still downstairs, watching over Oz. Wesley and Giles must have gone back to the apartment they were sharing, although as she peeked out the back door, she spied Wesley sleeping on the lawn furniture, so Giles must still be around.

It took bare minutes to fill and warm Connor’s bottle and the entire time she kept up a running monologue to the attentive infant. He really was a cute baby, thankfully looking more like his mother than his father. Buffy wondered what on earth she might have been thinking with that. . . . Angel was not really a gorgeous man, not that looks were everything but . . . he wasn’t bad looking either. And yet, in a comparison between the vampires she’d loved, Angel came out a way distant second. The vampire sleeping upstairs was far and away the better man and not just looks wise.

Before she jumped, before Glory, life, at least hers, had been bathed in absolutes – colors of black and white, good and evil, right and wrong, sometimes charged with red. Since returning – since she’d been ripped from heaven, life had been. . . all about shadings, nuances – everything in the in-between. The grey. Nothing was absolute anymore, nothing carved in stone. . . well, there was one constant, one thing she could rely on and trust that it wasn’t going to disappear. . . to fade in the harsh light of day or disappear under the glow of perfect happiness.

Buffy brushed a kiss over Connor’s forehead, words tumbling unchecked from her lips, unaware and uncaring that she’d garnered an audience. “Yup. Your real daddy is a jerk, you know, just a big old dumb jerk. Can’t love without a soul, kinda makes you wonder what he was like when his heart beat. But we’re not gonna think about him, nope. Nahuh. Coz he’s just not worth it.” Another kiss dropped down on his head and Buffy swore he smiled at her around the nipple.

“Oh, but your new daddy. . . . I guess the real one . . .” Buffy’s voice faltered for a moment, then went on, “he’s different. Crazy, but different. Don’t think there’s anything he wouldn’t do. . . . he didn’t leave when I was gone . . stayed to take care of our Dawnie. And he doesn’t need a soul to do good things. How come he doesn’t? I think . . . dunno what to think sometimes. . . . he just . . he takes my breath away. He loves me so much. . . he loves all of us so much, even you.”

Connor’s hand reached up toward her mouth, his fingers pulling and touching her and Buffy automatically kissed each one of the tiny digits. “Promise you won’t tell anyone? It’s a secret, but you have to promise not to tell anyone, okay?”

In the back of her mind, Buffy knew how ridiculous it looked, carrying on a conversation with a two month old infant, but she didn’t care. Lifting him higher, Buffy whispered her secret against his skin, too low for anyone else to hear, even the vampire watching her from the shadows of the hallway.

“See why you had to promise? That’s my good boy. I knew I could trust you.” A watery giggle escaped from her when Connor looked up at her and smiled. “Oh you did. . . you smiled at Buffy. Yes you did. C’mon give mommy Buffy another one, c’mon Connor boy, you can, yes you can.” Her voice lost its serious tone, lilting with almost laughter.

To Spike’s ears and eyes, Buffy looked happier than he’d seen her in a very long time. Completely alone with the baby, she dropped the defenses she always carried, the worries and cares of just being the Chosen One.

The tiny nightshirt she wore over the minuscule nightgown did nothing to decrease his need for her, in fact, it just served to whet his appetite, but he was content to just watch her, to listen to her with their surrogate son.

Didn’t matter how Connor came into their lives, he was theirs. They’d both claimed him it seemed, if going by her statements to the baby were any indication. He leaned a shoulder against the wall, his eyes intent upon the two in the kitchen. She wasn’t even aware of his presence, her every sense focused on the baby in her arms. He’d never have pegged her as the maternal type, but thinking about it, it made a weird sort of sense. What set her apart from the other slayers he’d known was the depth of her heart – her love – her capacity for it.

She might’ve feared, just after her mother had died that she was losing her heart, but the truth was, it wasn’t that she couldn’t love, it was that she was afraid to love. Buffy loved with everything she had and when it wasn’t reciprocated fully she was hurt in equal measure. He was brought back from his musings by the sound of her light laugh and her words.

“There’s daddy Spike’s big boy. You burp like a champ.” She giggled again and the sound was pure sunshine.

He must’ve moved or made some sort of sound, because she became aware of him, standing there watching the two of them. Turning around to look at him, Buffy’s breath caught in her throat. Spike was leaning against the wall, his legs crossed at the ankles, black jeans riding decadently low on his hips, the buttons only half done, arms crossed over bare chest, eyes sleepy and curls wild and disheveled, tousled from his short sleep. And all that is mine. . . . gah.

She gasped for air, her eyes drinking in his form. “How . . . how long have you been watching me?”

“Woke up missing you.” Was all he said as he pushed away from the wall.

Buffy met him halfway, drawn to him by the love in his bottomless blue eyes. His hands flexed around her hips, his breath washing over her. His voice, when he spoke, was husky, raising gooseflesh and sending her every nerve into overdrive. “Come back to bed with me, sunshine.”

Without waiting for her response, Spike lifted them both up into his arms, heading back upstairs.






Okay, there it is, the next installment. Lemme know what you think, coz reviews feed the muse. So does blood and sex, but I don't think anyone's going to be sacrificing any virgins for me. Kind words will do nicely.