[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.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
I never expected the response I got to that last chapter. But each of the 47 people on SR that took the time to review got a personal note of thanks tied to that review, so go look and see what I wrote. Thank you all so very much.