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My thanks go out to everyone that has reviewed. Each and every one of you is the best. Slainte, Nia

[A/N: I’m making these chapters longer (has anyone noticed?), but there’s probably going to be more action. Title is from Franklin Delano Roosevelt – in a speech he gave July 2, 1932 (“the only thing we have to fear is fear itself”) and the quotes are as attributed. Disclaimers still in full force and effect, because I still don’t own a damn thing.]

Previously: Spike protected Dawn from the knights and got severely beaten for it: Kirsten stepped in and saved him until Buffy got there. Wesley is on his way to Sunnydale with the baby. This starts immediately where we left everyone.

Book Two, chapter 7 Fear itself

Fear makes us feel our humanity
Benjamin Disreali

A tragedy need not have blood and death: its enough . . .
that it all be filled with that majestic sadness that is the
pleasure of tragedy.
Jean Racine, Berenice, preface

I will not fear. Fear is the mind killer.
I will face my fear and I will let it pass through me
Frank Herbert, Dune



There was no sound in the van, except for the sounds of three people breathing. Buffy sat in the back, huddled next to Spike’s still form, trying to stop the bleeding. Tears were sliding down her cheeks, dropping onto his bruised face. He hadn’t made a sound since that groan in the gym, and his chest was still. She knew he wasn’t in danger of dying, but it didn’t help the fear gripping her insides, nor the hammering of her heart. Two different Buffy voices in her head were alternately screaming and chanting. Screaming in fear and grief and chanting in prayer and thanks. He’s not gone, still here, not dust and the other just a primal howl of grief echoing in her head, drowning out the soft chant of saner Buffy. Her tears were washing away the blood from his bruised features and she gingerly touched his battered cheek.

One eye flickered open, searching around for her. Settling his gaze on her, his eye closed again, and a soft growl sounding in the air between them. It wasn’t his usual strong, forceful growl, more the whimper of a lion in mortal pain. Closing her own eyes, Buffy reached a decision.

“Oz. Stop by the hospital.”

Without a glance back or any other acknowledgment that he’d heard her demand, Oz changed direction and headed for Sunnydale Memorial. He had a feeling he knew what she was going to the hospital for and he had thought of it himself, but hadn’t wanted to make the suggestion. The little girl sitting next to him jerked to attention, turning around to look at the older girl. “We need to get to safety.”

“He needs blood more. . . And I can’t set his legs or his arm. Someone has to do it.” Buffy wasn’t going to argue with her, not for any reason.

“They’re gonna tell you he’s dead.” Kirsten wouldn’t look away from Buffy.

“I know that. I can’t . . . “ Buffy wiped away some of the tears, smearing Spike’s blood across her cheek. “He needs someone to set his legs. And his arm . . . “

Oz spoke for the first time since getting in the van. “Want me to get one of the docs I know?”

“Yeah. That would be. . . one that knows you’re a werewolf?” Buffy shouldn’t have been surprised by this, but somehow it had never occurred to her that some of the people in Sunnydale had to be aware of what was going on in this town.

“Yup.” Pulling into a deserted part of the hospital, near the morgue entrance, Oz jumped down from his seat. “Right back.”

It wasn’t a long wait, not nearly what she’d expected, but it was long enough. Spike was groaning softly, his left hand clenching and unclenching. Buffy ran her hand over his face, wiping more of the blood away, soft little whimpers of sympathy filling her throat. She was rocking back and forth on her knees, her other fist against her mouth. Buffy was watching his face so closely and so intently that she was unaware of almost anything else. Their faces were inches apart, her breath rushing over his still features, one hand cupping his face. She didn’t feel it at first, the slight tug on her hair, but then it became insistent. Spike’s fingers were entangled in the ends of her hair, holding on tightly.

“Spike” she whispered to his face. “Spike, I need you to be okay. Please be okay.”

The van doors opened revealing Oz and some other guy, and a woman. Turning her blood and tear streaked face toward them, Buffy just looked closely, trying to decide if this was a good idea. The woman was all business, holding out a hand to Buffy, “lets get him out of there and inside.”

It took her a long moment to make a decision. She knew he needed more assistance than she could give him, but she wasn’t sure she trusted this woman. Looking at Oz once, Buffy raised an eyebrow.

Pretty sure he knew what was going on in her head, Oz stepped up into the van beside her. “Its cool. She knows all about this stuff.” When Buffy didn’t move, Oz gestured at her, “she’s my aunt Maureen.”

“Its okay, her son’s the one that bit me.” Buffy focused her attention on the woman, taking in her appearance, really looking at her.

“Must you Daniel?” His aunt made a face, clearly indicating she wasn’t happy with his blunt admission. “Let’s get him inside.”

Buffy held out a hand, to stop Oz, then pointed at the other man. “Who’s that?”

Maureen answered, “that’s Dr. Thomas. Ray Thomas. He’s going to work on your friend.” The doctor smiled, nodding at Buffy.

“He knows?” Buffy looked him up and down, taking his measure. Ray Thomas was fairly tall, with sandy blond hair and non-descript features, but he had a kind face with nice blue eyes that were currently looking at her over wire-thin framed glasses.

“Sure do. Let’s get him inside so I can work on him.”

“What about taking him home?” Buffy wasn’t willing to let him work just yet, still unsure of the strangers. Spike’s fingers tightened on her hair, a sure sign he was listening, or at least she hoped it was.

Doctor Thomas and Oz’ aunt exchanged glances. “He can’t stay here. He’s going to have to go with you when we’re done.”

Giving in, Buffy nodded her head, then moved to help Oz lift the end of the gym mat, while his aunt and the doctor held up their end. Kirsten got out of the front, coming round to help the two normal humans and between them, they got Spike inside the morgue entrance without any mishaps.


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Sometime after one in the morning, and forty-five minutes outside of Los Angeles, Wesley couldn’t go any further without pulling over. The gas gauge was on empty, and had been for close to five minutes, and the baby definitely needed something warmer than Angel’s jacket covering it. The infant was still sleeping, otherwise his already sharp nerves would be cut to the quick. There was a gas station within sight, thankfully one that was open 24-hours and Wesley had to take a chance.

It had to be far enough away from Angelus, though he was sure that one of the first places the vampire would look would be in Sunnydale, at least for the time being. Coasting into the gas station on fumes alone, the car finally came to a stop precisely where he’d aimed it, next to the petrol pumps. Breathing a sigh of relief at one thing going correctly, Wesley contemplated how to get himself and the baby inside without anyone being the wiser - and avoiding the surveillance cameras – which were no doubt monitored by Wolfram & Hart employees.

He believed it would be impossible to disguise his appearance right now, but he had to hide the baby at all costs. Switching off the engine, Wesley leaned over to lift the baby up in his arms. Poor little one, he thought, no parents, no one to love him.

Grabbing the jacket, Wesley discarded his first idea. The baby was small. Small enough to . . Thinking quickly, Wesley unbuttoned his shirt partially, tucking the boy inside, the tiny head resting against his belly. What had Angel said to call him?

Connor.

The baby’s name was Connor. Cradling him close, with his arm along the baby’s body, his hand cupping and supporting the wobbly head, Wesley figured this was the best he could do. Making quick work of re-buttoning his shirt, Wesley half zipped up his jacket. Connor settled in, reacting to the warmth of the body next to him. Gingerly getting out of the car, he made his way toward the mini-mart.

The kid at the counter ignored him as he entered, not even looking up. Walking down the aisles quickly, Wesley spied some necessary supplies. Diapers, formula, a small bottle and nipples, and in a burst of creative thinking, sanitary napkins, tee shirts and a few other things. Laying his purchases on the counter, Wesley said, “and a full tank.”

Just grunting his acknowledgment, the kid rang up the items and held out his hand for the payment. Without exchanging another word, Wesley left the mini-mart.

He filled the tank, his eyes constantly flicking around, watching the dark night for signs of pursuit. The stop hadn’t been more than twenty minutes, but the longer he stayed in one spot the more dangerous it was, at least until he got to Sunnydale. It was imperative he get there before sunrise, without having to stop again, and that was provided the baby cooperated. Wesley figured he’d get to Buffy’s in just over an hour.

More than enough time to ask for sanctuary.

Long enough to batten down the hatches and prepare for Angelus.

Lifting the nozzle back into the holder Wesley secured the gas tank and got into the car.


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Cordelia had run away from Angelus, muttering under her breath the whole time about stupid vampires and shaky souls.

She’d deliberately lagged behind, giving Wesley as much of a chance to escape as she dared. Gunn had grabbed Fred and headed in the opposite direction from her. At one point Lorne had kept up with her, but when they’d thought Angelus was behind them, they’d split up.

Cordelia had no illusions that she wasn’t on Angelus’ list of people to torment. She knew she was. And she knew why. Angel might not be willing to admit to his growing feelings and in light of Darla’s sacrifice leaving Angelus no one else to torture, she was it. He’d come for her first, then go after Buffy.

Creeping her way toward her own car, Cordelia thought about heading back to Sunnydale once she had transportation – figuring Wesley might head there. Cordelia decided it wasn’t a bad plan. Double checking that no one was around, Cordy ran to her car and screamed when big hands closed around her shoulders.


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His clothes had been cut from his body and in deference to Kirsten’s presence and at Buffy’s insistence they’d covered him with a sheet. Oz’ aunt had washed the blood away from his wounds and set up an IV drip of human blood into his left arm.

It was the only part of him that wasn’t in some way injured. The list was frightening in its length, fractured skull, broken jaw, compound fracture of his right arm, one broken femur and two broken shins, in addition to the long slice running the length of his torso from right nipple to hip, and various broken ribs, Spike was lucky he was already dead. As it was his injuries could still take weeks to heal.

But the IV drip was helping, because the smaller wounds were already closing, lighter bruises fading. Buffy stood by the Gurney, her hand clutching his good one, squeezing rhythmically.

There was nothing they could do for the fractured skull, but Dr. Thomas had re-aligned his jaw and then set his broken legs. “No point in proper casts, a couple of splints should keep him contained for the next forty-eight hours.”

Dr. Thomas had taken one look, giving Buffy an explanation of sorts, “once he has enough blood, he’ll start healing. He’ll still be healing faster than a normal human being, which means no casts because the legs weren’t so bad.”

All the while Dr. Thomas was speaking, Buffy stroked his hand, re-assuring herself that he was there, solid beneath her touch. His fingers tangled with hers weakly, tugging her closer. Spike inhaled deeply then, letting her scent wash over him. He couldn’t talk and his eyes were just slits due to all the swelling, but Buffy knew he was in there, knew he could hear her voice. “Spike, I’m here. Not leaving. Please be okay, please.”

She leaned down to say the words in his ear, her hand still holding onto his and when he turned toward her, new tears flooded her eyes. “Spike, I’m here.”

His eyes closed again, pain tightening his features as the doctor pulled the skin around his arm together. Using staples instead of stitches, the doctor made quick work of putting him back together.

A thump sounded by her feet, and Buffy turned to look at what caused the noise. Oz’ aunt had dropped a styrofoam cooler at her feet, packed with blood packages and a bag of bandages was in her outstretched hand. “You’re going to need all this.”

Straightening up, Buffy smiled tearily at the older woman, whispering “thanks.”

Transferring Spike back onto the gym mat, they headed out to the van, carrying him gingerly.


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Despite the lateness of the hour, every light was on at Revello Drive when Wesley pulled up at the curb. The baby had slept the entire trip, and was only stirring now, soft cries sounding in the car. Lifting Connor up to his shoulder, Wesley headed for the door and was surprised into dropping the bag when the door swung open before he got to the steps.

Tara and Dawn were standing at the door, watching him closely, staring intently at the bundle in his arms.

“Wesley?” Tara’s voice was quiet, but he heard her clearly.

“Its me. I need some help.” That was an understatement. He wasn’t quite sure what to do now. He’d gotten a diaper on the baby, and wrapped him in a tee shirt, keeping him warm.

“Is that a baby?” Dawn was staring at him, not taking her eyes off the two approaching.

“Yeah. Its Angel’s son.” Looking down at the baby in his arms, Wesley missed the startled looks the two girls shared.

“What?”

“That’s not possible!”

“Actually it is. Can I bring him in? I need to get him safe and” sniffing the air about the baby, “he needs a change and a bottle and to get warmer.”

Tara looked at him, accurately gauging his awkwardness and taking pity on the helpless Englishman, said, “c’mon in Wes, we’ll get him settled.” Stopping him at the doorway, Tara took the baby from his arms, motioning toward the car. “You might want to hide that in the garage and get his things.”

Dawn was peeking in at the tee shirt that was wrapped around the baby, cooing at him. “Oh he’s gorgeous. Look at him.”

With Dawn trailing behind her, Tara made her way into the kitchen, issuing instructions on the way. “Dawn, run upstairs and get some bath gel and some towels and . . . oh, start a pot of water boiling first.”

“Ahuh. Sure.” But Dawn stayed put while Tara slid the baby out of the tee shirt, watching as he reacted to being cold again. “Dawnie. I need you to do this.”

“Do what?” Wesley’s voice sounded from the hallway, his footsteps sounding loud in the quiet house.

Her gaze still on the wriggling infant in her arms, Tara listed once again the things she needed done before they could settle into explanations. “He’s cold and needs to be washed and fed and I need Dawnie to get me some things.”

“Right then. Do we need . . . what?” He placed the bag of supplies on the counter, a bemused smile settling on his features as he watched the two girls with the baby.

“Boiling water. Towels, some bath wash and dry diapers.”

“I can get the water going but not sure where to . . towels upstairs?” Moving about the kitchen, Wesley got the water going then looked toward Tara to see what else she needed, when it struck him what time it was and why they were all up and awake. “Tara? What’s going on? Where are Buffy and Spike?”

He was taken aback when Dawn looked up with tears in her eyes, and her face crumpled, as she tried to answer him.

“Spike got badly hurt when the knights tried to attack Dawnie. We don’t know . . . when she left him, to come get Buffy, he was still on his feet, but” and Tara stole a glance at the teenager at her side, “she’s been gone over two hours and there’s been no word.”

“Oh dear gods.” He slumped against the refrigerator, his posture defeated. “Oh dear god. Angelus is back.”

“What?” Both girls stared at him, the baby almost forgotten.

“Darla. . . staked herself, so that the baby could be born and Angel. . . I’m not entirely certain what happened, but Angel was holding the baby and . . . suddenly he wasn’t Angel anymore.” Wesley didn’t know what to do. He’d thought by bringing the baby here that there would be some sort of assistance from Buffy and Spike, but now, with their status unknown, “perhaps I should just get him fed and cleaned up and then head someplace safer.”

“Oh no you don’t.” Dawn looked over at him, Summers’ determined look on her suddenly very old features. “Nope. You and he are staying put. We don’t know anything. And Spike,” she fought a tear or two, “he’s tough, he’ll make it.”

Neither one of the adults wanted to contradict her.


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Loading Spike back into the van hadn’t taken long, and just like earlier, the trip was again conducted in silence. Dr. Thomas had given them the strongest drugs he could find, so that Spike wouldn’t move around while his bones were knitting. Buffy was most concerned about his jaw, because he couldn’t bite until it healed and she wasn’t going to wait around for it to heal before letting him drink from her. She’d not said it to anyone else, wouldn’t dream of sharing something like that with virtual strangers, but it was sitting there in her mind.

Oz murmured something that Buffy didn’t hear, wasn’t even paying attention too, but she heard Kirsten’s quiet response. “Your parents know where you are?”

“Um. Yeah. They know.”

In her tired and other-focused mind, Buffy didn’t think anything of Kirsten’s answer, turning back to Spike when a groan emerged from him.

“Right here, Spike, I’m right here.”

The van lurched, then swung around, slowing to a stop. Oz jumped out, his unnecessary announcement of “we’re here” sounding over his shoulder.

Buffy emerged from the van to find Wesley and Oz waiting to help her, with Kirsten and the other two girls hovering in the back behind the men. Tara had an armful of sleeping baby, and Dawn was crying again. None of it made any sense to her, and she wobbled a bit once she got her feet underneath her. Oz and Kirsten hopped up into the van, lifting one end of the mat while Wesley and Buffy handled the other.

She almost dropped her end of the mat, the emotional upheaval finally reaching her, and Buffy burst into fresh tears when Spike groaned at the disturbance. Handing the baby to Dawn, Tara grabbed the mat next to Buffy’s hands and motioned everyone toward the house.

“Let’s get inside. Everything can wait until we’ve all slept.”






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