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Author's Chapter Notes:
HOLY MOLY! you guys are totally aweinspiring!!! Thank you for the review-age!!!!
Major thanks once again to spikeskat for beta'ing this chapter and QUICKLY!! *hugs kat*
18
With a sharp cry, Christine went down.

"Bloody fuckin' hell," Spike snapped, only slightly mollified when Giles returned fire with his own weapon almost immediately, finishing the job his superior hadn’t. "Pick her up," the vampire ordered a transfixed Travers, who'd failed to respond immediately. "We're not leavin' 'er here."

Realizing the vampire’s words were having no effect on the head councilman, Giles stepped in and swiftly hefted the slight girl over his shoulder. He was somewhat, perplexed by Spike's insistence about retrieving the fallen soldier, their escape already hampered as it was. Gesturing with his head for Travers to snap out of it and move, Giles hurried after Spike, who was managing to make good time down the long hallway - even with the awkward package of a very pregnant slayer in his arms.

With their most reliable source for navigation now unconscious, Spike was forced to rely on the watchers to guide them towards the exit, his own previous escape prompting no memories that would help in this instance.

The small team had managed to work their way through the corridors, and making it as far as the level with the familiar holding cells level before running into their first snag.

With the sound of military-issue boots headed leisurely in their direction, Spike cursed under his breath as the noise drew steadily nearer. Though he did note that their unhurried pace was a good indication that their massacre obviously hadn't been noted as of yet. However, with Buffy in his arms and in the middle of another contraction, he sussed out the only one with free hands was the head Council wanker himself. Quickly pressing himself into the shadows, Spike hoped that he had enough time to unload Buffy before they were set upon.

The soldiers were too close, however, and Spike prepared himself to do battle with an armful of laboring - and in the midst of contracting - slayer. He tightened his hold on her and signaled to the others, alerting them of the incoming enemy.

Before the vampire could take care of this latest threat, Travers darted into the path of the approaching soldiers, using the element of surprise to his full advantage. Raising his stun gun, the head watcher managed to bring the leader down with a sharp burst of electricity before turning to face the other soldier, who was attempting to discharge his own weapon. A quick chop to front of his neck effectively took care of the problem .

Hands scrambling to clutch at his throat, the wounded soldier tried desperately to pull air into his tortured lungs, a dawning horror spreading over his face at the inability while peering helplessly into Travers' impassive face. Unable to get the oxygen his body required with his crushed trachea, the dying man sank slowly to his knees, his coloring quickly changing to the mottled blue of the terminally asphyxiated.

Giles watched admiringly as Travers, face devoid of emotion, leaned down to grab the dying soldier's head, twisting it savagely. With an audible crack, the body was dropped uncaringly to the ground, and Travers calmly reached down to remove the hand held radio from the dead man's holster.

"Nice bit o' work, that" Spike commented, gesturing to the bodies on the ground.

Travers acknowledged the compliment for exactly what it was, as one killer to another. A hint of a satisfied smile shadowed the Englishman's face. "Yes, well, I wasn't always head of the Watcher's Council, you know. Granted, it's been a few years, but some things you just never forget."


Spike didn't need Travers to tell him that they needed to hustle; the vampire was well aware that the conspicuous the lack of radio contact was bound to raise suspicion, sooner rather than later. This time, Spike let the head watcher take the lead, confident in his abilities to see them out of this hellhole.

Spike looked down at his precious cargo, worry creasing his brow. Buffy's eyes were shut as her body worked through the internal agony of childbirth. She seemed to be in no condition for this type of escape - much less going through the actual birthing process. There had been a glimmer of hope that her labor would stopped once the labor-inducing IV drip was no longer being pumped through her veins, but soon realized that their luck hadn’t held that long.

The prolonged contraction she was obviously experiencing proved that her labor hadn't gone anywhere, and Buffy thrashed her head against the wall of his chest while groaning softly.

"Spike, stop. Please stop," Buffy begged, her agony acute and growing by the second as her uterus hardened and squeezed.

As much as he'd had trouble denying her every whim in the past, this was not a request he could give into. "Can't do that, pet. We gotta get out of 'ere."

Spike didn't want to think about when he had escaped before and almost perishing in the desert when the sun had come up. A cave had sheltered him in just the nick of time.

"Spike, it hurts," Buffy whimpered softly, her entire body rigid with pain as they continued along.

Spike would have given anything to allow her the comfort of ceasing the movement that he knew was exacerbating the pain.

A blaring symphony of sound suddenly filled the air, a harsh alert that their duplicity had been discovered, and Spike knew that stopping now was impossible.

"We're almost there," Giles wheezed, recognizing the way.

Just beyond that - freedom.

Now on a high level of alert, the base seemed to come to life. The soldiers who hadn't had the necessary clearance to the experimental levels having obviously been dispatched without regard for security, and Spike could hear the pounding of their feet as they headed in their direction.

Right now they needed a miracle.

Spike picked up his pace to a run, and Buffy's moan of agony cut straight through his unbeating heart. But he couldn't slow down now.

Spike looked behind him and checked on the others, noting that Buffy watcher was looking a wee bit peaked, the dead weight of G.I. Jane obviously proving to be too much for him. The shorter Council head was in bad shape too, even without hauling extra weight.

Bloody humans.

The vampire knew with startling clarity that they weren't going to make it.

He could feel the daytime tickling his senses and cursed the inconvenience. One more strike against an already impossible task.

Regret and anguish slammed through him as he ran. He was never going to get to meet his daughter. If they were recaptured, it was almost assured that he would not be allowed to live.

Not after massacring practically half the base.

The alert continued to blare, and the sounds of the approaching soldiers grew louder.

Spike found himself offering a prayer to a God he had forsaken - pleading for that miracle.

Even if he didn't expect to get one.

The straggling group had made it as far as the motorcade and Spike eyed the ramp that would take them towards freedom longingly, before searching for a getaway vehicle. Despair struck when he saw the only vehicles available were open-topped military jeeps. Still, if it gave Buffy and his child a chance... he would willingly give it to them.

Resolution flooded his body, his stagnant veins filling with determination as he headed for the row of vehicles, not bothering to find out if the others were still following behind.

Before the vampire could reach his intended destination, his sensitive hearing picked up another sound over the continued blaring of the alarm - the screech of tires against asphalt.

Frustration screamed through him at the swift realization that they were under attack from the opposite direction, and Spike slowed to take precious seconds to search for overlooked opportunities, his demon clawing within him to survive.

Their outlook appeared bleak, and Spike roared with despair. To fail when they were so close to freedom was excruciating. He resumed his course towards the vehicles, instinctively knowing he would never make it in time. The sound of approaching soldiers informed him that they were close.

Too close.

Again, Spike ignored Buffy's tortured whimpers and kept moving.

The screech of tires sounded closer and Spike's determination hardened, snarls ripping through his throat as he waited for the final blow. But a subtle itch began crawling through him that had nothing to do with rage, hopelessness or despair.

It was the itch of family.

When an armored truck swung into sight, tires leaving the ground as it navigated around the last turn, the significance could no longer be denied.


The sound of rubber leaving marks on the ground drowned out the loud military alert, and the truck screeched to a halt as the doors flew open.

And all Spike could think as he raced towards those open doors was that he had never, in his entire existence, been so happy to see the bastard that was his graandsire in all of his existence.

Angelus.

Not quite the miracle Spike had been expecting, but it would hopefully do.
TBC

Paranoid again. Was it ok? *bites nails*





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