Previously: Cordelia’s rescue went surprisingly well, however, she’s now in a medically induced coma fighting for her life. Angel and Drusilla just discovered that she’s been rescued. Xander witnessed a moment between Spike and Dawn. Another Aurelian has answered Angel’s call. . . .
Book Two, Chapter 32. The promise of daylight.
Our lives are like the course of the sun.
At the darkest moment there is the promise of daylight.
London Times, Christmas editorial 24 December 84
The gloom of the world is but a shadow. Behind it, yet within our reach, is joy. There is radiance and glory in the darkness, could we but see; and to see, we have only to look.
And so, at this Christmas time, I greet you; not quite as the world sends greetings, but with profound esteem, and with the prayer that for you, now and forever, the day breaks and the shadows flee away.
Fra Giovanni, A Letter to Contessina Allagia Dela Aldobrandeschi,
Written Christmas Eve 1513
Maureen Osborne slipped into the dark private ICU room, checking on the comatose patient within. Wesley stirred when she adjusted the sheet around Cordelia, lifting his head to watch her movements. The short, slightly round woman whispered her apology for waking hm, which Wesley just waved off.
“That other girl you brought in? The one that wasn’t as badly injured – she refuses to give her name. She’s terrified.” Waiting a moment to see Wesley’s reaction, she continued, “Dr. Thomas has her in isolation in the psych ward. She might,” she paused, shaking her head, “she’s in very bad shape.”
“Thank” Wesley cleared his throat, then finished speaking, “thank you for telling me. I’ll try and go see her later, if it can be arranged.”
Maureen Osborne’s “I think that would be possible” was whispered as softly as she slipped out of the door.
Wesley glanced over at the Buffybot, who smiled brightly, then resumed her sentinel’s stance by the doorway. Once more saying a silent prayer for Cordelia, Wesley closed his eyes.
“Need anything?”
“No Chief, I’m good. Brought along some of my own supplies.” The tall, thin, good-looking, dark-haired man eyed Drusilla, but said nothing more.
“You can take any of the rooms on the second floor. Take any of the girls, except Dru.” Angel motioned him into the main living room, snapping orders for the minions to start a fire. “Surprised you responded. Where were you?”
“Been in the Sea-Tac area. It was just a place to call home. Didn’t take long to get here either.” He walked around the room, taking note of the furnishings and the assorted weaponry. “Have to admit Chief, the summons surprised me. Thought about ignoring it. But,” he grinned, facing Angel, “had the ring of an order. So here I am.”
“Good. We’ve got things to do. But for now, Lawson, I just need a drink.” Sinking his fangs into Ray’s captive, Angel fixed his gaze on the last childe he’d turned, while Drusilla hummed and laughed in the background.
Spike tried kicking off his boots while keeping the bottle in Connor’s mouth, quickly realizing that he needed more than two hands to do that. Propping the bottle on a pillow, Spike laid Connor down next to Buffy and bent to his boots.
Loud rumblings sounded from the baby’s belly as he drank and Spike had to laugh. The boy sounded more and more like him every day. He wouldn’t be surprised if the boy made those noises because both his parents were vampires, but he secretly hoped it was because the baby had a soft spot for his Uncle Spike.
Buffy muttered something in her almost sleep that sounded suspiciously like, “come to bed.”
Spike shucked off his jeans, then pulled his tee-shirt over his head. Moving Connor closer to Buffy, Spike slid into the bed, the now wide awake infant between them. Blue eyes very much like his mother’s twinkled at Spike, smiling at him despite the nipple in his mouth. Little legs kicking in the air, Connor was playing, no longer in the mood for the bottle. When Spike exhibited no desire to play right along with him, Connor screwed up his features like there was lemon juice in his bottle rather than milk.
“Oh no you don’t little man. Buffy’s jus’ gone to sleep. No wakin’ her’p coz you wanna play. Maybe later, spawn, but not now.” In an effort to settle him down, Spike hummed a little, then used his thumb to brush over where the infant’s ridge line would be if he was all vampire. Connor seemed to like that, because his eyes started drifting closed. All right then . . . good to know that old trick still works.
His eyes flickered between the other two in the bed with him, a soft smile spreading over his features. Too tired to form words, Spike heard the words echoing in his head, felt Buffy respond and then allowed his own eyes to drift closed.
Gurgling little noises and the soft rumble of Spike’s purrs broke through the sleepy haze her mind and body had been basking in. Buffy curled closer to the source of those noises, slowly coming to wakefulness, prompted by the sounds. Little hands brushed over her face, tangling in loose strands of her hair, innocently pulling on the long strands. Languidly Buffy moved her hand up to disentangle the tiny fingers and slowly cracked open one eye when those tiny hands grabbed her fingers and pulled one of them towards the gaping mouth. Gnawing on the digit, Connor continued gurgling happily, his little legs pumping and squirming between the two adults. Spike made some noise, then wrapped a big hand around one of the baby’s legs, unconsciously trying to still his movements. Letting the baby use her as a chew toy, Buffy closed her eyes again and tried to go back to sleep.
Craving the heat generated by the two bodies in bed with him, Spike shifted closer, his hand leaving the wriggling legs of the baby to grasp the curve of a hip that he knew lay just beyond. A deep rumbling sigh drifted up from his chest and one leg snaked between hers, anchoring them together. Content now that he was warmer, Spike settled down to a deeper sleep, having not once opened his eyes.
Dawn hesitated at the door, torn between doing what Spike had asked in the early hours of the morning and not wanting to disturb any of them. But it was almost noon, and it was more than likely that demon baby would start howling for his bottle. She couldn’t believe that he hadn’t done so already. Maybe the double bottle trick was working. Dawn could hear the sounds of Tara rustling about in the kitchen, searching out the makings of a huge dinner and another part of her was tempted to go downstairs and forget all about Connor. She sighed, thinking, yeah, sure and Spike won’t look at me all disappointed like I’m Bara’qua demon slime. Sighing again, Dawn turned the door’s handle and slipped inside.
The three of them were tucked up underneath the blankets, the baby in the middle while Buffy and Spike flanked him. They looked so sweet. Just like a real family. Dawn felt a pang of something very close to jealousy stab into her. Really not fair he gets this. I’m way too big to sleep in between them and, eeewww anyway, coz they like do stuff in that bed. And telling herself all that didn’t really help, because a big part of her wanted to climb into that bed with them and be their little girl. Silently cursing the monks for getting most of her life wrong, Dawn sighed a little bit, watching Spike’s hand flex over Buffy’s hip. There was some answering movement and Buffy’s hand came to rest on Spike’s forearm, holding on tightly. They really do look like a family. From nowhere special came little tears, forming silently at the corners of her eyes and Dawn blinked rapidly to dispel them. She didn’t want to cry over this, it was silly and stupid and so very babyish. The monks had made her a teenager, not a baby and she had some good memories. . . and so what if they weren’t really real? They were still good. Her memories of Buffy, growing up in Los Angeles were good memories. She only wished sometimes that the monks had finished the job, given her real memories of Spike, and what it might have been like to really be theirs.
Okay, so back then Spike probably wouldn’t have been all that happy, since Buffy would have been five, but . . . and Dawn stifled a giggle at that thought. He probably still would’ve fallen in love with her, which is beyond ookie, but Dawn figured Spike would understand what she meant, if she ever got the courage to talk to him about some of the things she was thinking. She wondered sometimes, too, if Spike would have fallen in love with Buffy anyway, even without the interference of the monks. And then she remembered Willow’s back-fired will-be-done spell and wondered how much of a mistake that had really been. Maybe the monks had shifted something then, playing with all of them, making it so that Buffy and Spike fell in love. . . . Dawn eyed the sleeping couple on the bed, mental calculations forming. Spike got chipped in the early fall, just after UC Sunnydale classes had started, and Willow’s spell happened just after Thanksgiving. . . . Giles had nearly pinpointed the moment their memories had been altered, and it was about nine months later, give or take a couple of days. No way. Could it have taken the monks all that time? Like a real baby?
A tentative smiled bloomed on her face, and had either of the two sleeping adults seen it, they would have been very happy. Each of them had been worried about their girl, ever since the truth behind her parentage had been revealed, but neither one was sure how to get her to open up. Dawn admitted to herself that she’d been a little difficult lately, and winced as she remembered the shouting match she’d had with Buffy not long after Connor had arrived. Stepping closer to the bed, Dawn reached out to smooth the blanket over Spike’s foot. Buffy stirred again, a soft groan of discomfort emerging from her and her movements picked up. Reaching over to lift Connor from the bed, Dawn was surprised when a warm hand stopped her.
“What are you doing?” Buffy’s voice was barely more than a whisper.
“Spike asked me to take him so you guys could get enough sleep.” Dawn’s answer was equally soft.
Letting her hand go, Buffy groaned again, her hand dropping down to cover her belly. “I’m sort of awake anyway. Might as . . . “ Hazel eyes snapped open and Buffy got a funny look on her face, as the words died in her throat. “Ugh. Hang on.”
Dawn watched, her mouth hanging open as Buffy scrambled from the bed and headed straight for the bathroom, a tight look on her face. Furrowing her brows, Dawn lifted Connor up and followed her into the bathroom.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” She asked, when she found Buffy with her head hanging over the toilet, puking up her guts.
“Some bug I got.” Buffy grumped back at her, determined this time not to cry. It was one thing in front of Spike, but she wasn’t going to do that with Dawn hovering over her.
“Bug?” Dawn stared down at the top of Buffy’s head and nearly laughed. “A bug? What kind of a bug?” She couldn’t keep the sarcasm from her voice.
“Dunno. Stop asking me.” Buffy leaned up and flushed the toilet, then got to her feet and using her finger, scrubbed away the icky taste from her mouth. God, I wanna puke again. She lifted her head, meeting her sister’s. . . no, her daughter’s eyes in the mirror. There was amused disbelief in Dawn’s clear blue gaze, so very much like her father’s that Buffy wanted to scream in that moment, but she didn’t. Instead she stared Dawn down, a set look on her features.
“Buffy. . . “ Dawn started to speak, but Buffy held up her hand, silently asking her to wait.
“Look. Don’t say it, okay? Just don’t. I . . . “ glancing at the closed bathroom door, Buffy turned once more to face the younger Summers female. “Just don’t say anything, to anyone. Do you understand? To no one.”
“Buffy?” But she was shaking her head in denial.
“Promise me Dawnie. You won’t say anything. Not until after Christmas, okay?” Buffy turned around to face her, leaning on the vanity, her back to the mirror now.
They shared a long look, neither one of them backing down and obvious questions all over Dawn’s features, but Buffy wasn’t going to let her go without a promise. “Dawn. I want that promise.”
“Not until Christmas, right?” Dawn thrust out her hip, letting the baby rest there, all the while searching Buffy’s features for a hint of relenting.
“Yeah, not until then.”
A deep sigh exploded from Dawn’s chest and she nodded her head. “I promise. Not until Christmas. But its cool, coz that’s only two days. I can keep a secret for two days.” She waited a couple of moments, then prodded Buffy in the shoulder. “But that’s all you get. Two days. After that I’m so spilling these beans.”
“I know. But that’s okay. You can spill all you like after Christmas.” Buffy’s lips quirked in a small smile and Dawn fought the squeal that was building in her throat.
“Um. Speaking of Christmas, we need a tree and all that other good stuff you know. All the decorations and stuff.” Dawn pushed open the bathroom door, leading to the hallway, aware that Buffy wasn’t following her. “You want me to get Giles and Xander to go get a tree?”
“Yeah. You do that. I’m going back to bed.”
Buffy watched as Dawn almost skipped down the hallway, mindlessly chirping about Christmas and decorations and presents and all sorts of good things, her mind on the vampire sleeping quietly behind her. I hope he didn’t hear any of that. I’ll beat her senseless if he did.
No one was at Giles’ when she got to the door, which was why she’d planned this little visit at this time. Giles was probably at the Magic Box and she had no idea what Wesley was doing or why he was still hanging around, but he was. Fishing the spare key out of her pocket, Willow calmly opened the front door. Heading right for the bookshelf, Willow quickly scanned the backs. She was looking for a specific book and she was pretty sure it wasn’t at the Magic Box. While a lot of his books were there, she had a feeling that this one wasn’t. Quickly searching through all the books on his shelves, Willow found the one she wanted.
All righty. Gotcha. This is perfect. Should work really well, after all, I’m much stronger than Jonathan. My magics won’t be unstable. Replacing all the books, Willow grabbed the one she’d come for and with a last glimpse around, she left the apartment.
Dawn carried Connor into the kitchen, her good mood extending to the infant who was watching her closely. Tara watched from her position by the sink a smile on her features.
“So, you’re in a good mood.”
“Yup. Christmas is nearly here, everyone’s safe and, you know, things are good.” Dawn shrugged a bit, not wanting to focus on anything bad.
“You don’t miss your mom?”
“My mom?” Dawn looked at her quizzically, then realized Tara meant Joyce. “Oh yeah. Sort of. I do miss Joyce. I wish I’d had more real time with her, you know? But honestly, having Buffy back and Spike here is. . . . its like having real parents.” Dawn realized she was treading a fine line, almost telling Tara the truth, but if anyone could keep a secret it was Tara.
“So you think of them, sort of, as parents?” Tara reached for the baby, settling him in the bouncy chair.
Making a decision, Dawn took a deep breath, then spoke. “Well, that’s coz they really are. The journals Wesley brought, it was all in there, how long the monks had been trying to make the key human. They were following the slayers for a long time and because of that they stumbled on a dark warrior, a vampire who kept defeating chosen ones.”
Tara looked up sharply at that, comprehension dawning on her face. “Spike?”
“Yup. He’s fought something like seven Slayers. And one of them died of injuries. . . Anyway, so they were tracking Spike and the Slayers. I wasn’t sure it was Spike until I read the entries from the seventies and that was when he started bleaching his hair.” A soft giggle escaped from Dawn and Tara smiled in response.
“We still aren’t sure if the monks manipulated things so that Spike got caught by the Initiative, but we do know that they were the ones that put the Gem of Amarra in Sunnydale.” Dawn paused, waiting for Tara’s reaction.
“The Initiative took DNA samples from both of them, didn’t they?” At Dawn’s nod, Tara dropped the spoon she was using into the sink and took a look at Connor. “So they used Spiike’s and Buffy’s DNA to create you.”
“Yeah.” Dawn reached into the refrigerator for a drink.
“How do you feel about that?” Tara motioned for the formula, and busied herself with mixing something up in a bowl for Connor.
“What’re you doing? What’s that?” Then quickly back on the subject, said, “it beats having to think about Buffy and someone else – or Spike and someone else.”
Tara looked at her curiously and Dawn elaborated. “Like Buffy and Giles or Spike and Joyce or Buffy and Angel. . . “
The look on Tara’s face when she’d said “Buffy and Giles” was enough for Dawn to collapse into giggles. “See, that’s what I mean.”
“Oh Dawnie, that’s just horrible!”
“What’s horrible?” Giles’ voice sounded from the kitchen doorway and was perplexed when his question was met with nothing more than more giggles.
Xander had dropped Anya at the Magic Box before heading to Sunnydale General to relieve Wesley. There hadn’t been an opportunity to ask Giles about what he’d seen in the hallway early this morning, and now that he had more time to think about it, he didn’t want to know the truth behind it. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good, because Dawn had been treating Spike like she cared about the bloodsucker. And that was something Xander didn’t want to know about.
Parking his car as close to the entrance as he could, Xander slid through the emergency room doors when no one was looking and headed toward Cordelia’s room. He met no resistance at the door, despite the police presence, which bothered him somewhat, until he opened the door and was knocked back on his ass, landing across the hallway.
“Ooops. Sorry Xander.” The bot leaned over him, guiltless concern flashing in her eyes.
He got to his feet, shaking his head. Pushing open the door, he realized why the bot was in hit-first mode. Wesley was sound asleep, his head resting on the gurney, next to Cordelia’s hand.
Xander approached quietly, debating about waking the sleeping Englishman. Wesley’s uncomfortable position decided him. “Wesley.” He shook his shoulder and wasn’t surprised when Wesley sat up quickly.
“Xander. What time is it?” Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Wesley looked around for his glasses.
“About quarter after twelve.” Looking toward Cordelia, Xander asked, “how is she?”
“They put her in a coma, hoping that would help her heal. Otherwise, they still aren’t sure she’s going to make it.” No need to lie or pretend that Cordelia’s situation wasn’t dire.
“Oh man. How’s the other girl?” Xander pushed Cordelia’s hair away from her face, wincing when nothing happened.
“She’s better, physically, but mentally she’s . . . . they put her in the psychiatric ward.”
Which really, when he thought about it, made perfect sense. Wesley was certain that Cordelia would be in pretty much the same condition if her injuries weren’t so bad.
“Right. I’ll be back later.”
Leaving the Buffybot behind, Wesley took the keys Xander offered him and headed for the door.
Spike had vaguely heard his girl’s voices, but ignored them. He felt when Buffy climbed back into the bed, and his arms circled around her, pulling her close against him. One hand forced itself under her head, the other grasping her hip, then slid down to press against her belly. He murmured something completely unintelligible, kissing the back of her neck.
Buffy closed her eyes, snuggling tighter in his arms. Gonna have to tell him soon. Christmas morning. That’s when I’ll do it. Images of how she was going to tell him weaving in and around her thoughts, Buffy fell asleep.
Dawn was trying to convince Giles to take her and get a Christmas tree, which he was trying to resist by telling her his car wasn’t the right one to be using when Wesley walked in the door.
He greeted them all, asking Tara, “how is Oz feeling?”
“Much better, he was looking for something to eat.” She indicated the melting ice cream on the counter.
“Wesley, please tell Giles we need a Christmas tree.” Dawn looking up at him, her big eyes pleading.
“Right.” She hadn’t turned that look on him in weeks, but Wesley was still powerless against it. “Well, I’m back with Xander’s car. But the Jeep is free. That would be best to transport the tree.”
Giles gave Wesley an unhappy look that clearly indicated he didn’t want to go and he was more than a little aggravated with Wesley for pointing out that the Jeep was available.
Lawson looked around the mansion, taking his time picking out a room. Most of the minions were already asleep, resting warily in light of Angel’s extreme displeasure. His progress through the rooms was hindered by Drusilla’s humming presence trailing behind him, but Lawson didn’t dare wave her off.
It was obvious she wasn’t going to leave him alone until he’d chosen a place to sleep and he was equally certain that she wasn’t to do so on Angel’s orders. He was just about to exit the room he was thinking of taking when her voice stopped his forward movement.
“Who are you sailor boy? Daddy made you, to be certain sure. . . but Miss Edith doesn’t know when . . . and she’s ever so curious.”
“It was the fall of 1943, in a submarine in the North Atlantic.” He paused, looking at the female vampire. “Does that help Miss Edith?”
“Mmmmmmm” she swayed a bit, listening to the voices in her head. “It does, but Miss Edith needs to see you, come along now.”
Grabbing his arm with surprising strength, Drusilla pulled him into her room.
They both woke up at the same time to the sounds of doors opening and closing, then feet pounding on the stairs. Buffy rolled over to face her mate, her eyes barely opened and she nestled closer into his arms. Her voice was sleep husky and Spike smiled slightly at her words. “I thought we got rid of all these people who shouldn’t be living here.”
He chuckled, his hand gently slapping her rump. “Bad pennies, love, they keep comin’ back.”
“Maybe if you were grumpier they’d all leave?” Buffy sounded hopeful.
“Any grumpier an’ I’d be just like the Watcher.” Spike rolled over onto his back pulling her along with him. She thumped him gently on the chest, then started to teasingly give him a hard time, when the noises from the hallway got louder.
Dawn’s voice came closer to their room and then her knock sounded on the door. “C’mon you two get your lazy butts outta bed. We got a tree.”
Spike looked at Buffy. “A tree?”
“Christmas tree. Dawnie wanted a real one and since our old fake one is nasty, I said it was okay.”
“Guys? You are like the biggest slugs.” Dawn stuck her head in the door. “Geez. Get outta bed already.”
Spike rolled over again, grousing good naturedly. “All right bit, we’re working on it.”
“Good, coz everyone’s here and Oz is up.” Dawn’s enthusiasm was infectious and Buffy found herself responding.
“I’m up. We’ll be down in a minute.”
Angel growled in his sleep, reaching for Drusilla. It had taken him hours and two bottles of whiskey to calm down his anger and his sleep was restless as a consequence of his temper.
Drusilla was sleeping beside him and in response to his unrest she rolled over and wrapped her bare arms around him.
The tree was decorated. All the lights and decorations were hanging from the boughs. Buffy watched Dawn and Tara moving around the tree, trying to make it perfect. She didn’t have the heart to tell them that it couldn’t be perfect, but looking at their faces she got the feeling they already knew that.
Connor was rolling around the floor, crawling between various feet and generally being a complete distraction. And strangely no one seemed to mind. Every few moments someone would pick him up, show him the Christmas lights and then, when he squirmed too much, put him back down on the floor. Right now, Spike had him, and he was tickling the baby’s sides as he dangled him in the air.
She glanced at Dawn who had stopped whatever she was doing to watch them, a knowing smirk on her face. Buffy sighed.
Two days. I’ve got two days to figure out how to tell him. How am I gonna do this?
Okay, so here I am, begging again. . . . send me some love, please?