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Author's Chapter Notes:
thanks again for all the brilliant reviews, my muse thanks you.
Xander thought he was going to die, no actually, he just hoped he was going to die. He had been taking it easy for a couple of days in a nice little hotel the Council were paying for when the nightmares hit. He hadn’t even got the energy to get off the bed to use the bathroom and in the heat of the African summer he wasn’t smelling so sweet. It had been less than six hours since it all started, the terrible feeling of responsibility, of loneliness, of heartbreak. His tormented mind kept going back to Buffy; he kept seeing the pain on her face when he had tried to rape her, and the anger he had used as a weapon to keep his friend in line. The times he had turned on her for being in love with a demon. He was a grade one ass and a hypocrite. What had Anya been but an 1100 year old demon, one who had started the Russian revolution for God’s sake? How many lives had she ruined, tormented, ended? And he had used her, used her to make Buffy jealous, but she hadn’t been jealous, she had just been happy for him, because her love for him was so much purer than his love for her. He envied Spike knowing her body so well. And his anger at the sights he’d seen in the magic shop had been normal, but his anger later had been because he had found that Buffy had loved that dead thing.

A hammering at the door brought his attention away from the horrors that flashed before his eyes and into the bright light that flooded his room.

‘Xander, Xander…’ Queenie’s voice sounded loud in the room, echoing around it as though she was shouting through a bull horn. ‘Xander you need to wake up and talk to us: none of the girls know what to do. You’re our watcher; come on, Xander.’

But Xander didn’t move, he couldn’t. All he could do was close his eyes against the light and hope that the visions would go away.

She’s my friend, he heard his voice keep repeating as the sights passed before his eyes. He could feel her pain at his rejection of her choices, he could hear his voice telling her to kick Angel’s ass when Willow had asked him to tell her to hang on. And what sort of friend had he been when she’d sent her first lover to hell? He’d hardly been supportive, had he? And he’d been so nasty when she’d come back to Sunnydale. He was totally ashamed of himself. How could he have agreed to Willow doing that spell to bring her back, he knew it was wrong, but he hadn’t wanted the responsibility of looking after Dawn any more… and he had to admit, with all his feelings overwhelming him, with the truth being displayed for him to see, that he had hoped that if she came back he’d have a chance with her. He had never even given Spike the credit for the help he’d given them over that dreadful summer. He’d just turned on the vampire as soon as Buffy had come back. He hadn’t wanted to, he’d just wanted the competition out of his way.

After the First he’d wanted to run; Anya was dead and there had been nothing for him. He started vomiting again when the memories of what he’d said when he’d found out about the baby resurfaced, how he’s cheered when she’d lost it - her. Tears wet his pillow when he thought about Buffy lying in a hospital bed, bleeding from the delivery as he and Giles, with Willow’s help, put the tiny coffin in an unmarked grave in a nameless cemetery. Buffy had begged him to tell her where her child was, but he’d refused. Booked a ticket for Africa, hidden behind Council business and refused to even talk to her. Xander couldn’t move, he’d shit and wet the bed, but all he knew was pain and sorrow.


Robin had spent his day trying to counsel the ex-potentials. Some were delighted at the thought of being normal again, but most felt at a total loss. The house had been designed around slayers, and now they couldn’t even lift the weights that were waiting for them in the gym. Then he’d had to try and liase with the soldiers from the Initiative: they were trying to keep the hellmouth in Cleveland under control. Demons were over-running much of down town LA as well. The phone call with Sam and Riley Finn was not an experience he’d wanted to repeat any time soon.

He hadn’t slept well the night before, a nightmare about trying to kill Spike, something he’d always regret after the way things turned out, but he’d soon fallen back to sleep. Faith however had been tossing and turning all night. She’d complained that she was totally on her own, and even with him holding her close, Faith had been scared he would leave. She had shaken all night and Robin had called the doctor first thing, worried about the baby as well as his beloved wife. The doctor was well known to the council, well versed in both normal and magical medicine, and could find nothing wrong. Whatever was affecting Faith was not physical, and there was nothing he could do to help.


Giles had made it into his room. He hadn’t got the strength to pull himself onto the bed and just gratefully sank into a heap, pulling the blanket from the chair and wrapping it around himself. He was cold and frightened, and the only image going through his mind was Buffy and the horror of the night they had thrown her out of her own home. What right had they had, did they have, to treat the slayer in such an unforgiving way? Thank god Spike had cared for her, after the debacle of the attack on the slayers that night they had been lucky that she had come back to them. Her devotion to the cause was so much greater than theirs. They couldn’t work with Spike, remembering all his previous sins, sins he had paid for time and time again, but she forgave them their errors and carried on working.

Giles never wanted to feel this bad ever again. If he survived he would beg on his knees for the vampire to forgive him, he’d buy the very best whisky he could just for Spike, and he would never say anything against either of them ever again. Giles felt another wave of despair roll over him and he sank deeper and deeper into that black well.

Merrick picked up the small new-born girl laying on the floor and looked into her eyes. The poor child had never felt love from her mother, and it had damaged her very soul, making her search for that connection from every one she met. He could feel the power entwined with her soul, coiling itself around her heart, waiting for her to grow up before unleashing itself again. She would be an incredibly powerful witch when she grew up; he would need a very special mother for this child.

Merrick stepped through the bright light that had appeared and carrying the child, headed towards the south of England and the Guardian of the Rollright stones. She would make the most wonderful, amazing mother and was powerful enough to control a young witch exploring her powers. Willow would have a loving, stable childhood, and a fantastic, loving, nuturing family to support her in the future.

Dawn was scared. She might have been able to play games with Buffy when she was growing up but she knew better than to cross Joyce when she spoke in that tone of voice. Dawn knew she was in trouble. Deep trouble. She wanted to bolt out of her window, down the drainpipe and away, but Joyce would only follow her. She knew it.
‘Mom…’ she started, hoping that by apologising she would get away with a lighter punishment.

‘Don’t you mom me young lady: just like the others you will live through the pain you gave your sister, you will see what it was like for Buffy, and then you can start to tell me how hard things were for poor Dawn.’

Joyce looked at the tears tracking down her younger child’s face but she had to stay strong, she had to. Buffy needed her to teach these self -obsessed people the lesson.





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