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Chapter 21: Looming

The night had been a silent one, the kind of eerie silent that in itself was deafening. All through the night as Buffy slept beside Spike’s unconscious form she wished to hear the sound of Connor crying in the middle of the night, wished to hear the floors creak from Dawn heading downstairs for an after-midnight snack. She wished to hear the sound of unnecessary breath pass through Spike’s lips as if he were living in a dream. But she was left with silence; even the crickets seemed to hold their chirping. It was a dead void quiet and it unnerved her. Eventually though she did fall asleep. However, it was only to wake to the same cold still room.

Now the Slayer sits on her sofa, a mug of pigs blood in her hands and a glum expression. She’s worried that Spike will never wake, but she doesn’t have time to dwell on that now. Something else happened last night other than Spike killing a man. Holtz had driven an axe straight at her stomach and it hadn’t left a mark, instead the axe that should have sliced straight through her curled up like a tin can. For that she needs answers. Willow and Tara are absent from this meeting, Willow had said something about being worn out and Tara about looking after her. Buffy had paid them little attention. Xander and Anya are at work, Dawn is at school, and Cordelia is out with Connor. That leaves just her and Angel. He sits across from her in one of the comfy chairs.

“You know why that axe didn’t touch me don’t you?” Buffy asks.

Angel is silent, but the look in his eyes, the emotions hidden behind the still brooding statue of his brow, says that he does. Buffy’s known that there’s been more that Angel knows since he insisted on driving out here, now she just hopes she can get the full story form him. Now she needs to know everything.

“Shouldn’t we have everyone together before we…”

“No,” Buffy nearly shouts then takes a second to calm, “no, I… they’re already freaked out, Dawn’s worried, and… I know it’s not gonna be good news.” Angel’s eyes meet hers. “I need to know, Angel.”

He sighs and leans back in the chair. “When Darla was pregnant she spent months trying to… to end the pregnancy, but there were mystical forces protecting Connor.”

“She couldn’t cut it out.”

Angel winces at Buffy’s words, but she’s exactly right.

“More so than that… her body was protecting Connor from all outside forces, knives, magic, even birth.”

Buffy’s eyes show fear as she looks up at Angel.

“Connor almost died, she knew we were going to lose him and… she staked herself to save him.”

Angel’s eyes stare off into the distance unfocused. His mind has wandered to the memory of his son being born. He remembers Darla soaked from the rain lying in the alley as they ran from Holtz. She knew her time was up. He remembers watching her drive a stake through her own chest and the way her dust settled into the wet pavement. He remembers it floating down around his newborn baby son who cried as he picked him up and held him in his arms.

“Why?” The question comes out in a whisper.

His eyes snap to look at her. “She could feel his soul… she loved him.”

A single tear rolls down Buffy’s face. She wraps her arms around her swollen belly as if to hold her child to her. She’ll never meet her and she knows this now. “I won’t live through this.”

“Buffy, we don’t…”

“Yes we do.” Their eyes meet and they find understanding there, find truth. Buffy stands and begins to walk out of the room, then she turns back to face Angel. “Don’t tell them, they’re not ready to know.”

--

Angel walks through the kitchen, Cordy had been getting a bottle for Connor, but she’s now nowhere in sight. The bottle sits unattended warming on the stove. Then Angel notices the back door and he opens it. He can smell her scent mingled in with the chilly air before he sees her, a mixture of lavender and baby powder. She’s there on the porch standing calmly with Connor in her arms wrapped up in a blanket looking listlessly out into the yard.

“Cordy,”

“It’s too cold for this time of year.” Angel looks around as if to find the source of the afternoon chill, being a vampire he didn’t notice the slight drop in temperature as much.

“I suppose.”

“Something’s coming Angel.”

“Did you…”

“Have a vision? No, but it doesn’t take a vision to feel this. I bet mighty wicca Willow upstairs is feeling the tremblies, something’s going to happen and the Powers are preparing.”

An image of Buffy flashes before Angel’s eyes.

“We both know what it is,” Cordy says and meets his eyes with a knowing glare. Then his glare turns into another kind of stare, the kind he’s often found himself looking at Cordelia with. This time she notices it. The way he takes in all of her features, not an eyelash escapes his scrutiny. But the look is soft, caring in a way, and knowing, as if by looking at her he can see something deeper.

Angel has fear for losing Buffy, fears for her impending death; but in a way Angel has already grieved the loss of her, already gone through the process of moving on. Now looking at Cordelia he knows that it would pain him much more to lose her.

“Come on, let’s go inside,” Cordelia says and they do.

In the kitchen Cordelia hands Connor to Angel and goes to the stove to turn it off and check the heat of the bottle. Angel takes his son in his arms and looks down at him with loving eyes. He understands what Buffy is going through. He knows that the one person he would give anything for is the child in his arms, his son. He’d give his life if he had to. Do whatever it took to keep him safe. Then another thought comes to Angel and he frowns. Cordy looks over to see Angel’s sad face.

“What’s wrong?”

“Spike,” Angel replies with sorrow in his voice.

“Why?”

“Because he did what I couldn’t, what I should’ve done… he killed Holtz.”

“Angel, he killed a man. There’s never any good in that.”

“It wasn’t about doing what was good; it was about doing what was needed.”

“Angel,” Cordy’s voice is soft and caring and she nears him setting the bottle down on the counter. He watches as she takes a seat at the island beside him, and bring a hand up to rest on his shoulder. “You’re a good man, and I know you would do anything for this little guy.” She moves her hand up to his face and traces her fingers across his jaw and he turns into her touch. “You’re doing good.”

--

Dawn walks through the front door. Her nerves have been frazzled all day. From class to class she listened to her friends and classmates complain about their everyday lives. She listened to them whine about tests and boys, about bad skin and school dances. If only any of them knew the things she lived through.

Dawn walks into the living room and sees Buffy sitting on the sofa with a depressed look across her face. When she spies Dawn she tries to wipe her glum expression from her face but fails to remove it completely. Dawn drops her school bag to the floor and sits down beside her sister.

“Hey, Dawnie,” Buffy says trying to sound cheerful.

“What’s wrong, is Spike…”

“No, he’s fine…. Nothing’s changed,” Buffy says moving a stray hair out of Dawn’s face. The worry in her younger sister’s eyes rivals her own.

“Are you okay,” Dawn asks and Buffy can’t help but smile at the thought of Dawn being concerned for her. Her little sister has grown up quite a bit.

“I’m just fine. Don’t worry Dawnie, I’m going to take care of you.” And Buffy knows she will, in one way or another. “Come here,” Buffy says and pulls Dawn up to her.

Dawn rests her head on Buffy’s shoulder and closes her eyes as her sister runs her fingers through her hair. In that moment Dawn feels truly comforted, it’s the first she’s felt completely taken care of since her mother died and for just a moment she lets herself believe that everything is going to turn out alright.

--

Hours later Spike lies still as the corpse he is. Buffy lies on her side facing him and wonders if he’ll wake in time, if he’ll ever wake at all. The chip fried his brain when he killed Holtz and Buffy wonders if there’s anything left of it. Wonders if it can repair the damage and if so what side effects may remain. Will he have memory loss; will he even remember her, their child? Buffy runs her fingers through his hair then coils up to his lifeless form. She rests her head on his shoulder and closes her eyes in an attempt to pretend that he’s still there with her.

Buffy has faced death before, she’s already played the martyr and she knows the role well. She has no qualms about giving up her life for that of her baby, her daughter; but she realizes now that this child has given her a reason to live, something she was lacking before its conception. She had wanted to die when they brought her back, wanted to return to heaven. Now she is only complacent in doing so because she knows she must. The one advantage she has this time is that she paid better attention to the signs; she knows what’s coming this time; figured it out sooner than the last. She can make her arrangements; set everything up for everyone else once she’s… gone again.

“There are things I need to tell you,” Buffy whispers to Spike, then after a moment of silence she gets out of bed. Buffy goes to her desk and pulls out a notebook and pen. She sits down in the chair and begins to write.





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