[Reviews - 185]
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Microsoft Word Chapter or Story | ePub eBook Chapter or Story | Printer Chapter or Story

Has been viewed 1836 times

- Text Size +




Chapter Thirty-One - In for the Night

Wesley watched Spike saunter off. He paused wondering if the vampire was right, even for Spike’s uncanny ability to read people, the few minutes he had spent with Fred. There was no way he had Fred’s number, Wesley had known her for months and could still never predict what she was going to do.

Thankfully, he had a distraction. He pulled out the cellphone he had purchased in LA and dialed the familiar number.

Cordelia answered at the first ring.

“Where are you?”

“I am not going to tell you that. But suffice to say, Connor is safe. Safest place I can think of.”

There was a pause.

“His name is Connor?” Her tone was as neutral as she could get it, but he could hear the slight tremble in her voice.
Instantly guilty he had essentially flown the coop, Wesley sighed.

“Yes.”

There was another long pause; Wesley could see Cordelia in her mind’s eye trying not to cry in front of her high school friends. When she spoke again her voice was tight and irritated. Classic Cordelia defection, He tried to picture the girl in the library in front of the Scoobie gang, but then they probably didn’t congregate in the library any longer, last he had heard they had blown up the school.

“Uhm, Hello! Safest place is Sunnydale with the gang,” Cordy snapped. “and the gangs all here except for the most important thing —you know? The thing we are supposed to be protecting and making sure it gets it shots or whatever and we can’t do that! Because you went off to play Carmen San Diego.”

Wesley had put a lot of thought into what he would say, he was confident he had made the right move.

“Cordelia—”

“We were supposed to meet at Giles’s!” she cut him off. “Which behold my lack of surprise is basically books, tea, and a record player.”

“Oh, were we?” Wes couldn’t help the small smile that spread across his face. He could almost imagine the harrumph coming from his counterpart.

“Well, we didn’t say it but it was implied!” She snapped. “supernatural demon-y badness equals Sunnydale, Scoobie—Fuck.”
There was a soft thump.

“Shut up, Xander.” Her voice lowered for a second as she clearly was speaking to someone in the background. “Where the fuck are you?”

“I took Connor to the safest place I could think of.”

There was a long pause, Wes wondered if anyone had been able to calm her down and found new respect for the scoobie gang. When she spoke her voice was more exasperated that angry.

“Where?”

“Er—perhaps it’s better not to say.”

“Right, better not to know; so all the fun torture Angelus might do later on is as ineffectual as it is painful. Fun.”

“How is Sunnydale?”

“The same. Like totally and absolutely the same, like I can’t believe I’ve only lived two hours away and yet feel so much bigger than this, how can there only be one Starbucks here? the same.”

“Right.” Wesley said. “Connor is doing well I took him to a- er paramedic of sorts.”

“How is the EPT?”

“The ETE?”

“That one.”

“I’m told Connor is a normal human child. All the immediate testing is done, he seems perfectly healthy.”

“Good. Good.” Cordy said. “That’s good. I think that’s good, not working with much of a precedent here.”

“We’re all flying blind, Cordelia.” Wesley said. “Did he—have you hear anything from him?”

He didn’t have to clarify who “him” was.

“No.” Cordy replied. “But Giles thinks he’ll probably take a day or two to regroup. He didn’t reveal himself to Buffy until a few hours after he lost his soul.”

“Call me if anything.”

“This is not how I wanted to spend my weekend, Wes.” Cordy said with a sigh. “When Angel gets back here I’m going to rip his heart out myself.”

Wes managed a dark chuckle at that, there were a lot of things he would want to say to Angel when he got his friend back, but right now it was hard to think beyond anything other than the dark stretch in front of him.

“Wes, the last time he turned it was—” she hesitated. “—not good.”

“Cordy—”

“I’m not sure what to do, I feel the sudden need to do a dis-invite spell on my car.”

Wes shook off the odd comment. He could hear the scoobies saying things in the background.

“Take care of him, Wes.”

“I’m making arrangements.”


*****


As he spoke to Cordy he had walked up the stairs, and found himself in front of the door to his room. There was a weird comfort in knowing it was his room, he opened the door and froze at the sight of Fred sitting on the bed and biting her nails.

“Hi. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to surprise you.” She said her voice wavering.

He didn’t reply, just stood there. He wasn’t sure why, he wasn’t surprised, Spike had basically warned him she would be there. He was just a bit in awe of Fred, sitting on his bed.

She took his silence as an affirmation that she was intruding. She bit her lip, steeled herself—she actually physically squared her shoulders. When she looked at him again she looked like a studied version of steely. “No-actually I did mean to surprise you. I need you to tell me what we are doing here and who these people are and how you knew about this place and also where are we? And Does Cordelia know where we are and has Angelus called and—and—”

Despite how serious she desperately wanted to look angry, it was hard not to smile.

“We’re in London.” Wesley said latching onto to the first thing he could answer.

She deflated at that.

“London?”

“Yes.” He said. “We’re at my friend Spike’s house.”

Fred looked confused and it suddenly struck Wesley that he had been incredibly successful in keeping his worlds separate. It was unfathomable to him that someone he knew as well as he did Spike, could not know all about Fred.

“The man in the black?”

Wesley sighed, how did one describe Spike?

“Spike is a vampire.”

At this Fred looked even more baffled.

“Another good vampire?” she questioned. “Does he also have a soul because apparently that isn’t much of a guarantee.”

Wesley shook his head. “No, no soul. Spike just—well, he’s and Buffy are er—together.”

“Buffy as in Angel’s ex who I’m not supposed to talk about?”

Wesley nodded. “The very same one.”

“She’s been alive all this time and you knew?” she looked like she was starting to get angry now. Wesley was about to scramble for an explanation, but Fred seemed to be able to tamp down on her temper. “And she’s been hiding here with those other people?”

“Raj is an old family friend, I don’t know who his friend is, but the teenager is named Alex. She’s Buffy and Spike’s daughter.”

This actually took Fred aback. She stared at Wesley in askance.

“So when you say vampire’s can’t have kids—that was not even a little bit true?”

Wesley cringed. “I understand the assertion may seen—suspect—to you but I assure you it’s unheard off before now.”

“Right.” Fred said nodding absently. “Right.”

She sat back down on the bed and started to fidget restlessly.

Wesley attempted a smile. “Would you like for me to get you a sharpie?”

His gentle teasing did not go over well.

“Wes, we just crossed border illegally with a woman who has—in the past—killed you, I don’t think I’m being out of line asking why we brought Connor here!” She had started sunny and Fred-like, but she started to get more and more panicked as she progressed. “I mean I’ve never been out of America. Except for Pylea and I’m trying to keep it together because I’m the last of everyone’s problems right now, but—” Fred threw her hands up in the air. “But this is crazy, I’m in England! Real England which doesn’t seem- I’m— I mean I know that England is closer than Pylea I know that in my head but then now I’m here and I’m trying very, very hard to keep the universe from un-clicking. Its not easy to keep it all together!”

Her hands were in her hair and immediately Wesley felt like the worst kind of idiot, of course she was having a breakdown, his gentle teasing was probably the last thing she needed right now.

“Fred, Fred! Please calm down Fred,” Awkwardly, he reached out and pulled her to him. He expected her to start to cry, but she just hiccupped and stilled. Wes squeezed her once, pulled away and somehow, everything came out. “Spike and Buffy were taken months ago by an organization we believe is working with Wolfram and Hart. They are making experiments with hybrids, I think that maybe they might also have a hand in creating Connor. Buffy, Spike, and Alex are all in hiding—here.”

Fred stopped and considered this and then looked around at the opulent room and bit her lip. “This is not what I picture when I think of bein’ on the run.”

“This is, believe it or not, Spike’s house from when he was a human.” Wesley supplied with a wry grin.

Fred didn’t respond with the astonishment that had become standard issue to Wesley whenever he thought of the bleached wonder as a gentleman.

“That was some foresight.” Was all she said on the subject.

“I don’t think Spike had a plan in mind when he saved it.” He said. “but no one knows about it, not even Angel.”

“Why would Angel know?”

Wesley marveled once again just how little Angel’s past had come up in the few month that Fred had been with them.

“Angel sired Drusilla, who in turn sired Spike.” He said.

“So Angel is Spike’s grandsire?” Fred said uncertainly.

Wesley shrugged.

“I don’t know if siredom is transitive like that.” He said. “Something to ask Spike now that I think about it.”

Angel was less than forthcoming about his time as Angelus, something that Wesley had never really thought about until he was face-to-face with the Jekyll side of his friend. As he was thinking about this, Fred was thinking about something else.

“Would that make him Connor’s nephew?”

Wesley snorted. “Tell Spike that tomorrow morning, I’m sure he’d love it.”

“And Angel thinks that Spike is dead?”

Wesley nodded. “Or at least he’s disappeared.”

Fred nodded. She stood and nodded. “Okay.” She said.

“Okay?” Wes asked.

“I needed to understand.” She said simply. “I needed to see why you would risk so much exposure. This is the safest place for Connor, it’s taking him out of the equation which tips the balance for our side. The only thing I can’t figure out is Gwen Raiden.”

After everything that had happened there was something anticlimactic about her reaction. Wesley wasn’t sure why but he felt like it should have been harder, she should have been angrier or feel more betrayed. But instead she seemed to only want an explanation, and that having been provided seemed content to move on to the next crisis. He racked his brains trying to figure out if he had left anything out.

“Oh, Gwen Raiden,” he said. “Spike has a microchip in his head, I think she would be able to help with.”

“So we regroup tomorrow.” Fred said with a nod. “Right.”

“Did I-Did I comfort you just now? You seemed upset—”

Fred grinned. “I was. You explained it.”

“We will come up a plan tomorrow.” Wesley promised.

The girl nodded.

“Yes,” She said firmly. “We will.”

She opened the door and slipped out.

Wesley wasn’t sure why, but it felt good to say that out-loud, He had heard it from Spike and from Buffy, but Fred knew the other side and she thought he had made the right call. Somehow, that lifted a weight off his chest.

He still felt a bit out of sorts for some reason, like some rug had been pulled out from under him.

“Not sure what you thought was going to happen, you git.” He said to himself. “It’s not like she was going to fall into your arms sobbing and unhappy for you to comfort and hold.”

He collapsed onto his bed, fully-dressed and tried to convince himself he hadn’t wanted the opportunity to do just that until he passed out.


****


There were too many things buzzing about in Spike’s head to properly enjoy drinking with Wesley. Usually, a nightcap with the former watcher would be an excellent way to end an evening, His favorite way, in fact, barring some good old fashioned violence or a bit of rough and tumble with Buffy, but tonight there was just too much to think about.

As he exited the living room he heard Wesley start a conversation with Cordelia and could hear her frustration coming though the wires, tinny and adamant. He smirked, glad he didn’t have to deal with the cheerleader again.

But as soon as he dismissed a complaining Cordelia, his thoughts turned—unerringly—back to his slayer upstairs and, he assumed, packing up everything she had amassed in the last few weeks ready to take Sunnydale by storm.

Spike could feel the brooding coming on and much as he hated it, he couldn’t help it. Most of the thoughts bouncing around in his brain were half baked frustrations and the beginnings of a desperate speech begging Buffy to stay with him and not rush back to her precious Angel.

They were in such a precarious spot and he couldn’t believe he had come so close to everything he’d ever wanted only to have it ripped away. Much as he wanted to rail at Wes for putting him in this position in the first place, he couldn’t fault him for bringing Connor to the safest place he knew.

Angelus was a fucked up bugger, and if he was coming after Connor, Spike had some experience dealing with his grandsire. Far away, No. 9 was the best place to keep the boy—his seduction plans be damned.

Spike looked down at the infant, it was a tiny and fidgety little ball of human.

They had set him up snug in his carrycot, he was staring out at the world with large wide eyes, light grey, but no recognizable color yet. Connor stared back at him, blinked and then sneezed, a tiny breakable sound. Spike waited for the flood of empathy or protectiveness.

“Not sure what I’m supposed to feel for you, mop.” He rumbled lightly. “Not that any of this is your fault, far from it.”

Bloody hell, what a night, first Alexis, then the revelation that he and Buffy were having triplets and now this.

It was hard not to think of the moppet as practice. The kid fixed his little grey eyes on Spike and made a small hiccupping sound.

“Oh Bugger, Moppet, Don’t cry.” Spike said. “Don’t cry!”

He seemed to be listening to the vampire because Connor just wobbled in his little bed and then continued to stare at Spike.

The vampire hoped Connor would end up looking like his mother, right now the boy just looked like a newborn, bald and red and not up to very much. Spike had hoped he would look at a child and magically know what to do, he’d be inundated with parenting hormones or some rot, but he supposed that wasn’t how the world worked. He was clueless, he had no idea how to care for a child.

“Sorry to think of you as a dry-run.” He apologized wryly. “We’ll get you a proper set up soon enough, though, I promise. Just need to suss out what step two is, your father is a piece of work. For now you have your cot, and we’ll keep you fed and safe. ”

Connor burbled his answer. Spike knew that there were people who melted at the sight of children, just like he knew he probably would never be one of those people. However, in a weird sinister way, Dru had, Angelus had as well. Just the thought of what could happen to the helpless infant if he fell into their hands was enough to make Spike shudder.

“We’re going to have to do something about him at some point, moppet.” He said. “Anchor his soul to his body somehow, Bloody duct tape. If your Mother knew how easy it was to separate it out she maybe wouldn’t have chucked him out on his ass in China.”
He ascended the stairs up to the first floor.

Connor was Angel’s son. Angels’ son with Darla, two people he could not imagine with children—living ones anyway. But then, he never reckoned he’d ever be father.

Never reckoned he’d fall for the slayer, neither.

“You don’t look much like him, Moppet.” Spike assured him. “but then you all look like Chummy Churchill to me.”

He was talking to an infants padding up the stairs to the Master Bedroom of No. 9. Surprises abounded in his unlife.

“Looks like we all end up different places that we think.” He said shaking his head. “Buffy’s bust a nut. If I know her and I do, she’s the cute blonde who’s the mother of my children, she’ll be all packed and ready to go.” He clarified for Connor. “She used to date your father. It’s going to be bloody complicated, but I’d imagine we’re heading back to California to have it out tomorrow.”

Tomorrow.

He paused on the steps. Tomorrow he was going to have to face Buffy. And Wesley and what they were going to have to do, and he desperately didn’t want to. He wasn’t stupid, Connor’s arrival, everything that had happened today had popped the bubble he and Buffy had been fucking in. Obliterated it actually. Connor was a reminder of what was waiting for her in California. All perfect and bundled in a little package, the fall out of Angelus, and he was dealing with it. Again.

He had known there was no choice, the boy was family after all, and Spike—pissed as he was—wasn’t going to take it out on Wesley or the boy.

But he was pissed; pissed as hell. His insides had gone cold at the sight of Oxford, he hadn’t been able to look Buffy in the eye through the entire story of what happened. He didn’t want to see the regret written there—Buffy had no poker face. So he just sat and pouring drinks and refused to see her preferring Angel to him. Refused to watch the moment she chose Angel right in front of him.

But then she turned to him and he—bitch that he was—automatically gathered her in his arms. She melted into his embrace and he was angry at himself for caving so easily, for being there and holding her, because of course he was holding her. He had not even stopped to think about it.

In the ensuing drinking that commenced he had been too agitated to properly enjoy Oxford’s company or the sharp smoky whiskey or even his cigarette. He felt like he was going to explode from the pressure of how much he had wanted to race upstairs, fling open her door, and beg her not to let that last little sob over Angelus be the last time he held her.

His hands are tightened on the wood of the drawer. It creaked and Spike loosened his grip.

“Sorry,” He muttered to the now-sleeping Connor.

He was just about to open his door when something caught his notice.

It was a heartbeat.

He paused. He had expected it to be down the hall in her room, but it was louder than that, and that could only mean—he didn’t allow himself to hope.

Sure enough, he could feel her. He could feel the presence of the slayer tug at the edge of his senses as he entered the dark room. The push-pull at the nape of his consciousness had become familiar. She was a predator, but she was also his mate—it was a unique signature that could only be Buffy.

He entered the room to see her curled up on her side of the bed, her dark curles were spread out across her pillow. She was fast asleep. She stirred a tiny bit when he closed the door behind him and set the make-shift bassinet on the ground next to the bed.
He wasn’t sure what he had expected, but it wasn’t this. He expected her to be awake, to be angry, or packed or stressed. He had expected her to demand that they pack their things and make for Sunnydale as soon as possible. He had expected this to become a fight but there she was, asleep in her usual spot, her kimono draped across the foot of the bed, because she had intended to wake up there.

And just like that, all of Spike’s fears and insecurities melted away. All of his superstitions and barriers disappeared. Those words he had been afraid of suddenly came front and center.

He had known back in Sunnydale, there was something about her. He could sense her presence in the Project and even in his state; he didn’t stop until he found her.

He had been so afraid to give the thoughts shape even in his head, but here she was. Sunnydale was in Peril, Angelus was on the loose, and Buffy came back to him. He slid into bed next to her and pulled her into his arms.

She melted into him easily and without preamble he cupped the back of her head and pressed his lips to hers. Softly, painfully gently, he held her to him, trying to tell her everything with that kiss, all of his insecurities, fears, the depth of his emotions for her, the oddness that was his and Angelus’ relationship.

Her could feel it in her kiss when she woke.

“What time is it?” She asked blinking the sleep out of her eyes.

“It’s late.”

“Connor?”

“Got him set up next to Uncle Spike.” He said. He pressed his lips to her head. “We going to California?”

She frowned blearily.

“Can’t.” She said simply. She shifted but didn’t pull away. “You know that.”

Spike considered her for a moment, and ran his fingers through her hair gently.

“Go back to bed, Sweetheart.”

Buffy nodded. “Mm-kay.”

He continued to stroke her hair until her heartbeat slowed again as she fell back asleep. When he was sure she was sufficiently peaceful, he murmured:

“I love you.”


******

Author's note: Sorry, sorry Sorry! I promise more soon! I totally cross my heart promise! I'm writing it this weekend!





You must login (register) to review.