Buffy took a deep breath of the cool, brisk air and stepped out onto the path. After a solid week of rain, it was actually dry this morning, with the light, crisp breeze and watery sunlight doing their best to chase the dampness away. She adjusted her scarf and looked down at Aidan in his pram. Yes, he seemed pretty well wrapped up, hat, layers of warm clothing and woolly blankets swathing him so effectively that all she could see of him were his mouth, nose, chubby cheeks and eyes peering out at her.
Those eyes, deep blue like his father’s and wide open at the moment, were taking everything in. He blinked as he adjusted to the change in temperature, then stared solemnly back at her. Her heart melted again, just as it did each time he looked up at her. He was such a beautiful baby, and so placid. Of course he cried, but so far, he seemed easily pacified, quite content as long as he was fed, changed, well rested and in the company of either of his parents. He appeared to be as besotted with them as they were with him.
What surprised Buffy the most about motherhood so far, was how quickly she’d adapted to it, and how much she loved it. In her heart of hearts, she hadn’t been at all sure that she would be any good at it. In fact her deepest fear had been that she wouldn’t be able to bond with her child and love him as he deserved. She had never been a very demonstrative person, and as for facing her feelings and expressing them openly and easily, well generally speaking, she felt more comfortable facing down a nest of bloodthirsty demons.
Spike had taught her a lot of course. How to accept love and give it back freely. How to actually say, “I love you” without waiting for the guy to turn evil or scamper off in the opposite direction. Perhaps that was his greatest achievement, helping her learn how to trust in love. But she’d still wondered if she could trust in herself, trust that she actually had it in her to fall in love with another person without all of the crazy to and fro, off and on angst and drama that she’d put Spike through in order to win her heart.
Oh she knew that she’d be able love her baby in that fierce, protective, mother tiger way; she’d been doing that for months already. But the softer, gentler, more nurturing love, she’d really doubted whether or not she had that in her, whether she wasn’t somehow faulty or damaged in that regard.
Buffy needn’t have worried. All it had taken had been one glimpse of her son’s intense, wide-eyed gaze and she’d fallen; deeply, madly, truly. He’d stolen her heart as he’d looked up at her in the delivery room, and she knew he’d have it forever. Oh, he’d no doubt break her tender heart in the future, in the way of all children, careless of their parents’ unconditional love. But that was fine too; she knew he’d return her boundless love just as freely.
All of this had come to her instinctively, some great, untapped spring of love, trust and faith welling up inside of her and flooding her with joy and contentment. And over the past week she’d been relying on those instincts more and more.
So far, they hadn’t put her wrong. She’d managed diaper changing, bathing and dressing Aidan with only the barest minimum of panic and fumbling. And after the first few days of tenderness, she’d even taken to nursing with a calm proficiency and intense delight. Those were her favourite times of the day, snuggled together on the lounge suite or on her rocking chair, sharing those sweet, blissful moments as her body provided him with the nourishment he needed, both physical and emotional. Aidan never drifted off to sleep while he fed; it was almost as if he couldn’t bear to take his eyes of her. And the feeling was mutual.
But the time she loved best of all was when Spike sat back against the headboard of their bed, Buffy nestled in between the fulcrum of his outspread thighs, and Aidan nuzzled up against her breast. In the soft light of the bedside lamp, the two parents would stare down at their miraculous child, cooing loving encouragement and sweet praise to him as he nursed. And in return, he would gift them with his rapt adoration. Each gazed lovingly at the others, bonding them together as a family, the potent emotional ties weaving themselves around their tightknit little group.
Spike, of course, had taken to fatherhood with total ease. No one was the least bit surprised about that; he’d always been blessed with a strong nurturing instinct, even back when he was soulless and unchipped. Together they'd developed a daily routine, not so much with the feedings, which were guided by Aidan’s needs, but with the extra tasks that needed to be done now that they were a family of three.
Whether bathing or dressing their little one, or cooking or coping with the increased washing, they worked together as a perfect unit, orbiting around one another effortlessly, almost in imitation of their fighting style. It was another revelation, how well they could work together.
But this morning Buffy had had to make do on her own, feeding and changing Aidan, before popping him onto his baby play mat on the bathroom floor. He had gazed up at the colourful, plush toys and shiny objects hanging from the bars just long enough for her to take a quick shower and get dressed. Okay, so breakfast had just been a glass of juice and half of a messily spread peanut butter and jelly sandwich, but still, she’d felt supremely proud of her solo-Mommy style efforts.
Now she was venturing out into the big wide world, with Aidan’s first outing in his pram. Well maybe not quite the big wide world, just across the compound from their house to the research centre. Spike had left very early this morning to re-join the research party he’d left in the wee hours of the previous night.
Giles had received a phone call from Angel earlier in the evening, just after dinner. Something about Cordy being sick, which made no sense to Buffy considering that the last she’d heard the brunette was in a coma. He’d called in the troops, Wes, Fred, Willow, Tara, Andrew, Dawn, Connor and Spike. She guessed the spouses had probably made their way over to the library by now too, but Buffy had a good excuse for being a little tardy.
It was only a short stroll across the enclosure, but it felt good to be out in the fresh air, taking in a little bit of exercise. Aidan seemed to have enjoyed the experience too. Deftly, Buffy let herself and the pram in the front door and wheeled it through to the library.
She was met by an air of quiet despair, and a rather decimated research crew poring through piles of books despite the exhaustion that weighed down their faces. With only the smallest of nods here and there, she made her way over to Spike and pulled up a chair next to him.
He looked up at her. “Hey pet.” At seeing her, a brief flicker of joy lit up his tired, despondent expression. But it didn’t seem to hold for long. The sombre mood began to panic her.
“Things aren’t going well I take it. Is it another apocalypse?”
“Maybe pet, maybe. But more than that it’s shaping up to be a plain old human tragedy.”
“Cordy?”
“Yeah. Seems some sort of virus or parasite has infected her. It’s hardening her skin and frying her from the inside out. We've had our noses stuck in all sorts of books trying to work out if it’s a result of that Higher Be-itch Jasmine’s handiwork or something to do with some sarcophagus that was delivered to Wolfram and Hart day before last.”
“Sarcophagus? Oh my God!”
“Yeah, my thoughts exactly! Giles managed to get hold of Drogyn this morning. He’d been off with Khatia and some of the other lasses routing out a nest of vamps up Newcastle way. Turned their phones off when they hit the boneyard and forgot to turn them back on. He’s been back about twenty minutes. Reckons that if it’s from the Deeper Well, he’ll be able to recognise it. Dawn’s going to portal him and Khatia over to Evil Inc. in about ten minutes.”
“Speaking of Dawn, where is she? In fact where are the L.A. crew?”
“They portalled over last night.”
“What, you let my sister head into the belly of the beast, where deadly parasites and evil demons and the Senior Partner guys can get at her. Are you mad?”
“Hold on a minute luv, tried to talk her out of it, but she refused to let Connor go unless she was right there alongside him. Didn’t have the heart to stand in the way of young love, and Connor was determined to go given his history with Cordy and all. But he promised me that they'd stay at Angel’s old hotel instead, and they’d stay away from the sarcophagus stuff and focus on the Jasmine angle. They’ve both got their ink to protect them, should be fine.”
“Humph, don’t know that the protection tats would be effective against viruses and evil higher beings. Whatever, she’d better not get hurt or you are both in deadly trouble.” She glared at Spike, then blinked and collapsed into his arms. “Poor Cordy, I mean I know she was unconscious and pretty much always a bitch, but still, this sounds nasty. So Wes, Fred, Faith?”
“Yep, they’re all over there beavering away. Faith’s apparently running around L.A. with that green lounge singer guy, trying to hustle up answers out of Angel’s enemies. But Wes and Fred are the chit’s best hope I reckon. What they don’t know between them probably ain’t worth knowing.”
“How’s Angel holding up?”
“He’s a mess. Didn’t realised his feelings for Vision Girl ran so deep. He’s keeping a tight rein on it, but by the sounds of things, he’s pretty near the edge. Never thought I’d hear myself saying it, but I actually feel sorry for the poor bastard.”
They were both quietly contemplating the situation when Drogyn and Khatia entered the room. The mystical warrior nodded at Giles, who promptly picked up the phone and dialled Dawn’s cell phone number. Within seconds the pale green light of one of Dawn’s portals spilled out across the centre of the library. Buffy got a peek through the portal door of what looked like a hotel lobby, all marble floors and dramatic sweeping staircases.
Dawn and Connor were standing next to the lobby registration desk, her sister waving merrily just as Drogyn and Khatia dashed through the entrance. As soon as they were safe on the other side, Dawn waved again, this time in farewell, and snapped the passageway shut.
The rest of the morning consisted of a seemingly endless wait, interspersed only by tense phone calls between Giles and Angel, and cups of tea with kitchen-prepared plates of fruit, club sandwiches, scones with jam and cream and cute little cakes called fondant fancies. Giles, Spike and Andrew were the constants, with Xander, Rowan, Willow, Tara, Cat and Oz rotating in and out of various spots around the research table.
Of course, apart from herself, all of the women were pregnant, and working through to the wee hours had taken its toll on them. Giles and the rest of the men had utterly vetoed any suggestion of letting the moms-to-be anywhere near Wolfram and Hart, but they were contributing as best they could from the comfort of Ashdown’s library. Cat had been poring over all of the medical reports, faxed through from the law firm’s medical department by a Dr Sparrow, trying to isolate the virus and determine whether or not it was contagious to others.
Willow and Rowan had been working the mystical angle, trying to find any spells that would arrest the pathogen’s spread, and maybe even reverse some of the damage. It was a big ask though, considering that they still weren’t certain about what they were dealing with. Tara had even zipped back to Summerland, to check what her fellow Guardians knew of the situation. It had taken several hours of her precious time, and all she’d ended up with was some declaration that ‘whatever is meant to be shall surely come to pass’, which wasn’t very reassuring. And all the while the clock was ticking down for Cordelia.
Buffy spent much of her time ensconced in an armchair over in one of the corners. The room was nice and warm, and she was able to play with Aidan when he was awake, feed him when he was hungry, and rock him to sleep when he was tired. Twice, she’d popped along to the treatment room in the medical clinic to change his diapers. If it were not for the dire circumstances, she would have confessed to actually quite enjoying her morning. But even as she hung out with her son and honed her mothering skills, the atmosphere in the room grew steadily more foreboding.
Suddenly, after another of the endless calls between L.A. and Ashdown, there was an unexpected flurry of activity. Giles got Willow to switch the phone onto speaker mode and they all gathered around the table to listen. Angel’s voice sounded thready and weak, so different from his usual gruff tone. But it was also woven through with a thick band of urgency. They were obviously down to the end game.
“We’re now almost certain that the parasitic agent infesting Cordy is due to her exposure to a whiff of air released from the sarcophagus. Drogyn has been able to identify the sarcophagus as that of the great monarch and warrior of the demon age Illyria, murdered by rivals and left adrift in the Deeper Well.”
“One of the Old Ones!” Giles muttered.
“Yes. We would have been able to identify it sooner if we hadn’t been dealt a hand of subterfuge and treason by two of our own staff. In the meantime, the infection has basically hardened Cordy’s skin like a shell and is hollowing her out so that this thing, this Illyria, can use her to gestate in, to claw its way back into the world. Already, the Old One’s essence is bonding itself to Cordy’s being. Of course, there’s some speculation involved, but either way," Angel's voice broke as he finished the prognosis, "Either way, she dies.”
“Oh my God!” The exclamation was more or less universal.
“Do you have any ideas on how to combat it?” Giles asked gravely.
“Drogyn believes he can prepare a spell that will draw Illyria’s essence out of Cordy’s body and back into the Deeper Well.”
“Good Lord, how astonishing,” Giles remarked. “I’m assuming you’ll want to get on with that immediately.”
“Yeah, we do, except …” Angel paused, coming at last, they realised, to the actual crux of the phone call. “Drogyn needs to be at the Deeper Well, and so do Cordy and the sarcophagus. If he attempted the spell from here, the pathogen that carries Illyria’s essence would become the mystical equivalent of an airborne virus. To try and escape recapture, it would attempt to claw itself into every soul between here and the Cotswolds. It would decimate entire cities, even countries, with tens maybe even hundreds of thousands dying in agony just so that we could save Cordy.” Angel paused again, the weight of this decision an almost palpable burden, pressing down on all of them.
“But if you don’t act, not only will Cordelia die, but we will also have one of the most powerful pure bred demons of all time roaming the earth,” Giles summed up.
“Couldn’t you get them on a plane?” Buffy called out from the back row. “Don’t you have planes you can use?”
“Yes, we could fly all three out, but even using one of our company jets, Cordy doesn’t have the time to spare. We need to get to the Deeper Well now, and to do that, we need to use Dawn’s portalling abilities.”
There was a pause while the Ashdown crew worked through the implications. Spike was the first to put two and two together.
“So you’re wanting the Bit to stroll into the den of iniquity, cosy on up to your likely contagious, demon infested girlfriend, and then open a portal to a place that’s like a mystical prison for the most powerful, evil dead we can imagine! No! I don’t want her exposed to that shit. Her sis and I want her to get her butt home now!”
“I know it’s a risk Spike,” Wes interrupted, “But you know I wouldn’t chance Dawn’s safety if there was any other way. We can reduce the dangers by getting her kitted out in a HAZMAT suit, but at this point she’s our last option.”
Spike turned to Buffy, drawing her and sleeping baby Aidan up alongside him. “What do you think pet?”
“I don’t want her doing it, I don’t want her anywhere near all that drama.” She paused and frowned. “But this isn’t like all of the other times I’ve said no to her helping. This is something that only she can do. At this moment, she’s the one, the only one capable of saving the day. If she wants to do this, if she’s determined to go ahead, then I’ll support her. I’m not going to do to her what Mom did to me.”
“Thanks Buffy,” a sniffily voice rang out over the phone. “I love you and I’ll make you so proud of me.”
Buffy’s mouth dropped open in shock and then snapped shut in anger. “Why you little sneak. You’ve been there the whole time?”
“Wait, wait. I’m in Angel’s apartment, not down in the foyer of Evil Incorporated, or even in the medical department. He’s got wards up to shield us from the higher ups, and I portalled straight here so that I didn’t need to pass through the main building. I’m out in the lounge and Cordy’s in the bedroom. I could put on protective clothing before I go in there to open the portal, but to be honest I’ve already been in contact with these guys and if Cordy was infectious, its likely they’re all virused up already anyway. So …”
“Alright, alright, I get it. But Dawn, I want you to promise me that you’ll just open the portal for them. No following them through okay. You just get them to the well and then you jump straight home alright Missy?”
“Sure thing Mom,” she replied jauntily. “The only problem is, we have to wait for about …” There was a pause while Dawn talked to someone in the background, “About an hour and a bit. I still can’t open a portal to a specific place unless I’m familiar with it and can picture it, or have someone at the spot that I know well. I really, really, really need to practice using coordinates for target practice. It would have saved us a lot of drama.”
“Okay, but who do you want to …”
Dawn interrupted her sister. “No, no, it’s all good. Andrew and Oz are already on their way. They left about half an hour ago, thanks to a totally on-to-it phone call from Wes.” The Ashdown crew looked around the table in surprise. They hadn’t really noticed the two men’s absence up until that point, what with the general drifting in and out of the room all morning. But even Willow and Tara looked flabbergasted.
“He said he was just popping out on an errand,” Willow said through a pouty bottom lip.
“It’s an errand alright Red, just a pretty big one. Wolfboy’s off playing hero.”
“And he took Andrew with him?” Buffy asked incredulously.
“Andrew’s been to the Well before,” Giles said. “He came with Wes and I on one of our early visits to Drogyn. Just about drove the poor man mad with his endless questions.”
With that information, there was little they could do but wait. Giles and Willow had out every scroll, manuscript, almanac and general reference book with any mention whatsoever of Illyria in it, their research material spread out across the table. Tara and Rowan had wandered off to organise teas and coffees, holding off on lunch until they knew what would become of Cordy. Nobody felt much like eating anyway.
Suddenly, the loud peal of the phone broke through the tense silence. They looked at one another, then Giles picked up the receiver and lay it alongside the base.
“Hey guys,” Connor’s calm, serious voice rang out down the line. “Oz and Andrew made it to the Well and Dawn’s opened up the portal already. The Ashdown boys are already back in the van and putting some distance between them and the drop zone.” Willow and Tara gripped one another’s hands tightly at this news. “Angel, Cordy, Drogyn, Khatia and the sarcophagus are about to go through the portal.”
“How’s Cordy doing Connor?” Giles asked.
“ Not great,” he replied quietly. “There’s been a lot of coughing and … writhing I guess you’d call it. She, she looks pretty bad actually. Alright, they seem ready to head through the portal. Drogyn and Khatia are pushing the sarcophagus through first, then Angel, carrying Cordy, will follow.”
Through the phone’s speaker they could hear a squeaking, scraping noise that cut off suddenly as, they assumed, the sarcophagus passed through the portal to its destination. They could hear Dawn’s voice calling out ‘Good luck’ but the ensuing silence was abruptly split in two by a slight crackling hum, followed by a low, hollow moaning, a dull thrashing sound and Angel’s voice calling out beseechingly, “No, no, no baby. Please Cordy! You have to fight, just concentrate on fighting. Just hold on.”
“Oh God no!” The Ashdown crew could hear Connor’s deep, horrified tone cut across the snapping, sizzling backdrop.
“What?” Giles shouted, “Connor, what’s going on?”
“Its like the portal is rejecting Cordy, or at least the Illyria parts of Cordy are, or maybe it’s Illyria rejecting the portal. Either way little blue arcs of energy are leaping out of Cordy and kind of creating a force field between her and the energy of the portal. Angel’s getting zapped constantly, but he’s trying to force his way through anyhow. And poor Cordy, she’s already nine-tenths dead and she’s being rocked by these bone rattling convulsions.”
“What about the Bit?” Spike cried out. “Is Dawn alright?”
There was a long pause and a whispered conversation before Connor’s voice gave Spike any information. “She says she’s fine, but to my eye it looks like she’s tiring. Holding the portal open against the forces that Cordy’s giving off must be testing her energy levels. But don’t worry sir, I’ll make sure that she doesn’t overexert herself.”
“Good lad,” Spike said, “I know you will,” surprised to find that he meant it.
The sound of the struggle drifted over the phone for what seemed like an interminable amount of time, but was probably only a couple of minutes. Finally the crackling and grunting seemed to die away, and they could hear Drogyn’s thick accent in the background. Obviously Angel had ceased his attempts to cross through the portal, and Drogyn, and hopefully Khatia as well, had taken the opportunity to return from their vigil beside the Well entrance.
After a number of minutes, punctuated only by what sounded like despair and desperate negotiation from Angel, Connor made his way back to the phone to fill them in on the goings on. Having to find out what the situation was second hand was extremely frustrating, and Giles, Spike and Buffy were all feeling pretty tense.
“Sorry,” the teen said, “I just wanted to take care of Dawn first. She’s fine,” he quickly staved off any interruptions, “Just tired and a ‘bit flat’ as she put it. I grabbed her an energy drink and she’s sitting right her next to me.”
“Hi guys,” Dawn certainly sounded weary, much less bouncy than her usual peppy self. “I’m fine, just a little wiped out and a lot disappointed. Man, excuse my language Buffy, but that was bloody tough work. I felt like I was trying to hold a feather in a hurricane. But while the storm was whipping around me crazily, it was actually Angel and Cordy it was centered on. Poor Angel, he looked totally heartbroken and defeated when he finally sunk to the ground. He was clutching Cordy in his arms and actually … crying,” she finished in a small voice.
“What’s going on now then? Is Cordy still … Cordy?” Giles asked tentatively.
“I don’t know,” Dawn admitted, “She looks all but dead, but Drogyn and Khatia came back through just before I closed the portal. Drogyn, Angel and Wes are sitting on the ground talking really seriously, but I don’t know what they’re saying. Hold on. Fred?’ they heard the girl hiss urgently, “What’s the what?”
“Um, oh, hi guys,” Fred addressed the group; “There’s no way Angel can get Cordy through the portal. The entity that is overtaking her body is resisting the energy of the portal, almost repelling it. The attempt was tearing her apart, and honestly, I don’t understand how she’s still drawing breath.” The Texan’s voice was thick with the sound of barely repressed tears. “I mean, I had my handheld spectrum analyzer out, and the output I was picking up was comparable to that of an electrical storm.”
“So that’s it then,” Willow said sadly.
“No I think they might have one more go. They’re gonna ask Dawn to open the portal again, Drogyn will go through and perform the spell from the Well side of the portal, hoping to draw Illyria’s essence out of Cordy and back to the Well via the portal. I don’t think anyone’s holding out much hope, but it’s really Cordy’s very last chance.”
“I don’t know Fred,” Connor butted in before any of the Ashdown crew could object. “I think that sounds pretty dangerous for Dawn. She’s already exhausted. What do you think babe?”
Buffy’s heart skipped a little to hear Connor address her sister with such open concern and affection. This was starting to sound like the real deal, at least from Connor’s side. Excitement for Dawn, and resistance to the idea of her growing up, seemed to clash within Buffy, leaving her feeling confused and worried. Spike squeezed her hand again and the look on his face spoke of the same mixed bag of bewildering emotions.
The girl in question cut across their musings as she answered her boyfriend’s question firmly. “I’ll be fine. But we haven’t got much time, so let’s get on with it now.”
Connor stayed by the phone, continuing his play-by-play description as the others took their places much as Fred had outlined. There was little delay as Dawn opened the portal, Drogyn and Khatia stepped through, the slayer guarding his back as the ex Keeper began the spell, and Angel stood grimly at the threshold of the tunnel.
Cordy lay pale and unresponsive in his arms, the only sound a ghastly rattling noise that issued from her lungs as she gasped for breath. Connor didn’t need to describe it. In the silence that blanketed both rooms, they could hear the eerie rattle over the phone line, could read its wretched message. A quiet moaning, mumbling sound played out in the background, Angel’s desperate pleas for Cordy to “Hold on, stay with me Cordy, don’t leave me baby.”
“Drogyn’s started the spell,” Connor narrated quietly. “I think it’s working. Blue tendrils of mist are rising up out of Cordy’s body. But it’s more of a writhing than a drifting motion, and it’s jerking Cordy about. The blue mist has hit the green wall of Dawn’s portal, and … damn, it’s not penetrating at all. It’s just hitting the portal and rolling across the face of it, sliding out towards the edges and then curling back towards the room and … fuck!” Connor cried out in horror and all the Ashdown group could hear was running footsteps, and a sudden pop, followed by a heart-wrenching wail. Even Spike, who had known Angel for so many decades, could barely recognise the voice of his old nemesis.
“Please, please …” Angel’s desperate sobs echoed across the line.
“It’s over,” Connor said, his voice suddenly sounding weary and worn. “The tendrils started weaving their way towards Dawn and Fred, who were standing either side of the portal opening. Dawn snapped the portal shut instantly as Wes and I bundled her and Fred out of harm’s way. I,” he paused, “I’m not sure about Drogyn. He was standing a little way inside the portal when it closed. Hopefully he made it out safe and sound. But Cordy, the mist was sucked back into her when the portal closed, and we’ve lost her; she’s gone. Poor Dad, he’s so broken looking. He’s just hunched on the ground holding her limp body to his. Huh, what the …”
The Scoobies heard a thud, then a crash, followed by a clatter and a moan as of horror, a hasty supplication of “Oh my God,” and quiet weeping.
They couldn’t begin to imagine what was going on, especially when they heard, echoing over the line, a voice that sounded eerily like Cordy’s, but laced with a cold, implacable arrogance, “This will do.”