Disclaimer:  I don’t own or profit from BtVS.  No copyright infringement intended.

A/N:  I apologize.  I have next to no knowledge of genetics and well….pretty much anything sciency.  I’m just winging it.  Just sit back and watch the monkeys fly out of my ass…

Dawn of a New Age

Chapter Eleven

Dr. Patel carefully removed the unbeating heart from the squirming female strapped to the reinforced steel, operating table.  She placed the blackened lump of flesh on the dissection tray, and picked up her scalpel to delicately slice open the heart, spreading it out until she could see the ventricles.  She took a twelve-gauge syringe and extracted the dead blood trapped in the chambers.

The creature on the table shrieked and collapsed into dust.  Dr. Patel lifted the syringe to the light, tilting it as the sand inside shifted like an hourglass.  She sighed, dropping the now useless material onto the table.  Behind her the door swished open and her friend and co-worker entered the room.

“No luck, Amita?”

Amita Patel patted her hair into place before turning around with a wan smile.  “Not yet.  These specimens are too weak.  None of them display nearly the amount of physical fortitude or stamina of Hostile Seventeen.”

“Yes, he was spectacular.”  Maggie Walsh turned aside to allow the technicians to wheel in the next specimen.  “Should we recapture him?”

Dr. Patel watched the male specimen wriggle on the table with dispassionate eyes.  “Not yet.  It is fascinating to be able to observe him in the natural world.  And we don’t yet know if he is supplementing the nutritional needs of Ms. Summers somehow.  For all we know she’s ingesting a steady diet of his blood in order to incubate the fetus.”

“Is that normal?”

Amita huffed.  “Nothing about this is normal.  It’s a scientific quandary.  But vampires do commonly feed from each other, and I don’t want to risk the development of the fetus because we don’t have enough data.”

Maggie Walsh shrugged.  “You’re the resident vampire expert.  I’ll leave you to it.”

Amita nodded goodbye before turning back to the specimen.  She had been working for years on how to crossbreed the vampiric traits of speed, strength and regeneration into human fetuses.  Initially, she thought it was only a matter of introducing vampiric genetic material into a fertilized egg.  The result was less than satisfactory.  The DNA of the host body remained essentially the same after turning, and therefore had only human genes to pass on. 

She then moved onto studying the blood of vampires, but that was inconclusive as well.  The blood retained the same genetic markers of the donor human, and remained seemingly unchanged when introduced to a vampiric host.  Likewise vampire sperm was sterile and eggs from females were dead.  There seemed to be no plausible way for vampires to procreate, much less crossbreed with humans.

Vampires themselves were a medical mystery.  They shouldn’t be animated, yet despite the empirical data otherwise, they were.  There was an essence about them, Amita had yet to isolate and identify through scientific means.  Perhaps her tools were inferior, or her procedures to unrefined to decipher the mystery that were vampires.  Only time and more investigations would tell.  She already knew there was so much more she had yet to discover about the amazing species.

Hostile Seventeen, for instance, had been an enigma.  Why was he so vastly stronger than her other specimens?  Biologically he was identical to the others of his breed she examined.  His blood was no different, his genetics the same as his original host.  Yet, somehow the indefinable essence that animated all vampires was stronger in him.  Amita hypothesized it was his age.  Interrogation of the vampire had rendered little information, but there was something about him that screamed advanced physical maturity.  She suspected the reason so many of her specimens crumbled under her knife was because they were too young and weak to endure.

She would love to have Hostile Seventeen back on her table, but her observations of his behavior were too important at this juncture.  There was too little data to make informed decisions.  She wasn’t even entirely convinced that Hostile Seventeen was the paternal father of the fetus gestating in Ms. Summers.  She’d nearly fell over to find him standing in her examine room, confessing to be the father of an unborn child.  It was unprecedented!  Since she never conducted any interviews with him in person, nor studied him while he was conscious he was unaware of her connection to him.  It gave her the valuable opportunity to observe both he and Ms. Summers as the fetus grew. 

All she needed was to confirm the parentage of the child then she could implement her plans.  She had Hostile Seventeen’s genetic material from his stay in the underground facility, and Ms. Summers was compliant in giving her blood for various prenatal tests, but there would be no way to gather genetic material from the fetus until it was at least thirty weeks along.

Amita carefully removed the ball gag from the specimen.  It snarled and spat, but she was unimpressed.  She held up a blood bag so the starving vampire could see it.  After a few minutes the creature calmed, staring at her with its odd yellow eyes.

“Answer my questions, and I’ll allow you to feed.”

The creature didn’t respond, but she knew it understood her.  It was amazing how these animals were able to display such human characteristics.  Especially, Hostile Seventeen.

“How is it possible for vampires to procreate?”

“To sire---“

“No,” Dr. Patel cut him off.  She knew all about siring.  She had studied it extensively.  She was still waiting for permission to begin human trials, although her and Maggie had discussed foregoing the regular channels.  “How do you breed?”

The creature blinked at her.  “You want to know about the Miraculous One.”  It wasn’t a question, but a statement.  A coldness settled over the creature deformed features.  The fire of resentment and fear of death was snuffed out, replaced by implacable resistance.  Dr. Patel saw the same expression on Hostile Seventeen’s face when she observed his interrogations from behind the mirrored glass.

“The Miraculous One?  The child of Ms. Summers, the supposed Vampire Slayer, and the vampire named Spike?  What do you know of it?  Do you know how they managed to breed?”

“She was not bred.  She is magic.  You’ll never be able to recreate something as miraculous as her.”

“Her?  How do you know it’s a her?”

The vampire turned its face from hers, refusing to acknowledge her questions.  She drew nearer, picking up a scalpel from the sanitized tray.  She knew she wouldn’t be getting any more verbal information from the specimen.  It was time to explore its insides instead.

“There is no such thing as magic, vampire.  It is only a crutch for primitive minds unable to comprehend logical, scientific reason.”

She clearly outlined the superiority of science over the false belief of magic as she cut the screaming vampire open and categorized its innards.

&&&&&&

Buffy watched the teapot heat on the stove.  Let’s see if a watched pot really doesn’t boil.  She rolled her eyes, checking the clock on the microwave.  She was trying her hardest not to think.  Thinking led to all kinds of badness.  Badness usually revolving around questioning her morals, dissecting her beliefs, and analyzing her overworked emotions.  So pretty much just thinking about Spike.

Her last conversation with him had been disturbing.  She couldn’t stop replaying it in her mind.  He was keeping secrets from her.  She hated secrets.  They were like the worlds most addictive Sudoku to her.  She just had to crack them.  But she didn’t want to crack Spike’s secrets.  She knew deep down, if she found out what Spike was keeping from her, it would change everything.  And she didn’t want things to change.  So much was changing around her already.  Was it really so bad to ask for some sense of security?  Some foundation?  There were just some things in this world that needed to remain black and white.  A formalized belief system for instance.  You can’t indoctrinate someone to a certain truth their entire lives, then one day tell them that it was all a load of horse pucky!  That’s how people ended up on tranquilizers.

If Spike confessed to her, what she thought he might, then….then she didn’t know what.  She just knew she couldn’t allow it.  Because for the barest of moments she thought he was going to tell her….No, it was impossible.  Spike was a monster.  A killer.  The only thing keeping him in check was the chip.  Without it he would be rampaging through Sunnydale, drinking down coeds and whatever else murdering bloodthirsty fiends of the night do to pass the time.  He told her himself.  He was a vampire. 

She could never trust him if the chip was removed.  A serial killer in prison was all he was.

But there was something in the openness of his face as he spoke to her.  There had been pain and longing.  There had been vulnerability.  It made her ache for him to open up to her.  She wanted to hear what he had to say, so she could believe him.  Maybe if he trusted her, she could---She rolled her eyes.  No.  It would never happen.  She would never trust him, and she was smart enough to know trust was a two way street.  There was no way Spike was going to trust her, when she couldn’t trust him.

It was hopeless.

Their conversation had solidified one thing in her mind.  Spike loved their child.  Of that there could be no doubt.  She just needed to stop questioning how it was possible and accept it.

She set her tea to steep when there was a light knock on the back door.  She twitched the gingham curtain aside and caught her breath.

Angel…

She was sixteen again.  A time when life and love were fresh and new.  She was happy and safe and didn’t yet know what heartbreak felt like.

Deep pools of emotion welled up in her chest, pushing everything to the fringes except for how much she loved him.  She opened the door, standing silently, just drinking him in.

He was so handsome.  His hands were shoved into the front pockets of his dark blue jeans, his untucked, black silk shirt flowing around his thick wrists.  His shoulders were set in unassuming self-depreciation.  His way of hiding his predatory nature so she would feel safe with him.

Their eyes met and it felt like worlds collided in her chest.  There was so much love for her in his eyes.  It was tortured and battered by his demon, but his soul kept it safe for him.  For them.

“Buffy.”

If she had any doubt of the love in his eyes, it was blown away by the sound of her name on his lips.  It was always the same.  A single word filled with such wealth of emotion.  Love, desire, want, restraint, regret, denial.  It was all layered together making her knees weak and her heart thump.

His eyes flickered to her still flat midriff and the spell was broken.  She wasn’t sixteen and he wasn’t her best guy.  They could never be together, no matter how much they loved each other.

“You know.”  It wasn’t a question.

“Hard not to.  Something like this is big.  Got the demon community buzzing all the way to L.A.”

“Great.  I love being the star of demon gossip.”  Her brow crinkled, and she ran a protective hand over her belly.  She didn’t like the idea of every demon from here to the Mexican border knowing about her baby.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

The hurt in his tone lashed out at her.  She whipped her eyes up to his, her body stiffening.  Oh, God.  The disappointment in his deep, chocolate eyes lacerated her heart.  How could she tell him that she couldn’t find the words?  That she was a coward.  That the very look in his eyes as he stared at her was the reason she had been avoiding talking to him in the first place.

The baby should be theirs.  Their miracle.  But it wasn’t.  The bubble of resentment festering inside since his abandonment swelled beneath her heart.  Maybe if he had stayed?  If he had been closer to her?  Maybe then the Powers would have graced them with this child.  Instead, she was stuck with Spike.

Spike, who promised never to leave.  Unto dust, he swore.  Practically a vampire marriage vow.  Angel never swore on his dust.  He was a more philosophical kind of vampire.  Unlike Spike who was a mess of physical.  Angel wouldn’t swear to dust for her, but he would brood over her until his last days.

Buffy recoiled over her uncharacteristic thoughts.  Angel was the love of her life.  She had no business comparing him to Spike.  There could be no comparison.  Angel was superior in every way.

“Look.  Do you wanna sit on the porch and talk?”  She offered, contrite.  She thought about inviting him in, but somehow it didn’t seem right.  Her home needed to be a safe sanctuary now she was going to have a baby.  Who knew if Angel would ever get happy again?  She frowned at that.

“Sure,” he agreed, his voice smooth and melodious.  She loved the sound of his voice.

“Let me grab my tea and I’ll be out.”  She’d offer him a cup, but knew he would refuse.  It was his way of reminding her of his innate alienism.  His way of telling her they could never be together.

He nodded, and glided away.  Once she had her tea, she found him standing by the weathered patio chairs.  She took a seat, unsurprised when he chose to lean against the porch railing, rather than sit beside her.  She supposed she was disgusting to him now.  Infected with Spike’s spawn.

She placed her hand over her belly and glared at him.  His answering look was hurt and inquisitive.

“How are you, Buffy?”

It seemed he was going to let his other unanswered question slide.  His deference acknowledged what they both knew.  There was no clean answer as to why she hadn’t told him of the child that would allow them to walk away unhurt.

“Pretty good.  I’m holding down more food, and I’m not as tired.”

“That’s good,” he replied cautiously.  It occurred to her, him being a vampire, that the process of pregnancy would be more than a little foreign.  It would probably be better to stay vague with him.

His presence was starting to feel unwelcome.  Stifling almost.  She already had so much negative pressure.  She didn’t need Angel adding to it.  She sighed.  There could be no avoiding this conversation.  It was going to happen whether she wanted it to or not.

“Why are you here, Angel?”  Might as well help the situation on to it’s inevitable conclusion.

“Can’t I just visit?”

The amount of rage that erupted from her belly was shocking.  She had no idea she was harboring such depth of emotion circulating around him.

“No,” she spat.  “You proved that yourself.  I don’t get so much as a phone call for six months, then you show up and do you little shadow song and dance over Thanksgiving, and now you try the ‘can’t I just see my best girl’ routine.  Well, the answer is a big, fat no.  So why don’t you just tell my why you’re here?”

“Spike,” he hissed.

She crossed her arms over her chest and looked out over the darkened backyard.

“What about him?”

“Buffy.”  He sounded pained, and all her anger slunk away like a whipped dog.  Desperately, she tried to hold onto it.

“It’s not like I had a choice, Angel.  Maybe if you’d been here.”

He glided closer, dropping to his haunches beside her.  He wrapped his blunt, cool fingers around her wrist and she felt herself calm.

“We’ve been over this.  I couldn’t stay.  It wasn’t fair to you.  I wanted you to have something normal.”

She laughed bitterly.  “Well, what I got was Spike.”

“No.”

She turned her head to look at him.  His mouth was pressed into a thin line and his dark eyes flickered yellow.

“No?”  She arched a brow.  “What does that mean?”

“It means you don’t have to have Spike.”

She became very still.  Even her breath stopped.  Maybe even the Powers That Be stopped time, waiting to see if their Champion would defy them for the woman he loved.  Spike would defy them, came the unwelcome thought.

“Are you saying that you’ll stay?” she asked quietly, sick, dark hope beating inside her chest.  A farfetched dream coalesced in her mind.  It was bright, beautiful and perfect.  He dropped his eyes from hers, and the crystalline image shattered.  Pain spider-webbed its way through her heart, and she ripped her wrist from his grasp.  This was the very last betrayal she would ever accept from him.

“I am not getting an abortion,” she ground out in a deadly voice.

Angel rocked back on his heels, having never been the recipient of her Slayer self.  At least, not while souled.  He contemplated her silently, but Buffy didn’t fidget like she had when she was a child and faced with his disapproval.  She stared him down, until he relented to her.

“I didn’t say that, Buffy,” he assured her softly.  “I’m sure your child is amazing and she has a special purpose for being here.  I would never advocate ending any child’s life.”

She glared at him.  She hated the suspicion in her gut.  She couldn’t help, but to feel that abortion had been exactly what he was advocating, and was only backing off in the face of her implacability.

“I’m saying that Spike shouldn’t stay around.  He can’t be trusted.”

“The chip…”

“Does nothing, but curb his feeding,” Angel cut her off.  “He’s still evil and still soulless.  Once he figures how to get that chip out…” The mayhem and devastation he would cause was left unsaid.  Buffy stood to put some distance between them.

“Trust me, Buffy.  He’ll get that chip out.  He’s smart and determined.  Look how he’s taken control of the demons.  He’s already positioning himself.”

Her entire body clenched.  She looked towards Angel, automatically wanting comfort, but too unsettled to take it.

“What are you saying?”

“The only reason all the demons haven’t given him their complete allegiance is because of the chip.  Once it’s out, he’ll kill you and take over Sunnydale.”

“He can try.”  The slayer flashed and Angel shifted nervously.  “You keep talking like I’m weak.  Like I can’t take Spike in a fight.  Well, I can.  I’ve done it more than once and I can do it again.”

“But you are weak.  The baby makes you so.”

Buffy snarled, but Angel refused to back down.  “What happens when you are nine months pregnant and too awkward to fight?  What if he strikes after you’ve given birth and you’re still too weak to stand?  You shouldn’t give him the advantage of waiting.”

“I don’t think…”  Buffy shifted awkwardly, before solidly planting her feet.  “I’m not going to murder him in cold blood,” she snapped.  She was not weak.  Not now.  Not ever.  She was the Slayer.  Their miracle made her stronger.  It gave her something to fight for.

“Buffy.”

The look she gave him was deadly.  She moved away, too angry to be close to him.  Angel conceded, trying a new tract.

“What about the baby?”

Buffy glanced at him.  “What about it.  Spike’s the father.”  She stood at the rail.  The shadows crept in closer and she could no longer see the back fence.

“That’s meaningless to a vampire.  Just words.”  He stood behind her, placing his large, comforting hands on her shoulders.  “Spike’s a danger to her.”

“No,” she asserted with certainty.  This she knew with absoluteness.  Spike would never hurt their child.  “Spike loves her.”

“Spike has always been different, but he can’t love.”

Buffy shrugged him off, turning to face him.  “He loves Drusilla.”

Angel shook his head morosely.  His dark eyes caught the moonlight, seeming to glimmer with his sadness. 

“Is that what he told you it was?  It isn’t love.  It’s obsession.  Even after a hundred years, she’s still unobtainable to him.  It’s an endless chase, and Spike will do anything to win her.  They’ve parted in the past, but they always come back together.”  He paused, and trepidation built inside her heart.  “And Dru always demands a reconciliation gift.”

“What do you mean?”

He shifted away from her, his eyes lowered in shame, caught in the memory of his sins.  “Dru’s favorite foods are nuns and children.”  He flexed his hands, seeing the blood that coated them, remembering the infants he once held gently before handing them to his insane child.  “Once she hears about this baby…she’s going to want it, Buffy.  Slayer blood and her sweet William’s all in one pretty pink package.  Succulent is the word that comes to mind.”

She wheeled away from him, disgusted.  He recoiled, jerking himself back from the brink where his yellow-eyed demon gleefully chortled back at him.  He was instantly contrite.  He reached for her, but she kept the distance yawning between them.  Rejected and ashamed, he tried to reassert cool control over himself.  He straightened, all business as he gazed at the love of his unlife.

“Look, all I’m trying to tell you is that Spike spent the last hundred years catering to his dark princess’ every whim.  Whatever wammy the Powers That Be put on him to make him want to protect this child may not be enough to override his obsession for Drusilla.  If she asks for the child, he’ll give it to her.”

Buffy wrapped her arms around her waist.  Unconsciously, she moved closer to her back door.  She stood were the yellow light from the kitchen pooled through the window.  She wanted to be inside where she was warm and safe.  She was tired of having conversations in the dark with monsters.  She needed security.

“No.  I don’t believe that.”  She didn’t.  She had seen the love in Spike’s eyes when he talked about the baby.  He was the only person, including her, who accepted their child without reservation.  She was their miracle.  Spike’s miracle.

But a demon can’t love, her logic asserted.  How could Spike possibly love their child?

“Can you really take the chance?” Angel questioned, but she didn’t respond.  Something close to worry darkened his eyes, and he wavered, like a parent deciding to tell a child a spiteful truth.  Anger shot through her.  He was always holding back.  Always protecting her for her own good.

“A vampire can’t love without a soul,” he confessed.  “The demon isn’t capable of it.  Don’t you think I would have loved you as Angelus?  Our love is pure.  Perfect.  If it were possible for a demon to love then it would have been mine.  I’m proof that it can never be.”

If Buffy had been a weaker person she would have buckled under the onslaught of his words.  They were an attack on her soul, on her heart.  He was absolutely right.  If it were possible for a demon to love it would have been Angel.  Their love was timeless and beautiful.  And only possible with a soul.

A sadistic little voice reminded her that love wasn’t perfect.  It was flawed, and messy, and painful.  Love wasn’t an ideology to be placed on a pedestal.  It was a real bitch of a monster that was in the trenches of everyday life with you, beating you down and picking you right back up.

She had to get away.  She needed to be alone.  She was sick and tired of everyone telling her how to live her life.  How to feel.  Telling her what was right and wrong, like she was toddler who didn’t know that flame burned. 

“I-I think you should go.”  She didn’t look back at him as she scurried inside, slamming the door in his face.  She didn’t want to hear his goodbyes.  She didn’t want to see the pure, perfect love in his eyes. 

She was utterly destroyed.  She didn’t know what to believe.  Who to trust.

She stumbled a few steps the kitchen island before she collapsed.  She slid down the counter front, and curled up on the linoleum, sobbing into her hands.  Her trust was broken.  She just couldn’t decide which vampire had broken it.