Willow's fingers shook as she poured Margaret's blood into the Urn of Osiris. The black candles being held by Tara, Anya, and Xander in a makeshift circle suddenly grew dark.
“What's going on?” Xander demanded, his voice a near shriek.
“L-Light them again. Keep going,” Tara said quickly, relighting hers and passing Anya a book of matches.
“After this I'm never going to light candles ever again,” Anya growled, yelping when she burned her finger.
Despite their troubles, Willow pressed on obliviously, drawing a symbol on the cold, hard ground with the mixture she had prepared in the urn. “Osiris, keeper of the gate, master of all fate, hear us...” She dipped her finger into the urn again, this time wiping the blood on her forehead and cheeks. “Before time and after, before knowing and nothing. Accept our offering. Know our prayer!”
Everyone tensed, including Willow, as gaping wounds appeared on her arms. Xander looked ready to break the circle and come at Willow. He hurriedly put his candle down.
“Xander, no!” Tara cried.
“But she's--”
“She's being tested. Willow's strong. W-We have to let it happen. W-We can't break the circle!”
Tears streamed down the redhead's cheeks as vibrating lumps appeared, undulating under her skin. They crawled toward her open orifices, and she gritted her teeth and resisted the urge to scream. “Osiris!” she cried through gritted teeth, the muscles in her neck bulging as she fought for control, “Here lies the warrior of the people!”
They stopped, only to collectively rush toward her chest and neck. “Osiris! Let... Her... Cross over!”
Willow held her throat, gagging and choking. She bent her head and dry heaved as a large snake slithered its way up her throat and out of her mouth. Tara screamed. Xander and Anya were frozen in horror. The snake dropped to the floor and Willow took in a breath before crying, one last time, “OSIRIS! LET HER CROSS OVER!”
Suddenly, a bright light appeared above their heads, followed by a deafening rumble. Anya dropped her candle to throw herself at Willow, oblivious to the motorcycle coming down upon them.
“Oh God,” Xander gasped. “It's ruined. Fuck.”
“We gotta get Willow out of here,” Tara screamed, her voice cracking. “She's too weak!”
In a darker corner, a figure watched as the four dragged themselves from the ever mounting danger. Another motorcycle roared over their makeshift circle, shattering the urn.
“Alright, Buffy-dear,” Whistler sighed, slinging a couple of shovels over his shoulder. He started his short walk to Restfield, where their dearly departed was buried.
~~
Margaret wouldn't stop crying. It seemed something was causing her physical pain for the past two hours, and she'd been screaming so much that she was red in the face.
“I don' know wha's wrong,” Spike said helplessly. “She's never done this before.”
“Maybe the poor little bug is teething,” Clem said, sounding sympathetic. “I remember when I started to get my teeth. It was pretty tortuous.”
Spike went to the sink to wash his hands. He dried them before taking Margaret up into his arms, wiggling his little finger between her lips. She calmed, tears still slipping down her cheeks. Spike smiled as she began to gnash her gums against his finger.
“Looks like my li'l girl is gettin' ready for that peking duck,” he said with a grin.
“Mmmm mmm mmmm,” Margaret hummed around her father's finger, lifting her free hand to stroke her own ear.
“She's pretty good at this self-comforting thing, huh?” Clem remarked, raising his eyebrows.
Spike grinned excitedly. “Yeh. Been teaching her some signs, too. Dawn showed me on this website she and her mates used during some psychology project. Look-see.” He smiled down at Margaret, squeezing his fingers into a fist. “Does Emmie want milk? Milk, baby?”
Clem grinned when she closed her fist just as Spike did before getting a prepared bottle from the fridge. “She might probably like this since it's cold.”
Margaret suckled at the bottle, humming happily.
“Tryin' to teach her 'dad',” Spike murmured. “An' 'uncle'.”
Clem froze. “For the Watcher?”
Spike snorted. “No. For you, mate. You've been here ever since...” He glanced at him, then quickly averted his gaze. “Thanks, man.”
Clem smiled. “Don't mention it.”
“I gotta patrol. I won' be long,” the vampire murmured. He kissed Margaret on the head, smiling sadly when she reached for him. “I'll be back, sweet pea. Duty calls. You stay with Uncle Clement now.”
Margaret began to sniffle, attempting to sit up on the couch. Spike stared, amazed, as she managed to get up for a whole second before sliding onto her side.
“Sweetheart,” he cooed, picking her up. He turned to Clem, a wide grin on his face. “You see 'at, mate? She sat up!” He rained kisses all over her face. “F'only your mum could see you now, beautiful. She'd be so proud.” He looked out the window, then back at her daughter sadly. “I really have to go now, though, princess. I won' be but an hour.” His heart broke as he placed her in Clem's arms, watching her cry and reach for him.
Spike took a deep breath. “Be back soon,” he murmured, going out the door and not looking back.
On his walk over to the cemetery, Spike felt unsettled. The pit in his stomach grew uneasier still when he saw someone in the distance taking a shovel to a grave.
“Fuck. Wha's goin' on now?”
He growled, going at a full run when he realized where this bloke was digging. “Wha' th' fuck're you doing?” he hollered. “Stop! Stop!”
The man dropped the shovel, backing away with his hands raised in the air. “I need to get her out of there. I need to get her out of there before she suffocates.”
Spike's mind was whirling. “Wha' the fuck are you going on about?”
“Your friends,” the man spat. “They did a resurrection spell and didn't have the decency to help her out of her own grave. Now. Are you going to try to stop me or are you going to help?” he growled.
Spike couldn't believe the words that were coming out of this man's mouth. But his feet reacted while his mind was idle, and he caught a smaller shovel that the man grabbed from a nearby mausoleum and tossed to him.
“F'this is some sort of sick joke I'm goin' to tear your head from your neck,” Spike said, his voice shaking.
“Thanks for trusting me,” the other man said honestly, gasping when the shovel's head hit something solid. “Almost there.”
Then Spike heard it. Clawing from below. Without hesitation he jumped into the open grave. The man on top backed away as dirt flung from below. The vampire's mind was reeling as he stood precariously to one side of the pit and gripped the coffin's lid, throwing it open. He stared, shocked, as Buffy stared up at him, gasping, her fingernails broken from trying to break the lid open from inside. Dirt slid down the pit and rained down on her cheeks and lips.
“Buffy,” he moaned, tears escaping his eyes.
The Slayer took a shuddering breath before sobbing loudly.
When Spike chanced a look behind him to see if the man on the ground was still there, he was met with silence. His gaze returned to the Slayer as she squeaked and croaked, trying to speak.
“No. No, luv. You'll tear up your throat,” he whispered, easily plucking her from the grave. He had her cling to his back as he lifted them both out, then brought them to a water spout installed near the mausoleums. He turned the knob and the spigot groaned before spilling forth clean water. He let Buffy down and she crawled on her hands and knees to drink desperately. He watched the scene with watering eyes.
“How... Why...” Spike's chest was rising and falling, again, like when he'd found Margaret lying in the middle of his bed.
Buffy shivered, the front of her dress soaked.
He shook his head, knowing his questions would be useless to them both. “Let's get you someplace warm.”
She let him lift her again, her eyes unreadable and far away as he took them to Clem's at a full run.
Close to the apartment complex, Spike put her down on a bench before reaching into his pocket for a simple flip phone. “Jus' wait a minute there, luv,” he said, sitting beside her. He put the phone to his ear.
“Relax, Dad, she's asleep,” Clem deadpanned on the other line.
“Buffy's... Buffy's here,” Spike croaked, trying not to burst into tears.
There was a long silence. “What?” Clem asked, finally.
“Jus'... Please put Margaret in the guest room. She's not ready for that yet. They... They resurrected 'er, mate. M'comin' up in five.” Spike hung up the phone before immediately taking Buffy into his arms and bringing her in.
The bleach blond was silent as he took Buffy into Clem's place. Clem was just as quiet as he regarded the mute Slayer. The vampire busied himself with preparing hot water and clean rags, cleaning her nail-stripped fingertips and bloody knuckles. Buffy barely flinched.
“Fuck me,” Spike groaned. “I forgot to get you a clean shirt. I'll be right back, luv,” he said, rushing into the guest room. When he opened the door, light flooded into the room and into Margaret's uneasy features. Her face screwed up even more before she started hollering. “Shit! Shit. Emmie, not now...”
Clem rushed into the room, taking the baby into his arms and into his own bedroom as Spike chanced a grateful look to the loose-skinned demon and rifled through the drawers for a shirt.
When Clem turned around to get another bottle from the refrigerator, he stopped in his tracks to find the Slayer standing in the doorway, frowning at the child in his arms.
“What...” she croaked.
“Buffy?” Spike called down the short hall. He ran into Clem's room, gently taking her by the wrist. “S'too much. I'll explain later, luv. Come change into some clean clothes. Got a shirt and one of my boxers.” He led her to the small bathroom, watching the discomfort flit across her face as she regarded the tiny room. He took a shuddering breath. “Right. Let's go into the guest room. Don' mind the baby things.”
“Baby...” Buffy trailed off. She turned around, facing Clem's room. “The baby's still crying.”
Spike nodded. “I'll take care of it. Come on in an' change your clothes.” He felt like an (un)animated pinball as he rushed back into Clem's room as soon as Buffy made her way into the guest quarters. He plucked the whimpering Margaret from the demon's arms, smiling when she calmed in the presence of her father. “Gonna take care of the both of you,” he whispered.
Buffy reappeared in his shirt and boxers. Spike glanced up, swallowing hard.
“This... This is Margaret,” Spike said softly.
The Slayer's face was blank.
“We'll do full introductions later. Righ' now I'm sure you want to maybe sit down... Want some tea? Water?”
Buffy nodded quietly. “Water.” She bit her lip. “I'll... I'll get it.”
Spike glanced up only to watch her disappear into the small kitchen. He sat down with Margaret on the couch, placing his pinky into her mouth. He couldn't believe it when the Slayer sat down next to him, exuding warmth and humanity and... something that was not quite right.
Buffy sipped at her water, then put it down on the coffee table. What fingernails she did have were caked in dirt. “She? She's... She's pretty.”
Spike could only nod. “Gets it from 'er mum, she does,” he whispered. “Listen. I know you're already dealing with a lot. Bein' back and all. Not even an hour in, but. I figure things can't get worse, so... Introductions. Buffy, this is your... our daughter. S'a long story. Let me know when you're ready for it. I named her Margaret, after my--”
Buffy's answer was quiet, but shocking. She put her hand on his wrist. “I know.”
Spike gaped. “You... You know? Wha'?”
Her lip was split, and she wasn't that much paler than when he'd opened the coffin door. She parted her lips to take a sharp inhale of breath.
“M'bein' rude. Luv, drink some water. Relax. Tell me everythin' later. You went through just about everythin' tonight. M'sorry m'not as attentive as I should be. Your li'l one is a bit of a showstopper jus' like you are.”
Buffy was silent, but she continued to raise the cup of water to her lips.
Spike put Margaret down to bed before heating up Dawn's leftover Chinese for Buffy. He put it in front of her and she picked at it. He couldn't stop staring at her hands.
“Do you want wraps for these?” he asked softly, taking her small hand in his.
She shook her head. “What... Why am I here?” She flinched when the television came blaring on in Clem's room.
Spike stood, dimming the lights and closing Clem's door in attempt to make her comfortable. “I don' rightly know, pet. I was... I was patrolling when I saw someone diggin' at your grave. Don' know who he was, bu' he said that your friends had brought you back an' you were suffocatin' in your own coffin. Helped almos' mindlessly, I did. I really didn' wan' to believe it, especially with the way they'd lef...” He trailed off. She probably didn't want to be reminded just where they'd left her. If that man hadn't dug her out, she probably would've been more of a mess than she was now.
“How long?” she rasped.
Spike lowered his eyes. “One hundred forty-six. Well... One hundred forty-seven now, if t'day counts for anythin',” he whispered.
She'd grown quiet. Spike let her have her time of introvertedness, sitting on the couch with her for unspoken moral support. By the time the first rays of the sun were touching the horizon, he was nodding off. When he awoke a few hours later, he stood and looked in the guest room where Buffy was looking down into Margaret's crib.
“Five months now,” he said softly. “You... She... She turned five months a couple days ago.”
Buffy nodded. “I'm afraid to touch her.”
Spike stepped forward, into her personal space but careful not to touch her. Wanted her to know through his close presence that he was there for her but didn't mean to suffocate her. “Why?” he asked gently.
Buffy's eyes fell closed. “Every time I closed my eyes I could see her.” She reopened them. “And you. And Dawn. I thought maybe that was the way the dead dreamed. Happy images of the loved ones who'd survived them, never clarified as to whether they were real or...”
A warm feeling spread throughout his chest at her use of the word 'love'. He squashed it down immediately, knowing she was probably tired and unmindful of what was slipping from her lips.
“I only saw the three of you.” Buffy continued, her voice barely registering beyond a whisper. “Nothing about Giles or Willow or Xander.”
Spike snorted. “They're alive an' well, I assure you.”
She glanced at him, gently fingering Margaret's closed fist. The young girl opened it, closing her tiny fingers around Buffy's pointer. “And they...” She trailed off, staring at the child in front of her.
“Do they know?” Spike nodded. “Yeh. Just recently, actually. 'Bout a week ago.”
“And...”
“Warming up to the idea, I guess. Giles watches her an' Dawn for me on occasion. He said one time last week Willow had come home and given the li'l bit a scarf aroun' her wrist as a present or somethin', but didn' actually say anything 'bout it.” He shrugged. “Maybe a peace offerin'. I dunno.”
In the crib, Margaret began to stir.
“Go on,” Spike murmured, smiling at her. “Try mom on for size.”
Buffy reached out her scabbed hands. It seemed wrong to touch her, with her hands knowing such misery and death. She withdrew, holding her hands to her chest.
“Sorry,” Spike said softly. “I didn' mean t'push.”
Buffy shook her head.
Spike scratched the back of his head. “D'you want to go back home?”
The Slayer wrapped her arms around herself. “I don't even think I consider that my home anymore.”
The blond vampire raised his eyebrows.
“I...” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then turned to look at him. “I think I was in heaven.”
A dark look came over Spike's features. “I swear if I had this chip out I'd knock some sense into your so-called friends.”
Buffy's face was blank. “You mean you had no part in this?” There was no accusation in her words.
“No,” Spike said carefully. “If I'd've been made aware I think the only thing I'd be part of is a counterstrike to get 'em to stop the spell.” He clenched his fist, shaking as anger overtook him. “Luv... I'm sorry.”
She gave a slow nod. “Me, too.”
“Clem'll be getting up soon. M'gonna get s'more shuteye so I can patrol in the evenin'. You need me, jus' shake me awake. Leave me a note if you leave or somethin'... But, luv...”
She looked into his eyes.
“If you're feelin' bad, or wrong, or confused, or jus' need someone to talk to... Please... Please don' hesitate to wake me.”
She nodded, lowering her eyes. “Thank you,” she said, her voice soft.
~~
“I can' believe this,” Spike gasped, his eyes wide with shock and wonder.
He'd woken up only two minutes ago to find Margaret napping in her crib . . . And beside her with her back facing the open drop-side was the pale, gaunt figure of her mother, curled up around her.
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