[A/N: I’m struggling a bit here. I realize this story is getting long, but there’s no way I’m not going to let this progress any differently. Therefore, I’m going to be stopping this shortly and moving onto the second part, which is tentatively titled Origins: Resolutions. Okay, so its not very original but be thankful you’ve gotten a title at all. Usually I can’t come up with one. Not that any of you really care about that. Okay, so the title is a line from a song, The Chain by this band that had the single highest selling album of the 1970's and probably one of the highest ever. Kudos to whoever can figure it out. Quotes as attributed and disclaimers in full force and effect.]
Previously: Wesley shared Angel’s theory with Spike and Giles, who have yet to tell Buffy; Angel now knows Buffy is alive. And Willow has been asked to leave the house at Revello Drive.
48. Never break the chain
And thus the heart will break, yet brokenly live on.
George Gordon Byron, Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, canto iii, stanza 32
Only the broken-hearted know the truth about love.
Mason Cooley, City Aphorisms, 13th selection
Love is dead; let lover’s eyes,
locked in endless dreams,
the extremes of all extremes,
ope no more, for now love dies.
John Ford, The Broken Heart
It was an odd thing, watching a couple fall apart, seeing two lives separate. Especially when it wasn’t anticipated.
This wasn’t how she remembered her parents’ split up, there had at least been signs of that happening. The fights, the long nights listening to her mother cry, the missed dinners and family moments, all escalating until they weren’t a family, until her parents weren’t a couple. That end had almost been inevitable.
This was different. This was a zephyr, a blitzkrieg, a rapid strike, this was lightening in a bottle. One moment things were fixable and in the next heartbeat everything was broken.
And now she was the one watching as Willow despondently tried packing up her belongings, using the boxes Spike had emptied earlier. Tears were sliding down her cheeks, dripping off her chin, plopping indiscriminately onto clothes and papers.
Ordinarily, Dawn would have been moved to pity, moved enough to plead for some form of reprieve, a sort of forgiveness. But this wasn’t ordinary, not even by Sunnydale standards.
Willow paused, the flood of tears rendering further movement impossible. Burying her face in her hands, Willow sobbed broken heartedly.
Dawn was singularly unimpressed. If anything, her sympathies lay completely with the dark blond girl downstairs, who was sitting in the living room with a much calmed Buffy and a still agitated Spike.
By default, Dawn had been the one to stay with Willow while she packed what she could on such short notice. Xander was coming by after bowling, sometime around nine or so, and he would be taking Willow back to her parent’s house. And also by default, Dawn and Tara were going to be the only two home when he arrived, little over three hours from now.
Willow gathered herself and continued packing, while Dawn watched, a silent unforgiving sentinel.
******************************** ***************************************
It took him about an hour or so of soul searching before he reached a decision. It was two hours since he’d called Buffy’s house in Sunnydale and no one had called him back.
Darla was sleeping, her belly lumping up under his sheets. She was constantly uncomfortable, her body weighed down by more than the unlikely pregnancy. Guilt prayed on her mind, like rabid mice nibbling away on a round of cheese, the souled infant within infecting her.
He loomed over the bed, torn in two. He should stay, watching over Darla, guarding her and protecting the others from her. A part of him wanted to stay, wanted to be here for Darla, but an equal part of him was urging him to go to Sunnydale, to at least see Buffy, to prove to himself she was back in one piece.
Two hours now and still no word from Dawn. No call back from Buffy. His mind refused to believe that Wesley might be right, that Buffy wasn’t ready to see him, wasn’t ready to see anyone.
And Spike was there. No telling what kind of damage he was doing to the two girls.
He told himself that he wasn’t making this decision to go to Sunnydale now, because Spike was there, with two defenseless girls. He told himself he was going because he loved Buffy and needed to see her.
That’s what he told himself.
But he wasn’t entirely sure even he believed it.
Shackling Darla to the bed, Angel figured he could be in Sunnydale long before nine.
******************************** ****************************************
He eyed the girls warily. If he could, he’d take them both out, get them both away from the house while Willow packed up her things. He probably could get them out, if either of them gave an indication that they wanted away.
Neither did. In fact, sprawled on the couch as they were, neither one looked inclined to move. Shell shocked the pair was. He, on the other hand, was not.
After settling the pair on the couch, Spike had stalked into the kitchen needing something. He’d grabbed a drink, but that hadn’t worked. He needed to hit something, to pound away and work out some of the anger, work off the aggression. There was no way he’d be able to contain his temper until it was time to patrol.
Shortly after moving in, he’d set up some equipment, hanging a punching bag, things he could bash at will without fear of the chip firing.
Stepping back into the living room, he took in the scene before him. Buffy was curled up on the couch, her feet tucked underneath her, talking softly to Tara, who was now sitting on the floor next to her.
Girl stuff. Grinning a bit, he waited until they noticed him watching them. “Goin’ downstairs.”
Buffy caught on immediately nodding her understanding. She smiled knowingly going right back to her conversation with Tara.
When Spike was gone, Tara said, “Buffy, what’s he doing?”
She laughed a bit, saying, “he’s gonna beat on the bag for a bit. Work out a couple of things.”
“Oh. That makes sense, I guess.”
“He’s worried about us.” Buffy smiled again, seeing the confusion in the other girl’s eyes. “Doesn’t like to see either of us upset.”
“I think you mean you.” Tara was shaking her head, disagreeing with Buffy’s words.
“Nope. I mean us. He’ll probably never tell you this and would be all denial guy if you asked him, but he likes you.” At Tara’s disbelieving look, Buffy continued, “oh yeah, too late to get out now. You belong to William the Bloody, you’re one of his.”
Her eyes were twinkling so Tara at first thought Buffy was just teasing her, but when she looked closer she realized that Buffy wasn’t teasing her at all, she was just reacting to her own expression.
“Is that a good thing?” She couldn’t help herself.
“Well, it’s a thing.” Buffy was laughing now.
It was a good sound, Tara realized. Something that had been sadly lacking in the house for a long time.
At least now it wasn’t tinged with tears.
******************************** ****************************************
Giles was sitting in his office at the shop trying to ignore the ranting that was currently being conducted in the main area and it was proving difficult at best. Anya was typically unsympathetic, alternating between telling Xander to be quiet because he was going to drive away customers and then making snide remarks that went right over the boy’s head.
While he’d hoped for something different Giles was pragmatic enough to realize that something had gone wrong after he’d left the house. He was tempted to call, but had no doubts that the situation there was even more fraught with tension than the one here. Despite his inclination to stay out of their personal lives, he found himself increasingly acting as a surrogate father to nearly all of them, which was disconcerting. Giles never imagined he’d be the father of seven. Not that Spike really needed a father figure. Or Anya. But sometimes the others. . . . Giles sighed, realizing that, by the sound of Xander’s voice, he needed to either quiet the boy down or make him leave.
“I just don’t understand how Buffy would make Willow leave. Its got to be Spike’s influence. He’s going to keep us all away from her and then he’s going to . . . do stuff.” Xander was sitting at the table, while Anya was dusting around him. Neither one noticed his approach.
“Xander. Spike isn’t going to hurt Buffy.” Anya moved about the shop, fixing things, straightening up before the evening rush.
“How do we know that Ahn? We can’t trust him. He’s a vampire. Vampire equals non-trusty.” It was so very clear and black and white to Xander.
“I’ve met some vampires that were very trustworthy. In fact, some of them actually keep . . . ”
Xander cut her off, “not the point. This is Spike we’re talking about. Spike who tried to kill us.’
Anya was shaking her head, “Spike never tried to kill me.”
Giles spoke up, unwilling to let this go further, “you are forgetting Glory and everything he’s done this past summer.”
Both of them looked at him, Anya welcoming his interruption, while Xander’s expression narrowed on the older man. “How can you defend him? He’s a vampire. Aren’t you like sworn to remove them from existence?”
“I’m sworn to help the Slayer and any assistance I receive on behalf of the Slayer is welcome. From wherever it comes.” Giles moved further into the research area, reaching for a cup and setting the automatic teapot to boil. “Its not the first time a Watcher has accepted assistance from an unconventional ally. It isn’t even the first time I’ve done so.”
“Doesn’t change the fact that it’s Spike.” Xander was being stubborn for the sake of being stubborn.
“And you are blaming Spike for what now?” Giles wanted to bring this to a conclusion, end Xander’s diatribe.
“Willow has to move out.” His tone and expression were both petulant.
“This is Spike’s fault how?” Giles knew changing Xander’s opinion of Spike was going to be probably the single most difficult task of his life.
“Because . . . he’s Spike. Its got to be his fault.” The petulance was wearing very thin.
Anya caught Giles’ eye and rolled her own eyes at Xander’s childish insistence on blaming Spike.
“Has it occurred to you that perhaps this has nothing to do with Spike at all? And that this is mostly between Willow and Tara?”
Xander gaped at Giles. “Why would you say that?”
Anya’s voice was carefully modulated. “Willow’s using magic without worrying about the consequences. She’s not listening to anyone else. She’s playing with fire and she just doesn’t understand what she’s unleashed.”
Seeing that everything she’d just said went completely over her boyfriend’s head, Anya broke it down again. “She hurt people Xander. Stole something from Tara and Dawn.”
Xander thought for a minute, but his natural reluctance to distrust others surfaced. “How do we know that? I mean, Tara’s the one that keeps saying that. Dawnie doesn’t.”
“Dawn isn’t even talking to Willow.” Anya tossed that out over her shoulder.
“Oh.” There was nothing he could say to that. “Well okay. So why does Tara get to stay? She’s the one doing the breaking up. Maybe she should leave.”
Knowing what he did, Giles couldn’t let that go without comment. “Tara has no place else to go. No dorm rooms and no place else, Willow has a family she can go back to. Tara has none.”
He neglected to add that Buffy had all but insisted Tara stay, with the only alternative that the girls take separate bedrooms. Apparently that compromise hadn’t worked.
It was clear that Xander hadn’t thought of that and his opened mouth indicated as much. “Didn’t think of that.”
Sharing a look with Anya, Giles realized the same thought was in both their heads. Thinking and Xander were usually mutually exclusive things.
******************************** ***************************************
Tara had gone upstairs a little while ago, needing to relieve a headache that had sprung on her unexpectedly, so she was left to her own devices. She could hear the occasional noise from upstairs as Willow piled up boxes by the stairs and a thud beneath her when Spike gave a particularly good hit. Buffy didn’t feel like moving from the couch, but she also didn’t feel like feeling guilty if she didn’t go up to help Willow.
Instead she followed her feet. And obviously her feet missed Spike because that’s where they were leading the rest of her body. Silly feet. How could we miss Spike – he’s always around, doesn’t give us a chance to miss him. As quietly as she could, Buffy slipped down the basement stairs to watch him.
His movements were fluid, controlled, his sleek muscles flexing beneath marble white skin. Not bothering with taping up his hands or any other preparation, Spike had just started pounding away at the bag. Now, over an hour later, his movements hadn’t slowed or faltered or changed in rhythm. His proximity set off two sets of bells within her, the first was master vamp and the other was pure Spike.
She’d know him anywhere. In a dark hole at the ends of the earth, all senses stripped from her, she had a feeling she would know if he was near.
And she knew he’d know her too.
Just like he’d known she was here the minute she opened the basement door. But he’d kept on, working out his frustrations. He paused a moment, adjusting for the bag’s return swing and she finally spoke.
“Save some of that for patrol.”
“I’ll be fine, jus’ havin’ a go.”
“Its been a day.” Her sigh was deep and heartfelt.
“That it has love, an’ hours left.”
He didn’t need to be facing her to see the grimace. Deciding that now was as good a time as any, Spike grabbed the bag and said, “need to talk to you Buffy.”
“Gonna look at me while you do it?”
With a slight grin, Spike turned, saying “could look at you all day, kitten.”
She gave him a delightful blush as a reward.
“Giles had more news.”
“Figured that. What’s the 411?”
Shaking his head at her deliberate misuse of English, Spike stood in front of her as she sat on the stairs. “Darla’s back in LA.”
“No . . . oh god. Is everyone okay? Is Wes?” She was immediately on edge.
“Yeah. They’re all in one piece. Darla’s not in any condition to be torturing innocents.”
Spike heaved a sigh, drawing one of her hands up to his mouth for a quick kiss. “Seems Darla’s got a bit of a condition.”
“Is it fatal? Coz that would be of the good.”
“Dunno, love, not sure how this is goin’ t’ end. She’s pregnant. And before you ask, it’s his.”
“What? I thought . . . Spike, what’s going on?” She was confused and the confusion showed clearly on her face.
Threading their fingers together, Spike launched into the tale as best he could, leaving out nothing. Getting to the part about Angel’s theory, Spike wouldn’t look at her. This affected them both, if Angel’s theory had any weight at all, this was something they had to at least be aware of.
Buffy watched him throughout, knew when he was fighting his own nature to try and lie to her, to try and hide the truth. She was very aware of everything, the hard wood beneath her, the gentle swing of the punching bag, the smell of bleach and unwashed socks, her own heartbeat echoing in her ear. And him.
Standing over her, studiously avoiding her upturned gaze, Spike’s whole body was taut with tension. Her eyes traced his averted face, idly noting his clenched jaw. Dark lashes covered his crystal eyes and Buffy got a sudden vision of a baby’s face with his eyes. Her breathing hitched and her heart beat changed. Enough for him to notice, enough for him to steal a glance at her features, to tighten his grip on her hand. Mistaking the changes as triggering a different reaction, Spike was surprised when instead of tears he found an enigmatic look on her face and a faraway stare in her eyes.
“Buffy?”
“Angel got Darla pregnant.” She stopped, aware of just how strange that sounded. “After she came back from dust.”
“Yeah, sounds a bit dicey.”
“And I thought weird stuff only happened on the hellmouth.” Buffy’s words were laced with sarcasm.
“You’re not upset?” Spike’s voice was laced with perplexity.
“Should I be? Angel isn’t part of my life anymore. Hasn’t been for two years. Aside from the creepy factor, its no big thing.”
He peered at her, trying to sense any change in her that may have indicated she wasn’t being completely truthful. Far as he could sense she was fine.
“What ‘bout the other?”
“Angel’s theory?” Buffy looked straight at him, almost daring him to look away. “Is it a bad theory?”
“Opposite. Has the ring of truth.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
Sometimes he just didn’t understand this girl. He loved her deeply but he just couldn’t figure her out.
“I don’t think so, but you need to know.”
Buffy tugged him closer, whispering, “I don’t either.”
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