Good evening, All:)
Well, here it is. The last chapter of book four, save for the Epilogue. I
have had a truly rotten day, so I will write my extensive thank yous (not
that extensive, but a lot) on Sunday with the last bit. But, hopefully,
this chapter will answer a lot of open questions and resolve much of the
story. I still have one or two *major* surprises up my sleeve, but I
suppose you will have to wait for the weekend. :::: insert evil grin
here:::
To those of you who have stayed with me through this series, thank you. You
are everything to me right now. Your kind words and thoughtful feedback are
much appreciated. Please keep the comments coming. They mean the world to
me.
Without further ado.... Blink.
Cheery Vibes*,
Nimue "As sick as it sounds, in my little head, there's a little Sunnydale, and a widdle Buffy, and a widdle Spike, and Spike wubs Buffy."
James Marsters 14 July 2002
Title: Blink (The Evil Within - Chapter 26)
Author: Nimue
Rating: PG -13
Pairing Buffy/Spike. Most major characters included.
Feedback: Yes, please
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, UPN, Fox... Just Borrowing. (with, of course, the exception of Emma, who belongs to Buffy and Spike)
Summary: Buffy struggles to recover, but doesn't seem to succeed. Spike begins to realize that she's just passing through. That she won't stay with him much longer. Giles finds Anya a safe place to hide. Dawn crumbles under the weight of the stress, but manages to gain strength from Spike. Buffy tells Spike everything and all their lives change in the blink of an eye.
Blink
The door to Emma's room swung softly open. Pale light from the hall followed the doctor into the room. Neither Cyrus nor Spike had realized that they had been sitting in darkness until the glow of artificial sunlight crept into the space. The two men stood politely to address her.
They had been sitting there in the darkness, talking about what had happened after Spike had left. About Giles. About Anya. About their allies and their enemies and who had been lost. It had been a difficult tale. One that Cyrus did not enjoy recounting. One that Spike dreaded retelling to Buffy when she recovered. If she recovered.
Dawn had brought Emma back to Spike while they waited. The little girl was washed and fed and dressed in yellow footie pajamas with a small lamb over the heart. She was near limp with fatigue. Spike had held her, rocking her, until she stepped over the edge into dreamland. He thought it only fair to let her rest in her own bed. Pony slept protectively by the crib, in the same spot in which he'd been lying when all of this started.
"She was in the In Between far too long," Takina said quietly. Spike closed his eyes, swallowing. Trying to hold himself together. "Her body has been ravaged. It is hard to tell without x-rays, but she has at least three broken ribs, possibly her collarbone. Her neck is thankfully just sprained, but the wounds of an Octycyrax..."
"Is she coming back?" Spike asked, finally opening his eyes to question the woman.
"Were she anyone but the Slayer, I would say, categorically, no. But as she *is*, coupled with the fact that she has been asking for you..."
Spike jerked back involuntarily, surprise rendering him temporarily senseless. "She's awake?"
"Not very coherent and the wounds to her throat are making it quite hard for her to speak, but.." Takina warned, trying to prepare the Vampire for what would not be an easy sight.
Spike glanced at Cyrus, then at Emma. "Go to her," Cyrus whispered, softly smiling. "Don't disturb the girl. I'll watch after her."
The Vampire hesitated, not wanting to leave Emma again, but not wanting to wake her either. Cyrus had proven himself an ally tonight. "Don't leave her alone," Spike commanded, although it came across as more of a plea.
"I will not," Cyrus answered, his voice quiet and compassionate.
Spike bolted towards the door. Takina grabbed his arm as he passed. He stopped, turning back towards her. "Be careful with her," she whispered. "She is more ill than you might expect. Even for the Slayer, this will not be easy. I will be back to check on her tomorrow. Do you mind if I check over the child?"
Spike nodded. "Please. Thank you."
She smiled, feeling his impatience. "Go to her."
*****
The room was dark save for the soft glow of the table lamp. Her eyes were shut tight as he walked through the door, but he could sense her now. Feel her everywhere. She stirred slightly, as the door clicked shut. He padded toward her, barefoot, lowering himself to the bed. Trying not to disturb her.
Slowly, her hand moved, then stretched towards him. Fingers flexing and unflexing, beaconing him to her side. Spike bit back tears and stretched out next to her, grabbing her hand, feeling the glorious sensation of her fingers slipping through his. Gently, he laid his head next to hers, propped on an elbow, his nose pressed to her cheek.
"Spike?" Buffy's voice had a burned, raspy tone to it. Even with the change, it was music. The tears slid down his face.
"Right here, Pet," he whispered, nuzzling her cheek.
"Am I alive?" She coughed slightly, and then settled back to the pillow.
"Yes," he answered, raining kisses as soft as butterfly wings along her hairline.
"Good," she whispered quietly, trying to smile. Her eyes flickered open under bruised eyelids. Perfect, sparkling green eyes stared up at him. Naked eyes that led him back to her. Her mind. Her soul.
"You're safe now, Love," Spike said quietly, trying to convince himself it was truth. She blinked slowly up at him.
"It hurts." Buffy tried not to wince, but every twitch made her whole body ache.
"I know, Love," he replied, cursing the fact that he was helpless. "I will do anything I can to make it better."
"It's kinda OK, " her choked voice answered, attempting another smile. "Reminds me I'm here. The real here."
Spike was silent for a long moment, studying her. "Do you remember anything? "Bout the In Between? I mean, I know I went there and I know I saw you and that you were alright, but.."
"It's more a sense than a memory," she completed.
"Yeah," Spike agreed, smiling softly and touching her cheek.
"I know," she began, stopping, coughing. Spike lifted her shoulders, helping her to catch her breath. "Slowly, Buffy. We can talk later."
"I.. I'm OK," she countered, panting. "I know I was there and I remember feeling... Safe... and knowing I needed to come back but I can't..." Her words were interrupted by a bout of coughing. "I can't remember everything."
"S'alright, Pet," he whispered, stroking her hair and settling her against his chest. "You're here now."
Suddenly she tensed, her body becoming as tight as wire. "Emma. Emma. Is she...?"
"Shh," Spike comforted, letting his hands trail down her arms. "She's sound asleep in the next room, Pet. Perfect as the day she was born."
Buffy relaxed, swallowing, then began coughing anew. Spike held her wracked body until she pulled herself away, leaning over the bed and emptying herself into a waste bin. He leaned forward, startled, steadying her trembling shoulders. Terror slid through his veins like iced fire as she wretched, seizing beneath him. All he could do was pull her pretty hair behind her and hold her as she cried and shook and hung her head over the side of the bed.
This wasn't right, Spike thought. Slayer. She should be halfway healed by now.
Spike buried his fear, tending to her until she was empty and finally settled, flopping down onto the pillows in exhaustion. He grabbed water from the table and slowly fed it to her until she could no longer drink. She shook, her hand raised to his, hanging on for her life.
"It hurts," Buffy whispered again. "Everything."
"I'll make it alright, Love." Spike pulled her against him, closing his eyes. Her body was limp on his chest. He buried his face in her hair, smelling her shampoo and the soft scent of vanilla. Slowly, he let himself slip into her mind, feeling the exquisite torture of her wounds, her illness. He swallowed, trying to fathom it all, then pulled her closer, sharing it. Taking as much of her pain as he could.
*****
Giles opened the door to a small cottage. They were still in England, but beyond that, all Anya knew was that she was near a stream, in a wood, and it was exactly what she had needed.
He stepped through the door, tossing the keys to a small side table. Anya followed him in, looking around the space. It was quaint, small, but it had everything that one needed. Bedroom, bathroom, kitchen, fireplace, furniture, blankets, food.
"I used to come here quite often," Giles said, shutting the door. "When I was trying to work through... problems."
"It's nice," Anya said, smiling softly. Giles almost blushed at the girlish look on her face. He'd never noticed how charming she could be.
"It's been in my family for years. You're welcome to stay here as long as you like," Giles continued, closing the door behind him and making his way into the main room.
Anya sat down on the couch. It was chilly. Damp. Early November in the English Countryside. As if reading her mind, Giles crouched upon the hearth and began to build a fire.
"Thank you," Anya said quietly. "For this."
Giles turned to her, shocked. "Anya, I owe you..."
"You don't owe me anything," she interrupted. "We both did what we had to do."
Giles returned his attention to building the fire, setting it ablaze with old newspaper. "I... I'm not certain what to say to you, Anya. What you did was... amazingly selfless."
"It was, wasn't it?" Anya replied, pulling her legs under her in an almost coltish display. She chirped her reply, justifiably proud of her decision.
"It was," he repeated, smiling at her. Giles fell quiet, watching her. "You said that you had made a deal."
"With D'Hoffryn," Anya answered. "If I died, then Emma would be alright. He told me he could save me. Kind of."
"If you became a demon again," Giles said softly.
"Pretty much sums it up," Anya said. Her hands nervously flitted about her collar. "But he said I could keep my human body. So I get to have a heartbeat and I can still have babies."
Giles blushed, turning towards the fire.
"And he let me keep my soul," she dropped like an anvil from a cliff.
Giles' head spun, his neck nearly snapping in his haste to face her. "What?"
"My soul. I still have it. Unless it gets in the way of vengeance," Anya answered, as if it were not in the least bit important.
"So, that's why you didn't kill Quentin," he gasped, the pieces suddenly falling together in his mind.
"A girl can wreak vengeance without all of the death," Anya said. "I think."
Giles chuckled. "Even so. It was a brave thing that you did."
It was Anya's turn to blush. The room fell silent, save for the crackling fire. "We should call them." Giles finally said, standing. She grabbed his wrist, stopping him short, her eyes pleading with his.
Xander. He would never understand. Never accept this. She wasn't ready yet. "Could you just tell them you don't know what happened to me? I know it's a lie, but I'm just... I can't..." Tears pooled behind her eyes.
Giles softened, watching her. "Alright. I owe you that much."
He began towards the kitchen, where an old dial phone hung on the wall. "Rupert?" Anya called after him.
"Yes, Anya?" It was almost heartbreaking to look at her. Something shattered inside the man as he studied her face. What she had done had showed him what was truly inside of her. Demon or not.
"Can I ask you one other favour?" She was biting her lip as if distracting herself from tears.
"Yes. Of course," he answered, feeling a deep obligation and a sense of affection for the girl.
"Will you stay here... with me... just a little while?" She was teary, rolled in a ball. Almost childlike. Afraid of what she was. Who she might become. He couldn't leave her alone like that.
"Of course," Giles repeated. "For as long as you like."
*****
It had been a torturously long night. Buffy was exhausted, but could only sleep in fits and starts. Between the broken bones, raging wounds and bouts of coughing and vomiting, she barely rested at all. Spike didn't leave her side, staying tucked neatly inside her mind and taking what pain he could for her. His body ached and his head pounded, but it was all her body would give to him. The One could only help her so much.
Finally, Buffy fell into a deep sleep, just before dawn. Not the pleasant exhaustion after a good night of rough and tumble, but the fevered, empty unconsciousness of giving up. Spike got up, restless. This wasn't right. It shouldn't be like this, he thought. The aching and burning of healing bones and bruises he could accept, but the rest... The poison of the demon. It shouldn't still be having this effect on the likes of the Slayer.
Spike cleaned up the room, emptying the waste bin, straightening the pile of blankets that she'd craved and discarded a hundred times over the night. He refilled the pitcher of water next to the bed, pouring her a fresh glass. Nervous energy fueled him until he finally forced himself to sit at the edge of the bed, wiping her brow with a washcloth. He chuckled at himself. Even in this state, she was the most beautiful creature he'd seen.
He cocked his head, leaning his face towards hers. The circular marks left by the demon's barbs were fading to a dull purple. The bruises were yellowing. Fading even from last night. Her collarbone and her ribs were knitting, as was the odd bend in her ankle. Her face was ghostly white, but the small scars were healing over at an alarming rate.
So why?
Why did it feel like he was losing her again?
Spike laid down again, pulling her tiny, exhausted body against him. She moaned softly and tried to tuck in closer. "I'm here, Pet. Every day." She settled again into a dreamless sleep.
*****
"Spike?" A quiet voice said from the door. He lifted his head, blinking at the soft light coming in from the hall. He'd fallen asleep once she rested. He had no idea how long he'd been out.
"Dawn?" His sleepy voice grumbled.
"The doctor is here to check on Buffy." Somehow he knew that was not all she needed.
"You can send her up," he croaked, trying to shake the sleep from his mind.
"We... um.. we need food," Dawn said quietly. "Do you want to go to the store?"
Odd question, Spike thought. Not the top of his priority list. "Not really, Niblet. Need to stay with your sis. Can one of the others take you?" Dawn stood in the door. He could see the tears begin to dribble from her eyes.
"I... I really need to get out of the house for a minute." Panic was in her voice. Need.
Spike sat, blinking at her. "You alright?"
"I just need to get outside. I need..." She began to sob noiselessly. Spike got up carefully, walking over to her and pulled her face up to meet his.
"Where is everyone, Love?" His eyes were compassionate. Strong.
"Xander left to take the doctor home last night and Cyrus told Willow and Tara and me about Anya." She swallowed, closing her eyes. "And Giles."
"Oh, God. Niblet, I should have been the one to tell you," Spike commented, wrapping his arm around her.
"Well..." she whispered, almost too quietly to hear. "Then Giles called."
"He what?" Spike gasped. "He's alive?"
"Yeah," Dawn answered, smiling just slightly behind her tears. "But Anya..."
"I know, Pet," Spike comforted. "It shouldn't have been that way."
Dawn was quiet. "When Xander came back, Willow went with Cyrus to break it to him somewhere other than here. In case he..." Spike closed his eyes, remembering the rage he felt at losing Buffy. At almost losing her again.
"Probably for the best, Nibs," he breathed, opening his eyes.
"I... I know. But I just can't stay... trapped... with all this death and..." Dawn stuttered, tears sliding down her face. Spike absently wiped her cheek with the back of his hand, and then looked back over at Buffy. She would want this.
"Doc's here then?" He asked, catching Dawn's eyes with his.
"She's waiting downstairs," Dawn answered. "Tara is with Emma."
"Right then. Why don't you bring up the doctor and ask Tara if she'd mind staying with Buffy. I'm sure the mite could use some air as well."
Dawn smiled softly. "Thank you."
He nodded back at her, turning her to the door and patting her shoulder. "Only for a few minutes, Pet."
*****
It was a pretty afternoon. Hard to believe the world could be so green and sunny when everything else seemed so dark. Dawn was quiet, carrying two paper grocery bags in her arms. Spike had offered, but Emma protested, clinging to her father, tiny arms wrapped tightly around his neck. The teenager didn't complain. She was glad for the air. And the company. And to have anything in the fridge other than blood.
"How do you think Xander is taking it?" Dawn finally asked, keeping stride with Spike. He was trying to be patient, but his stride grew faster with each step towards home.
"Doubtlessly, not well," Spike responded, letting his cheek brush Emma's. The little girl sighed, plopping her head down to his shoulder. Holding her was comfort. A port in the storm. "It's never easy to lose someone."
"I know," Dawn replied solemnly. "I miss mom."
Spike was quiet, a whisper of a memory itching his mind. "I'd wager your mum is someplace... kinder. She'd deserve that, Joyce. Probably watching us all dancing round defending the planet."
Dawn giggled. "I think she'd be proud of you, Spike."
Spike looked at the girl, head tilted as much as Emma's grip would allow. "Why d'you say that?"
"I know it had to be hard. Being a Vampire and all and then... I don't know. Overcoming yourself? Not to mention, loving Buffy before she... accepted it. She must have been hard to love."
"Easiest in the world, Pet," Spike answered, smiling. "Everything about her..."
"I know how you feel," Dawn interrupted, smiling. He could be such a wuss, but somewhere, it was the nicest thing to hear. "I just hope someone will love me like that."
Spike was quiet. "Well, I suppose now that you've grown out of that God awful whining..."
Dawn giggled again. Good, Spike thought. Laughter being the best medicine and all that rubbish. "Was I really that bad?" She asked, crinkling her nose.
"Nightmarish," he teased, shaking his head with disgust. "But you've done a bit of growing up since then."
"Funny," she quipped, "I was about to say the same thing about you."
Touché, Spike thought.
Dawn smiled at him. But then her thoughts got the best of her, making her tense, her tone becoming serious. "Do you think Buffy'll be OK? I mean, it seems... different... this time. Like she shouldn't be so..."
"Ill," Spike completed, turning back towards Dawn.
"You've noticed too?" Dawn crinkled her nose again. It must be a genetic trait.
"Yeah," Spike answered softly. Dawn may have grown up, but she didn't need a healthy dose of Spike paranoia, nor did the tot need to hear her dad say that he thinks her mum might not ever get well. Never know how much she understands. "But she's the Slayer. Sure she'll be up and 'noying us in no time flat."
"You think?" Dawn asked hesitantly.
"I do."
He lied.
They'd lost enough already.
The three of them made it back to the house, climbing the stairs with their cargo. Even from the outside, the house felt dark and serious. Solemn. What I wouldn't do for a little happiness, Spike thought nearly smacking himself for such a poncy idea. But it was true. Laughter. Something to make them feel that life wasn't all struggles and darkness.
Dawn waited while Spike fished the keys from his pocket and unlocked the door. As soon as it swung open, she stepped inside, feeling the world change around her. It was fear. Slowly, the girl headed for the kitchen, stopping half way to turn back and look at Spike.
"You going back up with Buffy?" She asked, already knowing the answer.
"Yeah, he answered, latching the door behind him.
"You really think that she'll be alright?" Dawn asked, shifting the bags in her arms.
Spike was quiet, his heart sinking. Emma's breath blew warm against his neck. "She has to be, Nibs."
*****
The doctor and Tara were talking in hushed whispers, standing just outside the bedroom door. Their faces were serious. Solemn. Spike didn't like the looks of the conference at all. He plodded up the stairs, almost dreading what they might have to say. Emma muttered something Spike couldn't decipher and clung tighter to his neck.
"Ladies," he said politely as he reached the top of the stairs. The women turned, startled. "Everything alright?"
Takina walked towards him, her face unreadable. "I was just leaving."
"Wait a minute," Spike commanded, extending his arm out to stop her. She paused, just before hitting his outstretched hand. "What aren't you telling me?"
Takina looked at him with stormy, blue eyes. "Your mate is ill. You should go to her. I will return in a few days to check on her. Now, if you would not mind?" Her voice was crisp, but never ventured even close to impolite. Spike dropped his hand letting her pass. He barely even heard her descend the stairs to leave.
Slowly, Spike walked towards Tara. The woman looked as if she were caught in headlights. "Please tell me what's going on." he pleaded, frustration and fear pounding through his veins.
Tara smiled nervously. "Spike, I... I don't know. Takina just showed me how to make the salves so they would take the pain away a little more effectively. But she didn't.... I don't know anything."
She was hiding something. Spike could read her eyes almost as well as Buffy's. But he also knew she wouldn't budge. "Is she awake?" Spike sighed, giving up.
"Yeah. I think so. We helped her take a bath. Put clothes on. It.. it's what she wanted. I mean, how do you argue when..." Tara stuttered, nervous as if she were being interrogated.
"Alright," Spike whispered. "Need to talk to her. Need to help her."
"Why...why don't you let me take Emma? Buffy's still really tired and really sick. I think she needs some rest." Her voice wavered. Spike was not sure why.
Spike looked at the little girl on his shoulder. "Bebe," Emma whispered, letting go of her grip.
"That's right, Mite. You're the baby," he said softly, kissing her nose. Tara smiled warmly as the child almost toppled backwards from Spike's arms to hers. He brushed Emma's hair from her face.
"You be alright, Mite?" Spike asked, looking the little girl in the eyes.
The baby smiled. "Right Mite."
Spike chuckled, tousling her hair and walking into the bedroom.
*****
His nerves were shot. The women were hiding something. Buffy. He knew it deep in his bones. Last night. Something wrong. She was healing, but still so ill. Something horribly wrong. God, she can't die, he thought.
Spike paused near the bed, trapped by panic. The light blazed beneath the bathroom door. He could hear her wretch and then the scream of the pipes as she flushed the toilet. Please God, not now. I need her. Anything you ask.
He heard the sound of the sink running. Of Buffy brushing her teeth. Spike was paralyzed. Afraid to look at her and see it. Know it. Know that she was just passing through. That she was stopping long enough to say goodbye again. His heart thudded against his ribs. Can't do this. Can't.
A thump in the bathroom sent him sprinting towards the door. He threw it open. Buffy was on the floor, leaned against the cabinets. Her eyes were wide and woozy. "Buffy?" Spike gasped, running over to her.
"M'OK," she muttered. "Just... whoa... dizzy." Her voice still had a little of the burned sound, but it was clearer. More like Buffy.
She was dressed now in sweatpants and a tank top, her damp hair curling round her pretty face. The scars were just white blotches now. The bruises merely shadows on her skin. "Let me help you," Spike pleaded as her eyes tried to focus. She wanted to fight hut the world was spinning far too fast to even know where to begin.
Spike slid a hand under her knees, the other behind her back, and lifted her effortlessly. Buffy looked at him, focusing on his perfect, endless blue eyes. They were tired and wet. He looked as if he were trying hard not to sob. Softly, he sat her on the edge of the bed, sitting down next to her, his hip touching hers, his arm around her waist to steady her. She could not tear herself from his wide, terrified eyes.
"Spike, I'm alright," Buffy whispered, letting her hand settle on his thigh. Her head tipped over to rest on his shoulder.
"You aren't, Buffy." he answered, tears slipping out. "I know there's something else." His voice was shaky, choked with sadness. "You're healing but you're too weak, Love. And I'm helpless. God..." Spike broke into fitful sobs, his head buried in her damp hair. "I'm so helpless. I can't lose you again and I can't fix this. I'm so.."
"Spike," she interrupted, fighting off her own tears, feeling his heart breaking against her. She lifted her head from his shoulder, turning his tortured, beautiful face towards hers. "I'm not dying."
"Please, Pet. Please don't lie to me. I sit here and watch you and you're so *weak* and I can't do a *bloody* thing to..."
"Spike," she whispered again, her fingers tracing his cheekbones, his jaw. His skin was damp and perfect. His eyes so sad and beautiful. "I'm not lying to you. I *am* weak, but I'll be fine. I'm getting better."
"Buffy, Love, please. I can't..." The weight of a thousand worlds were in those eyes. He was begging her, pleading with her not to go, but preparing himself for the worst. His thoughts were like lead in her mind.
She leaned to him, pressing her lips softly to his until he relaxed and the tumble of thoughts stopped. Buffy pulled just far enough away to trap his gaze. She found his hand and held it, letting her fingers weave through his, her palm to the back of his hand. He stared at her, afraid. Feeling the tremble of her weakness against his skin.
Buffy never took his eyes from his. She wanted to watch. Wanted to know what his mind would think, what his heart would say. She lifted his hand from his thigh gently. He let her move him like a puppet, enchanted by the softness of her eyes. The perfect, dancing green eyes that he drown in on first gaze.
It didn't register. At least not at first, as she brought his hand to her, pushing up her shirt and sliding their joined fingers across the warm skin of her belly. She held him there a moment, watching. Feeling his skin touching hers. Feeling, finally, whole again. Studying the curious expression on his face.
The puzzle fell together in the blink of an eye. The terror in his eyes, the sadness, was lifted like a dark curtain and his hand moved just barely against the soft, smoothness of her stomach. His head titled, eyes still caught in hers. Questioning her. Knowing the answer when she smiled.
"A.. are you sure?" Spike stuttered, a shocked little slyness playing across his face.
Buffy nodded. "Hence the puke fest."
"It wasn't like that last time," he said, still unsure that this was it. This was the answer. Afraid to believe in anything but fear.
"Emma was a little easier. This one feels like making me work a little harder, that's all. I think this is normal," she said, still smiling.
"H...how?" Spike asked, accepting that she knew. But how could he miss it? Had he been too afraid of losing her to sense it?
Buffy chuckled. "You see, there are these little birds and then these bees and they have hot monkey love in secluded little crypts until...."
Spike closed his eyes, shaking his head, still nagged by disbelief. "But, I thought..."
Buffy became serious again, looking at the fear and joy fighting it out behind his eyes. "We all did," she answered. "Emma was supposed to be our one chance. But I guess they changed the rules," she whispered, feeling his hand move again against her, as if trying to be sure the baby was really there.
He looked at her, confused, but his eyes betraying him. They danced, sparkling, explaining everything for which his mouth could not find words. A brief moment of concern passed back across his face. "Another prophesy?" Spike asked, his voice just the slightest bit weary. Would be nice to know that the Powers weren't just using them to produce the arm that would fight the forces of evil.
Buffy crinkled her nose making him smile. "I'm thinking just a kid kinda kid."
"I like that thought," Spike mused, moving closer to her. She could feel his breath against her face.
"Do you?" She questioned. "Really?" Her mouth was a hair's breadth from his.
"I do," he answered, letting his lips skim hers. "Very much."
"Are you sure?" Every word blew against his mouth, over his tongue, warming him. He could feel her everywhere again. Everything fell contentedly into place.
"Positive, Pet," Spike answered, pulling her closer. Yes. He could honestly say that everything inside of him was glad. Glad that he had been wrong. Glad that she was alright. Glad that they had another chance. Glad to be a father. Once again. His mouth searched hers, his hand still protectively across her belly.
"I love you," he whispered, catching her lower lip and letting it slide along his, savouring her.
"Always," she answered, kissing him again, her free hand tangled in his hair.
"Every day," Spike finished, finding her lips once again and letting himself drown in her.
The house had needed a bit of Happiness. Sometimes you get what you wish for.
End Book Four. - Epilogue to follow.
Nimue "As sick as it sounds, in my little head, there's a little Sunnydale, and a widdle Buffy, and a widdle Spike, and Spike wubs Buffy."
James Marsters 14 July 2002
Title: Blink (The Evil Within - Chapter 26)
Author: Nimue
Rating: PG -13
Pairing Buffy/Spike. Most major characters included.
Feedback: Yes, please
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, UPN, Fox... Just Borrowing. (with, of course, the exception of Emma, who belongs to Buffy and Spike)
Summary: Buffy struggles to recover, but doesn't seem to succeed. Spike begins to realize that she's just passing through. That she won't stay with him much longer. Giles finds Anya a safe place to hide. Dawn crumbles under the weight of the stress, but manages to gain strength from Spike. Buffy tells Spike everything and all their lives change in the blink of an eye.
Blink
The door to Emma's room swung softly open. Pale light from the hall followed the doctor into the room. Neither Cyrus nor Spike had realized that they had been sitting in darkness until the glow of artificial sunlight crept into the space. The two men stood politely to address her.
They had been sitting there in the darkness, talking about what had happened after Spike had left. About Giles. About Anya. About their allies and their enemies and who had been lost. It had been a difficult tale. One that Cyrus did not enjoy recounting. One that Spike dreaded retelling to Buffy when she recovered. If she recovered.
Dawn had brought Emma back to Spike while they waited. The little girl was washed and fed and dressed in yellow footie pajamas with a small lamb over the heart. She was near limp with fatigue. Spike had held her, rocking her, until she stepped over the edge into dreamland. He thought it only fair to let her rest in her own bed. Pony slept protectively by the crib, in the same spot in which he'd been lying when all of this started.
"She was in the In Between far too long," Takina said quietly. Spike closed his eyes, swallowing. Trying to hold himself together. "Her body has been ravaged. It is hard to tell without x-rays, but she has at least three broken ribs, possibly her collarbone. Her neck is thankfully just sprained, but the wounds of an Octycyrax..."
"Is she coming back?" Spike asked, finally opening his eyes to question the woman.
"Were she anyone but the Slayer, I would say, categorically, no. But as she *is*, coupled with the fact that she has been asking for you..."
Spike jerked back involuntarily, surprise rendering him temporarily senseless. "She's awake?"
"Not very coherent and the wounds to her throat are making it quite hard for her to speak, but.." Takina warned, trying to prepare the Vampire for what would not be an easy sight.
Spike glanced at Cyrus, then at Emma. "Go to her," Cyrus whispered, softly smiling. "Don't disturb the girl. I'll watch after her."
The Vampire hesitated, not wanting to leave Emma again, but not wanting to wake her either. Cyrus had proven himself an ally tonight. "Don't leave her alone," Spike commanded, although it came across as more of a plea.
"I will not," Cyrus answered, his voice quiet and compassionate.
Spike bolted towards the door. Takina grabbed his arm as he passed. He stopped, turning back towards her. "Be careful with her," she whispered. "She is more ill than you might expect. Even for the Slayer, this will not be easy. I will be back to check on her tomorrow. Do you mind if I check over the child?"
Spike nodded. "Please. Thank you."
She smiled, feeling his impatience. "Go to her."
*****
The room was dark save for the soft glow of the table lamp. Her eyes were shut tight as he walked through the door, but he could sense her now. Feel her everywhere. She stirred slightly, as the door clicked shut. He padded toward her, barefoot, lowering himself to the bed. Trying not to disturb her.
Slowly, her hand moved, then stretched towards him. Fingers flexing and unflexing, beaconing him to her side. Spike bit back tears and stretched out next to her, grabbing her hand, feeling the glorious sensation of her fingers slipping through his. Gently, he laid his head next to hers, propped on an elbow, his nose pressed to her cheek.
"Spike?" Buffy's voice had a burned, raspy tone to it. Even with the change, it was music. The tears slid down his face.
"Right here, Pet," he whispered, nuzzling her cheek.
"Am I alive?" She coughed slightly, and then settled back to the pillow.
"Yes," he answered, raining kisses as soft as butterfly wings along her hairline.
"Good," she whispered quietly, trying to smile. Her eyes flickered open under bruised eyelids. Perfect, sparkling green eyes stared up at him. Naked eyes that led him back to her. Her mind. Her soul.
"You're safe now, Love," Spike said quietly, trying to convince himself it was truth. She blinked slowly up at him.
"It hurts." Buffy tried not to wince, but every twitch made her whole body ache.
"I know, Love," he replied, cursing the fact that he was helpless. "I will do anything I can to make it better."
"It's kinda OK, " her choked voice answered, attempting another smile. "Reminds me I'm here. The real here."
Spike was silent for a long moment, studying her. "Do you remember anything? "Bout the In Between? I mean, I know I went there and I know I saw you and that you were alright, but.."
"It's more a sense than a memory," she completed.
"Yeah," Spike agreed, smiling softly and touching her cheek.
"I know," she began, stopping, coughing. Spike lifted her shoulders, helping her to catch her breath. "Slowly, Buffy. We can talk later."
"I.. I'm OK," she countered, panting. "I know I was there and I remember feeling... Safe... and knowing I needed to come back but I can't..." Her words were interrupted by a bout of coughing. "I can't remember everything."
"S'alright, Pet," he whispered, stroking her hair and settling her against his chest. "You're here now."
Suddenly she tensed, her body becoming as tight as wire. "Emma. Emma. Is she...?"
"Shh," Spike comforted, letting his hands trail down her arms. "She's sound asleep in the next room, Pet. Perfect as the day she was born."
Buffy relaxed, swallowing, then began coughing anew. Spike held her wracked body until she pulled herself away, leaning over the bed and emptying herself into a waste bin. He leaned forward, startled, steadying her trembling shoulders. Terror slid through his veins like iced fire as she wretched, seizing beneath him. All he could do was pull her pretty hair behind her and hold her as she cried and shook and hung her head over the side of the bed.
This wasn't right, Spike thought. Slayer. She should be halfway healed by now.
Spike buried his fear, tending to her until she was empty and finally settled, flopping down onto the pillows in exhaustion. He grabbed water from the table and slowly fed it to her until she could no longer drink. She shook, her hand raised to his, hanging on for her life.
"It hurts," Buffy whispered again. "Everything."
"I'll make it alright, Love." Spike pulled her against him, closing his eyes. Her body was limp on his chest. He buried his face in her hair, smelling her shampoo and the soft scent of vanilla. Slowly, he let himself slip into her mind, feeling the exquisite torture of her wounds, her illness. He swallowed, trying to fathom it all, then pulled her closer, sharing it. Taking as much of her pain as he could.
*****
Giles opened the door to a small cottage. They were still in England, but beyond that, all Anya knew was that she was near a stream, in a wood, and it was exactly what she had needed.
He stepped through the door, tossing the keys to a small side table. Anya followed him in, looking around the space. It was quaint, small, but it had everything that one needed. Bedroom, bathroom, kitchen, fireplace, furniture, blankets, food.
"I used to come here quite often," Giles said, shutting the door. "When I was trying to work through... problems."
"It's nice," Anya said, smiling softly. Giles almost blushed at the girlish look on her face. He'd never noticed how charming she could be.
"It's been in my family for years. You're welcome to stay here as long as you like," Giles continued, closing the door behind him and making his way into the main room.
Anya sat down on the couch. It was chilly. Damp. Early November in the English Countryside. As if reading her mind, Giles crouched upon the hearth and began to build a fire.
"Thank you," Anya said quietly. "For this."
Giles turned to her, shocked. "Anya, I owe you..."
"You don't owe me anything," she interrupted. "We both did what we had to do."
Giles returned his attention to building the fire, setting it ablaze with old newspaper. "I... I'm not certain what to say to you, Anya. What you did was... amazingly selfless."
"It was, wasn't it?" Anya replied, pulling her legs under her in an almost coltish display. She chirped her reply, justifiably proud of her decision.
"It was," he repeated, smiling at her. Giles fell quiet, watching her. "You said that you had made a deal."
"With D'Hoffryn," Anya answered. "If I died, then Emma would be alright. He told me he could save me. Kind of."
"If you became a demon again," Giles said softly.
"Pretty much sums it up," Anya said. Her hands nervously flitted about her collar. "But he said I could keep my human body. So I get to have a heartbeat and I can still have babies."
Giles blushed, turning towards the fire.
"And he let me keep my soul," she dropped like an anvil from a cliff.
Giles' head spun, his neck nearly snapping in his haste to face her. "What?"
"My soul. I still have it. Unless it gets in the way of vengeance," Anya answered, as if it were not in the least bit important.
"So, that's why you didn't kill Quentin," he gasped, the pieces suddenly falling together in his mind.
"A girl can wreak vengeance without all of the death," Anya said. "I think."
Giles chuckled. "Even so. It was a brave thing that you did."
It was Anya's turn to blush. The room fell silent, save for the crackling fire. "We should call them." Giles finally said, standing. She grabbed his wrist, stopping him short, her eyes pleading with his.
Xander. He would never understand. Never accept this. She wasn't ready yet. "Could you just tell them you don't know what happened to me? I know it's a lie, but I'm just... I can't..." Tears pooled behind her eyes.
Giles softened, watching her. "Alright. I owe you that much."
He began towards the kitchen, where an old dial phone hung on the wall. "Rupert?" Anya called after him.
"Yes, Anya?" It was almost heartbreaking to look at her. Something shattered inside the man as he studied her face. What she had done had showed him what was truly inside of her. Demon or not.
"Can I ask you one other favour?" She was biting her lip as if distracting herself from tears.
"Yes. Of course," he answered, feeling a deep obligation and a sense of affection for the girl.
"Will you stay here... with me... just a little while?" She was teary, rolled in a ball. Almost childlike. Afraid of what she was. Who she might become. He couldn't leave her alone like that.
"Of course," Giles repeated. "For as long as you like."
*****
It had been a torturously long night. Buffy was exhausted, but could only sleep in fits and starts. Between the broken bones, raging wounds and bouts of coughing and vomiting, she barely rested at all. Spike didn't leave her side, staying tucked neatly inside her mind and taking what pain he could for her. His body ached and his head pounded, but it was all her body would give to him. The One could only help her so much.
Finally, Buffy fell into a deep sleep, just before dawn. Not the pleasant exhaustion after a good night of rough and tumble, but the fevered, empty unconsciousness of giving up. Spike got up, restless. This wasn't right. It shouldn't be like this, he thought. The aching and burning of healing bones and bruises he could accept, but the rest... The poison of the demon. It shouldn't still be having this effect on the likes of the Slayer.
Spike cleaned up the room, emptying the waste bin, straightening the pile of blankets that she'd craved and discarded a hundred times over the night. He refilled the pitcher of water next to the bed, pouring her a fresh glass. Nervous energy fueled him until he finally forced himself to sit at the edge of the bed, wiping her brow with a washcloth. He chuckled at himself. Even in this state, she was the most beautiful creature he'd seen.
He cocked his head, leaning his face towards hers. The circular marks left by the demon's barbs were fading to a dull purple. The bruises were yellowing. Fading even from last night. Her collarbone and her ribs were knitting, as was the odd bend in her ankle. Her face was ghostly white, but the small scars were healing over at an alarming rate.
So why?
Why did it feel like he was losing her again?
Spike laid down again, pulling her tiny, exhausted body against him. She moaned softly and tried to tuck in closer. "I'm here, Pet. Every day." She settled again into a dreamless sleep.
*****
"Spike?" A quiet voice said from the door. He lifted his head, blinking at the soft light coming in from the hall. He'd fallen asleep once she rested. He had no idea how long he'd been out.
"Dawn?" His sleepy voice grumbled.
"The doctor is here to check on Buffy." Somehow he knew that was not all she needed.
"You can send her up," he croaked, trying to shake the sleep from his mind.
"We... um.. we need food," Dawn said quietly. "Do you want to go to the store?"
Odd question, Spike thought. Not the top of his priority list. "Not really, Niblet. Need to stay with your sis. Can one of the others take you?" Dawn stood in the door. He could see the tears begin to dribble from her eyes.
"I... I really need to get out of the house for a minute." Panic was in her voice. Need.
Spike sat, blinking at her. "You alright?"
"I just need to get outside. I need..." She began to sob noiselessly. Spike got up carefully, walking over to her and pulled her face up to meet his.
"Where is everyone, Love?" His eyes were compassionate. Strong.
"Xander left to take the doctor home last night and Cyrus told Willow and Tara and me about Anya." She swallowed, closing her eyes. "And Giles."
"Oh, God. Niblet, I should have been the one to tell you," Spike commented, wrapping his arm around her.
"Well..." she whispered, almost too quietly to hear. "Then Giles called."
"He what?" Spike gasped. "He's alive?"
"Yeah," Dawn answered, smiling just slightly behind her tears. "But Anya..."
"I know, Pet," Spike comforted. "It shouldn't have been that way."
Dawn was quiet. "When Xander came back, Willow went with Cyrus to break it to him somewhere other than here. In case he..." Spike closed his eyes, remembering the rage he felt at losing Buffy. At almost losing her again.
"Probably for the best, Nibs," he breathed, opening his eyes.
"I... I know. But I just can't stay... trapped... with all this death and..." Dawn stuttered, tears sliding down her face. Spike absently wiped her cheek with the back of his hand, and then looked back over at Buffy. She would want this.
"Doc's here then?" He asked, catching Dawn's eyes with his.
"She's waiting downstairs," Dawn answered. "Tara is with Emma."
"Right then. Why don't you bring up the doctor and ask Tara if she'd mind staying with Buffy. I'm sure the mite could use some air as well."
Dawn smiled softly. "Thank you."
He nodded back at her, turning her to the door and patting her shoulder. "Only for a few minutes, Pet."
*****
It was a pretty afternoon. Hard to believe the world could be so green and sunny when everything else seemed so dark. Dawn was quiet, carrying two paper grocery bags in her arms. Spike had offered, but Emma protested, clinging to her father, tiny arms wrapped tightly around his neck. The teenager didn't complain. She was glad for the air. And the company. And to have anything in the fridge other than blood.
"How do you think Xander is taking it?" Dawn finally asked, keeping stride with Spike. He was trying to be patient, but his stride grew faster with each step towards home.
"Doubtlessly, not well," Spike responded, letting his cheek brush Emma's. The little girl sighed, plopping her head down to his shoulder. Holding her was comfort. A port in the storm. "It's never easy to lose someone."
"I know," Dawn replied solemnly. "I miss mom."
Spike was quiet, a whisper of a memory itching his mind. "I'd wager your mum is someplace... kinder. She'd deserve that, Joyce. Probably watching us all dancing round defending the planet."
Dawn giggled. "I think she'd be proud of you, Spike."
Spike looked at the girl, head tilted as much as Emma's grip would allow. "Why d'you say that?"
"I know it had to be hard. Being a Vampire and all and then... I don't know. Overcoming yourself? Not to mention, loving Buffy before she... accepted it. She must have been hard to love."
"Easiest in the world, Pet," Spike answered, smiling. "Everything about her..."
"I know how you feel," Dawn interrupted, smiling. He could be such a wuss, but somewhere, it was the nicest thing to hear. "I just hope someone will love me like that."
Spike was quiet. "Well, I suppose now that you've grown out of that God awful whining..."
Dawn giggled again. Good, Spike thought. Laughter being the best medicine and all that rubbish. "Was I really that bad?" She asked, crinkling her nose.
"Nightmarish," he teased, shaking his head with disgust. "But you've done a bit of growing up since then."
"Funny," she quipped, "I was about to say the same thing about you."
Touché, Spike thought.
Dawn smiled at him. But then her thoughts got the best of her, making her tense, her tone becoming serious. "Do you think Buffy'll be OK? I mean, it seems... different... this time. Like she shouldn't be so..."
"Ill," Spike completed, turning back towards Dawn.
"You've noticed too?" Dawn crinkled her nose again. It must be a genetic trait.
"Yeah," Spike answered softly. Dawn may have grown up, but she didn't need a healthy dose of Spike paranoia, nor did the tot need to hear her dad say that he thinks her mum might not ever get well. Never know how much she understands. "But she's the Slayer. Sure she'll be up and 'noying us in no time flat."
"You think?" Dawn asked hesitantly.
"I do."
He lied.
They'd lost enough already.
The three of them made it back to the house, climbing the stairs with their cargo. Even from the outside, the house felt dark and serious. Solemn. What I wouldn't do for a little happiness, Spike thought nearly smacking himself for such a poncy idea. But it was true. Laughter. Something to make them feel that life wasn't all struggles and darkness.
Dawn waited while Spike fished the keys from his pocket and unlocked the door. As soon as it swung open, she stepped inside, feeling the world change around her. It was fear. Slowly, the girl headed for the kitchen, stopping half way to turn back and look at Spike.
"You going back up with Buffy?" She asked, already knowing the answer.
"Yeah, he answered, latching the door behind him.
"You really think that she'll be alright?" Dawn asked, shifting the bags in her arms.
Spike was quiet, his heart sinking. Emma's breath blew warm against his neck. "She has to be, Nibs."
*****
The doctor and Tara were talking in hushed whispers, standing just outside the bedroom door. Their faces were serious. Solemn. Spike didn't like the looks of the conference at all. He plodded up the stairs, almost dreading what they might have to say. Emma muttered something Spike couldn't decipher and clung tighter to his neck.
"Ladies," he said politely as he reached the top of the stairs. The women turned, startled. "Everything alright?"
Takina walked towards him, her face unreadable. "I was just leaving."
"Wait a minute," Spike commanded, extending his arm out to stop her. She paused, just before hitting his outstretched hand. "What aren't you telling me?"
Takina looked at him with stormy, blue eyes. "Your mate is ill. You should go to her. I will return in a few days to check on her. Now, if you would not mind?" Her voice was crisp, but never ventured even close to impolite. Spike dropped his hand letting her pass. He barely even heard her descend the stairs to leave.
Slowly, Spike walked towards Tara. The woman looked as if she were caught in headlights. "Please tell me what's going on." he pleaded, frustration and fear pounding through his veins.
Tara smiled nervously. "Spike, I... I don't know. Takina just showed me how to make the salves so they would take the pain away a little more effectively. But she didn't.... I don't know anything."
She was hiding something. Spike could read her eyes almost as well as Buffy's. But he also knew she wouldn't budge. "Is she awake?" Spike sighed, giving up.
"Yeah. I think so. We helped her take a bath. Put clothes on. It.. it's what she wanted. I mean, how do you argue when..." Tara stuttered, nervous as if she were being interrogated.
"Alright," Spike whispered. "Need to talk to her. Need to help her."
"Why...why don't you let me take Emma? Buffy's still really tired and really sick. I think she needs some rest." Her voice wavered. Spike was not sure why.
Spike looked at the little girl on his shoulder. "Bebe," Emma whispered, letting go of her grip.
"That's right, Mite. You're the baby," he said softly, kissing her nose. Tara smiled warmly as the child almost toppled backwards from Spike's arms to hers. He brushed Emma's hair from her face.
"You be alright, Mite?" Spike asked, looking the little girl in the eyes.
The baby smiled. "Right Mite."
Spike chuckled, tousling her hair and walking into the bedroom.
*****
His nerves were shot. The women were hiding something. Buffy. He knew it deep in his bones. Last night. Something wrong. She was healing, but still so ill. Something horribly wrong. God, she can't die, he thought.
Spike paused near the bed, trapped by panic. The light blazed beneath the bathroom door. He could hear her wretch and then the scream of the pipes as she flushed the toilet. Please God, not now. I need her. Anything you ask.
He heard the sound of the sink running. Of Buffy brushing her teeth. Spike was paralyzed. Afraid to look at her and see it. Know it. Know that she was just passing through. That she was stopping long enough to say goodbye again. His heart thudded against his ribs. Can't do this. Can't.
A thump in the bathroom sent him sprinting towards the door. He threw it open. Buffy was on the floor, leaned against the cabinets. Her eyes were wide and woozy. "Buffy?" Spike gasped, running over to her.
"M'OK," she muttered. "Just... whoa... dizzy." Her voice still had a little of the burned sound, but it was clearer. More like Buffy.
She was dressed now in sweatpants and a tank top, her damp hair curling round her pretty face. The scars were just white blotches now. The bruises merely shadows on her skin. "Let me help you," Spike pleaded as her eyes tried to focus. She wanted to fight hut the world was spinning far too fast to even know where to begin.
Spike slid a hand under her knees, the other behind her back, and lifted her effortlessly. Buffy looked at him, focusing on his perfect, endless blue eyes. They were tired and wet. He looked as if he were trying hard not to sob. Softly, he sat her on the edge of the bed, sitting down next to her, his hip touching hers, his arm around her waist to steady her. She could not tear herself from his wide, terrified eyes.
"Spike, I'm alright," Buffy whispered, letting her hand settle on his thigh. Her head tipped over to rest on his shoulder.
"You aren't, Buffy." he answered, tears slipping out. "I know there's something else." His voice was shaky, choked with sadness. "You're healing but you're too weak, Love. And I'm helpless. God..." Spike broke into fitful sobs, his head buried in her damp hair. "I'm so helpless. I can't lose you again and I can't fix this. I'm so.."
"Spike," she interrupted, fighting off her own tears, feeling his heart breaking against her. She lifted her head from his shoulder, turning his tortured, beautiful face towards hers. "I'm not dying."
"Please, Pet. Please don't lie to me. I sit here and watch you and you're so *weak* and I can't do a *bloody* thing to..."
"Spike," she whispered again, her fingers tracing his cheekbones, his jaw. His skin was damp and perfect. His eyes so sad and beautiful. "I'm not lying to you. I *am* weak, but I'll be fine. I'm getting better."
"Buffy, Love, please. I can't..." The weight of a thousand worlds were in those eyes. He was begging her, pleading with her not to go, but preparing himself for the worst. His thoughts were like lead in her mind.
She leaned to him, pressing her lips softly to his until he relaxed and the tumble of thoughts stopped. Buffy pulled just far enough away to trap his gaze. She found his hand and held it, letting her fingers weave through his, her palm to the back of his hand. He stared at her, afraid. Feeling the tremble of her weakness against his skin.
Buffy never took his eyes from his. She wanted to watch. Wanted to know what his mind would think, what his heart would say. She lifted his hand from his thigh gently. He let her move him like a puppet, enchanted by the softness of her eyes. The perfect, dancing green eyes that he drown in on first gaze.
It didn't register. At least not at first, as she brought his hand to her, pushing up her shirt and sliding their joined fingers across the warm skin of her belly. She held him there a moment, watching. Feeling his skin touching hers. Feeling, finally, whole again. Studying the curious expression on his face.
The puzzle fell together in the blink of an eye. The terror in his eyes, the sadness, was lifted like a dark curtain and his hand moved just barely against the soft, smoothness of her stomach. His head titled, eyes still caught in hers. Questioning her. Knowing the answer when she smiled.
"A.. are you sure?" Spike stuttered, a shocked little slyness playing across his face.
Buffy nodded. "Hence the puke fest."
"It wasn't like that last time," he said, still unsure that this was it. This was the answer. Afraid to believe in anything but fear.
"Emma was a little easier. This one feels like making me work a little harder, that's all. I think this is normal," she said, still smiling.
"H...how?" Spike asked, accepting that she knew. But how could he miss it? Had he been too afraid of losing her to sense it?
Buffy chuckled. "You see, there are these little birds and then these bees and they have hot monkey love in secluded little crypts until...."
Spike closed his eyes, shaking his head, still nagged by disbelief. "But, I thought..."
Buffy became serious again, looking at the fear and joy fighting it out behind his eyes. "We all did," she answered. "Emma was supposed to be our one chance. But I guess they changed the rules," she whispered, feeling his hand move again against her, as if trying to be sure the baby was really there.
He looked at her, confused, but his eyes betraying him. They danced, sparkling, explaining everything for which his mouth could not find words. A brief moment of concern passed back across his face. "Another prophesy?" Spike asked, his voice just the slightest bit weary. Would be nice to know that the Powers weren't just using them to produce the arm that would fight the forces of evil.
Buffy crinkled her nose making him smile. "I'm thinking just a kid kinda kid."
"I like that thought," Spike mused, moving closer to her. She could feel his breath against her face.
"Do you?" She questioned. "Really?" Her mouth was a hair's breadth from his.
"I do," he answered, letting his lips skim hers. "Very much."
"Are you sure?" Every word blew against his mouth, over his tongue, warming him. He could feel her everywhere again. Everything fell contentedly into place.
"Positive, Pet," Spike answered, pulling her closer. Yes. He could honestly say that everything inside of him was glad. Glad that he had been wrong. Glad that she was alright. Glad that they had another chance. Glad to be a father. Once again. His mouth searched hers, his hand still protectively across her belly.
"I love you," he whispered, catching her lower lip and letting it slide along his, savouring her.
"Always," she answered, kissing him again, her free hand tangled in his hair.
"Every day," Spike finished, finding her lips once again and letting himself drown in her.
The house had needed a bit of Happiness. Sometimes you get what you wish for.
End Book Four. - Epilogue to follow.