'Mother Nature's Son' - XLVIIII

"Joy in looking and comprehending is nature's most

beautiful gift" - Albert Einstein

It had been a moderately quiet shift thus far, with nothing to report other than a rebel-without-a-clue teenager wielding a can of spray paint, and a stray dog sniffing around the entrance to the mall and invariably setting off every alarm sensor in place.

It was after having dealt with this latest inconvenience- panting from chasing the delighted stray around the perimeter of the building at least several times- that Angel finally returned to the security office with the soul intention of locating both a tall cup of coffee and at least one doughnut to dunk in it. The mongrel remained renegade, and the utter sense of failure that had encompassed Angel as a result was quite unbelievable.

Angel despised shifts such as this; when the evening became so uneventful that he began to crave the old familiarity of a graveyard, and the weight of a stake in his hand. Although hunting monsters and the forces of darkness was dangerous beyond belief, it had always given Angel a sense of purpose; one that protecting hardware stores and shoe retailers was never likely to match.

As Angel pushed his way into the security office located on the ground floor of the parking lot, he grunted a feeble greeting to Joe, the newest guard who had eventually replaced Duke, and yet seemed as utterly work-shy as his predecessor. Although several decades younger than Duke had been, Joe was far less impressive in stature, falling several inches below average height, and carrying so little muscle or weight that the sharp corners of his ribs were visible beneath the cotton of his shirt. He cut a rather unimposing figure and, coupled with his distinct lack of wits or personality, Angel was baffled as to why he had been awarded the job.

Joe failed to respond, continuing to stare at the screen of the small colour television that had been slotted in place besides the camera monitors. The TV was easily as old as the building itself, and received only one channel with any relevant clarity, but Joe appeared transfixed nonetheless, and so Angel set about silently brewing a pot of coffee. He peered down at the box of glazed doughnuts residing on the countertop with interest, and then grimaced when he realised that Joe had claimed the dozen with a single bite to each one. The discovery hardly helped Angel's sour mood, and he found himself contemplating revenge, which induced all manner of ridiculous scenarios that he allowed to play out in his head purely to pass a little time.

There were ten more hours left until his shift drew to an end, and Angel expected every last one of them to be painful.

Finally, adding milk and sugar to his mug, Angel brushed passed Joe and settled into the sagging and battered old easy chair; the one creature comfort in the room that his partner had not yet laid claim to. Angel soon discovered why however when, after resting his hand on the arm of the chair, an unpleasantly sticky substance met his fingertips. Snarling, Angel withdrew his hand only to discover that his palm and fingers were coated with the remnants of someone else's pre-chewed gum.

"There's gum on the chair," Joe drawled in his lazy, monotone voice that set Angel's every last nerve on edge.

Never one for unnecessary confrontation, Angel simply heaved a pained sigh before inching towards the sink to begin scrubbing the offending goop from his skin. However, it was as he moved to cross the room, passing within an inch of one monitor, that Angel noted a bizarre movement on the screen from the corner of his eye. The gum momentarily forgotten, Angel turned to observe the screen full on, and watched in surprise as several figures glided from different directions only to congregate in front of the metal shutters that blocked off the main entrance to the parking lot. Squinting, Angel leaned forwards across the desk, drawing a protest from Joe who was almost dislodged from his chair by the much taller and wider man.

"What the hell, dude?" Joe demanded, scowling up at Angel, who waved him off with his gum encrusted hand. Joe fell obediently silent, eyes ticking to the monitor that appeared to have captured Angel's attention so intently.

The people - two men and two women of varying ages- simply stood in front of the entrance, not one making even the slightest move to pry it open.

"Vandals," Joe commented, reaching for his discarded cap and preparing to pull it onto his head. Angel rested a gently restraining hand on the man's shoulder, ignoring the irritated glare he received in response before Joe shook him off.

"No… they're not doing… anything," observed Angel, his brow furrowing as he continued to watch, perplexed. Joe sucked noisily on his teeth and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

"Then why should we care?" he demanded, poised to return to the TV screen. He let out a yelp of protest however as he realised that the item had finally given up the ghost, and the screen presented him with nothing more than a snowstorm of black and white dots.

"Television's bust," growled Joe, reaching forwards and twiddling each knob in turn. When his efforts yielded no results, he stabbed the 'power' button and slumped back into his seat, resigned to a further evening of boredom.

"Shut up…" Angel barked, his eyes narrowing now as he moved to observe another of the six monitors. There on the screen was a clear image of a gang of youths stumbling slowly to surround the shuttered exit, their arms held stiff at their sides and their eyes seemingly affixed on one point. Something in the way they moved- stilted yet quick- seemed wrong to Angel, and he practically pressed his nose against the screen of the monitor as he attempted to examine the scene more carefully.

"What the…" Angel began, trailing off as Joe's elbow colliding repeatedly with his chest drew his gaze to the monitor that resided in the bottom corner of the cluster. Angel watched the screen in horror as throngs of men, women, and even children surrounded the delivery entrance to the parking lot.

As one face inclined itself just so towards the camera, Angel noted the glassy, milky-white sheen of their eyes with a gasp that did not go unnoticed by Joe.

"Hey man, what the hell?" Joe repeated, this time his tone directed at the unfolding scene outside. Each of the six monitors were now dominated by what appeared to be a flourishing mob; indeed, every one of the entrances or exits to the building was now under the surveillance of crowds of silent and unmoving people.

"What's with their eyes?" Joe demanded, a note of fear detectable in his voice. "Is that like… a trick of the light or something?"

Angel merely shook his head, over one hundred years of occult experience telling him that the bizarre appearance of the crowd was unlikely to be a result of something as mundane as a mere camera malfunction, or effect of the streetlamps.

"I don't think so," Angel finally murmured, giving voice to Joe's fears. The man simply stared at his partner, eyes wide and lips open in a silent 'o' of surprise. It appeared that Joe was not quite as dumb as he looked, and as Angel continued to watch the screens for the slightest sign of threatening movement, Joe set about securing the only door in or out of the office. Sliding the deadbolt and several chains in place, Joe turned to Angel, his expression expectant and his arms folded.

"What do we do?" pressed Joe, his bottom lip visibly trembling as he appealed to Angel, almost seeming to sense that any answers may lie with his partner. He was crestfallen therefore, when Angel simply shrugged.

"I'll be damned if I know," he replied, drawing just the slightest sliver of satisfaction from the panic stricken expression that wavered upon Joe's features.

His gaze befalling the telephone affixed to the wall, Angel reached above the cluster of monitors, and seized the receiver. When he raised it to his ear, he muttered a quiet prayer of thanks as the dialling tone resounded, crisp and clear. He shifted from one foot to the other, nerves threatening to claim him, as he punched in a number from memory and waited for the telltale crackle of the telephone being answered from the other end.

However, the phone continued to ring and, after waiting near a minute without success, Angel stabbed the disconnect button. Immediately, he began to run through numerous contacts in his mind; the first three calls went unanswered, ringing for a torturous and impossibly long amount of time before Angel was forced to give up and move onto the next. When the last of the numbers failed even to ring however, Angel found himself rapidly descending into panic.

He had no plan nor any significant weapons to speak of, and he was hardly eager to pit himself against the bodies outside with his only back-up being a terrified young man who had simply lucked out on interview day.

Angel turned back to the monitors, his mind racing as he struggled to jump each hurdle as it came to him; and that was when the glass coffee pot connected with the side of his head, spilling hot, acrid liquid over his shoulders, and plunging his world into darkness.

x-x-x

Time had begun to lose meaning, and Dawn could no longer track where the seconds slipped into minutes, and those minutes passed by into hours. All she knew was her agony, and the fact that it had been alive within her now for too long.

Her eyelids were leaden, but every time they drifted closed- sinking her into blissful oblivion- the pain would rock her once more. Dawn found herself dragged into unwelcome consciousness time and time again, until the idea of death began to seem an inviting one, if only to make it all stop.

Buffy watched from the doorway as Dawn's back arched up from the bed, her swollen stomach rising, and her fingers clawing desperately for anything solid. Spike moved forwards, thrusting his hand into Dawn's and pressing his nose against her damp forehead as she groaned. The grip on his hand was crushing, but it was not his own pain that had Spike chewing on his bottom lip; the vampire was afraid, and it was written plainly in his features for the Slayer to see.

The contractions were coming thick and fast, and the grace between each one seemed almost nonexistent now. In her worry, Buffy had begun to time the pains, and had realised half an hour ago that they were dancing teasingly towards a two minute stop gap. From the little she had read about birth, she knew that everything would be drawing to a head soon, and the thought filled Buffy with an icy fear unlike any other she had endured before.

They had been captives in Giles' apartment for almost seven hours now and, as of yet, Buffy had failed to bring the nightmare to an end. Several hours ago, she and Spike had bandied about impossible escape plans, which they would have been unable to attempt even had they not been accompanied by a labouring, pregnant woman. Even as they discussed the finer details of schemes that both knew they would never implement, Spike and Buffy became more aware that it appeared unlikely they would ever emerge from Giles' apartment with their lives in tact.

When Dawn sank back onto the mattress once more, her chest heaving and her legs stiffened by the receding pain, Buffy beckoned Spike closer.

As the vampire rose from his perch at the side of the bed, Dawn's trembling hand enclosed around his wrist.

"Cold…" she whispered, visibly shuddering no sooner than the word had spilled from her lips; cracked and bloody from the numerous times she had sunk her teeth into them over the course of the night.

Spike frowned, observing the thin sheen of sweat clinging to Dawn's forehead, and the pink flush that adorned her cheeks. Despite having complained of the heat no end for hours, she was now shivering as though she were bracing her body against an arctic chill. Nodding, Spike lifted Giles' duvet and began to tuck it tenderly around Dawn until she was cocooned, and seemed to have settled for a moment.

"Back real soon, love," he murmured, brushing a kiss against her eyelids as they fluttered closed once more. He was uncertain as to whether she had truly registered his words, but as Dawn let out a grumble of agreement, Spike crossed the room to draw level at Buffy's side.

"She's in transition," Buffy hissed, her face paling as she peered up into Spike's eyes.

"She's what?" demanded Spike, shooting a glance at Dawn as a high pitched keening began to leak from her lips again, and he realised that she would have to ride out the storm of the latest contraction alone.

"It means she's got another one to two centimetres to go, tops," whispered Buffy, raking both hands through her hair and affixing Spike with a despairing gaze.

"W-well, how long will that… take?" gulped Spike, splaying one palm against the doorjamb and leaning heavily against the frame.

Buffy shrugged, and Spike's expression darkened.

"Could be a couple of hours, maybe," Buffy replied, shooting a glance back towards the front door. "We have to do something soon, Spike."

The vampire sighed, sagging a little where he stood as he covered his face with both palms, and then regarded Buffy.

"There's no way out of this alive, Slayer, and you know it," he countered, his tone inflected with fear at the implications of his words.

"Maybe if we talk to them…" Buffy began, eyes and tone similarly desperate as she reached for Spike's arm. He shrugged off her grip without fully allowing it purchase upon him, fury contorting his lips upwards into a snarl.

"I don't bloody think so," he replied, shaking his head and glaring, "if you want to try having a little chat with the Body Snatchers out there, love, then you go right ahead. But don't come crying to me when they rip both your arms off and use them to beat you over your bloody stupid, blonde head."

"Spike!" Buffy hissed, planting her hands on her hips and glaring at the vampire. "Have I ever told you, you're an asshole?"

"Plenty of times," Spike snapped back, turning on his heel and stalking back to Dawn's side as he yelled out, "but the jury's still out on whether it's a valid appraisal."

He resettled himself at Dawn's bedside, his tone dropping to a soothing purr as Dawn began to toss and turn on the bed once again, too focused on enduring and surviving the pain to have even registered the angry exchange.

Without a word, Buffy slipped back into the lounge, unable to stand idly by anymore whilst the lives of her sister and unborn child hung so delicately in the balance.

Before Buffy had even realised what she was doing, or indeed accepted her own decision, her fingers had closed around the door handle, and her other hand had begun to work at discarding bolts and chains.

The front door of Giles' apartment swung open slowly, revealing Buffy upon the threshold; beyond the courtyard, a sea of desolate eyes affixed upon the Slayer.

x-x-x

By the time Angel's body had made contact with the floor, he had already begun to stir from his brief spell of unconsciousness.

He landed on his back nonetheless, finding himself somewhat winded, and blinking rapidly as he urged his eyes to focus upon the figure of Joe- still holding the handle of the shattered coffee pot in one hand.

Angel took in the sight of his partner's milky eyed stare grimly and, in seconds, had twisted his own legs midair in a move that swiped Joe's from under him. The other guard tumbled to the ground, lacking in both the experience and grace that Angel possessed after years in the field.

Angel was on the other man in seconds, straddling his chest and landing two successive blows to his jaw. It appeared that Joe was also stronger than Angel would have given him credit for, and he grappled with Angel to an almost successful end.

Angel delivered another punch to Joe's cheekbone, listening to the resounding crack that heralded a broken bone with a guilty wince.

However, the severity and force behind the punch stunned the other man sufficiently, and Angel managed to flip him facedown onto the ground before securing both of his arms behind his back. Snatching his cuffs from his belt, Angel fastened them around Joe's wrists before flinging him into the easy chair.

Angel touched a finger to his temple and groaned as he withdrew it caked in his own dark red blood. The wound smarted considerably but Angel's vision was unaffected, and he doubted that it would require any more serious attention than a couple of butterfly stitches.

His jaw locked as he returned his full attention to Joe, who now appeared to have nestled rather impassively into the cushions of the chair.

"What are you?" Angel demanded, advancing with one fist balled in a threatening gesture. Joe blinked back up at him, all traces of his former identity evidently absent. His once hazel eyes were now entirely white, yet apparently not unseeing as his head inclined and shifted with every step that Angel took.

"Answer me, damn it?" Angel yelled, drawing level to the chair now and planting one hand on each arm as he leaned down into the face of the security guard. He felt the familiar weight of terror bearing down upon his heart, and Angel shook his head in order to ground himself.

"Where's Buffy?" he continued, contemplating the merits of driving his fist into Joe's face again in an effort to draw out some of his answers. Something told him however that the creature inhabiting the man's body would not be quite so easily alarmed, and so he forced his arms to remain in place either side of the chair.

"What have you done to them?"

Angel allowed the question to hang in the air between them, watching his new captive all the while for even the faintest indication that he might answer. When the thing wearing Joe's face refused to so much as even blink, simply staring up at Angel through the void of it's eyes, he pushed himself away from the chair in anger and began to pace the confines of the room. It was when his back had turned for the second time, that the voice cut through the air.

"They have not been harmed."

Angel whipped around, his mouth falling slightly open as he stared at Joe.

"What did you say?" he demanded, barely managing to contain the wariness that had threatened to stain his tone.

Joe seemed to pause for a moment before his lips parted and, in a voice as high and scratchy as nails on a chalkboard, he repeated, "They have not been harmed."

Angel paused, his gaze fleetingly moving to the monitors. The face of every man, woman, and child waiting in the darkness was now upturned to the relevant camera, and each of their mouths hung open as though they had uttered Joe's claim alongside him.

"Where are they?" Angel tried again, eyes not moving from the monitors.

"Safe."

Every visible mouth had moved, and the room had filled with the collectively uttered word as they had whistled through the speakers.

"What do you want?" Angel snarled, his full attentions now resting with Joe once again.

"Nothing, and everything."

Angel frowned and rubbed at his forehead, inhaling sharply as his fingertips brushed the nearby unforgotten wound. The gears in his mind whirred and yet, try as he may, he found himself unable to decipher the cryptic explanation.

"I don't understand," replied Angel, deciding that in the undeniable absence of knowledge, he had little choice other than to speak bluntly.

Joe cocked his head, regarding Angel with an actual expression; one that much to the former vampire's chagrin seemed to be an odd combination of pity and disgust.

Almost a beat later, the creature clarified, "That which is living, and yet unborn."

Angel paused, and suddenly every question that had only moments ago plagued him was driven from his mind with the speed of a freight train. The words echoed hollowly around his ears, until understanding brought with it an almost overwhelming nausea and an escalating sense of panic.

"Dawn's baby…" Angel breathed, his throat seeming to constrict, "you want Dawn's baby."

In the dimly lit security office, the creature smiled, and the gesture was mirrored upon over a thousand faces throughout the town of Sunnydale.