Disclaimer: The intercom hisses, tiny crystal-like sparks sprouting from
the where the knife was thrown. "You all," states Loki, walking around the
conference table like a jungle cat, "Are idolaters. You hide behind your
false idols committing horrendous sins." At this point, he stands behind
the Director of Marketing. "Mr. Kendel here cheated on his wife of twenty
years with the neighbor ten times, in the bed he and his wife sleep in." As
Kendel lowers his head, Loki moves on to our Overseas Producer. "Mr. Ross
used the company jet to fly to Indonesia to have sex with a twelve-year-old
boy! Mr. Sampson," he turns to the heavyset Vice President, "disowned his
gay son. Wonderful!" After moments in an agonizing silence, he turns to me.
"Then we have Miss Lily-Bug, who has committed the most incredible sin
imaginable. SHE wrote a crap-ass story using characters from Joss Whedon's
Buffy the Vampire Slayer!" In a fit of rage, he slams his hands down on the
table. "Now, I don't believe in voodoo or karma, something to punish you
for your sins," he sighs, then pulls out a silver 9 mm and aims it at my
head, "But I do believe in this!"
Rating: R- isn't being immoral a wonderful thing? I sure do think so.
Summary: Buffy, after running away from Sunnydale, comes home six years later with a new identity. While searching for some mysterious evil threatening to destroy all, she begins to see how much she was missed.
Author's Notes: Happy! Another new chapter from my scary brain. So, I'm ok with the unpleasant reviews I got from the last chapter. It lets me know that you are reading and feel sympathy for the characters. Just to let you know I have everything planned out and it will all work out in the end. And if it doesn't, you may hunt me down, kidnap me, and torture me real good! I plan to finish this story by the end of November, and after that, who knows. Should I do a sequel, or should I start something completely different? Comments, please! I have some good ideas in mind. Oh, and I saw Tuesday's episode! What the fuck was that?! I want it to be the end of the season so I can see how everything works out. It's driving me nuts! AHHHH! Love you all!
PS: It was really cool of you guys to tell me how much a stone is in American weight. Really cool. Thanks! Oh, and by the way, there will be NO Angel/Buffy love in my story or any future ones, except when I'm writing in the past. I have never been an Angel fan, nor will I ever be. He has stupid hair and was mean to Buffy! As Anyanka Faith says: "He's an ass monkey!" And my crappy disclaimer was, again, from the Kevin Smith movie Dogma
Chapter Eleven- Never Underestimate a Half-Demon
" . . . EITHER THOU OR I, OR BOTH, MUST GO WITH HIM!"
Phoenix jolted out of her sleep to the screaming. For a second, she couldn't remember where she was. It was, after all, very late at night, and she had had a very bad day.
Who's screaming? Wha . . . huh? Is that . . .? No! Why is Leonardo DiCaprio screaming at me?
Blinking, she sat up. Yes, Leonardo DiCaprio was screaming, but not at her. Baz Lurhman's "Romeo and Juliet" was on TV, now at the point where Romeo shoots Tybalt.
Slowly getting her bearings, Phoenix glanced around the room. It was pitch black, the light from the television illuminating the space. She lay on a very comfortable couch; her feet propped up in Spike's lap.
She grinned when she saw the former Big Bad, his head tilted backwards, drool creeping out of his open mouth. His left arm draped over the back of the sofa, his right hand holding a half-finished can of pop.
The moment ended when Phoenix realized she had to go, badly.
"Hey Spike," she removed her feet from his lap and whispered into his ear, "Wake up." After nudging him gently, he blinked his eyes open.
"Morning luv." His voice was groggy and hoarse.
"Actually, I think it's evening."
Glancing at his watch, he frowned. "Nope, 12:53 in the morning. I'm right." A proud, if slightly tired, grin settled on his face.
With a mock-annoyed face, she rolled her eyes. "Whatever. Um . . . I have to go."
Spike stood up. Great. Just like the old days. "You know where the door is." The blandness of his voice contained an edge of hurt. Why? Phoenix couldn't understand.
Then it came to her. "NO!" she blurted out, half laughing, "I need to . . . you know, GO!"
Seconds later, Spike got it.
"Ah," he began to laugh, "Sorry. I forget about these things, what with being dead and all." Together, they walked to the door. "There's a gas station a quarter of a mile to the west. Very clean. Take Jilly-Bean there when I baby sit her."
She grabbed her jacket, putting it on quickly. "Thanks bunches!" As she turned to leave, he grabbed her arm, making it so she was looking at him.
"After doing your business, are you coming back?"
Without hesitation, she nodded. "Where else am I going to go? Your place is roach-free, unlike my motel room." Turning, she ran out the door, half- sprinting, half-holding it in.
True to his word, the bathroom was clean. She felt lighter, all that liquid evacuated from her system.
The walk back to Spike's crypt was slower, specifically so she could think. Yesterday had been a day of hell, but at the same time, it was perfect.
After hearing of the nightmares she put her friends through, Phoenix cried for two hours, Spike alternating between comforting and crying himself. When the tears had gone, they sat together in silence. In a gesture of gratitude, Phoenix helped Spike clean his crypt of the many liquor bottles, and then the two spent the afternoon and evening cleaning out the contents of his refrigerator and watching cable TV. No words, no accusations, no apologies. Just compassion.
Seconds later, she was back at the crypt, which at the moment was completely empty.
"Spike?" she asked, her voice filled with worry. Why would Spike leave?
A grunt came from his bedroom downstairs. "Down here, pet." He seemed to be concentrating on something.
Climbing down his makeshift steps, she found Spike rummaging through his closet.
"Have somethin' for ya." He stood, holding something behind his back.
"What?"
Instead of answering, he held out his hands. In it was a light blue, lacy tanktop.
"You left it here a few years back. I didn't find it until I started fixin' up my place. Though you might want it back."
At first, she was repulsed. Here was an article of clothing that belonged to Buffy Summers, the girl who hurt her friends and family. Why the fuck do I want something of hers?
Then she saw his face. There was no judgement, no hope for her to become Buffy. It was just a sweet gesture.
"Thank you," the words were sincere, and she gratefully took the top from him.
Before he could respond, a beeping sounded from upstairs.
"Shit!" Spike raced up the steps in a frenzy, Phoenix following unsure of what caused the rush.
"What is it?" she asked as he began to look through the drawers in his coffee table.
"Phone."
She laughed, shocking herself and Spike. "YOU have a phone!"
He growled. "Shut up you bint! It's a cell phone, for Scooby emergencies." Underneath an old newspaper, he found it, pushed 'TALK' and put it to his ear.
"What? Hey, Whelp." He nodded as Xander started to speak. "What is it? . . . Uh huh . . . oh God no." As Xander spoke, Spike's face became paler than she had ever seen it. "Christ! We'll be right there . . . Bu-Phoenix and me . . . Don't goddamn start now, Harris! Yeah, don't worry. We'll be there." He hung up the phone, then looked at Phoenix with gloomy eyes.
"We have to go to the hospital, luv."
@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@
As soon as the two entered the room, their friends were upon them, sharing hugs and sobs.
"How is she?" Phoenix asked Giles after covering his shirt in tears.
"They're not saying. Willow hasn't come out of the emergency room since she got here."
Xander returned to his seated wife, who was tearfully feeding their son. "Tara's pretty bad. When they brought her in, I heard them say she may be in a coma."
"What happened to her?" Phoenix sat in the chair across from Xander, wiping the tears away from her eyes.
Giles, now seated next to Olivia, sighed. "She was attacked outside the Magic Box. Beaten with a heavy object and left for dead, apparently."
Spike, who had been pacing around the room since they arrived, stopped. "Who the FUCK would do that to a helpless, pregnant woman?" He walked over to waiting room barrier, his face twisted in rage. "If I find those bastards, I'll . . ." he stopped, punching his fist into the blank, white wall.
"Not if I find them first."
The group turned at the voice. It was Willow, her face streaked with mascara, fists clenched in fury.
Xander ran to his best friend. "How is Tara?"
Willow wiped her face with the back of her hands. "She's in the operating room." As she spoke, her voice faltered, thinking of her lover in pain. "Her right leg is shattered, her back may be broken, she has a concussion, and her left leg is torn apart. The doctors . . . d-don't know if she's gonna wake up." Gathering her strength, she walked to and kneeled in front of Anya. "I have never asked you for anything, and if I have, I've repaid you. I wish that you find the assholes who did this and rip their lungs out."
"Honey," Anya, giving Ryan to her husband, took the woman's hands in hers, "You know I would. I would break EVERY bone in their body, make them suffer incredibly! But, I'm not into vengeance anymore. I can't do it."
Defeated, Willow sank down on the floor, sobbing heavily.
"I just wish she would wake up."
Eyes stared at the broken redhead, weeping on the cheep hospital carpet.
Xander took the bottle out of Ryan's mouth, and replaced it with a pacifier. Thankfully, the boy had refrained from fussing, which was something he always did when his sister was around. Speaking of her . . .
"Where's Gillian?" Xander began to search the waiting room, not seeing the tiny child anywhere.
Anya stood, and the sound in the room ceased.
"I don't know," Anya whispered, looking around the room.
At the other end of the hospital, where the entrance to the ER was, Xander saw a small child with curly black hair pass through the swinging doors. He took off, full speed to catch his daughter.
The Emergency Room was a maze of ambulance drivers, technicians, interns, doctors, nurses, and trauma victims. A security guard, seeing the man barge through the doors, tried to stop him, but Xander pushed him aside when he spotted Gillian's light pink bow pass behind a gurney. Through a corridor of rooms and patients, Xander followed the bow, which was always turning a corner when he spotted it. Then, near the end of a long hallway, he saw the bow go into a room.
It was the operating room. Tara, bloody and bruised, lay on the table, completely unconscious. Xander would have been shocked at the sight, but he was more concerned with the doctor and three surgical nurses, who were invisibly "pinned" to the wall.
"Don't let her do it," the doctor pleaded in a small voice, his eyes full of fear. Gillian, her eyes shinning a bright green, held her small hand up.
"Shut up," her sweet voice now had underlying tones to it, as if groups of people were speaking the words.
Xander approached his daughter, trying not to surprise her. "Honey, let the nice hospital people go."
Before he could speak another word, some large force pushed against him, pinning him to the wall across from the doctors.
"Shhh, Daddy, I know what I'm doing!" Gillian sighed, rolling her glowing eyes. In one quick motion, she was sitting on Tara's chest, staring intensely at her aunt.
Pointing her head to the sky, she began to chant using a strange language. Her hands began to move over Tara's face, and a light started to glow from the girl's tiny body. Helpless, Xander could only watch.
Then, the light snapped off, and Gillian jumped off the table. Xander and the surgeons were released quickly, and they all gathered around the unconscious woman's body.
Suddenly, Tara's eyes blinked open. Once, twice, then staying completely open. The cut on her leg, Xander noticed, was not a horrible wound, but now was a small scar extending from knee to ankle. All of the large wounds were gone, leaving a slight tint of a bruise.
Something tugged at his leg, and Xander looked away from the miracle to his small daughter.
"I'm sorry I did that Daddy, but Auntie Pillow was sad, and she made a wish to make Auntie Tara better, so's I had to do it."
Clearing his throat, Xander picked up the child. "I-I . . . I'm glad you did."
@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@
Her peaceful sleep was interrupted by a rather rude snore. Tara opened her eyes, and saw it was Giles.
Damn him, she thought, giggling to herself. I don't know why they stayed.
THEY happened to be Giles, Xander, Anya, Spike, Phoenix, and of course, Willow. Olivia had taken the children to her home earlier, saying they all needed a good sleep.
Tara couldn't see how the adults could get this needed good sleep, all crowded in her private room. When the hospital staff complained about the amount of people staying in the room, Phoenix and Spike went out to have a "talk" with the staff.
Sighing, Tara changed her position. Hospital beds were not the most comfortable to sleep in, but it sucked even more when your entire body was sore. She felt like one big bruise, but it was better than how Willow described her condition before Gillian worked her mojo.
God bless her!
Looking over, Tara felt a pair of eyes on her. It was Willow. When their eyes met, Willow stood up and began to walk to her love, a small smile on her face.
"Shhhh! Don't wake them . . .," Tara warned, indicating the other sleeping people, right before Willow ran into a metal tray and nosily spilled the contents on the floor.
"- Up." Finished the girl, as the sleepers opened their eyes.
Standing as one, they all approached the bed, asking various questions concerning her health and sleep.
"Fine, I'm fine!" insisted the woman, not wanting to know if the bruise on her forehead looked as bad as it felt.
"Well, you're doing pretty fine for a woman who was beaten almost to death by muggers," Anya interjected, a bright smile on her face.
Muggers? Tara became confused.
"Muggers? No, muggers didn't attack me. I-I think it was made to look like I was, in case I didn't survive."
"Then what was it?" Giles came forward, an interested look on his face.
"I . . . it was a Flueruin demon, all by himself. He beat me with a crow bar."
"Flueruin?" Spike looked around the room in shock. "They're peaceful little puffs. Why'd they want to go around beating pregnant women with crow bars?"
"I don't know, but I think he has something to do with the Hellmouth weirdness." A silence filled the room. "Something strange happened. Before I went unconscious, I tried to stop him, but when I touched his skin, it was like I was looking into his mind. I saw everything."
"What did you see?" asked Giles, taking his glasses off.
"They're all at the old Initiative headquarters, his whole community, and they're being led by this demon. They call him 'the Leader', and I guess he's very old and very powerful."
"Does he have a name?" Xander's eyes were the size of dinner plates.
"Pitatch."
Another silence followed.
"Is there anything else?" Giles asked, placing his glasses back on his face.
Tara nodded. "Yes, he . . ."
Her doctor, walking in somberly interrupted her.
"Miss Maclay, Miss Rosenburg, I have something important I need to discuss with you privately."
Willow reached for Tara's hand, gripping it tightly. "Whatever you need to say, you can say it in front of everyone."
Looking around the room, the doctor noticed all the people. "Are you sure." The women nodded. Reading through his chart again, the doctor sighed.
"It concerns your child."
AN2: Hahaha! Who said I was gonna let Tara die? Nope, I just said she slipped into blackness. ^sings^ I played ya! I played ya! Hahaha! No, seriously, I love Tara, and cried for a half-hour when she died, so I would never let anything happen to her. So everyone is ok, except for maybe the baby . . . uh oh! Oops. Um . . . NO, PLEASE, DON'T THROW THINGS AT ME!
Rating: R- isn't being immoral a wonderful thing? I sure do think so.
Summary: Buffy, after running away from Sunnydale, comes home six years later with a new identity. While searching for some mysterious evil threatening to destroy all, she begins to see how much she was missed.
Author's Notes: Happy! Another new chapter from my scary brain. So, I'm ok with the unpleasant reviews I got from the last chapter. It lets me know that you are reading and feel sympathy for the characters. Just to let you know I have everything planned out and it will all work out in the end. And if it doesn't, you may hunt me down, kidnap me, and torture me real good! I plan to finish this story by the end of November, and after that, who knows. Should I do a sequel, or should I start something completely different? Comments, please! I have some good ideas in mind. Oh, and I saw Tuesday's episode! What the fuck was that?! I want it to be the end of the season so I can see how everything works out. It's driving me nuts! AHHHH! Love you all!
PS: It was really cool of you guys to tell me how much a stone is in American weight. Really cool. Thanks! Oh, and by the way, there will be NO Angel/Buffy love in my story or any future ones, except when I'm writing in the past. I have never been an Angel fan, nor will I ever be. He has stupid hair and was mean to Buffy! As Anyanka Faith says: "He's an ass monkey!" And my crappy disclaimer was, again, from the Kevin Smith movie Dogma
Chapter Eleven- Never Underestimate a Half-Demon
" . . . EITHER THOU OR I, OR BOTH, MUST GO WITH HIM!"
Phoenix jolted out of her sleep to the screaming. For a second, she couldn't remember where she was. It was, after all, very late at night, and she had had a very bad day.
Who's screaming? Wha . . . huh? Is that . . .? No! Why is Leonardo DiCaprio screaming at me?
Blinking, she sat up. Yes, Leonardo DiCaprio was screaming, but not at her. Baz Lurhman's "Romeo and Juliet" was on TV, now at the point where Romeo shoots Tybalt.
Slowly getting her bearings, Phoenix glanced around the room. It was pitch black, the light from the television illuminating the space. She lay on a very comfortable couch; her feet propped up in Spike's lap.
She grinned when she saw the former Big Bad, his head tilted backwards, drool creeping out of his open mouth. His left arm draped over the back of the sofa, his right hand holding a half-finished can of pop.
The moment ended when Phoenix realized she had to go, badly.
"Hey Spike," she removed her feet from his lap and whispered into his ear, "Wake up." After nudging him gently, he blinked his eyes open.
"Morning luv." His voice was groggy and hoarse.
"Actually, I think it's evening."
Glancing at his watch, he frowned. "Nope, 12:53 in the morning. I'm right." A proud, if slightly tired, grin settled on his face.
With a mock-annoyed face, she rolled her eyes. "Whatever. Um . . . I have to go."
Spike stood up. Great. Just like the old days. "You know where the door is." The blandness of his voice contained an edge of hurt. Why? Phoenix couldn't understand.
Then it came to her. "NO!" she blurted out, half laughing, "I need to . . . you know, GO!"
Seconds later, Spike got it.
"Ah," he began to laugh, "Sorry. I forget about these things, what with being dead and all." Together, they walked to the door. "There's a gas station a quarter of a mile to the west. Very clean. Take Jilly-Bean there when I baby sit her."
She grabbed her jacket, putting it on quickly. "Thanks bunches!" As she turned to leave, he grabbed her arm, making it so she was looking at him.
"After doing your business, are you coming back?"
Without hesitation, she nodded. "Where else am I going to go? Your place is roach-free, unlike my motel room." Turning, she ran out the door, half- sprinting, half-holding it in.
True to his word, the bathroom was clean. She felt lighter, all that liquid evacuated from her system.
The walk back to Spike's crypt was slower, specifically so she could think. Yesterday had been a day of hell, but at the same time, it was perfect.
After hearing of the nightmares she put her friends through, Phoenix cried for two hours, Spike alternating between comforting and crying himself. When the tears had gone, they sat together in silence. In a gesture of gratitude, Phoenix helped Spike clean his crypt of the many liquor bottles, and then the two spent the afternoon and evening cleaning out the contents of his refrigerator and watching cable TV. No words, no accusations, no apologies. Just compassion.
Seconds later, she was back at the crypt, which at the moment was completely empty.
"Spike?" she asked, her voice filled with worry. Why would Spike leave?
A grunt came from his bedroom downstairs. "Down here, pet." He seemed to be concentrating on something.
Climbing down his makeshift steps, she found Spike rummaging through his closet.
"Have somethin' for ya." He stood, holding something behind his back.
"What?"
Instead of answering, he held out his hands. In it was a light blue, lacy tanktop.
"You left it here a few years back. I didn't find it until I started fixin' up my place. Though you might want it back."
At first, she was repulsed. Here was an article of clothing that belonged to Buffy Summers, the girl who hurt her friends and family. Why the fuck do I want something of hers?
Then she saw his face. There was no judgement, no hope for her to become Buffy. It was just a sweet gesture.
"Thank you," the words were sincere, and she gratefully took the top from him.
Before he could respond, a beeping sounded from upstairs.
"Shit!" Spike raced up the steps in a frenzy, Phoenix following unsure of what caused the rush.
"What is it?" she asked as he began to look through the drawers in his coffee table.
"Phone."
She laughed, shocking herself and Spike. "YOU have a phone!"
He growled. "Shut up you bint! It's a cell phone, for Scooby emergencies." Underneath an old newspaper, he found it, pushed 'TALK' and put it to his ear.
"What? Hey, Whelp." He nodded as Xander started to speak. "What is it? . . . Uh huh . . . oh God no." As Xander spoke, Spike's face became paler than she had ever seen it. "Christ! We'll be right there . . . Bu-Phoenix and me . . . Don't goddamn start now, Harris! Yeah, don't worry. We'll be there." He hung up the phone, then looked at Phoenix with gloomy eyes.
"We have to go to the hospital, luv."
@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@
As soon as the two entered the room, their friends were upon them, sharing hugs and sobs.
"How is she?" Phoenix asked Giles after covering his shirt in tears.
"They're not saying. Willow hasn't come out of the emergency room since she got here."
Xander returned to his seated wife, who was tearfully feeding their son. "Tara's pretty bad. When they brought her in, I heard them say she may be in a coma."
"What happened to her?" Phoenix sat in the chair across from Xander, wiping the tears away from her eyes.
Giles, now seated next to Olivia, sighed. "She was attacked outside the Magic Box. Beaten with a heavy object and left for dead, apparently."
Spike, who had been pacing around the room since they arrived, stopped. "Who the FUCK would do that to a helpless, pregnant woman?" He walked over to waiting room barrier, his face twisted in rage. "If I find those bastards, I'll . . ." he stopped, punching his fist into the blank, white wall.
"Not if I find them first."
The group turned at the voice. It was Willow, her face streaked with mascara, fists clenched in fury.
Xander ran to his best friend. "How is Tara?"
Willow wiped her face with the back of her hands. "She's in the operating room." As she spoke, her voice faltered, thinking of her lover in pain. "Her right leg is shattered, her back may be broken, she has a concussion, and her left leg is torn apart. The doctors . . . d-don't know if she's gonna wake up." Gathering her strength, she walked to and kneeled in front of Anya. "I have never asked you for anything, and if I have, I've repaid you. I wish that you find the assholes who did this and rip their lungs out."
"Honey," Anya, giving Ryan to her husband, took the woman's hands in hers, "You know I would. I would break EVERY bone in their body, make them suffer incredibly! But, I'm not into vengeance anymore. I can't do it."
Defeated, Willow sank down on the floor, sobbing heavily.
"I just wish she would wake up."
Eyes stared at the broken redhead, weeping on the cheep hospital carpet.
Xander took the bottle out of Ryan's mouth, and replaced it with a pacifier. Thankfully, the boy had refrained from fussing, which was something he always did when his sister was around. Speaking of her . . .
"Where's Gillian?" Xander began to search the waiting room, not seeing the tiny child anywhere.
Anya stood, and the sound in the room ceased.
"I don't know," Anya whispered, looking around the room.
At the other end of the hospital, where the entrance to the ER was, Xander saw a small child with curly black hair pass through the swinging doors. He took off, full speed to catch his daughter.
The Emergency Room was a maze of ambulance drivers, technicians, interns, doctors, nurses, and trauma victims. A security guard, seeing the man barge through the doors, tried to stop him, but Xander pushed him aside when he spotted Gillian's light pink bow pass behind a gurney. Through a corridor of rooms and patients, Xander followed the bow, which was always turning a corner when he spotted it. Then, near the end of a long hallway, he saw the bow go into a room.
It was the operating room. Tara, bloody and bruised, lay on the table, completely unconscious. Xander would have been shocked at the sight, but he was more concerned with the doctor and three surgical nurses, who were invisibly "pinned" to the wall.
"Don't let her do it," the doctor pleaded in a small voice, his eyes full of fear. Gillian, her eyes shinning a bright green, held her small hand up.
"Shut up," her sweet voice now had underlying tones to it, as if groups of people were speaking the words.
Xander approached his daughter, trying not to surprise her. "Honey, let the nice hospital people go."
Before he could speak another word, some large force pushed against him, pinning him to the wall across from the doctors.
"Shhh, Daddy, I know what I'm doing!" Gillian sighed, rolling her glowing eyes. In one quick motion, she was sitting on Tara's chest, staring intensely at her aunt.
Pointing her head to the sky, she began to chant using a strange language. Her hands began to move over Tara's face, and a light started to glow from the girl's tiny body. Helpless, Xander could only watch.
Then, the light snapped off, and Gillian jumped off the table. Xander and the surgeons were released quickly, and they all gathered around the unconscious woman's body.
Suddenly, Tara's eyes blinked open. Once, twice, then staying completely open. The cut on her leg, Xander noticed, was not a horrible wound, but now was a small scar extending from knee to ankle. All of the large wounds were gone, leaving a slight tint of a bruise.
Something tugged at his leg, and Xander looked away from the miracle to his small daughter.
"I'm sorry I did that Daddy, but Auntie Pillow was sad, and she made a wish to make Auntie Tara better, so's I had to do it."
Clearing his throat, Xander picked up the child. "I-I . . . I'm glad you did."
@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@~@
Her peaceful sleep was interrupted by a rather rude snore. Tara opened her eyes, and saw it was Giles.
Damn him, she thought, giggling to herself. I don't know why they stayed.
THEY happened to be Giles, Xander, Anya, Spike, Phoenix, and of course, Willow. Olivia had taken the children to her home earlier, saying they all needed a good sleep.
Tara couldn't see how the adults could get this needed good sleep, all crowded in her private room. When the hospital staff complained about the amount of people staying in the room, Phoenix and Spike went out to have a "talk" with the staff.
Sighing, Tara changed her position. Hospital beds were not the most comfortable to sleep in, but it sucked even more when your entire body was sore. She felt like one big bruise, but it was better than how Willow described her condition before Gillian worked her mojo.
God bless her!
Looking over, Tara felt a pair of eyes on her. It was Willow. When their eyes met, Willow stood up and began to walk to her love, a small smile on her face.
"Shhhh! Don't wake them . . .," Tara warned, indicating the other sleeping people, right before Willow ran into a metal tray and nosily spilled the contents on the floor.
"- Up." Finished the girl, as the sleepers opened their eyes.
Standing as one, they all approached the bed, asking various questions concerning her health and sleep.
"Fine, I'm fine!" insisted the woman, not wanting to know if the bruise on her forehead looked as bad as it felt.
"Well, you're doing pretty fine for a woman who was beaten almost to death by muggers," Anya interjected, a bright smile on her face.
Muggers? Tara became confused.
"Muggers? No, muggers didn't attack me. I-I think it was made to look like I was, in case I didn't survive."
"Then what was it?" Giles came forward, an interested look on his face.
"I . . . it was a Flueruin demon, all by himself. He beat me with a crow bar."
"Flueruin?" Spike looked around the room in shock. "They're peaceful little puffs. Why'd they want to go around beating pregnant women with crow bars?"
"I don't know, but I think he has something to do with the Hellmouth weirdness." A silence filled the room. "Something strange happened. Before I went unconscious, I tried to stop him, but when I touched his skin, it was like I was looking into his mind. I saw everything."
"What did you see?" asked Giles, taking his glasses off.
"They're all at the old Initiative headquarters, his whole community, and they're being led by this demon. They call him 'the Leader', and I guess he's very old and very powerful."
"Does he have a name?" Xander's eyes were the size of dinner plates.
"Pitatch."
Another silence followed.
"Is there anything else?" Giles asked, placing his glasses back on his face.
Tara nodded. "Yes, he . . ."
Her doctor, walking in somberly interrupted her.
"Miss Maclay, Miss Rosenburg, I have something important I need to discuss with you privately."
Willow reached for Tara's hand, gripping it tightly. "Whatever you need to say, you can say it in front of everyone."
Looking around the room, the doctor noticed all the people. "Are you sure." The women nodded. Reading through his chart again, the doctor sighed.
"It concerns your child."
AN2: Hahaha! Who said I was gonna let Tara die? Nope, I just said she slipped into blackness. ^sings^ I played ya! I played ya! Hahaha! No, seriously, I love Tara, and cried for a half-hour when she died, so I would never let anything happen to her. So everyone is ok, except for maybe the baby . . . uh oh! Oops. Um . . . NO, PLEASE, DON'T THROW THINGS AT ME!