A/N: So, the Buffy finale finally aired here in the Tasmanian Wilderness, and to celebrate I popped the cork on a vintage bottle of creative juice. It was still surprisingly fresh despite the long shelf life.
(*Raises glass in toast*) Here's to a brand new chapter!
More coming soon, Dee : )

EPISODE NINE
"Connecting The Dots"

Buffy peeked around the door of the Magic Box, enjoying the novelty of being able to sneak in. Xander had made several attempts at repairing the Spike-damaged bell overhead, but it steadfastly refused to tinkle. She glanced up at it as she slunk inside, pleased with her continued stealth, and then let the door slam loudly behind her. Willow and Tara, both ensconced behind the counter, jumped and let out identical squeaks.

Tara recovered first. "Oh, hey. Its Buffy." A second glance at the grinning Slayer had her gaping. It wasn't that the soft black T-shirt she wore looked suspiciously like one of Spike's old favorites - nothing unusual there, Buffy often borrowed the vamp's clothing - but the fact that it was stretched much tighter than usual over her over-ripe figure. "And can I just go ahead and introduce Seth as a separate person now, 'cause... hoo boy!"

Willow goggled comically. "Oh my Goddess. Did you like, swell up overnight? You look like you're gonna pop any second."

"Don't laugh," Buffy said. "I'm eight months along as of yesterday, it could happen." She waddled across the store and lowered herself into the lone armchair, propping her legs up on the stool in front of her. "Whew! My ankles are so relieved." She sighed, then looked over the clutter-free study desk with interest. "So? Where are all the musty books? I thought Giles was researching."

Giles strode in from the training room, a large, dog-eared volume tucked under his arm. "Did I hear you say eight months?" he asked. "I had no idea you were so close to term."

"Oops, I spoke too soon," Buffy chirped. "Books ahoy." She began drumming the fingers of both hands on her belly. "And yeah, four weeks to go and counting. Hence the increasing abundance."

The Watcher pursed his lips. "Forgive me for asking, Buffy, but you've remained ignorant of so many factors concerning this pregnancy, how is it you're so certain of dates?"

"Uh..." Buffy cringed, trying to formulate a response that wouldn't make his head explode. "Umm, okay. Well, let me put it this way... Spike once said that he'd 'got it right first pop'. 'Nuff said?"

Giles stared at her blankly for a moment, then shuffled his feet uncomfortably. "Ah. Yes, quite. Th-thank you for clearing that up."

"His sperm had been inactive for a long time, it was probably pretty potent." Anya meandered into view, a feather duster swinging carelessly from one hand. "Bet those swimmers were all revved up with somewhere to go." She leant over sideward and peered curiously at the book in Giles' possession, reading the title and recognizing it instantly. "Hey, you're contacting The Font."

He glanced at her, surprised, automatically clutching the book closer as if to protect it from scrutiny, before latching onto the comment. Please, anything that directed the conversation away from the subject of Spike's sperm... "You know them?"

The former demon waved the duster airily. "Oh sure. They're an okay bunch for a collective conscience. No fun at Trivia nights though." She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes, trying to pin down some elusive memory. "You need Pythian water for the ritual right? Like a whole gallon or something. It's a good thing we got a new shipment in last week."

Buffy frowned after the ex-demon as she sashayed back toward the basement. "I don't have to drink it, do I? 'Cause I gotta say, not having a whole lot of bladder control these days."

Tara shook her head, mouth crooked in a wry smile. "No drinking, we promise."

"It's supposed to have divinatory properties," Willow explained. "Mega-helpful for seeing into the future and stuff like that." She replaced the jar she'd been fossicking in on the shelf behind her and wandered toward them, a sprig of stalky dried herbs in her hand. Rosemary, maybe. "It's named for Pythia, the priestess who used to run the Oracle at Delphi. Ancient Greece. Very cool."

Tara grabbed what appeared to be a large crystal punch bowl from the counter and followed her out. She set it in the center of the table, causing the built-in lighting to shine through it in a prismatic glow.

"Another oracle?" Buffy whined, disregarding the goings-on. "Won't that be a huge waste of time? Last time one of those showed it's... well, it's voice around here, she wasn't exactly forthcoming with the details." She pouted. Stupid Herald.

"I'm not contacting the Oracle itself," Giles said. "I'm contacting the Font of Knowledge."

Buffy stared at him, bug-eyed. "There's an actual Font of Knowledge? How long have you known about this and why wasn't I made aware of it back in high school? A study-free Buffy would have been an extra-time-for-slaying Buffy."

"Motivations like that are precisely why it's existence is kept secret. It's not something to be taken lightly." Giles took the herbs from Willow and crushed the leaves between his fingers, sprinkling them across the tabletop in a sweeping anti-clockwise motion, carefully avoiding getting any in the bowl itself. "Furthermore, added time for slaying during that period would presumably have led to Spike's dusty demise, and where would that leave you now?"

Instead of replying, Buffy followed his actions avidly. "Wait. You're doing it now? And here?"

"Is there any particular reason why not now and here?"

"'Cause I really have to go...? Somewhere else. More important?" she hedged, then sighed at her Watcher's level stare. "Or not."

He narrowed his gaze, studying the pale oval of her face a little closer, concern furrowing his brow. "Are you quite alright? You look tired."

Buffy shrugged. "I had bad dreams last night. Not Slayery, just kinda creepy. Demons and fighting. And there was a fire of the Towering Inferno variety. Oh, and I woke up with these strange polka-dotty marks on my face, but they're all gone now."

Anya re-emerged from the basement, balancing a blue-toned plastic bottle in each hand like some B-grade celebrity promoting a designer brand.

"Pythian water," she announced. "Fresh from pristine Grecian climes to you. Will that be cash or charge?" That earned her a withering glance from Giles to which she gave an exasperated huff. "I was making a joke. Playful banter among friends. I can do that, you know. I have a very well developed sense of humor."

"Yes, you have me rolling in the aisles continually," he said drolly. "Please, just... pour it in the bowl."

She aimed a suspicious look in his direction, but did as he asked. The light shimmering through the crystalline of the punch bowl now diffused even further by the water.

Willow rested her head against Tara's shoulder. "Ooh, pretty."

Tara made an agreeing hmm-ing noise.

Giles placed the book on the table and pushed his glasses further up his nose as he scrutinized the faded glyphs on the page before him. "I believe we're about ready to..."

"Oh, wait!" Willow thrust both hands out like she was trying to prevent an accident, then scrambled toward the counter. "The wreath."

Buffy blinked. "We need a wreath?" She tipped her head curiously. "Somebody gonna die?"

"It's a laurel wreath," Giles clarified.

"Somebody gonna be Caesar?"

"That would be you." Willow sniggered and plopped the coronet of dried leaves onto the Slayer's head. "Congratulations."

Buffy did not look pleased. "I'm assuming this has something to do with your spell, and nothing to do with making me look like the queen of dead grassy stuff?"

Giles sighed. "According to many noted texts, laurel communicates with the spirits of prophecy. It was custom to crown all Oracle Priestess in just this way."

"Cute," Buffy deadpanned. "And not in any way clashy with my outfit." She leant down to speak confidentially to the contour of her stomach. "I hope you appreciate this, mister."

Giles was once again absorbed in the book, going over the spell for the millionth time, making sure he was prepared.

"P-please excuse the extreme pompousness of the translation's wording. It may sound very, um..." He twitched, slightly self-conscious, then cleared his throat and began to read aloud. "'We beseech thee, O Golden Apollo, fire-robed prince of Delphi and God of all our suns, to permit access to your supreme Font of Knowledge. Grant us the counsel of your many surrogate tongues, so that the worthy petition of our Priestess may be answered.'"

Anya screwed up her nose. "Doesn't sound much different from normal Giles-speak if you ask me." Nobody did.

The Watcher stopped and checked back over what he'd just recited, distracted by the content. How odd that he'd only just noticed... "Hmm," he mused. "Yet another reference to 'Golden' and more than one sun. I wonder if...?"

"Giles!"

Willow squeaking his name soon returned his focus to the ritual at hand. The water in the bowl had begun to froth and bubble. One could almost have said it was boiling, except that there was no accompanying heat or rising steam. The bubbling slowed after a moment, the water thickening like molasses while still remaining crystal clear. The aerated globules were now struggling to form in the gelatinous liquid, but when each did, it was in the guise of a face. Many different faces, diverse in their heritage. Old, young; male, female; human, demon: all races, sizes and shapes.

Anya peered over Giles' shoulder and waved. "Hi guys! Remember me?"

An impossibly large bubble transformed into the visage of a beautiful young Asian girl. "Anyanka," she said, before disappearing with a muted pop and then remolding again in the form of an elderly male Wijego demon with gnarled horns. "It is good to see you again. We would ask how you are, but-" Pop: a child of indeterminate age, "- we already know."

"Fascinating," Giles murmured.

Buffy rolled her eyes, extracting herself from the armchair and trudging over to see what all the fuss was about. "Hello? Priestess wanting answers right here."

Pop: a rather obese woman with hideous teeth grinned at them but didn't say anything, she was replaced by a bearded young man who looked a little like Xander. "The answers you seek are to be found within," he said.

"No! Really? You're kidding?" The Slayer did not bother to hold back on the sarcasm. She gave Giles a sour look, the laurel wreath slipping down over one eye only to be shoved impatiently back into place. "Told you this was a waste of time. Most of these Oracle thingies know diddly."

Pop-pop-pop.

The Font seemed irritated by Buffy's dismissive attitude, the thick, syrupy bubbles churning more rapidly, several faces morphing together in tacit disapproval, before coagulating back into the wizened features of the Wijego demon they'd observed earlier.

"Chosen One, you disrespect us," he said in a deep, gravelly voice.

Buffy gasped in pretend disappointment. "Damn. What gave me away?"

Giles gave her a stern look, which, as was entirely usual, did nothing to quell the Slayer's capricious nature.

She glared up at him, keeping the precarious wreath straight with one hand while the other curled supportively around her belly. "I'm exhausted, my ankles are killing me, my other half is currently gallivanting around Los Angeles and, from what I can gather link-wise, blowing things up. I am not in the mood for cryptic Oracle-y demons." She shifted from one foot to the other. "Also, I think Nipper might be playing football with one of my internal organs."

As she spoke, the face of the Wijego abruptly popped, the Pythian water mutating into the form of a cherubic little human boy around three or four years old.

"Oh. God." This time Buffy's gasp was entirely genuine. Tears sprang unbidden to her eyes and she reached tentatively toward the boy, one finger extended to trace the outline of his rounded cheek, a gesture so painstakingly gentle that she didn't once break the water's surface.

Giles adjusted his glasses and squinted into the bowl, trying to discern what it was about the child that had spooked her so. The manifestation smirked at him, an expression that should have been alien on his innocent features, but was instead horribly familiar. He knew that smirk. "Dear Lord!" he exclaimed. "It's..."

"Seth." Buffy's whisper was a fragile, broken thing. She was holding herself together by the barest thread, but managed a tremulous smile at the beautiful face of her son. "Hello, my littlest guy." Her heart felt like bursting from the sheer magnitude of it. If only Spike was here...

"How is that possible? That's not possible, right? He hasn't been born yet so he hasn't got a properly established physical form. And-" Willow's innate curiosity got the better of her and she peered over Buffy's shoulder, her brow wrinkled in confusion. "-And ...Holy cow! He looks just like Spike! I mean, if Spike was smaller and cuter and made of soda's evil twin." Her gaze darted from the apparition to Buffy's stomach and back again. "Well, gosh darn it, I wish we could tell what color his eyes are."

Buffy peered at her from the corner of her eye, brows raised.

"We're kinda running a pool," Willow explained sheepishly. Her eyes went wide. "Oh! A gene pool! I made a funny. Go me!"

"Blue," Seth piped up proudly, causing the redhead to break into a silent celebratory jig. "I have blue eyes. Jus' like Spike. That's my Dad, but I don't call him that 'cause it sounds bloody stupid."

His childish voice was tinged with the faintest hint of his father's accent, and Buffy was torn between laughing and crying and fighting off a bizarrely Mom-ish urge to chastise him for his language. This was so totally insane.

The tiny liquid face pouted; nose scrunched, lower lip jutting out, revealing that he had inherited several of his mother's attributes after all. "These other people say that my eyes'll only be blue if the Guardians get their act together. The rift's gotta be fixed first." A thoughtful pause then, "What's a rift? Is it like a raft? They sound sorta the same, but not rhyme-y. Spike tells me good rhymes."

"Precocious, isn't he?" Giles mused. "Quite extraordinary, really."

Seth giggled, causing the Pythian water to ripple in an alarming fashion. Miraculously the face-bubble held its shape. "You're funny, Poppy G."

"P-p-p-" Giles spluttered, incredulous, and gaped at Buffy. "Poppy G? Who on earth gave him permission to call me that? Has he no respect? I sound like some... some hippity-hopping street thug. A-and to have the temerity to call his own father by that horrid nickname..." He ground to a halt and sighed. "Oh, what am I saying? This is simply a conjectural image. Seth's consciousness is nowhere near this far developed."

Buffy shook her head in firm disagreement. "No. It's really him." She grinned. "Poppy G."

"Now, you stop that at once!" Giles admonished. "And don't go spreading it about. I have a reputation to uphold." They all giggled at that, including Seth, and the Watcher pinched the bridge of his nose, exasperated. The lad had given him an instant Spike-headache. He hoped that wasn't a sign that he was evil. "I believe you mentioned a rift? Will the 'other people' in the Font tell us about that?"

One of Seth's watery brows quirked, seemingly involuntarily, followed by a Slayer-like roll of the eyes. "Sure." The way he said it sounded remarkably similar to 'Duh!' There was a slight lull before he spoke again. "Bas says that Mom and Spike are makin' the link act all wonky 'cause they're scared an' if they just work together it'll fix by itself."

Giles allowed himself a moment of self-congratulation. It was just as he'd theorized earlier; the Gemel themselves were the cause, they were projecting their fears onto each other - a lack of communication, of all ironies. He nodded along thoughtfully, then frowned, confused. "I'm sorry, who is this 'Bas' person?"

"One of the guys in here." The Seth-bubble turned as though looking behind him, giving them his profile. "Bassey-lisp or sumptin' like that... He's a hy-oooge green monster man." He let out a silly little tittering noise. "Looks like a big fat booger."

Willow nudged Tara with her hip to get her attention, then tapped the tip of her nose. "Buffy's bump," she whispered knowingly. "Xander's toast. I'm totally going to scoop that pool."

"Bassey-" Giles' brow crumpled into thoughtful furrows. "Seth, are you talking about Basilisk?"

"Yeah. He looks like a booger dun't he, Poppy G?"

Buffy grabbed her Watcher's arm. "Who's the Booger Monster?" she demanded. "Seth's not in danger is he?"

Giles winced. For someone not at her maximum strength, his Slayer had a bone-crushingly powerful grip. "Basilisk is, or was, the king of a band of mythical lizard-like creatures. I uncovered several vague references to him in my original research concerning the Serpiente. I'm inclined to believe that he was actually a Keratos demon."

"You didn't mention that." Buffy's stare could have fried him on the spot. Her fingers dug in harder. "Why didn't you mention that?"

"Buffy, I hardly think this is an appropriate time to..." He took a steadying breath. "I have been admittedly lax in my Watcher duties of late, but that does not exonerate Spike or yourself from any blame in this situation. Seth has just explained that your own misgivings are..."

"Mommy, where's Spike at?"

The fearful little voice sliced right through her, leaving her in a state of numb panic. God, if she couldn't get her head on straight, this miracle child didn't stand a chance. "He's, um, he's... at work right now, sweetie."

"Oh. Work. Like slayin' stuff, huh? Not regular work like Uncle Xan does." Seth's concerned face became introspective, listening to something, or someone else. "'Falshun has 'liminated the pos'ble fret'," he recited after a moment, obviously being coached. "'All will be made well on his return'." He snorted. "Bas is stupid. He talks weird."

"That was a Spike-snort!" Willow blurted, buoyed by her continued success in scooping the Gene Pool. She bobbled on the spot and then squeezed Tara excitedly.

Tara squeezed back, then pulled away to give her a firm look. "Focus, baby. This isn't about you."

"Oh, right. Sorry."

Buffy didn't even hear the exchange. Her gaze was riveted to Seth's face, almost as though she was trying to memorize every feature, every nuance of expression. The tears she'd been holding back mounted a new offensive at Slayer Dam, breaking through fortifications to trickle down her cheeks. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

"What for?" Seth gave a birdlike tilt of his head. "Didja break somethin' again?"

"Yeah. Kinda looks that way." She bowed her head, not even bothering to fix the wreath when it slipped down onto the bridge of her nose, obscuring her view. "It's my fault that the rift happened. My fault the link almost broke. I'll fix it, though. I promise."

"Hokay." Seth's acceptance was automatic, no doubt at all in his voice; Mom always kept her promises. He blinked a couple of times, lids drooping before forcibly widening again. "Don' need a nap," he declared. "'M not tired."

Buffy smiled. "No, baby, you go to sleep now. I'll see you soon."

"Awright then. Bye Mommy. Love you."

"I love you, too."

The bubble began expanding before she'd even finished speaking, but didn't pop, instead dissolving in on itself and flattening until it was just a regular bowl of water again.

Giles reached out in a jerky stop-start motion and rescued the laurel wreath, which was in grave danger of toppling from the Slayer's head into the water. "Well, that was ...enlightening, to say the least."

"So, Spike's gotta come back, right?" Anya asked. "I mean, that was the gist of the whole thing. He's gotta come back to fix the rift."

"It appears so. Although revealing the finer details of how that may happen didn't seem to occur to them."

"Spike never should have left in the first place," Buffy said, finally looking away from the bowl to gaze at them each in turn. "My letting him think that I didn't want him around... That was wrong. And stupid. And he was even stupider for believing me." There was a clear light in her eyes, a spark that hadn't been there for months. "We're a family. It's about time we figured out what that means."

~[*]~

Xander Harris, designated Slay-buddy, was running as fast as his too-human legs would allow. Unfortunately it wasn't proving fast enough. He skirted around a broken headstone, trying to keep Buffy in sight as she chased after a runaway fledgling. Man, less than a month from delivering her and Spike's little bundle of joy, and she was still leaving him in the dust.

Literally.

He choked as he ran right through the vamp's cloudy remains, hands flapping wildly at the air around his face. "UGH! Gack! That stuff just does not taste good. Why can't I ever inhale a better flavored...? And I'm not going to finish that sentence."

Buffy grinned, tucking Mr. Pointy into one pocket, then producing a brown paper bag from another and offering it to him. "Peanut chaser?"

He glanced at the bag, then back at her face. "Post-slayage munchies?"

"More like post-Oracle-thing munchies," she said, scavenging through the contents for a nut that actually had fruit and wasn't just fragments of shell from her previous forays. "Kinda depressed about the whole needing Spike to be here and him being not. Here."

"You guys've been doing it tough lately, huh?" Xander fell into step beside the Slayer as she headed toward the cemetery gates, leaving a trail of discarded peanut shells in her wake.

She shrugged off the question. "Who doesn't? Relationships are tough. That's life."

"Or un-life, as with you and Dead Boy."

Buffy stopped and scowled at him. "Spike's not dead. He's..."

"Dead," Xander supplied blithely. "He's a vampire. Nothing's ever gonna change that, not even the nifty breathing-and-beating-heart thing he's got going."

She was seriously peeved now, arms folded over the swell of her stomach. "Spike. Is. Not. Dead." Each word was hissed through her clenched teeth. "Seth wouldn't be here if he was."

Xander hated when she did that, forcefully drawing his attention to the fact of Seth's existence. He was painfully aware of Buffy and Spike's connection, but when it came to the physical side of things he quite liked having his head buried in the sand, thank you very much. The view was much less confrontational than having the impending spawn of the Bleached Wonder shoved in his face at every opportunity.

He took a deep breath, ready to continue on his anti-Spike diatribe, then let it out again, startled by the glimpse of something in her eyes. Something he hadn't expected, something rare that he hadn't seen for a very, very long time.

Buffy was scared.

No, more than that, Buffy was absolutely terrified.

He hadn't been around for the ritual or it's aftermath, but if it was having this kind of effect... "Okay, so why don't you tell Uncle Xander what's really freaking you out?"

She avoided his eyes, suddenly enthralled with the contents of the paper bag. "Rift."

"The blurting of random nouns is not so big with explaining goodness."

"There's a rift in the link. Rifts R Us."

"But that can be fixed, right? I'm guessing the whole 'permanent' thing still stands?"

"Oh yeah. It's not like the Grand Canyon or anything. Not even a rift really, more like... a glitch. A tiny, microscopic glitch. Totally fixable. Something about Spike having to be here for something... else." Buffy wrinkled her nose at a dubious fragment dug up from her excavations - Hmm, shell or nut? Better safe than sorry - and tossed it aside. "Or something."

"Not buying the little Miss Flippy act on offer there, Buff." Xander ducked his head, trying to meet her eyes. "C'mon, let the scaredy cat out of the bag."

"Well..." Her shoulders hitched self-consciously. "We're sorta having to rely on the do-it-yourself guide to rift-fixing. Seth didn't leave an instruction manual, so all we know is Spike comes home and somehow, 'poof!' - no more rift." She scowled. "Not that we know exactly what that is either." Font of Knowledge, my ass.

"So, to sum up, you don't know what it is, or how to fix it."

"Uh huh. And there's also the fact that the whole thing is possibly my fault to begin with."

Xander mulled that over. "The fight at the Magic Box is beginning to make sense..."

"Oh no, it started way before that." Buffy scrunched the paper bag into a tiny ball and tossed it back over her shoulder. It ricocheted off a couple of headstones before coming to rest in the grass. "I think because of commitment fear."

The brunette was aghast. "Spike wouldn't commit? What a jerk! I knew there was a reason I hated that guy..."

"No. Spike... God, Spike couldn't be more committed. He's a committee. He's like, monogamy personified."

"Still not seeing the problem."

"I can't seem to... Everyone I've ever loved has left me; Angel, my Dad, Mom..." She choked over the lump in her throat. "Okay, so I didn't really love Riley, but there's another big red check in the leaving me column..."

"In your Mom's defense, leaving you? Not her choice."

"I know that. The point is I've developed a tendency to push people away when they get too close, a pre-emptive strike kinda thing. Only now, I might have pushed so hard that something broke. Something beautiful and precious and..." She stifled a sob. "...And what if we can't fix it? What if my stupid cold feet have stomped over any chance of us being a proper family?" She brushed at the tears on her cheeks and gazed at him expectantly, wanting him to tell her it would be okay.

Xander stared at her for a long time, his thoughts in a jumble. What he said next was the last thing she was expecting.

"I've been carrying a ring around in my pocket for three months."

Buffy blinked. "Huh?"

"After the Double-Xander thing, when I landed that promotion, it was like something clicked. Everything started to make sense. I had the steady job, the great apartment. All that was missing was the perfect little missus. So I bought this." A tiny blue velveteen box was pulled from his coat pocket and jiggled in one hand. "But then I started thinking; Anya has been alive for over a thousand years, she's seen and done things that I can't even begin to wrap my head around. What can I offer her that's gonna compare to that?"

"Jeez, is this that whole inadequacy thing again? We've been down that road. Recently. You can still see the footprints." She rolled her eyes at his feeble-mindedness. "Anya loves you, you dope. Normal Joe Construction Worker you, sawdust and all. Nothing else should matter."

Xander nodded. "See, that's the same conclusion I came to after your pep talk." He opened the box, showing her the empty cushion inside. "She said 'yes'."

Buffy was beyond stunned. "Oh. My. God!"

Xander put the box away and rested his hands on her shoulders, gazing at her with utter sincerity. "Buffy, if you love Spike, I mean really love him, then nothing else should matter."

The Slayer gawped like a fish, trying to assimilate what she'd just heard. "You're... right." She narrowed her eyes at him. "Who are you and what have you done with Xander?"

He smiled. "Very funny."

She grinned back, shifting forward to grab him in a rib-cracking hug. "Congratulations! I'm so happy for you!"

"And with the remaining air in my lungs, I thank you," he wheezed.

She pulled away, wincing sympathetically, but Xander just stared distractedly over her head.

Something was rustling in the bushes behind the ever-popular Alpert Crypt. Probably another fledgling - they were drawn to the place like bees to honey. Maybe the crypt had the same demon attracting issues he did. Had they ever looked into that?

Buffy turned, curious. "What are you looking at?"

Xander squinted for a moment longer, but couldn't discern any further movement. "Nothing, I guess." He turned his attention back to her. "You'll be okay?"

She placed a hand on his forearm, offering reassurance. "I'll be fine, Xan. Just a bit freaked about having a one-on-one conversation with somebody who's not born yet."

"Yeah, I can see how that might induce wiggage."

The crackle of someone stepping on Buffy's discarded paper bag made them both turn back in that direction. They barely had time to register the presence of the three dark Chloroform-wielding figures before unconsciousness took them.

TBC...