DISCLAIMER: Joss owns the canon; I own everything else.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I promise you, I'm doing my best to finish this fic. I imagine like a lot of my endings, it might be a bit cryptic or confusing, but bear with me, and I think everything should be explained. Don't hesitate to ask if you're confused. Oh, and for some reason, ff.net has decided to stop recognizing the symbols I normally use for section breaks, so whenever you see $$$$$, that's the new symbol for a page break… consider it in honor of Anya, my fave character.
SMALL PACKAGES: Chapter Twelve
The child's tortured cries echoed around the non-space, cutting through the air like a knife through tender skin.
Darla slipped her hand into Sunny's small one and squeezed. "It's alright, my darling girl."
The woman knew that it wasn't alright, and as the child's face contorted with another wave of pain, Darla wondered if anything would ever, could ever be alright again. Sunny was a little girl, just a little girl.
The child writhed, her body convulsing.
It burned, burned like fire, burned like ice.
It burned like forever
Forever, forever, forever. The words danced through Sunny's head, and she screamed them in wordless, pained screams that wracked her body.
Burned, burned, burned. Forever, forever, forever.
With each lash of fire, blood rose on her pale white skin, twisting and turning until symbols formed on her tiny body.
Sunny could taste the salt of tears on her lips, and even the tears themselves burned, scorching down her face in a wake of blood.
Pain now. Only pain. Forever, forever, forever.
"My Darla," Sunny rasped between tortured screams. "It's not okay. It will never be okay. I think I know why they hurt me now."
"Hush, my darling," Darla crooned, cradling the child in her arms. She rocked back and forth, whispering over her body with a fierceness that shook her own bones to the core. "Let me take the pain. She's just a child." Darla spit out the words, caught between fury and anguish. "Hurt me, not her. Me."
"They hurt me," Sunny said, her voice eerily calm even as her body bled, foreign symbols marking her child's flesh, "because they can."
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"They're hurting her." Kaya screamed the words, each one marked with the fury that only a small child, mid-tantrum, can express.
"Sweetie, what are they doing to her?" Faith asked. "Baby girl, it's alright. Listen to Mommy. I won't let anything hurt you."
"Death," Kaya said, and hearing the word from the child's mouth froze Spike in place to the ground. "My others, not yours, bad man!" Kaya stomped her foot. "Sunny mine. Anya mine. Jenny mine."
Kaya tilted her head to the side, listening. She nodded. "Power," she said finally. "Mine."
She looked up at Spike, and he found himself looking into his own eyes, piercing blue eyes. Stubbornly, the little girl weaved her hand through his. "Mine," she repeated.
She grabbed Faith's hand with her other. "Mine." She paused and looked at them both expectantly. "Gimme," she said simply.
Faith and Spike looked at each other, lost.
"SODDING GIMME!" Kaya stamped her foot. "Power. Mommy power. Daddy power. Kaya need. Sodding gimme!"
The only word Spike heard was Daddy, and the moment that term crossed Kaya's lips, he surrendered himself. She was flesh of his flesh, soul of his soul. She was his, and he was hers. As they stood there, his power flowed into the child's body.
"Mommy?" Kaya said, making her voice nice all of a sudden. Her skin had begun to glow with dark light, the color of a black opal, swirling midnight nothingness. A bewitching color.
Faith looked down at the child, the one thing that had ever really gone right in her life. She'd die before she'd let anything hurt Kaya, kill to keep the child alive.
"Just you, Mommy," the little girl said, her voice soft. "Kaya just need you."
Faith looked at the child and nodded, love swelling in her heart, and she felt heat rushing towards her hands. The child threw her head back as Faith's power surged into her body, and after a moment, she rose slowly off the ground, her dark hair standing on end, and her blue eyes shining so brightly that Spike and Faith had to turn their heads away.
Inside their heads, they heard a non-voice speak.
Child of life, child of death, child of that in between.
Call to her, child.
Bring her.
Power of life, power of death, power of that in between.
Call to her, child.
Bring her.
Bring her.
"Bloody wanker bring her," Kaya said decisively, and she nodded. Faith bit back a grin, and the child, her little girl, rose further into the air, glowing so brightly that she disappeared behind the white light of her eyes and the swirling black glow surrounding her body.
Kaya squinted, peering off into the distance. She could almost see something, almost hear it.
"Sunny," she said. "My Sunny. Come."
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"Claire-y?" Brookie whimpered, her eyes locked onto her sister's unmoving body. Tears welled up in her light blue eyes, and she turned to look accusingly at the bleeding man who was making his way towards her, knife in hand. "You hurt her," the little girl accused. "Brookie doesn't like you." The toddler slayer paused. "Brookie must kill you now," she said finally, her voice wavering.
Talot paused for a second. His life had just been threatened by a seriously cranky two year old. Granted, he'd killed the girl's sister, but still, to him it seemed a bit harsh. All he'd wanted was the power of the dead. Surely that wasn't too much to ask.
Some people had no appreciation for greatness, no vision.
"Easy there, little girl," Talot said, pulling himself and his broken leg along the ground, crawling towards Brookie, the knife still clenched in his hands. "All I need is a bit of your blood." He paused. "All of it, actually." He paused, reflective. "It's not too much to ask, really. I own you, legally speaking of course, thanks to Daddy dearest." He glanced down at Claire, lying motionless on the ground, and at Noelle's paling face. "All three of you signed over by your bloodkin before you were born," Talot continued. "Such a pity." He paused. "Who am I kidding? Such a convenience."
"I'd like to 'convenience' his ass," Cordelia hissed, glaring at the evil doer. What was taking Buffy and Angel so long? Why weren't they here? And why were those little girls lying so motionlessly on the floor.
"Easy there, Princess," Doyle said, putting calming hands on Cordy's shoulders even as he clenched his own jaw in frustration. How could they just sit there and watch the little slayers die?
A moment later, Cordelia felt her body being pulled in seven different directions, and the boundaries of her non-corporeal form blurred until the only thing she could feel was Doyle's hands. "Doyle?"
"I'm here, love," Doyle said, for once leaving off calling her a ritzy nickname.
"COME." The voice was high and childlike, ancient and commanding, and Cordy and Doyle heard it in their bones. "COME."
Talot reached out, knife in hand, ready to strike, but in that moment, his office exploded into chaos. A little boy, yelling in Latin at the top of his lungs apparated into the room, bringing with him two angry adults. At the exact same moment, the office door, which Talot had thought was suitably locked, flew open, and in charged a man he recognized as the former Angelus, followed by an obscenely large group of people, all of whom looked, to put it mildly, royally unpleased.
Desperate, Talot made a grab for Brookie, and the knife scraped across the surface of her skin before the little girl could react.
With a roar, Lindsey leapt from Brandon's side, and in the next instant, Talot found himself slammed against the far wall. "Take your hands off my daughter." Lindsey stared into the man's eyes, his voice low and dangerous. In a single motion, Lindsey had Talot's knife in his hand at Talot's throat.
"It's too late," Talot said, grinning from ear to ear. "The third blood has been shed, granted, not all of the blood, but with the power of the sacrificial vessel to clear the way, it should be enough for my purposes. Tyrai will come to me. The power of Death will come to me. Come, Tyrai. Fill the vessel."
Lindsey spoke over his shoulder. "Brookie, Claire, close your eyes." Brookie squeezed her eyes shut, and without preamble, Lindsey slit Talot's throat. "This is the power of death," he said, so softly that no one but Talot heard him.
No one messed with Lindsey McDonald's children. No one.
"Daddy," Brookie whimpered softly. "Claire-y's eyes are already closed."
"Oh." The single sound escaped Buffy's throat as her eyes landed on Claire and Noelle. Both children were bleeding profusely. Noelle's eyes were open, but Claire's were not, and as she looked at the little girl who'd been at her school since it had opened, Buffy felt something akin to anguish rising in her throat. "Oh, Claire."
She was too late. She was supposed to protect them, but in the end, she'd done nothing but watch their father kill the man who'd murdered his daughter, all in the name of Death. "Wills, is there anything you can do?" Willow, Val in her arms, swallowed hard. Playing with death was something she'd sworn never to do again. Not even for a child. Not even for Claire.
"Daddy, Claire won't play with Brookie," the little slayer said, indignant. "Tell her to get up."
Kate, holding Brandon back with one hand, bit her bottom lip, and as Lindsey stared at Claire's broken body, Kate knelt down next to Brookie and pulled her into a fiercely tight hug. Xander, his heart denying what his eyes saw, picked up Noelle and held the bleeding child tightly.
"We have to help her," he said. "We have to help them."
"Yes, help the small pig-tailed child, Xander," Anya encouraged, knowing that Xander wouldn't hear her, but unable to keep quiet. "The profusely bleeding young human must-"
"COME." The word, spoken with such incredible authority, forced Anya to stop babbling mid-sentence.
Lindsey took one look at Claire and felt himself being torn in two, right down the center of his heart.
Claire, who'd always been loud, even as a baby. Claire who'd bossed around everyone from the time she could walk. Claire, who didn't have an indoor voice. His sister's daughter, the child of his heart. His beautiful, strong, kind Claire. So full of life, and now, so dead.
As the blood dripped from Brookie's arm onto the floor, the sky outside the office darkened, and the earth began to rumble.
The third blood had been shed.
TBC… I decided to go ahead and post what I had instead of waiting to finish the whole story in this chapter. There's more to come, lots more action, and the conclusion. Sorry if it's gotten fast-paced and confusing, and sorry for the angst. I hope you're enjoying. Let me know what you think.
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