Good evening, everyone.
Well, I'm back on track, at least I think so! After a week off entertaining, I finally got some writing done and even got a wee bit ahead of the game. Still haven't finished the NC sequel, but it's coming. My poor Muse got sidetracked on another project!
Anyway, the angst is beginning again, so be forewarned, and it will likely not let up for a while. But I will try to throw in some moments of light to keep it from getting too dark. And remember, endings are always happy in the NimVerse.
Enjoy and please, I crave feedback. Send it my way!
In Beauty, Nimue "For it is in giving that we receive-
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned.
And it's in dying that we are born to eternal life. " - Prayer of Out of Reach (Chapter Twenty-one - Meant to Be)
Author: Nimue
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Spike/Buffy (Most major characters included)
Feedback: Yes, please
For instant notification of fic releases, straight to your mailbox, please visit Always_Everyday@yahoogroups.com. Also, please visit Always_Everyday's sister group How to Make a Vampire Sundae for fiction with adult content.
The rest of the story can be found present chapters are being posted on my live journal All characters (save for the ones I made up) belong to someone other than me; they belong to Mutant Enemy, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel the Series, Fox, WB, their affiliates, lawyers and all sorts of other folks that aren't me. :::sigh::::
Summary: The weekend is over, and the SG reconvenes to try and figure out how to overcome this massive obstacle without taking the baby. Angst warning.
Out of Reach
The weekend was over far too fast. Sunday evening and they'd barely begun to heal. Looking at each other, the bruises and cuts were faded but visible, but seeing each other's eyes . the wounds were cutting far deeper.
There had to be a way out.
Spike walked around the lower level of the house, absently picking things up and putting them down again someplace else. He called it cleaning. It was more akin to pacing while carrying toys.
Buffy tried to pull herself together upstairs. They'd slept, made love, thought, screamed, cried, for two days straight and neither of them knew what to do. Then again, they didn't have all the information, right? Giles and Willow and Wesley. they'd figure it out. They had the documents and those creepy pictures. They'd know.
They had to.
She heard the doorbell ring and hurried up with the dressing. Pulling her jeans up, she realized they wouldn't zipper. In all the upset about losing the baby, she was forgetting she had it at all. A sad smile broke on her face as her hand stayed over the pants that wouldn't close. Normally, this was the moment that the first hissy fit was pitched. Where she yelled at Spike for making her wardrobe outdated and she cried in the bathroom for half an hour because there was very little worse than being fat, in her mind. Being dead. Being without her family and friends.
And losing this.
Being fat wasn't so bad after all.
Slowly, she slid the jeans down to her ankles as the bedroom door creaked open.
"First lot's here, Pet," he said, as the door hit the back wall and bounced back towards him. Sometimes, he forgot his own strength.
Buffy nodded, her back to him, her body still bent from sliding her jeans down. He watched her for a moment, rifling through a drawer, her back so tense that it could have doubled as a tight-rope.
"You all right, Love?" Spike began, walking towards her. He saw her shudder once and heard a quiet noise.
Tears.
"Hey," he whispered, walking over to her and standing her up, turning her to face him. "What's wrong, Love? Other than the obvious."
She chuckled, trying to look at him, but afraid to see his eyes again. The pain there. "My pants won't button," she answered quietly.
Spike rolled his eyes, running his hands through her hair and looking down at the jeans pooled on the floor. "Should know better than to keep trying the tightest ones," he countered, kicking them away. "Probably shrunk them in the wash, Love."
Her fingers wound into the t-shirt material at the base of his spine and she shook her head. "No, it's real." She let go with one hand and slid it around his waist, with her other hand taking his and running it over her stomach. "Miracle-Gro or something."
Spike smiled softly at her. "Going to start the war already? How I'm a lecherous pig for destroying your collection of well fitted pants with my unending desire to have you in every position possible?"
Through her tears, she laughed. "I kinda like that," she answered quietly. "The desire thing."
"Good to know," Spike answered, kissing her neck just below her ear and making her quake.
Buffy pushed him away and ventured a look into those endless blue eyes. "But I want my wardrobe to be completely useless. Totally non-fitty. And."
The tears came back with ferocity as she wrapped her mind around it again. Spike felt her heart break and couldn't help but feel utterly helpless. He could help her make the baby, but there was little he could do to help her keep it.
Other than go downstairs and find a way to destroy whoever was doing this in the most painful, ruthless way he could. And laugh as he did it.
"It'll be all right, Buffy," Spike whispered, pulling her head to his chest and backing them towards the bed. "We can win this like everything else, all right? And I'm sure in no time, you'll be screaming your sodding lungs out because you have to move into those sexy jeans with the front bit missing and the giant fabric panel."
Buffy chuckled, remembering the last time she'd had to wear those. She never did get huge, at least in comparison to her friends, but she still couldn't fit into even his sweats by the end. "You love them, face it."
Spike sat her down on the edge of the bed, rifling through her drawer and pulling out a pair of regular jeans, a size or two too big. Made for Slaying rather than fashion. Slowly, he walked to her and knelt, pulling the denim over her feet, sliding it over her ankles, her calves. "I do. Love anything you are wearing. Love everything you aren't."
"Perv," Buffy chuckled, tears still streaming down her face as he worked the jeans up her thighs and lifted her with one hand, pulling them the rest of the way up with the other.
Slowly, gently, he leaned forward, kissing her lips. Not a hungry kiss. Not even a lazy one. Just a sweet, silent, closed mouth kiss, pressing his lips to hers as he buttoned each button around the small swell of her belly with ease.
When she was dressed, he pulled away, looking at her softly. "Make sure even these don't fit in a few months, all right, Pet?"
She nodded as he stood, pulling her up with him, then leaning in to brush the tears from her face with his thumb.
"Need you to focus now, Pet. All right? Don't blame you for falling apart. Feeling a lot like that myself. But we need to suss this out. We can fall apart again later." His hand wrapped snugly around hers and he fitted his fingers into the spaces between her own.
"I will. Promise," she answered, softly. He watched her, smiling, as she steeled herself visibly. Her sad, lost features becoming determined and brave. She'd be a horrid poker player.
"Let's go then," Spike encouraged, kissing the top of her head and leading her out the door.
~~~@~~~@~~~@~~~
The dining room table had become the center of a war room by the time they had made it downstairs. Books and slides and pictures and even white boards lay all over the room. A small TV with a VCR was at the edge of the table. Wesley, Giles and Cyrus were poring over slides and pages of dusty volumes while Willow was setting up some sort of circle in the corner.
In the kitchen, Tara, Anya and Oz were occupying the wee ones making ice cream sundaes. So odd to have them here - the kids - when they were researching. But as Buffy did a mental inventory of the occupants of her house, she realized that there was no one left to take care of them, except.
A knock at the door brought her back into reality. Buffy snapped to attention from her place near the stairs and turned, still hanging on to Spike, answering the door.
Xander stood in front of her, River on one hip, sleeping soundly, and Will on the other, in much the same state. Emma stood next to Takina; both of them loaded with colourful, plastic, Disneyland bags.
Buffy stared for a second, not sure what to do. She wanted nothing more than to take her two kids and flee back upstairs to the comfort of her room and hold them until they could barely breathe. But, at the same time, she didn't want them here for this. She didn't want to burden them with any more fodder for psychotherapy in the future.
Thankfully, Spike took the lead, stepping in front of her and reaching out, taking Will from Xander's arm.
"Thanks," Xander answered, his voice unnaturally quiet. "Willow called and said I should be here. I didn't know what to do with."
Spike nodded, letting him in. "Seems that Glinda and the Wolf are setting up shop for toddlers in the basement."
Xander shuffled in, Takina at his heels. Emma clung to Takina's hand until she crossed the threshold, face troubled and sad. As soon as she was through, she let go, running to her mother and throwing her arms around Buffy's waist, clinging for dear life.
Spike saw Buffy's resolve waver and her eyes fill up. But she swallowed it, lowering to a crouch and smiling for their daughter. "Did you have fun in Disneyland?"
Emma nodded, letting Buffy brush the hair from her face. "We went to Toon Town. Will got scared of Mickey Mouse though."
Buffy chuckled. "Gotta work on that."
"What? Six foot rat's a bit frightening to even someone closer to its size!" Spike defended, ruffling Emma's hair.
Takina took River and headed to the kitchen, Spike and Will in tow, leaving Xander in the hall to face Buffy. He shuffled his weight from one side to the other, waiting. Not sure what to do with himself or his body. "How. how's everything?"
Buffy averted her gaze to Xander. "Um. hard. Hard is a good word."
Xander looked at Emma, not wanting to say too much. "What... what can I do, Buff?"
She sighed, standing, pulling Emma against her hip. "Honestly, I don't know yet. "
As Spike and Takina reappeared in the hall, Giles' voice called from the dining room. "Yes, I think we're ready to get started. Buffy? Spike?"
The pair looked at each other and then down at their daughter. Spike leaned down to her eye level this time. "Think it's time you went in with the rest, Mite."
Emma shook her head, tears falling down her face. "No, daddy. I can help."
Spike hazarded a glance to Buffy who was a little wide-eyed, shaking her head. He returned his gaze to Emma. "I don't think that's a good idea, Love. There are some bad. bad things are happening. And they aren't about you. Don't want to put you in the middle of it."
Emma nodded. "They're about her," she continued, putting her hand on Buffy's belly. Her fingers glowed at the touch. "And I am already in the middle. It's me that they want. And it's me that knows why."
That took them a bit off guard.
Spike rocked back on his heels, righting himself and trying to avoid the fear in Buffy's eyes. Giles had walked up behind his charge, Cyrus to his right. "Why's that, Pet?"
"Coz I'm the one that beats them. in the end," Emma answered succinctly. "And they don't want that. Nobody likes to lose."
Spike chuckled, nodding. "No. No one does."
"And it's not her fault," Emma continued, patting Buffy's abdomen. "And I don't' want her to die because of me."
Tears started down Buffy's face. Spike felt them long before he could see them, but he took a breath. Swallowed. Choked them back. "She's not going to die, Mite. And it's not because of you."
Emma touched his face with the other hand, her little palms warm against his skin. "It is. And she can live because of me too."
Spike's eyes opened, staring into hers. Blue clashing against blue, will against will in a gentle struggle for right. "Emma, I don't."
Cyrus interrupted. "Spike, Buffy, if you don't mind my opinion, she may be able to help. "
The blue glare of the father shot up to meet Cyrus. "Don't need your opinion. She's my daughter and."
"And I'm theirs too," Emma interrupted, her eyes flickering skyward. "Maybe they can help."
"Not to mention," Giles chimed in, his voice cautious and reverent, "she may be your child, Spike, but she is older than us all. Older than time."
"She's seen worse, is what you mean," Buffy choked, her hand covering her daughter's, pressed over the baby.
Giles nodded his agreement.
Spike looked at the bunch like they'd all lost their minds, but when Buffy looked down at him, nodding gently, he relented. "Don't like this," he grumbled, standing, straightening himself.
Emma looked up at him, stretching her arms towards him. For a moment, he let his eyes flicker closed, flashes of her in his arms on the day she was born, standing before him just now with bright, steel blue eyes. Every moment in between. But when he opened them, and she still stood there, arms stretched up towards him, he had to take her.
Once more into the breach.
Slowly, Spike leaned down, wrapping his arms underneath hers and picking her up, carrying her into the dining room with them. He may have to let her be there with them, but he wasn't about to let her be alone. Out of reach.
Never out of reach.
To be contd.
Well, I'm back on track, at least I think so! After a week off entertaining, I finally got some writing done and even got a wee bit ahead of the game. Still haven't finished the NC sequel, but it's coming. My poor Muse got sidetracked on another project!
Anyway, the angst is beginning again, so be forewarned, and it will likely not let up for a while. But I will try to throw in some moments of light to keep it from getting too dark. And remember, endings are always happy in the NimVerse.
Enjoy and please, I crave feedback. Send it my way!
In Beauty, Nimue "For it is in giving that we receive-
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned.
And it's in dying that we are born to eternal life. " - Prayer of Out of Reach (Chapter Twenty-one - Meant to Be)
Author: Nimue
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Spike/Buffy (Most major characters included)
Feedback: Yes, please
For instant notification of fic releases, straight to your mailbox, please visit Always_Everyday@yahoogroups.com. Also, please visit Always_Everyday's sister group How to Make a Vampire Sundae for fiction with adult content.
The rest of the story can be found present chapters are being posted on my live journal All characters (save for the ones I made up) belong to someone other than me; they belong to Mutant Enemy, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel the Series, Fox, WB, their affiliates, lawyers and all sorts of other folks that aren't me. :::sigh::::
Summary: The weekend is over, and the SG reconvenes to try and figure out how to overcome this massive obstacle without taking the baby. Angst warning.
Out of Reach
The weekend was over far too fast. Sunday evening and they'd barely begun to heal. Looking at each other, the bruises and cuts were faded but visible, but seeing each other's eyes . the wounds were cutting far deeper.
There had to be a way out.
Spike walked around the lower level of the house, absently picking things up and putting them down again someplace else. He called it cleaning. It was more akin to pacing while carrying toys.
Buffy tried to pull herself together upstairs. They'd slept, made love, thought, screamed, cried, for two days straight and neither of them knew what to do. Then again, they didn't have all the information, right? Giles and Willow and Wesley. they'd figure it out. They had the documents and those creepy pictures. They'd know.
They had to.
She heard the doorbell ring and hurried up with the dressing. Pulling her jeans up, she realized they wouldn't zipper. In all the upset about losing the baby, she was forgetting she had it at all. A sad smile broke on her face as her hand stayed over the pants that wouldn't close. Normally, this was the moment that the first hissy fit was pitched. Where she yelled at Spike for making her wardrobe outdated and she cried in the bathroom for half an hour because there was very little worse than being fat, in her mind. Being dead. Being without her family and friends.
And losing this.
Being fat wasn't so bad after all.
Slowly, she slid the jeans down to her ankles as the bedroom door creaked open.
"First lot's here, Pet," he said, as the door hit the back wall and bounced back towards him. Sometimes, he forgot his own strength.
Buffy nodded, her back to him, her body still bent from sliding her jeans down. He watched her for a moment, rifling through a drawer, her back so tense that it could have doubled as a tight-rope.
"You all right, Love?" Spike began, walking towards her. He saw her shudder once and heard a quiet noise.
Tears.
"Hey," he whispered, walking over to her and standing her up, turning her to face him. "What's wrong, Love? Other than the obvious."
She chuckled, trying to look at him, but afraid to see his eyes again. The pain there. "My pants won't button," she answered quietly.
Spike rolled his eyes, running his hands through her hair and looking down at the jeans pooled on the floor. "Should know better than to keep trying the tightest ones," he countered, kicking them away. "Probably shrunk them in the wash, Love."
Her fingers wound into the t-shirt material at the base of his spine and she shook her head. "No, it's real." She let go with one hand and slid it around his waist, with her other hand taking his and running it over her stomach. "Miracle-Gro or something."
Spike smiled softly at her. "Going to start the war already? How I'm a lecherous pig for destroying your collection of well fitted pants with my unending desire to have you in every position possible?"
Through her tears, she laughed. "I kinda like that," she answered quietly. "The desire thing."
"Good to know," Spike answered, kissing her neck just below her ear and making her quake.
Buffy pushed him away and ventured a look into those endless blue eyes. "But I want my wardrobe to be completely useless. Totally non-fitty. And."
The tears came back with ferocity as she wrapped her mind around it again. Spike felt her heart break and couldn't help but feel utterly helpless. He could help her make the baby, but there was little he could do to help her keep it.
Other than go downstairs and find a way to destroy whoever was doing this in the most painful, ruthless way he could. And laugh as he did it.
"It'll be all right, Buffy," Spike whispered, pulling her head to his chest and backing them towards the bed. "We can win this like everything else, all right? And I'm sure in no time, you'll be screaming your sodding lungs out because you have to move into those sexy jeans with the front bit missing and the giant fabric panel."
Buffy chuckled, remembering the last time she'd had to wear those. She never did get huge, at least in comparison to her friends, but she still couldn't fit into even his sweats by the end. "You love them, face it."
Spike sat her down on the edge of the bed, rifling through her drawer and pulling out a pair of regular jeans, a size or two too big. Made for Slaying rather than fashion. Slowly, he walked to her and knelt, pulling the denim over her feet, sliding it over her ankles, her calves. "I do. Love anything you are wearing. Love everything you aren't."
"Perv," Buffy chuckled, tears still streaming down her face as he worked the jeans up her thighs and lifted her with one hand, pulling them the rest of the way up with the other.
Slowly, gently, he leaned forward, kissing her lips. Not a hungry kiss. Not even a lazy one. Just a sweet, silent, closed mouth kiss, pressing his lips to hers as he buttoned each button around the small swell of her belly with ease.
When she was dressed, he pulled away, looking at her softly. "Make sure even these don't fit in a few months, all right, Pet?"
She nodded as he stood, pulling her up with him, then leaning in to brush the tears from her face with his thumb.
"Need you to focus now, Pet. All right? Don't blame you for falling apart. Feeling a lot like that myself. But we need to suss this out. We can fall apart again later." His hand wrapped snugly around hers and he fitted his fingers into the spaces between her own.
"I will. Promise," she answered, softly. He watched her, smiling, as she steeled herself visibly. Her sad, lost features becoming determined and brave. She'd be a horrid poker player.
"Let's go then," Spike encouraged, kissing the top of her head and leading her out the door.
~~~@~~~@~~~@~~~
The dining room table had become the center of a war room by the time they had made it downstairs. Books and slides and pictures and even white boards lay all over the room. A small TV with a VCR was at the edge of the table. Wesley, Giles and Cyrus were poring over slides and pages of dusty volumes while Willow was setting up some sort of circle in the corner.
In the kitchen, Tara, Anya and Oz were occupying the wee ones making ice cream sundaes. So odd to have them here - the kids - when they were researching. But as Buffy did a mental inventory of the occupants of her house, she realized that there was no one left to take care of them, except.
A knock at the door brought her back into reality. Buffy snapped to attention from her place near the stairs and turned, still hanging on to Spike, answering the door.
Xander stood in front of her, River on one hip, sleeping soundly, and Will on the other, in much the same state. Emma stood next to Takina; both of them loaded with colourful, plastic, Disneyland bags.
Buffy stared for a second, not sure what to do. She wanted nothing more than to take her two kids and flee back upstairs to the comfort of her room and hold them until they could barely breathe. But, at the same time, she didn't want them here for this. She didn't want to burden them with any more fodder for psychotherapy in the future.
Thankfully, Spike took the lead, stepping in front of her and reaching out, taking Will from Xander's arm.
"Thanks," Xander answered, his voice unnaturally quiet. "Willow called and said I should be here. I didn't know what to do with."
Spike nodded, letting him in. "Seems that Glinda and the Wolf are setting up shop for toddlers in the basement."
Xander shuffled in, Takina at his heels. Emma clung to Takina's hand until she crossed the threshold, face troubled and sad. As soon as she was through, she let go, running to her mother and throwing her arms around Buffy's waist, clinging for dear life.
Spike saw Buffy's resolve waver and her eyes fill up. But she swallowed it, lowering to a crouch and smiling for their daughter. "Did you have fun in Disneyland?"
Emma nodded, letting Buffy brush the hair from her face. "We went to Toon Town. Will got scared of Mickey Mouse though."
Buffy chuckled. "Gotta work on that."
"What? Six foot rat's a bit frightening to even someone closer to its size!" Spike defended, ruffling Emma's hair.
Takina took River and headed to the kitchen, Spike and Will in tow, leaving Xander in the hall to face Buffy. He shuffled his weight from one side to the other, waiting. Not sure what to do with himself or his body. "How. how's everything?"
Buffy averted her gaze to Xander. "Um. hard. Hard is a good word."
Xander looked at Emma, not wanting to say too much. "What... what can I do, Buff?"
She sighed, standing, pulling Emma against her hip. "Honestly, I don't know yet. "
As Spike and Takina reappeared in the hall, Giles' voice called from the dining room. "Yes, I think we're ready to get started. Buffy? Spike?"
The pair looked at each other and then down at their daughter. Spike leaned down to her eye level this time. "Think it's time you went in with the rest, Mite."
Emma shook her head, tears falling down her face. "No, daddy. I can help."
Spike hazarded a glance to Buffy who was a little wide-eyed, shaking her head. He returned his gaze to Emma. "I don't think that's a good idea, Love. There are some bad. bad things are happening. And they aren't about you. Don't want to put you in the middle of it."
Emma nodded. "They're about her," she continued, putting her hand on Buffy's belly. Her fingers glowed at the touch. "And I am already in the middle. It's me that they want. And it's me that knows why."
That took them a bit off guard.
Spike rocked back on his heels, righting himself and trying to avoid the fear in Buffy's eyes. Giles had walked up behind his charge, Cyrus to his right. "Why's that, Pet?"
"Coz I'm the one that beats them. in the end," Emma answered succinctly. "And they don't want that. Nobody likes to lose."
Spike chuckled, nodding. "No. No one does."
"And it's not her fault," Emma continued, patting Buffy's abdomen. "And I don't' want her to die because of me."
Tears started down Buffy's face. Spike felt them long before he could see them, but he took a breath. Swallowed. Choked them back. "She's not going to die, Mite. And it's not because of you."
Emma touched his face with the other hand, her little palms warm against his skin. "It is. And she can live because of me too."
Spike's eyes opened, staring into hers. Blue clashing against blue, will against will in a gentle struggle for right. "Emma, I don't."
Cyrus interrupted. "Spike, Buffy, if you don't mind my opinion, she may be able to help. "
The blue glare of the father shot up to meet Cyrus. "Don't need your opinion. She's my daughter and."
"And I'm theirs too," Emma interrupted, her eyes flickering skyward. "Maybe they can help."
"Not to mention," Giles chimed in, his voice cautious and reverent, "she may be your child, Spike, but she is older than us all. Older than time."
"She's seen worse, is what you mean," Buffy choked, her hand covering her daughter's, pressed over the baby.
Giles nodded his agreement.
Spike looked at the bunch like they'd all lost their minds, but when Buffy looked down at him, nodding gently, he relented. "Don't like this," he grumbled, standing, straightening himself.
Emma looked up at him, stretching her arms towards him. For a moment, he let his eyes flicker closed, flashes of her in his arms on the day she was born, standing before him just now with bright, steel blue eyes. Every moment in between. But when he opened them, and she still stood there, arms stretched up towards him, he had to take her.
Once more into the breach.
Slowly, Spike leaned down, wrapping his arms underneath hers and picking her up, carrying her into the dining room with them. He may have to let her be there with them, but he wasn't about to let her be alone. Out of reach.
Never out of reach.
To be contd.