Peripheral Vision, Part Three

Even at night, the door to the old Wolfram and Hart building is warm to the touch as if the fires of hell are issuing one last warning that yes, one is entering a place where evil lurks. My arm is aching with the weight of the huge to-go coffee crate Rhonda fixed for me to take to my mother and her friends.

The coffee is my excuse for getting in the midst of things and for having my questions answered. Seems rather lame, but at this point, I'm too eager for contact with my parents to argue the logistics of her plan.

Rhonda left me with a couple of warnings: I must not reveal my identity or get too involved in my parents' situation.

Pretty easy, right?

My body tells me otherwise. My heart is pounding as the smell of the law firm permeates my senses. For some reason, evil always has a particular smell to me. . . like a room that hasn't been opened for some time. . . with dust and shadows that are undisturbed by the spark of humanity. And yet, the walls are clean and cool blue with bright lights that are supposed to convey that this is a place to find the answers. . . a place of safety.

Appearances are deceiving, and I wonder how long one has to stay in the midst of evil before he or she forgets what it smells like. . . and feels like.

It's frigging cold in here! Evil law firm is warm on the outside and cold on the inside? I guess that makes sense.

And Wesley's right. . . the law firm's not evil anymore. . . not in my time. The difference is palpable but hard to describe. It's just something I know.

Rhonda told me where to go once I enter the law firm, and I use her directions as a mantra for staying calm. Take the right hallway until I can go no further, and then, take the elevators on the left to the fourth floor. The infirmary/science area is located two corridors and two right turns from the elevator exit.

That's where I'll find my parents.

I make the journey without running across a single person or demon, and. . .

Somehow it makes perfect sense that the first person I encounter is Fred. I am not surprised that she still carries herself with the innocence of one who has endured the great darkness of the world. . . has even actively engaged the darkness. . . but remains untouched by it. She does have an edge of nervousness and uncertainty that the Fred I grew up with never had.

She hurries out of the room ahead of me with a dismayed expression and wide doe eyes and passes me without a backward glance.

I swallow. What's she so upset about?

Then, I hear the sounds of dissension from the room Fred's exited so rapidly.

My mother. . . Buffy and Angel are arguing about something. I'm finding that thinking of the people I care about on a first name basis makes this whole situation easier to comprehend.

I don't dare confront the situation, so I duck into the quieter room on the left. . . the one with the comforting cover of shadows and dim light.

Pricking my ears, I hover in the doorway and listen.

"Buffy," Angel sounds tired, "we can't bring him to a human hospital. We don't know what's going on with him."

He's referring to Daddy. . . Spike.

My mother is tiny, but she packs a punch with her words, "You didn't delay so long with Cordelia. You brought her to the hospital right away. And her situation was similar."

Angel is insistent, and he speaks Cordelia's name with an inflection of intimacy that I'm sure my. . . Buffy doesn't like, "Cordy's situation is very different. She's human. . . well, mostly."

"Spike's human," she says as if this should resolve the argument.

"We don't know that. We don't even know why he's back. What happened? You and Willow found him stumbling along a roadside in complete delirium. How do we know this isn't some plot by the First to gain a foothold amongst you again?"

"So? The First thought it would be beneficial to evil to bring you back, and did it work? No." Is my mother referring to the Christmas in Sunnydale when the First tried to drive Angel insane? I think I read about it in Uncle Giles's journals.

Angel is quiet for a few seconds, and when he speaks again, his volume drops so low that I have to strain to pick up, "It almost did."

"You're getting of the subject here. Fred just said that Spike's human. And because he's human, he deserves to go to a hospital. . . a hospital where they treat humans. He can't stay here where they only know how to deal with demons." She sighs. "You'd think this evil law firm would know how to treat the humans that they so want to corrupt. If you have corrupt humans, wouldn't you want to keep them alive and healthy? Hey, what are you. . ."

My mother's rant trickles off, and there is silence. A shadow crosses the doorway just as I realize. . .

"Who are you?" My dad stands before me, looking exactly the same as he always has. . . only he wears a lot more black in the past. I scan him. Nope. Not a speck of color on him. Maybe his wardrobe's different now. . . er, in the future because I help him pick his clothing now via numerous Christmas and Father's Day presents.

Wait. Something about his face is different, but I can't discern what's changed.

I hold up the crate and try to seem nonchalant. I don my best "No, I wasn't spying on you" smile. "The coffee delivery girl?" My voice cracks. Real smooth Ashley.

"What?" Angel squints as if he can't quite make me out in the dark. I know better. He's a vampire.

"Ashley?" Buffy asks, poking her head around Angel's large frame. I hadn't realized just how much smaller my mom was compared with my adopted dad.

"Hey, M-er-Buffy. Rhonda said you ordered some coffee."

She smiles at me, and I notice the circles under her eyes are darker and a slight limpness to her hair. She's been on some kind of vigil. She takes the package from me. "Tell her thanks. I needed it."

I start toward the door, disappointment plunging into my abdomen. I wanted to see my real father, and now I might not ever get the chance. Or at least, I won't have the chance today. Although it's nice to have spent so much time with my mom, I am also a little homesick and ready to get back to the right timeline. "I will."

I must have looked pitiful because she returns, "Stay."

Trying not to appear overly excited, I say, "Okay."

Angel eyes me with suspicion on his face. "Buffy."

I hesitate. "I'm sorry for interrupting your conversation. Do you need me to go?"

Buffy stares evenly at Angel. . . the same stare she used to give me when I was in trouble as a kid. . . from what I remember, that is. "No," she says, "Angel knows what he has to do."

My dad turns on his heel and lifts his hands in a half-I-surrender pose. "Fine. I'll see what I can do."

Buffy doesn't bother to remark. That's one of the cool things about my mom. . . she doesn't always have to have the last word. "C'mon." She tilts her head to let me know to follow. "I want to show you something. . . well, someone."

There's another doorway to the right. . . a room that looks very much like a hospital room with lots of beeping machines and soft, glowing lights. Don't know what any of it means, but hey, I'm planning on becoming a psychologist and not a psychiatrist or any other form of medical doctor. Can't handle the blood and guts or stitching up wounds. I start feeling kinda faint. Although for some reason, demon gore never bothers me. Fred says it's because I'm sweet, but. . .

My breath being taken away disrupts my thoughts.

On the hospital bed before me lays my father. . . my real father. . . Daddy with his angular cheekbones and soft lips so like mine.

"This. . . is Spike," Buffy whispers. "He's sleeping now, but he woke up for the first time today. His fever's down, but I still think he needs checking out by the hospital. Something's wrong with one of his legs, but I'm not happy with the workup he got here." She sets the coffee on the small table and goes to Spike's side.

I drink in the sight of my father's peaceful face. The answers to my questions about the past are here. "Why hasn't he been? To the hospital, I mean."

She brushes aside a curl that's falling over his forehead. "Well. . ."

Before I can stop myself, I offer, "I know what this law firm's about."

She looks up sharply. "What do you mean?"

Oh, boy. I've really put my foot in it. Gotta choose my next words carefully. "Well, I've. . . heard that the lawyers here deal with supernatural phenomenon." There. That's not too bad.

Buffy's alarms shut off, and she studies Spike's sleeping face, stroking his arm with light fingertips. "Yeah. I suppose they do have quite a reputation."

I take a step closer, but then, recognizing my place, I decide to pour my mother some coffee. "So, this is Spike?"

She smiles as she accepts the Styrofoam cup full of steaming caffeinated beverage. "Yes." Without removing her eyes from him, she confesses, "Since you seem to know about. . . things, I can tell you this."

I hold my breath.

"He saved the world."

Darn it. I already know that part! "He did?"

"He did. And he was beautiful when it happened."

I don't quite know what to say. The man in the hospital bed isn't the father I remember. . . the father who raced me through the park and pushed me on the swings. . . the father who danced around the room with me when he caught me dancing with my mother after I was already supposed to be in bed.

I have to know. "Do you love him?"

She's quiet for several seconds. Then, "I told him I did."

My heart is pounding. Good thing she doesn't have vampire hearing, or I'd be in big trouble with a capital "t." This is the moment I've been waiting for and my ticket home! I press a little more than would be expected from the coffee-shop-girl, "But do you?"

Not removing her eyes from him, she admits, "I'm not sure. We never had the time."

I feel childish. Grrr. Mom and her stupid non-answers.

However, she continues with unwavering certainty, "But I'm going to find out."

xxxxx

I never said what the time shift thing was actually like because it's always occurred when I've been asleep. . . until now. And the experience is nothing like the feeling I got after I drank Auntie Willow's potion. I honestly don't know which is worse.

As soon as my mom finished her sentence, my stomach twists as if the organ is being torn out of its rightful place and down through my body. A wave of dizziness and vertigo sweeps through my system, and my parents' forms turn one hundred and eighty degrees in my brain as some kind of pressure shoves down on the crown of my head. My legs buckle beneath me, and I close my eyes to block out the distorted vision.

When I think I won't be able to stand any more force, the strain remits, and I find myself standing again with bright sunlight creating red streaks on the underside of my eyelids.

"Ashley!" Rhonda's voice calls.

I very nearly shriek and curl up in a defensive little ball, but instead, I take a chance and open my eyes to the world again. The aroma of expresso beans and coffee is my next link to reality.

"I'm here," I announce as if she didn't already know. I pivot and plant my hands on my hips. "What the hell was that all about?"

Rhonda shrugs and places a palm on the counter. "I don't control when your shifts occur, hun, but I did speed them up."

"Oh. And that'll help me, how?"

"By getting you to what you want to know faster. In fact, you might be interested in what's going on over there. . ."

"What do you mean?" I follow the direction of her nod. "Ohhh," I breathe.

Buffy, Angel, and Willow are here in the coffee shop.

They're talking in low whispers, but their body language tells me that they are serious. Aunt Willow's forehead is creased in her usual "worry" expression, and she clutches a coffee mug in both her hands.

Angel is seated on the stool closest to her, and he wears that same sadness that I see even now in his expression. . . the sadness I never understood. Suddenly, I realize that the unhappiness is what's different from the last time I met him at Wolfram and Hart. The discontent is distinctive from the brooding that Giles described in the Watcher's Diaries. I'm still not quite sure what to make of it.

And my mom balances on the stool across from them. . .separate from them. Her arms rest on the table. From a distance, she emanates a quiet confidence. . . even if her feet don't quite touch the bottom rung of the stool. (Rhonda has very tall stools in the coffee shop.) A brilliant spot of joy permeates my chest when I glimpse the tiny swell in the region of her abdomen.

That's me!

"Do you want to hear what they're saying?" Rhonda asks in a low voice.

I don't think I can form words at this point, so I nod.

"This will just be in your head. Why don't you have a seat over there, so you can listen and watch."

I obediently hurry to the stool at the coffee bar and sit sideways so that they won't think I'm staring at them. . . although I really really want to.

And then, their voices are in my head as if someone flipped a switch in my brain.

"You really should have more tests done. . . more than just what the hospital does," Willow says with tired urgency in her tone as if she's been making the same point for the last several hours. For all I know, she has been.

My mother shakes her head, "No. Spike only got better after I took him to the regular hospital myself. . . after all the fancy-schmancy magick-based technologies were done on him."

"But this is different," Willow insists.

"How is it different?"

"Uhh," Willow sighs in exasperation. "It just is. The baby's special."

I smile to myself. I'm special. My auntie always told me that growing up, and even now, it makes me feel. . . loved, and I'm technically not even born yet.

My mom's hand goes to her stomach in a protective gesture that I barely catch out of the corner of my eye. "Baby's just a normal baby born of two human beings."

Angel speaks then, and he sounds. . . jealous. "How did you manage to get pregnant anyway? Spike's been an invalid since he came back."

Buffy retorts, "The old fashioned way. Duh. And if you were any less buried in your work at that. . . law firm, you would know that Spike's not quite an 'invalid' anymore. He's walking perfectly fine."

Willow nods. "Yeah. He's ditched the wheelchair in favor of a smashing cane."

"Makes him look all distinguished." Buffy's posture perks up a little higher along with the corners of her mouth.

Angel glares at my mom and aunt. Even from this far away, I can witness his glower. "Is he living with you?"

"Um. How is that any of your business?"

"I'm just trying to protect you from my grandchilde, Buffy. And from the forces of evil that will try to get your child. And they will, you know. And then, you won't get to see him take his first step or hear him say his first word. First thing you know, he'll come back and try to kill everyone you love because a man whose family you slaughtered in your past was transported from the future to destroy everything you love because a demon is afraid your son will kill him. . ."

My dad has to be talking about Connor, but Buffy and Willow don't know anything about him yet. There's a whole amnesia thing going on.

Buffy interrupts Angel's confusing rant, "If anything I need protection from the person running an evil law firm!"

Now that last exclamation I could hear without Rhonda's inner brain speakers.

There's a thoughtful pause as Buffy processes Angel's rambling. "And huh?"

"Buffy," Willow hisses, glancing around. "Now both of you, stop it. You've both made your points."

Buffy and Angel remain silent.

"But neither of you are focusing on the real issue."

"Which is?" Buffy asks.

"Well, Angel sort of hinted at it before he. . ." Willow frowns at him, ". . . well, before. There will be other forces. . . evil forces who will try to steal the baby of a Slayer and ex-vampire. And because the baby is a child of an ex-vampire and Slayer, who knows what powers he or she will possess. If you let me do some more magically-oriented tests. . ."

"No," my mom states.

Angel seems lost in his own thoughts, and he confirms my hypothesis when he asks in a hurt voice, "Buffy, do you love Spike?"

My mother opens her mouth. . . just as the door to the coffee shop bangs open and in walks. . . my real father.

His platinum blond curls are neatly combed back, and he's dressed in jeans and a navy blue shirt. He hobbles a bit with the slender black cane, but he's whole. His skin is slightly darker than when I last saw him as if the sun has blessed him with her touch, and his eyes stand out in a more vibrant blue when he nods to me. My heart skips a beat. My dad. . . Daddy just acknowledged my presence.

Then, the moment is gone, and he joins my mother, pulling up a stool to be close to her. He greets her with a gentle kiss to her temple and runs a hand over her stomach, letting Angel and Willow know what's the what.

Wow.

I feel just as I did the moment Wesley handed me the Watcher's Diaries. I've been handed a gift. . . a moment to view my real father again.

"Spike," Angel manages. "You're doing better, I see."

"I am, mate. Much better. Sorry I'm late. I got held up at physical therapy." I don't recall his accent being quite so. . . British. Then again, my memory of his voice is a bit faded. "Let me get some coffee before you go any further."

"Didn't know you were a coffee drinker, Spike," Angel jibes. Gosh, my adopted dad is so. . . resentful. I almost can't believe it's actually him. He's never acted that way around me.

"Not a lot you know about me, of late." My father turns and heads my direction.

Alarm bells zing through my brain. I think my throat might close off.

And he's looking directly at me.

What do I do? Why is he staring at me? Did he figure out who I am?

I hop off my stool and stand toe to toe with him. . . my real father. I'm taller than my mother but definitely still shorter than him, and up close, I just know we're related on a visceral level. I long to touch him. . . just briefly, but I don't dare.

"I'll have a cup of coffee. That's it. No fancy expresso," are his first words to me in seventeen years, only he doesn't know that.

Glancing down at myself, I grasp that I am on duty. "S-sure. Can I interest you in a pastry?" Fumbled start. Mediocre come back.

"No, thanks."

I circle the coffee bar, grab a coffee mug with shaking hands, and ask, "Regular or decaf?"

"Leaded."

He remains quiet as I fill his cup and position it before him. I'm very proud that I don't slosh any. "Here you are." I bite hard on my cheek to prevent from calling him "Daddy" and tackling him over the bar with my embrace. Nope, no hugs for Ashley.

But I so want him to touch me. . . to somehow. . .

"Do I know you from somewhere?" He tilts his head to one side and regards me with the softest expression. . . an expression akin to my blurry black-and-white memory of his face when he sat at my bedside after a nightmare or had his first glimpse of me after he came home from whatever he did during the day.

I chew on the inside of my cheek to keep the tears at bay. I just can't say no, so I shake my head and use the gesture to focus on the money in his hand. His warm fingers brush over mine as he releases the bill, and I linger as long as I can.

The contact is over before I'm ready, and I have trouble punching the buttons on the cash register. Thank heavens for modern technology because the correct change to pull out of the drawer pops up on the display, and I don't even have to think.

I pass over the requisite amount, and when I reach out, he holds my hand briefly in his. I'm too startled to pull away, and I don't know if I'd want to anyway.

"There's something about you, pet," he says, catching my eyes with his twin ones.

"I don't know." I laugh.

"No, there is," he insists. "Don't ever lose it."

A calm settles over me. "I won't. Thank you. Really."

He ducks his head to take a sip of coffee. He lifts the mug to me. "Good stuff. Thanks."

And then, he's heading back to the table.

The trembling returns, and I lean against the bar as I try focus in on their conversation once again.

There's an awkward silence as my father rejoins his party, and then, Spike speaks again, addressing Buffy and ignoring the others, "All right then. Then, "Let's get straight to the point of this little meeting that they started without me, which I think is bloody unfair considering the state you're in."

He points his index and middle finger at Willow and then Angel. "Red and Angelus here want us to be apart, so they've devised a clever scheme about the baby needing some sort of magick tests in the name of protecting the baby from harm so they can get us together and let us know that what they're really uncomfortable with is the notion that we're together. They don't give a fig about the baby's health."

Willow and Angel stare at my father in bewilderment.

"I'm right, aren't I?" Spike asks.

Good thing they aren't paying attention to me. My jaw is on the floor. This is definitely not the Daddy I remember. At least, now I know where I got my passion and ability to quickly assess situations and respond. I wasn't top debater in my high school for no reason.

Willow raises her hand as if she's a student in class again. . . a student who knows she has the wrong answer to the question. . . or an answer the teacher doesn't want to hear. "Actually, it's not just Angel and me."

Spike claps his painted wooden cane on the tabletop, making me jump a bit. Coffee roller-coasters over the edge of the cups. "So, it's the whole lot of you, then? The Scoobies and the. . . what do you call your little group of wannabe demon-fighters? Oh, right. You run Wolfram and Hart now. You have a whole horde of demons that are your clients now. The tables have turned, and you're working for the other side."

"We're affecting the other side in a positive way by working from within." Angel's counterargument sounds weak even to me.

Spike's voice gets louder, "So, what? Buffy and I are supposed to stand back and let you do what you want to the child when the very demons you supposedly want to protect us from could sneak up behind you from within your inner circle. I don't think so."

Willow tries to quiet him by almost whispering, "Um, like I said, it's not just Angel and his. . . team."

"I believe he included everyone else, including Giles and the others," my mother says, placing a hand on Spike's forearm to calm him down. "Giles and Xander were too scared to say anything to us themselves, right? I know Dawn's fine with it, but she's conveniently off at university in England."

"No, they just wanted two of us to talk with you. . . to lessen the impact of being confronted by everyone else," Willow explains, removing her hands from her coffee mug at last.

"What if we do this," Buffy adds tiredly, "what if instead of arguing about this, we compromise."

Willow waits for several seconds, and then, she shrugs. "I guess I agree."

They look at the two males in the group. Grudgingly, they each nod.

"All right. I'll do the tests you want, Willow. . . if you get the others to back down about Spike and me. I know you think we're not good for each other. . . look at what happened last time. But, I think that this time, we're both a lot different, and we want to try again. . . we're lucky enough to get to."

Spike speaks again, "The other condition is that no Wolfram and Hart will be involved in whatever Red believes is necessary to do."

And then, I'm swept away by the weight of the shift. And just when things were getting interesting.

TBC. . . one more part, which I'll post up tonight. Glad you're enjoying and thanks for the thoughtful reviews. They're most appreciated:o)