Author's Notes: Set four years after 'Becoming' part two. Buffy ran away, and didn't come back. Now, four years later, she's about to be reminded of who and what she really is.
Rating: PG-13. Language and strong themes. Sorry, kiddies.
Disclaimer: Nothing you recognise is mine. Don't sue, please.
Feedback: Very welcome. Constructive criticism is welcome; flames will be used to help me toast marshmallows.
Chapter Notes: I am so, so sorry for the immensely long gap. So much stuff has been going on in my life, and things just got way out of control. They still are, really, but I've spent today re-reading this fic, and the thought struck me that hey, I actually can finish this and update it. So. Here we go.
Chapter Twenty-Eight – Preparations
She was a warrior, and by God she looked it.
Spike was perched at the bottom of the stairs, just out of reach of the sun's harmful rays. He and Angel had been necessarily excluded from the rescue party, but it at least meant that he was able to watch Buffy prepare.
An impressive array of weapons was laid out across the couch. Dawn was sharpening a pair of bone-handled knives whilst Faith tested the balance of a sword. Ethan and Willow were conferring over spells that might – or might not – work on Glory. Tara and Toni, who had discovered an abundance of common interests, were cooking up protection charms for the least battle-worthy of the group. Giles and the others were keeping out of everyone's way, doing research in the dining room.
But it was Buffy who drew Spike's attention again and again.
She wore the clothes she had worn on her abrupt exit from Phtygiktha, several days before. All of it was made of some kind of leather that clung to her body and showed all her curves. Buffy had adjusted it with a spell so it fit better over her slightly rounded womb. Spike had, after Buffy's sobs had receded during the night, laid his head on her stomach and listened to the tiny heartbeat of the child within. Two knives, similar to Dawn's, were strapped to her back. Her hair was tied in an intricate weave of braids. An axe and a sword sat waiting her inspection.
"Has anyone seen the troll's hammer?" Faith demanded of the house in general, rummaging through the weapons trunk. "I swear I left it in here…"
"Well, nobody's moved it," Angel told her as he passed. "It's too heavy for us." He looked at Buffy, who was currently whittling some stakes. "Buffy, can I have a word?" Buffy nodded, glancing up at him briefly. "In private."
Spike stiffened instantly, but Buffy sent him a soothing look and rose. "Sure, Angel. Basement in two?" Angel nodded and headed down to what had been for several months his bedroom. Buffy stepped up to Spike and cupped his cheek. "Yours," she intoned softly. "Don't worry about it."
He nodded slightly, and covered her hand with his own. "Don't go giving the brooding poof any ideas," he said roughly. "An' don' be too long. Hattie needs you."
Buffy tapped his nose fondly. "Don't make fun of family," she admonished, and leant down to kiss him before following Angel's path to the basement.
"What's up?" she inquired, arms curved protectively around her womb. "This isn't gonna take too long, is it?"
"No," Angel assured her. "I just…want to make sure you know what you're doing." Buffy stared blankly at him. "About…this rescue mission, and facing Glory again, and leading Dawn and Willow and the others in there when you don't know what you're going to find."
"I'm going to find my daughter," Buffy said plainly. "And Angel, it may have been sixty years, but I remember when you're avoiding the issue. Spill."
Angel looked down for a moment. "Spike."
Her eyes widened almost comically. "Oh, you've gotta be kidding me. You called me down here to talk about Spike?" Angel shifted his feet. "Tell me you're not serious."
"Buffy, you don't know him –"
"And you don't know me," she cut in forcefully. "Angel, you have no claim over me or over my actions."
"I know. I know that." He sighed and started pacing. "I just…I don't think you know what Spike's capable of, Buffy. The things he did when you were here – that was nothing."
"And the things I did while I was gone…that was nothing? You have no idea."
"You're right," Angel nodded. "I don't. And I shouldn't have brought this up now, but I…I worry, Buffy."
Buffy shook her head, lip curled slightly. "No. You don't get to call me that. I'm Annie. Annie, you hear me?" She turned to start back up the stairs, but he caught her arm, swung her around, and kissed her.
The kiss brought back memories of when she'd done this before. In the cemetery, in her room, in his apartment, at the Bronze, in the stacks of the library. Anywhere and everywhere. Something deep within her gave a howl of triumph. It was like coming home…
But this wasn't her home anymore, and she pulled away decisively. "No," she said. "No, you don't do that. It's been sixty years, Angel, you don't do that anymore." He stared at her, unrepentant, and she looked at her feet for a moment before returning her gaze to his face, smiling slightly. "Do you remember…d'you remember that time. I must have been…sixteen. Spike had sent those…assassin people after me, only we didn't know that yet. It was just before Kendra showed up."
"Yeah," Angel said cautiously. "What about it?"
"You took me ice skating," Buffy reminded him. "I felt so free…it was incredible, that you'd thought to give me that…"
She started up the stairs, then paused and glanced back at him. "That's how Spike makes me feel, Angel. Don't mess it up for me. I can't lose another lover. I won't."
Spike knew they had kissed. He could smell it on her. He stared at her without accusation, but she felt guilty anyway.
"I'm sorry," she murmured to him. "I'm all messed up…"
"Hey, B!" Faith called. "Let's go."
Buffy clutched at Spike's shoulders. "I'll be back," she said quietly.
"I know," Spike said confidently. "An' you'll bring the pint size with you."
To be continued, sooner rather than later!