A/N: Hey! This is a rather quick update as of late. Yes, I know, still horrendously late by my standards, but oh well. I have great news and even greater news! The great news is that my 18th birthday was yesterday! Woo hoo! I'm legal! The even greater news is that my last day of high school was officially Friday, so I am done! Finito! Finished! Never going back! THANK GOD.

You know what this means, right? All that school work that was keeping me from posting. . .yeah, I don't have to do it anymore. Because it doesn't exist! Because I'm done with high school! Again, thank god.

So. . .this means quicker updates and I'm hoping to be done with this fic soon. Yes, I'm sad to be finishing it too, but all things come to an end, right? And speaking of endings, there's something I need to address. I know at the beginning of this fic I said that I would rewrite Buffy S7/Angel S4. Regrettably, I won't be able to. The truth is that my muse for Buffy is puttering out and it's gonna take all that's left to finish out this fic. However, never fear, I will give you the ending that we all wanted. After the last chapter of this story, I will post an Epilogue, which will take place after Buffy S7. It will be titled, very appropriately, if I do say so myself, As It Should Have Ended. It hope it will give all of you the closure and happy ending (yes, happy! :D) you're all hoping for.

Random Disclaimer: (I don't own Buffy.)

Me: Wow! This is great!

Buffy: What?"

Me: You!

Buffy: Me?

Me: Yes!

Angel: What?

Me: Yes!

Angel: You're not making any sense!

Me: Yes!

(runs away laughing manically)

Offspring

Screams. Faces. A little girl. A young wife. Darla. Horses. A never-ending chase. An agonized, enraged howl of someone who had lost everything dear. . .

Holtz.

Angel woke with a gasp, bolting up in the bed, the covers slipping down to his waist. The horror of his dream, his memory, caused a slight shake that he couldn't get rid of immediately. Maybe it was the little girl, Holz's little girl, his child that was causing this extra anxiety. Maybe that was it. It was just ringing in a little close to home.

Angel's own child, his son, Connor, would be coming into the world any day now, and there would be enemies that would try to take Connor from him—just has his soulless self had taken away Holtz's daughter.

Holtz was not just a casual memory of someone's life that he had destroyed along with Darla. No, the memory of Holtz stuck with him. After all, the man had made it his mission in life to destroy Angelus and Darla—just as they had destroyed him. It's hard to forget a foe that chased you around two continents.

Angel ran a hand through is hair and looked down to his right. Buffy's golden locks were fanned out over the pillow, her lips slightly parted, making a little 'o' shape. His gaze traveled down to her distended stomach, and he couldn't stop the small smile that pulled at his lips. Angel listened quietly for a moment, hearing the two greatest sounds in the world . . . Buffy's heartbeat and that of his child's. The continuous 'thump-thump' of their hearts brought him peace. It meant that they were okay. It meant that they were strong. That reassured him more than any words ever could.

Glancing at the clock, Angel saw that it was six in the morning. He knew, from centuries of experience, that he would be getting no more rest. Shifting out of the bed as quietly as he could, Angel padded around the room, throwing on a pair of sweats and a wifebeater. Just as he was opening the door, thinking he'd been silent as the grave, a soft voice called to him.

"Where do you think you're going?"

Green eyes fluttered open to look at him sleepily, and Angel couldn't help but grin. "Go back to sleep."

Buffy eyed him suspiciously, looking him up and down. "You first."

Flashes of his nightmare came back to him and Angel fought not to shutter. "Can't."

"Dream?"

"Nightmare."

Buffy frowned and then tried to sit up, but she couldn't maneuver like she used to, her giant stomach threw everything off. Immediately, Angel was at her side, helping her get into a sitting position.

"Phew." Buffy let out a long breath, placing a hand on her stomach. "Boy, will I be glad when he's outta there."

"Cassie said it would be any day now," Angel reminded her, and Buffy grinned.

"Yep," she chirped happily, before returning to her previous serious demeanor. "Now, tell me about this nightmare."

Angel sighed. He debated whether or not to tell her. Even flat out lying crossed his mind briefly, but Angel couldn't do that anymore. They'd been through too much for him to fall back into old habits, and it was on that note that he told Buffy of his nightmare, of Holtz. He didn't spare her a single, gory detail.

Buffy took his explanation is silence, listening intently. In her mind, she was piecing together what could have brought on this nightmare. Buffy, who was no stranger to nightmares herself, knew that all dreams always had a trigger. Images of their days flitted through her mind as she searched for the cause of Angel's nightmare. A certain telephone call replayed in her mind.

She'd been baby-proofing the hotel (no small feat) and had taken a brief break, plopping herself down rather heavily onto the couch, sipping her water with relish. It was then that her cell phone rang, and she reached over to the coffee table to answer it.

"Hello?"

"Buffy." Giles' voice on the other end of the line sounded calm, but Buffy knew him well enough to detect the hint of suppressed fear and worry. It was enough to set her on edge.

"What is it Giles? Did you find it? Did you find the prophecy? What does it say?" she asked all these questions in quick succession, never giving the Watcher a chance to answer.

"Yes, yes, I found it. It was tricky and death-defying, but yes, I have recovered it." Giles paused before continuing. "Buffy, I've found something quite, um, worrying."

Buffy's heartbeat increased tenfold. She wouldn't have been surprised if Giles could hear it through the phone line. "What?"

"Well," Giles let out a frustrated sigh. "First you should know that a very well respected Watcher, a priest in the Vatican in the early 17th century, was the keeper of all the great prophecies for a long time. Some rumors even say that he himself made a few prophecies. His position at the Vatican gave him great access to all the archives of works all over the world—a perfect hiding place, if you will. After all how is one scroll different from thousands?"

Buffy grew frustrated. "Giles, cut to the chase! You're going to bring me into early labor."

"Oh, oh, sorry! Sorry, forgive me. Just a little bit more of a history lesson, then I will 'cut to the chase.' Anyway, however good this hiding place was, eventually he had to move the prophecies. He built his own underground liar, under the Sistine Chapel as a matter of fact, and it was there that his scrolls resided until very recently. I found the lair, but discovered nothing but dust and a single slip of parchment. The parchment was a map, leading me to the new location of the scrolls."

"Okay, so, obviously, you figured it out like the smart Watcher you are, now can you please tell me what all this means?" Buffy snapped lightly. She clenched and unclenched her fist for something to do.

"I apologize," Giles replied regretfully. "I found the scrolls and more importantly the one that I believe pertains to Connor. It's just, well, it's. . .puzzling. . ."

"How so?"

"Well. . .in short, two copies of the prophecy were made. I only have one."

Buffy frowned. "Why would you need both? Wouldn't it say the same thing?"

Giles sighed. "I would hope so, but I've been talking with—"

Whatever Giles had been about to divulge was lost in a sea of static.

Buffy snapped out of the memory, blinking a few times. It was only after she'd lost the connection with Giles and shut her phone that she realized Angel had been listening in. He'd entered the room towards the middle of their conversation, but she hadn't noticed.

And then, Wesley and Gunn had procured the Nyazian Scrolls, which Wesley believed to contain what was foretold of Connor. When Buffy had told him about Giles' information, Wesley had said that he would contact the old Watcher so they could confer.

Angel had been on edge ever since.

"Is this about my conversation with Giles?" Buffy asked. "Is that what has you worried?"

"It's not just that." Angel began to pace the room. "I've got a feeling Buffy, a bad one. Something's coming, something big, and I—I just—" His brown eyes pierced hers and she hated the anguish that she saw. "I have so much to lose," he finished quietly. "I lost you once. I can't lose you again. And if I lose you, I lose Connor. There's no way for me to win."

Buffy, with great effort, hauled herself out of bed so she could stand in front of him. One of her hands grasped his, while the other placed his remaining hand on her stomach. "You won't lose us," she promised, quietly, yet firmly. "You're acting like the end is coming."

Angel looked up at the ceiling, knowing that Wesley's office was right above them. He could hear him turning pages, pouring over the scrolls that he believed held all the answers. His gut clenched, worrying trickled through his veins, poisoning his mind with negatives. "I hope not," he finally answered. "But hope can only get one so far."

Wesley sat at his desk, his eyes scanning over the scrolls in front of him. He hadn't rested in twelve hours and he was pretty sure it had been a good half an hour since he'd even blinked. With a sigh, Wesley stretched and then groaned when his back popped. He rolled his head from side to side, trying to work out the stiffness. The weary ex-Watcher took a sip of his cold tea, leaning back in his chair and letting his eyes close for a moment. He heard his cuckoo clock chirp eight times and knew it was about time for him to make an appearance to the rest of the world. He'd heard Fred bumbling around in the kitchen around seven. She was always an early riser. Cordelia, he knew, would be barging in any minute, proclaiming some new disaster, Gunn following behind, making wise-cracks.

And judging by the pounding he'd been hearing from the workout room for the past two hours, Angel was beating the hell out of the new punching bag they'd had to get last week. Wesley hoped that this one lasted longer than the last.

Wesley's mind was full of thoughts, many in different languages as he repeated things over and over. Particular phrases. A verb here. A noun there. What all did it mean?

His mind conjured up his brief call with Giles. The older man seemed to believe that two copies were made of the prophecy pertaining to Connor. Wesley didn't know if he agreed. While it was not unheard of for there to be multiple copies of a prophecy, most were false—a little way to ensure that the true prophecy came to be. Wesley believed that that was what had happened here, in this instance. However, wherever Giles was, the telephone connection was faulty because one minute Giles was about to tell him something and then the next there was only static.

Ignoring the creaking in his bones, Wesley rose from his desk and walked into the lobby. He found Fred messing with a new contraption while Angel observed quietly from his perch on the arm of the couch, nursing a cup of blood. The vampire's eyes met his the moment he was in view, and Wes gave him a nod. He needed some coffee, some very strong coffee, before he even attempted the interrogation that he knew Angel would employ.

"Where's Buffy?" he asked to make conversation.

"Sleeping."

"Better check again, man," Gunn said as he walked in with Cordelia trailing behind him. "Cause your girl sure seems wide awake."

"I can't sleep any longer," Buffy complained, as she, much to her chagrin, waddled into the lobby. "Sleeping until 8:30 when I went to bed before nine is just unnatural! Besides, sleeping has become much less comfortable as of late." Buffy glared at her stomach half-heartedly as she gave it a gentle pat.

"Seriously, when is that little devil coming out?" Cordelia huffed. "I'm getting impatient."

"You're impatient?" Buffy laughed. "I'm the one who's been pregnant for ten years."

"Nine months, Buffy, only nine months," Gunn corrected her and Buffy glared.

"Okay, so you feel free to carry around his watermelon. My back aches, my ankles swell, I can't sleep, and I pee every five minutes! Give me a break, dammit!" Buffy fumed before she frowned. "And my hormones are all out of whack. . .sorry, Gunn."

Gunn, who was used to being on the receiving end of Buffy's rants just about as much as Angel was, took it all in stride. He shrugged. "No problem."

"So, Wes," Angel began. "Anything you care to share?"

"Yeah, did you make any headway with the scrolls?" Buffy asked as she eased herself down on the couch beside Angel, leaning into his side. "I've been trying to call Giles, but he hasn't been answering or it won't connect."

"I've been having similar problems," Wesley admitted. "I'm afraid we'll have to rely on ourselves for this one."

"But what about what Giles told me? He thinks there may be two versions of the prophecies," Buffy argued.

"No, he said that he thought that there were two copies of the prophecy, not that they were necessarily different," Wesley corrected.

"But we can't rule something like that out," Cordelia spoke up. "I mean, this is Giles. Giles is never wrong—usually."

Wesley was slightly miffed that they seemed to be putting more emphasis on Giles' theories over his, but he attributed it to Buffy's stronger attachment to the older Watcher and then Cordelia was Buffy's best friend, who, because of some unspoken best friend rule, had to take Buffy's side.

At least that's what he thought.

"Yes, but seeing as how Giles is not here, we must work with what we've got." Wesley looked at Angel. "And I'm afraid I'm fairly stumped. The translations can all vary. It's much like your Shanshu prophecy. Everything can be misinterpreted."

"What?" Fred voiced her confusion.

"We sorta told him he was gonna die," Gunn explained.

"Oh. . ."

"I'll explain later."

"Okay."

"Anyway," Angel interrupted. "So, what do you got? Give me your thoughts Wes, we're running out of time," he said, not so subtly hinting at the fact that Buffy could go into labor any day now.

"I will, but I need someone to do the math." Wesley looked to Fred. "Are you up for it?"

"Math involves numbers." Fred smiled and nodded. "I like math."

A few hours later, the gang was dispersed throughout Wesley's office. Angel was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest, staring broodingly at the wall across from him. Buffy, who really didn't like brooding this far into her pregnancy, was trying to distract him by throwing little balls of paper at him from her seat on the little loveseat.

Cordelia was typing away at her laptop, pretending to be helping when in reality she was making sure that her present for Connor's first hour of life would be delivered today. Gunn was reading over a book that Wesley had forced into his hands, while Fred sat at his feet, leaning against his legs as she worked furiously over her notepad. Wesley had remained as still as a human could possibly be without being dead. His eyes hadn't left the scrolls once in three hours.

Unable to look at words that didn't make sense any longer, Gunn looked down at Fred. "How you doin' there, Fred?"

"Oh, it's a simple equation really," Fred began, causing an indulgent smile to pull at Buffy's lips. "The ancient Roman calendar has fourteen hundred and sixty-four days in a four-year cycle. The Etruscan, Sumerian, and Druidian each have their own cycles. You work forward from the presumed day of the prophecy under each calendar, factoring in our own three hundred and sixty-five day calendar and accounting for a three day discrepancy for every four years and..."

"Oh, that can't be right." Fred frowned as she looked at her numbers. "Unless the world ended last March. . ."

"So are we talking Armageddon or a wrong house number?" Gunn asked. "Is it a bad event or a bad guy?"

"It's not clear on that," Wesley sighed. "It predicts the arrival of the Tro-clan, the person or being that brings about the ruination of mankind."

"Excuse me?" Buffy snapped. "What did you just say about my kid?"

Wesley fidgeted uncomfortably under Buffy's glare. "I'm not sure on the translation," he admitted. "It could also mean purification."

"Purification?" Gunn repeated. "That's good, right?"

"I doubt that. But it's purification in Aramaic, ruination in ancient Greek and in the lost Ga-shundi language it means both." Wesley rubbed his eyes with his palms. "I can't make the same mistake twice. . ." he said, almost to himself.

"Then don't." Angel's harsh voice cut through the room, causing everyone to look at him. "Look, here's how I see it. Anything created by me and Buffy is good, okay? That's it, there's no other way to translate it. So all this ruination and purification is bullshit."

No one dared to argue with him.

"Does this Tro-clan thing mean to be born or to arise?" Gunn finally asked as he looked back to his book.

"It says both," Wesley replied unhelpfully, plunging them all into silence.

The silence was ended when Cordelia finally sighed exasperatedly. "Well! Another big fun day at Angel Investigations!" She sat up and put her hands on her hips. "What do you say we go pour ourselves a good, stiff—"

"Uh, oh."

Cordelia looked at Fred. "A good stiff uh-oh?"

"Remember before when I said I thought that maybe, possibly, perhaps I might have been off in my earlier calculations?" Fred asked.

"Yeah, it was only five minutes ago, Fred," Cordelia pointed out.

Fred continued like she hadn't been interrupted. "And remember when Wes said that the Tro-clan was prophesied to arise or be born and he said it could be both? And we all know that the Latin for arrive is arripare, 'to come to land' or possibly in this instance simply 'to come to', as from a deep sleep?"

"Fred!" Angel and Wesley interrupted the young genius, frustrated by her roundabout explanation.

"Right." Fred kept forgetting that she was surrounded by people who just wanted the facts themselves. "I believe that whatever this Tro-clan is, it's arriving tonight." She looked at her watch. "Three, two, one, now. . ."

It was silent for a long moment as if everyone were waiting for something momentous to happen.

"Um, guys?" Buffy piped up, her voice a half octave higher than normal. "M-my water just broke."

"Are you sure?" Gunn asked, and Buffy glared at him.

"I'm pretty damn sure," she snapped as a painful tightening began in her stomach. "Oh, ow."

"So something big and bad just came to the earth and you go into labor?" Cordelia asked incredulously. "Nice timing."

Angel, who had been in shock the entire exchange, finally perked up when he heard the sneaky sounds of those who were trying to be silent. Shadows passed in and out of his vision and a low growl began to build in his chest. Vampires were trying to enter the hotel undetected and Angel could smell their bloodlust.

"We've got bigger problems," he said lowly. "Wes, take the scrolls and get the car. Fred, you and Cordy help get Buffy outta here. Gunn, you're with me."

"That's great and all, but why are you dealing out orders and growling?" Gunn asked.

The hairs on the back of Angel's neck began to stand up as the vampires began to close in. He could hear them in the lobby. "Because there's about twenty vampires that are going to be surrounding us in two minutes or less."

A crash of glass made all of them jump except Angel.

"What are you guys still doing here?" he snapped. "Move!"

Instantly, Wesley scooped up the scrolls into his arms and dove out the back door, snagging the car keys on his way. Fred and Cordelia went to help Buffy, but the soon-to-be mother couldn't take her eyes of the father of her child. Angel.

"Angel—" she began.

"Just go Buffy," he said quickly. "I'll follow, but you have to go."

Tears sprung into her eyes, both from pain—physical and emotional. "I can't do this without you."

"You won't," Angel assured her. "I promise."

He looked up to Cordelia. "Take her to Lorne. We'll meet you there. Find a way to get a hold of Cassie."

Gunn, who had been on high alert, began to see shadows slipping from wall to wall outside the door. "Girls you've gotta move! You've got a minute tops!"

"Go!" As gently as he could, Angel got Buffy on her feet and handed her off to Fred and Cordy who began to move her towards the door.

"I love you," Buffy whispered. "Come back to me."

"I love you too." Angel told her, ignoring her order to return. If he had to die here, in order to save them, then he was going to.

Angel turned away from Buffy and sighed in relief when he heard the sound of the Plymouth's engine gunning. He grabbed Wesley's katana off the wall and stuck a stake in his back pocket. Gunn twirled his ax in his hands. Both of them were ready.

Gunn's eyes widened as he caught the first glimpse of a vampire. . .and all the friends he'd brought with them. They were outnumbered ten to one.

"Oh, shit."

And here comes the action! I'm excited. Are you excited? Yes? Maybe just a little? I mean, little Connor will be here soon! Yay!

For those of you who may be wondering what my next project is, and subsequently why my muse has jumped ship, it's because of the Hunger Games. I finally read them a few weeks ago, and though I think that the story had great potential, it didn't live up to it. There is so much that I think should have happened, or that I think should have happened differently. Mainly involving character progression. So, what am I going to do? Rewrite it of course. There's more on my profile under my 'Stories in the Works' heading if you want a little bit more info. :D

But, Back to Buffy!

I'm simply gonna update whenever I finish a chapter. So hopefully I'll get one out soon. :D

Until then. . .

Review?

Lots of love,

ArthursCamelot