Title: The Surrogate 16/19
Author: Jacqui
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Buffy, Giles and all other assorted Buffy candies belong to Joss Whedon, WB and ME. Elizabeth, and everything from her world, belongs to me (the real me, not the ‘grr aargh’ ME .
Notes: I know this isn’t B/G yet (well, it is kinda, but not really. Confused yet? but eventually it will be. I’ve got to get past this little thing called ‘plot’ first.

Notes: Wow, some people are actually still reading this. Thanks for your feedback, guys.
Feedback: Give me a happy. wily_one24@yahoo.com.au

Soft music threaded the air, drifting into her consciousness and out again. Her forehead leaned against the window, the glass feeling gloriously cold against her skin. In the distance, her eyes focused on a small, fuzzy green blur. The periphery of her vision held trees, buildings, signposts and other cars that sped by without ever getting noticed by her.

Slowly, the little green blur began to take shape, growing edges and definition and other colors. Buffy's eyes stayed trained on the tree as the car drove on. It gave her something to focus on; her eyes somewhere to stray as her mind strayed even further.

Next to her, ever alert, Giles easily kept his eyes trained on both the road and Buffy. She had barely moved for two hours. She was a lot quieter now, subdued. The thought occurred to him that, maybe, if he veered the car off course, she might flare up with some sign of life. It passed almost as soon as it came and he sighed.

"Rest stop soon? You hungry?"

"Not really." He wasn't surprised by her listless answer. "How far is it now?"

"Another few hours. We should stop." Giles' eyes scanned her again. "Are you sure you're ok? Nothing's… hurting?"

"I'm fine."

Neither noticed that the other sighed at the same time.

Buffy continued to look forward. In her mind, images of the last few weeks were flashing through her mind. The recovery, the therapy, getting used to life as it was now. There was a baby at their house and everyone had fallen in love with it.

Almost instantly, Buffy had assumed her old role, side stepping any of the fragile treatment that people were wont to give her, silently demanding that everything go on as usual. Denial, she was getting quite good at it. Buffy's eyebrows crinkled slightly. Was it still called denial if you knew you were doing it? Repression, then, she told herself. Whatever, it worked.

The familiar, safe, comforting patterns of her old life were somewhat elusive to her now, but she sought them with a passion. A quick meeting with Riley and his team ensured that Buffy had plenty of time to rest and recover, whilst still able to train as much as she could, safe in the knowledge that they would do everything they could to protect the weakened household.

At night, Buffy would lie in her… their… bed, stare at the ceiling and wonder if things would ever be the same. Giles didn't offer intimacy and Buffy didn't ask for it. Sure, there were glances, stray caresses of shoulders and light, feathery kisses. Gone, though, were the easy, possessive little touches that had teased them for months. For Buffy, who wanted things to go back to how they were, this sudden withholding of intimacy was a setback.

During the day, she competed with the others for the opportunity to care for Chloe. To change her, bathe her, clothe her, hold her, rock her to sleep. There was something utterly soothing in being able to touch the child, to run her fingers down a fuzzy little cheek, or to kiss the wrinkled forehead.

There was calm, too, in soothing the crying baby. Buffy needed it, wanted it, craved it. She fell more and more in love with the child as time went on. Yet, the reality of it kept hitting her in the face, soon Chloe, and Elizabeth herself, would be taken from them. And she would lose her baby.

Not just Elizabeth's, her mind screamed. No, but mine too. I worked for that child, I carried it, I gave birth to her. She knows my scent like she knows Elizabeth's. She responds to me like she knows. She's as much mine as she is Elizabeth's.

The car's tyres crunched on the gravel of a roadside stop.

"Let's get some exercise, hmm?" Giles spoke with false cheer. "Get out of this stuffy car?"

"You got it."

Buffy breathed in the fresh, cool air as she stepped out of the car.

* * * *

There was a knock on the door. Six frightened faces looked up, glaring at the offending piece of wood. Six cautious faces turned as one to check the bassinet that had just been lulled into a quiet, peaceful slumber. There was no sound, no catch of breath, no great intake of air into small lungs that would precede a loud and insistent wail.

Anya, closest to the door, ran to it, flinging it open.

"Are you mental?" The words were whispered, but firm.

"Not last time I checked, Anya." Cordy raised her eyebrows, then stepped inside. "But thanks for asking."

"Shh!" She was assaulted from all corners.

"We just got Chloe to sleep." A tired looking Joyce offered as explanation.

Sitting in a chair, nearest the bassinet, an even more exhausted looking Elizabeth raised her right hand at the wrist as a wave of hello.

"You wake her, she's all yours."

"What?" Cordy's face broke into a smile, but she kept her voice quiet. "This little lamb? She wouldn't be any trouble, no not her."

For three weeks, Chloe Giles had won the hearts of all around her. She took control of the household without effort and those in the house gave the control over wholeheartedly. Even Joyce had remarked how much of an angel she was. Comparisons had been made to the noisy, sleepless weeks after Buffy's birth. Many, many, wistful comparisons. Made with the indulgence of someone who wouldn't give up the memories for anything.

Today, however, the angelic, albeit small, ruler of the Gilesean household had lost some of her charm and there was insurrection in the ranks. It seemed that nothing could soothe her, no matter what they tried. Holding, bouncing, rocking, singing, cooing, anything and everything had been tried without success. Until, finally, the child had worn herself out and given herself over, stubbornly and reluctantly, to sleep.

"I'll take that bet." Xander's voice floated in from the kitchen, where the sound of spoons tinkling against mugs and a boiling kettle could be heard. "She's grumpy today. Got the temper of her mother, I'm guessing."

"I'm too tired to take offense, Xand," Elizabeth smiled fondly, then turned to Cordy. "I think she misses Buffy."

"Really?" Willow looked intrigued at the thought. "You think she can tell you apart? You think she knows Buffy's not here?"

Elizabeth pushed her chin forward, peering over the edge of the bassinet, her eyes playing over the features of the sleeping baby.

"I know she can."

Cordy sighed.

"I'm gonna miss this, you know?"

"You're leaving?" Willow looked up. "Now?"

"Yeah, we need to get back to the office." Cordy tried to sound upbeat, but there was a sadness in her eyes. "We think it's time. Angel and I. And strangely enough, Wesley, too."

"Got a pesky Rogue Demon problem back in LA, huh?"

Xander looked at all the confused expressions. The smile shrunk on his face.

"Pretty much nobody but me got that, right? I wish Giles was here."

* * * *

"Wow, it's beautiful."

Buffy breathed in the salt that hung in the air. She imagined she could feel the sea spray hit her face. A sudden, almost irrepressible urge hit her to go running. To just take off over the small grassy hill that made their little back yard and feel her feet sink into the sand, heated from the day's sun. To just keep running until the waves that lapped the beach surrounded her. Her hand wavered over her lower abdomen, as if to stop the persistent ache from leaking out. There'd be no careless running for a while.

She turned to face Giles and the quaint little house.

"Tell me again why we drove six hours from our beautiful beach side town to this beautiful beach side town?"

He gave her a small smile in defeat.

"It seemed like a good idea at the time." He let the bags that he'd carried in from the car fall to the floor. "Besides, we needed to get away and this beautiful beach side town has no monsters trying to kill us."

"Ooh, I like the sound of that." She tried to sound happy, for him. She tried hard, but something didn't quite follow through. Maybe it was in her eyes.

"Buffy?" He stepped closer to her and reached out to push a lock of hair from her face. "I know it's hard, but you need time away from them, from everything."

Without meaning to, Buffy swerved her head out of his reach, leaving his hand floating in the air. They both looked at it for several seconds before he slowly lowered it.

"I'll just get the rest of the bags."

She watched him turn around.

"Giles?"

* * * *

The street lamp shone down on him, bleaching whatever color he had left from his skin. He wrapped his lips around a cigarette and flicked the lighter with one hand. His eyes bore into the tiny flame, as if trying to absorb the heat. He didn't notice the extra effort needed to draw in the smoke, hadn't noticed it for a long time.

A little square of light, warm and yellow, shone from a building across the street. He could just imagine the voices, merry and full of bleeding laughter, chattering around the table. Bloody hypocrites, the lot of them.

"Oh, we're just a small band of merry soldiers, doin' our best to save the world from bad, nasty demons. Ma and Pa operation, that's us, we fight the good fight. La, la, friggin' la. Yeah, right, until the lot of you hook in with those army blokes and then what? Bleeding chips ahoy."

Spike let his venom float around his thoughts, breathing it in with his cigarette.

"You think that's funny, Slayer? I bet you're havin' a good ol' laugh right now. But you wait, oh yes, Spike is gonna get revenge, when you least expect it… Hello?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Spike watched the approaching demons with interest. With any luck, he'd witness some quality violence and not have to worry about those damned headaches. Watching didn't count as actually attacking.

He stubbed out his cigarette on the ground.

"Yeah, that's right, A little bit closer." Spike's whispered words egged them on. "Hey, hang on a minute. What the…?! Are you brain dead or something? Surprise attacks usually include surprise. Stop making so much bloody noise."

Movement from within the lighted window told Spike it was too late. They already knew.

Six figures, clad in black and armed to the teeth, sped past Spike, not even pausing to notice him. They surrounded the demons and began to shout orders. Loudly.

"Has everyone in this town gone deaf? Do you want them to come out and beat you senseless?"

True to his words, Spike watched as Xander, Willow and Anya came outside, armed. Not that they needed to do anything. The guys in military garb easily overcame the demons, making a big show of taking them prisoner.

The scoobies looked relieved as they thanked them.

"What the bleeding hell is this, then?"

Spike watched the military guys lead the demons away.

* * * *

Willow rocked the little bundle, cooing to it softly. It was something awesome, this little girl, the baby, curled up in her arms and sleeping. Each breath passing the swollen bud of a mouth, her cheeks a rosy shade of pink, her eyelids creased. And she lay there in perfect trust that Willow would take care of her, that Willow would do everything needed to keep her safe.

A face appeared over Willow's shoulder, resting her chin comfortably. Willow turned her head slightly, smiling at the new face.

"She's almost too cute, isn't she?" Tara's voice was soft.

"She's cuter when she's sleeping." Willow let a little laugh escape, originating from her shoulders up, not wanting to wake the child. "I can't believe this little one can make so much noise."

"You're so good with her."

They shared a little smile.

In the kitchen, Joyce was stirring pots, Xander and Anya were trying to help, and Elizabeth was taking the short respite to indulge in a hot shower. Everyone trying to soothe their frazzled nerves from before. Willow and Tara were alone in the living room, unobserved.

Willow leaned her head sideways, resting it on Tara's, their foreheads touched. Her eyes were slowly getting heavier and heavier, the rhythmic intake and release of Chloe's breath lulling her deeper into a trance. There was something so right about falling asleep with a baby in her arms.

"You're still worried, though, about Buffy?"

At Tara's words, Willow sighed and lifted her head.

"I'm worried about both of them."

* * * *

The light from the candle flickered around both of them. The quiet being swallowed by the subtle crashing of waves outside, their conversation was made unnecessary by the need to chew and swallow their food. Giles had cooked dinner for them, just something simple for their first night, pasta and salad.

The preparation, detail and care he'd used, just for this night, made Buffy ache on the inside. He'd laid the table perfectly, down to the candles and the single rose in its bud vase, he'd set music playing in the background, something soft and unobtrusive. He'd gone to so much trouble, just for her. He was trying.

So was she.

That was the problem, they were both trying so hard, that they were missing each other's cues, avoiding the real problems by focusing on the smaller ones. Her eyes drifted over his plate, he had barely touched a thing.

"You're not hungry?"

Buffy jerked at the sound of his voice, she looked down at her own plate and smiled.

"I guess not. You?"

He hung his head.

"I'm sorry, Buffy."

"Sorry?" Her brows puckered with confusion. "Why sorry?"

"I wanted this," He gestured around him. "All of this, to be different. It's supposed to be your honey moon."

He didn't need to look around him, there was nothing wrong with the setting. A nice little beach house, private, perfect ocean views, a cozy fireplace if the nights got cold. It was everything they could have hoped for. Yet, in his head, in all the preparation for the wedding, he had pictured so many different things.

Most of them involved Buffy and himself happy, laughing, comfortable with each other. He'd wanted to give her a good time, let her relax away from it all. It seemed, however, the further they got, the longer they stayed away from home, the tenser the situation got.

Maybe Buffy's therapist hadn't been right, the times he'd gone in with Buffy, for their group sessions, maybe Buffy didn't need time away. It seemed, to him anyway, that Buffy craved them. That she needed them a lot more than she'd like to admit.

Giles searched her with his eyes, looking for some little sign, for what he wasn't sure. Maybe he needed her to need him a little, too.

"Giles." Her voice was calm, but there was a shine to her eyes. "This is great, really. It's my fault, I guess I'm not really in the mood. I don't… I just don't know."

Her bottom lip trembled and he knew it was time. She was like a pot boiling over, the lid crackling up and down as the steam threatened to blow the whole thing. There was nothing left to do but give her some release, if she didn't let it all out now, it would consume her. He could see it in the shadows under her eyes, in the taut lines of her face, the way she held herself, the sagging shoulders.

"Buffy, can't you just tell me?"

Giles reached across the table and touched her hand, the electricity that built between their fingers was palpable.

"Tell you?" Buffy seemed genuinely puzzled. "Tell you what?"

"Whatever you're feeling, thinking. I want to know."

"But you already know, Giles." The tears broke and her eyes seemed to beg him. "You always know."

"No, I don't, Buffy, can't you get that?" He looked her straight in the eyes, silently commanding that she meet his gaze and not look away. "You and I, we used to be able to read each other, just one moment in the same room and we could judge each other's moods. It happened instantly. We still have that, I know it, but we have to work at it now. You, me, we've both closed ourselves off."

She was shaking her head, but deep down, she could see the truth.

"I don't want this, Giles, I want it the way it used to be."

"Then you have to let me in, you have to tell me when you're afraid, when you're upset, you have to tell me when you're angry at me."

"Angry?" A sudden wave of clarity washed over her. "That's an interesting word, Giles. Why would I be angry at you?"

He instantly backpedaled.

"Ang…? It was just a word, I…"

"No, Giles, you want to be honest? Why do you think I'm angry at you?"

Giles breathed in, trying to draw courage from the air. He stood up and walked to the window, his back to Buffy, his eyes searching the darkness as if the answer was written out there somewhere. It wasn't. He could feel her walking towards him and couldn't take the soft pity.

"Because I did it. It was me."

"What was you?" Buffy was inwardly scared that she already knew the answer. Had she let him believe this, all along?

"At the hospital, I told them…" He stopped to breathe in, taking the air in huge, greedy gulps. "They asked me and I said…"

"Giles." Buffy placed one hand on his shoulder and made him turn to face her. "I know what happened. There wasn't any choice, not a real one, anyway. This hurts, it's hard to get used to and I never wanted it, but Giles, I never wanted to die, either. And I can live with this."

"But, I…"

"But nothing, don't you get that? You did what you had to do and it was the bravest thing I can think of. I'm glad you made up your mind in time to save us all. But you never did anything wrong, you didn't cause it. Ethan, he was wrong. The powers that made this screwed up deal in the first place, they were wrong. You? You were right."

"I'm so sorry." Giles bent his head, capturing her face in his hands. He bought her forehead up to his, closing his eyes, just feeling her skin. He knew, deep down, that he could not cry, not now, he could not put more anguish on her, but he could feel her tears, be part of them. "I'm just so sorry."

Buffy let him nuzzle her, relishing in the touch, the feel of him, the smell of him. It seemed a sensation that she had missed, yet had never really known. She gloried in the slightly frenzied pull he exerted on her cheeks, as if he were trying to draw her into himself. It came to her, in a bizarre thought, that everything would be perfect if she could just comply and pour herself into him.

"There's nothing for you to be sorry for." She turned her face and placed a kiss on his fingers. "I'm not the one who got the raw end of the deal, here."

"What is that supposed to mean?" He drew her face around to look her in the eyes, questioning. Deep down, he could see the pain, the fear, the instinctual need to run from this truth. "What are you trying to say?"

"It's nothing." Without realizing it, Buffy inched away from him, pressing herself into as small a shape as she could. "I didn't mean…"

"Buffy."

Just one word, soft and calm, but leaving no room for argument. She could tell, just by his voice, that he wouldn't let her rest on this. There was nothing to do but bring forth the ugly truth, examine it, air it in front of him. She was just so afraid.

"It's just… I mean… You gave up your whole life for me, Giles, everything. And I thought, finally, maybe, I could give you some of that back. A wife, a family." She met his eyes and everything was written in them. "Children. And now I've taken that away from you again. I'm just a curse for you and you're stuck with me."

"Buffy." He wouldn't let her escape from his grasp, no matter how much she tried to pull away. "Oh, my precious, precious Buffy. Is that what you think?"

She looked down, her head bowed, giving two slow little nods. Her shoulders were shaking.

"I'm not blind, Giles, I see how you are with Chloe. I see your face! You want her as much as I do. And I've taken another chance away from you. How am I supposed to live with that?"

"I'm a grown man and you can't be held responsible for the choices I've made, especially ones I made knowingly. I've never regretted the choices that led me to you, Buffy, never. Being with you is worth anything and everything I could ever have given up. Do you realize that? I love you, I want you and no matter what happens I will always be here for you. Tell me you know that?"

She wouldn't look up, but he saw her nods, heard her muffled sobs as she let herself be drawn into his chest. Shaking so hard that he had to wrap his arms around her tightly, hold her close. For one moment she stiffened, as if resisting, then her whole body seemed to melt, dissolving into him.

"Muhwefuutoo!" Was all he managed to hear.

"Buffy?" He pushed her shoulders back, slightly, as she snuffled loudly.

"I love you too!"

* * * *

"May we stop soon? I'm afraid I need the little boy's room."

"Again? Wesley, my grandma has a bigger bladder than you."

"What are you complaining about? At least you got the front seat."

"I called shot gun first. Deal with it."

"You did not! You're just louder than me."

"Face it, he loves me more."

Cordy turned her head and smiled the cheesiest smile in history towards the driver. An impromptu cheeto missile from the back seat sailed towards its front seat target. Cordy sat up arrow straight, a look of evil in her eyes.

"Hey!"

Angel slammed on the breaks.

"Ok, that's it. One of you is walking."

"Him!" was shouted in a distinctly female voice at the exact same time that a male voice could be heard shouting, "Her!"

"Ok, that's it. Both of you are walking."

Silence. If Angel still breathed, his nostrils would have been flaring.

"You think I'm joking? Have you listened to yourselves in the last hour? It's impossible. Both of you, get out."

Cordy shrunk back into her seat.

"It's cold out there."

"Rather," Came a subdued voice from the back. "And it's dark. Quite dark, actually."

"Angel? I don't wanna."

"Nor do I."

Angel tapped his fingers on the steering wheel.

"Then?" He asked.

"We'll be good." Two voices replied in unison.

"Alright then." Angel turned the key in the ignition. "I don't want to hear another word from either of you until we get there. Understand?"

"Aarrgggghhhhhh!"

Cordy's whole body thrust backwards, her hands rushed to hold her head and her face contorted with pain. Angel slammed on the brakes once more. She breathed heavily for several seconds, then her eyes opened and she glared at Angel.

"Well, technically, that wasn't a word." He tried to laugh.

"I hate you." She snarled. "And I hate your little powers that be friends."

"Are you alright?" A timid little voice came from the back. "What was that?"

"Do I look alright to you, Wes? No, I'm not all right. Wanna know why?" For a brief second, Cordy's glare of infinite evil was directed away from Angel, but returned quickly enough. "I've just inherited splitting migraines with pictures and surround sound. Angel needs a connection to the powers and I guess I just drew the short straw. Lucky me."

"What was it?"

"What was it?" Cordy spat. "It was five lobotomies and an axe for free. It was pain. That's what it was. You better fulfil your destiny and atone for your sins fast, or I'm gonna kill you myself."

"No, the vision. I mean, what was in the vision?"

"Oh, right." Cordy calmed down a little bit, then her face went pale. "Oh my god, it was the baby! Elizabeth and Chloe are in trouble!"

* * * *

As opposed to most institutions, whose noise receded into the night, ebbing away with the daylight to leave a ghostly hum through the building, the Initiative was one which came alive with the darkness. A buzz descended, bringing with it the usual mass of humans, beings and machinery, bustling around one another.

There was nothing unusual for a crowd this time of night and certainly nothing unusual about being summoned to the building for a new assignment. After all, Riley noted, night time was the most active time for the hostiles.

"Sorry to call you so late, Riley."

"Not at all, Professor Walsh."

She smiled, a small smile, one that didn't reach her eyes. It was full of exhaustion, a weariness borne of years of unrewarding work. She sighed before she continued.

"I'm afraid it's bad news. The hostiles have stepped up action against the Slayer and her household and we can't properly protect them as they are."

He blinked, absorbing this news.

"We're going to have to bring them in. Don't worry, we've got a perfectly safe, comfortable area set up especially for this use. I know it sounds extreme, but Riley, they need our help. I think it'd be best if you and your team escorted them here, they know you better."

"Yes." Riley was distracted. Buffy had left Elizabeth, Chloe and the rest of them in his hands and he couldn't look after them. What would she say? He had no real choice, knowing what the alternatives were. "I'll go at once."

* * * *

She sat curled up on the sofa, a thin blanket tucked in around her knees. The whole place seemed surreal, out of a book or a movie. She could smell the wood that made up the rustic house walls, the feathery night air, she could hear cicadas beating a rhythm outside and if she looked up, she could see her husband walking towards her with a steaming cup of cocoa. If she wished hard enough, there'd be a crackling fire roasting, snow outside and a longhaired old English sheep dog curled at her feet.

Giles handed her the mug and watched as her hands cupped it, greedy for the warmth it gave.

"It's not quite that cold, yet. Is it?"

"No." She smiled lightly. "I just forgot how tiring a heavy emotional outburst like that can be."

Unlike the food earlier, her body seemed to welcome the warm liquid as she sipped it. Sliding across her tongue and heating her tonsils, opening up her throat. Buffy closed her eyes and sighed.

"This is how it's supposed to be, you know?" She opened her eyes and smiled at him. "Just you, me, a week to ourselves and a beach house."

This time, he smiled back, knowing she meant it. He had no reservations now about sliding onto the sofa next to her and couldn't help but notice the easy way with which she accommodated him. So involved was he in noticing this, that he didn't notice her looking at him with large, serious eyes.

"Uh, Giles?"

"Hmm?"

"What are we supposed to do now? There's no TV, no radio and, as far as I can tell, no plastic spoon to dig my way out."

"Heavens forbid." He let a sly grin escape. "Besides, I did happen to bring along any number of interesting books for you to continue your demon studies with."

"Giles, I'm serious!"

"So am I, my dear."

She gave him a pout, which he could stand for all of about ten seconds.

"Well, I'm not sure if you're interested, but there is this."

Giles reached out his hand to the nearby table and pressed a button. The surface of the wall opposite them broke open and began to slide away. Hidden behind the wall was an enormous entertainment center. He couldn't help but smile.

"You bastard."

* * * *

Elizabeth bent at the small of her back, shifting the weight from her shoulder to her arms. Chloe barely stirred as her body was lightly placed in the crib. Not wanting to leave her just yet, Elizabeth just stood there, her hands dangling beside the sleeping baby.

Occasionally, she'd reach out and brush the light down that feathered a cheek, or traced the pads of her fingers down the smooth stomach of her daughter. It was still something amazing to have her here, outside of herself, a separate being, yet still so connected.

"I know you don't understand, baby girl, but you're one of the luckiest people in the world."

It hurt, it hurt a lot to know that Rupert would never see this bundle, never hold her, never get to know his own daughter. They'd talked about it, often, their voices thick with wanting, about what it would be like once the child had been born. Elizabeth could feel his hands, once so strong and firm, now ghostly faded in her memory, lightly stroking her taut belly. She had barely even been showing when he had died.

Now this girl, Chloe, so bright with life, glowing in the love that poured over her from all sides, would never know her father, except through a simile. She would never get to curl up in his arms, know the smell of his after shave, trace the lines of his hands with her fingertips, look up at him and see the pride in his eyes.

"You have so many people that love you. That want to care for you."

Most of all, it hurt to know that Chloe would probably never miss the knowledge of her father. She would be so surrounded with love, that not having Rupert there would not make a difference in her life. She thought about Xander, the things he'd told her about his own family. She thought about Cordelia and the troubles she'd gone through, about Anya not truly having a family of her own.

"You're so lucky, baby."

So lost in thought and worship was she, that she didn't hear the knock on the door downstairs, or the voices that trailed up the stairs. Whatever was happening downstairs did not concern her, Xander or Anya would take care of it, everything that need worry her was in this room.

* * * *

Buffy stirred in her sleep, her head turned, her mind tried to block out an annoyingly constant noise. It crept inside her ears and gnawed at her. She didn't really want to leave this sleep, a deep sleep that she hadn't really felt in weeks. It was so comfortable, so warm. A light, welcome pressure lifted her stomach, then dropped it again regularly.

Slowly and drowsily, Buffy returned to an awareness. She'd fallen asleep cuddled up against Giles on the sofa while they watched TV. The noise that had woken her was the snowy fuzz of the screen. Giles had fallen asleep, too.

Having set in comfortably to watch some nameless movie, Buffy had leant again Giles, feeling more comfortable than ever to have his arm around her. She could remember looking up at his face once, to see a smile on his lips. He hadn't even been aware that it was there, his eyes lazily following the figures on the screen, it was almost as if he'd smiled half an hour before and had forgotten to take the curve off his lips. It suited him.

Sometimes after she'd fallen asleep, apparently, he'd drawn her legs up onto the sofa and stretched her out so that she was using him as a pillow. He hadn't wanted to wake her. Buffy grinned up at him, at his glasses now sitting awkwardly at an angle on his nose. He was so sweet.

Moving softly, scared to wake him, she lifted one hand and gently lifted the glasses off his face, careful not to let the handles touch his face. Her arm only reached so far and she gave up trying to reach the table, slowly she let her hand drop to the floor, next to the sofa, and laid his glasses there.

He breathed in sharply and she looked, guiltily, to his face, but he was still asleep. Around her shoulder and across her back, his arm was a welcome weight. It felt nice, somehow, right. She liked it there, holding her closer to him, safely against him. She liked the feel of his constant breath, pressing into her own as she breathed against him.

A quiet, serious, exploration began then. She wanted to know him, wanted to be able to bring his image perfectly into her head at any time in the future, the feel of him, his skin, the look of him, the smell of him. It was a sudden, primal and deep urge that she couldn't understand and didn't really need to.

The fingers of her hand found his mouth, barely touching it, feeling the air being sucked through them, then expelled. She memorized the lines that were etched into the fragile red skin, the plumpness, the deep creases at the corners of his mouth.

Her thumb found the small dint beneath his lower lip, the soft, fuzzy crop of his chin, the heated flush of his neck scattered with thick, wiry hairs that would grow thicker the further down she went, mostly dark but slightly peppered with gray.

And rising, her fingers sought out the secret flesh just below and behind his ears, pressing lightly to feel the rush of blood through impossibly small vessels, curving over the top of his ear, sifting through his hair, gently pressing the tip of her finger into the curves of his ear, stretching the skin and cartilage.

There, too, were the vulnerable dents on the side of his head, parallel to his eyes, the thick weathered skin of his forehead that he wore not as a sign of age, but of experience. Her fingers played with the lush eyebrows, her fingertips danced lightly over his eyelashes. Buffy held her breath as she watched the flickering movements under his eyelids, slowly, cautiously, she laid the pads of her fingertips over the sensitive flesh.

Immediately she felt his eyes squint and she drew her hands back, a sudden flash of guilt swarming her, but disappearing as soon as Giles' bleary eyes opened. Oxygen flooded her lungs and Buffy suddenly became more aware of the irregularity of her own shallow breathing, than she had been of the regularity of Giles' just moments before.

"Buffy? Are you okay?"

Without warning, in one swift movement, Buffy shifted her body up, claiming Giles' lips with her own, needing to taste what she had already felt. Her whole body shook with this sudden need, keenly aware of Giles' instinctual pulling back, his surprise.

It took merely moments for Giles to relax, to wake up to what was happening, to feel his wife's hands pulling his face up to hers, to feel her lips on his. He reciprocated in kind, bringing one hand up to caress the side of her face, to let his fingers form a tangle in her hair and his thumb to press into the smooth cheek.

It was Buffy who, lifting her shoulders and using this force, pushed him back. It was Buffy's tongue that thrust its hungry way into Giles' mouth, tasting, taking, caressing. It was Buffy's need that made her desperate to know him, claim him, own him.

* * * *

At the sound of footsteps on the stairs, Xander looked up. He watched Elizabeth as she dropped one foot after another to the steps, her face aimed downwards, she watched her own feet, unconcerned about the scene below, lost in thought. Her face was smooth, a secret flush of happiness staining her cheeks, showing a calmness that he didn't see very often.

"Elizabeth?"

She looked up, the spell of her thoughts broken. Her eyes questioned Xander, the worry in his voice, the slight reluctance to disturb her, but he didn't need to say anything. Standing next to him, Riley shifted his weight from one foot to the other, clearly nervous and uncomfortable.

"What's going on?" Immediately she turned her head back as if to check the upper level. "What's wrong?"

"The hostiles," Riley stepped forward, not wanting to break the news like this, but not knowing any other way. "They're getting vicious and we can't protect you out here."

"Out here?" Elizabeth looked from Xander to Anya, saw their faces, she felt as if the ground were falling out from beneath her. She knew. "What do you mean out here?"

"It's okay," Riley tried to reassure her. "It's just, you'd be safer with us, in the Initiative buildings themselves. We talked about this. You'd be comfortable, everything would be at your fingertips. Just until the threat is over, or until Buffy returns."

Once more, Elizabeth looked in desperation to Xander and Anya. They obviously weren't happy with the situation, but she could see the frustration on their faces. Riley was right, without a healthy slayer, without proper protection, Chloe and herself would be in trouble.

"Get Buffy." She nodded to Xander. "Get her back."

Then she turned around and walked back up the stairs.

* * * *

"Psst." Snuggled into a sleeping bag on the floor, Willow stared up at the ceiling. It felt so strange to her, to be in this room now. Every mark on the ceiling, shadow on the wall, every inch of this room was embedded in her memory, yet it held an air of unfamiliarity, as if she should no longer be here. "Are you awake?"

"No." Came the whispered giggle. "I'm deep in sleep."

"Shut up!" Willow lifted her head and eased the pillow out from underneath, aimed it well, then launched it across the room and onto the bed.

"Hey!" Tara demanded. "What was that for?"

"Felt like it." Willow grinned to the ceiling.

"Willow?" The question came after a moment's laugh. "Why are we sleeping here tonight? It's not like we needed to."

"No." In the distance, Willow heard the ring of the telephone. She could, in her mind, follow the path of footsteps that rushed to answer it, could remember waiting on the other end of the line for someone to pick up. "But maybe Joyce needed us to."

"Huh?"

Willow looked at the walls that used to be Buffy's room. The many nights she'd spent here were fresh in her memory.

"Buffy's moved out, gotten married, Elizabeth has Chloe. Joyce has lost both her daughters, in a way. I think this house is lonely for her now. She likes having us to fuss over."

There was a knock on the door and as Willow turned to watch Joyce's face peek around the door, Tara smiled. Something small and secret washed through her, a knowledge, an awareness of the depth of Willow's compassion and sympathy. Tara squirreled this moment away in her memory, keeping as many details as she could.

"Girls?" Joyce's worried voice penetrated Tara's thoughts. "We need to go, they need us."

* * * *

Giles was floating, moving as though the world were in slow motion. In him was a secret buzz, a flowing of energy that drugged him. He looked down to the weight he held in his arms, Buffy was nestled into his shoulder as he carried her to the bedroom. Her eyes closed and opened with an exhaustion that she fought. A drowsiness like sleep, but she was awake.

He kissed her hand before leaving her on the bed, walking into the bathroom and began to run the hot water. Every movement was taken with a deliberate care, he relished every task, filling the bathtub, making it the perfect temperature, finding some vague floral liquid to scent the water.

Everything he did, he enjoyed because he was doing it for Buffy.

Walking back into the bedroom, he picked her up again, loving the way she moved into his arms so easily. She kissed his neck and he smiled. He sat her on the edge of the tub and began to undress her. Buffy sat still, her limbs going limp under his touch. She loved this man, more than she dared admit. It was as if movement would break this trance, as if movement would resist him.

"I'm sorry." She whispered, so quietly he had to strain to hear her.

"Buffy?"

It was a question, gently spoken, though he was afraid he already knew the answer. He could see it in her eyes and wanted to kiss it away, push these thoughts from her head. She needed to talk about, though, he knew. So he waited.

"I wanted," Buffy paused to breathe in quickly, Giles could see the tears. "I wanted this to be special for you, I wanted…"

"Buffy," His hand came up and cradled the side of her face, she let her head fall into it. "I got what I wanted from you months ago. This, all of this, it's special, it's so very special, but all I need is you. However you are."

"But I couldn't… we didn't." One of her hands rose, palm upwards, bent at the wrist, offered in supplication. Giles bent his head and kissed the inside of her palm. "I'm not much of a wife."

"You," He looked into her eyes, demanding that she look back, wanting her to see the depth of his words. "Are all the wife I want or need. I'm so lucky to have you, do you know that?"

Buffy did cry then, falling forward and resting her whole weight on him, her arms wound tightly around his neck. He kissed her, her face, her neck, her shoulders, he ran his hand through her hair and whispered words that made no sense.

He continued to take her clothes away, gently, softly and when Buffy flinched and turned away from her scars, Giles didn't even blink. She let herself be lowered into the water, let the warmth flood her muscles.

"I love you," She whispered. "And I am the lucky one."

* * * *

Spike sat at the bar, his hand wrapped around a mug of warm blood, his brain puzzling out the situation that had risen up. He had no idea what it all meant, but he could vaguely connect it to the brief and confusing history that had presented itself to him.

After the wedding, he'd watched Angel stalk Ethan. Angel had taken the man, beating him mercilessly, to his car and as far as Spike knew, Ethan had not been seen anywhere in town since. That avenue was closed to him.

Then he'd been attacked, stunned from behind with some form of laser. When he'd woken up, he'd been in some sort of prison. He'd managed to escape, but found himself unable to do anything worth a vampire's time. Apparently, they'd put some sort of chip in his head. Spike knew, without a doubt, it was some new evil game the Slayer had cooked up.

At least, he had known until this evening, when he'd just seen the military men capture some incredibly inept demons. He wasn't sure how it added up, but he felt for sure that these were the same guys that had done this to him.

A commotion at the door distracted him and Spike turned to look. Just entering the bar, were the exact same demons he'd seen being captured.

"What the bleeding hell?"

* * * *

She cuddled the baby to her, holding her tightly as the lift descended. As the moments ticked by, Elizabeth began to feel a growing panic, a surge of energy that told her to run. Chloe whimpered in protest and Elizabeth loosened her hold. A little bit.

The doors opened and a wave of sound hit her, machines moving, people talking. The enormity of this place, hidden under the college, hit Elizabeth almost physically. What she noticed, however, was the distinct feeling of hostility. She did not feel welcome here.

Riley's hand at the small of her back propelled her forward.

"It's okay, really." He smiled down at her and she felt a little better, grateful for a human face. "I know it looks imposing, but you're going to be okay."

"You must be Elizabeth." Professor Walsh's voice was business like and direct. "I'm Maggie Walsh, this is Dr. Engelman and this is Colonel McNamara, we're happy to have you here."

Elizabeth looked from one face to the other, seeing nothing but a military presence. She stepped back, unconsciously, bumping into Riley behind her. There was no escape, her mind threw at her, none. Why she'd want to escape, she didn't know, these people were only trying to help her.

"Let's get you settled in your room." Maggie took her elbow and herded her through the group of strange people. Elizabeth wanted a friendly face, desperately, she held Chloe with a protectiveness she didn't understand. "Don't worry, it's nowhere near as official as all this. It's quite comfortable."

* * * *

"So, that's about it, mate." The demon laughed and threw some money on the table. He grinned at Spike. "It's a sweet set up. We make our presence felt with the Slayer, let ourselves be 'caught' by those guys, and they pay us heaps and let us go. As long as don't make trouble, we're safe in this town."

"They're not connected to the Slayer, then?" Spike lit up a cigarette.

"Not at all!" The suggestion seemed to delight the demon. "From the way they talk, I'd say they're very against the Slayer."

* * * *

The car sped along the road with an urgency that was echoed inside.

"But what did you see?" Angel demanded.

"I don't know, I tell you!" Cordelia was near tears. "It's not like I've had that much warning, you know? I saw Chloe, on a table, surrounded by all these people. And Elizabeth, in a room, trying to get out."

Cordy looked straight at Angel, when she spoke again, her voice was small.

"She was so upset, so angry, Angel, I don't know what she's going to do."

* * * *

Her bags were placed on the bed, looking around Elizabeth felt small relief that the room was quite comfortably furnished, equipped with everything she'd need to look after Chloe. A sense of loneliness ate at her, a feeling that there was no one here to which she could turn to.

"She's very beautiful." Maggie Walsh's voice cut into her thoughts. "Can I hold her?"

No, thought Elizabeth, none of you are going to touch her. She couldn't say this, however, without looking rude. There was no concrete reason for her wariness. Tired, worried, exhausted, Elizabeth placed her doubts in the category of over protectiveness.

She handed her baby over.

Everything moved so fast, Elizabeth could barely grasp what was happening. A small cry rose from Chloe, a wail so deep that it cut Elizabeth to the core, she felt hands holding her back as she struggled to lunge forward. A deep, primal scream rose up in her, erupting from her throat, as she fought the hands. Her eyes followed Professor Walsh as she moved out of the room.

Elizabeth felt her nails scratch flesh, she felt her limbs flailing wildly, striking at anything and everything that held her back. Her eyes picked up a flash of red amid a face. She didn't know what was happening.

Then she felt the clean slice of a needle in the crook of her neck, she felt herself being lowered to the floor, heard the click of the door as it closed behind these people. She could hear a soft voice croaking in the distance, calling out her daughter's name. It took her several seconds to realize that it was her own.

Lying limp, helpless, Elizabeth stared at the door, the sound of Chloe's wail echoing in her ears. She cried for Buffy.

* * * *

Buffy jerked upwards, into a sitting position, ignorant, for the moment, of the pain this caused her. She was sweating all over, flushed, in her ears rang the pleas coming from a familiar voice, the echo of a cry so deeply embedded into her that it hurt to hear, images that were coming into a strange, horrifyingly clear focus.

"Giles!" She shoved at his shoulder, none too gently. "Giles, wake up! We need to go back, we have to leave now!"

"Hmm? Buffy?" Giles turned to her, sleep drugging him. "We've talked about this…"

"No, Giles!" Her voice pleaded with him. "It's real. They're in danger, we've got to go now."

He opened his eyes properly now, saw the way she was trembling all over, the panic in her eyes.

The telephone rang.

* * * *

A thin mattress was placed on the metal examination table, pillows were added, creating a safe cocoon. In the middle of this, was placed a screaming child, barely weeks old. Large shaped, cloaked in white, advanced on her.

A gloved hand, gentle but firm, held the tiny ankle still as another gloved hand slid the syringe into the tiny heel.

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