Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The Morning After the Last Scene in Surprise

Buffy woke slowly, with that initial disorientation that sometimes accompanies a gradual return to consciousness. Her first muddled thought was, Where am I? This definitely isn’t my house. Rubbing her eyes, she looked around. Ah, right, Angel’s apartment. But why- oh. Ohhh. She blushed as memories of the previous night came flooding back into her mind.

But Angel wasn’t there anymore. He was gone now. Why was he gone? Suddenly a thousand worries and doubts filled her thoughts.

Trying to push away such thoughts, she determinedly got up and set about looking for her clothes. They were a bit wrinkled, but at least dry.

Then the door opened, and there was Angel, standing there looking so damn calm while she had been worrying that something inside her just snapped and she lashed out.

“Where were you?” Buffy demanded.
“Oh, out,” Angel held up a shopping bag, explaining. “I went to get you some breakfast, considering I don’t exactly have much in the way of normal food around. I’m sorry; I’d hoped to be back before you woke up.”

“Oh.” Buffy suddenly felt extremely stupid as she realized how irrationally she’d been acting. That’s it, nice job jumping to conclusions. A closed mouth gathers no foot, you know. Oh god, what’s he gonna think of me now? He must think I’m an idiot, or clingy, or something. “Thanks. That’s really sweet of you. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. I just …I was worried, when you weren’t here. I was afraid something had happened to you … or that you’d left me.” By the end of this admission, her voice had grown very small.

“Don’t worry,” Angel soothed, wrapping her in his arms. “I’ll never leave you, I promise.”

“I love you,” she murmured into his chest.

“Love you too,” he replied, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Now come on, you should have something to eat, and then we’d better check in with the others. They’re bound to be wondering where we are by now.”

“Right.” Suddenly she groaned. “And blue demon guy to fight. Damn it! I’d actually managed to forget the impending doom stuff for once. But no, it’s right back to business as usual. Figures,” Buffy grumbled. But she couldn’t really bring herself to care because just then, as she pressed herself closer to the comforting mass of her boyfriend, she was content.

***

That Night

Buffy threw another punch at the vampire, a fledgling that she was completely pummeling. Giles had told her that she didn’t really need to patrol that night, that she could take a short break since they’d just dealt with the Judge. She’d said that was no excuse for neglecting her duty, but really she just needed to work off some tension after everything that had happened that day. Xander’s plan to destroy the demon had turned out admirably, but that was about the only thing that had gone well. Ms. Calendar’s betrayal, then so much fighting and confusion, and then somehow in the muddled course of events they’d thought that Angel was gone. They’d been sure of it until he’d miraculously shown up again to support them in the battle, and she had been so scared. Paranoid as usual. Nice going, girl, big bad in town and you’re a total basket case over a false alarm. But it was way too much like my dream, too easy to believe. I’m just glad he’s still alive … well, undead, technically, but that’s beside the point.

Finally, she began to come out of her red haze. She neatly staked the fledgling and straightened up, still feeling slightly uneasy. A good slaying was the best way to work off excess aggression, but it left her worked up in other ways. She would never admit it, but she tended to end up rather hungry and horny afterwards. Tonight was worse than usual; some passions, it seemed, once awakened were not nearly so easy to shut off.

Feeling a familiar presence behind her, she spun around, her face lighting up. “Angel!” she called out to her approaching boyfriend.

“Buffy.” Angel stepped out of the shadows where he had, as usual, been lurking.

Without any further thought, she launched herself at him. “Never again,” she declared emphatically. “That’s at least twice in as many days that I’ve nearly lost you. I can’t take that. You promised never to leave me, but then you were just gone … or at least we all thought so. I was so scared. I didn’t know what to do.” She paused, then said softly, “I need you, Angel.”

He looked down at the petite golden girl in his arms, touched more than he could say by her concern for him. She was so young, so strong, so vibrant that being with her made him feel alive again. Surely she could have anything she wanted; yet she chose him. He knew he could never deserve her, but she was far too important for him to ever jeopardize what they had. He leaned down and kissed her softly.

He’d only meant it as a reassuring kiss, but then passion flared between them and suddenly it was something more. As the kiss deepened, their tongues battled for dominance. Her hands began to roam over him, and he reciprocated. But when she began fumbling to unbutton his shirt, he pulled away, gently but firmly stopping her.

“You don’t want…?” she said disappointedly, her voice trailing off.

“Oh, I do,” he said, pulling her up against him to prove his answer. “But we’re out in the middle of a graveyard. This is not the place.”

“Oh, of course,” Buffy said, mentally thwapping herself. Then her expression turned eager again. “Take me back to your place?”

“Certainly,” he replied. They left quickly.

Chapter Text

Approximately One Month Later

“I’m beginning to get worried,” Buffy said.

“Why?” Willow asked. “Nothing odd’s been going on lately.”

“Exactly. It’s been too quiet on the supernatural front. The Hellmouth is never this quiet. I haven’t had any run-ins with demons since we destroyed the Judge. I haven’t even been finding that many vamps on patrol since we dusted Spike and Drusilla’s gang. I think the last major supernatural activity around here at all was that messed up love spell thingy Amy did for Xander. It’s too good to be true. Either there’s something big going on that I’ve managed to completely overlook, or something’s about to happen, and either way I’m afraid I’m gonna get a nasty surprise pretty soon,” Buffy explained.

“Isn’t it possible that you’re overly suspicious and we’ve just gotten some well deserved good luck?” Willow suggested reasonably.

“Maybe I am paranoid,” Buffy replied. “But in my life, Murphy’s Law seems to be the highest power around. I didn’t get this far as the Slayer by sitting back and relaxing.”

“True,” Willow said. “I’m certainly not advocating letting your guard down. But vague suspicion that something is going to happen doesn’t amount to anything you can fight. So just keep a lookout, as usual, and be grateful for the reprieve.”

“Thanks for the advice,” Buffy smiled. “How come you always know just what to say?”

Willow’s face lit up at the praise, and she blushed slightly. “I do? Dunno, maybe it’s a best friend thing.”

“Maybe,” Buffy agreed. She glanced at the darkening sky. “I’d better go. It looks like about patrol time.”

Willow turned to her with a mischievous smirk. “And just how much actual patrolling will you be getting done tonight?” she asked.

Buffy shot her a Look. “As much as ever, “ she replied indignantly, but she was smiling. She moved to get up, then fell back in her seat as a sudden wave of dizziness came over her.

“You okay?” Willow asked concernedly.

Buffy waved her off. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” Willow pressed.

“Yes,” Buffy replied irritably. “Just fine. Absolutely peachy. Don’t wig out!”

“Okay,” Willow relented. She watched her friend go with a slightly worried look.

Buffy made her way to the graveyard without incident. She would never admit it, but she was beginning to feel a bit weak and generally not good. No, she thought, I can’t get sick! I need to keep up my strength for Slaying.

Despite the less-than-happy turn of her thoughts, her face lit up when she arrived and found Angel already waiting for her. Hot boyfriend makes everything much better. “Angel,” she called out.

“Buffy.” The simple statement of each other’s names had become a greeting so automatic they hardly realized it. Between the two of them, no more words were needed.

She made her way over, moving to join him. But as another wave of dizziness overcame her, she ended up falling against him instead.

He caught her easily, looking at her with a worried expression. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I’m fine! Why does everyone think there’s something wrong with me?” Buffy snapped, pushing away.

“Buffy-“ Angel’s response was cut off as he noticed movement nearby. “Look out behind you!”

Buffy spun into a fighting stance, turning to face the vamp behind her. It was more than a fledgling, but nothing she should have had any trouble with.

At least, not on any normal day. Today, she was stumbling, faltering, unable to fight effectively. Angel watched her struggle only for moments before jumping in to help her.

Having quickly finished off the weaker vamp, Angel looked back to Buffy. “Just fine?”

“I can take care of myself,” the Slayer protested.

“No,” Angel snapped back, concern making his voice harsher than he meant it to be. “You’re too stubborn for you own good. And I’m not letting you get yourself killed just because you refuse to admit that you’re in no condition to be out fighting.”

Buffy sagged, slumping against him in a motion of surrender. It was a sure sign of just how badly off she was that she gave in so easily.

“You need to rest,” he said. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”

She whimpered, “I’m so cold!”

He pressed one cool hand to her forehead. “You’re burning up with fever.”

She shook her head, shivering violently. “So cold.” She trembled as he gathered her in his arms. “Don’t leave me, Angel,” she pleaded, her voice barely audible.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he reassured her.

She seemed not to hear, just looking desperately up at him out of glazed eyes. “No!” she cried out again. “Don’t go, please.”

“Shh. You’re delirious, Buffy. Rest now, I’m right here.” Adjusting his bundle of Slayer, Angel tightened his hold on her. She was worse off than he’d thought, he realized.

He looked up as he heard hurried footsteps, and saw Willow come rushing up, followed by Xander and Cordelia. "Buffy!" she called out. She stopped as she caught sight of Angel with Buffy, and let out a deep breath. "Oh, good, you've got her."

Willow rushed on. "I saw her before she went out and she didn't look very good, but she said she was fine so I thought she would be fine, but then I remembered like half the class is out with this flu and you know how she has that whole Slayer can't admit weakness thing so we got worried and came looking, but you've got her, so that's good, a-and now I'm babbling again, aren't I. Can't someone please stop me when I do that?"

Angel had to smile at Willow’s flustered rambling. It was obvious how much she cared, how much she was worried about her friend. “It’s okay,” he reassured her.

Both their gazes turned back to Buffy, who seemed to have slipped into unconsciousness. “She really doesn’t look good,” Willow commented grimly.

Angel nodded. “I know. I’m not quite sure what to do,” he admitted.

Willow straightened up. “We need to get her to the hospital,” she said simply. “And fast.”

“Right. Of course,” Angel said. Should’ve known that one. Why didn’t I think of that? he mentally chastised himself. He stood up, shifting Buffy’s limp form slightly to carry her more securely. “Let’s go.”

Chapter Text

Shortly After

The Scoobies burst into the Sunnydale Hospital emergency room.

“We need help!” Xander yelled.

“Somebody, please, now!” Willow echoed.

The group having successfully caught people’s attention, an intern approached them and asked, “What happened?”

Everyone tried to answer at once, “The flu.” “She fainted.” “Fever.”

“She has the flu; she got a fever and fainted,” Angel attempted to clarify.

“She’s sick, make it better!” Xander threw in impatiently.

“It’s gonna be okay. Let’s get her up,” the intern said, pulling up the gurney a nurse had brought over. Angel gently lifted Buffy down onto the gurney.

The intern began checking Buffy over and dictating to a nurse as they wheeled the girl into the emergency room. “Patient’s unconscious… Pupils are unequal and unresponsive.”

“What does that mean?” Cordelia demanded.

“Is she gonna be okay?” Willow asked nervously.

The intern turned to them, harried, “Please, you gotta give us some room.”

Before they could respond, a woman whose name badge identified her as Dr. Wilkinson bustled up to take charge of the situation. “What do we have?” she asked the intern.

“High-grade fever, possible fractures,” he replied.

“Get her into Trauma 1, give her a CBC, Chem 7, type and screen.”

“Right.”

The Scoobies looked on at the conversation blankly, until the intern and nurse wheeled Buffy into the emergency room proper and Dr. Wilkinson blocked them as they tried to follow. “I’m sorry, you can’t go any further,” she explained.

“I- we should be with her!” Angel protested.

“I’m sorry, but you can’t go any further,” the doctor repeated more forcefully. She backed into the ward and closed the doors in their faces. There was a moment of stunned silence. Angel looked furious, and the others weren’t far behind. Then Willow, the unexpectedly calm and practical head in a crisis, took charge of the situation.

“I’ll call Giles, tell him what happened. Oh, and Ms. Calendar too.” She turned to Cordelia, “You call Buffy’s mom. Tell her … not what happened, just get her here.” After a moment’s hesitation, she continued, “Uh, Angel?”

The vampire looked up questioningly.

“You should probably go before Buffy’s mom gets here.”

“Right.” Angel paused, clearly reluctant to leave, but then slowly turned and walked out of the waiting room.

***

Still Later That Night

Everyone was gathered in the waiting room, Willow, Xander, and Cordelia sitting in a row on hard plastic chairs and exchanging worried glances while Giles stood by the door and fell into his nervous habit of cleaning his glasses and Ms. Calendar, sitting next to him, attempted to soothe him. The elevator doors opened and Joyce Summers stepped out and walked over to the Scoobies.

“Where is she?” Mrs. Summers asked her daughter’s friends as they started towards her.

“She’s still in the emergency room,” Giles replied.

Joyce stepped towards the closed doors of the emergency room, saying, “I want to see her.”

“They won’t let us in there,” Cordelia warned, and Mrs. Summers paused to look back at her.

However, the emergency room doors opened just then, and Dr. Wilkinson stepped out. “Mrs. Summers?” the doctor asked.

Joyce turned to face her. “Yes?”

“I’m Doctor Wilkinson.”

“Is Buffy okay?”

“We were able to stabilize, and…” the doctor started.

“Is she okay?” Joyce interrupted insistently.

“Both Miss Summers and her child are going to be fine,” Dr. Wilkinson said reassuringly.

“Thank you,” Joyce said with relief.

“Good. Good. That’s good,” Xander echoed.

Suddenly, the group paused and looked at each other, fully processing the doctor’s words.

“Wait a minute. What?!”

Chapter Text

The Next Day Or So

Buffy was trying, for the millionth time, to convince Dr. Wilkinson to release her. It wasn’t working. At all. God, she hated hospitals. And her efforts to find out more about the strange virus that was killing the children weren’t going any better. So she was relieved when a knock came on the door of her room.

“May we come in?” Giles asked politely.

“Please,” her doctor responded. “Maybe you can keep our patient from bolting.” She turned to Buffy. “Rest! Hmm?” With that, she left, leaving Buffy alone in the room with her guests.

Buffy looked over the group. Giles, Ms. Calendar, Willow, Xander, and Cordy. All her friends – except, of course, for Angel. Dammit, why do visiting hours have to be restricted to daytime? She missed her lover.

“Flowers for milady,” Xander said gallantly, presenting her a bunch of colorful balloons, effectively turning her attention back to the friends who were present.

Buffy laughed. “I think they call those balloons.”

Not to be dissuaded, Xander joked, “Yeah, stick ‘em in water, maybe they’ll grow.”

“Not to be outdone…,” Willow announced, and set a stack of Buffy’s schoolbooks on the end of the Slayer’s bed.

Buffy looked at the textbooks with distaste. “Homework!”

“It’s my way of saying, ‘get well soon’,” Willow said cheerfully.

“You know, chocolate says that even better,” Buffy replied.

“I did all your assignments,” Willow finally revealed. “All you have to do is sign your name.”

Buffy looked up at her with newfound appreciation. “Chocolate means nothing to me,” she said reverently. Truly, her friend was a goddess.

Willow stepped back, and looked at Cordelia in turn.

“Nobody told me I was supposed to bring a gift,” the cheerleader said. She turned accusingly to Giles and Ms. Calendar. “I was out of the loop on gifts.”

Giles looked stymied. “Its…”

“It’s traditional. Among people,” Ms. Calendar said sarcastically.

Giles took a bag from Ms. Calendar, and set it on the bed. “Grapes,” he commented simply. “Well, did you, uh, pass the night well enough?”

“Not really,” Buffy said slowly. “Something happened I thought you might want to….” She trailed off as a nurse entered the room, walking around the bed and leaning in to check Buffy’s IV. “You know what? Let’s take a walk,” she suggested. Hopefully, they would be free of interruptions or unwanted ears outside.

A few minutes later, Buffy smiled as Willow pushed her in a wheelchair while the others walked alongside. “Do you want me to go real fast?” the redhead asked mischievously. “Not that I would,” she added hastily at a disapproving look from the adults.

“Now this part I could get used to,” Buffy commented happily. “One good thing about this utterly vile place… utterly vile? Oh no, somebody help me, I’m channeling Giles!”

“Do you really hate hospitals so much?” Willow asked.

“Yes,” the Slayer replied emphatically.

“Well, that’s pretty inconvenient,” Xander commented. “I mean, considering you’re going to be coming in a bunch, aren’t you?”

“What?” Buffy replied, uncomprehending.

“Since you’re pregnant. …Didn’t the doctor tell you?”

“Wait, I thought I was the one who was delirious. Or maybe I’m still delirious. That’s, that’s imposs- Oh, whatever. There’s, um, stuff. You know, a girl died here last night.” Unable or unwilling to believe, she directed the conversation back to the “safer” topic of Slaying.

“How?” Willow questioned, recognizing her friend wasn’t getting past denial anytime soon. And, truth be told, that matter wasn’t going anywhere soon. If there was some kind of demon-y problem, it needed to be dealt with right away.

“Well, the flu.”

“Flu doesn’t exactly sound monsterrific.”

“I know, but there’s this Dr. Backer….”

***

A Few Days Later (Shortly After the Last Scene in Killed By Death)

It had been nearly a week since she entered the hospital, but even now that she'd been out a little while everyone was still walking on eggshells around her a bit. Which was rather annoying, but in a way she was almost grateful, because she really needed time and space to think right now.

Considering everything else from when she’d been potentially delirious had turned out to be real after all – right down to the semi-invisible demon – and particularly since she’d actually felt fine most of the time when she was talking to people, she was forced to conclude that she hadn’t been hearing things. So in the past few days, she’d moved from denial into something akin to shock. No one had yet dared to bring up the “p” word again since she’d gotten home, but it was only a matter of time. And a rather short matter of time, too, she strongly suspected. She had no clue what to do then.

Her thoughts kept falling into the same places, ruts that she couldn’t seem to get out of to think clearly about her situation – namely, “ohmygod, I’m a statistic! I’m like one of those girls they have the sob stories about on Lifetime TV,” and “this can’t be happening; this isn’t even supposed to be frickin’ possible.”

“Okay, Buffy,” she finally told herself, “ enough of the pity party. This isn’t going to help. What use is it to ask ‘why’ and ‘how’ and ‘this can’t be’? The impossible part probably has something to do with the Hellmouth; even normal laws of the supernatural don’t seem to work properly here. And my life never does seem to run out of new and exciting ways to suck beyond all belief. The point is, what’s happened is happened, what I need to do now is figure out how to deal with it. I just need to pull out that intelligence that I’ve been informed so many times I have but simply fail to apply, and think about this like a rational person. …And if I’m being so mature and rational, why the hell am I talking to myself like a complete loony?” Oh yes, there was much confusingness here.

Particularly since the thought of herself as a teenage mother was still threatening to turn her into a gibbering mess, even after having several days to process the notion. Plus the whole “Slayer” factor thrown into the mix multiplied the level of badness. How could she withstand being weak and vulnerable for months? How could she protect a helpless child when she had enough trouble keeping her friends, who had respectable fighting skills, out of harm’s way? She was terrified of getting herself or her baby killed.

“Oh bad, oh bad, oh bad, bad, bad,” she muttered. She was in no condition to be making the reasoned decisions that had to be made. Certainly not alone. And to make matters worse, she had no one to talk to. Oh, she knew she would be talking with a number of people over the next few days. Her friends, her Watcher, her mother. She also knew those conversations would be more along the lines of interrogations; sure to cause more stress rather than relieve it, and she damn well better have some answers ready beforehand if she hoped to survive those encounters. Definitely not what she needed just now. No, what she needed was a chance to be the protected for once, a break from always being the strong one. What she needed was to be held, to be comforted. To be reassured, just for now, that everything would be okay, even if it could possibly be.

And just like that, it clicked. So easy and obvious that she couldn’t believe she hadn’t seen it before. The one person who she could always count on to support her and never to judge her. The one person who she could count on to advise her with truly her best interests in mind. And the one other who actually had a right to a say in the matter anyway. Admittedly, the prospect of telling him about her situation was a little daunting, but she knew it would have to be done soon anyways. And it would still be easier than the other conversations that waited in store for her. At this point, she was willing to do just about anything for a sympathetic ear. So she followed what was quickly becoming reflex when she found herself in trouble, and ran to her one constant source of comfort. She ran to Angel.

Chapter Text

That Evening

“Buffy,” he greeted her when she walked into his apartment.

“Angel. I need to talk with you.” After a pause, she admitted, “I need help.”

He looked at her, and saw a frightened young woman still trying to be always the strong one. He drew her into his arms and rubbed her back, offering an unspoken reminder that she didn’t have to put on brave-face for him. She collapsed against him and broke down sobbing.

“What’s wrong?” he asked gently when she’d calmed somewhat.

She took a deep breath, attempting to compose herself. “I- I have to tell you some thing. And I’m really not sure how, so I suppose I’ll just say it right out: I’m pregnant. I don’t know how it’s even possible, but I am. And I don’t have a clue what to do now.”

One hundred years practice of mental and emotional control and the knowledge that she was already panicking and wouldn’t be able to handle an inappropriate reaction (if there was such thing as an appropriate reaction) kept him calm. It was still an extremely close thing. Conflicting emotions swirled round his head, and he took several unnecessary deep breaths in order to buy himself time to compose a response. He knew this was one of those times when, as she might say, “a wrong answer will cost you all your points” (oh how he loved her funny way of speaking), and he couldn’t bear the thought of accidentally hurting her by saying the wrong thing.

“Whoa. That’s … major.” Not very eloquent, but I guess that works. “But it’ll be okay, we can deal. You just need to figure out what you want now, and we’ll find a way to make it work.”

“You make it sound so easy,” Buffy whimpered. “What if I don’t know what I want? Well, I want my life to be back to the normalcy – semi-normalcy – of two weeks ago. But obviously that’s not possible. Whoa, never thought my life had room left in it to be turned upside down again.”

“Well, actually, you do have an option,” Angel forced himself to say. “You need to decide if you’re going to keep the baby. I mean, I would understand if - ” Truthfully, it would just about kill him if she decided not to, but she didn’t need to know that. After all, it was her place to say. And she was still so young, just getting her life started. He felt incredibly guilty for everything she was going through.

“Of course I am!” she replied vehemently. “It’s already a part of me – a part of us. …Besides, chances are it’s probably some kind of prophesized warrior or something. Laws of nature – supernature? Whatever – don’t get broken for just anyone. … I can’t throw away a miracle. Even a really poorly-timed miracle.”

He smiled faintly. It was selfish, but that was the kind of response he wanted to hear. Well, except for the prophesized warrior part; he didn’t even want to think about that possibility, but unfortunately it was likely so. Her logic was flawless on that one.

“Okay,” he said. “See, you know your mind just fine, you only need a little guidance.”

For the first time, she cracked a smile. “I do? I guess I do.” But then, in one of her lightening-fast changes of mood, she turned on him. “Wait a minute, don’t you have an opinion? How can you be so calm?” Her lower lip trembled. “Don’t you care?”

His eyes flashed. For a moment he wanted to shake her, wanted to snap back, to force her to recognize how much he cared. Thankfully, his more rational side prevailed, and he realized how much that would not help matter, and somewhat understood how she might think that. So instead, he patiently explained, “Of course I care. But that doesn’t give me the right to interfere. You’re the one who has to go through everything, so the choices are yours to make. I’ll support you, whatever your decisions. And believe me, I’m only calm because you need me to be and I know I wouldn’t be much good to you otherwise.”

“Oh,” she said, apparently lacking for a response to that. “Thanks, then.”

“Okay, what else is concerning you?” he asked.

“Angel, what if everyone hates me now?” she asked timidly, looking younger and more vulnerable than ever.

“Never gonna happen, sweetheart,” he assured her. Now me, on the other hand, they may be feeling positively murderous towards. Taking advantage of their precious Buffy and all that. But then, that’s not too terribly different than the normal state of affairs. He wisely decided not to tell her that part, however. See? He was getting better at these ‘pep talk for an emotional Slayer’ things.

She was not convinced. “But you haven’t seen them this week, Angel,” she protested, still insecure. “No one’s actually mentioned anything yet, but it’s obvious they’re thinking it. The guys are all looking at me weird. It’s like there’s this big … elephant in the closet….”

He smiled faintly at the mixed metaphor, so typical of her, even as he pitied her suffering.

“And I know I’ve only been getting a reprieve because I’ve been sick. But tomorrow I go back to school, and I just know the gang are gonna give me the Spanish Inquisition. And I can’t even begin to imagine what Mom’s gonna do to me,” she continued. By now however, she had at least regained her composure enough to giggle slightly at the next thought that occurred to her. “Hey, I’m actually expecting the Spanish Inquisition.”

“What?” he asked blankly.

“Monty Python? …Oh right, I always forget you’re pop-culturally challenged. They’re the best comedians ever, do this great little skit about ‘no one expects the Spanish Inquisition’.” Her mood turned down again as she remembered her original train of thought. “But that’s exactly what I’ll have to face – the torturers, that is, not the funny British guys – when I get back to school. …Oh god, school! What am I going to do about school?”

“What about it?” he asked.

“Going to be seriously disrupted,” Buffy said frustratedly. “But I can’t just drop out, then I’d be even more that girl.”

“That girl?” he asked, not comprehending.

“Yeah. You know, the kind of girl whose failures are held up as an example to everyone else. The kind of girl everyone dreads being. Whole teenage mother thing kinda reeks of it,” she explained.

“You are not that girl, Buffy, and you never will be,” he said emphatically. “You are not a failure, in any way. You are infinitely special and precious.”

“Yeah, well, you’re biased,” she retorted, but the comment was light and teasing, her mood greatly improved.

“And about the school thing,” Angel added. “You don’t have to figure everything out today. You shouldn’t have trouble finishing out this year, and then you can look at options. Anything else weighing on your mind?”

“Not right now,” she replied. “I’m sure there’s more, but I’m not coming up with it at the moment.”

“Well, feel free to tell me when you do,” he said.

“Will do,” she murmured. “Thanks, Angel. You’ve been a big help … Don’t know what I’d do without you. Why are you so good to me?”

He was amazed as always at the sentiment. It made no sense for her to feel indebted to him, yet she regularly professed things like this. He brushed an errant golden lock out of her face and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “How could I not be?” he replied smoothly but sincerely. “I love you.”

She let out a contented sigh and relaxed in his embrace, content to forget for a moment the trials of the world around them. “Mmm…” she murmured after a few minutes. “This is nice. Makes me not want to move.”

“Then don’t,” Angel suggested.

Buffy made a face. “Have to,” she said petulantly. “Patrol.”

“Well, I’d offer to go for you, but that wouldn’t work any better, would it?” he said.

“Not exactly, no,” she replied, reluctantly getting up.

He shrugged on his long black leather duster and followed her out the door.

As they walked through the night, quiet so far, he was loath to break the companionable mood. He knew she was probably going to react badly to what he had to say next. In fact, she would probably think he was being an overprotective ass. Nevertheless, it had to be said. It was for her own protection. “Buffy, I really don’t think you should be patrolling alone from now on. In fact, you shouldn’t be patrolling at all for much longer.” Despite the casual phrasing, it was a demand rather than a suggestion. He waited for the inevitable explosion.

She spun to face him, her expression dangerous. “I’m not made of glass.”

“You’re not invincible either.”

“Damnit, Angel, I can take care of myself! I know how to do my job!”

“No, you don’t take care of yourself nearly enough. You proved that last time we were out here. I’m not letting you put yourself or the baby in danger.”

He watched her struggle with herself, pride urging her to keep fighting a battle she knew she could not win. Finally, she seemed to decide it wasn’t worth it. “Fine, be that way,” she said petulantly, but it was only a token protest. Her heart clearly wasn’t in it, but she was too stubborn to give in with grace. She allowed him to keep within a few paces of her rather than truly stalking away, and that was sign enough.

Still, he couldn’t leave it at that. He grabbed her so she turned to face him. “Buffy-”

“Don’t wanna hear it,” she said petulantly.

“Buffy, believe me, I’m not doing this to antagonize you. I’m only trying to keep you safe. It would destroy me if anything were to happen to you,” he said.

“And you have to do that by stifling me?” she sulked. But she let him kiss her pout away, so her knew things were good between them again.

***

The Next Day

If Buffy’s mood when she went back to school was improved at all by her conversation with Angel the night before, it immediately evaporated when she walked into the library that afternoon and found the entire Scooby gang sitting around waiting for her. Time to face the firing squad, she thought as she looked around at their faces, a spectrum of disapproval: Willow’s worry and almost-betrayal. The redhead was protective of her in a no-one-messes-with-my-best-friend’s-well-being sort of way (and here she recalled with amusement Angel telling her how the shy hacker had actually told him and Giles off for provoking the Slayer into going to that frat party last fall), and was probably mad at her because she was actually mad for her, upset at what Buffy had allowed to happen to herself. Xander’s possessive hurt and anger. This was also a protective thing, but the boy had more of a tendency to lash out when he was injured, and he’d always been vaguely territorial towards her. While Willow was likely to forgive easily and fuss over her and babble a bit, she knew Xander would be frosty towards her and she could expect cutting jibes half-masked in jokes for a while. Probably a bit of an “I told you so,” too because, deny it though he would, he was the type to say I told you so, and he had been predicting various and sundry dire consequences regarding her and Angel since day one (and why can’t he accept what makes me happy? But that was simply part of who Xander was, so she learned to live with it). Her best friends’ reactions were the flip side of their loyalty to her – a certain proprietary interest in her life, and the resulting shock and disappointment when she didn’t live up to their expectations of her.

Cordelia, on the other hand, looked more bored than anything else. Oh, and definitely superior. If there was anyone who was going to think of her as that girl, it was the cheerleader. She was forced to concede that the girl probably did have a heart in there somewhere – for whatever reason, she kept sticking around and helping when the end of the world was on the menu, and Buffy had to give her a certain grudging respect for that – but it was buried deep under layers of self-interest. Hopefully her “why do I have to be here for this?” attitude would keep her out of the discussion for the most part, because she was so not in the mood for Queen C’s tactless comments just now.

Ms. Calendar she couldn’t quite read; the computer teacher was still new enough to their group that she couldn’t quite grasp her motivations or thought processes. Sometimes it almost seemed as if the woman had depths she kept hidden, secrets she still kept from them. Giles, on the other hand, she could read like one of his beloved books, try as he might to hind his feelings behind a wall of stoic, impassive Britishness. (When was he ever going to learn that stiff upper lip did nothing against energetic teenagers?) Authoritative disapproval, fatherly disappointment and concern, and perhaps, underneath it all, a certain respect and support. Plus a hint of scholarly curiosity (great, now I'm one of his mystical phenomena), which was somewhat frustrating to her but at the same time oh so typical of him. Still, she had an inkling that, when it came down to it, he would stand up for her when she needed it.

This was it. She knew last week was only the calm before the storm, and the tribunal assembled here confirmed it. Goodbye my life, how I'll miss you. She took a deep breath and strapped on a breezy attitude, because that was just how she coped (in public, at least). With a final reminder to herself not to snap at them however much she wanted to, because that was so not the way to get out of this meeting intact, she stepped forward to greet her friends. "So," she said, inwardly wondering at how casual she managed to make her voice sound, "what's the what?"

***

Afterwards, Buffy was actually surprised at how well the meeting went. The confrontational quality actually subsided somewhat as it went on, and it ended up almost civil. Not that it was pleasant by any stretch of the imagination, but it could have been so much worse. She thanked whatever power had given her the uncharacteristic patience that day to bite her tongue for once at the more provocative (i. e. Xander's) comments. Well, mostly; when people kept asking her 'why' and 'how', she couldn't resist the urge to snark "I assume you know the mechanics of it," before continuing that she had no clue, but she'd learned that pretty much anything could happen in an area of such mystical freakishness. And anyway, figuring that stuff out wasn't her job, now was it? (At which point she could almost hear Giles making a mental note to consult his books.) But for the most part she'd been self-control girl, her desire to get the tribunal or intervention or whatever it was supposed to be over with overriding her defensive instinct to snap back when verbally attacked.

So she sat and she endured and she answered the volley of questions they fired at her. As it turned out, much to her surprise, she was actually pretty well prepared for them.
Initially, they weren't much more prepared than Buffy herself was, and there was a lot of sputtering and 'how?' and 'why?' and 'but...'. Then they got down to business and asked what she was going to do now. First off, she told them in no uncertain terms that she was keeping it. A moment of silence, of frozen calm before anything happened, and then they reacted with a kind of confused surprise, like they weren't quite sure what to think. The other teens in particular seemed rather shocked; Buffy wasn't quite sure what they expected (and she suspected that, honestly, they weren't either), but then she was kinda moving into the territory of Just Not Done, beyond the pale in the high school world.

“I suppose that would be advisable,” Giles finally said. “Considering we’re dealing with a uniquely supernatural phenomenon.”

Buffy really didn’t want a fight. There was already way too much tension in the room for her liking, and she wasn’t fond of the idea of losing her friends. Besides, she wasn’t sure she could deal with a big row just now. Still, in that moment, she was a hair’s breadth away from losing all hold on her temper. Considering we’re dealing with a uniquely supernatural phenomenon? How about considering we’re talking about my baby?! Must you be so detached, or do you simply lack human feelings? Instead of yelling those thoughts like she really wanted to, she firmly reminded herself that her Watcher was giving her a vote of support, even if his reasons were stupid. She continued on to outline her sketchy plans for life in her rather changed circumstances. She saw the first signs of grudging respect in her audience as they recognized she’d thought about this a lot and wasn’t flying blind. (Of course I’ve thought about; this is my life.) And the questioning continued.

Giles expressed concern over her safety.

“You don’t have to worry about that,” she said petulantly. “I can take care of myself, do my job and all that. …And Angel’s banned me from patrolling alone. Implied he was cutting me off altogether sometime soon, too.” She pouted. And the questioning continued.

School, home, Slaying. And the questioning continued. Only when she was convinced every possible topic had been covered (twice) did it finally end. But eventually it was over, and by some miracle some of the tension in the room had dissipated. Not only was she still on speaking terms with everyone, she had a feeling she might be a bit closer to being accepted again. All in all, she thought, that went as well as could be expected, or hoped. But the most gratifying thing came when Giles pulled her aside afterwards.

“Buffy,” he said, “I was impressed with how well you handled yourself just now. I believe you’re making some very mature decisions. I have the greatest regret over how fast you’ve been forced to grow up…in many ways. But you’ve risen to the challenge admirably, and I’m confident that you will continue to do so.”

She smiled shakily, trying not to show how emotional his little speech had made her. “Thanks, Giles, it means a lot,” she said gratefully. And it really did. Right now, she could use all the support she could get. And as one of the main authority figures in her life – and increasingly a father figure as well – Giles’s opinion meant more to her than she would care to admit.

***

Talking with her mother, however, did not go half so well.

When she walked in the door that evening, Joyce sat her down immediately. And here comes firing squad number two, she thought bleakly. The grace period is definitely over. Her prediction was more or less right on, too.

There was a long, awkward silence, as neither of them was quite sure how to start.

“Sorry I’m late,” Buffy finally said, figuring maybe she could still make a last-ditch effort to get out of having this conversation. “Will and Xand and the guys decided it was time for a long talk, kept me in the library all afternoon.”

Joyce raised her eyebrows. “Oh, so you mean to tell me you weren’t out with the boyfriend you never so much as bothered to inform me of the existence of?”

Damn, I guess we are having this conversation after all. “As a matter of fact, no, I wasn’t,” Buffy replied, truthfully for once. And then, because she’d apparently used up her quota of patience for the day, she continued with what popped into her mind to say, despite her better judgment warning her it wasn’t wise. A fey mood has seized her, and she simply ceased to care that this was the exact wrong time for insolence. “And also, that’s not technically true.”

Joyce blinked. “What?”

“That I’ve ‘never so much as bothered to inform you of his existence’,” Buffy replied. “You’ve actually met him once.”

“Wha… when? Who?!”

“Last year. Angel. I…said he was my history tutor,” she admitted sheepishly, knowing this meant big-time trouble. On the other hand, she’d probably already maxed out the amount of trouble she could possibly get into, so did it really matter what she said now?

Joyce closed her eyes, as if to make everything go away. “Was he the first?” She suddenly opened her eyes again, looked at her daughter. “No, wait. I don’t wanna know. …I don’t think I want to know.”

Buffy wasn’t sure if she deserved the accusation implied in that statement, but she was incensed by it. “Yeah, he was the first,” she replied slowly, acidly. “I mean, the only.”

And I thought I was uncomfortable with this talk, Buffy mused as her mother stood and began pacing the room.

“He’s older than you,” Joyce remarked, and poured herself a drink.

You have no idea. But even in this mood where she couldn’t seem to care how mad she was making her mother, she realized that informing her of just how much older would be both impossible to explain and utterly counterproductive, so she simply acknowledged, “I know.”

“Too old,” Joyce continued. “And you obviously weren’t very careful. I really wish … I just thought you would show more judgment.”

“Would you stop assuming?!” Buffy burst out, having had more than enough of being verbally attacked and having her judgment questioned for one day. “As a matter of fact, we were plenty careful! And I’m old enough to make my own decisions. But no, you have to decide I lack judgment just because you don’t agree with me.” Laws of nature saying it’s an impossibility counts as careful, right?

An expectant pause, and then Joyce asked, “Are you in love with him?”

Buffy seemed to deflate, all the anger draining out of her. “With everything I am,” she replied softly.

“And you suppose that makes it all okay?” Joyce asked sharply.

“Mom…” Buffy whined.

“Don’t ‘Mom’ me,” Joyce silenced her. “You’re pregnant by a boy you didn’t even see fit to tell me you were dating, let alone had sex with.”

“You know why I never told you about Angel?” Buffy snapped angrily. “Because of this. I knew you’d wig when you found out!” She rushed on. “I know some things are … unfortunate. But I knew what I was doing. I didn’t make a mistake, and I stand by my actions.”

“Well, don’t just say that to shut me up, because I really think you made a big mistake.” Joyce said harshly.

“Look, there are things about my life you don’t – you couldn’t possibly – understand. I- I can’t tell you everything,” Buffy said in frustration.

“How about anything?” Joyce retorted. “I’m tired of ‘you wouldn’t understand’ or- or ‘I don’t have time’. I am your mother, and you will explain until I can understand.”

Buffy glared back like the sulky teenager that she was usually more than. And then, with a fatalistic thought of ‘in for a penny, in for a pound,’ she decided to tell her. Maybe she was tired of keeping so many secrets. Maybe she thought she might as well do it now because she was already over her head in trouble and how much difference would it make at this point? Maybe she just didn’t care anymore. She wasn’t quite sure. In any case, she’d definitely left her self-control behind at the library. “You want to know what’s going on in my life? What’s really happening? Fine. Mom, I’m a Vampire Slayer.”

Joyce just stared at her, dumbfounded, unable to comprehend what she was hearing. Finally, she stammered, “Honey, a- are you sure you’re a Vampire Slayer. I- I mean, have you tried not being a Slayer?”

“Mom!” Buffy exclaimed. Okay, maybe I left my common sense at the library, too. I mean, sure, I wanted out of this conversation, but “out of the frying pan, into the fire” much?

“It’s because you didn’t have a strong father figure, isn’t it?” her mother suggested, still trying to rationalize.

Oh, this is ridiculous! “It’s just fate, Mom. I’m the Slayer. Accept it.”

When Joyce just gaped at her, she continued, “I have no control over it. I just got Chosen. No one else can fight the demons, so I have to do it.”

“Do what? Buffy, what are you on about? What do you think is happening?” Mrs. Summers demanded.

Buffy was tired of explaining to a woman who refused to listen. “Have a drink, Mom,” she said irritably.

Joyce’s eye’s flicked to the bottle of alcohol on the kitchen island, then back to her daughter. She threw her glass against the wall. “Don’t you talk to me that way! You don’t just get to dump something like this in my lap and pretend it’s nothing!”

“Why not?” Buffy snapped, her brain now running on autopilot. “That’s how I got told. I’m sorry, but I can’t explain more. It’s just the way it is. I told you, I’m a Vampire Slayer.”

“Well, I just don’t accept that!” Joyce yelled.

“Open your eyes, Mom,” Buffy exclaimed in frustration. “What do you think has been going on for the past two years? The fights, the weird occurrences. How many times have you washed blood out of my clothing, and you still haven’t figured it out? What do I have to do to make you see? Take you to the graveyard and give you a demonstration?”

“Well, it stops now,” Mrs. Summers commanded furiously.

“No, it doesn’t stop.” Buffy replied. Se was still yelling, but she felt like crying. “It never stops. Do- do you think I chose to be like this? Do you have any idea how lonely it is, how dangerous. You don’t know how many times I’ve thought ‘I would love to be up in my room, watching TV or gossiping about boys or … God, even studying!’ but instead, I have to go save the world – again. You don’t get to judge my life, when you don’t know a thing about it.”

“No,” said Joyce angrily, and by this time Buffy was convinced that her mother was simple repeating the word in the vain hope that repeating the denial enough times would make it somehow not true. God, how I wish it worked that way.

“This is insane,” Joyce continued. “You’re making up delusions to excuse your problems. Buffy, you need help.”

Oh no, why does it always have to come to this? “I’m not crazy!” she protested. “What I need is for you to chill.” Suddenly she couldn’t stand to be in that room anymore, as if the walls had contracted and there was no longer enough space for her. “I have to go.”

“No, I am not letting you out of this house,” Joyce said.

Look, the useless denial again. “You can’t stop me.” And her brain was running on irrational autopilot again.

Joyce grabbed her by the shoulders. “Oh yes I-”

Buffy shoved her mother back, freeing herself, and walked to the door.

She froze in the doorway when Mrs. Summers called after her, “You can’t just run away from this. You have to face your problems.” In angry desperation, she resorted to an ultimatum. “You walk out that door, don’t even think about coming back!”

Buffy gave her a long look. But she couldn’t stop now. She closed the door and ran.

She ran mindlessly, but instinct unconsciously drew her straight to the nearest cemetery. It was just as well, for – screw all overprotective restrictions – kill-things-therapy was pretty much the only thing that could calm her down and restore her balance at times like these.

Not that she was actually thinking that coherently. But even if she had been, all thought went out of her head when she literally ran straight into a taller, darker figure.

“Buffy?” he said, at the same instant she recognized him.

“Angel!” Silly little ritual they had, but she found it oddly comforting. And then, for the second time in as many days, she collapsed against him and broke down sobbing in his arms.

Chapter Text

Two Months Later

Buffy was restless. She wanted to patrol. No, she needed to patrol; damn Slayer instincts wouldn’t give her a break. Which was kind of ironic, because this was one thing she’d always wanted to eliminate from her life, yet once she was forbidden it she couldn’t seem to stop. As soon as she stopped going out, it turned out her instincts started screaming at her and she found herself craving the hunt. Even now of all times when she was feeling decidedly less than her best (not that she would ever actually admit so much, but that wasn’t the point, now was it). Somewhere, she was sure (as she had felt many times before), the Powers were laughing at her.

So yes, she was sitting here tonight absolutely desperate to patrol. She also didn’t dare try. Angel had already caught her sneaking out once this week, and she really didn’t care to repeat the experience. Like, enough so that she wasn’t going to risk it for another few days at least. Which, when she thought about it, sounded pretty pathetic. No, really, this was a serious display of self-control for her.

…And that would sound a whole lot more convincing if she wasn’t about five seconds away right now from saying screw it and going out anyway. She was not good at the whole patience thing. Plus – and this was yet another entry on the list of things she was not likely to admit easily any time this century – she worried. She liked the idea of Angel patrolling alone about as well as he liked the idea of her being out there at this point. I never used to worry, she thought frustratedly. Okay, so I did. But not this much! She sighed and decided to blame it on hormones. And one more reason why waiting alone in the apartment each night was a long debate in reasons why she should stay put that always seemed inadequate.

Thankfully, it was at that point that Angel reappeared, looking somewhat worse for the wear.

“Rough day at the office?” Buffy asked, the teasing choice of words masking the depth of her concern.

“Not too much,” Angel reassured her. “I’m fine.” At her continued querying look, he added in terse explanation, “Found a big nest is all.”

“Get them all?” she asked, trying to remain calm. And honestly, sometimes he was so reticent with details.

“Most. Shouldn’t be a problem to finish off tomorrow.”

Realizing that was about as much as she was going to get from him, she forced herself to be content with his safe return home, for today at least. And there were other ways to reassure herself of his presence. “Okay,” she said. “That’s enough shop talk for now.”

“Buffy?” he queried, trying to make sure he was reading her intentions right.

Is he dense? she wondered. After this long, you’d think he could recognize an obvious proposition. Rather than give voice to that thought, however, she cleaved herself to him, desperate both to take comfort in him and to release her pent-up energy. “Yes, I meant what you think I meant,” she whispered against his lips. “So what do you say, lover?”

He kissed her soundly, and she took that as response enough.

***

The Next Night

It was funny, Buffy reflected, how normality always managed to reassert itself. No matter how bizarre the circumstances, the situation always eventually became familiar, life settled into patterns, and what at first had seemed unthinkable became status quo. She joked that her life never ceased to find new and interesting ways to suck, but for the most part she was used to it. The first time her life was turned upside down, when she was Called as the Slayer, she couldn’t imagine it being anything but a hindrance, a disturbance, something that wrecked her life. Her life had certainly never been the same since, but by now, she was completely used to it. Slaying was her life, and she could hardly imagine it otherwise anymore.

Now, with two months passed since her latest set of life-changing revelations, she was once again impressed with how much she’d managed to adjust.

Two months, and her relations with everyone were back to the way they’d been before. Even her mother was speaking to her again (and most of the time trying to convince her to come back home, which she flatly refused; she couldn’t quite completely forgive her for kicking her out and calling her crazy, and she knew Joyce would never totally be able to understand her life. It was easier – and more pleasant, for that matter – to stay at the apartment, for many and varied reasons).

Scooby meetings continued as usual, now with the inclusion of researching possible mystical explanations for her pregnancy, as their newest topic of investigation requiring of delving into musty old books. The only really jarring change was the inability to perform her Slayerly duties.

Yes, she kept harping on that. She couldn’t help it; it felt so wrong to her, jarred her senses and left her constantly restless. She wasn’t liable to be getting over it anytime soon. Intellectually, she understood why she shouldn’t be taking that risk, but other parts of her couldn’t seem to get the message.

Which, incidentally, is why the next night she lost the battle with herself, steeled herself for the inevitable confrontation, and snuck out to patrol anyway.

An hour or two later, she was beginning to think this wasn’t such a good idea. Well, okay, she’d known that even before she left, but now she was thinking maybe she’d made a serious error in judgment. She was tiring faster than expected. Despite the fact that she was only halfway through the warehouse district and still had several cemeteries left to go through, she was about to call it quits and go home.

And then her spidey-sense started to go off in a big way. Damn it, she thought. Just what I don’t need right now.

She slowly approached the old factory that her instincts were warning her was housing vampires (and rather strong ones too, if she wasn’t mistaken).

The site seemed strangely familiar, and she spent a minute trying to figure out the sense of déjà vu that was assailing her. And, all of a sudden, she got it. It was the same damn building Spike and Drusilla had used as their headquarters.

She groaned, “What, is there an ‘evil lair for rent’ sign on here or something?” she muttered to herself.

For a moment she hesitated. She was pretty sure it wasn’t just the average common-or-garden vamps in there. She might be getting herself into more than she could handle right now.

Then pride and obstinacy overwhelmed her common sense. She shook herself. This was her job, and she was damn well going to do it. She busted in.

She was death in motion, a whirl of violence. She entered with renewed determination and confidence in her strength, and that gave her power. Within scarce minutes she’d dispatched a number of fledglings, the minions that were the outer layers of defense in a lair.

But it soon became obvious that she was far from in top form. She was fading fast, too fast.

A moment after that realization took hold, she was seized in a grip too strong to break out of.

“Well, well, what have we here?” a silken smooth and poisonous voice asked.

Buffy wrenched around to look at her captor. The vampiress was clearly the queen of this lair. She was only a few inches taller than Buffy herself, and slender, with strawberry-blonde hair and piercing green eyes. Her looks reinforced the impression that her voice gave: beautiful, but all the more deadly for it.

Low laughter from across the room caused her to turn again. Oh great, another old one, she thought in increasing panic, wondering what she’d gotten herself into. The guy who had just appeared in the doorway was tall and stocky, with light auburn hair that stood up in gelled spikes, a slight goatee, and changeable grey eyes hidden behind wire-rimmed glasses. His look almost seemed as if it ought to be geeky, but instead was just … kinda attractive.

Just as vamps a few decades old were obvious from their outdated fashion sense (and she used that term loosely), those old enough to be really powerful were generally up on the times – and rather vain too. In other words, beware the pretty ones. And by that measure, she was at the mercy of two vampires who each had at least a century on them.

“Got yourself a Slayer?” the second vamp said casually, lounging in the doorway. “And here I thought we were only here for the relic. I must say, I’m impressed. You’ve really outdone yourself this time, Aisling.”

“You know me, never settle for less,” the female – Aisling – said. “The girl is a delectable bonus.”

Buffy had stopped struggling, as it wasn’t getting her anywhere. Perhaps playing possum for a while would give her a better shot at getting out. But she really didn’t like being discussed like this.

“That part that gets me, though, is where she’s knocked up – and she smells like the old sire,” Aisling’s companion commented.

“Good call, Penn. What a thought….”

“Angelus taking up with a Slayer? He always was an odd duck….” Penn laughed again.

“He’s here,” Aisling hissed.

Three heads turned simultaneously towards the doorway, where a tall, dark figure lingered only for a split second.

“Angel!” Buffy cried out, relieved beyond belief even as she knew the aftermath of all this would not be pretty.

And then, to her eternal chagrin, she fainted.

***

She knew he would be mad at her. There was no getting around that, she’d understood that when she went out, even before things went totally pear-shaped. But that didn’t make the inevitable confrontation any easier.

“What did you this you were doing?” he demanded angrily.

“Patrolling,” she replied, unflinching. And, because she was nothing if not bold (and slightly lacking in common sense), she quipped, “What did it look like? Was that supposed to be a trick question or something?”

“It looked like you were trying to get yourself killed! Doing exactly what I specifically told you not to do and putting yourself in grave danger,” he replied harshly.

This was all the worse because his accusations were completely true. Still, she challenged, “Oh, so you’re allowed to give me orders now?”

“I’m not giving you orders; I’m just looking out for your safety.”

“I’m a big girl, Angel. I can take care of myself,” she snapped.

“Really? What, you mean to tell me you planned to get yourself captured and incapacitated tonight? You had the situation under control or some other such bullshit? You shouldn’t be out there.”

“Oh, but it’s fine for you to be?” Okay, so she knew the point he was trying to make, and she was completely ignoring it, but she was too livid to care. Her judgment had been at fault, but she still didn’t like having it attacked. “Because you’d be just fine taking on two master vamps on your own.”

“Did fine getting you out of there. And you’re not in fighting condition,” he returned. “If I hadn’t shown up, you wouldn’t be alive right now.”

She ignored that comment, continuing, “And of course you didn’t see fit to mention that there a new power around! I knew something was up last night. ‘Bad night?’ “Oh, not too much’,” she mocked. “Maybe if I’d known there was a new big bad in town….”

“What, you could’ve gone charging out to meet it sooner? It’s not your business anymore. Dammit, Buffy, you shouldn’t be out there in your condition, especially now there’s a major threat.”

“Well, tell that to my instincts!” she snapped. Then, suddenly, she was breaking down crying. Buffy tended to be mercurial at the best of times, and pregnancy hormones were not doing a thing to improve the stability of her moods. By this point, she was thoroughly sick of crying jags. “I can’t just turn being the Slayer off. I go crazy every night, trying to refrain from going out. I have this internal imperative to fight and protect. Maybe if you weren’t so damn overprotective, I wouldn’t have to sneak around to do so, and then I wouldn’t be at such a disadvantage.”

He was still seething at her putting herself in danger, anger borne of the consuming fear that struck at him at the thought of anything happening to her, as so nearly had. But he was unable to stay mad at her for long when she was so obviously hurting.

“Shh…,” Angel soothed her as best he could. “It will be okay. We’ll work something out. I just … I can’t bear the thought of you getting hurt. I can’t lose you.”

Chapter Text

The Next Day

There was, of course, a Scooby assembly called the next day.

“So, what’s up?” Ms. Calendar asked efficiently once everyone was gathered in the library.

“It’s a long story,” Angel began.

Buffy cut him off. “New big bads,” she said simply.

“Apparently not that long.”

“Hey, you know us,” Xander joked. “Someone can always be counted on to shove complex issues into a nutshell.”

“If we may get back to the matter at hand,” Giles interjected pointedly. He turned to Buffy and Angel. “Can you give us some details on these new, uh, ‘big bads’?”

“Big nest over in the factory Spike and Dru had used as home base. Whole bunch of minions, and then a couple who were more powerful, like seriously older,” Buffy said.

“Aisling and Penn,” Angel supplied. “They’re both around two centuries.”

“You know them?” Giles inquired.

Angel looked guilty, and muttered something indistinct that sounded maybe like ‘childer’.

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

“I made them,” Angel admitted.

Xander opened his mouth to say something, but abruptly stopped when both Willow and Buffy shot him warning glares before he could make the snide comment at Angel’s expense they all knew was coming.

“Do we have any idea why they’re here?” Ms. Calendar asked practically.

“On account of the Hellmouth, one would presume,” Giles commented.

“You always say that,” Willow pointed out.

“Well, it’s generally true,” Giles replied defensively.

“Sure, but something more specific would be helpful.”

“Uh, I think they mentioned something about coming here for a relic,” Buffy offered.

“Oh dear lord.” Giles looked stricken, and reflexively began cleaning his glasses.

“Oh dear lord what?!” Buffy demanded. “I really don’t like it when you say that, Giles.”

“A few days ago, I was approached by a local archaeologist, who asked me to take a look at an interesting artifact that was uncovered during excavations for the new city housing projects. I wanted to look into it before they opened it up – and my research so far all points to it being the tomb of the demon Acathla. If that’s the relic they’re looking for, the situation could be, well, catastrophic.”

“Wait, wouldn’t tomb generally mean the demon’s dead? What’s the prob, G-man?” Xander asked.

“The problem is this is Sunnydale,” Buffy muttered. “But really, what is the deal with this Al Franken guy?”

“He was supposed to suck the world into Hell, yes?” Ms. Calendar said tentatively. “Is that correct, Rupert?”

“What?!” Xander exclaimed.

“Uh, yes,” Giles elaborated. “His breath was to create a vortex, but a virtuous knight stabbed him before he could draw a breath. Acathla turned to stone, as demons sometimes do, and was buried where neither man nor demon would want to look.”

“Unless they’re putting up low-rent housing,” Xander quipped.

“Okay, somebody explain the whole 'he will suck the world into Hell' thing, because that's the part I'm not loving,” Willow said.

“The vortex,” Ms. Calendar explained. “It’s a portal that will engulf everything in this world and suck it into a demon dimension.”

“So that would be the literal kind of ‘sucked into Hell’,” Willow commented.

Buffy smiled nervously. “Neat.”

“Suddenly thinking I might not bother about finals. Seems kinda moot if the world’s gonna end,” Cordelia said. The others turned to her in surprise, for up until then she’d given no sign of even noticing the discussion, being absorbed in her nails and the new issue of Cosmo.

“Yeah, do we not have to do exams if the world gets sucked into Hell?” Buffy asked hopefully.

“Maybe we’d be stuck doing them forever,” Xander suggested with horror.

“If you’re quite finished…?” Giles said impatiently to the teens.

“How would that work if the demon’s all … stoned?” Buffy asked.

“Someone pulls the sword out, and Acathla awakens,” Angel said slowly, in dawning realization. “Of course. It’s … exactly Aisling’s kind of scheme.”

“You think so?” Giles said.

“Yes, unfortunately. It’s almost certainly her idea. Penn lacks imagination; his style is to recreate his family’s murders. But Aisling is ambitious. She’s always been into dramatic gestures. She didn’t travel with me for long for exactly that reason; Darla quickly got fed up with her scheming, mostly I suspect because it was too much like her own. I think waking Acathla would appeal to Aisling very much.”

“Well, now that we have an idea what they’re planning, we at least have somewhere to work from,” Ms. Calendar said.

“Uh, yes, indeed,” Giles agreed. “Angel, do you have anymore information that might be pertinent?”

***

That Night

Buffy was, for once, on a legitimate patrol. Admittedly, she suspected this was only allowed because Angel thought that otherwise she would sneak out again and that if she was going to be out she should at least be where he could see her. However, she couldn’t exactly complain, since that was quite a fair assessment. Besides, she was fairly sure she was getting the better end of the deal.

Sunny Rest was quiet tonight, completely so. She was, for the moment, alone when she heard a slight snapping noise. She stopped short, jerking her head towards the bushes where the sound had originated, and took a few steps toward it. The sound came again, and she spun around to look – only to find nothing there. She took a few more steps forward.

Kendra stepped out of the bushes to stand directly behind her. Buffy pivoted around, bringing her fist up automatically.

She pulled back at the last second, as she recognized her sister-Slayer. Buffy exhaled heavily and commented sharply, “You know, polite people call before they jump out of the bushes and attack you.”

“Jist wanted to test your reflexes,” the Jamaican Slayer replied smugly.

“How about testing my face-punching? ‘Cause I think you’ll find it’s improved,” The blonde shot back teasingly. Okay, so that wasn’t quite the truth. But she was barely showing, and somehow she doubted this was the best time to be explaining her condition. There were more pressing matters, and – much as she cared for her sister-Slayer – she wasn’t sure the other girl would understand.

Suddenly her hand shot out, knocking a stake out of Kendra’s hand almost before it came up. “Kendra, I thought we went over this before. No slaying my boyfriend.” For indeed Angel had come over beside her, alerted by the commotion. Reassured that Buffy had the situation under control, he took a step back, content to watch the exchange between the two girls.

“Sorry,” Kendra said, only half-apologetically and in a way that didn’t specify what about. She added, “I was on my way to your house. Saw you walking … couldn’t help meself.”

Buffy smiled. “Which begs the question – and don’t think I’m not glad to see you – but, why are you here?” Before Kendra could reply, she answered her own question. “Oh, wait. No, let me guess. Your Watcher informed you ‘dat a very dark power is about to rise in Sunnydale’.”

“Dat’s about it,” the other Slayer agreed.

“Great,” Buffy commented. “So, you have any idea what this dark power is?” She had a feeling it was about time for another library session, and explanations all around. Why could things never be simple?

***

Later That Night

Another visit to the library only confirmed badness. After maybe half an hour of scurrying around, making phone calls and double-checking his books – during which time everyone else loitered around, waiting impatiently – Giles confirmed their worst suspicions.

“I’ve been on the phone to the museum. The artifact in question is missing, and the curator has been murdered. Vampires,” the Watcher reported.

“And we’re sure this was the tomb of Alfalfa?” Buffy asked, one last, grasping-at-straws attempt to avoid what they knew was coming.

“Acathla,” Giles corrected. “And yes, the information provided by Kendra’s Watcher seems conclusive.”

“So what do we do? Basic storm the fortress approach?”

“You are not doing anything,” Angel interjected. “But yes, that would essentially be the plan.”

Buffy scowled, but refrained from protesting for once. Instead, she said, “Fine. But for the record, I don’t like this plan.”

“Neither do I,” Angel admitted, “but we kinda lack alternatives. There isn’t much time.”

“Still,” Giles commented, “it does seem awfully risky. If only we had some kind of backup plan, some contingency….”

“We have,” Kendra spoke up. She unzipped the duffel bag she’d brought with her and pulled out a long sword. (Shiny, Buffy thought enviously.) “Blessed by the knight who first slew the demon. If all else fails, this might stop it. …I tink.”

Giles eyed the blade appreciatively. “May I? May I?” He lifted it with a certain geekish glee. Thank you. Well, l-let’s, uh, hope all else doesn’t fail.” The warriors headed out, and the Watcher left them with one last word of advice. “Aisling has a ritual of her own to perform before she can remove the sword and awaken Acathla. With any luck, it should take some time.”

With that, the meeting broke up. And Buffy was left to go home and wait for the outcome, once more frustrated to be unable to help.

Chapter Text

“It wasn’t supposed to go down like this. I figured this for Angel’s big day, but I thought he was here to stop Acathla, not bring him forth.” – Whistler, Becoming Part II

Later That Night

By the time she got home, Buffy’s mood had distinctly not improved. She could not stress how much she didn’t like this plan of attack. Sure, she rarely employed any strategy more subtle than ‘bust in, guns a’blazin’, but that was different – i.e. normally she was the one doing the busting in. It seemed like a considerably less sound approach when she was stuck behind to wait and worry.

Whoa, she thought, is this what the guys feel like when they’re waiting for me? Only I’m pretty sure this is worse, because I’m not used to being out of the action. Seriously, I’m going into worry overdrive. Will our warriors be okay and stop the apocalypse? Will they work okay together – I have faith in Angel and Kendra both, I just doubt they’ll make the most effective team. And for that matter, I don’t even know whether Kendra’s faced demons or vamps this powerful before. I’m definitely not loving the numbers of two-on-two-plus-however-many-minions-turn-up. …And this is one of those fabled ‘turning into my mother’ things, isn’t it? Only not literally my mother, because she – wait a minute. Who the heck is that, and what is he doing here?!

Her internal babbling abruptly cut off, as all at once her Slayer senses went into alarm mode. For there was some weird short guy who looked like a bookie from the Bronx sitting in the living room of the apartment. With that kind of fashion sense (and she used the term loosely), she hardly needed the Slayer warning system to know that whoever the guy was, he certainly wasn’t human. However, oddly enough, he wasn’t actually registering as a threat, so she figured she might as well give the benefit of the doubt for now and see if he had anything to say for himself before she made with the Slaying. Still, Buffy’s mood instantly dropped another few notches, and she went on the defensive.

“Who are you?” she demanded.

“Whistler,” came the unhelpful response.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m waiting for you,” Whistler replied enigmatically.

Was she going to have to fight every step of the way to get any information from this guy? “Why?”

“Cause I … I-I need a date for the Prom,” Whistler quipped.

Her patience was officially at an end. “I have had a bad day, okay? If you have information worth hearing, then I am grateful for it. If you’re going to crack jokes, then I’m gonna pull out your ribcage and wear it as a hat,” Buffy threatened. Pregnant or no, a pissed-off Slayer was not to be messed with. She didn’t know who this seedy ‘Whistler’ guy thought he was, but she was gonna make damn sure he understood that fact.

“Hello to the imagery,” Whistler commented. “This is the big day. But as things stand now, it’s not gonna go down too well. Not without a little help. Now, what are you going to do?”

She blinked. What was she supposed to do? Still, if she was needed, she would do whatever necessary. That was kinda what she did, after all. “Whatever I have to,” she finally replied.

“Maybe I should ask, what are you prepared to do?”

Not getting any more helpful. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You don’t have anything useful to tell me, do you? What are you, just some immortal demon sent down to even the score between good and evil?”

Whistler looked almost impressed. Almost. “Wow. Good guess.”

“Well, why don’t you try getting off you immortal ass and fighting evil once in a while?” She spun on her heel and stalked out … to go, where, exactly? Dammit!

She turned back, asked sharply, “What do you know?”

“The sword’s not enough. Gotta know how to use it.”

Which was, of course, still far too cryptic to be helpful. She shot him an expectant, annoyed look. “Whistler, what do you mean, the sword isn’t enough? Tell me how to use it.”

“Blood’s the key. Aisling’s blood with open the door to Hell. Acathla opens his big mouth, creates a vortex. Then only her blood will close it. One blow will send ‘em both back to Hell. But I strongly suggest you get there before that happens, ‘cause that’s cutting it a bit close,” he explained.

Finally, she thought. She wanted to ask, so why are you telling me this? I’m supposed to be a non-combatant, but there really wasn’t time. “Thanks for the tip,” she said half-sarcastically, walking out for real this time.

“Good luck, kid. It’s all on the line here,” Whistler called after her.

No kidding, Buffy thought with no small amount of trepidation. She only hoped she could make it in time.

***

Later Still That Night

Thankfully, it was not too late when Buffy reached the warehouse. In fact, it seemed that she’d arrived squarely in the middle of the action.

Upstairs, where she’d entered, she found Kendra fighting Penn. She started by taking out several of the minions who clustered around the edges of the space and threatening to interfere. But, as she kept half an eye on the other fight, it quickly became apparent that her sister-Slayer was struggling. (Which lent weight to her suspicion that Kendra lacked experience with opponents of this caliber. But contemplating that was so not the point right now.) Buffy jumped into the battle.

“It’s your lucky day,” she quipped as she made her presence known. “Two Slayers, no waiting.” And in short order they had Penn dusted.

“One big bad down…,” Buffy commented. “Sorry for stealing your vamp, but you looked like you could use a hand.”

“Tank you,” Kendra said. “But … what are you –?”

“Got some new info,” Buffy replied. “You take care of the dregs up here, I’m going down.”

The other Slayer nodded her assent and turned to deal with the remaining minion vamps. Buffy hurried downstairs into the main room.

It didn’t take her long to find Acathla. The demon stood in the middle of one wall, an ugly, whitish statue that bore a strong resemblance to a gargoyle. It was still very much petrified, but there was no sword in it.

Worse, a moment later she spotted the missing sword in Aisling’s hand. Angel was dueling the vampiress, armed with the sword Kendra had provided.

For several long moments – minutes? hours? – Buffy watched the deadly dance, frozen to the spot even as she knew that Acathla could wake at any moment and time was of the essence for her message.

Until she saw Aisling’s sword swing up in a motion that could easily knock the other blade straight out of Angel’s hands. The next minute or so seemed to go by in slow motion.

“Angel!” she screamed in warning. (Later she would realize that was a move that was more likely to distract than actually help, but thankfully it worked this time.)

He saw, and blocked the strike, pushing Aisling’s blade out of the way. In a continuation of the same motion, his sword arced still further up, and sliced through Aisling’s neck. Separated, the vampiress’s head and body disintegrated.

“Buffy?” Angel turned toward her even before Aisling’s body finished turning to dust.

In that strange, quiet moment after the battle ended, she launched herself at him. “You’re okay,” she breathed.

“Don’t think I’m not grateful, but you shouldn’t be here,” he said.

“Had to,” she replied. “Had to tell you –.” She stopped short as she looked over his shoulder and noticed Acathla’s mouth opening, and a swirly, orangish light emanating from it, reminding her of exactly why she’d come. They had won this battle, but the world was still ending. “The sword alone won’t stop Acathla. Need … Aisling’s blood.” She finished the statement slowly as the second jarring realization hit her: Aisling’s blood was no longer available.

Chapter Text

Continuing Directly from the Last Scene

They looked at Acathla and back to each other. His gaze dropped to the two identical swords, one still in his hand and the other fallen to the floor on top of Aisling’s dust. Buffy could almost see when the idea formed in his mind, but she didn’t have a clue what it was.

“I love you,” Angel said. His voice dropped to a whisper. “I’m sorry.”

She looked at him, utterly confused.

“I was her Sire,” he explained cryptically. “It’s just a chance, but it’s the only chance.” He kissed her and then brought sword up to plunge it into himself.

Nooo! It was a wonder the anguished scream remained only in her mind. She couldn’t let him do this. Thinking quickly, she tore the sword from his hands.

He stared at her. “I have to.”

“No.” She slashed the blade across his arm, smearing blood across the edge, and stuck it back into the statue-like demon.

Their eyes were glued to Acathla, desperately hoping it would work. For one long, terrible moment, nothing happened.

Then the vortex began to shrink, disappearing harmlessly back into the demon’s mouth. The danger had passed.

Buffy spun around to face Angel. “Stupid, noble, idiot!” she berated him. “Don’t you think? It called for blood, nothing more. Don’t do that to me!” Anger dissolved into tears (and damn she wished that would stop happening). “I can’t do this without you.”

***

Even Later That Night

It was back to the library again. Which, yeah, she understood the principle of, have to attest to the world is no longer in danger of ending (for now, at least, because how long did that state of affairs ever last in Sunnydale) and everyone was accounted for. It was just, she was sick of this whole mess and, for once, she wanted nothing more than to go home.

Well, at least the mortal danger part was over. She supposed she could handle a little follow-up stuff. (If I have to … I guess.)

She put on her best smile and strode through the library doors ahead of Angel and Kendra. “Well, the world didn’t end,” she announced. “I mean, hey, look at it.”

Giles emerged from his office to meet the returning warriors. “Uh, that’s very good,” he said in that awkward way that she knew from experience meant he was amused by her way of stating things but was being too British to admit it. “…Wait. Buffy, aren’t you supposed to be at home?”

Buffy huffed. If she had a nickel for every time she’d heard that recently…. “Don’t I wish,” she muttered acridly. “Got an interesting visitor. The higher powers decided to pass along some crucial information – in a really cryptic manner, at the last minute.”

“…Ah.”

“But I wasn’t aware that the point of this was to talk about me,” Buffy added pointedly.

“Oh, er, right. How did the battle go?” the Watcher asked, slightly flustered.

“Aisling and Penn are dust, and Acathla is … dormant,” Angel reported.

“Good, good.”

Kendra turned to her sister-Slayer. “You saved me life back dere. Tank you.”

Buffy smiled. “You would’ve done just fine by yourself,” she said charitably. “You’re a good Slayer. It was good to have you helping.”

“Actually, on that note…,” Giles began. “We could, uh, use some help here on the Hellmouth, for the next few months. I don’t know if you would be amenable to staying here for a while?” he asked Kendra.

The second Slayer blushed slightly. “I would have to talk to me Watcher, of course, but … I tink I would like dat.”

Giles turned to Buffy and Angel. “That is, if you don’t object….”

Buffy couldn’t help a slight flash of jealousy, feeling a bit as if she were being replaced, but she understood the practicality of it. She would be mature about this. If she couldn’t do her job, then they should have another Slayer to help out. “No, that would be a good idea,” she agreed.

Angel nodded.

“Now, if that’s settled….” Buffy turned wearily to her boyfriend. “Home?”

“Home,” Angel agreed.

Chapter Text

Several Months Later

“Hey, G-man,” Xander said. “Mind telling us why we’re here?”

“Uh, yes, of course. Sorry, just double-checking a few things,” Giles said as he emerged from his office. “And Xander, I do believe I instructed you never to call me that.”

“So then, what’s the what?” Buffy echoed Xander’s question. She was seated on Angel’s lap, with her feet propped up on the table. Giles scowled at her feet.

Buffy scowled right back. “Deal with it. My feet are swollen and they hurt.”

“Uh, yes,” Giles stammered. He sorted through the pile of books he had out on the table and seemed to regain focus. “I believe I’ve found exactly the sort of thing we’ve been looking for. The Prophecy of the Damphyr.”

“Prophecy of the whosit?”

“Damphyr. It’s the folkloric term for the offspring of vampire and human,” Giles explained.

“There’s a word for it?” Willow asked incredulously.

“If you look hard enough, there’s generally a word for just about anything,” Ms. Calendar observed.

“Mind explaining why there’s a word for something that isn’t supposed to be possible?”

“Folktales and fantasy stories. It just means someone’s imagined the concept. While a surprising amount of mythology is based in truth, it remains that much is erroneous. Now, are you going to pick apart everything I say, or are you going to let me explain?” Giles said stiffly.

“Do you really want us to answer that?” Xander inquired cheekily.

“Go on, Rupert,” Ms. Calendar said.

“Yes, anyway, the prophecy is rather frustratingly nonspecific, but it speaks of a child of Champions who will be a Champion in her own right, born to the once-dead Chosen. It comes from the Pergamum Codex, which is a highly authoritative source – in fact, the most complete and accurate volume of prophecies relating to the Slayer.” Most of the teens rolled their eyes at this; they really didn’t care about those sorts of details. Giles ignored them and continued, “Quite frankly, I’m surprised I didn’t think of it sooner. Only I’ve been rather leery of the Codex since … um, events of last year.”

“I’m surprised at you, Giles,” Buffy teased. “I can’t believe you would abandon a valuable source just because of a little detail like my death.”

“He’s irrational like that,” Xander laughed.

“I beg of you not to make light of that,” Giles replied seriously.

“Sorry,” Buffy murmured.

“May I?” Angel asked, gesturing to the tome Giles was holding. The Watcher flipped open the book of prophecies and handed it over.

“Poor thing,” Willow said softly.

“What?”

“The child. Imagine growing up with that kind of destiny hanging over you head, always knowing –” she cut off abruptly as she noticed her best friend’s stricken expression. Whoops. “I’ll be quiet now.”

“I’m sure she’ll be just fine, Buffy,” Ms. Calendar reassured.

“Yeah,” Xander added supportively. “What kid wouldn’t turn out well with such a great family?”

Nevertheless, Buffy was uncharacteristically quiet on the way home. (‘Home’, incidentally, was now a mansion on Crawford Street, Angel having decided that the apartment might be a bit of a tight fit for three. Buffy had no clue how he’d procured it.)

“What’s on your mind?” Angel asked gently.

“Lia,” she replied simply. Lia Kathleen Summers was the name they’d tentatively decided on for the baby.

After a long moment, she elaborated. “Willow had a point. I was thinking about it even before she said anything … my first instinct when I found out was ‘it’s probably some kind of prophesized warrior’ … or something like that. I’ve never been so sorry to be right. Ours isn’t an easy life. It’s not what I want for my baby. I doubted she’d be spared from it, but … I’d hoped.”

“Think of it this way,” Angel suggested. “She’ll have to see the darkness of our world anyway; there’s no way around it. At least this way we know she’ll have the strength to handle it, to fight it.”

“But I don’t want her to have to fight it. I want to protect her from it,” she protested.

“So do I,” he replied. “So do I. But that won’t work forever.”

Buffy suddenly laughed. “Wait a minute, when did I get to be the overprotective one?”

Angel smirked. “I don’t know. But I suspect Lia’s not going to suffer from being overexposed to the dangers of the world for a long time.”

-finis-