A few nights later…

The girl with bright-pink hair screamed as the eyeless priest-like demons attacked en masse. Buffy could only watch, some invisible barrier keeping her from approaching the mêlée. She stood, horrified, as the girl’s blood stained the rooftop to which she’d fled, trying to escape her pursuers.

The scene changed and another girl, a petite Asian, no more than sixteen, begged for her life in a language Buffy could not identify but could understand, nonetheless. The eyeless demons paid no heed to her pleas, killing her just as surely as the pink-haired girl.

And on it went, girl after girl, chased, caught, and killed by the strange demons with scars where their eyes should be. She’d fought those demons before … she couldn’t actually remember what Giles had called them. They’d been connected with something big – a big bad something. All she could recall about it was that she was unable to fight it. Something ghosty. Something like the ghosts that had been haunting them? Like the ghosts that had haunted Angel at the time? Maybe. God, she wished she’d paid more attention to Giles' long-winded lectures now.

Night after night Buffy’s nightmares were filled with visions of girls she felt connected to, but did not know. She hadn’t told Spike; hadn’t told anyone. She tried to forget them each morning, wipe the horrors from her mind. She wasn’t the Slayer any longer, damn it. This was not her fight.

Despite the troubling ghosts that had been haunting them of late, she maintained that she was retired, out of the game, finis, kaput. She was a mother and a wife. She baked cookies, and took her twins to the park, and rocked them to sleep. She searched for treasures at garage sales and second-hand shops, and worked in the yard. She grew her own tomatoes and peppers, and made a killer salsa. She waitressed the lunch rush for their friend and neighbor, Sebastian’s, little Tex-Mex restaurant ten blocks away. She was normal. They were normal. She had a family. She was not the Slayer anymore. She didn’t fight demons. She refused to be drawn back in, regardless of how big and bad the threat may be. The only thing that mattered was her family. She'd protect them with her life, but she couldn't be the Slayer anymore.

Inside her dream Buffy closed her eyes, blocking out the visions, willing the dream away.

“Buffy, if you can hear me, we’re in desperate need of assistance. I fear that what is coming is more than we are capable of defeating on our own.”

“Giles? What’s …” Buffy began, opening her eyes within her dream, but she was cut off.

“You must return to the fold, child,” a woman with long, silver-gray hair admonished her in a lilting, angelic voice. “It is your Sacred Calling, your duty, your destiny. It is time for the ancient power to be retrieved … it is for she alone to wield.”

Suddenly an image of a bright red, glimmering axe, for want of a better word, floated in Buffy’s vision. It was buried in a rock, and more of those eyeless freaks were trying to free it. Buffy stepped forward, trying to see more, when suddenly a man appeared in front of her, stopping her short.

“Seen enough of my boy’s fine work yet? Killing them dirty girls is always such a pleasure,” the man said. He was a preacher, all dressed in black, and he stood in a pool of light that had appeared in the darkness.

“Who are you?” Buffy asked angrily. “Why are you doing this?”

“Me? Well, I’m Caleb. And you …” he mused a moment, tapping a finger to his lips as if he wasn’t sure who she was. “… you’re the foulest of the dirty girls. The Slayer … the first, the original slut. The whore that opened her legs for a vampire. You like it when he gives it to you, don’t you girly? Oh, I know you do – you’re all the same. Nothing but dirty, gaping slits wantin’ nothing but a good thrashing.

“I’ve got something of yours,” Caleb continued. Suddenly two babies with curly chestnut-brown hair appeared in his arms, a boy and a girl – twins – about a year old.

“Jade! Will!” Buffy exclaimed, moving toward the preacher who had her babies in his arms. “Let them go!” she demanded, her hands automatically balling into fists as she strode forward.

Caleb smiled at her serenely. “Cute little bastard children. Not their fault their mom is a filthy whore, of course. All mothers are … just the way you were made from the very first, starting with Eve. You’ve never been able to resist the temptations of the flesh. Got that gaping maw that just sucks the marrow from a man’s bones. Whores every last one.”

When Buffy was within reach of him, she slammed her fist into his face with all her Slayer strength. Caleb laughed, jiggling the babies lightly, one in each arm, as if she hadn’t even touched him. “That all you got? The mighty, all-powerful one … can’t even save her own blood-relations,” he taunted, chuckling at Buffy’s frustration.

“’Course, I’ll make sure they’re purified ‘fore I kill ‘em … no need t’ thank me,” Caleb continued. Suddenly the flesh on the side of the necks of each of her children began to burn as if being branded. The babies screamed and cried, thrashing their little arms and legs in the air, trying to get away from the pain.

“Stop! Stop it you son-of-a-bitch!” Buffy demanded, jumping back to her feet. She charged Caleb again, but he kicked her aside when she reached him, sending her flying back again.

“Oh, I knew you'd be a wild one!” Caleb laughed. “I'm gonna take such sweet pleasure in taming you. When you break, it will be like the sweet angels in heaven bathin’ me with the blood o’ Christ.”

Buffy scrambled back to her feet and launched herself at Caleb again. She hit him with her full weight and strength as she tried to wrench the hysterical babies from his arms. He simply shrugged her off as if she were an annoying mosquito.

“Gonna take more than that, girly,” Caleb continued to taunt over the screams of the babies. “You're angry... frustrated, scared. I like that in a girl.”

Buffy couldn’t deny it – she was all those things and so much more. Her babies were in pain, they were screaming, they needed her and she couldn’t get to them. Helpless! She was helpless and horrified and frightened beyond all reason. She got back to her feet, her chest heaving with exertion and fury, trying to find a weakness, an opening … a way to save her babies from this … this … thing.

“You want me to stop … come find me,” the preacher demanded as he lifted the frightened, crying babies up over his head and slammed them down onto the stone floor at his feet in one powerful motion. “I’ll be waitin’, Slayer,” he told her before vanishing.

Buffy screamed in horror, her heart felt as if it would explode in her chest as she scrambled toward the small, shattered bodies of her perfect, sweet babies.

“Nooooooooo!” The word tore out of her throat in a torrent of pain as she reached them. Blood covered the floor, covered their soft, creamy skin, covered their beautiful faces, and their curly, chestnut-brown hair.  Buffy gathered them both to her chest, cradling their broken bodies against her as she cried and seethed and died inside. “No, no, no …” she repeated as she rocked them, sitting in a pool of crimson gore – her babies’ life blood.

Buffy’s stomach quailed, and hot, acidic bile filled her throat, making her choke. She swallowed it back, but it burned her tonsils and left a rancid taste in her mouth. For the first time in a very long time Buffy felt the veil of blood descending over her mind – the shroud of guilt blocking out her consciousness. 

Suddenly Caleb was back, right in her face. She could smell his rancid breath and feel the heat of his words against her skin. “Come and get me, Slayer, or your little bastards will wish their death had been this quick and painless.”

And then he was gone and Buffy was alone, once again covered in the blood of the ones she had promised to protect. The horror of Dawn’s death, a memory that had faded into the darkest recesses of her mind with the birth of the twins, was suddenly bright and hot in her mind and heart. Blood was everywhere – she had failed Dawn then and now she had failed her again. The river of blood was flowing in her mind once again as she clutched her broken babies to her chest – washing away her thoughts, washing away her sanity, washing away any chance she had of stopping this.

“NOOOOOOOOOOO!” she screamed, closing her eyes and using every ounce of willpower she had left to cling to her anchor: the crystalline pools of azure love that were her husband’s eyes.

“Buffy! Luv, what is it? Buffy!?” Spike’s voice broke into her nightmare, his hand shaking her shoulder to wake her.

Buffy’s eyes shot open and she sat bolt-upright at the same moment. Then she was out of bed, out the door, and across the hall to the nursery in the next moment. Her heart thudded against her ribs hard enough to break them, and tears streamed down her cheeks as she gathered first Will, then Jade into her arms and sank down onto the floor of the nursery with them. She dropped kisses on their perfect little faces as they gurgled and cooed against her, slowly waking from their slumber.

“You’re alright … it’s alright, just a nightmare, it’s alright, just a nightmare,” Buffy whispered over and over again to the babies as she sat on the floor, rocking them gently. As they came awake, their little hands reaching for her, their sleepy smiles greeting her, their eyes twinkling and curious as they looked up at her, Buffy felt the shroud of guilt recoil and slink back into the hidden depths of her subconscious. Cool, blue relief flooded her mind and heart in the wake of the retreating blood and she felt the leaden weight lift off her heart.

“Buffy, what is it, luv?” Spike asked, concern etched in his voice and on his face as he crouched down to her level and laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. “What happened?”

“Just a nightmare,” she continued to rasp through her tears, half in reply to Spike’s question, and half in assurance to herself. She cuddled the squirming bundles in her arms, kissing their little noses, their eyes, their foreheads, their sweet little fingers, as her tears continued, unabated by the knowledge that they were fine – the babies were fine.

“Buffy…” Spike continued gently. “You’re a tad bit … worked up. Why don’t I take our princess, pet?” he asked, reaching for Jade. “Buffy? Can I…?” he continued as he carefully pulled Jade from Buffy’s embrace.

Buffy allowed Spike to take the baby, turning her full attention to Will, his blue eyes sparkling up at her, reminding her so much of Spike. She wiped at her tears now that she had a free hand, and tried to calm her racing heart. She realized she was on the verge of hyperventilating and concentrated on slowing her breathing, as well.

“Sorry … sorry,” she apologized to Spike, swiping her tears away. “It was just a … a nightmare. Everything’s alright. I’m alright,” she assured him.

Spike rocked his little girl in his arms, humming a soft lullaby, as her eyes feathered closed and she fell back to sleep. “‘S alright, luv. Why don’t ya come downstairs, ‘ave some cocoa, and tell me about it,” he suggested as he laid the sleeping Jade back in her crib.

Buffy nodded tentatively and blinked back a fresh wave of tears, not sure that she wanted to tell him about the dream … the nightmare. She should’ve known something like this would happen. They’d been too happy for too long – it was inevitable that the reality of who she was would come crashing in on them one day. That day had, apparently, arrived.

Her dream of being a normal girl, a normal woman, a normal wife, with a normal family in a normal town, living a normal life was over. The bad guys knew about her family – this was not of the good.

But Spike had to be told. He had to know about the danger. It wasn’t just mean-spirited ghosts now – those blind demons were real, she was sure of it. She was going to have to tell him that his decision to love a Slayer had put his children in grave peril. Then she would have to tell him that she had to leave him, leave their children, and go back … back to Sunnydale.

Buffy felt the cold hand of grief and sorrow reach into her and rip her beating heart from her chest. She hugged little William to her more tightly, burying her face against him as a sob wracked her body. He smelled of milk and baby powder and Johnson’s baby wash – he smelled like love. How could she leave them? How could she not? This was why Slayers should not have children: bad guys don’t play fair and there is no ethics committee to complain to to get them tossed from the game.

“Buffy?” Spike questioned again when she began sobbing against their son. “Please, luv … tell me,” he cajoled, rubbing a hand soothingly down her back as she sat on the floor, rocking against Will as if her world had just shattered into a million pieces.

It had.

**~**

Spike paced back and forth, wearing a path in the new ceramic tile floor of the kitchen. His hands searched his pockets for his cigarettes, forgetting that he’d quit when they’d moved into the house. He settled for running a hand back through his hair time and time again as he paced and listened to Buffy tell him about the eyeless demons and the preacher that had threatened their family in her dream. The longer she talked, the more furious he became. He needed to hit something, he needed to rip something’s head off, needed to bash and slash and roar!

Finally, Buffy said, “So … I … I think … I have to go … back to Sunnydale. I think … you … you and Joan need to stay here with the babies. They probably don’t know where we actually are, otherwise why do the dream-attack? They’d just be here making with the … actual attacking.”

Spike stopped his angry, nervous pacing, and stared at her in disbelief. “You’re off your gourd! You expect me t’ stay ‘ere while you go off t’ fight this … Caleb bloke on your own? What the bloody hell do you take me for, Slayer? A soddin’ worthless git? Think I’ve gone soft? Can’t handle m’self in a fight?”

“What? No! Spike – no!” Buffy replied, jumping up from where she’d been sitting at the table, and moving toward him.

“He’s threatenin’ my bits too, ya know – not just yours!” Spike continued to rant.

“I know that, Spike. But, someone has to stay here with the babies. If those eyeless guys find them … or God forbid that fucking preacher, someone has to be here that can protect them – get them out, keep them safe. That has to be you … you and Joan.”

Spike glared at her, his fists on his hips, fury burning in the depths of his cobalt eyes.

Buffy laid a hand on his cheek, warm and soft, as tears welled in her eyes. “You know I’m right,” she whispered.

Spike blinked and looked away from her gaze as his heart, which had been filled to overflowing with joy over the last months since learning that the babies were his, burst in his chest. He could feel every laugh, every saucy smile, every giggle, every word of baby-talk, every drop of champagne, every kiss, the joy of every ‘I love you,’ drain out of him.

He suddenly felt colder than he had in years; colder than the day he died in that London alley, colder than the day Dru left him, colder than the day he had to stake his own mother, colder than the day Dawn died, colder than the day he saw Buffy in that cell at Council headquarters. Spike felt his hands trembling with the arctic cold that had permeated every fiber of his being. He squeezed them into tight fists, crossing his arms and burying his hands in his armpits. He willed the trembling to stop, but it only intensified until his whole body shivered uncontrollably and his teeth chattered with pent-up rage and fear.

“Spike,” Buffy prompted. “Please … you know I’m right. I … I’m sorry. God, Spike – I don’t want to go. I don’t want to … be the Slayer. I don’t want to leave you and the babies. God knows I don’t… but…” A keening sob escaped her throat and suddenly her tears were back with a vengeance.

Spike pulled her against him in a fierce hug, burying his face against her neck. Her fear was palpable; her anguish and worry undisguised. He suddenly realized that she knew more than she was saying. She knew she would not come back from this. Spike’s dead heart constricted in his chest and his whole body ached painfully with the realization. He had to stop her – he had to keep her from going any way he could.  

“Buffy, please, luv. I can’t lose you. Not now … it’s not enough. Not nearly enough. We can … go … somewhere else! We’ve done it before – can find a new place, farther away… other side o’ the soddin’ world. Go to the bloody North Pole if we have to.”

Buffy shook her head against him, her tears running down his bare chest in rivers of warm, salty regret. “He wants me. He won’t stop until I … I … kick his ass,” Buffy replied between shaking, hiccup-y breaths, trying to sound confident.

“No,” Spike growled, growing angrier. He had to stop her from going. No matter what, he had to stop her any way he could. “There’s more than one ‘she’ in this bloody world. Let the other chit do it. Don’t leave, Buffy … don’t you dare leave us,” he demanded.

“Spike … I…” Buffy stammered, taken off-guard by his intensity. She pushed back to look at him. “I have to.”

“No, you bloody well don’t!” he contended, his blue eyes flaring amber in the dim light. “Let the other one … Faith, yeah? Let ‘er do it!”

“She’s in jail…”

“I’ll break ‘er out,” Spike shot back.

Buffy shook her head. “It’s me he wants, Spike. ‘The Slayer … the first, the original …’” Buffy repeated the preacher’s words, leaving off the more colorful things he’d said.

“Send Joan,” Spike retorted immediately.

“Spike, no – Joan can’t deal with this. You know it has to be me. I’m sorry … I don’t want to, but … If this isn’t stopped … it could mean the whole world…”

“If you leave us, don’t bother coming back, Summers!” Spike threatened, his hands balling into fists of utter fear and frustration. His only thought was that he had to stop her from going, no matter what. Nothing else permeated his terrified mind except that: stop her from leaving.

“Wha…?” Buffy gasped, her eyes wide with shock and hurt. His words stabbed into her chest and twisted like a dagger. She suddenly found it hard to breathe, hard even to remain standing.

“You bloody well heard me! If you walk out that door, do not come back.”

“Spike! You knew what I was … what I am … you … you …”

“You walked away from it, Buffy! We walked away from it! We got two bits up there that need their mum,” he contended, his panic overwhelming his good sense. He stabbed a finger at the ceiling, at the babies sleeping above them. “You can’t decide now that ‘normal’ ain’t for you! You can’t just … leave them … leave me. I changed – for you. I thought you’d changed … for us.”

Tears blurred Buffy’s vision and her chest heaved and constricted, threatening to crush her heart. “Spike … I’m sorry. I don’t want to…”

“Then don’t!” he snarled, his face contorted in anger, barely keeping the demon from rising.

“I have to,” Buffy whispered, her eyes dropping to the floor as another sob shuddered through her.

Spike snorted derisively. “Bollocks! There’s that Faith bird and Joan – you don’t have to.”

Buffy shook her head mournfully, not looking up at him. She wrapped her arms around her body protectively, trying to keep her heart from exploding from her chest. “It has to be me.”

Spike nodded angrily, his chest heaving with unneeded breath, terrified and desperate to find a way to keep her from going. “Do you care that little for us? What are we, bloody potato chips to you?! Had your fun playin’ house and now you’ll just chuck us out? What am I supposed t’ tell them bits when they cry for their mum, Buffy? Tell me what I’m supposed to tell them! They need you! We need you!”

More sobs shook Buffy’s body as her tears came harder, completely obscuring her vision. “Tell them … I love them more than … life itself. I … Spike, please … tell them I’m doing this for them … for you and them.”

“That’s bloody rich,” Spike growled back at her, his mouth running on pure fear-induced adrenaline, bypassing his brain completely. “Fine … Fine. You go play at bein’ Slayer then. But, if you live, don’t expect me t’ welcome you back. You gotta choose, Buffy. It’s us or them.”

“That’s not fair,” Buffy cried, her cheeks soaked with her heartbreak.

“Yeah, well, vampire, remember? Don't play fair, do I? I’m evil. What’s your bloody excuse?”

“I’m the Slayer. If I don’t fight, there won’t be an ‘us’… there might not be a world,” Buffy defended.

“Yeah, well you said you were done being the Slayer. I believed you. Said we had t’ stand together – and now you’re leavin’! Ya can’t be traipsing off like this, putting yourself in mortal danger, and expect me to pat ya on the head, pack a lunch, and watch you walk away from us! I can’t do it … I bloody well won’t do it.

“You aren’t the Slayer anymore – that was your choice, not mine. You can’t change your mind and go back now … not now that we’ve got …” Spike’s voice broke with emotion, his Adam’s apple bobbing wildly in his throat trying to contain his terror, hurt, and rage.

Buffy looked up at him, her eyes shimmering, pleading with him to understand. “I have to.”

The muscles in Spike’s jaw ticced as he clenched his teeth. Tears pooled in his eyes as his shattered heart was reduced to dust in his chest. “Then. Don’t. Come. Back,” he ground out, his voice dark and threatening. With those final words, he spun around, stormed out of the kitchen, through the living room, and out the front door.

“Spike, please…”

Buffy jumped when she heard the front door slam behind him. Her heart felt like it had been ripped from her chest. Nothing in her life had ever hurt as much as this, but she knew she was right. She had to go. Spike had to stay. It was the only way – the only way to make sure her family was safe.

Her knees gave way and she slumped down, curling into a ball on the cool, tile floor to cry. She lay alone, sobbing on the floor of their renovated kitchen, inside their fixer-upper house, in a quiet neighborhood with a park and big grandfather oaks, and faced the end of the life they’d built.

It turned out to be built on shifting sand rather than solid stone; it was a house of cards, based on a girl’s fragile hopes, wishes, and dreams; built on the wish that she could walk away from her destiny and just be normal.

If wishes were horses…

**~**