Chapter Seven

SO FAR IN [INSERT TITLE HERE]: After meeting up with Drusilla in Central Park, Spike and Buffy return to their suite. Spike awakens later alone, and is shocked to find a note that tells him Buffy has been kidnapped. He rescues her, but not before Drusilla has her fun torturing her. A prophecy is revealed: "The sun and the moon will merge, and from them a babe will be born. Of the darkness and the light, the child shall bring the Beginning of the End, unless the true child of light meets it before..."

"Pregnant." Buffy's voice was hollow as she said the one word. "Are you sure?"

He handed her a soft tanktop to put on. "'Fraid so, luv. Do you want me to run down to the local convenience store and pick up one of those home tests?" Spike stood, preparing to leave. "I'll only be gone a few minutes."

Buffy stayed staring at the wall. "I don't know if I can stop this apocalypse," she whispered harshly. "I can't kill this baby."

"We'll get through it, pet. We always do." The blond vampire retrieved his duster from the chair he had tossed it over, then exited the room quickly. He came back about five minutes later, a small brown paper bag in hand.

"You know how to do this, right?" he asked as he handed the bag to her.

Buffy stood, taking the bag from him. "I'll figure it out."

"It has begun," a male voice stated.

"Do you not think them capable of finding the Child of Light?" asked a female.

"Impossible."

"You should know by now, brother, that nothing is impossible for this warrior."

"Sister, the Child of Light has not yet been concieved."

"Soon."

The two blue lines on the slim white wand stared back at Buffy mockingly as she sat on the closed toilet seat, her eyes slightly glassy. She set the pregnancy test down on the counter, then picked it up a few moments later. "I'm pregnant," she whispered, her heart breaking for the fate of this child and the world.

Spike knocked on the bathroom door a few moments later, a look of concern marring his handsome features. "Well?" he asked. Buffy handed the test wand to him wordlessly and sighed, her shoulders slumping.

"We're having a baby. Too bad that means the world is gonna end."

Spike placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. His cool skin was oddly comforting as he reassured her. "Not necessarily, pet. All we need to do is find this Child of Light. Shouldn't be too hard."

"Spike, what if we don't find the Child of Light?" Buffy looked up at him, a single tear making its way down her cheek. "The world will end and it will be our fault." Spike's hand moved from her shoulder to her cheek, wiping the tear away with the pad of his thumb.

"We will find the Child of Light. You can count on it." Spike smirked half-heartedly. "I'm not letting this world go to hell without a fight. I'll go kicking and screaming." He pulled Buffy to her feet and wrapped her in his strong embrace. She buried her face in the soft fabric of his black tee-shirt, her tears wetting the fabric as she allowed herself to be held by her once mortal enemy.

Spike led her into the bedroom and pulled back the sheets, tucking her beneath them. He stripped down to the boxers that he was slowly getting used to wearing, and climbed in the other side, pulling her to him. They curled around each other and fell into a fitful sleep.

"It is done," the male voice said.

"The Child of Light has been created?" his female counterpart asked.

"Yes. It is up to the warriors now to find the Child."

~*~{Dream Sequence}~*~

Buffy walked through Sunnydale--or rather, the ruins of the small town. Everywhere there were fires smoldering and people moaning in agony, their energy gone. Demons prowled the streets, looking for helpless meals, of which there were many. Creatures that Buffy had only ever seen in fairy-tales were prominent. A dragon flew around the roof of the mansion on Crawford Street, finally perching on an overhang. The eye of the dragon glowed a bright, fiery orange. The blond Slayer was lost in the eye and suddenly found herself in London. The city was completely flattened, no evidence of any life anywhere. The air was thick with the acrid smells of vampire dust, rotting flesh, and blood.

Buffy clutched her stomach, falling to her knees and vomiting. The sensation was oddly comforting. When she stood, she realized that she was in Hong Kong. The downtown area of the city had been completely destroyed, a large crater standing in its stead. Harsh whispers permeated her ears. "You killed us," the voices chanted. "You killed us. This is your fault, Slayer. You killed us."

"No," she said softly. "No! I didn't do this! It's not my fault!"

The blond Slayer screamed "No!" a final time, suddenly alone in a barren wasteland that stretched for miles. "I didn't do it... I didn't do it... I..."

"Buffy, luv, wake up," Spike said firmly.

She thrashed on the bed, chanting, "It's not my fault, it's not my fault..."

Spike touched her shoulder and she suddenly sat straight up and, arching her back, screamed. Her pupils were huge black orbs, her irises barely visible. Spike pulled her to him, holding her as closely as he could, her entire body stiff with fear. "I.." she began, a sob forming in her throat. "I did it. I killed them," she whispered.

"Who, luv?" Spike asked softly, repositioning her so she sat curled in his lap, and cradling her now relaxing frame tenderly.

"Everyone. I killed everyone. I saw... I saw what is going to happen, Spike. I'm so scared..."

Spike took her chin betwen his thumb and forefinger, turning her head toward him. "Buffy. Listen to me. You didn't kill anyone. And you're not going to, either. Whatever you saw--we can stop it." He brushed a soft kiss across her lips.

One of Buffy's small hands trailed up Spike's bare back, her soft fingertips tickling slightly, then weaving into the soft, ungelled curls at the nape of his neck as he deepened the kiss slowly. His tongue flicked her lower lip as they kissed, and she opened her mouth a bit, allowing his tongue access to hers. The sensations he evoked within her amazed her--tiny shivers of absolute pleasure coursed through her. One cool hand reached up underneath her tank top and cupped one of her breasts, massaging it gently as their lips danced together, fused.

She shifted in his embrace so that she straddled his lap, rocking gently on his slowly growing erection. Pulling away from his mouth for a moment, she whispered "thank you," huskily, then proceeded to kiss him senseless. He fell back on the bed, watching Buffy through hooded eyes as she pulled her tank top and flung it to the floor, then go to her knees and shimmied out of her shorts. These she also tossed out of the way. She leaned forward, her hot, hard nipples scraping against Spike's cool skin as they kissed. Her fingers danced along the waistband of Spike's boxers and his abdominal muscles twitched.

She climbed off him and reached down into his boxer shorts, massaging his aching cock. A sudden glint in her eye gave her thoughts away and Spike raised his scarred eyebrow, sticking his tongue between his teeth as he sat up and reached for her. He positioned her so that her hot, glistening core was directly above his mouth, her own mouth hovering above his erection. He lifted his hips to aid her in the removal of his boxers, then pulled her hips down to his face. He faltered for a moment when he felt Buffy's tongue on the head of his cock, licking him like a lollipop, but soon continued his oral assault on her tender flesh. As he worried her clit with his tongue, she licked and sucked at him enthusiastically. They were both so caught up in pleasuring each other that their orgasms took them by complete surprise.

Buffy rolled off her husband and collapsed on her back beside him. Her breathing was ragged, and her heartbeat raced. "Wow," she murmured.

Spike, his own unnecessary breathing (some habits are hard to break) labored, chuckled next to her. He turned himself around so their heads were together and lay his head on her breasts. He cuddled against her, peppering cool kisses along her collarbone and massaging her belly with his left hand. His right hand tangled in her hair.

When she was able to move again, she wrapped herself around her husband, sighing contentedly. They drifted off to sleep, limbs intertwined.

Angel stumbled out onto the balcony of his bedroom at the Hyperion. He prepared himself for the searing pain that came with his soul rending itself from his body. The pain never came. Suffice it to say, he was shocked. He stood shakily and looked behind him at the pale blond woman who lay nude, sleeping beneath the sheets of his large bed. He had slept with--no, fucked was a better term to use in this case--Darla. Darla, his Sire, the object of his obsession for the past few months. He had fucked Darla and yet his soul remained. His laughter was full of mirth as he realized why. Yes, he had climaxed, but the moment of true happiness wasn't there. Which is why he didn't feel bad about throwing her out of his bed and ordering her to leave.

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R to NC-17