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Dogs of War


by
Tabaqui





Part Five



One-hundred and seventeen days. Willow was - better. Whatever drugs they'd been giving her had caused some sort of temporary damage. 'Temporary' being the operative word, Wesley had assured them. Temporary but frightening, and Xander had hated to see his Willow sitting blank-eyed at his jerry-rigged table, swaying slightly, humming to herself. Just gone, and the operative - a short, fierce Latina woman named Alvera - had told them that Willow had deliberately cut herself off - retreated from the horror of her captivity into her own mind, and it would take time for her to come out of that, as well. Xander understood that, but it made him sad and angry and frightened to actually see it. On the third day Alvera had left, back to the fight, and Tara had come for good. She'd held Willow and wept, rocking her, and Willow had smiled a little and looked away, and that was that. Tara talked to her every day - sang and read and just babbled on about this and that and nothing at all. Xander actually kind of liked it - it was somehow comforting to hear her. Spike seemed to like it, too. He brought books for Tara to read aloud, and he helped her with Willow; holding the thin, pale body when it thrashed in the grip of nightmares, or the lingering throes of withdrawal. Willow talked now - simple, childish sentences, and endless questions, but she was coming back to them, and that was all that mattered. The Initiative had cut Willow's hair - easier to deal with, Xander supposed - and she had about two inches of deep-red fluff that stuck up in tufts and cowlicks. Tara would brush it every night, and Willow would close her eyes and fall asleep.

Spike's hair had grown out as well - grown long enough to curl wildly all over his head in a honey-brown tangle that reminded Xander of a rumpled hedge-hog. But it was soft - so very soft. Xander couldn't resist touching it, and he found himself petting Spike's hair at every opportunity; just running his fingers through and through it, mindless caress. Spike would lean into him and go bonelessly limp, most of the jangle and tension that he habitually carried going out of him. In that state he looked about seventeen and Xander found himself wondering what human-Spike had been like. He never asked, though.

Wesley made it a point of coming down almost every day - how he got away Xander wasn't sure, but from comments Wes made Xander was pretty sure that the Initiative still thought of it's English liaison as a bit of a joke, and wasn't keeping tabs on him. Three weeks after Willow had been rescued, he had more news.

"We've settled it. We're going to come in at first light, two days from now. We've got two companies of the SAS on their way as we speak. Four hundred of the finest Special Forces in the world." Wesley wasn't grinning this time - he was deadly serious. Tense and thin and he took one of Spike's cigarettes and smoked it, cupping his hand around the cherry and looking as if he hadn't slept in a week.

"They're going to take out whatever units of the Initiative are left - they're going to secure the labs and the hospital and then... You're going to have to be very careful, Xander. We're arranging for a special unit to come to you and get all of you out. Wil - erhm, Spike? It's up to you if you - decide to go with them, or not. They'll be going directly to England." Wesley had a strange look on his face as he said it - as if he expected Spike to be upset. Spike just shrugged, cross-legged on the table and his knee lightly pressing into Xander's bicep. Later though, when they were lying on the cot and Spike's hand was rubbing slowly over Xander's belly, Xander had to ask.

"You gonna come with me? To England?" Xander whispered, his lips against Spike's hair, and the hand stilled for a moment and then started again, slow caress that dipped lower every other minute or so.

"Want m-me?" Spike breathed, and Xander pulled him over, kissing him hard and running possessive hands under Spike's shirt - rocking his hips up against the denim-clad ones that pressed so urgently down. They didn't dare sleep nude - didn't dare actually do what they wanted to do, and it was getting...so hard.

"Yeah. Want you. Come with us, okay? Come with me."

"Yeah..." Spike breathed, mouthing Xander's throat and digging his fingers into Xander's back. Xander wrestled with buttons and zip until they were half-naked, rubbing together, hitching glide of sweat-slick skin. Biting Spike's lips to keep from crying out, shuddering and arching up and just needing it - needing the skin-on-skin and the weight of the vampire. Needing the heat of the friction and the tiny, mewling cries that told him Spike needed it just as much as he did. They writhed together, straining towards the peak, gasping harshly and then the shuddering, frenzied climax that left them both limp and panting. The tidal scent of it was thick in the air and Spike hooked a ragged t-shirt off of the crate by the cot and cleaned himself up - wiped Xander down as well and followed with kisses and darts of his tongue, arching into Xander's sleepy, lazy petting. They both zipped and buttoned and curled around each other and it was Tara's insistent, panicked whisper that woke them a few hours later.

"Xander - wake up! Wake up!" Tara was crouched just out of arms-reach, the wisp-light dim and eerie in her hand. Spike startled upright, hissing, and Xander caught at him and held him still.

"What is it? Tara?"

"Someone's down here!" Tara whispered, and they all froze at the shuffling scrape of feet down the corridor and panting breaths. Spike was up and off fast, his bare feet silent, his skin catching the bluish glow of the wisp for a moment and then he disappeared into the gloom. Xander cursed softly, struggling out of the blanket and after him. There was a growl - a shriek - and a moment's scuffle. And then -

"Light!" Spike rasped, and Tara was there, blowing gently on the pebble so that the light would flare up brighter. Xander saw Spike, demon-faced, holding something that cringed away - holding a figure... Human, female, dark blonde hair. Xander though his heart had stopped for a moment, and then it pounded so hard he felt dizzy - felt like he might throw up.

"Buffy?" he whispered, and the figure turned to him, a crooked, shaky smile and the wet streaks of tears. And a body bowed and heavy, rounded with pregnancy. Nearly to term, by the looks of it.

"Oh, god - Xander? Xander -" And she broke down in sobs.






'Jesus - JESUS! What in hell are we gonna do? How - she wasn't -' Xander didn't know what to think - couldn't form a coherent thought let alone sentence, and he helped Buffy down the corridor to the Hall, dazed. She walked slowly, panting, one hand under her belly and the other gripping Spike's arm bruisingly tight. They settled her carefully on the stacked crates and she sighed in relief, leaning back against the wall. Tara brought her a blanket, tucking it around her and Xander got their little Coleman stove lit, starting a pot of coffee.

"Buffy - are you in pain?" Tara asked softly, and Buffy just looked at her for a moment and then laughed softly.

"I'm... I don't even know how to answer that, Tara," she said finally, her voice cracked and wobbly. "Physically I'm - I've been better."

"Not right," Spike said, touching her belly, and Buffy flinched a little.

"No, it's - it's not. I...wasn't pregnant a month ago." She stopped and put her hand to her face for a moment - heaved in a hard, wet breath. When she spoke again her voice was thick with tears and revulsion - trembling with fear. "It's one of Walsh's - experiments. It's the - the fifth...time..." Buffy buried her face in her hands, keening softly in distress and Tara shot one wild, horrified look at Xander and was gathering Buffy into her arms, shushing her and crooning to her, telling her it would be all right.

Xander didn't realize he was crying - shouting - until Spike stepped between him and the stack of crates, stopping him from punching them again and folding him carefully into his arms. Then Xander felt the wetness on his face and the rawness of his throat and he held fiercely onto Spike, gasping for breath. Feeling sixteen again and watching Jesse collapse into dry, lifeless dust.

'Fuck, fuck, what're we gonna do, what? So fucking...sick, it's... God, Buffy...' Xander finally got himself under control - straightened up and wiped his face - sheepishly took the paper towel Spike held out and blew his nose. Then Spike leaned in and kissed him on the corner of his mouth while his fingers just gently stroked his ribs and Xander heaved a huge, steadying breath. He caught Spike as he eased away and kissed him back, feeling a curling little spark of heat in his belly at the small, pleased smile that crossed Spike's face. Then they both turned to face Buffy again.

She was still bent over, with Tara still talking to her, but she seemed to have stopped crying and was just there, bowed over in misery. Tara plied her with paper towels and a bottle of water and Buffy finally sat back up, her face red and her eyes swollen.

"Sorry - sorry, guys."

"Don't, Buff," Xander said softly, and she sniffed and half-smiled and pushed her hair back. They hadn't cut her hair at all - in fact it had grown out of any style and was lank and dark, stringing around her face. Spike lit a cigarette and then crouched down beside Buffy, his face a mask of anger. He carefully touched her belly again, butterfly-light, and Buffy watched him.

"How - f-five?" he asked finally, and Buffy shuddered.

"I lost them. M-miscarried. At first I was - sad, but - I saw the last t-two. They were... She's trying to mix human and demon...genes. It - doesn't...work." Buffy took a drink of her water and looked at Tara for a moment - looked at Spike again, her pale face thin and ghostly in the low light, her eyes sunk and dark. Tara's hand was in hers and Xander saw Tara flinch just a little as Buffy unconsciously squeezed.

"They were - wrong, they were...monsters." Spike looked up at her and finally nodded - stood fluidly and walked away, easing up onto the table and folding his legs up. Buffy watched him go and then turned her gaze back to Xander, a tiny smile curling the corner of her mouth.

"I guess - you've got a lot to tell me, huh?" she said, and Xander nodded and sat down at her feet, and told her.





Part Six



One hundred and eighteen days and Wesley came into the Below wide-eyed and frantic, his jacket unbuttoned and his tie askew. He careened into the Hall and came to a stop, nearly falling, his wide eyes glued on Buffy, who was sitting and eating some MRE chicken a la King, talking quietly with Tara and fending off Willow's curious hands. Xander got up from where he'd been sorting his notes, wanting to laugh at the completely shocked expression on Wesley's face. He could hear Spike in the corridor just behind, switching from 'stalk' to 'strut' as the intruder was revealed.

"Good - god! How - my god, Buffy! How did you come here? They're going mad up there! What happened?" Buffy did laugh, small pleased chuckle at Wesley's incomprehension.

"It was just dumb luck, I guess," Buffy said, and told Wesley what she'd told Xander and Spike and Tara.
A seemingly random series of events, but ones that had added up. Her medication had been messed up for almost a week, and she'd found herself feeling close to full strength for the first time in months. Then, the orderly who normally took her to exercise and bathe was sick, and had been replaced with a newer, less alert, and smaller one. And there had been a fire or something. She's smelled smoke - heard alarms - and just let instinct take over. She'd knocked the orderly unconscious and taken his key-card and escaped the hospital. Memories of fights and of Spike's crypt had led her to the Below, and something...had guided her in the right direction.

"Maybe it was Spike. I could feel - something. I can feel vamps... Or maybe it was - a scent. Coffee or soap... Something just told me the way to come."

Wesley just shook his head, his expression still unsettled. "Well, it's complete chaos up there. Your escape has them in a panic. In a little more than twenty-four hours the troops will be here and I think this - demoralization - will work in our favor." Wesley took of his glasses and rubbed wearily at his eyes - peered near-sightedly at Spike, who had decided to come out of the shadows and had moved to stand next to Xander, leaning into him. "All of you need to be ultra cautious now. Just - stay here, and be ready. I suggest you pack anything you might want to take with you. Yes, thank you," Wesley added, taking the oil-stained bandana that Willow held out to him. She patted his arm and then grinned as Tara took her hand.

"Tara! Story now? Please?" she begged, and Tara nodded and smiled, drawing Willow over to the crates, picking up the book they'd been reading and letting Willow pretend to read it to her. Wesley slowly put his glasses back on, looking sadly after the two of them, and then he went over to Buffy - touched her shoulder with his hand. "I really am pleased to see you, Buffy. Giles - will be so happy to know you're all right."

Buffy nodded, looking down at her tin plate of chicken-paste. "Do you think... Does he know about - this?" she asked softly, her hand splayed over her belly, and Wesley looked up at the rest of them, quick glance full of sorrow.

"He knows, Buffy. He's been swearing awful revenge for weeks. He - he misses you terribly and feels... Well..." Wesley pulled back - straightened his tie and smoothed his jacket. "Well, I'll let you two talk it over, eh? In a day or two you'll have nothing but time. Your mother and sister - are so eager to see you."

Buffy nodded sadly - looked up and smiled shakily at Wes. "Thanks, Wesley. I - I'll be glad to see them, too." Wesley ducked his head, nodding, and then he turned to Spike and Xander.

"Please do be very careful, the both of you. Don't leave this area until it's time. When the attack is fully underway, a squad of SAS will come down here to escort you out and yes, we've got sun-proof clothes for you, Spike." Spike nodded shortly and Xander felt the minute shift of muscle against him that meant he had relaxed. "They'll expect you to meet them at the Cross at seven bells, all right?" Xander nodded, figuring times. Spike leaned over and took the packet of peanut butter that had come in Buffy's MRE and tore it open, sucking it out of the olive-drab plastic with a little grin. Xander had to admit, Army peanut butter was the best peanut butter he'd ever tasted.

"How will we know - I mean, is there some kind of - code or something?" Xander felt stupid asking, but if an attack was going on Above, remnants of Initiative soldiers might find their way down to the tunnels. They weren't unknown to the Army, but they'd deemed them a wash after the first few weeks. Tara's confusion spells had helped, and for all the Initiative was working with demons and magic-users, they didn't seem eager to use it much for their everyday 'grunt' work.

"Yes, actually." Wesley pulled another tissue of paper out of his pocket and handed it to Xander. "That's the - the password, and their response. If they don't reply correctly, run. Or - let Spike loose. But don't approach, and don't let them get their hands on you. They'll reply with the second line, and be waiting for the third line before they identify themselves. The man heading up the platoon is a Sergeant Carlyle. He's a good man - you can trust him." Wesley pushed on hand back through his hair, looking flustered and a little afraid - looking tired to death. "Almost there, and then this nightmare can be over - we can all go home."

"I am home, Wesley. I don't... I don't know if this is ever going to be over...not for us." Wesley nodded slowly - buttoned his jacket and brushed at himself, straightening his back and lifting his chin.

"I doubt Sunnydale will be open to - civilians - for a long time, Xander. I hope that you can find a home somewhere else, when this is all done. I hope all of you can." He looked around at them one more time and then nodded shortly - turned and strode out. Xander sighed and unfolded the tissue, squinting in the unsteady light of the lantern.

"Acts of injustice done - between the setting and the rising sun -"

"In h-history lie like bones, e-each wa-one,"
Spike finished, slurred but recognizable, and Xander flashed a grin at him.

"You can tell Englishmen thought this up. What the hell is it?"

"Au -den," Spike said, plucking the tissue out of Xander's hand and burning it like he'd done before. Tara's voice droned on, reading to Willow but watching them, and Buffy had put her fork down and was staring bleakly at Xander.

"Really gonna happen," she whispered, and Xander nodded shortly.

"I'll get our gear together. C'mon, Spike." They both moved away into the darkness of the tunnels.







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