Fortress Around Your Heart - Part Fourteen
DISCLAIMER: The title belongs to Sting. Referenced in this chapter are songs by Elvis Costello, and by David Bowie and Queen.
NOTES: Thanks to Lesley and Magpie, my London Calling colleagues, and blessings to all of you who've fed me back and encouraged me on this long, strange road.
This is the end, my friends: the natural stopping place of not just Fortress Around Your Heart, but the Giles and Spike Collection as a whole. This chapter takes place two years after the events of Chapter 13-- bringin' the schmoop and the comedy one last time.
20 DECEMBER 2009. LONDON. EVENING.
"Accidents will happen, it's only hit and run; I don't want to hear it, 'cause I know what I've done," Will and Giles sang together, softly. They hit the last note and slid into silence in the darkened room. Waiting for an answer.
A dark form blotted out the light from the hall. A hand beckoned. Giles touched Will's shoulder gently, then went into the corridor, pulling the door almost closed behind him.
"Anyanka, darling," Giles said. He slipped his arm around her waist, and they paced down the hall. "Are you ready for tonight?"
"Looking forward to it. Are YOU ready, is the real question."
He kissed her hair. "Will and I have everything under control."
"Sure you do. Oh, oh! I almost forgot!" She handed him the mobile. "Imran."
Juggling, he kept his arm around her but clicked on the phone. "'Evening, old man-what can I do for you?"
Anya began to guide him downstairs to Will and Buffy's kitchen. Giles tried very hard to keep track of Cumberbatch's questions, but he was distracted by his wife's hand in his back pocket. "Yes. Yes, we'll be here; use Will's landline if the mobile's off....No, we're fine. It was just the wiring. And the mains."
A burst of feminine laughter rang through the ground floor. He looked into the kitchen, only to see Wesley pressing papers into Dawn's hand, saying, "Now, I've charged your mobile and mine. Here's my number, in case of emergency. Or if you forget, I've also put down Anya's and Buffy's numbers. And- oh, where did that other thing go-"
"Sweetheart, even though I'm pregnant, I still do remember how to use the telephone to call my husband and my family." Dawn grinned up at him. "I appreciate your thoughtfulness, though."
"God, he's worse than the other two combined," Buffy giggled.
Wesley blew out an aggravated breath. Anyanka put in, "Besides, Wes, Dawn can still teleport. It's not dangerous until the eighth month."
Rupert, trying not to laugh, tuned back into Imran's conversation. "Sorry. Sorry....Oh no. Well, Imran, my six-year-old just shorted out all of Cheyne Walk with her little magick experiment; we'd just as soon hide out here for a day or two."
"Tell Imran we're ready to go. Highgate Cemetery, and the love-machine vamps preying on unsuspecting beauties, here we come!" Buffy said.
Giles said into the phone, "Did you hear that? Buffy and Wes and Anya are patrolling tonight. Yes, it shouldn't be too complicated." He paused, then said, "Imran, everything else is fine. Why do you keep asking these questions?...Yes, right. Talk to you on Monday." He clicked off the phone, then frowned. "Does anyone else think that Imran has been working too hard?"
Wes could not be moved from his preoccupation. His hand absently petting his wife's hair, he said, "Perhaps I shouldn't go. It is a simple, routine patrol-Dawn might need me for something."
"Wesley, if you don't stop hovering for five minutes, I-I-I'm going to send you to the Great Wall of China." When everyone laughed, she said, "Oh you think I'm kidding. Not." She grabbed his hand, and kissed it. "Go on, honey. I have some CAD work to get done, and this will be the perfect time to concentrate on it."
"Well, okay." But he hesitated.
"Anyway, we want a man to accompany us. We want to go dancing after the dusting is done," Buffy said.
"I'm NOT going dancing!" Wesley protested.
"You so are. Don't question me, Wes." Dawn crossed her arms, and his shoulders slumped.
Light footsteps on the stairs pattered down, and Will bounced into the kitchen. "Boys are asleep. I made sure."
"Really?" Giles asked.
"Yeah. Well, you know how bloody tricky they are. Stayed to make sure your Rob couldn't get out of the portable crib." After he turned on the baby monitor, Will hopped up on the counter, legs swinging. "So, what's the delay? Baddies to be staked and what all, people."
"You're trying to get rid of me," Buffy pouted. He pulled her up and into the circle of his arms, and she cuddled in.
As he nuzzled, he said, "I certainly am. You're damn well taunting me with your presence. I can't patrol, can't do-other things. 's torture. "
She slapped at his hands. "Oh stop it. You, um, patrolled last night." Then she winked at him.
Giles announced, "If you all are not out of here in a few minutes, I shall be forced to stake Will, just on general principles. Go, now."
"Heh, tosser. I'm reporting you to the Society for Prevention to Cruelty to Souled Vampires." Buffy laughed, and he smiled at her. "Really, you all go on. Rupes and I have everything covered."
Anya pulled Wesley away from Dawn and out into the hall. Buffy followed. There was a general bustle of coats and weapons and general late-December patrol gear, then the door closed behind them.
Dawn sighed. "Oh, at last an evening to myself. I love my husband, but - thank God." Giles helped her up from the couch, and she headed toward her and Wesley's part of the Onslow Square house. "Good night, guys. Call me if you need anything."
"And you, Bit," Will said. Grinning: "You sure you don't want me up to check on you, say, every thirty minutes?"
"Do it and dust, big guy." She went up the stairs.
Rupert and Will looked at each other. "Tea?" Will said, jumping off the counter.
"I'll set up the chess set in here."
***
Upstairs, in a room lit only by a nightlight, two fifteen-month-old boys opened their eyes.
Hal Bennet-Summers, aka Miracle Boy, sat up. Chuckling wickedly, he took his favourite Baa in his hand, aimed, and threw. With motor skills far advanced beyond his age, the throw fell exactly where he wanted --
On Robert Giles's head, one crib over. Rob rolled over, saying "No!" Then he clapped a small hand over his mouth, stifling the noise..
Hal clambered up, then Rob stood. They had been closer than brothers since the hour of their birth, their mothers in adjoining room. Grinning, the two looked across at each other.
The resemblance to their fathers was immistakable. And not a little terrifying.
***
Wes dragged his feet a little, his coat flapping in the brisk wind, as he walked with Anya and Buffy toward the South Kensington Tube station. He really wanted to stay home with his wife. Still, the job came first.
It was the whole idea of dancing that most appalled him. And he said, "Ladies, would it be at all possible to give up on the whole after-work excursion? I'd really like to be home before then."
Anya said, "No, Wes. Buffy and I have been cooped up with the boys for a week, ever since they gave each other their colds, and we need to let loose."
"What Anya said." Then Buffy covered her mouth with a gloved hand, snorting. "Oh no. I agreed with Anya - does that mean another apocalypse is around the corner?"
Wesley sighed as the two of them laughed like drains. When they finally stopped, he said, "Very amusing. But do you two remember what I actually dance like?"
He stopped under a streetlamp, right by the station. The heavier traffic from Old Brompton Road whizzed by, but he was undeterred. Taking only a moment to imagine music in his head, he began to gyrate. Arms flailed a bit, hips twisted. A horn honked at him, but he ignored it. Actually, he rather enjoyed it.
When he spun back, he found his sister-in-law and honourary sister gaping at him in horror. Anya was the first to break the silence, as she took one of his arms. "You're right, Wes. We don't need to go dancing after patrol."
"Of course." Buffy took his other arm. "We can just grab a bite to eat or something."
They dragged him across the street toward the station arcade. And Wes couldn't help it. He began to laugh.
***
"'I've lived too long in the shadows of sadness,'" Spike sang under his breath with the Jam song playing on the stereo. He sipped his tea, then moved a pawn.
Rupert hummed along, elbows on table, studying the board. Spike smiled. Ah, a quiet evening at home, even with an over-full house. His friends were around him, his child safe upstairs. And he'd taken out a nest of sodding Alle demons in Camden Town last night.
Unlife was good.
Then he lunged forward to catch Rupert's tea as it fell. Of course, Spike thought, who wouldn't spill Royal Blend if his daughter materialized at his side. "Elizabeth Ann Giles, you're already in trouble. Are you taking advantage of Nanny's night off?" Rupes said sternly.
"Oh, Daddy, I know it's wrong to teleport in the house." Lizzie-love sounded far too innocent. "I was just worried about Robbie and Hal."
"Why?" Rupert asked, and Spike shot a quick look at the baby monitor. Completely silent - hang on -
And Lizzie said, "I think they were doing something bad. It's noisy up there."
Rupert and Spike took the stairs two steps at a time. Spike said, "Rob hasn't done anything, um, odd before, has he?"
"No. I thought he wasn't going to be-" They opened the door, then stared. Rupert trailed off, "-magical."
Rob, leaning almost completely out of his crib, pointed a small chubby finger at Hal's dragon-mobile hanging from the ceiling. When he wiggled the finger, a dragon-figure detached itself from the structure and whizzed at Hal-
Who had ripped out a wooden crib rail and now was using it as a bat. When the dragon flew by, Hal whacked off its head.
And then the boys collapsed into giggles. They'd been doing this for some time, Spike could see; only one dragon was left, hanging on the off-balance mobile.
"Boys!" he and Giles thundered as one, and they leapt to pick up their sons.
"Told you they were being naughty," Lizzie said from the doorway.
From down the hall came Dawn's voice. "Oh wow. You guys, you guys-" She stood behind Lizzie and stared at the wooden-figure carnage. "What happened here?"
"Rob and Hal were slaying dragons and it's not allowed," Lizzie reported.
"Okay." Dawn rushed in, and pulled at Spike's free hand. "Feel this, feel this."
He curved his palm around her tummy; there was major action going on in there. "Bloody hell, pet, Emma's kicking like she's Michelle Yeoh."
"Or Buffy." Dawn's grin faded. "Or Buffy....Spike, you don't think...."
Giles and Spike, each cuddling a faux-penitent child, stared at each other. In unison, they said, "Bloody buggering hell."
And Giles finished with "Imran knew - oh, damn it!"
***
"'The Six shall rise, they keep safe all; / Their battles many, their losses small;/ When they seek their rest in hallowed hall,/ Their children Four shall heed the Call.'" Satterthwaite's translation, cross-referenced by Darren two years ago, was typical Victorian doggerel. Still, Imran thought it had a certain ring to it.
"Darling?" He looked up from his study desk. Rosemary stood at the door, smiling at him. "I fancy a cup of hot chocolate. Would you like some?"
Imran closed the prophecy files, and stood. "I'd like nothing better, dear." He crossed over to her and took the luxury of a kiss.
Behind them the study phone rang peremptorily. Rosemary came up for air, saying, "Perhaps you should get that."
"Oh, it's not necessary." The wind rattled their windows just a bit; she moved closer to him. The lamps glowed golden warm against the night, but not as warm as his wife. He smiled down at her. "I rather think I know what it's about, and they'll find out soon enough." Tucking his wife's arm through his, he walked out of the room. Pensively, he said, "Could we have cinnamon in the hot chocolate, do you think?"
And he shut the door.
"Why can't we give love that one more chance....
Cause love's such an old-fashioned word
And love dares you to care for
The people on the (people on streets) edge of the night
And love (people on streets) dares you to change our way of
Caring about ourselves
This is our last dance
This is our last dance
This is ourselves."
Under Pressure.' -David Bowie and Queen"It's sodding ridiculous to live one's life based on crap pop lyrics."- Will Bennet
THE END