Flesh and Blood

7

Angel observed the room and saw no sign of Amy or Warren. The room was dark, aside from the yellow flames emanating from the candles that were placed on the outsides of a table that was against the left wall. There were no visible exits, even with his vampire eyes adjusted to the lighting, so how did they manage to escape with the tiny infant? Angel knew that the witch wouldn't harm Isobelle until the full moon, but that didn't mean she would handle the child as carefully as she should—like a mother would. He looked around the room for Spike. Instead of seeing him frantically trashing the room like he'd expect, his rival, in many aspects of Angel's un-life, was rooted in place and staring into a vacant wicker basket that was opposite the vaguely lit table.

"Spike..." Angel said. He received no response.

He knew that the blond vampire needed a minute to regroup after the chaos that had just ensued, and his own grief for his fallen friend was bubbling to the surface. Angel momentarily paused. If he allowed Whistler's death to consume him now, it could slow them down, and ultimately, the half-demon would have died for nothing. He collected himself and started to check the room out. The glow of the candles enabled the older vampire to get a better glimpse of the other items that sat on the worn desk. There were a few diapers and baby bottles messily thrown into a tin basin on the floor beside it. On the table was a stack of books, all leather-clad, and some were more worn than the others.

Angel briefly glanced back to Spike and wondered what was going through his mind. He empathized with his blond counterpart; it wasn't long ago that Angel sacrificed his son's memories of him for Connor to have a normal human life. It wasn't until recently that Wesley had broken the spell casted upon them and all memories of Connor came rushing back. Angel let his vampire friend be and began shuffling through the books.

The top book was just as old and worn as the table it sat upon. The black leather cover was beginning to wither away and flake, leaving the embossed title illegible. Angel carefully opened it up to find it was called 'Enhancement Rituals.' The book underneath wasn't anywhere near as worn as the top book, and this title read 'Mythical Prophecies.' It was in this moment that he decided he couldn't leave these books here. He found an empty satchel on the ground and placed the books inside before he flung the loaded bag over his shoulders. He figured that the books would come in handy for research, and may even give them a clue on how to stop the ritual. Before he walked away from the table, he violently swiped his arm across it, knocking the candles and witch paraphernalia to the floor, his emotions temporarily getting the better of him. The flames of the candles all went out, leaving them in darkness. Angel was angry that Whistler had fallen victim, and he wanted to grieve, but finding Isobelle had to come first. He could deal with his friend's death later.

During the time Angel had spent looking through the belongings on the table, Spike had remained at the wicker basket. Now that there was no light, his eyes adjusted to the black room. The overwhelming feeling of failure had held him frozen to that spot like a captive inmate. His pale fingers gripped the bloodstained sheet that was folded inside, and Spike carefully took it out to inspect it. It was just an average white sheet, but it was flooded with a new scent, paired with the familiar smell of Buffy's blood. It didn't take the Slayer of Slayers long to figure out that the unfamiliar scent belonged to his new-born daughter. As Spike held the sheet to his nose, he closed his eyes and inhaled. That was his daughter, and nothing—not even Magick—was going to stop him from getting her back, even if it was the last thing he ever did. A tear streaked his finely chiselled cheekbone. Soulless Spike would have burned the whole stadium down by now, but this version of him made him feel every ounce of grief.

Overwhelmed with disappointment, he raked his fingers through his dishevelled hair. He had always stuck around Sunnydale to be there for Buffy and her sister. He even insisted that he would never leave, but this was the second time in near two years that he'd gone back on his word. This time was much worse. Even though Spike knew Buffy had Dawn and her friends for support, he still allowed his fear of being rejected to ultimately lead his beautiful slayer to go through the pregnancy and birth without the one person who should have been there—him.