TITLE: Darkest Before Dawn #4 "Reflections in a Guinness"

AUTHOR: Nmissi

PART: 4/?

DISCLAIMER: I own Nothing and No one. Especially not Spike. If I did,

what makes you think I'd share him with you?

DISTRIBUTION: Anybody, just credit me and let me know where it's

going.

Feedback: Please. Nmissi@aol.com

SUMMARY: The way the world would work if I wrote the Buffyverse.

The silky tang of blood scent, the undercurrent of Fear ...It was homey and welcoming to the vampires in the room. The mortals smelled only beer, and sweat. They lacked the discernment to perceive their predators, stalking the edges of the herd, weaving into and out of the dancing crowds. In the bathroom, a girl lay bleeding, near to death in one of the stalls, while her friends applied lipstick on the other side of the door. A corpse lay cooling in the parking lot, and at the bar someone knocked back a suspiciously red-tinged tequila sunrise. It was nightfall on the Hellmouth.

"A lingering concern I have, mate, is just how much of your money I can take before it occurs to you -you haven't the faintest idea how to play pool."

The crack of cue against ivory was crisp in the air, somehow loud against the barroom din, as Spike worked the mortals for money. It was their third game, and he'd already relieved the frat-types of two twenties and a fiver. Not bad for a few hours honest work, he figured.

"Just rack `em, English."

The college boy had lost his last five dollars to the foreigner, and he was none too happy about it.

Spike studied him momentarily, then shrugged his shoulders.

"Whatever. S'your funeral."

It was over in mere minutes, and he took more of their money with a snarky smile.

"Pleasure doin' business with you blokes...Come back `round when you learn the game, eh?"

They left him then, dark expressions on their cookie cutter faces.

"Hmm. Right then. Just four more names to add to the ever- growing list of people that'd like to see me dead."

He brushed it off. If they wanted trouble with him, he'd be available later this evening, in the parking lot, or the cemetery. After he'd had a couple of beers. That WAS the point of the whole dreadful boring pool game, he figured. So he threaded his way through the gyrating teenyboppers, across the room to the bar.

"Guinness," he said, laying money down.

The bartender crooked a brow at this, and the vampire smiled winningly.

"Oh, all right then. What's my tab at now? I'll make good."

They conferred over figures a few minutes, before settling up.

Finally Spike was alone with his beer. He took a seat along the wall, and watched the people in silence.

He could hear their heartbeats, could smell the elixir in their veins. He watched as they moved together, in pairs, and separately, alone at tables.

Alone just as he was.

It was funny, he supposed. He was a Vampire, a hunter amongst his prey. And yet he felt more at one with the vibrant crowd, than with the other predators.

Oh, he could see them. Other vamps like himself, stirring in the shadows. Only the newest, rawest of the undead were Obvious- the others hunted unobtrusively, sticking to the dark, clustering along the walls. Occasionally they would engage a human in conversation, or in a dance, but it was all an act, all to further the hunt. They didn't feel the music, or find the people interesting. It was all

about feeding.

More and more he felt this way, these days. He'd always held on to too much of his mortality. Vampire Society had its own hierarchy and its own chronology. It moved slower than the mortal world. But Spike had never lived outside the humans; he'd lived among them. Drinking their blood even as he read their books and watched their movies, killing them even as he marveled at everything they, as a race, were capable of.

"That's it. I'm a bloody Roman- pilfering civilizations I crush under my heel."

He brought a steel-toed boot topside of the table, and rested it there on the edge, and took another swig off a second beer. He fumbled in his pocket for his cigarettes, before he remembered he'd lost them.

At the slayer's house. While shagging her.

He smiled, and tapped his foot on the table in time to the music.

Then he finished off his beer and ordered another one.

Only in the last year or so, only since the Chip, had he come to feel this peculiar affinity with the mortals, however. He'd always admired them. But something had changed. Even now that the Chip was out, he still hadn't been able to summon the nerve to kill.

Oh, he'd put the urge to the test, as soon as he'd been back upon his feet. Barroom brawls had become his new hobby. And he had developed a fondness for a certain species of adversary; he liked to fight men of a superior build than his own, men with more muscle than mind.

He was not so blind as to miss the significance of his "type"; he'd always been very perceptive. Night after night, he was going out into the dark, to smash in faces with strong noses and dimpled chins, to test himself against thick fleshy forearms and necks as broad as his calves.

His Riley-and-Angel surrogates. His hatred was at a peak when he fought them, his demon keyed up, at the ready. The thirst for their blood, insatiable.

Yet he would not drink them, would not kill them.

It disconcerted him no end. Somewhere in his head he could still hear the voice of Angelus, the voice of authority, laughing at him.

"Sod it. Poofter's out of your life. Get a grip."

He was aware he was talking to himself. Fortunately the succession of beers kept him from caring all that much. Damn it all. He'd successfully NOT THOUGHT about the early years of his unlife in a couple of decades. This was no time to get maudlin.

And the Damn Scoobies. That whole bit had hurt. He'd thought of himself as a part of the team, and their lot had turned on him like a pack of vicious dogs. He was still smarting over that. Logically, he could see their point- He WAS a vampire. And yeah, he'd tried to kill them a few times. But did nothing he'd done in the last year count? He'd listened to their sob stories; he'd fought the good fight right alongside them. He talked books with Giles and played pool with

Xander. You'd think that sort of thing would get him a little consideration, but no. Not Spike, he was Eeev-ill.

Damn the ungrateful lot of them. It'd serve them all right if he ate each and every one.

Oh. Yeah, there was that bit. Buffy. Buffy might not like that. If he ate her Watcher, and her friends, Buffy would be angry, Buffy might...

(cry)

...stake his Undead Arse.

He fell back into contemplating his beer, and wishing he had a cigarette.

TITLE: Darkest Before Dawn #5 "Angel"

AUTHOR: Nmissi

PART: 5/?

DISCLAIMER: I own Nothing and No one. Especially not Spike. If I

did,

what makes you think I'd share him with you?

DISTRIBUTION: Anybody, just credit me and let me know where it's

going.

Feedback: Please. Nmissi@aol.com

SUMMARY: The way the world would work if I wrote the Buffyverse.

His back ached, and a torn ligament in his shoulder reminded him why it was he'd never particularly cared for that type of Demon. One of their numbers

had seized him between its jaws during the scuffle, and viciously shaken him like a terrier with a chew toy. He'd live, sure- but the indignity of being mauled by an oversized Dog would hurt for months to come.

There were witnesses. And Cordy in particular could never resist the opportunity to needle him. And the fact that his favorite shirt was now soaked in Dog-drool

was just bonus.

As Angel came into the hotel, he caught the scent of an unfamiliar human; female, and young. She was somewhere in the lobby.

She stood up from a chair where she'd been waiting for him.

He looked her over- Long brown hair, dark eyes, good skin. About fifteen, he'd say.

"Angel," she said. Then the universe tilted slightly as reality made an adjustment.

"Dawn! What are you doing here?" he replied.

"Right then. If its nothing to you, I'll be on my merry way..."

Spike tried to pull free of the arm that clamped him against the side of the Bronze. His world was swimming, to some extent, courtesy of the fine folks at the Miller Brewing Company. Two fistfights and a minor scuffle, and he hadn't even knocked his buzz off. But he could feel sobriety up ahead, as he took in the Slayer's exasperated expression.

"No, you WON'T be "On your way". We need to talk."

Oh, ick. She wanted to talk.

"Why d'you bloody women always want to talk when I'm pissed?"

"Huh? What are you mad about?"

He shook his head at her, frustrated.

"Americans. No, I'm not angry, pet...I'm Pissed- Drunk. Y'know, loaded. Too many beers on an empty stomach, that sort of thing..."

She rolled her eyes and let go of his arm. Unfortunately he'd come to depend upon it for verticality, and slipped sideways toward the asphalt. She

grabbed at him, hauling him back up, trying to maneuver him down the alleyway towards his parked car.

"Spike, c'mon. Walk it off. We have to leave for L. A. tonight, you need to sober up so you can drive."

L.A. What was in L.A.? He couldn't quite remember.

Peaches. Oh, yeah, that was it. Peaches was in L. A., and Buffy wanted to go there.

His fuzzy brain tried to process this data, but even in its pickled state he knew there were some things that weren't adding up right. Buffy hadn't spoken to him since the other night, when he'd taken her home from the cemetery. He was quite certain of that, since he'd been avoiding her like the plague. So he was equally certain he hadn't promised to drive her anywhere. And even if he had, he couldn't imagine any circumstance under which he'd have promised to take her to Angel.

She was rambling on, now, and he knew he'd missed some of what she'd been saying.

He just hoped it wasn't anything important that she'd be mad about later.

"- and so when I saw the message light, I thought it might be Dawn. But it was Dad, and he was asking for Dawn here at home. When I tried him back, I got

no answer, but that could be 'cos he's out looking for her. I've got Giles staying at the house in case he calls back,

And Anya gave me her cell, so I can touch base occasionally, and-"

Okay. Somewhere in all that rubbish was something important.

He was sure of it. He played it back in his head, dredging for clues.

Oh. Right. Dawn. Nibblet-

"The nibblet's gone missing?" he asked, as his mouth caught up with his brain.

"Oblivious, much? Gees, Spike, I've already told you this a couple times. Get yourself together. We need to swing by my house and pick up my bag, and-"

She looked him over, taking in the red shirt, black shirt, jeans motif.

"I guess you don't need a bag."

"Buffy, I can't drive right now. I'm sloshed, snookered. Moreover, it's only a few hours till daybreak and we won't make it there in time."

Although the idea of a Road Trip with Buffy had its merits, he was trying to be practical. He'd live through a car wreck, most likely-but maybe she wouldn't.

He became aware of her hand in his pocket.

"ooh, Naughty, Slayer. I thought we didn't have time to play-"

"Can it, Spike."

Her fist came away with his car keys clutched in it.

"New plan," she said, opening the back door and sort of shoving him inside.

"Get under the blanket, and try to sleep it off."

Spike knew fear then, real and honest fear.

"Oh God. You're going to drive my car."

Dawn sat across the table from him, sipping the can of Dr. Pepper he'd bought her, looking for all the world like someone kicked her puppy. He'd been

gentle with her, not wanting to press. She had a reason for coming to him, and he knew she'd tell him when she was ready. He'd left her alone while he went to shower, and come back to find her still sitting exactly as he'd left her in the lobby. That was an hour ago, most of which she'd spent staring at her feet, or looking around the room. She'd said her dad didn't know she was here, and that was a problem- But he had no way of contacting Hank right now.

Angel didn't even know Mr. Summers' phone number. The last he'd heard, her father had been in Italy. What was she doing in Los Angeles?

She finished off the can with an unladylike burp.

"Sorry," she said sheepishly.

"It's okay," he shrugged.

"So... Are you going to sit there and stare at me all night, or are you going to tell me what you're doing here?"

She regarded him sharply, then asked him her question.

"Do you know me?"

His perplexed expression made her to continue.

"I mean, You know who I am, right? You remember me?"

He gave her a cockeyed grin.

"No- I am in the habit of buying soft drinks for strangers who let themselves into my house. How did you get in here, anyway?"

"I jimmied your door lock with a credit card."

If possible, he looked even more confused now.

"I mean- You know, I didn't hurt it or anything. Your locks, I mean, not the card"-

He leaned back in his seat.

"I guess I need a more State-of-the-art home security system. Where'd you learn to pick locks, anyway?"

"Sp- Somebody taught me. A friend."

"Not a very good friend if they're teaching you stuff like that, Dawn. I have the distinct impression Buffy wouldn't approve of you having friends like that."

She colored up, embarrassed, and he went on.

"Well, you're here now- What's wrong, kiddo? You look awful. And where's Buffy? Does she know you're here?"

She shook her head.

"No. Buffy sent me home with Dad. He's not much help, though- too busy with work, and he doesn't know how to handle any of this anyway. He didn't love

her anymore, not like we do. He doesn't get it, just tells me that I'm not dealing with it right. Like there's a right way, anyway? He keeps talking about "Grief counselors" and therapy and stuff-"

Grief counselors?

Angel interrupted.

"Dawn, what are you talking about? Grief for who? Who died, Dawn?"

His voice was intense, urgent. He didn't mean to frighten her, but she'd badly frightened him.

"I'm sorry, Angel- I just, I just figured Buffy woulda told you, or Giles..."

She raised her eyes to his then, and he saw the despair and anguish hidden in their dark depths.

"My mom passed away a month ago."

The bottom fell out of his stomach. Joyce? Joyce was dead?

Focus, Angel, Focus. The girl's just lost her mother. She needs something from you or she wouldn't be here.

"How? What happened, honey?"

"It was complications from the surgery. An Aneurysm, they called it. Buffy- Buffy came home and found her dead in the living room."

She was pale now, and shaking as she made her explanations. Angel got up, and walked around the table to stand beside her. He brushed his hand over

her glossy hair, and she leaned her head against his hip.

"I'm so sorry, Dawn. I'm so sorry."

He was centuries old, and still he didn't know how to do this, hadn't worked out a method for dealing with death and loss. Even when it was a stranger, he had this numb ache, and didn't know what to say, or do. But this, this was practically Family. He had loved Buffy.

Loved her still, in fact. And he'd been close to them all, her mother, her sister... Dawn was leaning in to him now, crying silently, and he let his arms go around her shoulders as he pulled her close. He had to hug her. He didn't know what else to do with his hands.

"I'm sorry honey. I wish it didn't hurt so bad."

She just clutched at him around his waist, and cried.

TITLE: Darkest before dawn #6 "interlude"

AUTHOR: Nmissi@aol.com

PART: 6/??

PAIRING: B/S

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing and no one. Especially not Spike. If I did,

what makes you think I would share him with you?

DISTRIBUTION: Want it? Take it. Just let me know where it goes.

RATING: R, for sexual situations

SPOILERS:IWMTLY, The Body, pretty much everything else.

SUMMARY: The way the story would go, if I ran the Buffyverse.

Spike woke to the light filtering through the shabby blanket. Instinct told him nightfall was still some good way off. He pushed the blanket off, sitting up inside of the darkened car.

"What time is it?"

She met his eyes in the rearview mirror, shoving fuzzy dice out of her way.

"About nine a.m."

He groaned.

"Bloody Hell."

At least the car was intact. He still couldn't believe he'd let her drive.

"Go back to sleep, Spike. We're about ninety minutes from L.A., I'll wake you up then."

He shifted uncomfortably in the backseat. It was one thing to have slept the wee hours of last night- He'd been smashed off his gourd. But now that he was in his RIGHT mind, the notion of sleeping quietly in the backseat while Buffy missed stop signs and red lights, careening through four way stops and up one way streets- no, he definitely couldn't see himself resting.

"I'm not sleepy, pet. Listen, why don't you pull over, let me drive for awhile."

"No."

"Er- what do you mean, ` No'?"

"Which part're you stuck on, the `N', or the `O'"?

He grimaced at her obstinacy.

"Look, it is MY CAR, Slayer. I think I oughtta"-

She cut him off.

"I said NO. I didn't have any problem at all last night. Well, okay, aside from your obnoxious snoring in the backseat"-

"I do not snore," he retorted.

"Whatever. But you might wanna look around for the spotted owl back there, `cos that was some serious wood sawing."

He wasn't fully awake yet, so a simple declarative was all he could manage for a snappy reply.

"Shut up."

She did only slightly better.

"Make me."

She reached into the side pouch of her purse, and pulled out a cell phone.

"Here. Hit recall #2, ask Giles if he's heard from Dawn yet."

He caught the phone she chucked blindly into the backseat.

"Watch it! You almost hit me in the head with that."

"Like there's a vital organ in there or something."

"Well, look who got up on the wrong side of the steering wheel this morning," he sneered, as he put fingers to phone.

"Bite Me."

He grinned.

"Lovely idea, pet. I think we can work that into our itinerary...."

She groaned in front of him.

"Just shut up and dial, Spike."

She decided he must have done so, since he began talking to someone that wasn't her.

"Yeah. S'me. Let me speak to the Watcher."

A few seconds pause, before he continued.

" The nibblet check in yet? Oh. Well, have you tried her father again? Oh, - I see. Okay. Will do."

He clicked a button, and the phone made an angry beep, so he hit another one. Frustrated, he pressed several more.

"How d'you turn the bloody thing off?"

"Hit the `talk' button, just like you did to turn it on."

He did so, and put his hand over the front seat, reaching for her purse. She didn't stop him, and he lifted it over and into the back with him, and put the phone into the side pouch.

"Giles talked to your father last night, coupla times. Says he's leaving for London at 3:30, so he can't meet us today. He'll be back noon, day after tomorrow. Said you could stay in his apartment while you're looking for your sis. "

She snorted in response.

"Your watcher made a point of noting that your dad tried to reschedule, but it didn't work out."

"I'll just bet he tried real hard."

The note of cynical pain in her tone wounded him, and he knew a momentary urge to rearrange her father's face, if not his day planner.

"Sorry, Buffy," said Spike, leaning forward as he brushed his hand against her shoulder in an awkward pat.

She absorbed the sincerity in his voice. It warmed her. She reached for the hand on her shoulder and squeezed it tightly. He leaned against the back of her seat and she felt his lips on her hair.

Unfortunately the cuddly- handholding - moment left Buffy driving with her left, and she was slowly swerving into the other lane.

"The road, girl! Watch the bloody road!"

"Sorry!"

She snatched her hand back and over-corrected, veering way onto the right road shoulder.

Spike white-knuckled the back of her seat.

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to go over so far. I'm just- I'm used to driving an automatic. I'm not really getting this whole shifty thing."

Spike chose his words carefully, and kept his voice even.

"Pet, you do know how to drive one of these, don't you? I mean, you've driven one before, right?"

She nodded vigorously.

"Giles gave me a few lessons when he bought his new car. I have it in theory- It's just the practice that's not working out so well."

That's it, he decided. Enough.

"Hey, what are you- Stop it! You're gonna make me wreck."

Her voice was edgy as he threw one leg over the front seat. Then he followed it with an arm, and his head, twisting around to drag his other limbs across into the seat.

He had hoisted himself up front, and was now sitting alongside her.

"Stop the car, Buffy. Now."

The timbre of his voice brooked no argument, and Buffy found herself pulling off to the side. She reached for the door handle.

"What're you doing?! Don't open the door, dammit."

She looked at him, perplexed, and he lowered his eyebrows and pulled his mouth into a line.

"It's a nice day out, yeah, but I don't fancy a sunburn right now. If that's alright by you."

She colored up.

"Oh. I- I wasn't thinking, Spike. I'm sorry."

He reassured her with a winning smile.

"Here, let's try it this way. You slip across me" he said, gesturing across his lap, " and I'll slide over to your seat."

She put her hands down on the seat, lifting up, and scooted over to him, putting her weight on one hand and on his left leg. He brought his hands up around her waist, and pulled her against him, snugly into his lap. She shifted against him, enjoying the closeness, and put her hands over his. She caressed his hands a few seconds, then let go.

"C'mon Spike. We don't have time for this."

"For what?" he asked innocently.

She gave him a stern glare, and he grinned at her. He knew her heart wasn't in it.

"He's awfully playful this morning", she thought.

"I'm serious. Dawn, remember?"

He groaned dramatically, and released her, pinching her rear before sliding out from under her.

"Spoilsport."

She flipped him the bird, smiling angelically, as he got them back out onto the road.

He'd listened to her story, maintaining his poker face throughout. It was absurd, the things she was telling him. What could have put such ideas in a girl's head?

"So Glory freaked out, and now Ben has primary control of the Body. At least for the time being. And I came here to live with dad, since I'm supposed to be dead."

Her face was earnest, and he knew she'd reached the important part by the drop in her voice, the telltale gestures of her hands.

"And I'm thinking, well- If the monks could fix everybody's memories, even mine- if they could make me up out of energy, and make me real to everybody, well- Couldn't somebody do it again? Change reality, I mean. Like make a spell that fixes Mom, so she didn't die."

Her eyes were upon him, wide and hopeful.

"I don't know, Dawn. If what you say is true, then the monks are all dead now, and there's nobody to do another spell"-

"See, Angel, that's where you come in. You're supposed to be this big important vampire, with a special destiny and stuff. God really likes you, you got a `get out of hell free' card, right?"

He wasn't sure what she was getting at.

"Umm. Yes, Okay- I'm supposed to have some destiny."

He scoffed at that, though, even as he said it.

"Well, I figure I get you as a go-between. You tell your `Powers That Be' to give my mother back."

She gave him a smile that was blinding in its innocence.

"Dawn, I don't know if that"-

She shook her head at him.

"I know its possible. The fact that I'm even HERE says its possible. If some cruddy old monks can make an energy-key-thing into a live girl, then somebody can make my mother alive again."

She saw the hesitation on his face and rushed ahead, desperate to convince him.

"And with you backing me up, it's practically a done deal. You're special, you're important enough so they fixed the rules for you once already- You can get her back for me."

"I don't know how, honey."

She seized his arm now, clutching at him.

"Just tell them you want her back. Tell them you won't do what they want you to if they don't send her back."

"It's not like that-"

"YES, it IS. You're Chosen, just like my sister."

"It doesn't work that way. It's not "your mission, should you choose to accept it"- They send Cordelia visions of danger, and I act to stop that danger. It's not like I can drop them a letter or go renegotiate the arrangement."

"But God likes you, you're `Chosen'"!

She pleaded pitiably.

He sighed.

"Yeah, I guess I am. Although being "Chosen" by God isn't all its cracked up to be. Ask the Hebrews what it's done for them lately."

Her face fell. His words were sinking in.

"You won't help me?"

It was his turn to plead with her.

"Dawn, I don't think I can. And I haven't the first idea how to do what you're asking of me."

The sun was peeking in through the front windows, now. He really needed to go to bed, and by the looks of it, so did she.

"Listen, sweetie. I need to figure this out. I don't know if what you want from me is even possible, and I don't really think it is. But I want to help you however I can. Will you please let me call Buffy?"

"No! No, You can't! She's got her hands full back in Sunnydale, She doesn't need to know about this."

"Well, your dad then. Surely he must be getting worried."

"He's on a business trip to London. He left last night, and won't be back until day after tomorrow. If you talk to your god, maybe by then it'll all be over and he won't even remember I was here this week."

He thought about all the rooms upstairs. It shouldn't be too much trouble to make one up for her. Of course, that probably wouldn't look right- Him living alone with a young girl, even for a few days- Very bad idea. He was still a little uncomfortable about the whole "Buffy" thing. Yes, she'd been very mature for her age- But the fact of the matter was, she'd been sixteen. Only a year older than her little sister here, he mused. It didn't matter how much in love with Buffy he had been- Angel still didn't feel right about their relationship back then. He'd been uncomfortable with his feelings for her then- And it was no less disturbing to him now.

Maybe he should find Dawn someplace else to stay.

"Dawn, I'm going to call a friend, and see if you can stay with her today. I need to get upstairs and get some sleep."

She was chagrined.

"Of course. I'm sorry, Angel- I didn't think. Of course, you're on the third-shift schedule, you're a vampire."

Duh, Dawn. Big Dumb Duh, she thought.

He gave her a quick hug.

"Let me go call Cordy."

TITLE: Darkest Before Dawn #6 "history lesson'

AUTHOR: Nmissi

PART: 6/?

DISCLAIMER: I own Nothing and No one. Especially not Spike. If I did,

what makes you think I'd share him with you?

DISTRIBUTION: Anybody, just credit me and let me know where it's

going.

Feedback: Please. Nmissi@aol.com

SUMMARY: The way the world would work if I wrote the Buffyverse.

Dawn watched as the leggy brunette exchanged words with Angel in the doorway. He looked over at her, then bent his head back to his visitor.

" I guess he told her about my Mom," thought Dawn, as Cordelia shot her a pitying gaze from the entryway.

She hated them, those knowing glances that people meant to be comforting. They always made her feel like a science exhibit.

Cordy entered, a whirl of pastel paisley in white sandals, clicking their way across the room She stopped directly in front of the disheveled teenager, and smiled at her.

"Hi Dawn."

She was trying to be friendly, Dawn knew that. But somehow she just didn't have it in her to smile back when she spoke.

"Hey Cordy."

Angel broke in.

"Dawn, I have to get some sleep. Cordy's going to take you home with her, right now, and I'll be over later to get you when the sun sets."

He turned to his co-worker, taking her elbow gently as he steered her out of Dawn's hearing.

"Listen, Cordy. I want you to try to get her to call Buffy. I know she'd be going out of her mind if she knew Dawn came all the way over here all alone. If she's tried to call her dad's house she could be really worried."

Cordy's confusion was obvious.

"Why can't we just call her then?"

"I don't think it's a good idea. She specifically asked me not to call Buffy. I don't want to go behind her back. If Dawn feels she can't trust us she may run... I don't think I need to remind you what the streets are like in this town."

They both spared a moment to think about the kids over at Anne's shelter house, and shuddered. Then Cordelia squared her shoulders and walked back to her charge.

"Listen, honey, think you feel like breakfast?"

"I'm not hungry," came the listless reply.

"Oh- Okay. We'll just get drive-thru then."

She waited expectantly. Dawn got to her feet slowly and with great reluctance. She liked Cordy, she always had. But Cordelia Chase came in two modes: Chirping Cheerful and Biting Bitch. Neither one really appealed right now.

Angel watched them leave the hotel, then went upstairs to bed.

" I can see your mother's influence here."

Buffy looked at Spike quizzically.

"How do you mean?"

He fixed her with his gaze.

"The style. The art."

He stretched his arms out, indicating the entire room.

"I'll bet she found most of these gems for him, didn't she?"

She looked away quickly.

"I wouldn't know."

They were in her father's Los Angeles apartment, a corner penthouse in a stylish modern high-rise.

Spike sat down on the white leather couch. They had been here about ten minutes, and still she hadn't really spoken. She was walking around the fashionably appointed living room. Occasionally she would stop to look at a picture, or to examine some knickknack. He wasn't sure what she was doing. How would any of this help find her sister?

"Pet? Shouldn't we be looking for clues, or something?"

Buffy looked up from a nice piece of Mayan pottery had been inspecting. For a minute she'd forgotten he was here.

She put the pot down.

"Sorry. I got distracted."

He got up off the couch and came to her.

"Maybe you should go lay down for a bit. You drove half the night, and didn't sleep much this morning when I took over. I don't mean to be rough, slayer, but you look like hell."

"I can't, Spike. I just can't. Not right now."

She paced over to the fireplace, her eyes on her sister's framed portrait on the mantel.

"She needs me. She needs me to find her."

He understood her need for action. She'd been manic for weeks, every since the funeral. But she was haggard and worn out. She wasn't at the top of her game, and he was worried about her safety.

"Love, let me do some of the work. I'll make a few calls, and come nightfall we'll hit the streets and search. Meantime, you lay down, and I'll search the apartment for clues."

He said this as he gently tried to steer her toward the couch, to convince her to lie down. But she balked, and he watched as she walked down the hallway towards what he presumed was Dawn's room.

Entering behind her, he found he was half-right. It was a guest room, suitable for a teenage daughter, or for someone else if the occasion warranted. Tastefully age-neutral, the lilac walls picked up the floral accents in the bedspread, and the pictures on them were suitably pastel and impressionist. Their white frames harmonized with the wicker furnishings. But the room had no personal touches, nothing in it said "I'm Dawn's (or Buffy's) room."

Except the smell- He could smell her in here, on the bed linens. He knew her scent, that unusual mixture of Baby Soft perfume, fabric softener, and bubblegum. For a moment, he felt oddly better, comforted by the fact that she'd been in this room.

He hadn't realized how much he had missed her.

"I can smell Bite-size in here, fairly recently," he offered.

Buffy opened the closet, but it was empty.

"She took her suitcase, I guess."

Spike opened the drawers of the dresser, finding each empty.

"Looks as if she never unpacked."

Buffy sank down on the bedspread, and the tears came. She sat there and wept brokenly, her breathing ragged and her sobs hiccoughing.

"I don't know what's wrong with me," she sniffled, " I'm - I'm usually stronger than this. I - I don't just cry. But seems like it's all I do anymore."

He stood there, powerless in the face of her despair. His hands worked at his sides, clenching and unclenching, as he shifted from one foot to the other. He ached to reach out to her, wanted to enfold her in his arms and hold her tightly. But he hesitated. Might she take it amiss? She was feeling weak and helpless already- He didn't want to reinforce that idea by trying to cuddle her. No, she might mistake Cuddle for Coddle and she might not take it kindly.

Cautiously, he approached, and sank down onto the bed beside her. She didn't repel him, so he put an arm around her shoulders.

"You're just tired, is all. You get some rest, and maybe you'll feel better when you wake up."

She pulled free of him, and he knew he'd somehow said the wrong thing.

"What do you know about any of it?" She said angrily.

"You've never mourned anybody in your entire life. You're a killer, Spike, it's what you do. I don't expect you to understand. You're not capable of loving, and mourning. You've no idea what Dawn is going through right now, how she feels, what she's lost. You've never missed anybody like she misses my mom. And you don't know how I feel right now, worried about my baby sister. You don't have family, you can't possibly understand."

That hurt more than it should, he reckoned. She was pissing him off.

"How do you know what I can feel, Slayer? You and your self- righteous pain. You think you're the only person who ever buried a parent? Or worried about a sister? I can tell you tales, girl. Death for you is so sanitized, so far removed from "real life" ...I'll bet your mum was the first one you've ever seen, that you weren't directly responsible for. Or all the corpses in your life- Grandparents, friends of the family, whatever- I bet they were all primped and pretty in their coffins by the time you saw `em, eh? Nice to look at, like they're asleep. All clean and tidy, and not stinking of their own shit and vomit. Dressed up for church and looking all peaceful."

She was watching him now. Her anger had shut off her tears, and she was paying attention. He was glad. He wanted to tell her, all of a sudden, wanted to talk about things he hadn't discussed with anyone, before.

"My father died of the pox, Slayer. It's a painful, disfiguring disease. It ate up a handsome face and made it grotesque. For years the bogeymen in my nightmares all wore m' father's bloated face. Pox'll do that, make y' bloat up like that, afore you're even dead. And it drove him mad too, in the end, making him to shout obscenities and hurl insults at us children. I was seven, and had

four sisters. We took turns at the bedside. If we'd had more money we could have farmed him out, or hired help, but we didn't. So the work fell to us kids... cleaning him, feeding him, treating his condition. We all knew he'd got it off the local whore, and how he'd shamed our mother, but still- You take care of your own, even if your own's a miserable bastard."

Her eyes stayed on him, but he didn't notice, now lost in his reverie.

"When he expired, I was relieved. It was so awful in the last stages, you see- We all just prayed to God to end it. Then it was over, and there was more work to be done. Ma Mere washed the body, and Polly went to get the neighbor's boys to help bury him. We couldn't have a proper wake, not with him in the condition he was- the whole neighborhood knew our disgrace. Laetitia stitched up a hole in his good suit. I was sent to find guineas for his eyelids, I remember, and I remember resenting wasting good money like that. Then me mum sent me out with the neighbor's boys to help dig the grave in the family plot."

He stopped for a moment, trying to remember the sequence of events.

"Anyway, we put him in the ground by that evening, in between his own da and a couple of my dead brothers. The babies, I think. Stephen would've been on the northside, if I recall correctly"-

He broke off, and looked back over at her a little sheepishly.

"Sorry. I wandered off the point there a little. But what I am getting at is this; I buried four brothers, two sisters, and my father before I was Turned. I understand grief, pet. I always have. I know how you miss your mum, Buffy. It's been over a century and I still miss mine."

She took that in. Spike with a Mother. Spike Had A Mother.

Wow- weird concept. Then she thought about Angelus, and she had to know...

"How did she die, Spike?"

Her eyes told him what her words didn't spell out directly. And the accusation cut him to the quick.

"I'm not Angelus. I never have been,"

His tone was hard and cold, but he continued.

"My mother died in a house fire in 1890, along with my youngest sister, Emily."

She sagged in visible relief.

"What about your other family members? What about your other sisters?"

"I coughed up a respectable amount of money to settle on each of them."

His brow furrowed, and a moment of pain passed through his eyes.

"What? What are you thinking about?"

He shook his head.

"Nothing. Nothing that matters now, anyway."

She could see how this whole conversation had unsettled him, and found herself reaching out for his hand.

"What is it?" she pressed.

He sighed, and squeezed her hand.

"I don't like to think about them, Buffy. They're all gone. Long gone. I miss them. I couldn't be part of the family, you know, after I died. That was the hardest part, I think. ..Knowing they all grieved for me and missed me, and I could never go home to them. If Angelus had any idea where they were- I Knew his cruelty, I knew what he would do. And he was my Sire, he made me, raised me, trained me....He would have killed them outright, or might've tried to make me do it. I would've been hard pressed to do anything about it."

"What happened to them? Your sisters, I mean. The ones that lived. Did you ever see them again?"

"My sisters Letty and Polly went to London, for their first season. I'd amassed a nice fortune in my first decade, and I spent it all to buy them husbands. They thought it was a bequest I'd left them, when the money came. I hired a proper solicitor to handle it, so it all looked legit. And I watched them at their balls, from a distance. I never dared to approach them, But I watched. Watched as they snared the biggest prizes of the season....A Marquis and an Earl."

He smiled then, but the smile wasn't happy.

" Not bad for the daughters of a debt-ridden, baronet who died in disgrace."

"I think you did good by them , Spike," she offered softly.

He snorted.

"There's where you're wrong, Slayer...My ill-gotten gains bought `em titles, husbands. But I wasn't there for them. Didn't see their children. Didn't know them, didn't see how their lives went..."

There was more to this tale, she was sure of it. Something he wasn't saying, something ugly.

"What happened to them, Spike?"

After a moments silence, when she'd decided to let the matter drop, he finally answered her.

"Polly's husband beat her to death when she gave him another daughter...The fifth, I think. Supposedly he went mad with disappointment and killed her by accident. Truth of the matter, though, was I think he wanted a new wife, one `could give `im an heir. Very practical."

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"Letty didn't fare much better. Her Marquis turned out to have a thing for young boys. He shamed her till she could not show her face in public. She... she never had any children."

He said that last like it was tragic.

She reached over to him, and held him. He buried his face in her hair.

"I'm sorry about your Mum, Buffy. Truly I am. If I could do anything to fix it I would. It's not right that it happened, It's not fair and it makes no goddamned sense. You still need her, Dawn still needs her, and it's all just Wrong."

She released him, pulling away and meeting his gaze.

"It's always wrong, Spike. It's just wrong to you now because you knew her."

She could see the wetness on his cheeks, and knew he'd been crying.

"Slayer, You don't get it yet. You don't get it at all."

"Then help me understand."

He wrenched himself away from her, and stood up.

"Buffy, It's not `cos I "knew her". It's `cos I loved her. I loved her, like I love you, like I love your sister... Your mum is the first person I've had to grieve for in hundred years! And so I'm doing it all wrong. I know that. But I don't bloody remember what I'm s'posed to do. And so help me, I hate it, Hate feeling this way, I hate hurting and watching you hurt and worrying about the Nibblet till it chokes me. It's wrong, I'm not supposed to have to feel these

things!"

Buffy glanced at the clock. It was a quarter to ten. Maybe he was right. Maybe she'd feel better if she lay down.

She lay back on the bed, and he turned to look at her. She reached her hand out for him.

"Come lay down with me."

He shrugged off the duster and crawled onto the comforter alongside her. She turned her back to him, and his heart sank. But then she scooted up against him, and he turned over, spooning her.

"We'll get up in an hour or so and see if my head's any clearer," she announced.

"Good girl," he said, throwing an arm around her and hugging her close.

He kissed the side of her neck, and whispered as she fell asleep.

"We'll find her, love. We'll find her and we'll keep her safe. I promise."