TITLE: Darkest Before Dawn #8 "Cordy"

AUTHOR: Nmissi

PART: 8/?

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.

Opening the door to her apartment, Cordelia Chase addressed her remarks to the air.

"Dennis? This is Dawn. She's going to be visiting us today."

Then she turned to the girl.

"Dawn, this is my apartment. Should you see any freaky stuff, such as things moving, turning on and off by themselves, don't get scared. My roomie is a ghost. And he's usually a perfect gentleman."

Dawn gave a strange look.

"Okay. Wiggy, but okay. ` Hi Dennis, nice to meet you'."

Somewhere in the apartment, soft music began to play. Cordy placed the McBags on the table and fetched plates and silverware from the drain board on the counter.

"I know you said you're not hungry, but I ordered two hotcake platters just in case."

She set the table, and prepared the cakes, drizzling her own liberally in maple syrup. Then she got a tub of Orange Juice from the fridge, and poured a glass for her guest. She got herself a cup of tea from the pot on the counter, and finally sat down at the table.

She just sat there, looking expectantly at Dawn. Finally the girl gave an annoyed "Humph" and slumped into the other chair, arms folded across her chest. She was the very picture of teenage obstinacy.

Cordy set about her breakfast, while the smell of food worked on Dawn to restore her appetite. As the older girl finished her plate, Dawn got started on hers.

"Well now- Good to see you've got your appetite back," said Cordy, as she took in the scene. Dawn was now scraping up the last of the syrup with the edge of her fork.

" Your appetite, and maybe a couple other people's too. I thought you Summers girls were afraid of food."

Nary a crumb left in sight, she'd made good work of the plate.

"Nah. That's just Buffy. She's been on a diet since middle school."

Cordy loaded the dishes into the sink, and filled it with soapy water. She chucked a dishtowel at Dawn.

"Here. You dry."

The clatter of dishes was only interrupted by the occasional question and answer.

"Where do these go?"

"In the cabinet over your head."

Cordy wanted to console the girl, wanted to get her to talk about what was going on. But she was out of her depths. She'd never lost a parent, and couldn't imagine what she was supposed to say to Dawn.

"I'm sorry" seemed lame beyond belief, and "It will get easier" was most likely a lie. So she distracted Dawn with normalcy, like eating breakfast and drying dishes. It was easier than the alternative. Sometimes, Demon slaying seemed so much easier than the real stuff. It was messy, sure. But human emotions were messier.

"Where does this one go?"

Cordy looked up.

"Oh. It goes with the waffle iron. Bottom shelf, behind the cookie Jar."

Dawn looked around the counter top.

"What cookie jar? I don't see one."

"Umm. Big cow? With the bell?"

Dawn located it, and was helpless not to smile. It was total kitsch-tacky and cute at the same time. She had to know. She reached out a hand, and lifted the head.

"Mrroooo".

Her laughter startled them both. Cordy smiled at her.

"What's in it?" she asked.

"Snackwell's. Devil's food cookies. You can have one if you want."

Dawn reached in, feeling around the cow's belly, and came up with a cookie. She bit into it, as she laid the dishtowel onto the countertop.

And then it hit her again. Like a punch to the gut it deprived her of air. The chocolate in her mouth tasted like cardboard, and she choked. Mom was dead. For a second, she'd forgotten, and was new all over again. Mom was dead. She was standing in a kitchen in L. A. chewing chocolate while her mother lay in the ground in Sunnydale Memorial Gardens. Mom liked chocolate. She would never split a box of Thin Mints with her mother ever again.

Cordelia was pushing something into her hand. A glass of water. And she was whacking her on the back.

"St-stop. Stop it. Cordy, I'm fine," she said, catching her breath.

She took a gulp of water.

"I'm sorry. You were choking."

"I'm okay now. You can stop pounding on me."

Cordy stopped hitting her, shamefaced and uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know what else to do right then. Did I- Did I hurt you?"

Dawn rubbed at her shoulder with her right hand, the glass of water still in her left. She must have dropped the cookie, she surmised.

"No, you didn't hurt me. I'm okay."

Cordy stepped back, and studied her.

"You were thinking about your mom, weren't you?"

Dawn nodded.

Cordy sighed.

"I really don't know what to say. I know I ought to say something comforting, uplifting and all that. But nothing's coming to mind except that I'm really, really sorry. And I liked your mom a lot."

"Thanks."

She thought for a moment. Then she brightened, and gave the girl a cheery grin.

"Have you been to L. A. before?"

Dawn shrugged.

"A few times. My dad lives here, you know."

"Oh. Well, I had some errands planned for today. Feel up to joining me on them?"

Dawn shook her head.

"I don't know, Cordy, I'm not really in the mood"-

Her hostess would brook no argument.

"Come on! It'll be fun. We'll hit Rodeo Drive, do the shops. I'll even buy you something, okay? Maybe some shoes, or something?"

She was trying to be sympathetic. Dawn got that. In her own weird way, Cordy was hoping to comfort her with credit. The hopeful look in her brown eyes was impossible to refuse.

"Okay. Just for a few hours."

Cordy beamed. She'd done something right, she was sure of it. She'd get the girl out shopping and for a few hours, she might smile like she had done, in the kitchen there, for a few minutes. She'd smile and she'd forget she was supposed to be sad. And that would be enough.

TITLE: Darkest before dawn #9 "Conversation"

AUTHOR: Nmissi@aol.com

PART: 9/??

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.

He slipped his arm out from beneath her head, and gently lifted up off of the bed. He didn't want to wake her; he had the impression she hadn't been getting much sleep lately and this looked like a pretty deep slumber.

The alarm clock on the dresser said that it was 4:30. They'd slept most of the day. Spike worried then- He'd only meant to lay down about an hour, then start making calls. He'd missed some crucial hours in their search. It disturbed him.

Wandering back into the living room, he located the telephone. A few minutes rummaging in one of the end tables produced a phone book, and so he settled onto the white couch to reach out to some contacts.

He thought briefly of Angel, then decided to wait. If they needed him, they'd bring him in. But Spike's history with his Sire made the prospect uncomfortable. There was a decent chance Angel would just stake him on sight. Not merely for past injuries, (there was that whole nasty bit with the hired thug), but Spike was guessing Angel might not approve of his newfound closeness to Buffy.

"Jealous Bugger." He thought, but with no real animosity. He was inclined to be pretty damn jealous at times too.

"Hello, Lovely," he crooned into the phone.

On the other end, a demoness he'd been somewhat friendly with in the past vacillated between excitement and annoyance. She was both flattered he remembered her, and peeved he'd not called in two years.

"Yeah, I'm sorry to wake you, I know it's an unseemly hour of the day...

"I'm in town on business. Yeah, It's great to hear your voice too... "

"Listen, pet, I'm looking for a little girl. No, No! Nothing like

that. Just a runaway. Name of Dawn. Long brown hair, big doe eyes...

She probably hit town Wednesday last. Anyway, I know you get around... Lord love you, I miss those days too! But I thought you might keep an eye out tonight on the streets? Look for a new girl? Real young `n innocent, like. `Bout fifteen I'd say. It'd be an awesome favor to me, Lillith. Really...Okay... Love you too."

He rolled his eyes and made kisses into the phone, then he rang off.

"Insufferable creature. Bloody woman always talks too much."

But then, that was why he'd phoned her. Lillith knew everyone and in Los Angeles, and she had a predilection for young men. He knew she frequented the rebellious teen scene here; and hoped she'd hear about or catch sight of a fresh new runaway.

He got up off of the couch, and went into the kitchen. His stomach rumbled oddly at him, and he realized he hadn't fed since early yesterday. A meal of butcher's blood at that.

"Nasty stuff, that. Hmm. Wonder if there's anything to eat in here."

He hunted around the fridge, and came up with a steak, and some prissy alcoholic beverage that called itself Zima. It wasn't real beer, but it was alcohol, and it would suffice. He swigged off of it, while he heated up a skillet and prepared the steak. He seared it on both sides, leaving the center bloody. Then, armed with food and phone, he went back to work.

Several calls later, he still had no real leads. He'd called the shelters, but they wouldn't give him any information. He'd called a few more associates, but that didn't really go anywhere either. He was hesitant to give out any real information on his quarry, not wanting to place Dawn in additional danger. Thusly he gave people little to go on. He played briefly with the notion of contacting the police, then discarded the idea. If Hank Summers hadn't brought them in yet, he wasn't going to. Besides that, Spike innately distrusted

law enforcement.

He checked the clock. She'd be up soon, surely, he thought. Then he picked up her god-awful purse from the coffee table.

"Hideous thing, this," said he, as he contemplated the floral monstrosity. Where had she put them? He rooted around, under wallet, house keys, makeup bag, toothbrush-

"toothbrush?" he queried, holding up the portable, in its own carry-case. Shaking his head, he tossed it back into the mix and kept looking. They were in here, he'd seen her put them back this morning...

"Aha!"

He clutched the box of smokes in his fist. Target acquired. He flipped the top up.

"ooh, very thoughtful. She bought a new pack."

He lit one, tossing the pack back into her purse, and the purse onto the couch beside him.

Behind him, he heard footsteps, and caught her scent. She stumbled sleepily into the room, and collapsed onto the couch with him. Reaching between them, she took up the purse, and dug for the cigarettes.

"Nasty habit you've acquired, love," he remarked, as she put the lit fag to her lips.

"I seem to have several of them these days."

He ignored that pointed reference to himself, and told her what he'd been doing. She listened attentively, nodding.

"I think you're right. I don't think she's left the area. We should call Angel, get him involved"-

His brow wrinkled, and she dimly realized she'd hurt his feelings. She kicked herself- She should have thought about Spike's Sire Issues before she brought him out here.

"Spike, I don't have time for your macho bullshit. You and Angel? Work it Out. If you think I'm going to let you screw this up for me, you can"-

He interrupted her, shaking his head.

"It's not that. Well, okay, it is, but the whole Me-Angel thing, It's not why I don't want to involve him. Not that I'm exactly ebullient at the idea of a little family reunion"-

"Ebullient?" she asked

He sighed.

"What kind of education do you people get these days? It means Cheerful, Joyous...Not exactly how I'd describe my feelings about Angelus...But never mind that. Buffy, Has it occurred to you that Angel might not know Dawn?"

There it was again. She kept forgetting that Dawn's origins were less than ordinary. He was right- Angel had never even seen her sister, didn't know she had one. All the memories she had of them together, Angel and Dawn- they were manufactured, and there was no guarantee Angel shared them. How far did the effects of the monk's spell reach? Did they go all the way to L.A.? Of course, Dad had known Dawn- But creating a "father" might be more vital than establishing a link to a sister's ex boyfriend. Without contacting Angel, she'd have no way of knowing. And if she called him, she'd have to explain all of it, the whole mess with Dawn.

"I still think we should call him."

Spike looked away from her, and she could see the tension in him at the suggestion. She was momentarily annoyed at him for it.

How dare he start this when she was already under so much stress?

There was no formal "arrangement" between them- She knew he loved her, but he knew she didn't return those feelings. How dare he start this jealousy crap?

She opened her mouth to go off on him, but he was dialing the phone, so she held her tongue and waited to pounce.

He listened, then made a face, and hit off. Then he redialed. After a minute he turned to her again.

"Number's been changed. Do you have a newer one?"

Her confusion was evident.

"What number?"

"For Peaches, Slayer. I'm getting a "your call cannot be completed as dialed." Do you have another?"

"Let me try."

She wrenched the phone out of his hands, and he made a face at her.

After a few tries, she turned to him, and caught the smug look in his eyes.

It didn't improve her mood.

"Damn you."

He lifted his eyebrow and gave her his best innocent look.

"What? S' not my fault he didn't give you the new number."

"Maybe not, but do you have to stand there gloating about it?"

He dropped the act.

"Sorry, Slayer. I didn't think about how it might have hurt your feelings."

She sank back down onto the couch.

"It did hurt my feelings. But worse than the hurt-feelings stuff, is finding out that I can still HAVE hurt feelings about it. It seems so petty and stupid, but it bothers me that it bothers me."

He watched her a moment, scrutinizing.

"What? What are you looking at me like that for?"

"I'm just thinking."

"About what?"

He looked a little embarrassed.

"I'm trying to figure out whether this is one of the times I'm expected to hug you and be all comforting-like, or if it's one of the times I'm supposed to provoke you and let you hit me in the face."

She looked up at him, astonished.

"Is that how you see it?"

"See what?"

"Us?"

He waited a beat, then softly he said,

"I thought you said there is no "us"."

She was silent.

"I'm sorry about that. About saying that. I- I hurt you, and I really didn't mean to. It's just"-

He came back to her side, then, and cut her words off with his hand. Her eyes above his hand were startled.

"Ssh. Don't say it. Don't say anything unless you're sure and you mean it. Whatever it is, for better or worse, you really can't take it back later."

He released her, and she stayed silent.

"Now then. Shouldn't we be getting ready to hit the streets? It's almost full dark. I had a thought, maybe we'd go in and out of the club scene, where the kids hang. If she's messed up, trying to escape her problems, she might be doing it there."

His unspoken allegations played in her head. "Messed Up". Escaping her problems. She pictured Dawn with the blood running down her arms, onto the linoleum. And wondered if there were worse to come. She could be "escaping" into anything. Drugs, sex, liquor...Kids did it all the time.

She noted with irony the ash falling from her cigarette.

She nodded, and Spike headed down the hall.

"Where's the loo?"

"Huh?"

"The loo, pet- The bloody bathroom. I smell like a brewery, I need a shower."

He looked her over.

"You could use one too, I think."

"It's the second door on the left, off the master bedroom. Um... Do you have extra clothes, or are you just gonna put those back on?"

She said this, gesturing disdainfully at his apparel with her nose wrinkled up.

"Well, yeah, I was."

He saw disapproval in her blue eyes, and continued.

"But if you could nip out to the car for me, I've got a bag in the trunk. Might be something wearable in it."

She nodded, and he was suddenly glad he hadn't returned the stuff to the Gap yet. Suddenly his embarrassing new wardrobe idea had new merit.

"Where are the keys?"

He fished in his pants pocket, and tossed them to her. She made her way out the door.

TITLE: Darkest Before Dawn #10 "Revelation"

AUTHOR: Nmissi

PART: 10/?

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.

She stared out into an assortment of demonic visages, seeking reassurance. But the light was in her eyes, and she couldn't quite make out Angel's face at the table, so she settled her eyes on a fixed point, and steeled her nerves. She'd chosen her music for its comforting familiarity. It was one of her mother's favorite songs. But facing a roomful of inhuman creatures, she was made to wonder- Had anybody ever sang Crystal Gayle in here before?

Her voice warbled and trembled, and in places it broke. But the song came differently for her now, than it normally did. She'd sang it last when her mother was still alive. The tears were falling freely now, but they did not stop her voice. She sang the words like she meant them; she was truly "Ready for the times to get better."

She sang the last words, and waited for the music to stop. Then she descended the steps from the stage, feeling weak and woozy. Suddenly arms were there, and a green skinned demon with horns collected her in them as she went down.

"Clear back, everybody, clear back. Just a little post- traumatic stage fright. Nothing to be concerned about."

She came around, and saw him again. The ugly green guy. He was gazing at her with such compassion- Suddenly he was jostled out of the way and his kindly face was replaced with Angel's own, rather troubled one.

"Dawn? Dawn? Can you hear me?"

To the Demon he asked,

"What's wrong with her? She sang, what happened?"

The host smiled disarmingly and shrugged.

"It's nothing- Just nerves. I don't guess our Dawn is accustomed to singing in front of people."

Turning back to her he continued,

"Lovely performance, by the way, sweetheart. I was very moved."

It was true; he'd been dabbing at his eyes through the whole song, and tear-tracks had stained his cheeks.

"Did it work?" She asked.

"Let's get you off the floor before we talk, okay, honey?"

Together the host and the Vampire lifted her under her arms, and helped her to walk.

"Here, let's take her to my office. Vision-girl, get her a glass of water at the bar; there's a good girl."

They got her into a lush room behind the bar, and laid her down on a small sofa along the wall.

She sat up, and Cordy shoved another glass of water in her hand.

"-Knew I should have made her eat something. We did Rodeo Drive from morning to night, and all she ate was burrito at taco bell- I should have known this would happen, I'm a terrible-"

Dawn cut off the distraught Cordelia.

"I'm okay, Cordy. Honest. I just have this thing about crowds. I'm sorry."

She realized Angel was timing her pulse, and she shoved his hand off her wrist.

"God, Angel- Overprotective, much? Gees. I fainted. No Big. Happens to all kinds of people."

She drank the water, and looked up at the host. He was watching her with those big sad eyes, full of empathy and kindness.

She took a deep breath.

"So. What did you see?"

He smiled at her again, and his flip tone belied his serious words.

"Well, I saw that you're about the cutest little warped portal I ever did see- Even in that atrocious Tommy Hilfiger Sweatshirt."

He shot Cordelia a harsh look.

Angel cut in.

"So, is it true? What she believes, is it, well- Real?"

His voice was sharp and desperate. He didn't want to believe her, she realized. He'd rather she were crazy than correct.

The host looked back at him.

"Well, if you're asking is she the-key-turned- pretty-human-girlie, I'd have to give you a great big YES-"

It was Dawn's turn to interrupt now.

"That was just Angel's question, I already knew that. What I want to know is if I can get my mother back. Can you tell that by reading my soul? If what the monks did, I can do too, so I can bring Mom back?"

It was back again, that horrible look of pain and sympathy.

It made her stomach turn over, made her want to wretch.

He placed a hand upon her shoulder.

"If it could be done, it would be a very bad thing, honey. Your mom- Her soul is gone on. You could bring back her body, or create a new one- But she wouldn't be in it."

"But why wasn't it Bad when it was done to make me? Wh"-

He looked away, but not in time. Not in time for Dawn to miss the look of hesitancy, the tight lip and clenched jaw.

She moaned.

"Oh God. Oh God. It WAS a bad thing, wasn't it?"

She started to cry, and Angel moved in to hold her, but she slapped him away again.

"Am I- Am I a demon?"

The nice green man took her hand gently in his own.

"No, honey."

"Well, do I have a soul?"

His gentle voice and soft smile soothed her, for a moment.

"I had to read it, didn't I?"

"Then why am I bad?" she wailed.

"Oh, no, honey, You're not bad. What was done to create you,"

His face twisted in a vulgar sneer.

"That was the evil."

She watched his face carefully.

"What did they do?"

He squeezed her hand, and searched her eyes with his own.

"Do you really want to know that, Dawn? It's not pleasant."

She nodded.

" I need to."

He sighed, and let go her hand.

"They needed a body. Somehow or other they got hold of one. I saw it, when you sang- Your mother. They needed flesh of her flesh, to create a daughter."

Oh God. Oh God. She was almost afraid to ask-

"Did I kill my mom?"

He was alarmed, and eager to assuage her fears.

"No! No, sweetie, that's not what I meant. My Goodness, no!"

His voice dropped, as he tried to explain it in a way that would not further damage her, but would convince her of the horror that he'd scene in her "birth".

"Dawn, your mother- She must have had another child at some point. Not your older sister, but another one. A baby. A- a stillbirth or a miscarriage."

He paused to let his words sink in.

"Your monks violated it, desecrated it."

He tensed, his fists clenched.

"Then they compounded their wickedness by trapping you inside of it. They put a divinity into a mortal shell, and made it human."

She didn't understand.

"A divinity?"

He smiled at her again, and took her hand once more.

"Yes, honey. You're a little goddess."

TITLE: Darkest Before Dawn #11 Distractions NC17!!!

AUTHOR: Nmissi

PART: 11/?

RATING: this part NC17 for SMUT.

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.

She could hear the phone ringing as she raced back through it, shopping bag in hand. She chucked the bag at the couch and made a grab for the receiver.

"Hello?"

"Buffy? Hi honey. Did I catch you at a bad time?"

She relaxed. It wasn't Dawn, but Dad would make a decent substitute right now.

"No. I was in the hallway, had to hurry to get inside before you could hang up," she puffed. She'd also taken the stairs rather than the elevator, but she didn't think she needed to tell him that.

"Oh. That's good, I guess...Have you heard from your sister yet?"

She shook her head no, then realized he couldn't hear that.

"Uh- No. No, I haven't. But we're about to head out, do some more looking."

In the background, she could hear her father's secretary.

"Hank? Hank, get off the phone."

Then she heard some more, but nothing she could make out.

"Dad? Is that- Is that Her?"

Her father's voice altered, becoming apologetic and embarrassed.

"Well, yes, Buffy. I told you I was in London on business"-

"And business means you have her in your hotel room at night?"

"It's not nighttime here, precious-"

But that voice was there, in the background. In tones too intimate to be businesslike, she was urging him to get off of the phone and come back to bed.

"You know what Dad? I really don't have time for this right now. You- You have fun. Go do - whatever you do with her. I have to go be a parent and stuff. Sorry."

She hung up on him with great satisfaction. That, That WOMAN.

She was why Dad was in London, instead of at home looking for his missing daughter.

She still couldn't bring herself to even utter the tramp's name.

"No wonder Dawn took off," she muttered.

Buffy ran her hands through her hair, and trembling with rage, she fetched herself a cigarette from her purse. Smoking, and swearing, she started going through Spike's shopping bag.

The Gap clothes. She remembered this blue shirt from that night at the Bronze, when he'd tried to sit with her and she'd shined him off. It was a pretty blue silk, and as she folded it and laid it on the couch, she realized it matched his eyes.

She paired it not with the khakis, but with a pair of black silk pants at the bottom of the bag. They still had the tags on them. As she tugged off the plastic clip and the paper tag, she noticed the receipt sticking out of the front pocket. She reached for it, drew it out.

She whistled.

"Wowzers. Way to spend Money, honey."

He'd bought a jacket, four shirts, three pairs of pants, a tie, a package of boxers, and three pairs of socks, for a grand total of 475.59. Then she realized what was so strange about this.

Not the clothes, necessarily. Even the undead get a makeover every now and then.

No, the punch line was that the receipt was clipped to a credit card slip, signed by William Walthrop.

Buffy paused to wonder if he'd ever bought anything before in his entire unlife.

Smoothing out the outfit, she laid the black tie across it.

Hmm. Her cigarette was almost gone. She'd been flicking ashes into a saucer, but her eyes lit upon that tacky vase on the mantel.

Definitely not her mother's taste, that piece.

She walked over to it and viciously stubbed out the cigarette inside.

"How dare he be with her, over there, while I'm here all alone."

She spoke aloud, to no one but herself, but in her mind she continued.

"How can he be doing that to her while the mother of his children is dead?"

She could hear the shower running in the apartment. Instantly the Buffybrain began supplying her with all sorts of images she really did not need right now. She could see the Ho. The Tramp. "That WOMAN", as Mom always decorously called her. She could see her with Dad, here in this apartment, screwing him...

On that couch. On that table. She pictured his massive bed, clad in vulgar sheets, and that woman writhing underneath her DADDY.

The shower- She could hear the shower.

She could see them in it, imagine all sorts of lewd things that WOMAN was doing with her father.

Buffy wasn't really aware of it when she stripped off her shirt. Or kicked off her shoes. By the time she reached the bathroom door, she was naked. She didn't allow herself to think about where she was going, what she was doing, or to see the symbolism inherent in what she'd planned.

It had occurred to her that she needed to distract herself with something. The cigarette hadn't done it. The careful preparing of Spike's clothes hadn't done it. But Spike himself- now there was a distraction a girl could get into.

She thought about his body- His hard cold hands, how they'd felt upon her skin. She pictured him, pale and lean and powerful, under the spray of the water.

She tipped the door open slightly, and peered in.

He was lit behind the frosted glass, his back to her. She could see the smooth planes of his back, his beautiful shoulders, the curve of his ass.

She slipped into the bathroom, the steam making everything seem somehow less real as she approached the glass door, and slid it back.

He jumped, startled. And she saw what he'd been doing, and felt herself grow wet, and hot.

"Damnit Buffy, Can't you bloody knock!"

She'd caught him in a most private moment. He was erect and hard, held in his fist. He was also livid; mortified....

She put her fingers to his mouth.

"Ssh."

She stepped into the shower and for a second, he was unsure if he was somehow stuck in the fantasy he'd been having. She brought her lips to his jaw, kissing along its hard line, as she stroked his lips with her left forefinger.

With her right hand she reached for him, below.

He sucked her forefinger into his mouth and she gasped. She stroked him, and kissed his jaw. She followed its line all the way to his ear, then she nipped his earlobe and he bit her thumb.

Their mouths collided, bruising lips. She grasped his shaft hard, squeezing at the base. He responded by cupping her breast, fondling it gently, then giving the nipple a vicious tweak. She began stroking him, in time and rhythm to bring him off. He tried to pull away.

"No. No, Buffy, stop."

She returned to his mouth, kissing him till he had no words. When she pulled away, he opened his eyes in time to see her settle on her knees, in the water before him.

"Buffy, you don't-"

She took him in her mouth and he decided to shut the hell up.

Buffy was finding Spike an excellent distraction. She concentrated upon the feel of his flesh against her fingers, the taste of him in her mouth. Vigorously she suckled his length, caressing him with her tongue, rubbing the head of his cock with the muscles of her throat. She could feel him pulsing in her throat as she buried her face in his dark curls. She was aware of him above

her, his hands on her shoulders, trying to pull her up-

"Buffy, love- Get up...."

His voice was harsh, strained. He was close and she knew it.

He wanted to pull her to her feet, but she was determined to finish him, lost in his taste and the texture of his skin.

Fiercely she seized his hips in her hands and shoved him against the shower door. His fingers were bruising her shoulders as he tried to lift her.

She was too strong for him. Her head bobbed and he released her shoulders, instead seizing her by the hair.

"Slayer, I'm going to- Ah Hell it is NOT MY FAULT."

She clawed his ass with her nails, and took him all the way into her mouth again, swallowing hard.

The friction and the tightness was too much to bear. He came in her mouth, hard, screaming her name and clutching fistfuls of blonde hair. She kept suckling and swallowing as he shook and held onto her for support.

Finally, she pulled back and let him slip from between her lips. He was leaning against the shower door again, holding onto the bar. He was panting, his blue eyes wide and impossibly dark, deep. She stood and turned away from him, grasping the soap and the washcloth he'd used. Fascinated, he watched her lather up: first arms, breasts, and belly; then moving southward.

She was a siren, and she would lead him to his doom. He was hard again already, just watching her. She turned her back to him, to put the soap back in the soap dish.

He seized her hips and pulled her against him roughly. He pressed a kiss against her throat, and his cock against her rear.

"This what you want, Slayer?"

She murmured something unintelligible, some sound that was need and want without proper words.

He reached under her arms and grabbed her breasts, hefting the small globes in each hand. He flicked his thumbs over her nipples. One hand traveled down to massage her pleasure center.

She moaned deep in her throat, and thrust her ass back against him.

"I asked you a question, girl. I will have a proper answer... Is this what you want?"

There was no mistaking what "this" was, she reflected, as she felt his hardness digging into her flesh.

"Yes. Oh Yes. Oh Please-"

He turned her around, switching their places, and placed her hands over the bar on the shower door. His hands over hers, he wrapped them around the bar, and kissed the side of her face. He released her hands and stepped into the narrow space behind her. With one hand he caressed her flank, angling her forward so she was bent slightly.

Then he slipped his hand lower, dipping into her damp center.

Gently, he angled a finger upwards, inside of her. She gripped it tightly, and he patted her rump with his other hand.

"That's a good girl. Nice and tight, love. Just about perfect, you are..."

He thrust his finger inside her, and then added one, and another. He looked over her shoulder, at the knuckles still wrapped tightly around the bar. Her hands were shaking with need, but she did not let go. He allowed himself to marvel at her newfound obedient streak.

He withdrew his fingers and she whimpered. He brought the wet fingers to her lips, his hand bent to shield her fluids from the shower. His fingers teased her mouth, and she opened it, taking his hand between her lips and suckling.

"Delicious, aren't you pet?"

She groaned hopelessly and ground her hips against him in frustration. He laughed.

"Ooh, aren't we the impatient one?"

With that, he parted her legs and rammed himself home. She shrieked, bucking up against him, and he seized her around the waist.

She was still holding the bar, he noticed.

"Very good, Buffy. You're still minding me well."

She gripped the bar tighter, and he lifted her torso up, straightening her, so that her back was against his chest. His lips against her ear, he murmured to her.

"Lovely, slayer. Lovely. I wish you could see yourself like this. All flushed, and hot, and needy. You're beautiful, Buffy. Beautiful. I could live inside you like this, forever..."

But then he pulled out of her and turned off the water.

"Spike?"

She was all confusion and heat. She let go the door and turned to him.

He slid the door open and stepped out.

"Did I do something-" there was a question in her voice. But he answered it by scooping her into his arms and carrying her out of the bathroom.

The confusion and disappointment was wearing off; now she was just plain mad.

"What are you doing!? Where are we going?!"

He tossed her unceremoniously onto the great ugly bed in her father's bedroom. She sat up on her elbows, incredulous.

"I did not tell you that you could stop."

He laughed at her imperiousness. She was adorable, naked and wet on the ugly red velvet bedspread, full of righteous indignation and stifled need.

He grinned.

"You really were out of it, weren't you, love?"

She eyed him with distrust.

"What do you mean?"

He leaped onto the bed alongside her.

"The water went cold, love."

She leaned back against the pillows.

"Oh. Well that's different then."

He mocked her with a turn of his eyebrow.

"It's different then, is it?"

She looked him over again. He really was beautiful. Somehow she'd never really paid attention to that fact before. But she could drown in those blue eyes, could watch his hands for hours.

Said hands were back at work, making certain the cold water did no permanent damage to his ardor.

She knew the sight should repulse her. He was kneeling on the bed before her...jerking off. That's what they called it, she knew.

But she'd never seen anyone do it before. And she was strangely fascinated.

He gave her a cocky grin.

"This do it for you, then?"

She parted her lips to give him a snarky reply, but just then an idea seized her. She smiled at him, mischievously, and lolled her head back onto the pillow. She splayed her knees apart and stretched, reaching her hands above her head.

She noted with pleasure his immediate response to the view.

She put a finger in her mouth, as his strokes came faster. She trailed the moist finger down her chest, playing with her nipples, and then reached between her thighs...

He lunged for her, tackling her to the mattress, his control broken. She gazed at him in triumph as he buried himself inside her.

He was magnificent, his glorious white blonde hair sticking up all over, the veins standing out in his neck. He rode her like a thoroughbred, and she gloried in it, every muscle tuned to his rhythm.

Finally he pressed his forehead against hers, seeking reassurance in her gaze. It was an unspoken question, but she gave her assent and he gasped her name as he filled her up inside. She screamed her release, squeezing him tightly. Then she leaned her head back and begged silently for the penetration of his teeth.

He shifted above her, his beautiful face becoming beautifully hideous as he lowered his lips to her throat. His teeth broke the skin, and she came again, harder this time, weeping his name, tracing her fingers along his uneven brow.

"Buffy?"

"Hmm?"

"Did you forget we have to go?"

Dawn. Oh shit. For a few minutes there, she'd forgotten all about Dawn. Buffy was ashamed and horrified.

"Damn it. Get off me, Spike. I have to get dressed."

TITLE: Darkest Before Dawn #12 Encounter

AUTHOR: Nmissi

PART: 12/?

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.

Angel carried the drink carefully across the room to the table alongside the stage. The bartender had sprigged it with a cherry, and an umbrella, but somehow it still screamed "Shirley Temple". A girlie glass, filled with pink, for a smidgen of a girl.

Said girl sat quietly at a table alongside the stage.

Cordelia was chattering at her, full of cheery smiles and affection, but Angel could see Dawn was just barely following the conversation. She was still very shaken up from the incident earlier this evening, and he'd have liked nothing better than to send her home right now. But the gang was here for a twofold reason. They were expecting a contact in regards to an investigation underway. Bringing Dawn had been Angel's inspiration- He had held out great hope that the Host could offer Dawn some guidance.

"Here you go- One cherry seven up, straight up with a twist."

He was grinning broadly, but Dawn just looked at him like he was stupid.

"Never mind. Here, just drink it."

He shoved the glass at her and she accepted.

"Angel- Over there, look!"

Cordy's whisper was a touch too dramatic...then again, it usually was. He turned his head towards the bar.

"Interesting."

He got up, and Cordy put her hand on his arm. Worry creased her forehead, and Angel forced himself to stop and give her his best reassuring smile.

"It's okay, Cordelia, I'm just going to talk to him."

The look in his eyes sharpened, and he continued.

"I oughtta see about his truck."

With that, he walked off, and left Cordy standing there with her hand out, perplexed.

"Okay. That made NO sense."

She plopped back into the chair, and looked over at her charge.

"You hungry? They have bbq wings."

She felt naked, even dressed in all these layers.

The exposed bite mark was the problem, she knew. It felt raw, hypersensitive- As if it picked up shifts in temperature and changes in air current around her. Her hands sought it out- She kept trailing her fingers over it, unconsciously.

She should never have let him talk her into uncovering it.

"Quit playing with it, Slayer."

She elbowed his rib.

"Watch your mouth, "Billy", or you'll ruin the whole damn disguise."

It was camouflage, he'd explained. It would make her untouchable, invisible, inside the demon bars. Two scars and a healing bite wound said to the world quite loudly, "I am some Vampire's Ho."

That, she figured, was the problem. She rather felt like one.

The way she'd gone after him earlier- Her face flushed at the memory. She was ashamed of herself. Her behavior had been wanton, lewd- exhilarating and shameful. She wanted to do it again, and was terrified she might.

He put his hands on her waist, and pulled her against him.

"Dance with me."

"Sp- Billy, we don't have time-"

His mouth next to her ear, he whispered.

"We're too noticeable just standin' about."

He moved his head back, and met her gaze.

"Besides- I'm good enough to fuck, but not good enough to dance with?"

His voice was teasing, but still she heard the faint undertone of hurt in it. She'd wounded his pride, again.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, and her breath caught at the closeness. The feel of him against her, his scent- they overwhelmed her senses.

He moved tight against her, easing her through the crowded dance floor.

"D'you see him yet?"

She shook her head no, struggling to pay attention to their surroundings. He grumbled under his breath.

"Poncy bugger never could stay where `e's s'posed to."

They'd been in and out of clubs all night, talking to people and showing Dawn's picture.

Spike had faxed it out to the homeless shelters and youth organizations that afternoon, but they'd had no response yet. Buffy was losing hope. It was as if Dawn had walked out of the Apartment complex and vanished.

In a dive a couple blocks away someone had i.d.'ed Spike, and tried to pick a fight with him by taunting him with Angel. The unintentional "tip" had led them here, to a karaoke bar full of demon customers.

Buffy was certain that Angel could help them find Dawn. Spike was less enthusiastic, but she knew much of his hesitation stemmed from ordinary male jealousy.

She had loved Angel- and probably still did.

And Spike loved her.

It was an unholy mess, guaranteed to break hearts and bust heads, eventually.

Buffy did not love Spike. But she liked him. She trusted him in ways she had trusted no one else before. It made no sense and filled her with trepidation. What did it all mean?

She wanted him. That was uncomfortable to admit, but she did. And the sex was amazing. He was her drug of choice, her new favorite vice. It had never been this way before, not with anyone. That thought scared her most of all. She was capable of complete surrender with Spike, letting down all barriers, trusting him utterly.

But she didn't love him.

She admired him, she enjoyed his company-

She caught a glimpse of his profile beside her and her breath caught in her throat.

-she adored his body. She could be honest enough now to admit that. She was fascinated with the shape of his mouth, the length of his fingers, the hollow of his hip. But he was bad; he was wicked. She worried that might be why she liked him so well.

Angel leaned in close behind the unsuspecting mortal.

"Hello Lindsay," he crooned.

Lindsay's head shot up from his beer bottle, looking into the mirror behind the bar. He smiled serenely at his lone reflection.

"Hello Angel," he drawled, lifting up his bottle in mock-salute.

"Shouldn't you be, oh, I don't know- someplace ripping off widows, stealing from orphans-"

Lindsay swiveled on the barstool.

"Nope."

He swigged on the bottle a moment, then wiped his mouth on his coat sleeve.

"Sorry to say it, but I'm just fresh out."

Angel seized him by the lapels, lifting him up slightly.

"I don't think you ought to frequent this establishment anymore, Lindsay. They don't cater to your type."

Still hanging from Angel's meaty fist, Lindsay grinned drunkenly, and slurred his words.

"Oh, I don't know about that."

He gestured with his short arm, indicating the room.

"Looks like the place's just FULL of monsters."

Angel shoved him back into the seat. For some reason, the boy always provoked him, made him lose his temper. It had been a long time since anyone enraged him quite like Lindsay did, and he distinctly disliked the feeling.

Stolidly he gritted his teeth.

"Finish your beer, and the Get Out. Don't come here again. Stay away from my crew, and me."

The boy raised his eyebrows, insolently.

"Or you'll what?"

There was a hollowness in his expression, a void inside him that reminded Angel of his own. He responded to it involuntarily, stepping away from him. Truly, Lindsay was not afraid of him. Lindsay was afraid of nothing.

Lindsay didn't care anymore.

It intrigued parts of Angel that he had always been certain belonged to Angelus. Irritated, he tamped down the unsavory emotions, and with a vampire's quickness, he had the car keys out of Lindsay's hand.

He addressed himself to the bartender.

"My friend here's had a wee bit too much to drink. Call him a cab for me?" He put his best efforts into the act, all phony camaraderie as he slung the other arm around Lindsay's shoulders. He pulled him in just a little too tight, just a little too close, and squeezed his neck hard with his fist. The pain failed to move the boy, who just sat there.

Then Angel caught a familiar scent in the air, and his night took another downturn.

"What the"-

He tossed a twenty at the bartender on the phone, and pocketed the truck keys.

He made his way out into the throng of dancers, following blood and memories as sharp as glass.

In the middle of the room, he saw him. White blonde hair, tousled and damp, caught the lights. Underneath them he danced. His form was grace personified, and Angel was reminded just how beautiful his descendants always were.

His back was to his grandsire, but Angel knew his own. Spike had come here. Spike was in the City of Angels, and his time had run out. He approached him through the dancers, and came to a stop right behind him.

He made his voice hard and derisive, his mouth curled in a sneer.

"William."

Spike turned around, and then he saw who his boy was dancing with.

"Buffy?"