TITLE: Darkest Before Dawn #13 "Skirmish"

AUTHOR: Nmissi

PART: 13/?

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.

 

      "Buffy?"

      There was hurt and confusion in Angel's voice.

      "What are you doing here?"

      "We came here looking for you, Angel."

      He eyed Spike warily, and the blonde nodded.

      "Yeah, Peaches," he smiled cynically, "we did."

      Buffy noticed the stiffness of Spike's posture, and winced.

He was feeling threatened, and pretty soon Angel would be feeling all betrayed...

It boded badly for the rest of the evening.

Angel's eyes traveled over Buffy, taking in every detail. Her lovely hair, her sweet mouth..

      When his eyes reached her neck, she remembered the bite mark and drew her breath in sharply. His mouth turned into a hard line and he looked over at Spike.

      Spike was always very observant. He was aware the exact moment his Sire put two and two together and got `lovebites'.

      * Oh, that's very helpful *, thought Buffy. Spike's stance had shifted. He had stepped back into her personal space, as if to shield her from Angel's gaze. His body language implied everything she didn't really want Angel to know about.

      "Oh, great. Listen, Guys- Can we Not Do This Here?"

      Too late, she sighed, as she watched Spike's head roll back with Angel's punch. He recovered, and launched himself at his foe, tackling him backward into a table.

      "Guys? Uh- Not a good time for this, really..."

      She felt the urge to enter the fray, and took her nice coat off to protect it. Then she asked herself,

      "Why should I?"

      She really couldn't come up with a very good reason. No matter what they would claim, this was So Not About Her.

      She shouted over at them.

"You know what? Go right ahead, spray the room down in testosterone.

You two work it out."

She watched them struggle across the room, into the crowd. Angel flipped Spike over a chair. Spike picked it up and threw it at him.

They came together again with fists flying, rolling into a pillar and dislodging the poster hanging on it.

      "What a really ugly poster," she thought.

      They butted heads, and rolled around a bit, each gaining and losing ground by turns. They seemed evenly matched in strength and fighting ability. But while they were pretty much beating the shit out of each other, no killing blows were being struck.

      Neither one had even tried to fashion a makeshift stake.

      To no one in particular, Buffy remarked.

      "This really is none of my business."

      She righted one of the chairs they'd knocked over, and sat down in it. Then, she dug through her purse and lit up a cigarette.

      "Not my problem," she breathed, smoke swirling before her.

She watched the crowd, moving apart, giving the brawl space.

      Ooh, Goody...they were coming back this way again. She leaned back in her seat, smoking, and trying to decide how to score this spectacle. Angel had it all over Spike what with the tossing him around, knocking him into walls, she decided. But Spike got points for his creativity and ability to improvise. He moved like a dancer, slyly stepping out of his Sire's reach again and again. When Angel slammed him into furniture, Spike kept a hold of him and usually

followed through with his feet, or his knees, or a handy piece of tableware. He was a master at incorporating environment into the combat.

      They rolled up pretty much at her feet, Spike on the bottom, Angel looming above with his fist in the air. She put a booted foot down on Spike's chest, and gave them both a scathing glare, flicking her ash down upon them.

      " Umm. Guys? Next time, let's do this with Mud or Jell-O."

 

      There was a green skinned guy in a nice Armani suit headed this way, and he looked mad. On his heels were Wesley and a brawny black guy Spike reckoned was a bouncer. Then he turned his head at the sound of Buffy's voice, and was surprised to see her shoe on him.

      Oh hell. She did not look happy.

      And Angel was getting damned heavy.

      "Peaches, you great tub of lard- get off of me."

      He shoved impotently at the tree trunk of a chest before him.

      "Off. Off. She's angry enough already."

      Angel's rage was wearing off. Funny how a couple dozen really good blows to the head will do that, he reflected. His eyes fell back upon his errant boy, squirming underneath him. Blood trailed from his mouth and forehead. But his eyes glittered with an excitement that matched Angel's own. It had been a while since he'd enjoyed a fight this much.

      He backed off of Spike, wiping the blood from his own mouth as he stood. Buffy rose, and finally Spike, getting slowly to his feet and warily taking in the scene.

      "Damn. We messed the place up a bit."

      He said this with a trace of pride, but Buffy glowered at him and his smile wilted. He found a nice spot on the bloody floor tile to contemplate soberly.

      The green guy walked up to them.

      "Is this the way you treat all your friends, Angel?" He was smiling, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. He sighed dramatically. "Or is this conduct reserved especially for me? If you objected to my decorating scheme so badly, you could have just written me a check."

      His glance swept Spike, and he smiled more genuinely.

      "I suppose you must be the favorite! The last time he had relatives in town, he set them on fire."

      Spike scowled and spit blood on the floor.

      "'E's no relation of mine."

      The host eyed the bloody spittle, nose wrinkled.

      "Well, he's handsome enough, I suppose, but really, Angel. In a centuries' time, did you never teach your children any manners?"

      He glanced around the room, at the destruction; the customers huddled in the corners or fleeing out into the street.

      "Then again, maybe he just takes after you."

      Angel had the decency to look shamefaced.

      "I'm sorry. And I'll cover all the damages for tonight, you have my word."

      Buffy watched the green guy snigger.

      "I think I'd really rather have your bankbook. But I suppose I'll have to take you at your word for now. Why don't you collect your friends and family members and take this little reunion somewhere else,"

      He sighed glumly.

      "Before you ruin the rest of my evening."

      He tilted his head suddenly as if listening for something, and then very sadly, continued.

      "Too late for that now, I see."

      Gunfire rang out from four directions, and Buffy recognized the warm whizzing sound of a crossbow bolt. It buried itself low into Angel's left shoulder.

      Several things happened then all at once.

      People screamed. The host ducked to the floor, and went under a table. Buffy dropped beside Angel, and he tried to free himself from the protruding projectile. Spike grabbed them both, one with each hand, and dragged them out of the brightly lit center, into the darker corner of the bar.

      "Angel? Angel?" Buffy's voice was frantic. He grabbed her hand with his and tried to reassure her.

      Spike was casing the room, from behind the cover of an overgrown potted plant.

      He hollered over his shoulder to them.

      "There's what look to be policemen, and some guys in nice suits, with guns. And that black-haired chippie what brought the crossbow. Ah hell"- he broke off, and she saw him dash out from behind the plant.

      Idiot vampire. What the hell did he think he was doing?

      Oh.

      He came back around, and with him was Wesley. Between them dangled a handsome young black man, bleeding from his neck and shoulders.

      She crawled over to them on her hands and knees.

      "Buffy!? What're you doing her?"

      "Never mind that now." She put her hands on the injured man, helping to drag him over beside Angel.

      "Gunshot in the neck, he can't talk, and he might be having difficulty breathing"-

      Wesley was babbling. Irritated, the blonde vampire shoved him over at Angel.

      "Get the bolt out. Where's the bint?"

      "What?"

      "The bint- Long legs, dark hair- mightily annoying? Well you're here," he pointed at Wesley, "He's here," with this he pointed at Angel. "Where is she?"

      His mouth twisted into a smarmy smile.

      "Or did I interrupt a romantic evening the pair  o' you had planned just for yourselves?"

      Wesley was staunching the blood over the wound, now, glaring at Spike before him.

      "Gunn, Cordy, Angel, and I were waiting for a contact." Suddenly his face blanched.

      "Dawn!"

      Buffy looked up, terrified.

      "What do you mean, `Dawn'? Is she here? Is she with you?"

      He nodded vigorously. Angel was coming back around, trying to sit up.

      He saw Gunn beside him.

      "Gunn? Wesley, how bad is he?"

      Buffy struggled to lay him back down.

      "Shut up."

      Turning back to Wesley she continued.

      "Where's my sister?"

      "Bloody hell! What is she doing?"

      Spike was gone again.

      "Dawn was sitting with Cordelia when the fight began."

      Buffy was torn. Her baby sister was out there, in that room somewhere, defenseless. All her instincts told her to move, to go find her and protect her. But the man she loved was splayed out in the floor beside her, bleeding. A few inches lower and he'd have been dusty. Part of her wanted to stay here and protect him, comfort him, cuddle him.

      Wesley went into Watcher Mode.

      "There are at least fifteen men. Humans, by the look of them. They have semi-automatic weapons. There's also a woman with them, but I didn't get much of a look at her. She's the one toting the `bow."

      He was digging into the pockets of his jackets, and her eyes widened as he thrust a gun at her.

      " Nine millimeter browning high power. There's one in the chamber."

      It felt huge in her hands.

      Then it hit her. Spike. Spike was out there looking for Dawn. And his opponents were human; he couldn't hit them.

      He was defenseless.

      She kissed Angel on the top of the head, and crawled out into the room on her belly, the gun inside her waistband digging into her flesh.

      There was still intermittent gunfire overhead, but most everyone had the same idea she did. She looked left to right, seeing humans and demons alike hiding under tables, behind chairs. She saw several wounded, and at least one body she didn't think would be getting up again.

      Laughter above her.

      "Don't think I got `im. He's not in this bunch."

      There was a man less than a foot away, turning over dead bodies.

      Buffy dropped flat and held her breath, playing "Dead".

      He moved on and she inhaled.

      Slowly, she crept. The lights were back up, which made it that much more difficult

      She'd reached the far side of the room now, and was losing hope. They could be anywhere. And the killers were still walking about, shooting whatever they saw move. But she'd seen nothing of the woman yet.

      A shoe sticking out from behind a speaker looked awfully, horribly familiar. It was wearing her shoes.

      She crept over, and got a good look behind the speaker.

      Dawn lay crumpled like a broken doll. Cordelia knelt beside her, bloody. Behind her knelt Spike, his hand over her mouth, as he hissed at her.

      "Shut up! Shut up! Damnit, I'm here to HELP you!"

      But she struggled against him with a strength born of terror.

Buffy crawled to them, and felt for a pulse on Dawn. It was weak, thready. Her sister was pale, and there was a pool of blood spreading underneath her.

      "Shot in the back, Slayer," said Spike, still holding Cordy.

      "We have to get her out of here."

      She put her face before the terrified brunette.

      "Cordy, listen to me. You have to be very quiet. The killers are still out there."

      The fear in Cordy's eyes told Buffy she was more worried about the killer back here.

      "Spike's going to let go of you, and uncover your mouth. Don't make noise or you'll get us all killed."

      She gave him a look and he did as she said, slowly.

      Cordy pulled away from him as far as she could, whispering frantically to Buffy.

      "Angel? Where's Angel? I saw them shoot him"-

      "Ssh. He's okay, he's going to be okay."

      Buffy stroked her friend's hair comfortingly.

      "He's over by the bar with Wesley and your other friend."

      Spike was turning her sister over, gently, examining the wound.

      "Entry but no exit wound."

      His face was hard, grim; his eyes wet with unshed tears.

      He looked up at her, and his face softened, his voice became gentler.

      "Buffy, we `ave to get her to hospital."

      He slid his arms under the child, and lifted her in them.

Buffy met his eyes, and understood. She had to clear them a path, it was their only way out. She pulled the gun out of her clothes and saw the approval shine in Spike's eyes.

      She had decent cover here. And it couldn't be that hard to hit a target this close. She only wished they'd line up together- She had one gun, and they had dozens, semi-automatics at that.

      Vampires, Robots, Demonic Critters from Outer Space- She could handle those things. But for some reason armed human thugs scared the pee out of her.

      Spike was speaking again, telling Cordy where the car was in the parking lot, but then he surprised Buffy.

      "Here. Take the nibblet."

      He took the gun and slid her unconscious sister into her arms.

      "But-But... Spike, they're human."

      His mouth twisted, and he looked uncomfortable.

      "I know."

      He slunk out into the room, and she watched him in horror and fascination.

      He managed to get behind the nearest pair of men easily. They were engaged in a ghastly practice- staking the survivors. She puzzled as to why anyone would be staking humans- an impractical form of attack when they had the guns.

      Spike twisted the neck of the taller man, catching his body as it fell. He relieved it of its automatic weapon, and fired Wesley's gun into the back of the other one's head. Then he turned, spraying the room in gunfire. Anyone standing was game.

      They returned fire, but in a few minutes it was all over.

They made there way across the room, calling to Wesley.

      He was on a cell phone with the police, reporting the incident.

      "Yes, "Caritas"...it's a private nightclub on"-

      Cordy rushed over to Angel, who had recovered sufficiently enough to be carrying Gunn in his arms like a baby.

      "How is he?" She traced her fingers across his dark forehead lovingly.

      "He'll be better when they close up those holes in his trachea."

      Spike joined them, studying Angel.

      "You still unliving, then, eh Peaches?"

      Angel smirked at him.

      "If I didn't know better, boy, I'd think you were worried about me."

      In the stress of the moment Spike lacked for a sufficiently snarky reply. He settled for a simple one.

      "Sod off."

      He turned back to Buffy, bringing up the rear with Dawn in her arms. There was blood all over her now, so much blood. Human blood. For all the irregularity of her origins, Dawn was human. And humans can die.

      He reached for her, taking her from Buffy.

      "We need to GO now, Slayer. She needs help."

      Together the lot of them trouped out of the building, into the night. They were halfway to the car by the time they heard sirens.

      "Should we wait for them?" asked Cordelia.

      Buffy flashed on the paramedics in her living room; Smell of sweat, and chemicals, sound of their radio bleating.

      "No. We'll take her in the car. Angel, can you get him in yours?"

      "Yes."

      "Good."

      Spike was conferring with Wesley about directions, having laid Dawn out in the backseat.

      "Right then. We'll meet you there."

      He climbed into the car, and Buffy got in beside him.

Cordelia looked between both vehicles, obviously torn, but  then she got in the back with the unconscious girl.

      Spike pushed the ancient car for all it was worth. Buffy noticed the needle hovering around eighty, but she said nothing.

Instead she reached across the seat, and put her hand on his approvingly.

      "We'll get there in time."

      He looked back over at her, and hoped she was right.

 

 

TITLE: Darkest Before Dawn #14 "waiting"

AUTHOR: Nmissi

PART: 14/?

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 muted rose walls and comfortable furniture were a thin façade; underneath, sharp smells of disinfectant and the hum of machinery reminded everyone present that this was in fact a hospital.

      Buffy and Angel stood together by the window, silently. Cordelia sat alongside Wesley with her head on his shoulder; she had long since dozed off.

      Spike paced the length of the room, back and forth between the windows.

      "She'll be alright, Buffy. They'll get the bullet out and she'll be just fine."

      Angel gave her his warmest smile and a reassuring squeeze.

Spike glared at him, angry.

      How dare he put false hope in her heart? The nibblet had a bullet imbedded in her spine. Even once they got it out, there was a likelihood of  complications.

      He thought back to his own experience with a wheelchair.

      "Please don't let it come to that," he thought.

      "I'm gonna go get a smoke," he remarked to no one in particular. Digging through Buffy's purse, he retrieved his cigarettes and left.

      Buffy spoke.

      "Are you going to be here awhile?"

      Angel's wounded expression made her feel bad for having asked.

      "Of course."

      She tiptoed up to kiss his cheek.

      "I'll be back in a minute."

      His brow creased with worry, and he tried to stop her.

      "Buffy, I don't think"-

      She dismissed him with forced cheeriness.

      "Be right back."

      And she was gone.

 

      He saw her coming through the glass doors at the front of the building, out into the cold towards him. Fear hit him like a punch to the stomach, and he withdrew the fag from between his lips. He hadn't really hoped she'd follow him out here. Or maybe something had happened-

      "What is it? The nibblet out of surgery already?"

      She shook her head no, reaching for the lit fag in his hand.

He passed it to her, and watched her bring it to her lips, pursing them around the filter, drawing the smoke into her mouth.

      "Lucky cigarette", he thought, to be between those soft lips.

      "No, nothing's changed upstairs."

      She was talking about Dawn, but his gut told him there was more to it than that. Nothing had changed- Angel was up there, Angel was the one she loved, and Angel was the one she'd been clinging to every since they got here.

      But then what was she doing downstairs with him?

      They shared the cigarette in the cool night air, the light from the streetlamp bathing them in a blue haze.

      She'd been crying when they got here, silent crying, not the kind that made her gasp and hiccough. Angel had taken her into his big arms, let her bury her face in his massive chest, and comforted her.

      Spike had talked to the doctors, talked to the policemen, and filled out the forms.

      "Have you called Giles yet?" he asked her between breaths of nicotine.

      She shook her head.

      "I'm waiting til she's out of surgery. No sense worrying Giles about it yet. He couldn't get here anyway, not til tomorrow."

      She was probably right.

      "Any news on the other fellow?"

      "Not since you left."

      They stood in silence, and he lit another fag.

      Unspoken feelings hung heavy in the air between them. He was hurt and angry. She resented his pain, resented him imposing it on her at a time like this. They were both terrified for the child upstairs in the operating room.

      Yet they didn't discuss any of it.

      "You haven't fed yet. Do you need to get something to eat?"

      He shook his head at her and Buffy grew worried. She couldn't remember the last time he'd fed.

      "Are you hungry? You want to get something to eat?"

      She looked back at him, contemplating his question. She'd had little or no appetite since her mother died. That fact manifested itself in her hollow cheeks and ill-fitted clothing.

      "Not really."

      He considered her for a minute.

      "No, you need to eat. C'mon, we'll go get sandwiches and take them  upstairs. Cordelia and Wussly might appreciate the thought."

      He stubbed out the cigarette and she followed him back into the building.

 

      Upstairs, Angel sat alone in a chair in the waiting room.

Wesley and Cordelia slept across from him in the silence.

      He thought about them, downstairs, and knew a gnawing hollow antipathy inside. Oh, he was quite sure they weren't DOING anything- not with Dawn lying on an operating table in there. But the fact that she was WITH him, that she had let him-       Angel couldn't even bring himself to think about it without feeling Angelus-like rage stir within. He'd done the right thing; he'd let her go so that she could have a "normal life", one that included marriage and kids, a life with a future.

      What she'd done with that sacrifice mocked it. She'd gone into the arms of his childe, she'd bedded a soulless demon.

      It made him feel less like the love of her life, and more like just one of her "Type"…How special could he be to her, if she'd gone off with another  vampire? It tarnished the sanctity of their entire relationship. It made him think less of her.

      And Spike. He wasn't sure how he felt about his childe, anymore, and that scared him badly. There had been a strange sense of comfort in being on the same side again, even if this time they'd both been fighting the good fight. And whatever was going on between his childe and his ex-lover, he didn't doubt Spike's affection for Buffy.

      It was evident in the way he looked at her, the way he touched her. Spike was in love with the mortal Buffy Summers, and apparently doted on her mortal baby sister.

      And the gentle way he'd cradled that poor child in his arms, her blood staining his clothes- For a minute Angel had loved him again, the way Angelus once loved William. There was beauty in Spike, a darkly sensual amor fati; no matter where he was, or what he was doing, his boy was triumphant. William was beautiful in his suffering, beautiful in his anger, beautiful in his passions. He'd never had that kind of vibrancy in himself, and  he missed it. He had missed it for so long. It was hard to face the emotions he'd had as Angelus; they frightened, and sometimes repulsed him. But this had been a year for getting in touch with his darker self. At times, the past was so close to the surface he could almost touch it. Darla had been an unpleasant instance of that- but it was like touching a reflection on the surface of water;  his hands hit it and rendered it inscrutable. It was hard for Angel to accept that Angelus had been blessed with some things he as Angel himself lacked. Among those blessings had been his childer. Angel had friends, but he had no family. Occasionally he was just plain lonely. And for a few minutes tonight, he hadn't been. It galled him.

      They came back into the waiting room.

      "Hello Peaches."

      Spike's hands were full with sandwiches, chips. Buffy held a row of cokes along one arm.

      She thrust one at him, offering. He gave her an odd look and she pulled her hand back.

      "Told you `e wouldn't eat anything." Spike said.

      She ignored him and sat the food onto the table before the couch, atop some magazines.

      She sat on the other couch, facing away from the window towards where Cordy and Wesley slept.

The sharp crack of a pop tab was loud in the room, as Spike sucked on a Dr. Pepper.

      "Slayer, you need to eat something. You `aven't had anything to eat since we got here."

      She rolled her eyes at him.

      "I told you I'm just not hungry, Spike."

      He ripped open an egg Salad sandwich and sat down beside her.

      "Here. Split it with me."

      She sighed and took it, biting off one corner of the triangle.

      "Happy? Damn thing tastes like cardboard."

      "Yeah, I am. Now finish it."

      He worked on his half, and then tore open some Fritos. She made a face at him, and he crunched them loudly.

      Angel leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. It was getting close to morning, and they were all still sitting around in their blood-splattered clothes. A couple nurses had offered them scrubs, but there'd been no takers.

      A man in blue scrubs came out into the waiting room.

      "Excuse me…are any of you here with Mr. Gunn?"

      Angel's head shot up, eyes open.

      "We are. How is he?"

      Cordy and Wesley untangled themselves upon the sofa.

      "Can we see him yet?" Cordelia asked.

      "He's still asleep. He'll rest for some time yet- Anesthetics work that way," the doctor said, smiling.

" But he should be fine.  It'll be a few days before he starts to recover his voice, but he's a very lucky man. Two bullets in the neck, and neither one damaged his spinal cord."

" A nurse was going to bring you some forms…Do any of you know the name of his primary insurer?"

Angel stood up, and stopped Cordelia from rising.

"I'll go take care of this."

He turned to the doctor.

"Can anyone go into the room with him yet?"

"I don't see why not."

"Good. Cordy, I'll take care of the insurance forms- why don't you and Wesley go sit with him until he wakes up?"

He moved close to Cordelia, and dropped his voice.

"It's getting close to sunrise, so"-

She nodded, putting her hand on his arm.

"You go. We'll handle things here. And we'll call you as soon as we know anything."

Her eyes drifted over to Buffy and Spike, eating on the other side of the room.

"Anything. Okay, Angel?"

He nodded and hugged her.

Then he went over to the others.

"The sun is coming up soon, so.."

He let the sentence hang. It was not quite an invitation, but his childe knew it for what it was.

"S'okay, "Dad". I have someplace to sleep."

His tone was suggestively lewd. Angel sucked in dead air and fought not to rise to the bait.

"You go on home, Angel. Here."

She scrounged in that monster purse for a pen and piece of paper.

"This is the number for Anya's cell phone. I've got it with me right now. I'd offer to call you when Dawn get out of surgery but you've changed your number."

He tried to ignore the pointed tone of the comment as he accepted a phone number written on a gum wrapper. Buffy stood up, and embraced him. He squeezed her middle, and kissed the top of her head.

"I love you," he said, his eyes meeting Spike's above her.

"Love you too, Angel," she said. Behind her Spike rolled his eyes and burped loudly.

He let her go, and went to deal with mundane details like primary carriers and co-payments.

 

Now alone in the waiting room, Spike and Buffy waited.

"Do you think"- she began.

"No." he answered, following her train of thought by the look of horror in her eyes.

"Little bit's tougher than that. She'll pull through, right as rain.

Didn't you hear Cordelia? Your baby sister's a Goddess."

      His tone was light and reassuring. But his words gave her an idea.

      Quickly she was back in her purse, pulling out the cell phone.

      He was perplexed by her actions.

      "Who're you calling, Slayer?"

      She ignored him, her hand over her non-phone ear. She waited to hear the machine pick up.

      "Ben? Ben, You better not be working third shift at the hospital tonight... Pick up, Ben. It's Buffy. I need your help.

Something…something's happened to Dawn."

 

TITLE: Darkest Before Dawn #15 "Prayer"

AUTHOR: Nmissi

PART: 15/?

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 looked deceptively healthy lying in the bed. Her skin had pinked up with transfusions, and the drugs in her IV kept her in an unnatural sleep that looked restful. She was Sleeping Beauty, reclining amid green blankets. The only light present was above and behind her, bathing her in its iridescent glow, like a spotlight.

      Next to the bed, the machinery beeped and whirred, marking time. In a chair alongside of her sat the vampire, head slumped forward into his hands. He wore her blood like a souvenir, marking his clothes with her scent, her humanity.

      It was close to sunrise, but he had not left. Instead he'd pulled one of the chairs in the room over as far from the window as he could, and had not moved from that spot in hours.

Across the room, under the window, Buffy slept. A nurse had her brought pillows, a blanket. Spike had rejected the offer of these amenities.

      He was too busy castigating himself to care if the room was chill, or the chair uncomfortable. He slept in a Crypt, for chrissakes; he wasn't some soft human. And he wished to God all the nurses would quit looking at him the way they did. Their sad, soft looks, their gentle voices…They all thought it sweet, his devotion to the little girl. It was a sick joke.

      He wanted to shout at them, to seize them by their stubby necks and shake them til their big doe eyes rolled back in their skulls. He neither needed nor wanted their sympathies.

      While he'd been dancing with her sister, his head full of filthy thoughts; while he was brawling on the floor with his grandsire, someone had been readying the weapon that fired the bullet that hit the Nibblet.

      He thought of Joyce, and for the first time, he was glad she wasn't alive to see this. He wondered if she could see them up there, wherever "Heaven" was, and was ashamed of himself. He'd failed her.

The one person in a century to treat him like a human being, the first person to care about him since he died- and he'd repaid her trust, her faith in him, so badly.

      He'd been thinking with his dick and his wounded pride, and he'd let her baby get shot in the back.

      Buffy stirred, waking to the early morning gloom.

      "What time is it?" she asked.

      "Seven something."

      She sat up, shucking off the thin hospital blankets.

      "Ben should be here by two o'clock, if his shift ended on time."

      He regarded her doubtfully.

      "How d'you even know `e's coming?"

      She looked out the window, her thoughts elsewhere.

      "He'll come. It's Dawn- He'll come."

      Spike shrugged.

      "Whatever. Don't know what good another doctor'll do, though."

      He looked hopelessly at the figure in the bed.

      "Is he some sort of specialist or something?"

      Buffy stood up, stretching. The blood had dried her clothes stiff, and her shirt moved oddly with her.

      "No. He's not a specialist."

      She looked at him again, walking over to the bed.

      "Spike, how much do you remember about the night I brought you home from Glory's?"

      He shuddered involuntarily when he heard the name, and a panicked tightness began in his chest.

      He struggled to answer her without looking as frightened as he felt.

      "Not much, love; I was rather unconscious for most of it."

      She stood across from him now, stroking Dawn's cheek with her hand. Her eyes raised up to meet his, as she explained further.

      "Ben is special, Spike. He's- Well, he's sort of Glory's brother."

      His stomach turned over, and it felt like a living thing was trying to claw its way out of his throat. He gasped for breath he didn't need.

      "You're bringing that mad twit's BROTHER here? Oh My God. Buffy, are you DAFT? What if he tells her about Bite size, what if he- "

      She soothed him in soft, reassuring tones.

      "Spike, He helped me get you and the Bot into the car that night. He helped get us out of her house. Believe me, no one wants Glory gone more than Ben does."

      He stilled his nerves. Relax, Spike, Relax. The Slayer is a bright girl, she knows what she's doing.

      "I still don't understand, slayer- So the bitch Goddess has a brother- what's he going to do for the Nibblet?"

      She reached across the bed, taking his hand in hers.

      "Well, the way he explains it, Glory's is a Goddess of the moon, she inflicts Moon madness- she makes people crazy. But Ben, he's a God of Healing. That's why he works as a doctor, here in our world- He can heal people. I'm going to see if he can heal Dawn."

      She took in their disarray, and finally noticed what they smelled like.

      "Spike, maybe we should go home, get changed, before he gets here."

      He finally realized they still looked like they'd been to a charnel house. His vampiric senses should have been repulsed by the scents of drying blood, rancid beer, and gunpowder residue. But only now that she pointed these things out to him, did he notice them.

      "I'll go move the car around, into the garage."

      They were parked out on the street, in the daylight. At least the garage was dark, it should afford him some protection.

      "Give me about fifteen minutes, then come downstairs. I'll try to park by the elevators."

      He flipped her his car keys wordlessly, and watched her leave.

      He was alone now, with the girl.

      His mind raced through images of her, as he'd known her in her short life. Laughing in her mother's kitchen, needling him while they broke into the magic shop. He could see her eyes, round like saucers, as he told her his stories and scared the bejesus out of her.

      He remembered the confusion and anguish in her eyes when she'd come to tell him about Joyce, and his heart hurt.

      Long, thin fingers dug through his hair, finally meeting in his lap where he twisted them, wringing them nervously in his lap.

Joyce. It always came back to Joyce.

      She should be here. If she were alive, this would never have happened, the Nibblet would have been safe at home, snug in her bedroom, instead of in a Los Angeles bar depending upon the protection of Monsters.

      It had been over a hundred years since last he'd felt the urge to pray, to anything. But this morning, in a hospital room in the city of Angels, William Walthrop, Spike the Vampire, bowed his head and stumbled over his words.

      "Er. A-hem. You up there- Whoever you are. This is Spike. Umm, William Walthrop. We haven't talked in a good long while."

      He broke off his impromptu prayer and wished for the days of rosary beads and rote recitation. It had been a damn sight easier than this.

      " Listen, I know you don't owe me a damn thing, evil sonofabitch that I am. I'm not one of your creatures and I haven't been for a long time. And I have no right to come asking you for favors."

He looked at the child on the bed, her dark hair spread like a silk curtain beneath her, so young, so lovely. The sight of her emboldened his nerve, and he continued.

" But She's innocent, Lord. She's good and sweet and her sister needs her. I need her. Okay, scratch that- My needs aren't exactly your problem anymore. But little bit here, she's special. Not just because she's some sort of supernatural entity. Like you give a bloody damn about that, anyway.  But because she's a wonderful girl, God. She's got such potential… I want to see what she grows up to be, want to see what she can do for the rest of the damn world. It'd be tragic if you take her out of it, really. S'not like humanity's got all that

much going for it anyway, why d'you want to take the best ones? I mean, you already took Joyce. Wasn't that enough?"

The sunlight was filtering in through the window, and outside he could hear the noise of the street. The world went on outside, but for him, the world stopped inside this room.

" So I'm making a one-time offer, here. You give her back to us, whole and healthy, and I'll do anything you ask me to. Anything you want. You want me to take a noonday stroll? Done. Go vegetarian? No problem. I'll live on cow blood til I dry up and blow away. You want me to go all poofy, don the cape and hair gel and go work for Angel?

In a second. Just don't take her away, God, please. Don't take her, and don't punish her any more."

      He was weeping now that there was no one to hide it from.

Just God, well, and maybe Joyce, but she'd seen it before. He prayed with a fervor his mortal self had never known, prayed with human desperation and human love. And hope came to him, amid his fevered promises,  beating in his breast like a heartbeat.

      He was too busy praying to notice it was his own.

 

TITLE: Darkest Before Dawn #16 "See you" NC17

AUTHOR: Nmissi

PART: 16/?

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.

 

      Ben had not come at two o'clock. Eventually Buffy had called the hospital, and they now expected him to arrive sometime tomorrow, along with Giles. Even gods were constrained by last-minute shift scheduling, and airline delays.

Buffy had finally called her father at six that evening, and Hank was taking the first flight out of Heathrow tomorrow night. In the meantime, Buffy kept her vigil at Dawn's bedside, watching, waiting.

      The surgeon's had induced the coma to protect her after the surgery. She had major swelling around the spinal cord, and there was some question as to how much feeling she might have retained. But that would be an unknown until she woke up tomorrow.

      Spike watched Buffy from his chair. She could feel his eyes on her face, studying it. A month ago she'd have found it freaky; now it was comforting. He loved her. Amid the rushing waves of despair that kept threatening her, he was something to cling to, so she didn't go under.

      She knew she was using him. She also knew he didn't much mind.

      "It's getting late, Slayer."

      She looked up at him, exhaustion in her eyes.

      "I know, I know. I just- I don't like the idea of leaving her alone, Spike."

      He put a hand on her shoulder. His voice was gentle, but firm.

      "She won't be awake until tomorrow, pet. And I don't really think you can go another night sleeping in that chair."

      He rubbed the back of his neck.

      "I bloody well know I can't."

      Damn. She hadn't given his comfort a thought. She knew she was tired, and her back hurt, but she'd not thought that a vampire might become physically tired doing the sickbed ritual. It was strange, because she led such a physical life- but this sitting here hopelessly was draining. It made her bone weary. But she'd never thought it could affect him the same way.  She'd never even thought

to ask him if he wanted to go somewhere else, if he was tired, or ...

She startled.

      "Spike, when did you eat last?"

      He sighed.

      "When we split the egg sandwich earlier, love. Remember?"

      "That's not what I meant."

      His eyes widened.

      "Dunno. Guess it was yesterday."

      She grabbed her purse and his coat, and leaned across her sister.

      "We'll be back in the morning, punkinbelly,"

      She kissed her forehead, and smoothed her hair.

      "I love you."

      She stepped back, and Spike stepped up to the bedside.

      His voice suffused with affection, he squeezed her little hand in his larger one and spoke to her.

      "Good night, Nibblet. Dream sweet, love."

      Then they headed out.

 

      The loud crack as he slammed the car door did little for her brittle nerves.

      "Damn it, Spike. I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry. Look, It's not my fault they don't sell it at the Food Lion."

      He was being unreasonable, and he knew it. But they'd been to three groceries, and not a single butcher would sell them a container of blood. They'd received weird looks, and a few suggestions to enquire elsewhere. Two other grocers had even lacked a butcher on staff; hiring their meat delivered prepackaged, and one would presume, pre-drained at some remote location.

      He supposed Life On the Hellmouth had spoiled him; blood was sold right there in the refrigerator case alongside matching containers of organ meats.

      She waited for him now at the elevator door, and he grudgingly hefted three plastic grocery sacks from the trunk.

      At least there were weetabix in one of them, Spike consoled himself.

      She tapped her foot at him and flicked ashes into an empty coke can, carried in her other hand. It'd been her excuse for why she didn't need to carry grocery sacks.

      He began to regret ever picking her up in the car that night.

Since then, he'd been beaten up, shot at, cried on, bled on, starved... And the worst indignity of all- the bitch kept stealing his smokes.

      "Come ON, `William'."

      He told himself he was NOT hurrying, however much it looked like it.

      He joined her, and together they went up.

      "I really am sorry, Spike."

      He rolled his eyes at her.

      "Yeah, right, you're really sorry I won't be running out to kill m'self something to eat."

      "You're whining. It's not attractive."

      He ignored her. Funny thing was, until she'd pointed out how long it'd been since he'd eaten, he hadn't really been very hungry.

Only when she brought it to his attention, did he begin to feel weakness and hunger.

      She'd been talking, but he'd missed some of it.

      "Besides, you'll get mine later- You'd think you could be a little bit more grateful about it."

      She was seriously offering to feed him?

He'd bitten her yesterday, that was true. But he'd not fed from her.

He couldn't bring himself to do so, it was too much like the first time, when she'd pleaded for it, and he'd been able to feel her, wanting it, wanting him to drain her dry.

It had been as if she'd wanted him to kill her. And the thought of it, of her being that close to the edge, was no turn on.

They entered the apartment, and Buffy got the lights, while he trudged into the kitchen with the groceries.

"I'm going to get a bath and go to bed," she remarked, watching him heat up the stove.

His voice was terse.

"No, you're not. You're going to eat one of these things."

He flipped a steak into the skillet atop the melting butter pat, then added another alongside it.

"I'm too tired to eat. And we have to be back at the hospital pretty early. If I don't get in the tub now, I won't feel like it in the morning."

He turned those blue eyes on her, and there was pain in them. Oh, damn, she'd  hurt his feelings again.

"I'm a decent cook, Slayer. The least you could do is try it."

She gave up. She was too tired to worry about ruffling his feathers. It'd just be easier to eat with him, so she sighed loudly and fetched plates from the cabinet, while he dragged out the bagged salad and tossed it with some mayonnaise.

They ate together in silence, their thoughts elsewhere. Then Buffy rinsed the plates in the sink. When she'd finished, she realized she was alone in the kitchen.

Silently she trod the hallway, looking for him.

She found him stretched out in the red bed, his pale white flesh a stark contrast to the hideous carmine sheets. His back was to her, and he appeared to be sleeping already. Soundlessly she stripped out of her clothes, folding them neatly over a chair. Then she stepped around to his side of the bed, and collected his things, folding them neatly as well, and stacking them alongside her own.

There were pajamas in her bag, but she didn't want them. Even if nothing happened in this bed, she wanted the comfort of his skin against hers. She slipped in beside him, and pressed herself against his back, encircling him with her arms. He was oddly warm to the touch, and she snuggled her cheek against his shoulder blade, and rested one hand against his stomach.

He shifted, turning over, blinking blearily in the dim light of the room. She'd forgotten to turn out the light across the hall, she realized.

"Hello, Cutie."

His smile was playful, if a bit drowsy. She nestled her head against his shoulder, and he took her into his arms, holding her against him.

She could feel other parts of him waking up, and suddenly she was not nearly as sleepy as she'd thought she was.

She brought her lips to his collarbone, kissing lightly. Her tongue darted out to taste the salt on his skin. His head dipped, and he caught her mouth with his, kissing her deeply.

"Thought you were tired," he whispered in her ear.

"I was," she responded. Then she kissed him again, and pressed her breasts against his chest.

He flipped her onto her back , and grinned down at her.

"I'll see what I can do about that; maybe wear you out a little."

Her eyes lit up with a dark fire.

"Ooh. Promise?" she breathed.

He brought his mouth back to hers, kissing her breathless. Then he trailed his kisses down over her collarbones, and up to her ear. He nipped her earlobe in his teeth, and moved his hands back to her breasts, caressing, tugging, pinching the nipples gently. He kissed back to her neck, teasing her with his teeth. Then he worked his way lower, and took one breast in his hand roughly, the other in his mouth.

She felt moisture between her thighs, as her body readied itself for him.

He moved lower, and she gasped. His mouth on her stomach, his kisses soft and whispering, he spoke to her, his voice shaking, his tone guttural.

"I want to taste you, Love. You're going to melt in my mouth."

He slid even lower, and she felt his hands on her thighs, so close, so close to the aching, pulsing center of her. She was dripping for him, desperate for his touch. Then she felt his kiss, close and intimate, feather light on her soft hair. He gripped her thighs in his hands, pushing them apart, shoving them upward. Her feet were flat on the bed, when he slid his hands under her ass and pulled her hard against his mouth.

He was devouring her, and she adored it. She was afire with need for him now, breathing faster, and hungry for more.  She had no other thought but him; his hands, his teeth, his tongue.

Her hands clenched the sheets of the bed, as his lips worked their magic on her most intimate flesh. His tongue was deep within her walls, his fingers circling the nub of her pleasure. She was an easy conquest to this brutally sensual assault. He brought her to the pinnacle, only to slow her and begin again anew. As she became more frantic, her moans became screams, her demands and pleas merely incoherent sounds of desperate want.

He shoved a pillow beneath her hips, but his mouth never abandoned her. The angle deepened his kiss, and his fingers stroked somewhere inside her, some place she'd never known. She threw her head back against the headboard and the pillows, opening her eyes in the dark, as she screamed her release. Dimly she was aware she could see in the ceiling, and the sight was lewd, and beautiful, and thrilling. She could see her own body, flushed with heat and want, her breasts heaving. Between her legs she could see his blonde hair, sticking up

all over with sweat, as he played her with his mouth. His shoulders were between her thighs, and his hands left red marks on her hips where he held her tightly.

But it was not over. He continued the onslaught, fraying her nerves and destroying all her control.  He brought her off again, and again, and left her quivering and shaking.

Then he was dragging himself up her body, claiming her mouth with his. She could taste herself inside his kiss. She felt him enter her body, deep and hard, pounding her with an agonizing thoroughness.

She shoved his head roughly to one side, opening her eyes and finding them again in the ceiling. She watched his buttocks thrust against her, and her legs grip his hips. He ground against her and she rose to meet him, over and over, gradually quickening their movements.

They came together this time, and she watched it, watched him sag against her breast as she bit down on his shoulder and screamed his name.

Their breathing came shallow and fast, as they recouped. Even so, it was some minutes before Buffy collected herself enough to speak.

"Spike?"

Her voice was soft, tentative. He mumbled something into her shoulder, and she prodded him.

"Spike!"

He raised his head, annoyed with her.

"What?"

"Turn over," she said.

He rolled onto his back, and scooted up against her side, sharing her pillow.

"Spike!"

"What?"

Now he was really irked. He'd done a good job, he had. She should be fast asleep by now. What was it with women wanting to talk afterwards, anyway? Didn't the silly bints realize how much Work they were to Please? A bloke deserves to rest after such a performance, why didn't she get that?

"Spike, look up. Please, just look up."

Something in her voice gave him pause. She wasn't looking at him, she was looking straight up. And her eyes held wonderment.

He looked, his eyes searching the blackness. After a moment he found them, above. He could see Buffy, her blonde hair glinting amid the dark bedding,  her skin a pale luminescence. And beside her he could see himself, his white-blonde hair almost touching hers, his white skin reflecting in the gloom.

For the first time in over a century he could see himself.

She rolled to place her arm over him, and kissed the side of his face. He watched her do it in the mirrored ceiling tiles they hadn't noticed yesterday afternoon. He watched as she pulled the bed sheets off of them, exposing their forms completely.

"I can see you in the mirror, Spike. I can see you in the mirror."

She was crying again, but she was laughing too. He brought his hand up before his face, and waved it around. He waved at himself, and the mirror self waved back.

He sat up sharply, pulling away from her bizarre giggle.

"Bloody hell! What is going on here?"

He raced into the bathroom across the hall, and flipped the light switch.

In the mirror, he saw himself.

It'd been so long, he couldn't quite remember William Walthrop's image. But he was pretty sure it didn't look that much like this one.

A hand rose up in the mirror, to touch the bleached spikes. They were wet with perspiration, askew. Beneath them  were a strong forehead, and fine dark eyebrows. The eyebrows set off bright blue eyes, which were currently quite round.

He had strong cheekbones, and firm lips, the lower one just a little too full. He opened his mouth and saw a fairly decent set of teeth, considering their age, and the era of his birth.

Suddenly she was behind him in the frame, and he turned around to look at her.

She'd stopped with the insane laughter bit. Now she was just grinning inanely.

"Stop it. Stop it"-

"Do you see, Spike? Do you see? In the mirror?"

"Yeah, Slayer, I see it. What I don't see is WHY I can see it."

She giggled very loudly.

"Maybe I boinked  your soul back…"

He looked at her like she was batty, which, well, she was acting. She was laughing again, but tears crept out the corners of her eyes, and she kept talking.

Rambling like an idiot, going on about Angelus now, she kept at him.

He knew the urge to strangle her, if only to stop the disastrous flow of her words. She was talking about souls, miracles, and redemption; standing naked in the little pink bathroom with his seed leaking down her legs. It was pathetic and ridiculous. Her arrogance was repulsive to him; how could she stand there talking like this ? It wasn't enough that she didn't love him, now she had to "save" him as well?

"Look, you stupid Bint, It's not a bloody miracle. I don't know what the hell it is, But it's not anything like that. I don't believe in Miracles."

But didn't he? Didn't he believe enough to be on his knees not six hours ago in a hospital room?

Oh God, now it was his laugh that sounded mad. And she was sort of cringing back from him, and starting to look scared.

Suddenly he seized her by her shoulders, and brought her neck to his mouth. He tore her skin with dull human teeth, and the blood pouring into his mouth was not an elixir, it was just blood; Salt and copper, nothing remotely erotic or divine.

He wrenched his head away from her and fell to his knees, vomiting the stolen liquid onto the tile floor.

He could feel her hands on him again, at his back, and he realized she was trying to lift him up. He went with her, without resistance.

She pulled him against her, holding him close, soothing him wordlessly with her warmth and her presence. She pressed her head to his chest, hugging him.

The thumping under her cheek was fierce, and fast. He was frightened, and she could hear it in his heartbeat. She pushed her lips against the flesh over that hammering heart, and kissed the scar. His hands reached around her, clutching at her like a child. She guided him back to the bed, and held him as he shook.

 

TITLE: Darkest Before Dawn #17 "Father"

AUTHOR: Nmissi

PART:17/?

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

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

DISTRIBUTION: Want it? Take it. Just let me know where it's going.

Feedback: Please. Nmissi@aol.com

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

 

      It was much too early in the morning for the racket coming up from downstairs.

      The vampire Angel, formerly Angelus, scourge of Europe, turned over in his bed and put his pillow across his face. Somewhere in his sleep sodden brain he'd made the connection- the voice downstairs was Familiar, and very drunk; and therefore not threatening. So he tried to muffle the off-key rendition of ""One

hundred bottles of beer on the wall" coming up the steps.

Unfortunately it kept getting closer. Even more unfortunately, it seemed to have lost count and started over.

      He sat up in his bed as his

      <foe, friend>

      Childe, stepped into the bedroom.

      " What is it, `Spike"? Surely you've a good reason to be in my home, drunk and disorderly at,"

      He checked his wristwatch.

      " –the unholy hour of ten a.m."

      The blonde moved unsteadily, unevenly, upon what appeared to be bare feet. His hand clutched a very large bottle of some very bad vodka. He was dressed, if you could call it that, in black jeans and the ubiquitous duster, under which was worn a red shirt. It was buttoned up all wrong.

      He staggered from the doorway over to the bed, and from this vantage point Angel could see he'd been fighting. His lip split, blood caked at the corner of it. And worse yet, it looked like he might have been crying.

      Spike collapsed beside the bed, upon the floor, and Angel struggled with his instincts. The urge to soothe warred with the urge to beat and berate him. Angelus had never been one to comfort his kindred, and he had loathed William's human emotions as a weakness.

      He got up, and pulled some sweats out of a  dresser drawer, tugging them on. Then he walked around the bed and stepped over the prone form, snatching the bottle out of Spike's hand. Raising it to his face, he peered at its label.

      "Popov, William? How the mighty have fallen."

      The lump on the floor began to shake slightly with mirth.

      "You don't know the half of it, mate."

      Angel seized him roughly by the back of the neck, dragging him up off of his face.

      "Why don't you explain it to me, then?"

      Then he caught Spike's scent. It baffled him.

Spike smelled wrong.

It was subtle. Had there been other humans in the room, he might never have noticed, but amid the tangy scent of his immortal blood, there was something new. Or rather, something old. Surprisingly, he remembered it from William's clothes.

There was the smell of mortal skin, mortal sweat. The distinct smell of a living, breathing, human male.

      And the neck in his fierce grip was warm.

      Spike struggled not to vomit as he was thrown backwards, his head banging into the leg of the bed. The nausea was intense, and the pain to his skull exacerbated it.

      Angel's voice shook slightly with fear.

      "What the fuck IS this?"

      "I don't know, Sire. But I was sort of hoping you'd make it go away."

 

      "Hi there. Nice to see you with your eyes open."

      Dawn was blinking sleepily, the drugs in her system still keeping her drowsy.

      "Hi yourself."

      Buffy pulled the chair up closer to the bedside, and reached for the small hand of her sister.

      "You had us all worried, really worried, You know that?"

      "I'm sorry. I thought I might be back before Dad or anybody else noticed."

      Buffy sighed.

      "Don't you realize what a dangerous place L.A. is? My god, Dawn…What were you thinking?"

      She squeezed Dawn's hand firmly, and continued.

      "maybe, because you've survived Vampires and Hellgods, you think you're safer or something. But you're not. Being the key, being my sister, being really lucky- None of it makes you bulletproof. "

      Dawn's eyes grew wide.

      "Is that what happened?"

      Buffy nodded.

      "You were with Angel at Caritas, do you remember?"

      Dawn nodded yes.

      "Well, some people came in with guns and crossbows, and started shooting. You took two bullets, both in your back. One did a little soft tissue damage, nothing major. The other one hit your spine and lodged there. The doctors did several surgeries to remove it, and to repair the damage it left behind."

      "How much damage?"

      Buffy lowered her head.

      "We don't know yet. The doctors are concerned about your loss of feeling, but they think some of it is attributable to swelling and that could get better with some time."

      Dawn realized then, that she couldn't move her legs. She tried, but nothing happened. And as her sister watched, tears began to roll down her face.

      "Oh, baby. I'm sorry."

      Buffy reached over and hugged her, stroking the dark silk of her long hair.

      "It'll be okay. Really, it will be Okay."

      Behind her she heard a familiar voice, coming from the nurse's station across the hall. Buffy stood up and met Giles at the door, with a bear hug.

      "Well, that's a warmer greeting than I've come to expect."

      He hugged her tightly, and Buffy felt safe again for a moment. It was a fragile, false feeling, but she clung to it nonetheless. Logically, she knew she was better equipped to protect Dawn than Giles was. Emotionally, she couldn't help feeling everything would be better, now that he was here.

      His embraced loosened, and he stepped back slightly to better see her face. Then he took her arm and they walked over to the patient.

      "Hello, Dawn."

      His kindly face smiled down at her, with just a hint of disapproval forming in the set of his brows.

      "Hiya Mr. Giles."

      "You've had yourself quite an adventure, I see."

      Dawn adopted a shamed, hangdog expression, which dampened her mentor's anger. Buffy knew the expression for what it was, rolled her eyes heavenward. Dawn was playing him again.

      "You've very pretty flowers, in here," he remarked, taking in the arrangements.

      She pointed.

      "The big one is from Angel and his gang. It had a box of chocolates with it but Buffy put it in the drawer over there. And the bear is from Spike."

      "And the balloons?"

      Buffy piped up.

      "that's me. I figure, Candy is fattening, flowers die… Balloons seem more practical."

      He smiled and nodded.

      "Yes. Well. I- I have something for you, too, Dawn. Here."

      He set his attaché down, and fumbled with its latches.

Reaching in, he produced a plastic bag from a Sunnydale Record Shop.

      He thrust the package at her as if he found it distasteful.

      "Here. The man at the counter said these were just out this week, so I was fairly certain you didn't yet have them."

      She pulled several cds out of the bag, and a tee shirt.

      "Woa, Giles- Ricky Martin. Soul Decision. OmiGosh, You actually bought me a backstreet boys shirt? Cool."

      He smiled at her.

      "I'm relieved to see that you like them."

      She reached up for him then, her long slender arms open, and he leaned in hesitantly. Dawn pulled his head down close to envelope him in a snug embrace. He relaxed into it, patting her back, and then kissed her on her forehead.

      Buffy watched them. Giles plainly adored her baby sister. And Buffy loved him all the more for it. She thought momentarily of her absent father, and could not help but contrast the two men. Dad was playful and affectionate, when he was interested in them. But he was also much more involved more in his own life than those of his girls.

Giles was rarely playful, and visibly uncomfortable with displays of physical affection. But he was so very involved that he'd braved the humiliation of the pop section at the Record store, just to bring Dawn the perfect gift.

      She shook herself out of the reverie, and addressed the Watcher.

      "Where's Ben? Didn't he take the flight out with you?"

      Giles turned to her.

      "He'll be coming from the hotel. He went ahead with our suitcases; I took a cab straight here from the airport."

      Of course. Giles would do that, he'd want to be here as quickly as possible.

      Buffy walked up beside him, and surprised him with another hug.

      `He really is the most Wonderful Man.', she thought.

      Maybe he needed reminding.

      "Just in case you haven't heard it in awhile…I love you," said Buffy.

      "Yeah. Me too," Dawn piped up. She reached a hand out to him, and he took it.

      Buffy reached over to rumple her sister's hair.

      "And I love you, `Me too'," she said.

      Giles stood between them silently, his heart so full he lacked words. He didn't verbalize his affections, as they had. But he didn't need to. His girls knew how well they were loved.

 

 

      Angel was sitting on the edge of the bed, now, watching him as he smoked his cigarette and tried to explain.

      "I don't know, Angel. I don't know what happened. Buffy told me to look up, and there It was- In the bleedin' mirror on the sodding ceiling. And she was all crying and laughing and shit, and I was just in shock. So I go look at m'self, right? Wanting to see it better, see up close. And she points out that my damn heart is beating."

      He raked his cigarette hand through his hair, lucky not to have ignited himself.

      Angel's tone was gentle, as he prodded.

      " Spike, you're not telling me what HAPPENED."

      "I told you, mate! I looked up and There It was!"

      He shook his head. Spike the human was no less irritating than Spike the vampire.

      "No, I mean, when did you feel the change, what happened right before it-"

      Spike laughed at him.

      "What change? I didn't feel any change. I just noticed that all of a sudden, today I've got a reflection and a heartbeat-"

      "Well, what about the heartbeat? Didn't you notice when it started?"

      The blonde shook his head vigorously.

      "No. No, I didn't. I didn't notice it til she pointed it out to me."

      Angel was perplexed. He didn't understand how this had occurred, or why.

      "I mean, I know I had that chip for a year and a half. Worst months of my life, that. Couldn't hunt or kill. But it's been out for weeks, now. And when that Glory thing-"

      He shuddered at the memory.

      "-when she had me open on her bed, I can tell you one thing, that heart was NOT beating then. She pointed it out to me; that it wasn't."

      "What are you talking about, Spike? When did Glory have you?"

      Angel remembered the name from Dawn's ramblings. So, the Hell Goddess had Spike at some point…

      "When she tried to pull my heart out!  Well, okay, I sorta went to her to pretend like I was gonna sell-out the Nibblet. But I had this plan, see, to get her off Buffy's back. Only, she decided to torture the information out of me. Stupid bint- I'd come to give her that information, willingly. Okay, it was all a setup, but still. So she tortured me for a while, and I figured out pretty fast that the only thing keeping me alive was my silence. So I shut up tight and

let this nutty bitch carve on me for a day or so. "

      He was tracing his hands unconsciously over the heart scar as he spoke. Angel knew the signs, knew posttraumatic stress disorder when he saw it. He'd been responsible for it on numerous occasions.

He wisely directed the discourse away from Spike's capture.

      "Okay. But Buffy rescued you, right? Then what happened."

      His child looked up at him in despair.

      "Nothing. What do you want me to say?  I played pool. I drove the car. I watched the telly. …I just went home and lived my unlife.

Minded my own business, I did."

      His child was hiding something.

      "What else, Spike? What aren't you telling me?"

      "Sod it all. It was a mistake to come here."

      He pulled himself up off the floor, and Angel seized his wrist in his hand.

      "Wait. Don't leave."

      He really, really didn't mean to sound that pathetic. Honest he didn't. But he wanted to understand what had happened to Spike, wanted to help him deal with this change.

      But mostly, he just didn't want him to leave.

      It had been so long since Spike had needed him for anything. It was nice to be needed. And it was nice to be able to appreciate it. Angelus had never appreciated his children, their companionship, their love. Only as Angel did he learn to value what he'd already lost. It wasn't quite fair.

      "What? You'll just keep asking the same questions. And I'll keep giving the same answers. I don't KNOW what happened."

      Angel nodded, and released his arm. Spike sat down alongside him.

      "I don't know what happened. But Listen, I'm fairly sure we can Undo it."

      Spike's voice was desperate, even as he tried his best to sound reasonable.

      "You just have to turn me again. Dru isn't here to do it this time, it'll have to be you."

      His eyes pleaded with Angel, pleaded for the gift he'd lost.

      But Angel shook his head at him.

      "No, Spike. No, I can't. It would be a mistake."

      His boy was Livid.

      "What d' you mean, it would be a mistake? Isn't this a mistake? I was a VAMPIRE, Angelus! For a century I was a force to be reckoned with, a thing that stalked the night leaving terror in my midst. Now I'm supposed to just, I don't know, Go be a human? Think, Angelus, think. I possess exactly two skills- the ability to fight and the ability to kill. I'm not quite cut out to live like one of the herd."

      Angelus could still smell His Own Blood flowing through those newly human veins. How could this be? It led him to another question.

      "Spike, when did you last feed?"

      Spike looked away from him.

      "I don't know."

      "what do you mean, ` I don't know'? Vampires remember when they EAT, Spike. When, what, did you eat?"

      "It's been a few days…"

      Spike was visibly disturbed by this line of conversation. But Angel waited. He'd have the whole story out of him eventually.

Hopefully he wouldn't have to beat it out of him, was all he hoped.

      " It was a container of Soddin' Cow's Blood, alright? Spike the Evil Vampire has been Vegetarian for some time now, Peaches.

Happy?"

      Angel saw the shame in him, and his suspicions grew.

      "So. You haven't been feeding. How about killing?"

      Again Spike wouldn't meet his eyes.

      "No."

      "Not since the "chip" came out."

      His flat statement was a question.

      "No," came the reply.

      Angel was formulating a theory. Spike had been becoming "Human" for some time. He'd slowly lost his desire for blood, his urge to kill. And now, his heart was beating-

      "How did the sunlight affect you?"

      Spike shrugged.

      "Didn't hurt. Tingled a little at first, but then nothing."

      If Spike still had the chip, he'd think he had his answer. But it was out before the change.

      "Spike, listen to me. Tell me about anything mystical you've encountered recently. I don't know, maybe a spell, maybe a curse-"

      "I didn't eat a bad gypsy, if that's what you're getting at.

I've been shagging myself silly, and it hasn't done a damn thing. And I don't suddenly feel the weight of the world on my shoulders, either."

      Angel ignored the ugly undercurrent of attack in Spike's words. He pushed on.

      "You don't feel any different, then. You don't feel the weight of your soul?"

      Spike looked at him squarely.

      "What Soul?"

      Angel sighed. None of this made sense.

      "How do you feel about the murders you've done, Spike?"

      "How do you want me to feel? You think I should be all overwrought, and go eat rats and be you?"

      Angel stayed calm.

      "No, Spike. I just want to know how you feel about them."

      "Angel, I want my unlife back. Obviously I'm not too broken up about it."

      His Grandsire stood, letting out a sigh. He definitely felt the weight of his own soul.

      "I think Cordelia has coffee downstairs. I'll go get you some."

      He eyed the empty Vodka bottle.

      "You probably could use it."

      "I don't want any coffee. I came here for one thing- to get my life back."

      "I won't do it, Spike."

      "What is it? You feel the need to see me humbled? Fine. You don't have to leave me mortal to see me grovel, I'll do it right now."

      And then he did something he'd not done since the first, early years of his turning.

      Spike lowered himself before Angel. He dropped to his knees, on the cool floor. He cast his eyes downward. His entire body posture changed, as his defiance leaked out of him.

      He was submitting to his Elder, beta to alpha, fledgling to master.

      Some remnant of Angelus rose to this sight, and Angel fought his demon back down. Angelus was a conflicted creature, even among demons he'd been an oddity.

      On one hand, he enjoyed seeing William subservient. On the other, that same subservience repulsed him. He never knew whether to beat the boy for his arrogance or for his timidity. And the fledgling William had been beaten for both, regularly.

      That Spike would submit now, here with him, sickened him to the heart.

      "Get up. Just get up, Damn it. I don't want your fake fawning. You don't respect me now, and you never did."

      Angel dragged him to his feet, and Spike grabbed at his shoulders.

      "Please, Angelus. If ever you loved me in the slightest, Please don't leave me like this!"

      The pain in his eyes was wrenching. Part of Angel wanted to do it, to reclaim him, if only to stop the torment.

      Angel took him in his arms, pulling him close.

      "Maybe it's a miracle, Will. You've been given another chance."

      Spike jerked himself free of his Sire's embrace.

      "Snoot MY miracle, you imbecile. It's Yours. Did you even think about that, Peaches? I got your girl, Maybe I got your prophecy to go with her."

      He said it like it was a disease, this humanity. And Angel thought for a moment. What if he was right? What if the prophecy was wrong, and it wasn't him, wasn't Angel who would get to be mortal?

      His stomach sank.

      "You refuse me aid, then, do you?"

      Spike's tone was surprisingly formal, his words clearer than they'd been much of the morning.

      " I will not turn you, Spike. I can't do it."

      "Fuck you then."

      Spike's punch caught him off guard, and he went flying back into the dresser.

He came up with his fists out, swinging, as Spike lunged at him again.

      Angel drew first blood; as Spike's split lip reopened under his hand. But the boy was resourceful; and apparently still quite strong. Angel was faster, but not by much. Spike took his blows manfully, and paid them back in kind.

      Some time later, amid blood and broken furniture, the blonde looked up from beneath his grandsire's arm. They'd fought to a standstill, and now lay together in a bloody heap.

      "You really won't do it?"

      Angel shook his head sadly, and Spike's voice was soft.

      "Why?"

      Angel caressed the bloody forehead, smoothing back the damp hair.

      "Because I love you. And you've been given this wonderful gift. But you're like a little kid, who got the wrong thing for Christmas. You don't see how wonderful it is, because it's not what you asked for."

      He looked at him meaningfully.

      "But I would be cruel to take it from you."

 

TITLE: Darkest Before Dawn #18 "the healing"

AUTHOR: Nmissi

PART:18/?

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

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

DISTRIBUTION: Want it? Take it. Just let me know where it's going.

Feedback: Please. Nmissi@aol.com

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

 

      He looked remarkably like an ordinary man. And Giles could vouch for his simplistic conversational skills after spending several hours beside him on a plane. Even his attire was commonplace; a blue sweatshirt with a team logo, and jeans. He looked like Everyman.

      It was good cover for a demigod in exile.

      "What exactly are you, um…Going to do for her?"

      Beneficus, better known to his coworkers at Sunnydale Southwest Hospital as Ben, shrugged his shoulders at Buffy as she asked her question.

      "It's hard to explain. It's just my hand of power, it's what I do."

      Then he looked at Dawn as he explained carefully.

      "I'm going to put my fingers right here, on your neck. It's the site of the most damage, according to the x-rays."

He looked over his shoulder back at Buffy and Giles. Giles looked very worried, but Buffy was merely attentive.

" And it might look a little scary. I'm going to put my hands through the skin, into the neck, and repair the injury. It might get a little bright, too."

Giles spoke up, hesitantly.

"You have, erm. Done this before?"

Ben grinned back.

"Yes. I've been healing humans for thousands of years, Sir. It's what I'm good at."

His expression darkened.

"There's only one thing that concerns me. It's possible Glory will sense Dawn, when I heal her. I'm weak still, from a full schedule at work, and the botched heal a few weeks ago."

"B-Botched? Heal?" stammered Giles.

"It's nothing. I tried to heal somebody who was already dead."

He glanced at Buffy.

"Your friend with the sucking chest wound. Is he okay?"

She nodded, her brow furrowing.

"What is it, Buffy?" prompted her watcher.

She shook her head.

"It's nothing."

She gave Dawn her brightest smile.

"Ready to get started?"

The girl nodded.

Ben continued.

"Anyway, since I'm not at full strength, there's a danger I might not can keep her out. We have to share the vessel, and primary control belongs to whichever of us is strongest at any given time. Glory hasn't drank in a long while, so she's very weak. But if Dawn drains me low enough, Glory will emerge."

He looked at the young girl in the bed again, searching her eyes for evidence she understood the danger to her if that should happen.

Buffy watched, as he stroked her sister's neck, right at the base of the hairline. Then his fingers lit up, glowing somehow, and he pushed them through the skin into Dawn's neck.

His face was tense, his brows knit together as he worked. Sweat beaded on his forehead and ran down the bridge of his nose.

"Does it hurt?" asked Buffy tentatively of her sister.

"Nuh uh. No, not at all."

Dawn's voice conveyed her amazement. She could FEEL his fingers, inside her bones, beneath her skin- It was a remarkably intimate feeling, like a caress. But it had the immediacy of a punch, the full- flesh contact sensation of pain, without, well- Pain.

Ben stepped back suddenly, pulling his hands out of the girl.

Dawn bounced up off of the bed.

"It worked! Ben, It worked!"

She tossed her arms around him, hugging him close. He staggered and she caught the full weight of him in her arms, up against her chest.

"too much. Too much reality to shift probabilities-"

He fainted, and Buffy dragged him off Dawn and laid him back on Dawn's bed.

Giles fretted nervously in the corner. He'd been against this from the beginning. but Buffy had been insistent.

Ben's eyes snapped open, and he looked directly at Dawn.

"She's coming. Go. Now."

There was pleading in his gaze. Dawn backed out of the room, and ran down the hall. Giles pursued her, but Buffy stood in the hospital room interrogating the healer.

"Okay. "She's coming". But she's supposed to be weak, right? What do I do, how do I stop her?"

"You don't. You just run, Buffy."

"If she's weak, why can't I kill her?" asked the girl.

"We share the vessel. If the vessel perishes, we both-"

Giles ran back into the room.

" Too fast. Buffy, I can't – I can't find her," he panted.

"Go, Now, both of you. She's coming."

The Slayer and the Watcher fled, leaving the god alone.

Within minutes, Ben's labored breathing was replaced by a low, feminine groan. And a wet, thin, deranged goddess in jeans and a blue sweatshirt crawled towards the hospital room door.

 

TITLE: Darkest Before Dawn #19 "Restrained"

AUTHOR: Nmissi

PART:19/?

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

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

DISTRIBUTION: Want it? Take it. Just 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 head ached, and his back hurt. There was several thousand dollars worth of property damage to answer for as well; the antique armoire would hereafter have a Spike-shaped dent in its left door, and the nightstand had splintered under its use as a shield.

It was also possible he'd dislocated his jaw in the scuffle, thought Angel, probing his chin with bloody fingers.

Spike had left an hour ago. No more words had been spoken, no more punches had been thrown. He'd simply gotten up off of the floor and left. No goodbyes.

William never said goodbye.

Angel's mind worked and reworked the conundrum of his boy's newfound Humanity, as he righted the room. How had it happened? Why had it happened?

Did it mean Shanshu would not be for Angel, then?

He made up the bed, and carried the broken furniture downstairs to leave by the back door. When it was full dark, he'd remove the junk to the dumpster, but for now it would wait by the rear entrance to the hotel, out of the way.

Cordy would be along soon; she was coming in late after sitting up with Gunn last night. He was a bad patient; she'd bitched to Angel on the phone late in the evening that he was refusing the proffered diet of sherbet and soft drinks, and instead bullying her to go get McDonald's.

So it would be just the three of them today; and maybe until Gunn's injury healed up.

He thought of Gunn stuck at home, eating orange sherbet and unable to speak.

" Maybe I ought to send over a care package or something."

He made a mental note to call up the video place and see what they could deliver later.

As he was coming back through the building he noticed the blood on the floor by the steps. Apparently Spike had stepped in  it upstairs, and tracked it down here. There was a half- footprint on the tile. Just the toes, and the fore section of the foot; the heel was absent. On the stairs themselves were more complete marks, left as he'd come down.

Angel sighed. This was familiar. Spike was gone, and he was picking up broken bits, and cleaning up blood.

It was comforting to know humanity hadn't altered him much.

He got dish soap from the kitchen, and using a small trashcan for a bucket he headed over to clean up the mess.

Spike's blood.

Drusilla's blood.

His blood.

Darla's.

Angel scrubbed up the last remaining traces of his family with warm soapy water. The scent of the stain was homey and familiar; whatever magic had Undone  William, it had left his sire's blood in his veins.

But the blood now pumped through a living human heart.

As Angel scrubbed, quiet tears fell unchecked onto the floor.

Blood and tears alike, he eradicated all traces of them both.

 

Buffy found Dawn cowering in the men's room. She reached for her.

"It's okay, Dawn. It's going to be fine."

The girl pulled free of her.

"No, it's not! Don't lie to me, don't try to make me feel better.

It's never going to be fine again. That thing, that thing won't stop until it gets me. And you can't stop her, and Ben can't stop her. All she needs is a few people to brainsuck and she'll be back in business."

Dawn slumped against the wall, and cried.

Buffy didn't know what to do for her. She was right; Glory was too strong. Buffy had no idea how to defeat something like that.

Right now, she was out there somewhere, leading some poor soul into a lifetime of institutionalization.

And Buffy didn't care.

It shocked her to the core.

All those helpless people, potential Glory victims; but all Buffy Summers was interested in was getting her little sister the hell out of Dodge.

Screw it. She'd have a morality crisis later, when she had more time.

She dragged Dawn up off the ground.

"Come On. We have to go."

      Together they slunk out into the hall, and Buffy saw Giles up ahead of her.

      "Giles!" She hissed.

      Wonder of wonders, he heard her, and backtracked.

      "Dawn. Thank God you found her."

      Quickly he removed his coat, and tossed it around the girl's shoulders, covering the green hospital gown.

      "I'm parked by the side entrance- Pulmonary Rehab wing. Come On, I think we can get there without being noticed."

      Buffy hurried them into an elevator, and sighed gratefully when no one else got on before the door closed.

      In the parking lot they hurried toward the long, black, Desoto.

      Dawn took in the obvious;

      "Where's Spike, Buffy?"

      She shoved her sister into the backseat, while Giles climbed into the passenger seat, kicking bottles out of his way.

      As Buffy started the car, she asked her again.

      "Buffy?"

      The Slayer exhaled a long, deep breath.

      "I don't really know, Dawn. He was gone when I got up."

      Something beeped in the backseat, and Dawn rooted around under plastic bags and more bottles until she came up with Buffy's purse.

 

 

      Damn it. Why wasn't she answering?

      Spike shifted uncomfortably, dragging his foot across the floor. The paper shoe made a scratchy hiss as he did it. The man  standing behind him waited,  his foot tapping impatiently.

      Spike gave him a sheepish smile.

      "She's not answering yet. Probably can't remember where she left the bloody phone. You know women."

      Then it clicked on the other end.

      "Hello?"

      That wasn't Buffy, that was-

      "Nibblet! You're awake!"

 

 

      "Who is it, Dawn?" asked Giles.

      In the backseat Dawn put a hand over her other ear in order to better hear the caller. Outside the windows, the world flew past as Buffy did seventy and Giles gripped the door and dash.

      "Yeah, it's me. Yeah, I'm good. Fine, actually. Ben fixed me, fixed it so I can walk and stuff. Yeah? Okay. Um Hmm. Yep he's here.

Okay."

      She handed the phone over the seat to Giles.

      "He wants to talk to you."

      Giles took the phone apprehensively, and brought it to his ear.

      "Hello?"

 

 

      "Don't hang up."

      Spike thought it best to get that out of the way first. Just in case the Watcher was more in the loop than he'd thought. As this was the only call he'd get to make- He'd better make it count.

      On the other end of the line, he heard the slow intake of breath, and could envision the Watcher carefully selecting his words.

      "All right. I won't hang up. Where are you?"

      The blonde rumpled his hair with his free hand, swallowing whatever shreds of dignity he had left.

      "well, now, I was getting to that part. But before I tell you, you've got to promise you won't say anything to the Slayer."

      If annoyance had any particular resonance or frequency, Spike knew he'd have an earful of it by now. He waited.

      "You know I can't do that."

      In the background he heard her voice, asking who was on the phone.

      "It's no threat to anyone's safety old man. The only thing threatened right now is my self-esteem."

      "Where ARE you?" the older man asked again. His tone said that he was rapidly losing patience.

      Spike sighed and wished for a cigarette.

 

      Buffy watched Giles trace his fingers across his furrowed forehead. He sighed, and the look on his face told her who was on the phone.

      "Is that Spike?"

      He nodded and she stuck her hand out.

      "Give me the phone."

      He didn't, so she reached out with her right hand and snatched it from him. She could always apologize later.

      The phone to her ear, she attempted to drive and talk at the same time.

      "Spike? Is that you? Where are you?"

 

      In the County lockup, at the payphone, the guard glowered while Spike gave up and accepted humiliation.

      It wasn't like she was NOT going to find out anyway. Nosy bitch always knew his business.

      He adopted a sweet tone, conciliatory, placating.

      "Yeah, it's me, love. Listen, Can you do me a favor? Can you get your hot little hands on two hundred dollars in cash before four o'clock?"

      "Spike, what's going on? Where are you?"

      He noted with no small amount of pleasure that the annoyance in her voice had an undertone of worry. He smiled at the portly guard, and gave him thumbs up as he addressed Buffy.

      "I'm in Jail, baby. Can you lot come bail me out?"

      He thought for a moment, and added.

      " And maybe swing by the apartment and get me my boots?"