"Where the hell is this damn road leading?" Spike mummered to himself. He'd been driving and driving down the endless pavement for hours. He had been hopeful about 2 hours ago, when the dirt had finally led into the familiar paved asphalt of modern day, But so far he held no sights of civilization. Just an endless horizon of dirt and dust and cactus.
As he drove past the barren landscape, his mind wondered to the possibilities of his current geographical situation. Guessing at a timetable based on by the looks of the boy, Spike figured not more than a week had gone by, so they probably had not crossed any major bodies of water, which was of the good.
Of the good? Spike chose not to dwell on where he had picked up that particular phrase.

That left little speculation as to where he could be. The southern and western part of the good old USA had scenery similar to this, not that Spike had spent very a many night there, the desert being not very vampire accommodating, but he'd driven past it a time or two.

If he was in the good old south that he'd be heading on into a town with a nice piggly wiggly any time now.
If it was the latter of his speculations..
Well he was good and proper fucked.

Spike was never really one for the whole *South of the Boarder* fare. At the time he'd picked Brazil, it just seemed like the most convenient place to avoid the slayer and her wanker council buddies. Other than that, the Spanish and Latin nations generally had little appeal for him. Dru got a kick out of em though. Specially those nations that had a history of bloody wars amongst the more remote, and secluded Indian tribes.

Dru was constantly dragging him through these dusty countries, areas rich in ancient rituals of sacrifice and bloodshed, and the practices of violent wars. She clamed that she could *feel the blood of the innocence flowing in the streets.*
It had it's appeal, but Spike board quickly. Truth be told, he had preferred the affluent decadence of the *old world* when traveling. Places where depravity was the right of the wealthy. Where torture was an art form. Where anything could be bought and sold, for the right price of course. 'Ahh those were the days.' He thought with a slight grin. Course upon remembering some of his more..deviant pleasure of the past, the soul gave his a swift kick of guilt for his penance.
'Damn Soul', he thought. There was no time to dwell on the sins of the past. He was a new man now. He had new opportunities.
And he was determined not to fuck it up!

Now in baring all this in mind, he knew his Spanish speaking skills would be particularly lacking. Plus if there was a border to cross he'd need papers, which he did not have. Or he could try to run it!; and get possibly get shot good and dead!

Now that wasn't and appealing thought.

Perhaps if he could reach a phone. He could just call the Poof to fly a jet down here to pick them up!
There's a thought! Course first he tend to the boy. If the kid up and died on him than he would have just wasted a perfectly good rescue!

The minute the thought left his brain, Spike felt sick. He looked over at the child and cursed himself for his moment of thoughtlessness. This wasn't some jeweled trinket to be coveted or some magic ring to be prized. This was a small child who, for better or for worse, whether good or evil, had some people who were right about now wondering were he'd gotten off to. Perhaps he even had some people, good people, who were loving him, and missing him, and truly hurting right now.

'Wasting a good rescue, God was he a git sometimes!'

"Sorry boy" Spike whispered with tears threatening his eyes.
"Damn soul!" he cursed as he continued off down the road.

"So what do you all think that they are doing to him right now?" The young blond teen asked.

Her 8 sister slayers sat around the library table with her, contemplated the question. At 15 to 16, being the youngest of the slayers left, they had spent most of their time in training and study, not allowed to venture forth on any of the exciting and dangerous missions that were being handed out so freely these days with the disappearance of the *original* slayer's son. The general rule, with so many slayers about, no slayer under 18 generally got any real assignments.

And that were just itching for more. More excitement, more danger, after all, six of them had been slayers since they were eleven, except for the newest two. They became activated at 15. after the death of the first and only two slayers to be killed, since the fall of the First, effectively answering the question of whether the slayer line would be continuous once and for all.

"This is so bogus!" The blond named Ariel complained, changing the subject, We should be out there! In the search! Doing real slayer work! Not stuck in here reading about..about the...and I quote 'combat and spawning practices of the common Patrak demon!' " The girl said as she wrinkled her nose.

"Yeah only Watchers could make demon fighting and sex dull." Hanna agreed.

"Mr Giles and the rest of the council are wise and know what is best" offered Hajel the Nepalese slayer.

"Ohh please," Ariel scoffed, "You are such a suck up."

"She's is not! It's just that some cultures teach to respect the experience and wisdom of their elders!" Xian countered.

"All right enough already," Victoria said, We should probably get back to some work."

"Now wait. Ariel zero 'd in on it. For like centuries there was only one slayer, who got the activation same age as us. Yo, some even younger. They got out on their own, fightin' all solo like. So how come we don't? I mean they keep us locked down in this school like were a bunch of scrubs who can't tackle nothin'! Yvette complained, "Most of those old slayers didn't get no before the job training. Hell Summers didn't have none. Yet they got to go out there and fight the fight!"

"Most slayers only lasted a few years. Many died before their 18 birthday." Victoria reminded.

"Yes most slayer were not successful in reaching a five year mark in their calling. Most of us here have all past this." Svenska offered.

"Yo that's what I'm tellin! so how come we ain't out there!" Yvette complained.

"And with so many of us now, I guess they just don't'..need us as much?" Cynthia offered.

"Perhaps they have learned that it would be of more value for the youngest of us to devote out time to reflection and study. To enhance out brains as well as our bodies. This has always been the way of my people." Xian said.

"Please! To quote Yvette. *the man is trying to keep us down*. I mean there have been plenty of young slayers who fought huge battles and kicked major demon ass!"

"Ho..How young was the youngest slayer? I mean I was just..just turned at 15, But besides me and Hajel, you were all turned at 11 weren't you?"

Affirmative nods greeted the timid blond slayer.

"Well how young can it go? I mean.. they don't' send babies to fight monsters do they?" Cynthia asked warily.

"Nah. If you haven't *stuffed the rag* you don't get turned." Yvette said.

"Huh?" Asked Cynthia.

"You have to have been blessed with the bounty of womanhood to become a slayer." Xian explained.

"Umm Huh?" Cynthia asked again.

"For Christ sake Cynthia! You have to have gotten your period. You know, be on the rag! Have surfed the crimson wave! Have..

"I think she understands now." Svenska offered. "So. Back to the original discussion. Buffy Summer's son. What do you propose they have done to him?" The Norwegian slayer casually asked in her usual diplomatic tone.

Most of the older slayers felt Svenska to be cold. Her blunt directness and emotionless tones putting many of the battle hardened older girls off. But her true *sisters* knew that Svenska meant no harm. Her tone was just a reflection of her..efficient nature. After all, these girls seated here, had a pact to support and defend each other, despite any cultural differences. After all they were the *forgotten ones* as they liked to describe themselves. The youngest slayers. Their ranks used to be bigger. But the other girls who were 18 or on the verge of, had their gotten assignments and left their *sisters* behind without a backwards glance. These last few who were left vowed to stick together, no matter what.

"Do you propose he has been sent to a hell dimension. Like the son of the Vampire with a Soul was?"

"Oooh, I heard about that!, " Cynthia said. "He came back all twisted and scarred. Barely human!"

"That is untrue. He came back human. Physically any way. He was just..a little..unbalanced.", Xian said.

"He was whacked in the head is what you mean," Yvette commented.

"I believe he was only in the hell dimension for a few of our months. And that he was returned he was already a man."

"That is the tale I have heard as well Svenska." Hajel said. "But he did come back human, albeit without all his mental faculties intact."

"Not like we could know. Yo they never let us near the good books. Or let us have the web access."

"Some of the facts are printed in the archived we are permitted to see. If some of you girls read more instead of complaining you would know that." Victoria pointed out. "And yes he came back human. As for his mental state. Well who wouldn't be a little off after growing up in a hell dimensions."

"Yeah, He's real *off from what I've heard. And his humanity didn't last too long. He got turned from what I heard. By a women who Angelus made crazy and then turned!" Arial said.

"Well and what would you lovely ladies be discussing this morning?"

All 8 girls jumped, but then relaxed as they saw the face of who interrupted them.
It was only Bass!

Sebastien Cullem Henton, Bass to his friends. His family had *served* the council for generations. *Served* being the most appropriate word. His family had been the equivalent of *lackeys*, and *errand boys* for the council for a couple of hundred years. Their lower class English background with it's slightly Irish roots made them good enough to be cannon fodder for the watchers council, but not good enough for a legitimate seat. Those were reserved for people like the Wyndem-Price's and the Westerson's and the Gile's until...

Until the First blew to hell most of the Westerson's of the world. Then men like his father all of the sudden became good enough for council seats!

And his git of a father had been *gracious* and *honored*, to get something that his family should have had a hundred years ago. Bass felt the council were the ones that should have been honored!

Still these turn of events put him in direct line for a watchers seat someday, although Bass preferred to be out there, in the thick of it, fighting, rather than watching.

Still, he wondered which one of these little beauties might be his slayer someday. Sure Bass liked to look, but really he knew that there was one girl and one girl for him. Dawn Summers.

But Dawn was being difficult about realizing how could they could be together. He knew she'd come around someday, but Bass so no reason why he shouldn't shop around in the process.

The girls looked around a little guiltily. Bass smiled his charming smile and addressed them. "Now what brings your pretty lasses in here on such a lovely day? Pondering the mysterious of the universe? Or simply the mysteries of the missing slayer's son?"

The girls looked at him warily, only Svenska was unashamed in saying " We believe him dead. What is your opinion?"

"Bass could only chuckle at the blond's bluntness. "That kids not dead!" he smiled, "Old Giles' has got every seer out there on it. If he was dead, they'd know it. His life force is still out there, just shrouded from their vision."

"Well", Ariel began hesitantly, "What do you think happened. think he's been taken to a hell dimension? Turned?"

"Think he'll come back as a 18 year old and we'll get to wrack him?" Yevette offered.

"Do you think if they kill him, their leave him in parts?' Cynthia asked, "I heard once about a kid who they only found pieces of and..."

"YOU SKANKY LITTLE WHORES!!!"

All 9 people with the inclusion of Bass jumped up. Jump up to see a right pissed off Dawn Summers coming barreling down at them.

"YOU BITCHES!!" Dawn screamed in their faces as she approached the table. She kept her fist tightly clenched at her side. Not because she didn't want to hit them, but because she didn't know who to hit first!!

"THAT IS MY NEPHEW!!! THAT IS MY NEPHEW!!!" she screamed over and over as a crowd began to form at the base of the library.

"AND YOU!!" Dawn hauled off and kick Bass in the nuts, he was too stunned to react and dropped to the floor, sobbing in pain, "YOU KNOW HIM!!! YOU"VE PLAYED GAMES WIH HIM!! HOW COULD YOU!! HOW COULD YOU!!!!"

Before Dawn could kick Bass while he was down, Giles had come storming in and grabbed her saying "Dawn, DAWN!!, random violence is never a solution!"

Dawn half struggled against Giles and then gave in. She turned to face him and sobbed for a minute in his arms. "It may not have been a solution Giles, but it would have made me feel better."

"Quite right." He said softly, "And perhaps justifiably so!" He said sternly while trailing his eyes to the girls, than to the mewling mass of man on the floor. "But I will handle the girls and I would prefer to keep the library floors clear of blood for the time being. Please go with Gienette" he gestured to a tall slayer coming to put her arms around Dawn, " She's got some leads to work on. It will take your mind off these children."

All the girls wince at the word children.

Once Dawn was out of site and the crowd had disappeared, Giles focused his attention onto the girls.

Bass was still groaning on the floor.

"I don't know what to say to you ladies," Giles began, he took off his glasses and began to rub them vigorously, "Several points come to mind, all ranging from lecturing to throttling the life out of all of you! You girls have pestered and pestered about more responsibility and questioned the reasons why the council had decided that girls under 18 were unfit for active duty. Well this was one of the reasons right here! Its not that your skill or your strength are lacking compared to the older slayers, it's your judgement, your sense of compassion. Perhaps these attributes were less important in the past, but my council will hold them in the highest regards and anyone who cannot understand this will find themselves shown out the door!"

Giles replaced his glasses an stared furiously at the sullen girls. "These are real people. Real children of whom you speak. They have families who love and care for them and whose lives were shattered when they were taken! If you can't understand that and find even a small sense of compassion, than maybe none of you are cut out to be slayers."

The girls shivered. Everyone had heard the stories about the ones that didn't make it. Girls and women that the council had decided were too "volatile" to be slayers. That had their powers stripped from them and their memories of the council erased and were sent back to their old lives.

"I believe you girls have something to think about today. And I believe Miss Harnet will have quite a few extra lessons on the value of good judgement and compassion coming your way soon!"

Giles turned and walked away. Before he left the room, they heard him speak again, "Oh and Bass. Put some Ice on them!"

Giles hurried back to his offices as fast as his British reserve would allow. Once there he collapsed in his chair in exhaustion, both physically and mental. His desk was cluttered with leads ranging from possible to the bizarrely far fetch, but none had provided any real incite into where William was or what was happening to him.

Giles pick up a prized possession off his desk, a framed photo of his beloved grand nephew/grandson.. He allowed a few tears to leak though his normally stoic British exterior as he traced the photo with his finger and wondered where this small boy was right now.

Spike collapse into the bed in the dingy run down hotel room, almost too tired to move. They day had provided a small bit of luck with finding the place to begin with. In the forgotten-about hotel at the edge of the road, Spike obtained more information that needed from the obviously board proprietor. He was able to establish that he was, indeed, south of the boarder and managed to gain some maps and some information about the closest settlements. After quietly dumping the kid in the room, Spike manage to conduct several successful raids and triple their supplies. Now all he wanted to do was roll over and sleep.

But he couldn't, he had manage to feed and clean up himself, now was time for the boy. He dragged himself up and picked up the child off the chair he lay on and dumped him fully clothed into the dingy shower. he grabbed a can of broth and pinched the child's nose and began to pour the nourishment unceremoniously down the kids throat, praying he would swallow. Spike's only other alternative to this was to tube the kid or IV him. This kid had to eat!

Satisfied when he automatically began to swallowed, Spike fed him a little, than laid him back in the shower and blasted the water. He spend several minutes just using soap and water to wash the bits of blood and grim off him before he began to try and remove his clothes. Holding him in front with his chest the boy's back, he manage to removed the tattered garments. He spun the boy around to face him and then froze.


"Christ!! Oh Christ!" Spike sobbed.

Burned onto the child's chest was a circular, hauntingly familiar brand. Spike laid the child back down and ran to get the accursed amulet. He returned and held it up the mark on the child and was unsurprised to find a match.

They used him. Somehow they used this child to bring him back. He thought of his nibblet, how she was supposed to be some sort of dimensional key and surmised this child to be the same. Suddenly the weight of responsibility, the debt owed to this boy, increased ten fold. This wasn't some random kidnapping. This kid was taken because of him. This was his fault. He caused this, so it was his job to fix it.

He took more care and consideration as he cleaned and dressed the boy. The clothes didn't quite fit. Too big. He'd have to remedy that next time out. He lied the child out on the bed and collapsed beside him. He allowed himself a moment of rest. They'd have to move out soon. They couldn't stay in one place to long, not until they reached the poof.. But Spike new that his purpose was now clear. No matter what it cost him to himself. He had to get this child home.

ch 6 Joyful places ,

This is a place that knows no sorrow. This is a place that knows no fear. No confusion. No sadness. No pain. No torment. Here. Here in this place, there is only love. Love, and peace, and unconditional understanding. It is a place anyone would be grateful to ascend to, and would be woeful to leave. Once here, the past is all but forgotten, good and bad alike, as the sense of everlasting peace surrounds and fulfills you. Protecting and enveloping you in it's light, for all time

A blond women search the horizon of this place, looking high and low amongst the bright cheerful green landscape. Looking for her most precious charge. Looking for her precious grandson, which at the instant, was no where to be found.

"William?," she called, "Where are you sweetheart?"

"Over here granny!" he answered.

She found him playing amongst the plush grove trees, sailing his little boat besides the clean shallow brook. The breeze blew cool and comforting and whirled around William and his little boat, pushing its sails and ruffling though the boy's hair. He look happy and content, as he should be. For this was a place that knew only joy. No sorrow had ever shadowed the light of this place and none ever would. For here was the haven. Here was the reward, for those souls lucky enough to achieve everlasting bliss. Anne could only watch her grandson in this place, this time, and sigh. The sunny calm of this day, and this place doing little to uplift her spirits.

"Granny!", he cried as he noticed her. He ran to her and hugged her tight around the middle, his face beaming, his precious smile ever present on his face.

"Hey Granny!", he greeted her.

"Hello my little love. Will you come and sit with granny for a while?"

William gave her an enthusiastic nod. He ran and grabbed his little boat and sat down on his granny's lap, as she seated herself upon the soft grass beneath the trees.

They sat in quiet for a while, Anne holding her beautiful grandson in joyful appreciation of him. She smiled, but it was a sad wistful smile. After all, this would be the last time she would be able to see her grandson whole for a very long while. Their precious moments together would come to an end. It was time. He would have to leave this place. He was to be going back soon. It was as it should be. William's place was not here with her. Not at this point. He had so much to do yet. So much life to live and love to experience.

But Anne couldn't help at being a little sorry to see him go. This time together had been so wonderful. A gift she could scarcely believe. After all, it was a miracle that she even had a grandchild, after her dear William was turned. Being granted to give little William sanctuary during this time, being able to watch over him, was a gift that she would treasure for all existence. One that she thanked the power's for endlessly for it.

"William. William, sweetheart, "She began, "Granny needs to talk to you."

"Bout what." he asked and smiled at her. It was his father's smile, and the heart in her chest ached a little more.

"William. You know how much I love you, and how much I treasure being with you. But I'm afraid we have to say goodbye my little love. It's time for you to go back."

She felt his body stiffen, he turned to look at her, wide eyed and frightened as memories assaulted him. Memories that had been pushed to the back corners of his mind as the light of this place filled and healed him. Memories that rushed forth an battled him anew. Memories of dark caverns. Of hunger and fear, of pain and loneliness. "Go back." He whispered. "I...I don't want that."

"Oh sweetheart, you don't really mean that."
"I...I can't go back..back there." He said as tears sprung from his eyes.

"William. When you go back. When you wake up. You will wake quite safe. In the arms of someone who will love and protect you. Of this I promise."

"Have...Have I been bad? Is that why you don't' want me anymore?" Tears were flowing freely as he began to cry earnestly.

"Oh William. I love you sweetheart. It's isn't anything like that."

"Please please granny," He continued to sob, "I'll..I'll be good I promise. I won't be bad again. Please let me stay here. Please don't make me go back."
"William,", Anne sighed, her eyes wet with tears to match his own, "William. Oh sweetheart you didn't do anything wrong. Please look at me."

He look into her eyes, his face both hopeful and crushingly vulnerable.

"You did nothing wrong. And I would love to keep you here with me. I love you sweetheart. But Its not your time to be here. And there are so many people who love and need you back there. Think about them. Think about your mommy."

"Mommy," He whispered. "Mommy" He tried to think. He tried to remember. There was a faint memory of warmth, and happiness, and of being loved. Of being home.

But the memory was far away, first pushed away by pain and despair which was then replace by the light and love of this place. So much so that this memory swam far from the shores of his conscious thought, only accessible though a small lifeboat that still harbored the memory. The one docked in his heart.
Anne saw the conflicting emotions flicker in the boys face. She tried to ease the flow of memories along.

"That's right William. Mommy. Mommy who Loves you. Who needs you. Who is desperately waiting for you to return. You want to go back to mommy. Don't you?"

He said nothing. His face, blank.

She continued to hold him, reassuringly him with soothing words and caresses.
Finally he spoke. "Will I forget you? Forget this place?"

Anne smiled sadly. He grandson was so insightful. Too insightful for such a young age. He recognized too much about the forces of existence. Too much about their nature. It was a burden, Anne felt. One placed on the shoulders of far to many young boys and girls over the span of history. Mystics, Profits, Slayers, Joan of arch. Why do the powers chose to anoint them so young?

That, however, was not her focus, nor a topic she could either influence or control. Here, she could only help one special child. Her precious grandson. One she now needed to reassure. But she needed to hurry.

The sun was setting fast in the sky and the winds were growing increasingly harsh and colder. A sign that the scene was shifting, moving further from the light into increasing entropy. William noticed the change immediately, and started to tremble on her lap. Anne held him tighter against the wind and oncoming darkness.

"Sweetheart. When you wake will remember being loved. Being protected and cared for. But I'm afraid that's all you will remember", She was speaking louder now, trying to shout over the roaring of the winds.

"But I don't want to forget here. I don't want to forget you.", He sobbed loudly.

"Oh William. You will always feel my love for you. And the love of this place. And whenever or wherever you need to, you can call upon that love, and it will give you peace and strength and courage. When you wake, you will remember this.

Remember feeling love. Always know I love you William. It's time to wake up now.

Wake up now
Wake up now
Wake up
Wake up.

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A harsh bright sun blazed angrily though the blinds of a dingy motel room as the young boy struggled on the dusty mattress.

He struggled to wake, to move though the blanket of pain that enveloped him. He struggled to open his eyes, but they appeared to be glued shut. He struggled to move, but white hot aches blasted him though every muscle fiber in his body.

His mind did register some sensation though the haze of pain. Cold, thirst, hunger. But most prevalent was the hurt. The hurt to his body, the hurt to his soul. He battled it for a few moments before his mind collapsed and sucked him into an uneasy, unsettling unconsciousness.

It wasn't that Anne had deliberately deceived William. Nor was she harboring false hopes as it were. It is just that those in the light, forget the power of the dark. Forget that the light of heaven shines dim onto this land and is often difficult to see. Difficult to feel. The light is diffused through the filters of evil; the corruption, the anger and the hate that pollutes this place. The light has difficulty penetrating it's fog. Those in the light forget this.

Forget that darkness covers this land

Forget that it is hell that rules on earth

Chapter 8 L.A.

LA is never dark at night. Not in the heart of the city. Not even in the surrounding hills. The lights of the infrastructures condenses with the smoke and fog and gives the surrounded land an iridescent glow that mocks of brightness and light, trying to give the land, and it's inhabitant, some sense of security. But there is little that is bright and light in the heart of LA, and even less that is guaranteed and secure, not in this vicinity anyway. Not at the heart and soul of the beast.

Angel looks out from an eye of the beast at the false brightness on this chilly winter's eve. The morning is fast approaching, but the darkness is still prevalent, not yet having been chased away by the oncoming sun. Angel can feel the sun as it makes it's descent forward. He can feel it come to chase both the darkness and the false light away. He should fear it. The light of the true sun. The goodness of purity, of it's life giving brightness. It's burning light. He should fear it. But he fears it not. He know well that the specialized glass will protect him. But it too is a false security, for should it crack the sun would scorch, burn him to dust. False security, mocking safety, which yet he needs not. The dark is ruling the landscape, the only light still is the artificial ones created to make the inhabitants feel better. The false illumination remains for now until the true light of the sun bathes the land with it's love.

Angel looks at the land. Looks at the lights. The mockery of the illuminations.

False brightness, like false hopes. That makes sense to the vampire. He is the king of false hopes. He is both it's leader and it's follower.

Buffy's gone. Connor is gone. Cordelia is gone, have slipped from her coma into a peaceful death one month before Connor was turned. All his hopes of redemption, of humanity, gone.

Gone when he sold his soul to this place. For Connor, and that damn amulet.

Ho yes, the amulet is gone too, possibly along with Spike. Well, that would be the only good luck Angel has had so far.

Angel had full crews working around the clock for any sign of Connor, Dru, the amulet, and, at Fred's insistence, Spike.

No mystic or cleric, or psychic can get one blip of any of them on their radar. But Angel is determined. Determined to find them. Determined to have justice for Connor. Determinded to set things right. To fix this. To get them back.. To get them all back. To him


Angel has reverted back to tactics worthy of Angelus to achieve these goals. Tactics he hasn't used in decades. He has bullied, threatened, tortured, even killed, and yet all this has yielded nothing.

Well, not exactly nothing.

The part of him that was Angelus was absolutely singing with glee. The monster whispers into his ear, thanking him profusely. He has been greatly enjoying this.

The monster hasn't had this much fun in a long while.

He hasn't been this close to the surface in years.

The monster laughs at him, but also, waits silently.

They are coming to unleash him.

They've been working to set him free.

He need only sit back and wait, perhaps whisper into ears now and again and the time will come.

He will be free.

Free to watch hell unleashed on Earth...At long last.

Angel doesn't register these last few thoughts. Angelus is much better at hiding himself within Angel's mind. This place is helping with that too. No, Angel's thoughts are only fixated on the who, what and why of the recent events. Still believing that he is the one that is in control. Still believing that he can fix this, make it all better, He peers silently out the window, his cold body not noticing the increasingly chilling air.

Chapter 9 The winds,

The breeze from the window, slightly ajar, is cold here, as in L.A. and reflects the chill of this still dark night. But here in the security of this room, surrounded by his scent, a mother dreams, her first seemingly non-horrific dream in weeks.

She sees him standing alone in the darkness by a small brook. He is still, silently watching the soothing rippling of the water.

"Sweetie?" She calls calmly, as if he hadn't been lost to her. As if he hadn't been missing these past weeks.

He turns to address her. "Hello," he says quietly, and turns his attention back toward the water.

"Sweetie. Whatcha you doing out here baby?" She kneels down and runs her finger thought his hair. "What's wrong baby?"

"I have leave this place" He answers sullenly. "I don't want to. "

"Well, I can see that this is a nice place to visit." She looks around. The air is much warmer here, and even though it is dark there is a comforting feeling in this midnight blue landscape. A familiar feeling that leaves her warm and peaceful. A feeling that she could just curl up with her son here and be safe, safe and happy forever. But something inside the mother recognized that this wasn't right. They couldn't stay here.

"I think I should like to stay here too." The mother says, "But this isn't home. We should get back home. It must be very late."

"Too late." The boys says sadly. "Too late to go home."

"Oh baby." The mother reaches out to hold him, "It's never too late. Never too late to come home."

Rain begins to fall as the wind suddenly picks up. It begins to blast forth violently, and is cold. So, so cold. She turns, just for a moment, to peer though the rushing winds, and feels him slip though her grasp. She tries to grab for him, tries to hold her son tight. But she can't hold him. Can't keep him. She know this. Feel it as she feels the cold, to the very bone, but she tries anyway. It is all for not as she feels him slipping further and further though her fingers.

He is slipping into the force of the wind. She tries and tries to hold on, but can't keep him. He slips away, and disappears into the fury of the storm. His screams and pleas of "Mommy, Mommy help me" carrying loudly though the winds.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Buffy wakes up with her sons cries still ringing in her ears. She rolls over in his bed, clutches his pillow, breathes his scent, and can only cry. It's the only thing she seems to be able to do...cry. The only thing she has been able to accomplish in weeks. She couldn't protect him. She can't find him. All she can manage to do, she thought bitterly, is cry for him.
'Well', She thinks and she closes her eyes, 'That's more than his father got'


Chapter 10: Waking

The fog of the pain and dreams lift and float away, and in the wee hours of the early morning, William once again struggled to open his eyes. Consciousness coming much easier now, as his mind and body had already begun the task of healing thyself. His body slowly begins to stir. His brain registers the pain, but it has dulled into a slow and steady ache, much less tormenting than before. His slowly healing body was now almost back to full performance, with only some minor hindrances from his limbs, some due to on going injuries, some from lack of use. Hesitantly, he moves on the bed, and cracks open his eyes, as he slowly sits up.

Confusion has clouded and dazed him. His newly awakened mind not yet having a full grasp of the memories of the past few weeks, nor is he fully aware of his current state

He sees that he is in an unfamiliar room, on top of an unfamiliar bed. The room was dingy, dusty and sparse, but far more comforting than the frighteningly dim, dank caverns of his dreams.

Carefully he tries to get up, and the pain throughout his body intensifies. After a few false starts, he manages to get onto his feet and take a couple of carefully hesitant steps. Slowly, he wanders around the room, investigating this place. This place, he has no memory of arriving at. He can't help but wonder at how he got there, and he recognizes that something is not right. Something is missing, absent from this place. Something vital. He immediately both senses and misses it greatly.

He recognizes certain artifacts occupying this space. There are clothes streamed haphazardly around the room. There is a clutter of empty food container and cans heaped in a corner. There's a collection of clutter on the side table. Amongst the paraphernalia he finds, towels and soaps, medicines, creams and ointments of some kind. Also there were flashlights, batteries, other kitchen type utensils, and several long sharp knifes. William hesitantly pick up a knife into his left hand. As he held it an image came rushing into the forefront of his mind.

A knife slicing into his palm.

Blood dripping down his own hands.

Terrible pain and burning and then blackness.

And then, the vampires, especially the female. The female who took him. The female who hurt him. Who had kept him locked away from his home. From his family, from his mommy.
William dropped the knife in horror and backed away from the table. He looked frantically around as he began to cry. The memories of the past few weeks slamming into his brain with infinite detail.

Mommy! Where was his mommy? He didn't feel her near him anywhere. Why couldn't he call her? William frantically looked around for a phone, but found none.
He tried to invoke the powers to summon her. Shout for her though his mind and hers. As he tried to formulate his energy, a familiar prickling of pain laced through his head.

William quickly halted his attempts and fell to his knees. The spell! He remember the spell!

Nothing about self can be told!

Nothing about self can be invoked!

He couldn't call anyone. He couldn't even say his own name! Or anyone's name that he knew and loved. Tear began to stream down his face as he sobbed with grief. He felt lost. Lost and frustrated and alone. And terrible, terrible fear.

For this child, a child who had know only love and protection since birth, who had know only safety and joy, these new feelings of loneliness and isolation were horrifying. For this child of magic, who was used to feeling strong and confident. These feelings of helplessness were alien to him. He had never know such terror.

William sat on his near on the frayed carpet of this dingy room; simply sat on the bed and cried and wondered what would become of him. He sat this way for many minutes until he felt a presence coming near, and hear the click of a key into the door. He scrambled up and threw himself onto the bed, doing his best to appear to still be asleep.

--------------------------
Spike wandered sleepily into the room, bypassing the bed with a slight glance, heading straight for the small kitchen area. There he threw his key down on the slab of concret that served as a makeshift table.
They had moved twice in the past couple days. From one dingy motel room to another. Didn't anyone in Mexico have a bloody phone? Did Ma Bell bypass the entire Central America region?

Spike supposed he could have gone to the local cops. He'd been in and out of enough of these small towns to see that there was some kind of law down here. But Spike was distrustful by nature, and wasn't ready to answer any questions. Especially with the kid in the state he was in. And especially when he was currently in possession of illegally gotten games. He didn't fancy American prison, and he figured a Mexican jail would probably be worse. Spike couldn't risk it.

No. They were alone in this.

He had managed to 'trade' the car in again, but this one was a bloody clinker. It would have to do. It was the only thing he could find. At this rate they'd make L.A. shortly before the next millennia. They were getting nowhere fast.

At least he manages some better clothes for himself and the kid, and also some basics supplies, flashlights, medicines.

He got lucky in finding and raiding the Mexican version of a Walmart. But his raid were becoming infamous, and he had heard whispers of a ring of bandits raiding the villages and towns along the roads. He had to make some time and had to do it quickly, before a local pigs caught their scent and starting rutting their noses around. If only he didn't have to drag the brat around.

("Leave him. He will only bring you trouble.")

His own voice echoes in his mind, infusing it with these poisonous sentiments. Harder and harder it was getting to drown them out. Spike closed his eyes and griped the table hard, as the voice became louder and more insistent in his mind. A slight scream is ripped from his throat and escapes into the wind.

("Leave him. He is a burden. He is nothing to you")

"Fuck you to hell." Is Spike's gritted response to the voice.
He moved quickly to dumped the content of the bag on the table, focussing on the emerald green bottle and the alluring amber liquid contained there in.

Spike holds the bottle up and peers longingly at it. He fondles the body of it. Caresses it as he would a lover. He closes his eyes and runs his fingers along the long slender neck as it leads to the screw cap. And inside, he can imagine the sweet ambrosia. The tip of his tongue sneaks between his teeth and wets his lips. He can imagined the taste of it of this fruit. The feel of it. He can sense the fiery liquid caressing his throat, easing his pain.

Spike longs for some escape. He longs for the fog endued oblivion that he knows this nectar can produce. Bust most of all he longs for rest. Rest and the peace that he know that can be provided in this bottle. It has been way to long since he slept.

"Ah you. You can make everything better, yah?"
William, being only four, is naturally curious and has a short attention span. He momentarily forgets fear and sneaks a peak though his partially closed lids. He sees a man. A man talking to a..a bottle. The man seem familiar somehow even if his actions at the moment are not.

William watches the scene with curiosity, until he sees the man throw the bottle down in disgust and turn away from the table.
Spike shook his head in a mixture of disgust and unfulfilled desire. He turns away from the siren in the emerald bottle. The last time he indulged, it had only taken a few swigs (he thinks) and the next thing he knew he had awoken on the floor, a happy roach crawling on his chest, enjoying the fallen cheetos still clinging to his shirt. He had lost a whole day, and what was worse was, he had muted his senses. Christ he was being swarmed by vermin and was none the wiser.

Not good for him.

Not good for the kid.

No, he had to keep his senses sharp. It was the only way to survive. Yes, survive. Spike was a survivor, and a stubborn one at that. He had survived worse. He would burn in hell before he would be torn down. He would survive this.

Spike removed the rest of his good. Grabbed out a can of prepackaged soups and set it to "cook" in the kitchen; 'Kitchen' being a relative term for a makeshift table off the back of the room that hosed an ancient mini fridge and a hot plate, but Spike would make due. It had been over a hundred years since he had looked to food as anything but a pleasurable hobby. The necessity of hunger was the only thing that moved him to eat this swill, but he needed food to survive, and he dare not leave the boy alone too long. He was afraid to leave him alone and vulnerable. But also, he was afraid to subject the kid to prolong car trips, which was the main cause for the little time they had made on their journey thus far. He wasn't a Dr. Didn't know squat about how to nurse a sick unconscious child, but he figured bouncing around underneath the hot Central American sun in a car with no air condition was not conducive to health. So he traveled only as far as he dared.

Spike felt a ticking his spine, he felt eyes upon his back. Quickly he abandoned the soup only to turn around to find.
To find an unconscious child. Spike peered at the figure on the bed. He was thoughtful for a minute before he shook the thought away with a shake of his head. "Bloody well imagining things now," he mumbled with a shake of his head.

William poked his head up curiously again and watched the main. He wasn't talking to his bottle anymore. It looks like he was making something. William could smell the cookery and it made his mouth water and his tummy grumbled. He couldn't remember when he had suppered last. Suddenly, William saw the man take his beloved bottle and smashed it all on the floor, mumbling bad words all the while doing it. He was careful not to move though, not to flinch as the man seemed to get more and more upset over his broken bottle. 'Wow, he really must like bottles,' Wills thought.

Spike stared down at the ruined liquid coating the dingy floor. 'Least I din't pay for it,' he thought with irony. Spike slid down the wall into the pool of liquid and held his head in his hands. The scent of the ruined elixir reached his nose and hot tears escaped his eyes. He gritted his teeth, fighting within himself to get his torrid emotions under control but it was a war he couldn't win.

The grief and pain and fear of the days past overwhelmed him and he was lost amongst the misery that was his existence.

How could one person be subjected to so much pain? Was there not a limit to the amount
mount of torment that can be placed on one being? His mortal life before had been subjected to loneliness and ridicule. His vampire life was one of servitude with a few brief moments of glory and lust thrown in here and there. When he met Buffy, things had changed. He caught glimpses of the beauty that was life. The light that beams through the shadows of existence. Home, happiness, family, friends. The things that keep us going through the drudgery and hell that is life. We continue, hoping to gleam a few of those precious moments of happiness.
Of camaraderie. Of belonging. It's all most of us have.

Spike had seen it from a distance, but he had merely traded one sentence of servitude for another. He was a servant, watching at a distance the joys of the manor house. Participating, but never as a guest. Feeling the light directed at others, but hardly onto himself, except in mockery and falsehoods. Because it wasn't real was it? Those lights, those feelings of love, especially at the end. Was it real? Any of it?

Spike wasn't sure. He wasn't sure of anything anymore, not even himself.

The tingling sensation began again as he was wallowing in his misery amongst the wet and the dirt and dust and the now happily inebriated cockroaches that felt safely ignored while they inspected their liquid treat.

Spike did ignored the vermin. He ignored the sticky sweet dirt now clinging to his lower half. He rose slowly not bothering to wipe the moisture from his face. He cautiously and with great interest entered the space where lied the bed, and the child upon it.

The child lie still. Spike watch, a mix of strange new feelings he couldn't describe touched at him. He concentrated on calming himself, getting his heart rate under control. He blinked his eyes opened and closes foe several minutes. Every time he opened his eyes he was met with the child's closed ones.

This game of revers peekaboo went on several minutes. Until finally it the inevitable happened. William miscalculated a fraction of a second. Sometimes that is all it takes to change things forever. A fraction of a second. One small miscalculation.

The next time Spike opened his eyes, he was met with a pair of smaller blue one's peering back at him.

William was quicker to react as Spike was momentarily stunned. He honestly didn't expect to see consciousness in the child. He didn't really expect to see anything, so cluttered was his mind as of late. He thought he was imagining things. He thought madness had finally overtaken him.

So he reacted a second too late as William panicked and leapt up from the bed and ran with a speed that shocked Spike. Just how long had this kid been dicking him around?

It only took Spike a moment to collect himself, but a moment was all that was needed for William to pry the door open and take off out into the desert.

Spike lingered in confusion for only a minute longer before he took off like a bullet.

William ran and ran until he could feel his heart pounding in his chest. The thud thud of the organ drumming in his ears. He felt the presence of the chase. He felt the man catching up behind him. William tried as hard as he could to pour on more speed but it was to no avail. His small legs could only pump so hard so fast and in his blind panic he forgot his magic and simply ran. Ran for his life.

To where he didn't know.

From what he couldn't care.

He ran and ran. He ran because it was all he could think of to do. He ran even though he had no place to go. No one to go to.

Spike had a few slight advantages over this child. Besides his years of experience with the hunt, the chase; He was also already fully recuperated, and he had much longer legs. It only took him moment to catch up with the child.

Spike tackled the boy who struggled and fight in his arms. Spike managed to haul the scratching and biting child onto his shoulder and cart him back towards their room. He was silently grateful for the desolation of this place because the few stragglers and derelicts who took refuge here paid him no mind, most being already drunk, even at this hour of the day
.
Spike barley manage to get open the door before the boy began his assault anew. Growling while biting and kicking he hit Spike where ever he could.

Spike steadied the child. He gripped him tight in his arms and eased him down his chest. The boys' back facing him. He gripped the kid tight while grunting.

"Will you hold on a second!" Spike growled. The temptation just to take the squirming child and throttle him back to unconsciousness was overwhelming.

('Yes, kill him." "Kill him and be done with it. End this now")

"F..Fuck me!" Spike growled.

"Now see here." He grabbed the boy by his flailing arms and turned him to his face. He peered sternly into the boy's eyes while keeping the him immobile.

"If I was going to hurt you, you'd be in a world of hurt already. Yeh?". He looked seriously at the child. "I'm not gonna hurt you. I'm not gonna hurt you."

The child in his arms calmed. His lips changed from a scowl into a pout and he began to silently cry.

Spike didn't know what possessed him to pull the child into his embrace. To try to soothe the boy's fears. It was like an instinct, but from where only God knew. Spike repeated over and over "I'm not gonna hurt you. I'm not gonna hurt you." Trying to make the boy understand. To believe.

Now Spike just had to believe it himself.

Ch 11 Understandings.(note please review it's what keeps me going).

Spike stood there stiffly with the quietly sniffling child held loosely in his embrace. His eyes wide in confusion as emotions warred inside him ranging from horror at his actions to a tenderness he had never know. Spike slowly extracted the child from his embrace and simply stared at him. The boy's tear stained eyes and anguished expression pulled at Spike's soul. It made him experience feelings of pity and of caring, and of...disgust. This child reminded him of something. He was too hauntingly familiar of...someone. A persona that Spike had been trying desperately to shed all of his immortal life. One which he would not let reassert itself in this new mortal reality.

With lips thinned, Spike hardened himself. He needed to stay in control, calm, neutral. He had to get his turbulent senses linked on to one soul purpose. Survival. Once he was assured of that, he could go on with his life. Alone.

'Best not let the kid get too attached,' Spike thinks.

Spike dragged the boy gently, but sternly by the arm and let him to sit on the bed. The child
put up no resistance as he sat down on the stained sheets, his leaky eyes caste down to the floor in defeat.

Spike look at the lost child. Quivering. Shaking. Crying. ('Weak!') ('Another Weakling')
('Be done with him William'!) His mind shouted.

Spike's anger got the better of him. He gripped the child by his shoulders and shook him roughly, causing the boy's eyes to go wide and peer up at him.

"What the bloody hell where you thinking!" He shouted, "What do you thinks all going on around here?! You think this is some kind game? Think your fairy godmother's gonna come down and save you? Think you can just run off and catch the next pumpkin coach?"

Spike shook the boy harder, "Where on the run for our lives. I've been dragging you around for days. How long you been able to get around anyway!? You think you can play me for a fool!?"

Spike released the crying child with a slight shove. He began pacing around the room, cursing and ranting, and carrying on, more to himself than to the boy.

"Where the hell, did you think you were gonna get off to?" Spike shouted at him, "I'm all you got in the world. I'm what stands between you and a slow painful death at the hand of some nice hungry vampires. They'd make a right little snake out of a tasty tid bit like you all right, Wouldn't they?"

The boy's trembled and his cries increased.

'What am I doing!' Spike thought. 'I'm not cut out for this. I'm no hero.'

"I bloody well did my job didn't I?" Spike shouted at the ceiling. "Saved the bloody world! This is a hero's end!? To become baby-sitter for the supernatural disenfranchised youths of the world? Well, no thanks and fuck you! I got a un-li..er life to lead! Such as it is!"

('Yes, End it now. It is so simple. Take the knife. No one would know.')

"Simple.." Spike mummered coldly as a slow evil smile creeping onto his face., "Sooo simple." he quietly whispered. His eyes lightened with a cold glow.

Spike calmly walked to the heap of cluttered objects at the end of the room and grabbed his blade. He was himself and not himself, outside of time and space as he held the blade, looked at it, fondled it, savored it. 'Soooo simple'

His eyes were narrowed and turned colder as he moved and faced the boy. The boy's tears stopped and his eyes widen in terror. He remained absolutely still as he watch Spike slowly approach, blade in hand. A sudden slight sting caused him to rub his left hand across his chest, wincing slightly as the still burned skin ached under his movements.
.
Spike halted his steps. His eyes widened as his senses suddenly came rushing back within himself. They slammed into him like a freight train as he dropped the knife. He turned from the boy, guilt and shame seeping into his soul at what had crossed his mind. This kid was here because of him. He knew this. He didn't know how but he knew this, but he was as certain of it; as certain as he was that he now needed air to breathe. And he had made promises. To himself, To his mum, and to the kid not 5 minutes ago.

Spike stumbled across the room and finally landed on the floor with a thud. His blue eyes met the boy's as both stared at each other in shock. Spike didn't know what had just happened, but he had felt almost out of control for a moment. Just a moment.
A moment almost too long. Look what he'd almost done.

"I'm going mad." He whispered to himself, "Stark raving mad."

Spike heard a grumbling and he turned to look at the boy again who was now holding his stomach and grimacing as if in pain. Spike heard a sizzling crack like oil on a griddle and a burning smell.

"Bloody hell!" He cried as he got up and ran to rescued his lunch which was boiling over onto the hot plate. He sighed as he picked up a ruin cloth to clear up the mess. Quickly he changed his mind and dropped the cloth. Let the roaches have what spilled over. 'It will go nicely with the bourbon.' He thought dryly.

He grabbed the flat bread that was on the table and whatever soup he could salvage.
"Bon appetite boys" He wished to the vermin.

He started toward the bed. A fresh slab of guilt washed over him as he saw the boy cowered and scramble to the far edge. Spike broke off a piece of the bread and handed it carefully to the child.

The boy licked his lips, and Spike could tell he was near starved. However the kid was eyeing him as if he was Satan himself, pitchfork, horns and all, offering him a flaming turd to dine on.

Spike sighed. "Look kid." He took a piece of bread and slowly, almost comically began to overly enthusiastically chew the slightly stale substance. "Mmmmm," Spike intoned, "He rubbed his stomach, "Yummy eats."

For a second Spike could have sworn he saw a smirk appear on the kid's face before a mask of wariness slipped back onto it. However, Spike's point was established and his goal accomplished. The boy took some bread into his hands. He looked at the bread, sniffed it a couple of times, and gingerly took a bite into his mouth. One taste was enough to encourage him and he began to shove the rest of the food into his mouth as quickly as he could, taking in giant lung fulls of air in as he went about inhaling both food and oxygen in great gulps.

"Hey now take it easy mate. Chew a little bit will ya? You'll choke yourself to death and get a stomach ache besides. Wait here". Spike got up and quickly grabbed a can of cola and gave it to the boy. "Amazingly enough this stuff is easier to come by than water, and safer too. It's wet and it'll do to get you hydrated. Drink up."

Spike noticed that the child seemed to ease. His eating slowed and they finished the rest of their makeshift meal together in silence. Once the food was consumed Spike clear the waste off the bed. Stood up and look down at the boy.

"Now my little friend. What are we to do with you?"


Ch 12
"What am I going to do?" The young man grunted as he stood sat overlooking the all to quiet lands.

He had climbed a tree as to better peer into the desolate woods, and into the small town close beyond it. As keen as his immortal eyes were he could detect no moment, his superior ears heard no sounds. These small towns, the woods and it's inhabitants are of another time and place. They are superstitious in nature and take no chances in the cover of night. Even the smallest creatures knows well the dark horror that rule in the blackness. So all beings who value life keep themselves locked away and well hidden. It is hard to hunt here, but he had grown up on a far harsher world. He had survivor more treacherous trials. He would survive this. Survival was what he knew. The only thing familiar to the man.

But the man needed to find food. Human food and soon.

He didn't dare travel to a larger city. For on this night and many nights to follow, they were as hunted as the prey they searched for. Scavengers of all shapes and sizes stalked them in the streets like vultures ready to devour the doomed prey. That is exactly how the man felt. That summed it up in a word. Doomed.

The man clutched his head into his hands and pulled slightly at his brown hair. He remembered better days, blissful times, and began to wondered when it all began to fall apart. Bitterly he remembered when. When the witch had come. That bitch came and delivered them to his father. His father always seemed to be the cause of his ruination. The bane of his existence. His father, and that blond bastard. They had caused this. And eventually, they would pay for it.

It was because of them that they where, stuck out in this oblivion. A hell almost as worse than the caves they'd escape from. No where to run, nary a place to hide. How do you hide, after all, when hell itself is searching for you?

Connor's thought were interrupted by a low whisper on the wind. He immediately set off in search of the intrusion into the silence.

What he came upon was a young couple. Teens sneaking away from the security of their farms. Young lovers with lust in their loins that seeped into and clogged their brains. Foolish of them to abandon all that they know, all that they hold dear and value, for an hour of rutting in the woods, and the instant yet limited moments of pleasure this interlude could possibly provide. One moment of pleasure, that would cost them everything. Their very lives in fact.
Foolish of them, but fortuitous for the beast.

Connor crept closer. He could see the pair easily now. Could hear their muffled moans and smell their mutual arousal. He watch them all but tear the clothes off each other and fall back onto the sodden moss. Still he watch and waited. The caresses, the kisses, the slow fondling. The scent of the pheromones. He could not keep himself from rubbing his own now rigid aching member, as the organ felt it's need to remind him that it had been neglected for far..far too long. Because...

Because his princess was angry. She had not and would not forgive for his betrayal and her anger had festered like a gangrenous sore. Angry that he had taken her away. Angry that he had made her leave her 'knight' and her golden boy. Even angrier still that she was stuck out here, with nothing but baby raccoons or possums to feed from. Hunting had been horrendous, until now.

Connor continued to wait even though the quickening of the fucking was killing him with his own lust. He watch the boy enter her. Heard their grunts of satisfaction and commencing pleasure, and still Connor waited.

The closer they got to coitus, the sweater the blood would be. A fine treat for his princess. One that would go along way to achieving his redemption.

As he heard their heart beats quicken and their breaths become increasingly ragged only then did he swoop swiftly down on the unsuspecting pair. He would have played with them. He would have gagged the boy. Cut him deep, but left him alive. He would have made the boy watched as he roughly fucked his female. Taking her time and time again before the eyes of her anguished lover. Maybe then he would have fucked the boy as well. Painfully thrusting into his ass. Rejoicing at the blood and howls that would flow from the him.

Connor grew painfully harder. He could almost her the imagined screams and please as he unceremoniously broke both their next in a succession of quick blows. This kill was thoroughly unsatisfying. Connor grabbed the girl and drank deeply. Ahh a newly deflowered virgin, barely. Does it count if your penetrated but not yet..sealed the deal?

The blood quenched his hunger but not his burning desire and the ache in his loins. The ache for sex, for blood, for kill. But Connor dare not let too much noise escape into the winds, lest the town become aware of the presence of outsiders. These people took care of their own, and would not be kept from going on the hunt themselves. Connor had enough people hunting him.

No, a quick silent kill was better. The town would think the pair had simply run off. This way was smarter, better. Better to keep his princess safe.

Connor buried over the spilt blood, making doubly sure he left no evidence of the kill and proceeded to gather his prizes up for his princess.


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He was gone again. Probable off trying to hunt. A fruitless endeavor in this vial sparse land where the people all hide away like little scared rats in their holes.

Hours had gone by and not a word had been yet heard. Even as hungry as the women was, she cared not. She hoped the foul little wretch had gone and staked himself on a spike somewhere.

The idea of a 'spike' had Drusilla in tears once again. Oh where Oh where had her darling knight gone. The whispers were silent, the expanse black. She could neither feel him nor hear him out there. Neither him, nor her little golden one. They were lost in the void, lost where she couldn't find them, couldn't catch them. Oh why Oh why had the One deserted her? Where were her lovely boys? Where were all her lovely dreams? Where had it all gone?

"All gone...All gone," She muttered sadly, "All gone..Like smoke." she giggled manically even as her eyes filled with tears. "Gone..Gone. Flew away they did. My little bright birds, into the sun where I can't follow."

Too soon. Too soon for her liking Dru felt a familiar prickling in her spine. Dramatically, always mindful of an 'audience', she threw her arm up and clutch the side of her head, scrunching her face in a painful grimace. 'He's back' 'So much for the hope he'd staked himself,' she mused.

She quickly arranged herself, tragically onto the old mattress that Connor had dubbed their 'bed'. She lay there in her best 'mourning pose' as to better await her wayward childe.

She felt her him approach. Soon she noticed his presence was accompanied by the delicious aroma of blood. Fresh Human Blood. But even as her mouth watered, she would not give in. She was far older than he and the one in control here. ' If he thinks this pittance of an offering will save him, he had better rethink himself again' she giggled inwardly, but outwardly she was as cold and as solid as stone.

'It will take a whole sea of virgin blood to redeem him, as well as the return of my treasure.'
"My treasures", she moaned quietly.

Connor frowned. 'She think of them again' Carefully he lowered his offering to the ground. Slowly, gently Conner approached. He laid down beside her on the makeshift bed. "Mother, Please. You need to eat. Need to keep your strength up. Please. Please eat mother. Please. Let me.. Let me care for you."

"If you cared for me you would have left me with my knight." Drusilla sobbed, " And.. and my beautiful little bobble." She cried.

"Them. Them again." Connor spoke calmly even as the storm clouds rolled through his soul. His eyes flecked gold and then red as the anger stirred within him. "Why is it them you always speak of? Why is it them you are so concerned for. I am here. Me! Connor! I, who love and care and provide for you.."

"Ohh. Provide for me do you?" Drusilla spat as she quickly rose. "This is provision?" she said as her hand waved slowly around the room. "An old shack in the middle of nowhere. No comforts. No beautiful things. No jewels With only my miss Edith to comfort me. My Spike would have provided better. I would have my treasures. My beautiful things. My beautiful dresses with beautiful dollies in them for me to feast upon. YOU! You bring me pittance from off the side of the swine pen."

Connor sighed and hung his head. Try and try as he may he always seemed to fail her somehow. Fail her as he had failed his foster father. His True father. The man who raised him and taught him to be strong. He had failed him,and now he has failed Dru. Would he ever be good enough? Would he ever earn her love? A love solely for him?

His sullen 'whipped puppy' look only served to further infuriate Drusilla. She frowned at him.

"Is this what kind of man you are?", she sneered as she turned to face him. "Cowering and whimpering like an abandoned bitch? My Spike was a real man. He at least would lash out in a drunken violent rage as he wallowed in his self pity. But you. Look how pathetic you are! Son of Angelus indeed".

Connor's head shot up at the mention of his bastards 'fathers' name. His eyes flashed gold as he glared at the woman.

If Drusilla notice she didn't seem to care much. She continued her game of berating and taunting her lover. She moved around to turn her back on the man"Daddy would have taken care of me. For the good and the bad. Daddy would have rewarded me with treats and pleasures if I had been good. If I had been naughty girl daddy would have punished me right proper." She giggled, "although some of his punishments could be pleasing too. He was a man who knew how to take what he wanted, in pleasure and pain. Torture and pleasing pleasing and torture, such a fine line between the pleasure and pain and it all blurs together. Blur together in colors of yellows and purples and reds.. So much red, like blood. So much blood, 'specially if you do it proper...."

Dru's hysterical laughter and insane ranting was drowned out by the rage building inside the man. Connor could hear no sounds except the rush of his own anger thundering in his ears, exploding his brain with a nuclear force. How dare she compare him to Angelus. That bastard. A creature that felt only for himself. Acted for only his own befit. Survived only through luck and by surrounding himself with more able companions through which he could bully, but also hide behind. How dare she compare that creature to a man like Connor? A true survivor? A true champion?

The rage Connor felt over took him. With gleaming red eyes, Connor grabbed the still babbling Drusilla from behind and forced down onto the mattress. Drusilla struggled for a moment out of reflex. An old memory, one buried inside under the vampire, under the insanity. A fragment of what once was a young human girl struggled against being forcibly taken.

The resistance fueled Connor's desire. She was weak from stress and hunger and it was easy, so easy, for Connor to overtake her, pinning her arms underneath her with his weight as he held her. Easy to take and so much fun. His breathed labored in ragged gasps from struggle and desire. He was so so hard, he ached. It had been so long since he had shared pleasure with his dark goddess. It had been even longer since he had forced his pleasures onto another.

He forced Drusilla down onto the mattress and pinned her beneath him. Mindless in his need he grabbed her dress and ripped it off. He kept her pinned beneath him, oblivious to her continued efforts to fight him. He simply stared and admired her body. Her creamy thighs, her pearl white buttocks, the hint of dark hair the surrounded her cunt. Her lushes breasts that lied on her bountifully even as they were pressed into the mattress.

Still subduing her, he reach with one hand and began to grabbed at her breast. "Your so beautiful. MY goddess. Mine! No one else. I'm going to show you. I'm going to make you feel it. I'm going to wipe away the memory of all others tonight!"

Connor's hands groped at her body, Touching and folding as much skin as he could manage as quickly as he could manage. He licked and kissed and bit and he touched her. He couldn't get enough of her. Her skin, her taste her scent. For as now her struggled were subsiding and he could smell her arousal rising. A part of him became disappointed even as another rejoiced at the submission. He would have liked the battle to last longer. He would have like to enter her forcibly. Show her who the man was.

Soon his need grew mindless and he no longer cared if she was willing of not. But he wanted her to know who was here. Who was doing these things to her. Who had subdued and excited her. Who had won.

He shoved her legs apart and entered her though the rectum. Her asshole was so tight that he almost climax upon entering. He savored the feeling. Savored the slight smell of arousal and blood that his entrance into her has cause. He fondled a breasts with one hand as he yanked her head up by her hair with another.

"Who is doing this. Who is here. Who is it you love?." Even as he felt her give in to him, she was still stubborn. She refused to answer. He clawed and pinched at her nipple. He hard her gasp. He pulled all the way out and rammed into her dry hole, starting to slick with her blood. He heard her squeak and then moan.

"Who!" he demanded.

"Connor. My Connor. My boy. My love"

"Damn right!" He sneered and he continued to pound her from behind. The pleasures he was feeling were indescribable. His hand on her head was now more of a caress that a force, but still it held her face firmly down, reminding her who was dominant, who was in charge. She was responding to him eagerly now. Reveling in his kisses and his bites, and the movement of his tongue on her skin. Rejoicing the his wandering hands clawing at her body. He was coming closer and closer to coming. He could her moans, and groans and cries of pleasure, but knew she needed more. She needed a push over the edge into bliss. He had provided the pain, but she needed a bit more pleasure.

Should he deny her? Deny her as she had him? It would serve her right. He pulled at her hair again, yanking her face up. "Should I let you come?, ". He whispered in her ear. He licked her and whispered again, "Or should I simple take my own pleasure and leave you?"

"No." She whimpered quietly.

"What was that mother? Be sure now in your answer. I wouldn't want to misinterpret you at such a..pinnacle moment."

"No. Don't leave. Don't leave me." She asked.

"Do you want to come", He asked.

"Yes." She whispered.

"I don't think you want it bad enough, or you'd be..nicer in your asking. What is the magic word? What do all good little girls say." At her hesitation, he added, "You don't want me to leave do you?"

"Please." She whispered quietly.

"What was that mother? I didn't quite her you?" He asked as he pounded her.

"Please. Please Connor. Please fuck me. Please let me come. Please don't leave me."

Connor would have liked to make her beg longer, but he needed his released. The hand not on her head wandered around to pinch her clit. Drusilla came hard, ripping at the mattress while crying out her pleasure. Moment after she shrieked Connor came with a shout.

The lied there for a moment. Connor pulled out of her. He walked across the room to grab a towel and a clean dress. Drusilla was sitting upright on the blood stained mattress when he returned.

He threw the garments at her, "Now clean up and then eat. If dinner is cold it's your own fault, so no more complaining for today. Understand?"

She looked at him and for a brief second defiance flashed in her eyes. But she rose slowly clutching the clothes. "Yes Connor." she said.

And so they ate, and then Connor fucked her again and again throughout the night. Making up for lost time, reminding her of what she had, and what she had to lose.

The hour grew late as both vampires collapsed onto the mattress in exhaustion. Falling into a deep sleep.

Neither saw a shadow in the corner of the room, coming into vision as the rising sun brightened the land. The blond shadow look upon the couple, upon the man in tears.

"Oh Connor.", the shadow whispered, "I know there is good in you. My poor sweet baby. I know all is not lost. I don't care what they say. You did right once. You will again. I have faith. You can be spared You will be saved." She vowed as she disappeared into the light.

Neither vampire heard her.

Ch 13. Lessons

Faith. She had faith. They'd find the traitors. They'd find the boy.... They would succeed. The heavens will weep as the streets flow with blood and all hell will be uncovered on earth. Yes! All will cower in fear as they rage and battle and conquer...

Right after lunch.

The witch smiled as she heard a knock. She ushered in the room service cart and summarily dismissed the humans without so more than a few curt words. They were beneath her and should know as such. All soon would be her servants. Her slaves. All would be under the rule of the dark power. Under her rule.

She enjoyed her breakfast of flaky crepes in a crushed grape demi-glaze sauce with fresh fruits and fluffed cream.

"Hmm." she intoned.

The room in which she resided was equipped with the finest of elegance. The freshest softest linens of silk. Beds and pillows and blankets of soft quill feathers. Fine regal furnishings. Only the best pent house suite in a more 'civilized' portion of the world would do. She deserved pampering after her hellish ordeal. Those months in that pit with those wretched vampires and that whinny boy. Her body and spirit had been severely impoverished. She had even broken a nail or two. Such pity.

She deserved the best after her suffering, after her torment To compensate her for her ordeal, after all. And her money, formally 'daddy's money. bought her the best. A great deal of the best. Whoever claimed that evil never prospered were fools and certainly didn't know daddy. Evil prospers every day.

And she would prosper, and live in luxury as she should. She would have the life befitting a queen, a goddess.

"You are not a goddess...yet..."

'Damn.", she thought. The witch wasn't foolish enough to think that this repast would last forever. Soon the 'one' would demand she return to service. She had hoped for a little more time.

"You." She addressed the shadow, "You ignore me when I call, and then come when you are not asked."

"I am a servant of the 'One'. I am always there. But I am at the indenture of the power, and not at your sufferance." It replied.

"Always there hmm? Where you there when that little shit tried to gut me?"

"Such language Petal?"

"Where you?" She demanded.

"I am always there and not there."

"A little warning . Perhaps a move away or duck would be prudent for next time someone tries to gut me like a common Christmas goose." the witch said dryly.

The shadow smiled. "I will not bore you with explanations. You know well what is 'permitted' and what is beyond control. I will say this. When I taught you to keep your enemies close, up your cunny was not what I had in mind."

"Did you think that was be reserved for you? You pathetic old fool. Reduced to being the piss boy for a greater being. How the mighty have fallen."

The shadow continued to smile. "Now Petal. Now's not the time to bait me. There is serious work to be done. You have..taken your sabbatical..long enough. We trust by now that you have some news of the traitors? Of the boy?."

The witch grimaced and turned away, "I have the matters well in hand."

The shadow crept closer, still smiling with his sinister smile. He looked upon the room. Swept a light graze of his hand across the fine cloth of the sofa. "I can see how you are handling 'matters', but as of late the only things you had in your hands was the cock of the pool boy."

"Why YOU INSULENT !"

"Oh sorry, "He corrected, "Should I say mouth, or perhaps cunt. If you will excuse my..vulgarity."

"You DARE speak to me in this manner! I the chosen one! I am the prophet of the one! You puny little piss boy!"

"Now Petal," He crooned, "Be nice."

" If you are so knowledgeable in affairs! Then why don't you, and the One! Find them on your own! You can't can you? Because, YOU.. NEED...ME!!!

"Do not further test the patience of the great Power!" The shadow warned, " The First will have the boy, will stop the prophecy. Evil will always find a way. If not you, there would be another. Will it is true our efforts in finding the traitor and the boy are being, trifled with, as are yours. But they cannot run forever. Cannot hide for much longer. Sooner or later the boy and the man will be reclaimed. Your pridefulness. Your vanity. Your self inflated importance have been tolerated quite enough. You will leave this place. You will find and bind the traitors. You will find and secure the man and the boy. You will deliver them to the First for judgement. You will do this Now, but first you will stand and receive punishment for your insolence..and you will..appreciate it.." He said as his smiled broadened .

The witch was beside herself with anger. "You Hideous..Little.Troll! You..You.. Tiny..Festering Hemorrhoid! How Dare you! I am Queen! I am Goddess! I am the chosen champion of the First! The Restorer of the way. How Dare you come here with talks of punishments.. I should banish you to the seventh underworld of Hell and have Canis chew on your blackened soul for an eon! You Puny diseased worm!..; You.."

And so the witch ranted on and on. So much so she didn't notice the movement of the figure, as the man crept closer and closer. She also didn't notice that her shadow..Had a shadow.

Do she was caught unaware and unprepared as her shadow grabbed her, over powered her and bent her over the coach. She tried to struggle, but her powers seemed to have left her. He ripped at her clothes as he whispered in "Ahh Petal, It is a father's job to 'discipline' his child. Now don't fight, so much nicer when you don't fight. Just..give in.. to daddy. The Power's have authorized this discipline. Your 'talents' will be restored. When I am though..'punishing' you. So be a good..good girl and ..give in to daddy."

And so she did. She once again endured his kisses. His tongue and his lips upon her skin. His thrusting inside of her. His moans of estacy. She did not struggle. She did not cry. To do so would admit defeat and weakness, and this she would never do. Instead she left herself and formulated her plans of revenge. On the vampire traitors. And the man..and even the boy. They would suffer as she suffered now. Even the boy. Especially that beautiful, smooth skinned boy. Oh she wouldn't kill them. But she would make them pay. Pay in flesh and in blood, and in..humiliation.

And lastly she thought as she heard his shout of completion, she would find a way to destroy her 'father' once and for all.

A great plan.
A great 'lesson'.
She had leaned a great deal.
She would not soon forget.

Silence. Silence is said to be golden. Silence is also said to be deafening at times. For Spike the silence was just becoming...uncomfortable.

The boy hadn't spoken. Wouldn't speak. Not that Spike had tried all that hard. Frankly he was at a loss what to say.

The kid took orders well. After their meal he had directed the kid to wash up, change, help gather supplies so they could move on. The child did it all diligently, but without sound.

Well it wasn't like they were best friends or nothin'.

Spike couldn't waste a lot of time with talk anyways.. He wanted to make up some ground now that the kid seemed to be up and around on his own. No more having to lug him around place to place like a sack of potatoes. No more sponge baths and diaper washes. No more forcing broths down his throat. No, the kid would have to learn to fend for himself now.

Still, Spike expected....something. A 'Thank you'. A 'Hey, where we going'. Kid didn't even ask who he was. Didn't ask nothin about where his mom or da was or such.

Driving in the car down the dust back roads, Spike stole glances at the boy as he sat slumped in his chair. The kid looked so serious, sad even. Well Spike supposed he had earned the right. Kid must have been through a lot. Spike didn't know what to do. What to say. The Silence was becoming unnerving.

So he sighed and turned on the radio.

Luckily enough, this last car they 'borrowed' was a decent find and the 'previous owner' was apparently a fan of American music. The car was fitted with CD and a player to boot.

Some of the music wasn't half bad, not the normal stuff Spike preferred, but not half bad.
Kinda like the stuff Fred used to play in her office. Spike had spent a lot of time with her. Listen to music. Talking. Just.. being.

He wondered what she was up to. If anyone could help him, Fred could. He just needed to get to her.

A melody came on. One Spike was familiar with. It had been pretty popular when he had first come back and Fred had liked it. Spike liked it too, although he wouldn't have admitted it. It wasn't his usual style, but something about the tune appealed to him.

Without thinking Spike began to sing along with the music, quietly at first.

Day after day I'm more confused
YET I look for the light thru the pourin' rain
You know that's a game that I hate to lose
I'm feelin' the strain
Ain't it a shame-oh

Give me the beat boys and free my soul
I want to get lost in the rock and roll
And drift away
Give me the beat boys and free my soul
I want to get lost in the rock and roll
And drift away

Spike hummed along, with an almost content feeling. He was about sing the next like, but someone else beat him to it.
In a small clear voice came the next words

Beginnin' to think that I'm wasting time
And I don't understand the things I do
The world outside looks so unkind
I'm counting on you
To carry me thru-oh

Spike looked over at the boy. Surprised. The boy's blue eyes met his own. There was little time to think because the chorus came up.

They sang it together


Give me the beat boys and free my soul
I want to get lost in the rock and roll
And drift away
Give me the beat boys and free my soul
I want to get lost in the rock and roll
And drift away


They sang the next few verses alternating the lines

When my mind is free
You know a melody can move me
And when I'm feelin' blue
The guitar's comin' thru to soothe me

Thanks for the joy that you've given me
I want you to know I believe in YOUR song
And rhythm and rhyme and harmony
You helped me along
You're makin' me strong

And finished the choris together.

Give me the beat boys and free my soul
I want to get lost in the rock and roll
And drift away
Give me the beat boys and free my soul
I want to get lost in the rock and roll
And drift away


Spike looked over at the boy who met his eyes again with a weak smile. "Well Well. So you can speak. And sing too. Who would have thunk it. So now that we're all friends. How bout a name?"

The boy looked ahead. For a minute he looked like he was concentrating on something. But then he lowered his head and Spike saw his shoulder's shaking. The boy was crying.

Spike kept glancing over. 'Oh bloody hell', he cursed silently as the boy began to cry.

"Listen kid. I didn't mean to upset you or nothin'. You keep your secrets. You can tell Ol' Spike when your ready".

He smiled and looked at the boy who was watching him with watery eyes and rubbing his runny nose. "Spike that's me by the way, " He added.

The boy continued to stare at him with his runny nose.

Spike looked at him. The amount of leakage coming off the boy was bothersome. "Look let's see if we can dry you up a bit. Maybe I have a towel around here..."

As Spike began to fumble around with his hand trying to find a towel in the back, whilst driving , the boy took the tale end of his shirt and proceeded to wipe his nose.

"Or you can just use your shirt." Spike said as he froze, hand half on a towel, eyes watching the boy. Spike chuckled in amusement. Well, he was a boy after all wasn't he? Actually, this was the most normal thing that Spike had seen the kid do. "No worried," Spike added, " Well just steal another one."

The boy looked at him strangely from behind his shirt.

"Ohh beauty song is on", Spike said excitedly, "Ya heard this one?"
The boy looked up and shook his head.

Spike grinned, "Well Boy. Time to start your musical education."

The car sped up, blearing {Don't Fear the Reaper} as they went along.



}(Note) I did not write Drift Away or Don't fear the Reaper{

Ch 12


"We need to Send them a little help I think." The auburn head woman ask hesitantly.

"They have had quiet enough interference." The female figured informed.

"They have been aided far enough." The male form added.

"Our powers of interference is limited." said the female.

"Or else the path may be altered." added the male.

"And the way lost." said the female.

Anya sighed in frustration. She was beginning to regret her position as high emissary of the prophets. Don't get her wrong the perks were great. Cordelia's old job came with some benefits. The travel, the pleasures, the delights to be found in every corners of the blessed dimensions. Heaven really is all they say it is and more.

But since the war began again, there had been little leisure time. And she'd been stuck in this boring corner of the blessed dimension for far too long It was times like these she wished that Cordy hadn't gotten herself booted out of heaven and then possessed by evil.

Cordy hadn't quite gained her station after her mortal death. The powers wanted a more neutral delegate.

But Anya wasn't as detached as the power's would like to believed.

She didn't want to see Spike or William suffer. She didn't want to keep Buffy from her child. She didn't want to watch the second by second torment that Buffy suffered since she lost her precious child.

But she also had to tread lightly. To use her position to influence the powers carefully.
Cordelia already has fallen and Darla had gone renegade. Going against the will of the Powers was ea bad idea. Anya couldn't help anyone if she was booted off the field onto the sidelines.

But Anya had to do something. If for no other reason than to get Joyce off her back. "Maybe we could just send a little." she was going to suggest.

"Trying to force the outcome of free will never goes well." the female stated flatly

"Freewill must be maintained." The male said.

"Neither good nor evil can be forced." said the male.

"Grave consequences have occurred to those who have meddled." said the male.

"On both sides." said the female.

"As the one called Connor is evidence to." said the male

"Freewill must be maintained." said the female.

"Or the truth that lies in their hearts cannot be uncovered." said the male

"And the true path will be lost." said the female.

"The way has been lost far too many times in the past." said the male

"We are close to victory now." said the female

"We would preserve this journey." said the male

"Yes, well they are 'Journeying' the wrong way", said Anya exasperated. "Everyone banked on the fact that Spike would go to Buffy, or Giles. Which of course made sense. Right? I mean they haven't spoken in years. He doesn't know where the council headquarters are. And; Well, let's face it.. Everyone saw how he ran out to find Buffy when he came back. 'Course he didn't have fingers; well, not real ones anyone so he couldn't dial a phone but...

"Enough." said the male

"None of those events occurred.", said the female

"Yeah, called sarcasm. Look into it." Anya muttered, "Anyway, "she said, "Look we can make it like..." Like a test!"
"Yes." Anya said excitedly 'This could work', she thought. 'A test. The powers are all about tests and quests and such'.
"Yes," Anya said in mock seriousness, "I believe they...umm, Spike needs a test. Yes to.. to show how much he's..grown. How much he's changed and matured and.. and grown!" Give him a little test, and if he passes. They you can just... Oh I don't know... Point him in the right direction... Send him a weather vain pointing North...Drop him a map with an X marks the spot. What ever you feel is appropriate." Anya finished, quite pleased with herself.

"An interesting proposition", said the female.

"There is that issue a few miles south of their vicinity." said the male.

"But we have not interfered with this issue before." Said the female.

"To do so would direct free will." said the male.

"We would have to..Influence directly, one their own." said the female.

"To drive it into their direction." said the male.

"It would be in direct violation of the treaty." said the female.

"The Powers, good or evil, do not interfere with free will." said the male

"We influence, but not directly." said the female.

"Influence..? Influence! Destroying the slayer line wasn't influence? Sending.. Nutty trashy ..vamp and that Angelus Jr off to kidnap Buffy's son was not interference. Trying top force the prophecy in the first place with Mr big hair jr?. These weren't violations? These...."

"We understand," said the male.

"The point has been made," said the female.

"The lines have been drawn, "said the male.

"We are at war," said the female.

"We will grant your request," said the male.

"We have the perfect test," said the female.

"If he passed, he will have aid." said the male.

"Be understood that the ultimate choice will be his own." said the female.

"Great!" said Anya, "That's all were asking," she added. She breathed a sigh of relief. "Well,".. she said.

"There is just one more thing....."

Much later Anya went in search of her co-conspirator. She found Joyce by the little brook that Anne and her frequented so often. She was watching the waters. Inside the water's depths should have been only a cool clear spring. A quiet bed of water for the woman to watch and find some peace. But instead Anya saw a house on the surface of the water. And in the house was a room. And in the room was a blond women. A woman who had lost faith. A women who had turned to drinking to dull the pain, and cutting to control it when she couldn't. A woman who's days and most nights were spent in search. Search of demon hideouts, reports, sometimes simply wandering the streets. A women who fought and killed in her child's name, until she had no strength left. A woman who when her strength did leave her and it got to be too much, came here, to his room, to wallow in despair. A women who was giving up all hope that her son could be found.

"Oh Buffy," Joyce sobbed.

Joyce felt Anya approach. She rose and Anya didn't have to speak. The smile, the glow in her eyes was enough. Joyce knew.
The news was good.

Joyce grabbed Anya and clutched at her in gratitude, tears flowing down her face.

"Come on now, "Anya said, "All this crying. Tears from heaven and such. Well, there shouldn't be a water shortage anytime soon, let me tell you. Some dehydrated people maybe." Anya chuckled nervously, the joke falling flat.

"Oh Anya, "Joyce cried still hugging her despite Anya's growing discomfort, "They've agreed?, She asked when she tore herself away to face Anya.

"They agreed." She smiled.

"To everything?" Joyce asked in one breath.

"To everything." Anya beamed.

Anya saw Joyce's eyed glow and could almost her the gears in the older women's brain as she plotted.

"With limits. Now there are rules. Rules and rules and..limits and more rules. You just can't go and spill everything." Anya warned.

But Joyce just grabbed her and clung to her again whispering thank you's.
Anya hoped Joyce had heard and understood the rules.
For all their sakes