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He couldn't find the bastard anywhere. Hank Summers was a ghost, lurking in inconspicuous shadows, causing terror simply by existing, and without lifting a single finger.

It made Buffy nervous and drug out her pain. Spike fumed knowing how close the other vampire had come to her, and that Hank Summers might find another opportunity to repeat the action. Darla had been out looking for him nearly as often as Spike, but they'd found nothing. No demon in town seemed to recognize the description of him, and that meant the wanker was probably staying somewhere outside of Sunnydale.

It didn't have to be far away, and that was just one of the many reasons why Spike was losing so much sleep.

It wasn't as if Buffy could just quit going to work, no matter how understanding her boss may be. Yes, most vampires were unlikely to try and attack during the daytime; it simply wasn't in their blood, nor was it easy. However, that didn't keep Spike from worrying every single time Buffy left the house. He waited impatiently for the weekends, when he could keep her all to himself, and safe. He liked the evenings when she was home and near enough for him to hear her heart beating, and hated the groggy mornings he awoke to watch her leave.

He called her too often at work, Spike realized, but until she came through the front door at half past five, there was no help for it. Until the threat of her undead father was dust in the wind, there was no help for any of his overprotective actions. Darla was pretty understanding, which would've been a surprise if it wasn't painfully obvious she wanted Buffy to remain unharmed and safe, too.

It'd been nearly two weeks since the incident, and security at the house two vampires and a human shared had increased to a level most average people would balk at; Buffy was smarter than that. She phoned Dawn sometimes twice a day now, and would continue to do so until Hank was caught.

Buffy's sister may be oblivious to their dad's supernatural makeup, but she wasn't stupid. She remained very cautious, always checking on Xander when they were separated, and he did the same for her after realizing how scared his wife had become of her absentee father; it seemed Buffy could make anyone afraid enough to keep themselves vigilant and safe.

The Harris' had since bought themselves a second car, and Dawn left her phone in her purse to avoid forgetting it when she left the house.

Hank Summers had incited a fear into his remaining family, and unfortunately, Buffy was the one who must be strong and shoulder the bulk of it. She sacrificed telling her sister just how much their dad had changed, and instead relied on getting Dawn to believe that he was leaving the country soon, and until he was gone, everyone was to remain watchful.

Perhaps that was another reason Buffy called Dawn every day now. Along with fear for her sister's safety, there was a measure of guilt there. Buffy hated keeping such a secret, Spike could tell. Every time the sisters talked, it wasn't just to check on one another, but included tireless, detailed updates about their day. Spike figured Buffy was sharing everything non-vampire related that she could, to make up for keeping Hank's identity a secret.

At present, Spike remembered a particularly strange and unsettling phone call as he dozed on the cot upstairs. A mere two days after meeting Dawn, and the unspeakably ironic incident of rescuing her (something he and Buffy had yet to talk about, but Spike knew was coming), his mate had handed him the telephone.

Dawn wanted to speak to him, apparently, and when Spike demanded to know why, Buffy had just shrugged and said, "Find out."

He started the conversation with a hard, slightly anxious scowl on his face, which of course the lady couldn't see, followed by a very hesitant, "Hello?"

Dawn's chipper greeting pierced his ear, causing him to jerk back; Buffy had snickered. Spike ignored her, and tried to focus on Dawn's chatter. He still didn't know why she'd sounded so happy to talk to him, but the lady went on as if they had known each other for years. He listened, and she prattled, but once he got used to the decibel level it was easy giving her his time.

The chit wanted to thank him again, for helping her out two days before, and also apologize. Why, he hadn't known, until Spike remembered that he was a vampire and Dawn wasn't privy to that information. She also didn't know she had been attacked by one of his kind. But she did know she'd run as fast away from the altercation as possible when Spike ordered her to, and she felt bad about that. She wished she'd stayed to make sure he was okay.

Dawn told him she watched from the window of the cab to make sure he emerged- and seemingly unscathed -from the alley, and so decided not to call the cops; she didn't want to know what happened to her attacker, anyhow. But that didn't excuse her running away in the first place.

Spike explained, rather awkwardly now that he thought about it, that she had nothing to be sorry over. She'd done the right thing, and he wouldn't have told her to run if he hadn't meant it. If he'd felt he might need help, there would have been an order given to call 911, also.

Dawn just thanked him and apologized again, but her unexpected reaffirming gratitude was not the strangest part of the phone call. The nuttiest part was when she put her husband on the line.

Xander was, evidently, eternally grateful, and much more friendly when he liked you. The puppy-eyed man also thanked Spike for his heroics, if in a less zealous manner than his wife had. He sounded slightly abashed, but completely heartfelt, and announced that he was forever in Spike's debt.

If Spike was honest, the whole phone call had been one of the most uncomfortable moments of his existence. Nonetheless, he accepted it, and acknowledged Xander's thanks with a verbal waving off, ensuring the bloke it was no big deal, then waited impatiently for the appreciation to be over with.

After finally getting the moron off the phone, Spike stormed upstairs before Buffy could broach the subject of his onetime only good deed. She'd stood nearby during the call, so Spike knew she must have gathered what Dawn, then Xander and him were talking about.

But Spike wasn't in the habit of saving naive women from vamps, and he didn't plan on letting it get to that point. He didn't want Buffy expecting him to start wearing the label of "White Hat" anytime soon. The demon within was always growling and rejecting such notions. It had taken a dislike to the event of saving Dawn, and only shut up after meeting her and realizing she was Buffy's sister; couldn't let his mate suffer the loss of a loved one, after all.

The sisters' familial bond was tight. He recognized the true devotion they had to each other, and knew that if anything happened to Dawn, Buffy would be a wreck. It was why he'd checked out the Harris residence a few times at night during his stakeouts, just to be sure that Hank wasn't lurking around; that, and it was one of the most likely places the bastard would go.

You couldn't be too careful lately, and knowing that, Spike wished he had already begun teaching Buffy how to fight.

Not that she was weak for a human woman, but he knew he couldn't let her continue living in Sunnydale without learning some fighting skills, especially with her murderous father running loose. She may not have supernatural strength, but that didn't mean she couldn't defend herself.

She'd once told Spike that karate lessons had been a fun way to exercise and work off stress back in college, but she'd quit them after a year because her school workload had increased. She kept herself healthy still and stuck to a regular workout routine, so she was in good physical condition. It was just a matter of getting her to agree to some lessons.

At the thought of being her teacher, Spike grinned unashamedly. He would love training with Buffy, and once the claim was complete and provided her extra strength, it would be even more fun. She might actually do him some damage.

Spike dozed off on the little cot in the storage room, one hand behind his head as images of sparring with his mate floated by, dreams of flexes and lithe high kicks putting a wide, dreamy smile on his face.

***

He awoke two hours later, rather abruptly, to a worried Darla.

The lady was rarely worried, he'd come to learn. Spike quickly shook off the drowsiness and rubbed his eyes.

"Where's Buffy?" she demanded. Darla had on a wrinkled blue tank top and a pair of matching silk pajama pants, which told Spike she must have just rolled out of bed. The chit hardly ever woke up before six in the evening and Buffy was home from work by then, always. She should be downstairs.

"What do you mean 'where is she?' She should be-"

"Well, she isn't," Darla declared, hands on her hips and voice rising. "She isn't anywhere in the house, and it's almost seven thirty. Did she ever come home from work?"

Spike sprang to his feet, nearly plowing into Darla on his way out the door. She followed him as he sped down the stairs. When they got to the kitchen, he grabbed the phone to dial Buffy's number.

Darla's tense silence, and the lengthy ringing in his ear, managed to hone awareness, playing with his building anxiety to make Spike twitchy and his stomach burn. The phone kept ringing, and ringing, until he was nearly ready to throw the damn thing.

The claim may not be complete yet, but Spike would have felt it if anything had happened to Buffy. He would have.

Gods, he hoped so.

Suddenly, the ringing ceased. "Spike?"

A whoosh of unneeded air left his lungs. "Buffy, Christ are you okay?"

"Of course I'm okay. I'm still at the office. I had to do a little overtime."

Darla's sigh of relief was heard clearly. Spike felt like he'd just been hauled out of an overflowing well, himself. "Oh," was all he said; it was somewhat difficult to talk.

"I tried to call the house, but every time I did nobody answered. I figured you guys were asleep," Buffy said, an apology edging into her voice.

He sighed and groaned at once. "I'm sorry, love. I dozed off."

"I don't blame you," she claimed. "You've been getting hardly any rest, Spike. I wish you'd stayed in bed until I got home. You could use the sleep."

He shook his head, hard. "No, I'm glad I'm up. Nearly had a heart attack when I learned you weren't here, though. Why'd you have to work late?"

A few seconds passed before she replied. "Oh, some stuff was just brought in that had to be appraised," Buffy told him, and Spike thought he noticed something in her voice, almost like exaggerated flippancy; but then she was speaking again, so he shook the thought away for the time being. "And I got loaded down with paper work," Buffy complained. "I finished that first before getting started on the appraisals, thinking I could have them done in a flash. I was so wrong. I just got done."

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he said.

It sounded like she shrugged. "It's no big."

Spike asked, "Are you going to be leaving soon then?"

"Yeah, I should be leaving here in like five minutes."

"Don't."

"What?"

"Wait for me. I'll come and get you." It didn't make much sense, but the start Spike had experienced after waking up and knowing Buffy wasn't home when she ought to be, had him still shaking on the inside. He wasn't prepared at the moment for these feelings, and he didn't want to experience them ever again if he could help it. He just wanted to see Buffy now, and be with her on her short trip home.

"I have the car with me, Spike. It would take you longer to get here than it would for me to just drive home."

He shook his head, smiling ever so softly. "Maybe, pet. Vampire, remember?"

"I don't want you running here and exhausting yourself, Spike. I-"

"Won't even break a sweat." He heard her sigh then, and swore she was rolling her eyes.

"Fine. But I still say it's going to take longer-"

He cut her off. "Time me."

"Okay, I will. Just wait out front when you get here, you need a card to get into the building. You know the address, right?"

"Yeah. I'll be there soon."

He hung up the phone and ran upstairs to grab his shoes, leaving Darla in the kitchen. He slipped into his duster on his way out, but paused when the she-vamp called his name.

"Make sure to get back before the sun sets," she advised. "It's going to be dark soon, probably right as you get there."

His brows rose, but Spike nodded all the same. "We'll be back shortly."

With that, he left, patting at the reassuring shape of a stake in his pocket. He quickly navigated the twists of Sunnydale's alleys and shortcuts, the ends of his coat flapping in the wind as he took advantage of the dying light already beginning to cast shadows. He could handle this sort of semi-darkness without worry of bursting into flames, but Darla was right. It would be full night soon, and that made it more dangerous.

Spike ran faster, absently thinking about Buffy's willingness to be a hermit with him on the weekends, and every workday's evening, as well, in order to remain safe. He was grateful. The nights may be beautiful, and as a vampire, Spike's favored portion of the day, but they were also unsafe for humans.

As he looked behind him at the sinking sun, he was suddenly filled with thanks for the deadly rays that protected the living, even if only for a short while, from beings like him.

The extending gloom reminded Spike to be quick, his motions blurring as he hopped gates and rounded corners. Buffy was waiting on him, and asides from a security system, that building where she worked had no other protections against uninvited guests.

***

Buffy let the heavy metal door swing shut behind her. California weather, even this early into the summer, had a tendency to make some people overheat. Buffy liked hot weather, but she did enjoy the evenings the most during the late spring and summer months.

As for staying inside a sweltering office building, she wasn't for that. The last prisoner left inside was a sleepy security guard and his jangling set of keys as he locked everything up for the night, but Paul would get out of there quickly now. He only stayed when someone else had to work late, and Buffy was the last employee to leave today.

She may have alluded to Spike that she would be waiting inside the building until he arrived, but she didn't have the heart to make Paul stay any longer.

Tugging at her blouse, pulling tiny buttons away from her chest as she breathed, Buffy enjoyed the fresh air. The AC had gone out in the middle of the afternoon today. It wasn't scorching inside, but Wingfield's had gotten stuffy fairly quickly once five o'clock came and went, even with her office window kept open.

Buffy's stomach grumbled, as if to remind her that she hadn't eaten enough today. After a quick breakfast, she'd looked forward to lunch plans, but those had sort of fallen through.

Before she got to order a salad of fresh greens mixed up with grilled chicken and delicious poppy seed dressing, and a refreshing passion fruit tea from the restaurant conveniently located right down the street, someone unexpected had popped into her office.

Riley Finn, with several nicely aged pieces of jewelry in his hands, ready to be appraised and added to the long list of items he and his sister were selling.

The man had once told Buffy that he would bring some things to Wingfield's himself, but honestly, she'd forgotten. She had scarcely thought of him at all, unless you counted business concerns; and him showing up today had been business.

Needless to say, she was starving. And seriously peeved at her secretary for letting the man into her private office. Buffy couldn't blame the woman, of course, but a little interference might have been nice. Instead, she'd told Riley that Ms. Summers was "as free as a bird this afternoon," and, why she was sure her boss would love to receive a visit from one of the auction house's biggest clients.

Willow must have gotten to her, Buffy surmised, rolling her eyes to the dimming sky. Riley Finn may still be polite, and decent company, but it was awkward seeing him after the last time. Fortunately, he had not once alluded to being interested in her in a romantic way again during their meeting. Being around him made Buffy uncomfortable, though, and she'd suffered the first withdrawal pain she'd had since Spike moved in.

It'd almost knocked her off her chair- And thank God she'd been sitting down. Riley Finn commented that she'd suddenly gotten very pale, asked if she was alright, then offered to get her some water. Buffy liked to think her gasp of "Please!" hadn't sounded as pained and dramatic as she remembered it being. Nonetheless, it took nearly a full minute for the sickening feeling to go away, and at the time, she hadn't cared about publicizing her agony.

Between that unpleasantness, her admirer showing up unexpectedly, and feeling for some reason guilty that he had, anybody could understand why her appetite had dropped dramatically quick. It had also neglected to rise again over the remainder of the busy day.

Mr. Finn's visit lasted under an hour, but Buffy was still concerned at the idea of telling Spike. She knew she must, even if he was likely to get jealous and growly. He'd get over it, though, she figured, and if she didn't tell him, Buffy knew she would feel bad. This was something he'd want to know of, despite the event's triviality.

Speaking of Spike and his growly-ness, she wished he would amp up that vampire speed and get here already. The sky was fast changing colors, deep gold and pink blending with purples and midnight blue.

Buffy stepped off the curb and headed for her car, keeping her eyes open and senses alert. The moon was already visible, and that meant she should be getting home, soon.

This town was always a hazard at night, but now, with her not-so-much-a-father on the loose and wanting to kill her, extra precaution was crucial. She unlocked the driver's side door and slipped inside her car after checking the backseat through the windows to make sure it was clear, something her mother had taught her.

After sitting down, Buffy quickly locked herself inside and tossed her purse on the passenger seat. She slipped off her professional high heeled shoes and undid a button on her cool cotton blouse, before letting her hair down from its simple bun to hang around her shoulders. Sighing in reprieve, she stuck her key in the ignition to turn on the engine.

Then, she heard a noise. It was just a thud, and she thought it came from somewhere behind her. Stalling her movements, Buffy listened. She clenched the ignition key in her fist and then reached for her purse, digging inside for her pepper spray.

She waited a minute in frozen quiet. Nothing happened. Scowling, the woman wondered if maybe she was beginning to imagine things, but wasn't prepared to take the chance, and hastily started her car.

She wasn't leaving the parking lot because Spike was still coming to accompany her home, but she was going to move her car closer to the building's front doors. As she pulled out of her reserved spot, the few lamps that were scattered around the area flickered on. She blew out a breath, grateful for timers and electricity.

She put the car in park when she was facing the doors to Wingfield's, then realized that Paul the security guard's truck was gone. She was alone.

Buffy sighed, holding onto her pepper spray and then reaching for her cell phone. She wished Spike had one of his own, and stored the thought away for later; she'd bring it up to him when he got here.

She debated turning the radio on, but decided against it, and instead chose to turn on the air conditioning. Almost right after flipping the switch, she heard another thud, this time louder, and seemingly much closer.

Buffy looked all around the outside of the car, searching anxiously for Spike, then looking down with disappointment when she couldn't find him. If he would just get here, she could get her heart to stop beating so fast.

Another thump sounded and this time, her car moved. Buffy's eyes widened, and she felt sweat break out on the back of her neck as she tried not to panic. She hurriedly got the smooth wooden stake that Darla had carved for her out of the glove compartment, and debated speeding from the parking lot and looking for Spike on the roads, but frankly, she was scared to move.

*Maybe it's just an animal or something,* Buffy thought to herself, rather unconvincingly, too. Her heart jumped in her chest when the car moved again, and she placed her hands on the steering wheel after dropping her phone and pepper spray in her lap, fear finally kick-starting her flight response.

Before she could even put the car in reverse, there was a harsh popping noise and she literally felt the vibrations from it beneath her seat. When she turned around to stare out her back window, she realized that the trunk had just opened.

Fighting the dread curling in her stomach, Buffy immediately put the car in reverse and stomped on the gas pedal. She hit something and emitted a quiet grunt as she braked.

There was no one in sight, and quiet all around except for her erratic breathing. The parking lot was still. But her trunk was open and something was nearby, the hairs on her arms and neck were standing on end.

Buffy didn't contemplate this for more than a second, but as her foot was once again depressing the gas pedal, she felt the telltale sign of a flattening tire as her car tilted backwards.

She pressed on the brakes again. The stake which remained in hand while she held the wheel in a white-knuckled grip began to feel slippery. She knew that if she looked behind her, there would be two glowing eyes, staring.

She took a deep, shaky breath, then put the car in drive. Buffy's foot rammed on the gas, the car hurtling forward while the grating sound of metal on pavement screeched around her as tire tread was eaten away. She swerved in a harsh U-turn, the trunk lid snapping open and closed like a giant fish mouth. The headlights then shone on her father standing in the distance beneath a streetlamp, his fangs glinting.

Buffy's breathing deepened, fast and harsh, her ribcage expanded rapidly beneath her shirt. The way he was staring, grossly sneering, made her feel vulnerable and like a child, helplessly afraid. She remembered when he used to tell her bedtime stories, and how those rare moments had faded into nothingness as she got older. How his visits became less and less frequent as the divorce quietly turned into old news. Then eventually, when Joyce died, he'd neglected to even call while his daughters mourned the loss of their mother.

Remembering all those things now, yes, Buffy could see him as a monster. She could even find the desire to hurt him. But who she was looking at through her windshield wasn't related in any way to the man who'd once held and taken care of her when she was little; that man was gone, and the only thing left of him was a vampire who wanted her dead.

Her father had taken her love and trust, and thrown it away. This demon residing in his body wasn't going to take her life.

*This might not kill him,* Buffy conceded, as she let her foot off the brake and stepped violently on the gas pedal once again, but she'd at least get to work out some of her aggression on the bastard.

The car revved forward and Buffy's hazel eyes narrowed as she turned to clip her target's left half, sending him to the asphalt. As she braked again, gritting her teeth at the horrible noise coming from the tire rim riding pavement, Buffy looked behind her to see his body sprawled on the ground, arms splayed out dramatically.

Suddenly, he jumped to his feet, and when he faced her this time, she saw that he was determined to hurt her back.

Buffy grit her teeth and reversed, nearly hitting him again, but he dived just in time for her to miss and end up rolling backwards onto the sidewalk in front of the auction house. She had no idea how a totaled tire could allow for that. She then turned to the windshield again when a loud bang startled her, and the blood in her veins turned to ice.

Hank stood on the hood of her car like a snarling monument, vicious and angry. He lunged forward, his big hand seemingly reaching for her throat before he even broke the glass to touch her.

A blurred shape moved in her peripheral, and then suddenly, it was right in front of her. A black shape passed her eyes, bracing itself on the right side of the hood before colliding with Hank and tackling him to the ground.

Buffy knew who it was prior to even opening the door and stepping out of the car. Her stake was still in her clammy grip.

The air was charged with wrath and roaring blood. Spike was pummeling him, straddling Hank's jerking body and punching him in the face over and over again. His head bounced off the ground every time. Buffy looked away, nervously swallowing down the bile that crept up her throat.

She heard Spike's voice slipping between harsh blows. Snarls erupted from his lips, falling of their own accord, helpless to be stopped. His anger was fierce, unmerciful, and going to be heard. "Knew you'd show yourself again, you bastard! Thought you could kill her, take her from me?!" More sounds of pain rose from the fight, then struggling ceased, and there was nothing but curses and the beating.

Quiet snuck in for a mere second, and Buffy made out Spike's pitiless whisper of contempt. "You thought wrong." His growl preceded a whooshing sound, like a tiny explosion or a vacuum, and then Buffy opened her eyes.

Before she could turn around, Spike's arms enveloped her. "Are you alright?"

She nodded, then looked over his sturdy shoulder at the place where Hank should be. Yet he wasn't there, and Buffy realized she would never be seeing him again.

____________________________________________
END NOTES: Well, it's certainly been a while. But here- finally -is another update. I am so sorry it's taken so long for me to post again, but as an apology the next chapter will be up within two days! Thanks everyone who is still reading this fic! I promise I will not leave it unfinished!





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