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CHAPTER 3 --

A/N: To fix any confusion, yes, they’re fifteen, and when I write Connor on his bike, I was thinking more along the lines of motor/scooter type bike that anyone at any age can ride. Though I have no idea what the driving laws in England are.




Spike was on his way from his downstairs office to the upstairs den when he heard the familiar motor come to a screeching halt outside the house. Checking his watch, he raised an eyebrow at Xander who was coming from the kitchen.

“That Connor already?” he asked his friend.

Xander swallowed his mouthful of donut, “He just pulled into the driveway, with some girl on the back of his bike.”

Spike brows knitted together in confusion, “Girl? What girl?”

Xander shrugged, “Couldn’t tell, she had his helmet on.” He looked unfazed as he continued back into the kitchen.

“Oh, for the love of Christ,” he muttered under his breath, before raising it so Xander could hear him, “Send him up to my office. I’ll be going over some things with my da’.”

“Will do!” he heard as a muffled reply.

Spike made his way again to his den, hoping for a few minutes of piece before his son dropped the next bombshell on him.

Ten minutes later, Spike looked up at the ruffling in the doorway.

“Hi dad,” Connor began hesitantly.

Spike craned his neck around his son, seeing no one behind him. “Thought you had a guest,” he spoke in a noncommittal tone.

“I do,” Connor answered. At the look on his father’s face he continued hastily, “But it’s not what you think!”

“I’m sure it’s not,” Spike replied, unconvinced, getting up from his desk to replace a book. “Connor, I asked you to . . . .” He slid the book into it’s designated spot, gathering his thoughts before trying a different approach. He turned to gaze levelly at his son, “I understand where you get it from, your perchance for trouble, it comes from me. I understand that. But these people that flock to you.” Spike shook his head, “Connor you have that thing that draws all sorts of people to you.” He took in the state of confusion sprawled across his son’s face.

Connor had that sort of personality. Yes, he was a teenage boy who liked to send the message of don’t-talk-to-me-I’m-a-tough-guy. But it was so much more than that. Something behind his eye sparkled with mischief. Yet despite the warning signs Connor placed all around him, people just liked to be around him. It was the air around him -- it crackled and lured people in. Such a trait may have it’s pros, but it was a constant worry spot for Spike.

Because his son had the tendency to draw the wrong people.

Spike couldn’t help but smile at Connor, who was oblivious to the power he held over people. “Sometimes you are so much like your . . .” Spike’s voice sighed almost wistfully, not intending to continue his sentence.

“Mom,” a foreign voice finished for him.

Whipping his head around, Spike felt like the book he had previously been holding had fallen off it’s shelf and struck him in the gut. A girl stood in the doorway, long brown hair skimming her waist -- the same auburn as Connor’s.

Although Spike, in his heart, knew exactly who it was, he heard the question falling from his lips anyway: “Connor, who is this?”

He looked between Dawn and his father, giving a nervous chuckle and a shrug, “We thought you could tell us.”

It was a feeling Spike couldn’t explain. A feeling that didn’t disappear in thirteen years. The last time he’d seen her was when she was only two. Sure, she looked different, but somehow the same. She had the same nose. The same smooth complexion as her mother’s. And if any part of him had any doubts, the birthmark on her right arm, revealed by her pushed up sleeve, squashed every one of them.

And she had his eyes.

Dawn wrung her hands together, shifting on the balls of her feet, “Mom says the same thing about me all the time when I do certain things. Though I’m pretty sure she’s talking about you.”

She babbled when she’s nervous, Spike noted. If that didn’t prove she was her mother’s daughter, he didn’t know what did.

“We have the same last name. And the same birthdate. And this on our arm. What’s going on dad? Dad?”

Spike barely registered the frightened and confused tones of his boy, his eyes fixated on the girl in front of him, her gorgeous orbs welling up with tears.

He thought he’d never see her again. He and her mother had pretty much made sure of that. But not a single day went by that he hadn’t thought about her a hundred times over.

Fate. It had to be.

“Dawn,” Spike breathed her name.

For the young girl, that was the clincher. He knew her name without her having to tell him. Whether he was aware of it or not, Spike had held out his hand and she ran to him, tightening her arms in a vice-grip around his waist. Spike held on equally hard, squeezing his little girl.

They finally broke apart to face Connor, ten emotions playing over his face at once.

“Connor, meet your twin sister, Dawn.”

TBC





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