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A/N so sorry for the delay I truely hate work.

Love and kisses and ta very much to April for having this proofed a couple of days ago, but teh bastards at central services must have buggered about with the fire wall because I couldn't post from work
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"Dawn!" Panic makes his voice angry and harsh. "Get away from her now!" But they're all moving too slowly, as if he's the only who can see in real time. Frozen, confused frowns and distorted questions, but he can hear them coming—sharp vampire ears tuned to the drumming of feet—and he wishes they'd all just catch up already because his body isn't moving too fast either, and by the time he can make a grab for Dawn it's too late because the room is full of her minions and his little bit is already being hauled away from him by rough demon hands.

The magic in the air is a physical force, and it feels like he's moving through treacle as he tries vainly to reach for his frightened, screaming girl. He can see Buffy out of the corner of his eye, straining desperately towards her sister with a drawn-out cry of her name.

"Enough!" Tiny hands clap together, bringing sudden stillness to the room, and reality seems to tilt as time falls jarringly back into place. "Hold them," she orders, and magical bonds tighten around his body till Spike is sure his ribs are cracking and the humans begin to gasp frantically for breath.

"Let her go!" he demands, voice loud and angry. "Let her go you bitch or I'll—"

Unseen hands clamp over his mouth to silence his ridiculous, impotent threats, and he's forced to his knees before her. "Not a fool," she murmurs, while her warm delicate hands brush his face. Her infant fingers draw a sensual path down his chest to run intimately along the waistband of his jeans, and a shudder of disgust breaks out from somewhere deep inside his gut. Hell, he never claimed to be anything less than an unrepenting pervert, but that was just plain wrong.

"And yet so foolish and so easily fooled." Her fingers dip just below the denim, soft, hot and tiny against the cold skin just inside his hip, and his body recoils against the invisible prison that holds him. "You really did believe it was you who was playing us, when you had been my purpose all along." She seems relaxed, as if she knows she has all the time in the world. "But, in truth, I was touched by your caring, and when this world burns, that you burn with it will be my only slight regret."

"Who are you?" The slayer's low voice holds enough threat and power to intimidate the boldest demon. She has used that tone before of everything from fledglings to masters to gods, and anyone who's heard it has felt at least a prickling of fear. But the child merely smiles, unconcerned, and turns away, bright blue eyes now devoid of all that faux innocence, settling on Dawn's defiant gaze.

"I," she begins, and that single syllable sounds like a drum roll, "am Sesha. I am the serpent of time." And the lofty title seems almost humble compared to the infinity of her gaze. "I am the right hand of the last great triumvirate of power, eldest of the triplets and soon their saviour.

"I have no quarrel with you, slayer," she informs them casually as she wanders towards Dawn, her tiny form filling the room now with its unquestionable power. "I have merely come for my sister." The smile she has for Dawn is filled with a genuine fondness that softens the majesty of her, so that for just a second she looks again like the child she pretends to be.

"Sister?" It's little more than a croak, fear and uncertainty stealing Dawn's voice.

"You don't remember." Sesha gives a sad shake of her head and her gaze lingers softly on Dawn's. "How could you? They stole from you all knowledge of self, only because they feared you so."

She stops suddenly and her eyes glaze over with fury. "Those meddling powers," she spits, and such sudden anger is out of place in her tiny form. "And their snivelling monks. Trapping us!" She throws up her hands in disbelief. "Us! In the feeble bodies of children. Have you any idea how tiny this world is, how cramped?" She tugs at the baggy cotton neckline of Giles' shirt as if it were a garrotte, and her eyes glint manically. "We who are more vast than time and space, crammed into these disgusting, fleshy prisons."

She shakes her head and the curls fly in sympathy with her irritation. "I pinned my hopes on that slithering worm, Glorificus, but she proved even weaker than I imagined. No matter." Another clap of her petite hands and her demeanour changes to one of perky optimism. "Soon you will be restored, my sister, and we will all be freed."

"I am not your sister." Brave and terrified at once and so defiant. Spike feels how much he loves her balled up tight in his chest. So much of Buffy in her, so much of Joyce. He struggles fruitlessly against the invisible iron bands, straining useless muscle. So sorry, so desperate—he's done this, brought that bitch to them dressed up in her mockery of innocence with her Dawn-like eyes. How could he have been so stupid?

"You will thank me, Amita, when you are yourself again." She smiles and nods as if pleased by the thought. "When we are all three together again," she sighs, and her eyes close. "Oh, our poor brother. As if the indignity of this exile were not enough, to be so incapacitated so reduced. Still, perhaps he is fortunate to be anywhere but on his miserable plane of consciousness."

She lets out a sad sigh, and for a moment her face is filled with such distress that Buffy could almost have pitied her if she hadn't been a threat to Dawn.

"Kill them." It seems far too brutal an order to come from a child's mouth, even in her cold and ancient voice.

"No!" Dawn cries out desperately. "Please, please don't hurt them." Her begging is pitiful, bright blue eyes overflowing with terrified tears. "It's not like they can do anything to you. God, just please don't hurt them."

For a moment the little girl studies her with curious eyes and pursed lips. Then she laughs that husky adult laugh of hers and spins around to face her helpless prisoners. "Very well," she concedes magnanimously. "You live only because my sister asks it. But don't get too excited; you only have a hour or two before you burn with the rest of this miserable planet."

She steps over to Spike again, taking his face in her little hands and grinning wolfishly at him. "Goodbye, gorgeous, and thanks. Couldn't have done it without you." He can't even move enough to turn his head away when her lips press down hard on his, making him want to gag.

"Bring her." And with that barked order they are all suddenly gone, and the tears on Buffy's face might as well be knives in his side for the pain they cause him.

"Good work, fangless," Xander spits as they finally manage to struggle free from the fading magic of their restraints.

"Piss off, whelp!" Malicious little bastard. It's not like he needs reminding who's to blame for this. Doesn't help Dawn now if he feels even shittier about getting her into this.

"Xander, that doesn't help." She's remarkably composed, considering last time Dawn was taken she retreated into stupor. Still, life and death teach you a lot and she knows enough now to know that she has to keep her head now.

"We need to find out where they might have taken Dawn." She scans the room, eyes challenging each of them to knuckle down and help her. "Any ideas?"

"My money's on the brother," Spike suggests from where he has positioned himself a little apart from the group. "She seemed pretty keen on getting the family together."

"Agreed." She isn't conscious of stepping towards him, of moving naturally so that he flanks her. Perhaps it's the general in her subconsciously appointing her first lieutenant; perhaps it's the brawler looking for a strong ally. Whichever, it's too natural for her even to realise she's doing it, but in that she's alone because the body language is like a blaring horn to the others.

"And we'd trust you why?" Xander's first on the attack as always. "If it wasn't for you, we wouldn't be in this mess."

"Xander." But the unmistakable warning in the slayer's voice goes unheeded.

"How do we know he's not in on it?" He gestures accusingly at the vampire.

"Don’t be ridiculous." For the moment he's happy to let Buffy deal with the whelp. She's not going to let him get them sidetracked, not when she's got a little sister to rescue.

"God, Buffy, don't be an idiot." He's virtually spitting with exasperation. "Can't you see he set us up? He sold Dawn out."

Xander seems to remember only at the moment when Spike's face morphs that the vampire is no longer impotent, and the pungent smell of fear is suddenly pouring off him as he takes two stumbling steps back from the advancing demon.

Her arm shoots out across his chest, a slender yet impassable barrier as she turns her eyes on him in calm reprimand. "Not helping, Spike."

"Fine." It comes out as a growl as he spins away. "I'm going for a smoke, and I still say it's the brother."

She slips into the courtyard just as he finishes his cigarette, greeting him with a soft "Hey," her voice a soft ripple of sound in the balmy jasmine-scented air. "Willow's doing her thing; we should have somewhere to start pretty soon." She counts time as she waits for him to respond, long resonating seconds until he finally meets her eyes, and his regret splashes against her skin like dirty water under the wheels of a bus.

"I'm so sorry, Buffy."

She'd been waiting for it, had wondered when it would finally come. She'd always thought it would be the first thing out of his mouth when he eventually came back, but they'd had their little game of charades to play and she'd missed the words.

"—for Dawn." His voice is loud and clumsy in his haste to correct the misinterpretation he sees so clearly in her eyes. "I'm sorry about Dawn. I'm not saying… not about…" He trails off, too much of a coward to actually say the words aloud.

There's a moment of blinking incomprehension before her face hardens with angry pain. "You're not sorry?" How can a voice so quiet hold so much bitter accusation?

"Shit." His pale hand buries, barely contrasting, in his bleached hair as he struggles with his ineloquent remorse. "Can't ever tell you sorry for that, luv. Too much like asking you to forgive me, and I'd never ask you that. Just gonna have to bloody live with it, ain't I?"

It makes sense, nonsensical Spike sense, but she must have spent too much time with him because she gets it. "Maybe I want to hear it."

"Can you doubt it?" His eyes are so intense when he fixes them suddenly on her that she finds she can't.

"No." Her answer comes hot on the heels of his question, immediate and unequivocal.

"Then why say it?" His eyes cloud with angry remorse. "Owe you enough bloody sorrys for getting lil' sis snatched, don't I?" He drops his head, eyes going down and away, jaw tense, one fist clenched at his temple.

"Hey." Her fingers under his chin are strong and surprisingly gentle as she raises his head so she can look determinedly into his troubled face. "Don't do that, okay. It is not your fault."

"Brought her here, didn't I?"

"She fooled us all. You thought you were doing the right thing."

"She just reminded me of the niblet, you know, and I thought if I could save her, maybe…" He trails of with a rueful shake of his head. She's not his bloody friend; why the hell is she listening to his pathetic whining? "Doesn't matter."

"I said don't do that. We'll find her, okay?" Her eyes are like a vice on his, keeping him still. "We'll go riding in right at the last second, and we'll save her." There's an almost smile on her lips that makes his heart ache. "It's what us hero types do, yeah?"


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A/N thanks to the lovely reviewers who are within their rights to spank me
for not posting sooner

Cordy kitten, DreamGirl, Steph and pin - get your spanking sticks out an
form a queue.

Hey too to Beth who kindly thought of checking up on me after the bombings.
Luckily I'm right out in the sticks far far away from anything worth
bombing.





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