“Wish Granted.” Cordelia Chase murmured while lovingly stroking the amber bauble dangling between her perky breasts. Deep inside she knew that her boss, D’Hoffryn, was going to flip when he got wind of her latest wish, but she was hoping that she could slide by with the weak “but he wished it” excuse.

Normally, as a vengeance demon, Cordelia popped in and out of people’s lives granting wishes to women in distress; her previous forte had been that of jilted lovers. With each wish granted over the course of her eleven hundred plus years on earth, she had grown to become one of the most revered and feared vengeance demons. However, as of late the satisfaction of cursing a man to severe pain or embarrassment had seriously dwindled. Instead, she found her once cold heart to be yearning for something more meaningful; to help others in need, rather than wish years of torment upon them.

In fact, tonight of all nights was the first night she had ever gone farther than contemplating a change of employment and actually did something about it. After observing the depressed and extremely intoxicated Slayer for several nights, she approached him; luring him into an intense conversation focused on losing the love of his life. In a twist of irony, it was then that Cordelia had learned that the Slayer’s now deceased girlfriend was world renowned vampire, Buffy. Figuring if someone as evil and demented as Buffy could change her ways and walk on the good side, Cordelia had made the decision to grant the lonely man’s desperate wish as he stumbled drunkenly from the seedy bar into the stormy night.

“Ooh, Hoffy is so going to make you pay for that one, Cordy!” Harmony Kendall announced excitedly, clapping her hands together in anticipation of her boss’s punishment on her co-worker. While the two buxom demons had worked together for many years, they possessed a love-hate relationship. “I bet he’s going to make good on his threats to take away your power source this time! Helping a Slayer! Oh it’s just too much!” The annoying blonde erupted in a fit of giggles at the idea of her competition being sentenced to a life as a human.

Staring at the door that Spike had just barreled through, Cordelia shrugged her shoulders and said, “He can do whatever he wants to me, but I know that I made the right decision. It’s in our job description to find people in pain and grant their hearts desire; which is exactly what I did. So what if it wasn’t some gruesome, bloody torture thingy!” Confident in her decision, Cordelia turned away from her coworker and with an audible pop she teleported out of the squalid bar.


Stumbling to his car, Spike fumbled with his car keys for a second before finally yanking the driver’s side door open with such force that it almost came off the hinges. Falling into the car seat, he stared at the trio of steering wheels and promptly decided he’d had too much to drink and was in no state to drive. Closing his eyes, he fell sideways across the cracked leather bench seat and passed out; keys clattering to the junk filled floorboard below.

Had he managed to stay awake just a few more minutes, Spike would have been blinded by the flash of light that spilled across the darkened night streets before fizzling out after a resonating boom. Yes, in deed, his life would have changed that very minute had he imbibed in more water than whiskey, because as his head thunked down onto the seat, his wish was granted.

Two blocks south of Willy’s, the unmistakable shape of a nude woman laid prone on the puddle splashed floor of the now crumbled warehouse that the Watcher’s had burned to the ground just weeks before. Her golden hair spilled across the dark gray cement in a halo of rain soaked strands. Pale skin illuminated the night, her petite form shaking lightly against the cool night air. With no one around to notice her arrival, she laid there for hours, unconscious and completely unaware of the potential danger that lurked in the shadows of Sunnydale.

As dawn was breaking, Jonathan Levinson shrugged the heavy newspaper filled satchel onto his shoulder and prepared to make the exhausting trip to the neighboring businesses and cheap loft-style residences. His small stature often hindered his performance, slowing his journey as the intensity of the bag dragged him down and caused his speed to dawdle as he made his rounds. However, no matter how tiresome the work was, he hoped to one day become a writer for the Sunnydale Times and had managed to get his foot in the door delivering newspapers while he waited to be noticed by his superiors. As he trudged off for the first leg of deliveries, the gangly brunette had no way of knowing that this was the morning his dreams would be discovered.

Rounding the corner where the charred remains of a warehouse stood bleakly against the gray backdrop of the industrial section of the small town, something out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. Coming to a stop, he let his paper bag slide off his shoulder to the ground as he moved closer to inspect. After a few short steps up to the crumbling floor, his eyes widened and mouth gaped open in shock.

“Hello? Miss, are you all right?” Jonathan asked timidly, approaching the prone female with caution. When there was no response from the naked lady, he reached into his pants pocket with a shaky hand, pulled out his cell phone and dialed 911 for help. After giving the operator his name, location and description of what was wrong, he hung up and waited for help to arrive.

In what seemed like the blink of an eye, but was actually closer to thirty minutes, Jonathan arrived behind the ambulance at Sunnydale Memorial hospital. Following the paramedics inside the brightly lit emergency room, he watched helplessly as the unconscious female was wheeled into an exam room and the door was shut behind her. Sinking down into a nearby chair, he prepared to wait as long as possible for an update on her condition.

What seemed like hours later Jonathan was shaken awake and he groggily rubbed his eyes and accepted the lukewarm cup of coffee that was offered and asked, “Is she going to be ok?”


“The doctors have informed me that she is in stable condition with no apparent signs of attack and will most likely make a full recovery. However, she is still unconscious at this time so we have no leads on who she may be.” Detective Kate Lockley advised; her gentle smile and pretty features instantly luring the distressed man into a calmer state. “You did a really good thing helping her this morning. Most people wouldn’t, not nowadays. There are some questions I need you to answer and then you can go ahead and go home, I’m sure you don’t want to spend your afternoon cooped up in a hospital waiting room.”

“I don’t mind, I mean…I kinda wanted to make sure she was going to be ok.” He admitted. “But I have no problem answering any questions you have.”

“Great. Thank you, Mr. Levinson. Maybe when we’re through she’ll have woken up.” Opening a small black notebook, Kate dug in her purse for a pen and waited for him to polish off the last dregs of coffee before beginning her barrage of necessary questions.


Sadly, when they were done there was still no change in the young lady’s condition and a dejected Jonathan finally decided to go home for the evening, making sure to leave his name and number so the hospital could contact him if there was any change. Even though he wasn’t a family member, or even a close friend, both he and the hospital staff agreed that since he was technically her savior that they would call with any updates.

Hours ticked away, the afternoon sun faded away into dusk and eventually darkened night skies before there was any change in the mysterious woman’s condition. Lying all alone in the stark white hospital room, she woke up; eyes wide with confusion. Sitting up in the stiff bed, she sat up and tugged uselessly at the needles that stuck out of her pale white arm; instantly setting off shrieking alarms in the tiny room. Wincing at the annoyingly loud chirps, she jumped with surprise when the heavy door was thrown open and clanged against the wall.

“You’re awake! Wonderful!” The balding man in his late forties announced as he grabbed a metal chart from the end of her bed. Quickly, he checked her vitals and wrote them down before asking, “We’ve all been very concerned about you. Can you tell me your name?”

Worry marred her ethereal features as she nibbled on her bottom lip and whispered, “I don’t remember.”

“Not to worry, dear. It is fairly common to have a slight case of amnesia in response to trauma. Physically, everything appears to be all right. Of course, I would like to keep you overnight for continued observation.” Dr. Reynolds announced to the distressed patient. “Why don’t you lay back down and rest. I’ll have the nurse bring you something to eat soon and the police still have a few questions they’d like to ask you.”
Nodding her head, not trusting the strange sound of her own voice, she crawled back underneath the sea foam green coverlet and closed her eyes. She must have drifted off to sleep, because a little while later she was awakened by the sound of someone entering her room. Looking up, she saw a trim blonde lady and a nurse with a tray of food standing by her bed.

“Here you go, sugar. I want you to eat everything on this plate and get your strength up, ya hear?” The bubbly nurse instructed with a drawling Southern accent. “This is Detective Lockley, she’s gonna ask you some questions and see if we can’t figure out just who you are, ok? Just push that button on the wall if you need me!”

Realizing she was famished, she polished off the chicken and rice in a matter of moments before moving on to the salad and fruit cup. Feeling as though she should be ashamed by her lack of manners, she looked up guiltily at the officer sitting by the bed.

“Don’t worry about me; I’d be starving, too!” Kate chuckled, watching in amazement as the tiny slip of a girl polished off the tray of food like a champion. Finally she finished, slurping down a carton of chocolate milk before turning to Kate with luminous green eyes and they proceeded to run through a list of questions, each one met with a scared look and vague answer. “Well, I’m sorry to say that I cannot seem to find any leads as to your identity. I’ve ran your prints through the National Crime computer, checked all the local missing files and canvassed the area you were found and still…nothing. It’s as if you just appeared out of thin air; which we both know isn’t possible.

So, I’ve called a friend of mine to help you get back on your feet until we can figure out where you belong. She runs a local shelter for abused women, but has agreed to let you move in after she heard your story. Her name’s Jenny Calendar and she said she’d come by in the morning after the doctor says you can be released. Here’s my card, too, in case you have any questions or regain your memory. Don’t be afraid to call me if you need me, ok?”

Taking the proffered card, she gazed at the bold black lettering before turning her attention back to the Detective. “Thank you.” Tears brimmed in her green eyes, threatening to spill over as she realized she was going to be left alone again. “I…I just wish I could remember…something about my life.”

“It’ll all work out eventually, just don’t get discouraged; things like this take time. You get some rest, I’ll check on you tomorrow.” Standing up from the most uncomfortable chair in the world, Kate headed to the door and said, “Day or night, I mean it. I’m here to help you.”

Alone again, she slid back under the covers and finally gave way to the tears that stung her eyes. Crying earnestly, it was a long time before she allowed exhaustion to take over and slipped into a deep sleep once again; the fear of what tomorrow held burning in her heart.

Spike groaned loudly, pulled himself up into a slumped sitting position and narrowed his eyes in attempt to protect them from the harsh light of day. His entire body ached from sleeping in his car, even though he had taken full advantage of the bench seat and had sprawled across the black vinyl with his feet dangling out the open driver’s side door. Tilting his head quickly from side to side, he felt the satisfying crack of his joints popping and managed a small smile; which disappeared as fast as it had emerged when he saw Angel’s truck pulling up beside the car.

Perched somewhere near the middle of the seat, Spike all but growled and snapped at Gunn when his obviously perturbed friend crawled into the car with him and pushed him out of the way. “Man, move the fuck over…damn you stink!” Charles exclaimed, his handsome features marred by the exasperated expression on his face. Shaking his head in disgust, he slammed the driver’s side door with a loud clack and dramatically rolled down the window to air out the odorous interior. “Could you give me an idea of how many more times Angel and I are gonna have to hunt your ass down, ‘cause I do actually have a life, ya know?” He asked with irritation in his voice, although deep down he was truly worried about Spike.

“Don’ recall ordering a bloody knight in shining armor recently, Gunn.” Spike grumbled, digging through the deep pockets of his black leather duster in search of much needed nicotine. “You see m’fags?”

“First off, you live in America, stop saying fags ‘cause it just confuses the shit out of everyone! Second, are you trying to get your scrawny ass killed?” Gunn rounded a sharp corner, checked the rearview mirror to make sure Angel was still following them and tried to remain calm as Spike answered his question with an irritated snort. “Because if you are, then you’re on the right track by getting wasted and passing out in front of a demon bar with your fucking door wide open! Your dad is freaking the fuck out and Fred’s on the verge of tears for the millionth time in two weeks and Wesley is well…nervous as always. Don’t you have any respect for anyone other than yourself?”

“Boo-fucking-hoo, Gunn! Sorry that pathetic Spike is having a bit of a hard time adjusting as of late. So very sorry that m’misery has ruined your sodding day.” Spike barked and flopped over to lean against the cold metal of the passenger side door to stare blankly out the window; trying very hard to keep up the cold, uncaring demeanor and not let Gunn see the quivering mess of emotions, the broken shell of a man that remained after Buffy’s sacrifice.

Gunn opened his mouth to chastise his moping friend for the harsh comment, but refrained when he caught a brief glimpse of pain flash across Spike’s pale face; opting to keep his trap shut and drive the hung-over Slayer to his house instead. He knew the past two weeks had been difficult for Spike, but since he had chosen to remain silent about his feelings and keep everyone in the dark, Gunn had no idea how to help his friend cope. Of course, he had also been under the assumption that the affiliation between the former sworn enemies had been solely based on sex and not the deep and meaningful relationship it had turned into in the end. Knowing that the Slayer had lost a love and not just a piece of ass was something that Gunn was conflicted on how to best handle the downward spiral that Spike was on. After worrying over his welfare constantly since the incident, Gunn had been settling on the side of anger rather than compassion, truly hating that Spike was suffering, but pissed that it was causing misery among his so-called loved ones.

Spike knew he should be ashamed for his comments and hate himself for snapping at his friend and should apologize for being hurtful, but he held back and stared out the tinted window instead; watching the dilapidated buildings downtown fade into the neatly trimmed lawns of suburbia without uttering a single word.

He was aware of the amount of pain and anxiety he was causing his family and friends by staying out all night, sometimes days at a time passed before he appeared out of thin air to pass out from exhaustion for several hours before slinking off into the night for another round of drinks and a brawl or two, if possible. He saw the worry and hurt in their gazes, knew they were concerned for not only his safety, but his sanity, as well. However, Spike just couldn’t bring himself to care as of late, and chose to ignore their stares, the frowns of disapproval and sighs of frustration. In his mind, in his heart, he knew that while they tried to understand the pain that seared him from inside, they would never be able to fully comprehend what he was going through, because even though they had finally admitted Buffy had changed, in their eyes she would always be a soulless monster. They would never understand that to Spike, he had failed her. That if he had been able to defeat Willow in the first place then she wouldn’t have had to sacrifice herself to fix his mistake. If they knew his true feelings and fears, if they were aware of his dream to take her place, to keep her in this world and sacrifice himself for her safety, he couldn’t bring himself to look them in the eyes and see the disgust that he suspected would surely be there.

Snapping to attention as the car lurched to a stop, Spike glanced around and a realized that they had arrived home and Gunn was already halfway up the sidewalk. Grimacing, he pushed the door open and headed in the same direction, mentally preparing for the inquisition that lay ahead. As he neared the front porch, Angel pulled up near the curb, quickly hopped out of the big blue truck and jogged up the walkway to catch up with Spike.

“Hey man! Uh…just wanted to give you a heads up…your Dad and Wesley are in a stink about some news they got from the Council guy.” Angel huffed a bit as he spit out the information, clearly tired from the short jaunt up the sidewalk. “I don’t know what he said, but it sure was enough to have your Dad polishing his glasses like a madman.”

“Fucking brilliant.” Spike muttered under his breath, knowing his father’s incessant cleaning of the glasses was a nervous habit and normally had nothing to do with keeping the lenses free of debris. Deciding not to stay in the dark any longer, he bit the bullet and opened the door, motioning for Angel to head inside first. “No time like the present, right? After you, mate.”

“William!” Rupert Giles’s hollered from across the room, where he had clearly been in a conversation with the Watcher. “It’s about bloody time you decided to grace us with your presence. Do you have any idea what time it is? How worried I was?”

Giving off an air of indifference, Spike shrugged out of his duster and tossed it over the stairway banister before sauntering into the living room. From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of the clock on the desk and inwardly groaned, realizing that it was well past lunch. Flopping onto the couch with a sigh, he retorted, “’s not like I meant to stay out all sodding night…couldn’t get the bloody keys in the ignition and fell asleep.”

“Yes, well, it’s a good thing Angel and Charles were able to locate you and you’re clearly well. However, there’s some new information that Wesley and I need to discuss with you if you can manage to fit us into your busy schedule.” Without waiting for an answer from his son, Rupert focused his attentions on the three young adults standing quietly in the corner of the room and continued, “I know you’ve all been worried, but as you can see, Spike is perfectly fine. If you don’t mind, we’re going to need some privacy for a bit.”

“Of course, Mr. Giles, um…we’ll just go grab some dinner or something like that, ok?” Fred replied nervously before speaking to Wesley, “I guess they can give me a ride home, so um…maybe you could stop by later…um, if you want to.” While everyone in the room was well aware of the budding relationship between her and the Watcher, Fred still felt uncomfortable mentioning it in front of everyone, especially Spike. Glancing over at her sullen friend, she frowned at his disposition before smiling at Wes and following Angel and Gunn out the door.

When the room had cleared out, Rupert pulled a chair closer to the couch where Spike was clearly sulking, made himself somewhat comfortable and cleared his throat before speaking. “William, we’ve received some rather disturbing news from the Council this morning, from the Head of it, actually. There’s really no other way to tell you what it is, other than being forthright.” Giles paused for a moment, unsure of exactly how to tell his son the devastating news that he had been working diligently to keep hidden. When Spike glared at him pointedly and refused to speak, he grimly started, “As I said, Mr. Travers called this morning and it appears that a new Slayer was called…approximately two weeks ago.”

“A new Slayer!” Spike scoffed, the full impact not registering in his still alcohol soaked mind. “The git’s obviously off his rocker! ‘s not like a new Slayer can be called when the old one’s still alive and kicking.”

Rupert’s calm demeanor faded, giving way to the true level of his emotions, showing the despair and heartache that he had been trying to hide to stay strong for the sake of his only son. Staring down at his hands, at a loss for words, he forced himself to say, “I don’t know how to tell you this…”

“Oh, bloody hell! Just get on with it, yeah? ‘s not like I’ve got all sodding day to sit here and stare at one another.” Spike barked, instantly regretting his harsh words when he saw tears glisten in his father’s eyes; taken aback by the emotion on the man’s face since he’d only seen his dad cry one time in his entire life and that was at his mother’s funeral years ago. Dropping his head to hide the pained expression on his face, Spike examined the chipped black paint on his nails as if he was nothing more than bored by their conversation.

“Right, then…William, another Slayer has been called because you died that night.” Rupert spit out, instantly fed up with his son’s uncaring attitude; if Spike was too preoccupied by his feelings to care about the significance of another Chosen One being called, then why should he worry at all.

Spike’s head popped up as he snapped to attention and stared at his father, then the unusually quiet Wesley with his mouth wide open in shock and disbelief. “I died…but how? The doctor’s never mentioned that to me and I’m fairly certain that that’s the important type of information you tell a patient!”

“I…um, I asked them not to mention it to you, William.” Rupert confessed, holding his hand up to stop Spike from speaking. “I’m not apologizing either, you had too much on your mind at that moment and you were cleared medically. I felt there was no reason to burden you with any more stress.”

“Burden me with STRESS?” Spike hollered, jumping off the couch to pace anxiously around the living room. “I fucking DIED, Dad! Dead! You should have told me!”

“Spike, please…” Wesley begged, motioning for his charge to sit down. “Try to see things from your father’s point of view. You had just suffered a great loss, why bother you further with the knowledge that you could have…no, did die? Especially when there was no reasonable medical excuse for your brief demise?”

He refused to sit down, but did reign in his temper enough to calmly ask, “No excuse? I lost a hell of a lot of blood that night; wouldn’t that have been the reason?”

“Apparently not, from what the doctor’s were able to figure out. Yes, you lost a great deal of blood, but you are the Slayer. You have healing powers far beyond that of the average human and your body quickly replaced what you had lost. The only explanation they could produce was that you simply didn’t want to be alive anymore, your body started shutting down on its own accord.” Forcing his son to meet his gaze, Rupert asked, “Now can you understand why I didn’t tell you?”

Sitting down on the couch in front of his father, Spike realized that his father had only been trying to keep him safe and met his worried gaze and replied, “Yeah, Dad. I can understand, but that doesn’t mean I agree with your choice.” Leaning back against the cushions, he stayed silent for a beat and finally asked, “So, what’s this bloke’s name and when do I get to meet ‘im?”

“All we’ve been told is that he’s expected to arrive in Sunnydale within the month with his Watcher, apparently some strange activity recently calls for their presence here. What type of presence is unknown at this time, but there was some type of dimensional shift that altered the energy field around the Hellmouth. Since the Council is still in the dark about the effect the shift will cause on the demonic activity in Sunnydale, they’ve decided to proceed with caution and send reinforcements.” Wesley explained as best as he could with what little information they had been provided. Reaching over to his briefcase on the desk, he pulled a large folder out and laid it on the table in front of Spike and said, “That’s what they faxed this morning. It’s not much, but it will give you a brief description of the latest addition to the line of the Slayer. He’s about the same age as you, maybe a year younger if I recall…name’s Daniel Osborne, but prefers to be called Oz.”

Glancing over at the digital clock, red numbers glowing in the dimly lit room, she noticed that it was half past six and almost time for dinner and chuckled when her stomach growled, as if it knew dinner was about to be served. The shelter for abused women functioned efficiently on a tightly regimented schedule and never faltered, even on busy holidays. Breakfast was served promptly at seven in the morning, lunch at twelve thirty in the afternoon and dinner at seven in the evening. While most of the women residing in the home were irritated by the strict meal schedule, along with the organized list of daily chores and errands that needed taken care of, she was grateful for the structure; feeling safe by being told exactly what to do each and every day.

Twenty three days had passed since the pretty blonde with the self-given moniker of Joan had been found face down in a rain puddle, naked as the day she was born. Nearly a month of not knowing where she came from or who she was; three agonizing weeks of not recognizing the face that stared back from the mirror. Sadly, no one had yet to come forward and claim her; no tearful parents in search of the wayward daughter, no frantic spouse in search of a missing wife…nothing. While the detective in charge of her case remained positive, Joan felt her hope slipping away with each passing day that her identity remained a mystery.

Sighing dejectedly, Joan set aside the hand me down paddle brush and set forth in her normal evening routine, or rather any time of the day that she found herself in front of a mirror. Scrunching her face, she stuck out her tongue at the likeness that mocked her from inside the mirror before relaxing her features and examining the reflection. Luminous green orbs stared back without recognition as she glared at the rounded tip of a button nose, complete with a tiny bump that signified a possible break at some point during her lifetime. As far as she could tell, this was the only imperfection on her entire body and she didn’t even know if it was something she was born with or simply had occurred at some point in her life. Maybe the bump was a childhood accident or perhaps a flaw that had yet to be corrected by a surgeon? The fact that it existed wasn’t what irritated Joan, it was the questions surrounding the imperfection that she agonized about the most. Why was the small bump the only flaw she could find?

Her teeth were perfect, brilliant white, evenly spaced and not a cavity in sight. Porcelain skin covered her body, no imperfections could be found on any part. No scars, marks or tattoos to show that she had been careless and reckless during her childhood or abandon filled teenage years. Shouldn’t there be some imperfection on her entire body, a sign of her existence before the newspaper delivery guy found her? To Joan, it just didn’t make any sense. Of course, she never spoke a word about her worries to anyone other than herself. What would she tell them? What would they think if she blurted out her concerns about not existing before that horrible day? They’d think she was nuts and lock her away in a sanitarium like the poor girl in that movie from last night. No way was she letting that happen.

Lost in thought, Joan nearly jumped out of her skin when someone knocked on her bedroom door. Turning towards the now open door, she said, “Oh, Lily. You scared me!”

“Sorry, um…dinner’s almost ready. Jenny asked me to come get you to help set the table.” The willowy blonde stated. “But, if you’re busy I can do it.”

“I’d be happy to help.” She announced, giving one last look at the mirror and sighing inwardly at the lack of recognition. “I mean, it’s not like I’m getting a whole lot done here, right?” Grimacing, she came to the realization that no amount of staring into the mirror would make her memories come back. Nope, they would just have to come back on their own. ‘If there are any actual memories to have. She thought to herself as she followed Lily down the stairs. ‘Could just be some strange alien whatnot invading the earth and this is the body that was chosen or a mystical Key formed into existence by monks to serve some unknown purpose. Ok, that’s just too weird…gotta stop the late night Sci-Fi channel movies.’ With a slump to her shoulders, Joan headed into the empty dining room to prepare for dinner.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Across town, an extremely agitated and piss-drunk Slayer was busy stuffing random items into a worn green duffle bag all the while smoking furiously on a cigarette and trying his best to avoid the questions his father was bombarding him with. “I don’t bloody care about my sodding sacred duty! This is something that I’ve got to do, yeah? Besides, you’ve got yourself a shiny, fresh out of the box Slayer to play with downstairs, so go bother him, yeah? I’ve got somewhere to be.”

“Honestly, William,” Giles started, completely ignoring the look of disgust on his son’s face at the usage of his given name. “I understand that you’ve been through a rough patch as of late, but I don’t see how running away is going to solve anything. Now, if you would just sit down and talk about this like an adult, then maybe we can come to some sort of arrangement in regards to the new Slayer.”

“You’d like that wouldn’t you? For me to just tuck m’tail between m’legs and toddle of to teach newbie downstairs how to properly function as the Chosen One? Have you completely forgotten the mess I made? ‘s not like I’m the shining example of how to properly perform a sacred duty, yeah?” Spike scoffed, crushing out the cigarette in a nearby coffee cup that was on the brink of overflowing from previously discarded butts. “What part of I’m not bloody well going to stay around and play teacher do you not bleeding understand? ‘ve got to go clean up m’earlier mistakes and make sure that fucking redheaded bitch stays dead this time.”

Giles watched hopelessly as his obviously distressed son checked the room for any forgotten travel materials and struggled for something to say to change his mind and make him stay home. “Are you quite sure that it’s Willow you’re chasing and not some other vampire who just happens to have red hair? Is Andrew one hundred percent correct with his information?”

“Let’s see….red head, vampire, sadistic bitch who likes to torture her victims before bleeding them dry and has a tendency to spout of a load of freaking nonsense while doing so? Yep, fairly certain it’s her. Add in the reports that she’s sporting a fresh set of burn scars which she most likely received when you and the Watcher torched the last place she was seen and it’s close enough that I am more than bloody willing to drive to Los Angeles to check things out.” Spike retorted, plucking a fresh smoke out of a crumpled pack and lighting up in spite of his father’s glare of disapproval. “It’s been dead in this town for weeks, I’m quite sure that Oz can hold down the sodding fort, yeah? ‘s not like I’ve got anything to stay around for anyway, is there?” The last words were spoken so softly that Spike wasn’t sure his father had heard them or not. Grabbing the overstuffed duffle bag from the rumpled bed, he stalked out of the room, pushing past his father and clambered down the stairs.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Jenny Calendar pushed a stray lock of raven colored hair from her face as she intensely examined the latest addition to the home that was currently assisting one of the other residents with setting the table for dinner. While Jenny felt one hundred percent comfortable with her decision to let the blonde amnesiac continue to reside in the home, knowing her instincts were always on the money, she constantly worried about the situation as a whole. Why hadn’t anyone come looking for the sweet and charismatic young woman? What actually happened to make her lose her memories? And, most importantly, who was she and where did she come from?

The lack of response from the police department, combined with the failed efforts of the shelter in locating a family member, Jenny was seriously beginning to worry about her latest charge. It had been just over three weeks since she had been found by the newspaper carrier and the poor thing still hadn’t had so much as a flash of memory; the slightest recognition of her life before the incident. Jenny honestly didn’t know what the future held for the petite blonde with no past.

Hearing her name, Jenny snapped back to attention and noticed that the girls had finished setting dinner and everyone was starting to sit down. “Be right there, Lily.” She announced as she pushed away from the secondhand desk and flipped off the lamp. “Mmm…whatever we’re having smells delicious!”

“The recipe said Enchilada pie, but it kinda looks like taco mush to me.” Lily replied. Reaching out one thin pale arm towards the director, the waifish blonde handed over a plate and continued, “Joan found it in an old cookbook that was stashed away in the kitchen, so I decided to make it.”

“I hope its ok.” Joan replied nervously, chewing on her bottom lip as Jenny took a tentative bite.

“It’s a tad on the spicy side, but I like it that way. Very tasty. Good pick, Joan, and of course, great job on cooking it, Lily, as always.” Jenny smiled at the shy girl to her left and spooned another large forkful into her mouth to prove that she really did like the meal. When treated to a bright smile as Joan beamed proudly, Jenny felt her heart break just a little bit more for the situation the lovely young lady had been placed in. The whole situation involving Joan just didn’t seem fair, either; to sentence such a pleasant person to a life of uncertainty, confusion and pain. It just wasn’t right in her book!

Spike lay prone on the rented bed, the cheaply made material of the comforter scratched against his bare skin, but he made no effort to move. He’d been holed up in the seedy, pay by the hour, roach motel for the past two and a half weeks and wondered if tonight might be his last night in Los Angeles. Sure, the celebrity filled city was filled with classier hotels, but he wasn’t in town for pleasure. Nope, he was here for one thing and one thing only….the business of killing the woman that took Buffy away from him.

Each night he vanished into the night in search for the redhead vampire and each morning he’d returned to his room disappointed. He knew he was getting closer, missing the bitch by mere minutes every time. It was as if he could feel her fading presence as she slinked further out of grasp. Still, he was persistent, his will remained unbroken and he knew that one night he would finally rid the world of the vampire known as Willow.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, the world was temporarily aflame in a burst of orange and pink, he eased off the bed and headed for the door; his body alerting him to the fall of night as if being Slayer meant he came with an alarm clock installed in his body. Spike riffled through an open duffle bag and quickly produced a faded black T-shirt and pulled it over his head to complete the monochrome selection that was jokingly referred as his work uniform. Before leaving the dank quarters, he strapped a black leather sheath to his right forearm and loaded it with a dagger, a stake was tucked into his back left pocket and a slightly crumbled pack of cigarettes in the right.

He stepped outside just as the last faint rays of light desperately fought to stay alive and slammed the paint chipped door closed behind him without bothering to lock it; wasn’t as if there was anything important inside anyway. Scanning the pothole filled parking lot for any possible danger, Spike stalked towards the spot where he’d parked the Desoto, which was across the lot in the only brightly lit area. He quickly gave the darkened area one last scan before opening the heavy door with an audible groan from the hinges, mentally reminding himself to oil the doors when he returned home…if he returned home, that is.

This time around there was no delusions in Spike’s mind about the capability of this particular vampire. He knew exactly what he was up against, knew how dangerous she was and knew deep in his heart that only one of them would emerge from their final fight. With a heavy heart and weary expression, he pulled the smokes out of his pocket, lit one and inhaled deeply while sliding into the car; a moment later, after several failed attempts at coercing the engine to turn over and a few descriptive words of choice, he flew out of the parking lot with a squeal of tires and puff of smoke.

Fifteen minutes later, he eased the car into a narrow parking slot in front of a seedy dive bar in the not-so-friendly side of town; a place known for cheap liquor and even cheaper women, nightly drunken brawls and most importantly, the last place his prey had been spotted. Three nights ago the bartender, a stringy haired middle age man with a beer gut poured over the top of a pair of decades old jeans a few sizes too small for his portly figure, admitted to seeing the vamp in question in his bar on more than one occasion over the past couple of days.

Tonight, however, seemed to be his lucky night because as he rounded the corner, which was heavily darkened with shadows due to the light being busted, Spike saw his prey exit the bar arm in arm with a stringy haired blonde with gangly legs that was teetering precariously in a pair of high heels. While it was still very early in the night, only half an hour past the seven o’clock sunset, Spike noticed the drunken sway and staggers of the blonde and figured she’d most likely been at the bar since it opened several hours earlier. He stayed several feet behind the couple, watching as Willow struggled to keep her victim upright as they headed away from the bar.

About seven blocks later, Spike slipped into the alcove of a rundown business when Willow suddenly stopped and looked back in his direction. For a moment, he thought he had been noticed and would have to carry out his plan in the middle of the street, but after a quick scan of the area she turned and continued to haul her prey down a weed infested walkway towards what appeared to be a condemned residence. With peeling grayish blue paint, undoubtedly faded after years of sun exposure and little to no upkeep, busted windows and a front door that was hanging on for dear life, the house resembled something straight out of a horror movie and yet, Spike followed stealthily behind the couple as they disappeared inside the darkened house; swallowed by the intimidating shadows that engulfed the building.

Standing on the dilapidated front porch, holding his breath when the rickety boards creaked ominously beneath his well worn and scuffed boots, Spike leaned towards the door ever so slightly to see if it was safe to enter behind them. He watched as the hemline of Willow’s long black skirt swirled around the doorframe as she pushed the inebriated blonde into the next room and only then, did he continue inside the musty living room and fought off the sneeze that threatened to expose him.

Quietly, he followed in their direction until the faint whispers and giggles of the drunken woman could be heard from behind a closed door at the end of a narrow hallway. Grabbing the stake out of the back pocket, he poised to strike and swiftly kicked the already broken door down. He crossed the threshold as Willow whirled around, her red hair flying like a cape and golden eyes of fire flashing at him with a combination of surprise and heated ire.

“Spike!” Willow spat with scorn as if the very mention of his name left a bad taste in her mouth. Victim forgotten, she took a step in his direction and ground out, “You’re supposed to be dead! Killed at the hands of my wayward childe!”

“Yeah, it didn’t stick.” Spike snarked; his usual taunting attitude slipping out despite the boiling rage that churned inside, consuming his heart until it was black with hate. “Course, one could say the same about you, yeah?” Taking a step to the left, Spike carefully circled the room and thus, caused Willow to move away from the forgotten victim as she fought to stay out of Spike’s reach. Toeing the fallen blonde with the tip of his boot, he refrained from leaning over to check on her status for fear of being attacked. After several sharp stabs in the ribs, she moaned and Spike realized that her unconscious state was due to alcohol and not an attack by Willow.

“Aw, little Slayer here to save the day.” Willow mocked, inching her way towards the open door as if preparing for a cowardly escape. “Is business so slow in Sunny-Hell that you had to come all this way to save the innocent?”

“Don’t give a piss about the innocent, just trying to clean the room out a bit before our lil’ dance begins.” Twirling the stake in his hand, Spike moved forward swiftly just as Willow bolted out the bedroom door. Following on her heels, he darted out his free hand and snatched the thick chain that circled her pale neck and gave it a tug in his direction. Pulling her thin frame flush against his body, Spike leaned down and whispered, “ ‘s a bit rude to leave the party early…the games haven’t even begun.”

Adrenaline coursed through his body as she struggled against his hold, her hands grasped his arm and sharp nails penetrated the flesh as she tried to claw her way to freedom. It was in that moment he realized his mistake, a second too late, because her bony fingers had wound themselves around the tight leather of the dagger sheath and were working to free the custom made knife from its confines. Spike released his hold on Willow’s neck and struggled to try and break the hold that she had around his forearm. Using all of his strength to pull against her hold seemed like a good idea at the time, until the strap broke and sent him flying backwards to land in the middle of the hallway on his ass. “Bugger.”

“It just didn’t seem fair for you to have all the pretty toys.” Willow murmured as she lovingly caressed the ornate dagger in her small hands. Licking her lips, a wicked glint shining in her amber eyes, she started forward and closed the gap between them.

Spike waited, like a prey playing dead, until she got close enough to kick out his legs and knock the vampire to the ground. Pouncing, he straddled her, managing to grab hold of the hand that held the knife and pin it down by the wrist, but also losing his stake in the process. Their eyes locked in a heated glance, both burning with fury, as Willow struggled beneath him, trying desperately to get out from beneath his hold. Spike slowly inched their hands together, trying to move them in a position to grasp both of her wrists with one hand and free the other to search for his stake; which was the exact moment Willow bucked upwards, using her supernatural strength to send Spike flying over her head to crash back onto the floor in a jumbled heap.

“No wonder she left you, Slayer.” Willow taunted as she stared down at him in disgust, “No vampire wants someone as weak as you.”

Buffy flashed in his mind at Willow’s words, images of her smiling and laughing, writhing beneath him in passion and snoring softly as he watched her sleep, caused tears to burn in his eyes. He saw her face as she apologized and struck at his neck, felt the despair and hurt as she sipped at his blood, overwhelming sorrow that engulfed him when he realized what she had done to save their lives, and the pain that filled his world since she’d been gone and knew that Willow’s words were false. Snarling viciously, Spike pushed himself off the dusty floor and said, “What she didn’t want was you and that pathetic git you call a sire. She came to me despite whatever ties she supposedly had to the ones that created her, gave up whatever sick twisted relationship you three had to be with me. And that’s what tears you up inside, isn’t it? ‘s not that she wanted me, it’s that she didn’t want you. Buffy didn’t want YOU!” Spike screamed, his voice rattling with the force of his emotions as he charged the visibly upset vampire, pushing her backwards until they were back in the room where the dance had begun and slammed Willow against the wall hard enough to shatter the window next to them.

His hands encircled the thin, pale column of her neck, lifting Willow off the ground by several inches; his grasp tightening enough to reduce her words to mere grunts as she clawed frantically at his hands, leaving bloody trails in her wake. Tears streamed down her pale cheeks, spilling onto his arms as she silently pleaded for her life and without any regret Spike pulled back his left arm and slammed his fist against her chest, pushing with all his might he shoved through the flesh and bones, borrowed blood spilled over his forearm along with thicker bits of insides as he drove his hand towards the shriveled heart that lay still in the center of her chest. When his fist reached its destination, he grasped the withered organ and jerked, splattering his shirt with blood and gore as he ripped it from her chest. A surprised expression crossed her lovely face before her body exploded into a cloud of dust, sprinkling to the ground to mix with the grime that already rested there.

A tear trickled down Spike’s dust covered face, cutting its way through the powder that was once Willow, as he sank to the floor on his knees, paying no attention to the semi-conscious girl in the room. Disbelief filled his mind, and a confusing loss tore at his heart. Now that Willow was gone what was his purpose? His hatred and need for vengeance was the only thing that had kept him alive, made his feet lead him in the direction of his beloved’s murderer…the only thing that gave him the will to live. Burying his head in his hands, he sobbed for the woman who held his love even after death, for the life he would never have and the pain that tormented his soul.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Four days later, he was in the kitchen looking for something to eat when his father came through back door. He had only been home for three days and the tension between them was still so thick you could cut it with a plastic knife, but they were muddling through the heartache and pain as best as they knew how. Nodding to the elder Giles, Spike asked, “Was feeling a bit puckish, you want me to make enough for the both of us?”

“Actually, William,” Rupert murmured, avoiding the questioning stare of his only child as he placed several take out bags onto the counter. “I picked up dinner while I was out. Italian’s good, yes?”

“Yeah,‘s fine, but how much were you figuring on me eating?” Spike ribbed good naturedly as he sauntered over to check out what was in the bags. “I mean, you’ve brought enough to feed a bloody army.”

“Yes, well, we’rehavingguests.” Rupert spit out as he stuck his head inside the cabinet to pull out plates and glasses. Setting the dinnerware on the counter, he turned to face his son who had stopped unloading the takeout trays from the bag and was glaring at him. “I’ve invited Ms. Calendar, the woman I told you about the other day that I’ve been um…courting…well, I asked her to dinner, along with one of the young ladies that is in her care.”

“Oh, bloody hell, man!” Spike shouted, throwing up his hands in disbelief. He couldn’t believe the audacity of his father sometimes! He’d only been back in town for a few days, had yet to spend any time with his friends outside of the short visit the day he’d returned and now his father was blatantly setting him up on a blind date? “I cannot believe you would do this to me! After everything I’ve been through lately!”

“I know what you’ve been through lately, Spike; you aren’t the only one who has lost someone he loves.” Giles murmured; the pain of the loss of his late wife seared through his heart briefly. “That’s why I invited them. You need to get out, meet new people, spend time with your friends and move on. It’s hard, yes…but, it’s life.” He paused for a moment, figuring his temperamental son would have something to interrupt with, but when Spike’s eyes glazed over with tears and his head dropped, he continued. “The young lady that’s coming tonight has experienced loss, too. Not what you’re going through, but painful enough. Poor dear is suffering from amnesia and has no family or friends to help her through the confusion and heartache. I thought that you of all people might be able to help her, be friends at least, and offer her a shoulder to lean on.”

Spike sniffled; looking up at his father as he angrily swiped at the tears on his cheeks and opened his mouth to say something when the doorbell chimed. “I guess that’s our guests, I’ll go get it.” He turned and headed towards the foyer, pulling the hem of his shirt up to dry the residual wetness off his face before answering the door.

“Good afternoon, you must be Ms. Calen…” He said as cheerily as possible as the door opened to reveal a slender woman with gleaming raven hair, but the greeting was cut short by the sight of the young lady standing next to her. His heart clenched, his breath was suddenly hard to catch as the tears sprang back to life in his eyes.

The late afternoon sun made her hair shine like spun gold, falling in soft waves around her angelic face; her skin was glowing a sun kissed bronze beneath a simple yellow sundress that left her shoulders bare beneath the golden strands of hair. Speech eluded him as he stared openmouthed at the woman before him, his mind not capable of understanding how she came to be on his front porch…in the sun, no less.

His knees gave out and Spike allowed his body to follow suite, sinking to the floor in front of her. Looking up, the tears finally spilled over the dark lace of eyelashes as he whispered in disbelief, “Buffy?”

Joan was trapped. Simply and utterly trapped, rooted in place and held securely by a pair of strong, masculine arms that clutched at her tiny waist as if the fate of the world relied solely on her staying in that one spot. Her body was tense, vibrating with nervousness, her hands flapped uncertainly near her sides; literally waving around her waist where his face was buried in the pale yellow cloth covering her taut belly. She tried to move, wiggle out of this strange man’s grasp, but her fight for freedom only succeeded in chaining her closer to him. Eyes wild with panic, Joan locked eyes with her bewildered companion and silently begged for help.

Jenny was befuddled to say the least. The agenda for tonight had certainly not been an obvious mental breakdown of some sort by what seemed to be her dinner host’s son, William. While she hadn’t met the young man before this very strange and insanely awkward moment, Rupert had shown her several pictures of his only child over the years during their last dinner date that had surprisingly ended up with a nightcap at his house. It was that night that Rupert had filled her in on the tragic details of William’s recent loss of his girlfriend.

Cautiously, Jenny eased inside the doorway to stand in the tiled foyer and motioned with her hands for Joan to try and stay calm. Tiptoeing ever so quietly, stealthy as a mouse trying to steal the cheddar off the trap, she disappeared into the dining room in search of Rupert and hopefully, an answer. Seeing her date just inside the kitchen, she called to him with quiet urgency, “Rupert!”

Startled, Rupert Giles did his best to juggle the casserole dish slightly and miraculously not drop the dinner to the floor. Quickly sliding the dish onto the countertop, he turned towards the doorway and said, “Jenny, dear Lord, you startled me!.” He stepped forward; preparing to place a chaste kiss on his date’s slightly flushed cheek, but stopped when he noticed the worried expression. “What’s the matter?”

“It’s….well, your son! He’s manhandling Joan, Rupert!” Jenny cried out with worry. Grabbing his hands, she staggered backwards a bit, cursing the dressier heels she had decided to wear for the evening, and tugged him towards the fiasco in the foyer. “Come on!”

“Good Lord, woman! What on earth’s gotten in to you?” Rupert sputtered as he was literally yanked from the kitchen by his date, which normally possessed a calmer demeanor than the current moment. “Seriously, Jenny…I don’t believe the situation is so dire that you must resort to dragging…Oh my!”

“See?” Jenny asked, her voice barely reaching an octave above a whisper as she clutched Rupert’s hand and took in the scene before them. While the air in the room was indeed calmer, or at least the blondes in question seemed to be more peaceful with the situation now, Jenny was still worried after what she had witnessed moments before. “William opened the door, took one look at Joan and ended up like this…on his knees and sobbing. I didn’t know what to do, Rupert. He just seems so upset and I didn’t want to make things worse. Do you know what’s going on?”

Rupert vaguely heard his date’s questions as he stared in disbelief at the sight before him. Dazed and a little breathless, he sank down on weak knees to sit on the bottom stair and desperately tried to wrap his mind around what he was seeing. It’s often said that seeing is believing, but in this case, Rupert wasn’t so sure because what he saw couldn’t be possible. Could it?

Joan scarcely noticed the arrival of Jenny and Rupert, even though it was her fright that had sent for the elder Giles’s presence. The strange man was still clutched at her waist, though it seemed his weeping had finally lessened; her dress was damp from his tears and clung to the trembling skin of her belly as his cheek pressed against it. Although he no longer wept against her body, Joan could still feel the distressed vibes literally rolling off of him as his shoulders continued to wrack with sobs. Feeling the overwhelming need to comfort him, she placed her hands on top of his head, softly brushing her fingers through the stiffened strands of platinum blonde hair. The moment her bare skin touched him her body was on fire, a bolt of electricity coursed through every part of her inside and out, leaving her skin feeling tingly and more alive than she’d felt….well, for as long as she could remember.

Gasping, she tightened against him, bucking beneath his hold as sparks of light pricked behind her closed eyes. Suddenly, she was bombarded with flashes of confusing images; sweat glistened flesh pressed together intimately and writhing bodies melded against one another in a tangle of black silk sheets. While there was no sound, only the silent picture of ecstasy played out behind clenched eyelids, it was as if the feelings of the couple involved spread through her own body, igniting a fire deep within her belly and spreading goose bumps across her golden skin as she shuddered within his arms.

Joan felt her knees weakening, her body no longer resistant to the man at her waist. She was vaguely aware that she was slipping, sliding down to the floor, pressing against the hard planes and she willed her eyes open to finally see the face of this stranger that had evoked so many emotions in such a short amount of time. Eyelids aflutter, as if she were waking from a deep sleep, not quite alert as the surrounding world came into focus; her hazy green eyes peered dreamily into the glacial pools of wonderment glaring back. Gasping with shock, her eyes popped wide open with fright as Joan burst out of his hold and scrambled backwards to sprawl unladylike across the hunter green painted porch before hurrying to the corner to cower in fear.

Pulling her knees against her chest, she buried her head against them and whimpered as tears pricked against her eyes. It felt as though the world was closing in around her as her nightmares poured into reality. Night after night since her return she had been plagued by violence and horror, bloody carnage and rage, nameless faces staring at her with eyes full of hatred and anger as their bodies rotted away to skeletal remains. Shrieks of pain, shouts of torture and moans of sorrow, flooded her dreams, causing her to toss and turn in a fitful slumber until she woke, breathless and sweating, and a scream on the tip of her tongue as she gasped for a calming breath. And, night after terrorizing night, one set of eyes tormented her the most, two perfect cerulean orbs stared into her soul and ripped out her heart with the pain that filled their accusatory glare, heartache and loneliness crushed her spirits and tugged on her heartstrings until salty tears spilled across her flushed cheeks. Those eyes were seared into her memory, refusing to leave her conscience, haunting her waking hours until finally…they found her.

Rupert watched the scene before him play out with utter amazement and shock. Words escaped him as the blonde doppelganger wrenched out of his son’s arms and scrambled to safety. Silence filled the room; everyone was deathly silent for one brief moment before the frightened girl’s whimpers filtered in from the front porch and he registered Spike’s whole body flinch at the sorrowful sounds. Rupert jerked to attention, bolting from his perch on the stairs to where his son was kneeling, catching his distressed offspring mere seconds before he bolted to the cowering young woman.

“William, I think it best that we give Miss…erm, Joan some space for a moment.” Rupert said softly as he wrapped his hands around Spike’s biceps in attempts to restrain the adamant young man from barging forward. “William! Did you hear me?” He asked with a sharper voice when his son gave no answer, no recognition that he had even heard his father. Finally, Spike looked at him with watery eyes, filled with heartache and confusion. “I think we need to give her a bit of space and let everyone clear their heads a bit, yes?” Rupert glanced over his shoulder to catch Jenny’s worry filled chocolate eyes; his silent message read loud and clear, relief washed over him as the raven haired caretaker hurried to the side of her fallen charge.

Shock settled in, numbing Spike’s body and mind, ceasing all coherent thought as he allowed his father to navigate him through the darkened living room and out onto the back porch. He leaned against the paint chipped railing with a sigh, his unfocused gaze zeroed in on a fallen leaf and remained that way for several moments. “Do you think it’s her?” he finally asked; his voice deep and hoarse from crying. Without sparing a glance to his father, Spike reached into his back pocket and produced a pack of cigarettes, immediately lit one and closed his eyes in satisfaction as the calming effects of nicotine seeped into his bloodstream. “She can’t be, right? Buffy’s dead.”

“I…I can’t say for sure, William. Honestly, I don’t know what to think,” Rupert admitted shamefully. “She certainly looks remarkably like Miss Buffy.”

“Yeah, with the exception of the bloody tan and don’t forget the heartbeat.” Spike replied sourly, taking a long drag off the smoldering cigarette. “Is it possible?”

Rupert didn’t need further explanation; he knew what his son was asking. “Well, we are on the Hellmouth….stranger things have occurred, but as far as a vampire being resurrected as a human? I’ve never heard of such a thing.” Rupert removed his glasses, scrubbed his face with the free hand in frustration and glanced at the open back door. “I guess the best course of action would be to find out what Buf…er, Joan remembers.”

“And if she doesn’t know anything? Your lady friend did say she had amnesia, yeah?” Spike retorted with a sardonic laugh. “Then what? We just bust in and tell ‘er about all the bloody evil things she’s done and ‘Oh, by the way, thought you were dead’? Yeah, that’d go over brilliantly.”

“Right, probably not the best plan you’ve had. I’ll go inside and talk to our guests and see what I can find out.” Rupert decided, forcing himself to ignore the cigarette that his son absentmindedly tossed onto the pebbled walkway, and the fact that he was digging into the slightly crumbled pack for another. He watched helplessly as a single tear slipped down Spike’s face to land on his shirt. “We’ll get to the bottom of this, I promise.”

Spike glared sullenly at the red tail lights as they faded away to nothing in the distance. She was gone….again. All though, this time her absence didn’t seem to hurt as bad; maybe his heart was growing accustomed to being broken. Or, maybe it was because his mind hadn’t yet accepted the validity of the doppelganger’s sudden presence in his home. Sighing, Spike closed his weary, red-rimmed eyes and leaned his head against the cool brick wall.

He had spent the past two hours on the front porch, hiding in the shadows and avoiding the drama that was unfolding in his living room. Spike had attempted to go in there earlier, but had failed miserably when her tear filled green eyes had zeroed in on him without an iota of recognition. Feeling as though he had been punched in the stomach, Spike had quickly retreated to the safety zone of the front porch.

Spike took a final drag off his cigarette, leaned forward to crush the glowing ember beneath his boot and obediently tossed the crumbled end into the empty jar his father had provided for an ashtray. He raked his hands over his face and said with a hoarse voice, “It’s not her. It can’t be.”

Rupert glanced at his son and his heart clenched as he took in Spike’s melancholy appearance. He hated the helpless feeling that washed over him at the sight of his son’s pain and wished that healing his pain was as easy as slapping on a band aid; the way it was when he was just a young boy. Rupert knew first hand the heartache and depression that consumes your entire being when the person you loved with everything you had suddenly wasn’t in your life anymore. However, he knew nothing about what his son was going through at the moment and therefore, had no earthly idea how to assuage his pain.

Rupert crossed the small front porch to stand next to where Spike was perched. He placed his hand on his son’s shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze of reassurance before taking a seat next to him on the bench. “We don’t know that for sure, Spike. While it is highly unlikely that a vampire would be brought back to life, we must take into account that we live on the Hellmouth and strange incidences have been known to occur.”

Spike replied with a disbelieving snort. “Sorry if I just can’t quite come to terms with the idea that the bleeding Powers That Fuck with Everyone would allow something nice to happen to me or anyone I care about.” He paused long enough to light yet another cigarette and grimaced at the near empty pack that had been purchased early that morning as he made his way home after patrolling. Ignoring the disapproving stare from his father’s eyes, Spike took a long drag and exhaled slowly, savoring the sting of smoke in his lungs. “She didn’t even know me, Dad. Nothing was there when she looked at me.”

“That is a bit daunting, I agree. However, since you missed basically the entire discussion after her first initial reaction to you, I have to say that there’s hope, Spike. Buff…er, Joan admitted that there was something familiar about you, like your eyes, for instance. Maybe, had you decided to spend a bit more time with us this evening, she may have remembered something?” Rupert offered.

“Stay in there? Not bloody likely. Just looking at her ripped my insides apart.” Spike spat out. He took another drag off the cigarette and shook his head. “That woman might look like my Buffy, but that’s where the similarities end. Being in the same room as her, knowing that she’s not mine…no, it’s just too hard.”

Unable to stand the emotions rapidly swirling inside his body, Spike pushed off the bench and stalked across the porch to stand at the edge near the stairs. Tears stung in his eyes, his chest burned with anxiety and his heart thudded painfully in his chest. Staring out into the darkened neighborhood, he wondered how many times a heart could break before it shattered completely.

Spike choked back the lump in his throat and hoarsely called out, “I need to patrol.”
Without looking back at his father, he clambered down the stairs and stealthily prowled down the quiet street in search of something to take his frustration out on.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Spike wished he could say that his presence in the south part of town was an accident. Sadly, he could not. Several hours after he had bolted from the painful conversation with his father, tearing away from the front porch as if it were on fire, his feet had seemed to carry him towards the area of town where “Joan” was currently residing; as if his feet had a mind of their own.

His trek had provided a decent amount of stress relief, having crossed the path of several hungry vamps in need of a good dusting. However, as he approached the block that held the two story clapboard residence where his true love’s twin resided, Spike’s heart raced and his brow beaded with perspiration. As he exited the nearest graveyard, brushing the dusty remains from his latest fight from the front of his black clad body, he spotted the petite blonde casually strolling down the dimly lit sidewalk. Swearing to himself, Spike quickly strode down the cracked cement and pulled up next to the oblivious woman.

“What in the bleeding hell are you doing out this late at night…alone?” Spike asked roughly, his voice barely above an angry growl. Her green eyes fearfully flickered up at him before instantly flashing to anger as she glared at him. Mentally, he had to remember that she had no recollection of the dangers that prowled the darkened streets of Sunnydale and thus, had to force his hand to loosen the grip around her tiny bicep. Mumbling his apology for frightening her, Spike resisted the sudden overwhelming urge to pull her into the safety of his arms and shakily stepped away from her.

“Do you make it a habit to scare women?” Joan finally asked when her heart had calmed down from fright. Thinking to herself that this was the second time in under twelve hours that this strange man had done just that. She also fought to ignore the instant spark of desire that flamed to life as he stared down at her intensely.

“Just the one’s who are too bloody ignorant to keep their asses inside in the middle of the night.” Spike retorted sharply with a cocked brow. “Hasn’t anyone ever warned you about danger that lurks the streets at night?”

Joan snorted loudly with disbelief and rolled her eyes at Spike. “Dangers? Please, what’s going to get me? An overzealous Girl Scout?” She snorted again, refusing to believe that boring Sunnydale had anything remotely dangerous about it. “The next thing you’re going to try to tell me is that you’re the boogey man or something, right?”

“No, kitten…I’m not the bad guy here.” Spike muttered softly, silently cursing himself for allowing one of his many pet names for Buffy slip out. “But, I promise there’s a lot more to SunnyHell than your innocent mind could fathom. Just consider yourself warned and stay the hell inside at night, yeah?”

“Yes, sir.” Joan replied tartly, flashing Spike a quick smile that unknowingly caused his heart to clench in pain. “So, wanna play the role of knight in shining armor and walk me home?”

“Wouldn’t be much of a gentleman if I let you walk alone, now would I?” Spike grumbled. Turning in the direction of her house, he stalked forward and stuffed his hands in his pockets in a lame attempt to not reach out and take hers in his and caress the soft, warm skin. Eyes straight ahead, he gruffly asked, “Why are you out this late, anyway? It’s not like there’s much to do around here during normal hours, much less this early in the morning?”

“It’s peaceful and I needed time to think. Tonight’s festivities sort of shattered my cool exterior. I wanted some time to myself to sort things out.” She replied honestly. Since leaving the Giles household, her thoughts had been scattered all over the place and she had literally felt as though her head was going to explode from stress. “Believe it or not, being in a household full of women isn’t the best place to get a little bit of peace and quiet.”

“No, I imagine it wouldn’t be.” Spike muttered as they rounded the corner and ended up in the shelter’s front yard. While several decades old, the light blue home had been taken well care of and was one of the few residences on the block that also boasted a manicured yard of bright green grass and dozens of blooming flowers. It possessed a quaint, cozy feel about it; as though it knew the pain and heartache the few residents still held in their hearts and sought to protect them from the harsh reality of life. “Well, this is you, right?”

“Yeppers. Though, it’s not like we really know who I am.” Joan sighed wistfully as her mind was once again plague with worrisome thoughts. She hated feeling like this, like her entire life was dangling just out of reach. But one look into the sad, but achingly beautiful face of her escort quickly reminded her that she wasn’t the only one suffering through this absurd identity crisis. “I’m sorry, Spike.”

“Sorry? Why would you be sorry?” Spike asked gruffly.

“This insanity isn’t easy on me, so I know it has to be killing you. So, for that I’m sorry. I just wish I knew who I was, so that maybe we can both move on with our lives, ya know?” Joan nervously chewed on her bottom lip, not knowing that that very trait was something that Buffy did often when anxious.

Spike watched her curiously, allowing his eyes to open up and see past the obvious physical likeness to Buffy, but also the slight mannerisms and habits that went along with the attractive packaging. Joan moved the same way as Buffy did, although her movements were just a tad more awkward, as though she wasn’t yet comfortable in her own skin. She had a tendency to chew on her bottom lip when nervous and became just as fidgety as Buffy did when she was unsure of herself. When she looked up into his eyes, he could almost sense the essence of Buffy for a brief moment when Joan’s head cocked playfully to the side as she studied him. But most of all, the longer he stood next to Joan he could feel the all too familiar tingle in his belly that only Buffy had been able to produce.

Spike didn’t want to feel this way about Joan. It angered and confused him, which instantly brought forth the gruff exterior that had lingered in him in Buffy’s absence. Tearing his gaze away from hers, he motioned toward the front door with a nod of his head. “It’s late. You should go inside.”

Joan felt the change in his demeanor and cringed as his sudden anger washed over her. Nodding in agreement, she turned towards the stairs to head inside. “Thanks for walking with me, Spike.” She waited for a moment, hoping he would ask her to stay outside a bit longer; maybe even talk to her about this Buffy that she looked so much like. When he didn’t, Joan’s shoulders sagged in defeat and she trudged up the stairs and slipped silently into the darkened house.

Spike leaned against a nearby tree, hiding in the shadowed area to watch over Joan until the safety of the rising sun allowed him to leave his perch and head home. The rough bark dug into his shoulder and he cursed the fact that it was too hot to wear the thick leather jacket hanging in his closet that would have cushioned the jagged edge. His arctic blue gaze was weary as he watched a light flip on in the window above his head, signaling her arrival in the safe confines of her bedroom.

As he waited patiently for morning to slowly creep over the horizon, Spike’s thoughts wandered back to their conversation in the graveyard. Maybe he really was the bad guy in this situation. If she truly was Buffy, why else would he want her memories to suddenly appear? To have her one chance at a normal, healthy life stripped away and be tossed back into a one that revolved around death and mayhem.

Maybe the best thing for everyone would be to leave her alone and let her be happy?

Huddled in a darkened corner, tucked away from the pulsating lights and rhythmic beat of music emanating from the dance floor below, Spike sat alone in heavy contemplation. His hand curled protectively around a bottle of his favorite imported lager, paint chipped nails clinked nervously against the moisture glistened bottle as he waiting impatiently for his friends to arrive. After patrolling the graveyards on the north end of town, failing miserably at the attempt to soothe his frazzled since the demon activity remained at an all time low for Sunnydale, he’d decided to call his friends for a meeting about the events from the night before.

Images of Buffy haunted him, her tear stained face, the frightened expression that marred her beautiful features and most of all, the complete lack of recognition in her emerald eyes. Lost in thought, he methodically peeled away the sodden label on the bottle and replayed their encounter in his head over and over until the heavy footfalls on the stairs signaled the arrival of his friends.

“Spike! Long time, no see.” Gunn announced as he flopped unceremoniously into a chair next to his morose friend. While Spike had been in town for several days, the group hadn’t heard from him, only the occasional update from his father which was normally passed along by Fred to the others. “About time you called, we were starting to wonder if we should call for a search party.”

“Charles, be nice.” Fred chastised lightly, a joking smile on her face to ward off any hurt feelings. “I told you Spike would call us when he was ready.”

“Yeah,Charles,” Spike teased, knowing how much his friend despised his given name, “play nice.” Seeing Gunn’s disgruntled expression caused laughter to bubble up and erupt loudly from Spike in an uncharacteristic guffaw.

“It’s nice to hear that laugh, Spike, been too long, you know?” Fred said honestly as she patted Spike on the thigh. Seeing the light return to his blue eyes, even for a second, gave her hope and she wished whole heartedly that it was a sign that his life was taking a turn for the better. She just wished that Wesley were here to see his former charge smile again, but he’d been gone with the new Slayer, Oz, for nearly a week on some training exercise in the desert and would not return for several more days. “So, what brings us together tonight?”

“Well, thought we’d wait for Angel before getting into the details. He is coming, right?” Spike covered up the worried expression by quickly lighting another cigarette, hiding behind the tendrils of smoke that seductively floated around his face. The last time he’d spoken to his long time mate they’d exchanged the usual joking barbs which had somehow taken a turn for the worse and ended with a heated argument about Spike’s behavior as of late. In the end, after mumbling lame apologies to one another, Angel had left with a frown on his face and Spike had consumed the bottle of whiskey that had convinced him to follow Willow to Los Angeles .

“Angel’s on his way.” Fred answered, soothing Spike’s nerves momentarily, that is until she finished with, “But, he’s bringing someone with him so you may want to spill the beans before hand since she’s not a member of the Scoobies.”

“Angel’s got a date?” Spike asked with a proud grin. While Angel wasn’t a horrible looking bloke, if your preferences ran towards tall men with poofy hair, his habit of putting his foot in his mouth on regular intervals combined with an atrocious fashion sense had a tendency to repel decent women.

“More like a girlfriend.” Gunn interjected. “Missed a lot while you were gone those weeks, man. Angel’s got himself one smoking hot babe. Not that he’s let us meet her personally, but I did catch an eyeful of them making out here one night.”

Spike opened his mouth to comment, but was interrupted by the sudden arrival of the friend in question, who stumbled into the seating area out of breath and seemingly flustered about something important. “Angel, everything all right, mate?”

“You…she….I mean, have you…downstairs.” Angel stammered, huffing and puffing from sprinting across the club and up the stairs. Man, I’m out of shape. Gotta lay off the jelly donuts,he thought to himself. Angel looked into the confused faces of his friends, took a deep breath and blurted out, “Buffy is downstairs!”

“Seriously, Angel, that’s not a very nice thing to do to Spike!” Fred chastised Angel with a stern glare. “I know you two are having some problems, but honestly…”

“She’s here?” Spike asked as he pulled himself slowly out of the chair and headed to the railing to look down into the crowd, leaving his friends open mouthed with shock and wide eyed with curiosity. Intense blue eyes searched the crowd with fervent attention until they landed on the object of his desire. “That’s the reason I called you guys.”

Striding across the small walkway, the lithe brunette leaned against the railing with Spike. “How in the world?” Fred breathed in amazement and watched in wonder as the formerly deceased (and deceased again?) blonde shimmied and shook on the dance floor with an unknown male subject.

“No idea, luv. Showed up on my bloody doorstep last night, wearing the face of my beloved and doesn’t remember a thing about her life with me or well, anything before a couple weeks ago when some paper carrier found her in the parking lot of the warehouse we torched.” Taking a final drag of the cigarette, Spike crushed it out in an ashtray on a nearby table and continued, “She feelslike Buffy, Fred. Looks like her, sounds like her, moves like her! But she has no sodding idea who I am or who she was.”

Fred’s heart wrenched for her best friend. To have loved so deeply and lost her so painfully was bad enough, but this was taking the cruelty a bit too far in her opinion. What if this wasn’t Buffy? What if she truly was just some other woman that looked like another? How would Spike ever be able to cope with this heartache and would he be able to recover this time? “What are you going to do?”

“Haven’t the foggiest.” Spike replied honestly. “What can I do? ‘s not like I can force her to remember me.”

“No, I guess you’re right.” Fred mumbled as she tried to think of a way to help her friend. “There’s got to be somebody that could help. Maybe the council? Surely they’ve got some witches or whatnot that could tell if it’s Buffy.”

“My dad already tried that route this morning and got the brush off of a lifetime. Bloody bastards refused to help on the grounds that they don’t help known killers and if it is Buffy then she’s an abomination or some nonsense.” Spike ground his teeth together in frustration as he watched the blonde dance with another man. “Honestly, Fred, I should just leave her alone and let her have a normal life, but…seeing her dancing with that tosser makes me want to march downstairs and lay claim to what’s mine like some bleeding caveman.”

“We’ll figure something out. I’m going to head home and go through some of the books Wes left at my house, maybe something will jump out at me. Either way, I’m going to call his cell and inform him he needs to bring his butt back to Sunnydale first thing in the morning, ok?” Fred wrapped her arms around Spike to give him a consoling hug before saying, “Hang in there. This had to happen for a reason, right?”

“Yeah, but I’m beginning to think that reason is to punish me.” Spike replied sourly. He forced a small smile on his face for his long time friend to soothe away the worried look on her face. “Call me if you find anything, big or small, yeah?”

“Of course I will.” Waving to Gunn and Angel, Fred scurried down the stairs in a hurry to get home. There was nothing like a little preternatural mystery to get a girls blood flowing.

“Man, you have certainly got a knack for strange shit happening to you.” Gunn teased, uncomfortable as per usual with the high level of emotions that radiated from Spike since Buffy’s arrival years earlier. When Spike growled in response to his kidding, he changed his tune quickly. While he might be a good sized man in tip top shape, Gunn knew he was in no shape to physically take on a pissed off Slayer. “Anything I can do to help?”

“’s not a whole lot to do other than wait for the moment, mate, but thanks for offering.” Spike looked over at Angel, who was still struggling to catch his breath and asked, “Oi, thought you had a date tonight?”

“I left her downstairs, didn’t think she needed to be up here after I saw Buffy on the dance floor.” Angel’s eyes doubled in size when something occurred to him. “She probably thinks I ditched her!” Making a beeline for the stairs, he clambered down them in search of his date.

“I’m going to go get a drink; you wanna come or stay up here?” Gunn asked. Before Spike could answer, knowing that he was going to dwell in the shadows and watch Buffy, Gunn cleverly added, “Could meet Angel’s date and al if you come downstairs.”

“Right then, let’s go. Can’t pass up the chance to meet the girl that says yes to Angel, can I?” Spike said with a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

The duo descended the wrought iron stairs, which creaked and moaned with every step giving the illusion that they might crumble to the ground at any moment. With every stride, Spike made sure to keep one eye on Buffy the entire time, never letting her bouncing blonde locks out of sight for one moment. His stomach churned with a sickening mix of jealousy and frustration as he watched her laugh and dance with a man that wasn’t him. It took every ounce of self control not to stalk across the room, pull the guy away from her and pummel the bloody wanker until he got the message to stay away from his girl. Course, the rational part of his brain told him that wouldn’t be the way to win back Buffy’s heart, so he followed behind Gunn until the reached the crowded bar and located Angel and his date.

Cordelia Chase had never been overly fond of dance clubs. Not because she didn’t like the attention, which she got plenty of any time she stepped foot in them since they tended to radiate with overly hormonal men. No, unless she was called to a club for business matters she hated visiting them since her attentions were always pulled away from having fun and focused on the desperate cries from the scorned that echoed in her head the moment she walked in. Apparently, broken hearts tended to mingle together and for some reason they liked to do so while dancing. Of course, this was a problem she no longer had to deal with since having her powers stripped for granting the Slayer’s wish.

Focusing her attentions back to what her date was saying, Cordelia smiled and nodded along with what Angel was saying. Even though they had only been together for a couple of weeks, she felt closer to him than she ever had with anyone else in her eleven hundred years of existence. Looking up into his chocolate brown eyes, her heart filled with a warm fuzzy feeling that had her baffled and yet, completely happy at the same time. She found comfort when she was with him and just being in his presence pushed all her worries about not being a vengeance demon anymore right out of her head. She just hoped that in the end he didn’t break her heart as she had seen done time and time again throughout the ages.

“So, like I was saying, some of my friends are here and I want you to meet them.” Angel shifted nervously on his feet, worried that his sudden disappearance hadn’t pissed his date off too much. He certainly didn’t want her to be in a bad mood when she met Gunn and Spike.

“Of course I want to meet your friends, silly. I’ve only been trying to do just that for like weeks now!” Cordelia reached into her purse to retrieve lipstick and a compact mirror, but was stopped by Angel.

“You look perfect, as always.” Angel assured her and gave her a quick kiss before announcing that his friends were there. “Hey guys! Cordelia, I’d like you to meet my friends, Gunn and Spike.” He motioned to each one respectively and watched the expression on his date’s face when she recognized Spike.

“You’re friends with the Slayer?” Cordelia asked, her stomach twisted in knots of anxiety. She hadn’t laid eyes on the Slayer since granting his wish and since her boss, D’Hoffryn, had fired her the next day she hadn’t heard a thing about the outcome of said wish granting. Since all of her vengeance wishes tended to go as planned, she figured that granting a wish for something good to happen would go along smoothly, too. However, the minute she laid eyes on Spike, saw the same heartache in his eyes, and remembered what Angel had said about his friend grieving over the loss of his girlfriend, her heart clenched. Had the wish not been granted? And, if so, why had her powers been stripped?

Before she could stop herself, Cordelia cringed after hearing the next sentence pour from her mouth, “Why isn’t Buffy with you?”

Previously on the Hellmouth...

“You’re friends with the Slayer?” Cordelia asked, her stomach twisted in knots of anxiety. She hadn’t laid eyes on the Slayer since granting his wish and since her boss, D’Hoffryn, had fired her the next day she hadn’t heard a thing about the outcome of said wish granting. Since all of her vengeance wishes tended to go as planned, she figured that granting a wish for something good to happen would go along smoothly, too. However, the minute she laid eyes on Spike, saw the same heartache in his eyes, and remembered what Angel had said about his friend grieving over the loss of his girlfriend, her heart clenched. Had the wish not been granted? And, if so, why had her powers been stripped?

Before she could stop herself, Cordelia cringed after hearing the next sentence pour from her mouth, “Why isn’t Buffy with you?”


And on with the story...



To say that Cordelia was regretting her choice of words would be a huge understatement. Glancing around the table, her gaze landed on the set of frosty blue eyes positioned directly across from her that was currently giving her one heck of a case of heebie jeebies. For the time being she was completely happy with being a living, breathing, and one hundred percent human because otherwise she’d be Slayer meat judging by the expression on his face at the moment. Realizing that silence was not golden in a situation such as this, Cordelia gathered up the courage to say, “I’m just going to go out on a limb by saying she’s not here, right?”

“Cordy, I told you what happened with…” Angel started, only to be cut off by Spike.

“We’ve met before, haven’t we?” Spike inquired. There was something familiar about his friend’s date, but for the life of him, Spike couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Sadly, the past couple of months had been spent in a drunken stupor and most of the trivial moments were missing from his memory.

“You could say that. No formal introductions or anything, but we did have a chat at Willy’s one night.” Cordelia would’ve sighed with relief that he didn’t recall their conversation, but at the exact moment she had that thought the Slayer’s eyes lit up with recognition.

“The bartender, right? Yeah, you managed to get me to blather on about my dead girlfriend. Haven’t seen you in there since then.” Spike mulled over his thoughts for a very brief moment before adding, “What confuses me is why in the bleeding hell you’d be inquiring about my dead girlfriend’s whereabouts when I’ve already told you.”

Angel eyeballed his date and wondered what else he didn’t know about her. “You worked at Willy’s? Isn’t that strictly limited to demons…er, bad people?”

“Mainly demons, yes, but they get clientele of all types. And I never really worked there; I just filled in that one night.” Cordelia explained to her confused date. Knowing the Slayer wouldn’t drop the inquisition, she had no choice other than to explain the hows and what’s of her knowledge. Sadly, Cordelia had a sinking feeling that what she was about to expose about her former life would no doubt ruin her fledgling romance with Angel. “Ok, here’s the sitch. For about a thousand years or so I was a Vengeance demon sent to Earth to grant the wishes of heartbroken souls that demanded restitution against those who wronged them. When I felt the Slayer’s pain I made my way to the bar, got him to spill his story and wish, then I granted it. Since the wish had nothing to do with vengeance and everything to do with happiness and whatnot my boss stripped me of my powers and planted my human ass in Sunnydale as punishment. Up until now I thought everything had went all hunky dory and the Slayer and his vampire were living happily ever after on this piss poor excuse of a Hellmouth. Does that about sum it up for you?”

“You were a demon? I’m dating a reformed demon?” Angel muttered as his brain tried to digest the shocking news. After a couple of deep breaths that allowed room for a rare moment of clarity, he asked, “Is that common in the demon world? Becoming human, I mean.”

“I don’t think so. I’ve never heard of it happening outside of my class of demon and I think that’s only possible because vengeance demons are humans when recruited and then changed. “Cordelia twirled a locked of hair around her index finger as she pondered the idea. “I guess it could happen though. I mean, it’s a strange world out there. Why?”

Spike glanced across the dance floor, his eyes instantly seeking out the figure he longed to hold. He watched her in silence, ignoring the questioning glances from his friends. His heart ached as he took in the happy expression on her face, the carefree way her body moved as she danced seductively and as their eyes connected. Spike wondered what right he had to ruin her chance at a normal life. “I’ve got a funny feeling the wish you granted wasn’t quite a failure.”



*~*~*~*~



Mine.

The thought slithered through her mind seductively teasing her with the force of its desire. She ached with the need to possess him, to make him hers and hers only. She craved his touch, the taste of his skin and feel of his heated flesh against her sweat moistened skin.

Moving seductively to the rhythm of the pulsating music, Joan moved only for him, to please only him. Her desire took over and led her through the motions of seducing the blue eyed man from her dreams. Her hands slid teasingly over the curve of her hips as they swayed slowly to the beat and she naughtily imagined that it was his hands caressing her body instead.

The force of the emotions coursing through her body both shocked and excited Joan. What was it about this man that incited such passion inside her? Why was he the only one that could cause her breath to falter, her hear to beat wildly and her stomach to twist into a knot of anticipation? Why did his icy blue gaze cause her skin to erupt in a fit of tingles and her mind to spin with desire? Joan feared she’d never know the answer to her questions and at the moment she didn’t care one bit. All she knew was that at this precise moment the only thing that mattered was being with him, having his hands on her body and being able to possess that which she craved with an animalistic need.

Leaving her so called date dancing alone, Joan walked towards him as if pulled by an invisible force. As if her body had no control and was powered only by the desire to be in his arms. She weaved through the gyrating bodies, her eyes never leaving his as she made her way across the room until finally she was within his grasp.

Her body sang with desire, hummed with the need to be in his arms; the need to claim what was rightfully hers was so strong Joan nearly wept with frustration. She stood silently as he unfolded himself from the cracked vinyl booth to stand mere inches from her trembling body. There was nothing to say, no pretense, no awkward pleasantries. Instead, Joan melted into his embrace and felt as though she were finally home.

Tilting her face up to his, she whispered one solitary word before claiming his lips.

“Mine.”

In the last chapter where we left Joan/Buffy molesting Spike at the Bronze….

Her body sang with desire, hummed with the need to be in his arms; the need to claim what was rightfully hers was so strong Joan nearly wept with frustration. She stood silently as he unfolded himself from the cracked vinyl booth to stand mere inches from her trembling body. There was nothing to say, no pretense, no awkward pleasantries. Instead, Joan melted into his embrace and felt as though she were finally home.

Tilting her face up to his, she whispered one solitary word before claiming his lips.

“Mine.”

On with the story...

His scent permeated her senses; filling her with passion, desire and the overwhelming need to rub her body against his in a desperate attempt to never be without the smoky sensuality that was undeniably masculine. His lips traced along her jaw line, his breath tickled the tiny hairs on her delicate skin and the rough pads of his fingertips gently skimmed across the heated flesh of her thigh as he stealthily slipped his hand beneath the hemline of her skirt.

The world around them had disappeared. Gone were the pulsating lights, throbbing music and crowded dance floor. The only thing that mattered, the only thing that existed at that moment was the two of them and their passion for one another.

Joan’s body hummed with desire, trembled with need as he pressed his body roughly against hers so that the hardened length pressed firmly against her heated center. Her overheated skin prickled with chill bumps as he traced his fingers lightly across the heated flesh of her quivering thighs and teased along the lacy edge of her very sensible white cotton panties as his rebelious hand wandered beneath her skirt to tease her mercilessly. His smell enveloped her; suffocated her with raw male sensuality and made her yearn to lick each tender spot of perfumed flesh. The intoxicating smell had her dizzy with desire.

Joan’s kisses had just dipped past his jawbone to his neck, a tender slip of pale flesh was tucked gently between her teeth when her mind was flooded with a gruesome image of blood and torn flesh. Shocked by the gory image now burned in her memory and disgusted by the twisted excitement racing through her veins, Joan pulled away from Spike’s hold.

Glancing nervously from Spike to his friends and back to Spike, she took a tentative step backwards, stumbled ever so slightly, and pressed a trembling hand to her passion swollen lips while shaking her head slightly.

“I…oh, I’m…” She stammered, the words she desperately wanted to say refused to come out of her mouth. The apologies for her behavior and the questions…oh there were so many questions filling her mind. Questions about the need she felt to be with Spike, questions about the bloody images racing through her mind,questions about her body’s sick response to said images remained bottled up inside as she stood there like a deer caught in headlights. Joan opened her mouth once more but only managed a few undecipherable syllables before giving up completely. Tears welled in her eyes, hot and stinging they threatened to spill over her lashes. Joan shook her head as if the motion explained her behavior, turned on her heel and fled the dance club.

For a brief second Spike thought about giving chase, but quickly supressed the idea. While he still wasn’t one hundred percent sure this was his Buffy, having her tongue down his throat the past couple of minutes and her quick unexplained departure were remarkably reminiscent of their sexual past. Deciding to let her come to him, Spike reached down and casually readjusted the ramrod straight erection painfully pressing against the zipper of his well worn black jeans. He dug into the back pocket, produced a crumpled pack of cigarettes and sighed as he reclaimed his seat.

Several weeks passed, the vibrant green leaves slowly began to die and filled the trees with bursts of citrus orange and deep patches of red that resembled puddles of drying blood. The darkness of night gradually came earlier each evening and the midnight air became crisper as summer began to fade away into fall. From her perch, Joan surveyed a partially green leaf, twirled it between her fingers and felt a familiar twinge of sadness wash over her as she realized just how many months had slipped past without any clue as to who she was in her former life. She had experienced nothing but a few flickers of a broken memories with the exception of the strong feelings invoked by the presence of Spike. Being near him sent her emotions spiraling out of control, leaving her confused and tightly coiled with desire. Being near him frightened her beyond belief.

So, she wondered, why was she hiding in the shadows in a tree not far from his bedroom window? Well, that was a question that would obviously remain unanswered until her memories returned.

Shrouded in the safety of shadows, darkened further by the moonless night, she waited patiently for him to return home as she had done every night for nearly a month. Four long weeks had passed since the night she’d left him breathless and confused at the Bronze. Since then she had avoided his calls as stealthily as she had stalked him every single night. Her well planned daily routine had turned into going to bed at an unheard of hour just to slip out the window and into the darkness to spend her nights perching outside his window. And yet, after all these nights she was still confused by the need to do so. It was as if her body craved him. Spike was her drug, but she stayed away from him because she refused to be helpless against the addiction.

Night after night she waited for him and was baffled by the strange hours he kept. Emerging from the house clothed head to toe in black to disappear into the shadows of the night only to return as the morning suns rays began to burn their way through the pitch black sky. One night she’d tried to follow him, but had given up when he’d disappeared into a nearby graveyard. Something about that location had sent chills down her spine and filled her stomach with dread. She’d attempted again the next night only to dejectedly watch him take the same route as the evening before. After those failed attempts Joan had taken strictly to perching in her tree…and occasionally slipping in through the open window to his bedroom.

In the hours Spike was missing, Joan had fondled his clothing, snooped through his personal items and napped in his bed. Each and every nook and cranny had been thoroughly examined, with the exception to the enormous wooden trunk in the closet. The lock had looked old but had proven to be stronger than it appeared because she’d tried many times to get the blasted thing opened. Joan had toyed with the idea of bringing tools with her next time, but realized that by doing so would most certainly gain the attention of his father who was always sleeping peacefully in the next room.

Bored with the leaf, Joan released it watched as it twirled and floated towards the ground slowly. As it landed on the ground below, she noticed Spike in the distance. Surprised to see him home already, she checked her watch and confirmed that sunrise was still many hours away. Joan sat up straighter as he ambled up the walkway and entered the darkened house. She watched anxiously as his bedroom was flooded with light. Her stomach tightened with anxiety, her core trembled with barely contraisted sexual desire as she watched him strip off his shirt, stretch his arms above his head and cracked his neck; all of which gave her a delicious view of the sinewy muscles of his torso.

Coiled with anticipation, Joan moved from a seated pose to a squat like position, one hand lightly grasping a limb and the other pressed against the trunk for support. Dressed head to toe in black, her blonde hair didn’t stand out as much due to the moonless night sky which allowed her to blend in with the shadows provided by the limbs and leaves. Curiousity was driving her mad. She’d gone too long without her drug and now her body was punishing her for it. Her mouth watered, stomach clenched and thighs ached with longing.

Before she was aware of her actions, her body was once again moving of its own accord. She slipped from the tree, stealithy landing on the ground below with very little sound and shimmied up the lattice work to perch on the roof beneath Spike’s open window. She slowly eased closer and closer towards the casement, each step just as quiet as the one before it, until her hand rested lightly on the cream colored wood. Holding her breath, she watched him from behind as he took off his muddy combat boots and flicked them across the room, followed by a pair of well worn socks, before disappearing into the bathroom.

Both hands were on the windowsill now, grasping so tightly that it bordered on painful. She couldn’t take the separation any longer. Against her better judgement, Joan slipped just inside the window and froze as he reappeared in the bedroom.

Their gazes connected. Arctic blue lazers bore into her soul and fueled her desire. Her hunger rose.

“I can’t stop thinking about you.” Joan said softly.

All the questions he had longed to ask her over the past few weeks were no longer necessary. His emotions and desires took him over. Spike crossed the room in two strides. He stared down into her hazel eyes hungrily before sweeping her into his arms and devouring her like a starving man. Their arms tangled in one another’s, struggling to remove the few clothes that separated her flesh from his. Her shirt disappeared in a matter of seconds, giving way to his strong grasp with a sharp tear of the fabric before being tossed over his head to land on the table lamp.

Joan mewled with longing as his hands caressed the bare skin of her back before sliding down to cup her buttocks and lift her up closer to him. Spike stumbled momentarily on one of his boots laying on the floor before regaining his balance long enough to press her body against the wall by the windows. Her legs wrapped around his narrow waist, his erection pressing wonderfully against her throbbing center.

Joan’s nails scraped against the flesh of his back as she rubbed herself against him in an attempt to relieve the mounting pressure between her legs. Breaking the kiss, she suckled at his neck, once again nipping along the pulsating blue vein that lay just below the pale flesh. Fire raced through her veins, her heart raced, making her dizzy and on the verge of blacking out, desire swam through her body and the need to possess Spike mounted to the point of pain. Her breathing became labored and her body tingled all over, her vision darkened with a bloodred haze. Overwrought with what she thought was passion, Joan didn’t think twice before sinking her teeth into Spike’s neck.

Vicious hunger burned through her body. It was as if she’d gone without food and was bordering on starvation. Ripping at his flesh, Spike’s screams never penetrated Joan’s mind as she tore at his jugular and lapped up the hot blood that spurted against her face; coating her cheeks and chin before pouring down her neck to land onto the black lace bra that covered her heaving breasts.
Spike’s vision began to dim from the sudden blood loss, his body swayed slightly as he tried to push away from Joan. His body screamed with pain as he stumbled away from the wall, Joan’s tiny body still clutched to his like a lifeline. His hands clawed at her body as he fought against her attack. His attempts at escape were finally successful, with the exception that his struggling caused her teeth to do more damage and now he was bleeding profusely. Using the last bit of strength left in his body, Spike flung her tiny frame across the room where she landed with a loud thud against the wall. Pictures fell to the floor amidst the dry wall confetti from where the wall had given way from the impact. Spike slid to the floor as his hand pressed shakily against the ghastly wound on his neck. The last thing he saw before darkness overcame him was the sight of a blood covered Joan partially slumped into the broken wall, her face a mix of blood and tears as she sobbed.

Sleep often eluded Rupert Giles, especially since that fateful day when his only child was called as a Slayer. Tonight, however, was different. Tonight Rupert Giles slept like a baby….that is, until his blissful slumber was interrupted with ear splitting screams and something that sounded like his house was being torn apart. Bolting from his bed, he fumbled on the bedside table for his glasses before darting from the bedroom into the hallway only to find it pitched in darkness and filled with silence.



Light poured from beneath his son’s closed bedroom door, so Rupert knew that Spike had at least made it home that evening. He was reluctant to intrude on Spike, worried that maybe the disturbance had been his imagination, or even more possible, that his son had company and what he heard going on wasn’t exactly going on has he’d imagined. If there was one thing Rupert had learned during his son’s courtship of Buffy Summers, was that the walls in the house were entirely too thin.



Rupert stood in the dark hallway and had just about decided that the sounds he’d heard had been part of a dream that he couldn’t recall….but then he heard the crying. Deciding that it was best to check in and make sure everything was in fact alright, Rupert inched towards the closed door and knocked lightly. There was a brief moment of silence, then the crying started again; a sob so heart wrenching that Rupert didn’t bother to knock again before entering.



Nothing could have prepared him for the sight that he encountered. Sheet rock hung in tatters and clumped on the floor from a massive hole in the wall, dust particles from the destruction floated in the air, an overturned lamp sent a beam of light at an awkward angle across the room, random items that were once perched on his son’s desk were scattered across the floor by a desk chair knocked over and leaning against the bed. Slack jawed, Rupert stood silent in the midst of the chaos before the sobs penetrated his consciousness again and he finally noticed the small form huddled in the corner of the room.



Rupert started to go towards her when another form caught his attention from the corner of his eye. Turning ever so slightly, he gasped in fright when his mind finally registered what his eyes were seeing. Lying in the floor near the head of the bed was his son. Ghostly white, even more so than usual, Spike was prone on his back and covered in a horrendous amount of blood. Darting across the room, all thoughts of the other person in the room flew out of his mind now that he was fully focused on his son.



“Spike!” Rupert shouted as he tried to roust his fallen son. His hands shook horribly as he tried to locate a pulse and were beyond happy when he found one, even one as faint thumping he located beneath the sticky wave of blood covering Spike’s neck. “Hold on, son, just hold on.”



Thankful that the bedside table was still in its normal upright state, Rupert grabbed the telephone and quickly dialed the emergency number. Within a matter of seconds he relayed to the operator what the problem was and had help on the way. Once the call was made, Rupert grabbed a discarded shirt sticking out from beneath the bed and pressed it to the wound in attempt to staunch the blood flow.



Once he had done everything he could do at the moment, Rupert turned his attention back to the crying girl in the corner of the room. He was not at all surprised to find that the mystery guest was none other than Joan, or rather, Buffy as Rupert had no doubts that the person responsible for his son’s injuries was the same person who’d put him in the hospital twice before.

Rupert was torn between murderous rage and repulsion when their eyes connected.



Tears shimmered in her eyes and streaked down her cheeks, melding with the crimson stain of Spike’s blood that covered her mouth and spilled onto her chest. Trembling, her body shook as she tried to stop crying and speak, she whispered, “What’s wrong with me?”



At a loss for words, Rupert couldn’t answer. Horrified, his mind tried to process what was going on. How could this have happened? The hospital had performed numerous tests on Buffy and they had all come back showing that she was nothing more than a perfectly healthy human being, other than having a serious case of retrograde amnesia. He’d assumed those findings were accurate since they were performed by medical experts.



His silence both frightened her and infuriated her. Joan swiped at her face, smearing the gruesome mixture of blood and tears across her cheeks and stood up. Angry and scared, her body shook from the force of the emotions coursing through her body. “What’s wrong with me?” She repeated her voice barely a whisper. “What am I?”



Without giving Rupert a chance to answer, she darted out the window clad in only her jeans and bra. Clamoring down the side of the house, Joan flew across the lawn and into the street. Eyes wide with panic, she stood in the middle of the roadway for a brief second unsure of what to do or where to go. After a brief moment, Joan headed north at an alarming high rate of speed for your standard human being who happened to also be barefoot.



Back inside the Giles residence, a worrisome father impatiently waited for help to arrive. While the time seemed to creep by it was only a matter of minutes before the tale tell wail of emergency crews neared his house. Running down the stairs, Rupert had the front door open before the ambulance pulled into the driveway. He ushered the medic crew inside to where Spike laid, still unconscious, and watched helplessly as they loaded his son onto a stretcher and into the ambulance. He managed to grab his overcoat by the front door to put over his pajamas before climbing in with them and heading to the hospital, lights and sirens blaring the entire way.



Across town, Joan navigated her way through the darkened streets of Sunnydale, taking the occasional shortcut through eerily quiet graveyards that normally gave her the creeps. Instinct drove her, told her where to turn and how far to run, finally leading her to the far end of town to what appeared to be an empty house.



The sun was beginning to come up, its golden glow bleeding over the horizon and peeking through the limbs of trees as she tiptoed up the stone walkway. A memory pricked at the edge of her mind, foggy like a picture that was out of focus, as she cautiously peered inside the windows by the front door. The two story house seemed familiar and yet not as she edged along the house looking in windows to see if anyone was home. Satisfied that no one was home, Joan looked around until she located a rock and stealthily broke through a pane of glass on the back door and unlocked it.



Once inside, Joan searched each and every room, going through drawers and closets trying to locate something that would explain why she was there. Other than dusty furniture she found nothing at all, no clothes, mail or personal belongings indicating as to who lived there.



That is, until the very last bedroom.



Joan stumbled across the dark room, guided only by the faint glow from the early morning light followed her in from the open bedroom door, to open the thick drapes that covered the floor to ceiling windows beside the massive four poster bed. As the pale light seeped into the room, she smiled with satisfaction as it led her to what she knew she had come for….a corner filled with boxes and a large trunk. Somehow she knew that they were hers and had been waiting here for her all along.



At the opposite edge of town, a worried watcher and intimate group of friends waited in the appropriately named room near the emergency department of the Sunnydale hospital, a place they all knew too well. Wesley chewed his lip anxiously as he glared at the door again in hopes that Rupert would come out soon and give them an update on Spike. He tried his best not to let his nervousness show, hoping that his semi calm demeanor would keep Fred from freaking out anymore than she already was. A dribbling mess of tears and snot, his dear Fred was desperately clinging to his arm, her head resting on his shoulder. Across the room, Angel was silent as he brooded in his puke green hospital chair and Gunn paced nervously back and forth. Other than the occasional sniffle from Fred or muttered curse from Gunn, Wesley could honestly say this was the quietest he’d ever seen them.



Sunrise had come and gone, bringing with it the hustle and bustle of a shift change when Oz finally showed up. Wesley had called him and left a message on his cell phone when he’d heard from Rupert, but the junior Slayer had been on the edge of town dealing with a couple of nasty demons and obviously didn’t get the message until later. Quiet as usual, the younger Slayer was the complete opposite of Spike in that department; Oz nodded his head and took a seat near the doors. Wesley nodded in return and stated that they hadn’t heard anything yet. The watcher also took notice of his newest Slayer’s dark purple colored hair and momentarily wondered why both of his charges felt the need to color their hair such strange colors. Wesley probably would have pondered over that notion if Rupert hadn’t come into the room, his skin pale and his face covered with grief. For a moment, Wesley feared the worst.



“He’s alive.” Rupert announced first and foremost, his grim expression told them that there was more to worry about. “He lost an extremely large amount of blood, which of course, has stumped the doctor’s because I told them it was a simple dog bite, as usual. Anyway, he’s stable, but still unconscious. They are giving him several units of blood at the moment and have moved him to ICU.”



“He’s strong, Rupert. We’ve been here before and he pulled through.” Wesley stated in attempts to comfort his friend. “What happened? How could he have lost that much blood in such a short amount of time from a standard vampire bite?”



Rupert sighed, took off his glasses and scrubbed a hand over his face. He took a seat before responding. “It wasn’t a vampire attack…or rather; I don’t think it was one. The doctor said the wound appeared as though it was made by a human, a small human, but one nonetheless. The blunt edges of human teeth tore at the skin, instead of plunging in like a vampire’s teeth would. The way it tore at his skin literally ripped his neck open, which is how he bled out so quickly.”



“A human? But, I don’t understand.” Fred piped in, “Who would do such a thing to him, Giles?”



Rupert’s eyes turned cold and hard before he responded, it was a look that chilled the group to the bone. “It was Buffy. “

Time went by unnoticed; the last drop of sunlight lost its fight against darkness and slipped away for the night. It was only then that she realized just how long she’d been digging through the contents of the trunks she’d located. Pitch black now, both outside and inside the house thanks to no electricity, she stumbled around the room in search of the candles and box of matches she vaguely recalled seeing that morning. After several minutes of fumbling around in the dark, smacking her knee against the corner of the dresser in the process, Joan located the items and managed to get the partially melted candles lit; filling the room with a soft, flickering golden glow.

A deep growl rumbled from her stomach, reminding Joan that she hadn’t eaten in well over twenty four hours. However, she was also exhausted and achy from sitting hunched over on the hard wood floor all afternoon. Joan eyeballed the old wrought iron bed and was briefly disgusted at the idea of sleeping on the dust covered linens before brushing aside the notion. She pulled back the thick burgundy comforter and tossed it aside, cringing a bit when it landed on the floor with a poof of white dust. Limbs heavy with fatigue, she climbed onto the bed, wriggled beneath the black silk sheets and fell asleep within a matter of moments.

As usual, nightmares plagued her slumber; disturbingly graphic images caused her to toss and turn fitfully for several hours before waking up covered in sweat, clutching the covers and screaming in terror. Taking several deep breaths in an attempt to calm her nerves, Joan was thankful that at least one stubby candle was still flickering so she hadn’t woken up frightened and in the dark. She pushed aside the silky sheets and crawled out of the comfortable, oversized bed and wished that she could’ve slept longer. It felt like ages since she’d had a decent night’s sleep. Yawning, Joan debated between leaving to find something to eat and going through the last two trunks. Despite the gnarling ache of hunger, the need to find something…anything….about her life was far more pressing. Pushing all thoughts about breakfast out of her mind, Joan sank to the cold hardwood floor and opened the nearest trunk.

So far, she’d found only clothing and the occasional trinket like jewelry, hotel key cards and even matchbooks from various nightclubs. However, none of the items stirred anything inside her locked memory. It seemed as though this trunk contained nothing but the same. Sighing in defeat, she pulled a few articles of clothes out, fingering the leather and lace while wondering if the stuff actually belonged to her like she had originally thought or if, in fact, it belonged to a streetwalker. Most of the items were extremely low cut or high cut depending on if it was a shirt or skirt and generally see through or made of buttery soft, skin tight leather. She folded the clothes and put them to the side before continuing on searching the trunk. This time she came up with what appeared to be a hand sewn quilt that must have been very, very old judging by the quality. A family heirloom, perhaps? Joan thought before gingerly placing the delicate quilt to the side before peeking into the bottom of the chest to see what the blanket had been hiding.

“Jackpot,” she announced triumphantly when she spotted the worn leather bound book. With a renewed sense of determination, Joan hefted the surprisingly heavy book from the bottom of the deep chest. Curiosity peaked, Joan sat it on the floor in front of her and felt her heartbeat quicken as she cautiously opened the ancient looking cover causing the leather to creak from lack of use. With all the excitement of a child on Christmas morning, she flipped the book open and gasped as she realized what was there just as the last candle flickered out and plunged her into darkness.

~*~*~*~*~

Across town, a heavily sedated Slayer tried to wake up from a drug induced haze. His eyelids felt as though they weighed a hundred pounds each and quite possibly had been stapled in place. Mouth dry as the sun baked desert, his struggle to speak went unnoticed by his father, who was dozing at the foot of his son’s bed. Willing himself to wake up, Spike fought with the proverbial Sandman and finally won after what seemed like a days of struggling. He blinked several times in an attempt to get his blurry vision to focus and tried to call out to his dad, which came out as a dry croak instead.

His body hurt, especially his neck; pain radiated from the bottom of his jaw to his collarbone. Exhausted from the little bit of movement he had made, he wanted to curl up and go back to sleep. But, he needed to know why he was in the hospital. Spike searched his memory and found that he couldn’t fully recall the events of the night before…or however long it had been since he’d been hurt. Mustering up his last bit of energy, Spike tried to call out once more, but the sound that was produced was even more pathetic than the first attempt.

Sighing when his dad didn’t even so much as twitch in his sleep, Spike laid his head back down in defeat and closed his eyes again.

~*~*~*~*~

A few moments later Rupert was rousted from his fitful slumber in the most uncomfortable chair known to man by the shrill sound of his cell phone ringing. Answering it, he headed out of the hospital room without ever knowing his son had woken up only moments before he had.
Out in the hallway, he dodged an orderly pushing a large cart before speaking. “Hello?”

“Rupert, this is Wesley, “ The younger Watcher announced, as he did every time he called someone despite the fact that his name and number was generally displayed on the screen of the people he called. “Has there been any change in Spike’s condition?”

“Sadly, no” Rupert replied with a sigh as he pushed open the doors leading to a patio just outside Spike’s room. He sank into a nearby chair, mentally cursing the hospital and their wicked need to punish people with uncomfortable chairs. “Vitals are strong, but he hasn’t woken up as of yet. The doctor believes he will wake up when his body replenishes the blood that was lost. Did Oz have any luck tracking down Buffy, per chance?”

“Unfortunately, not; In fact, he’s only just walked in the door.” Wesley had hoped he’d be able to give Rupert at least a small crumb of good news this morning. “He checked all the spots he could think of and even patrolled through a few graveyards just to be on the safe side. Despite a few unsavory demons, there wasn’t a trace of Buffy anywhere. “

“I’m afraid that the only person who can answer the question as to where she’s hiding is currently unavailable.” Rupert replied grimly. “I plan on contacting Jenny this morning, maybe she’s heard something. Have Oz go back out tonight if we haven’t heard from Buffy herself. For now, our only choice is to wait and see what happens.”

“Very well, please keep us updated or I’m afraid Fred might go around the bend. I finally had to resort to giving her a sedative a couple of hours ago just to get her to stop crying and get some sleep. “ Cringing the moment the words left his mouth, Wesley chastised himself for mentioning her pain, as if it was worse than what Spike’s father was going through. “I’m sorry, Rupert, I shouldn’t be bothering you with my worries. You’ve got enough to be troubled about without being burdened with our worries.”

“No offense taken, Wesley, I know that Spike’s friends worry about him almost as much as I do. Plus, Fred has been in our lives long enough that I feel like she’s my daughter, so I hate to hear that she’s in so much pain. Just remind her that Spike is strong, not to mention as stubborn as a bloody mule, so he’ll come around when he’s good and ready.” Rupert ended the call after promising to keep his fellow Watcher apprised of any changes in Spike’s condition before heading back to his son’s room to take post once more.

~*~*~*~*~

Sunrise was at the very least two hours away, leaving Joan with the sinking realization that she was going to have to put her search on hold long enough for the sun to come up and once again shed some light on the situation. Disgruntled, she figured this would be an excellent time to head out in search of much needed sustenance. However, there wasn’t anything open at this hour in Sunnydale, or rather; there wasn’t anything good open at this hour. She searched the floor around her for the boots she’d kicked off long ago and managed to put them on the right feet before slowly inching her way down the long corridor, using only her hands against the wall as a guide through the darkness.

A short while later she found herself back at the boarding house and entered the residence as quiet as a mouse, in hopes of not waking anyone up. She didn’t plan on being there long anyway. Once in the kitchen, she snatched a loaf of bread, a block of cheese, some slices of sandwich meat and an apple and stuffed them into a grocery bag that was sitting out on the counter. After a second thought, she added in a granola bar and a couple bottles of water, too.

She left the bag at the bottom of the stairs and tip toed up to her room and eased the door open ever so gently so it wouldn’t creak and wake up Lily, who thankfully slept like the dead. Joan grabbed the small pile of laundry on her bed and mentally thanked herself for her procrastination in putting it away the day before. Then she reached under her bed and grabbed the canvas satchel for her clothes, which also contained an envelope stuffed with the meager stash of money she’d managed to accumulate. As stealthily as she’d entered the room, Joan exited and headed back downstairs to use the bathroom by the kitchen; while she wouldn’t have her normal toiletries, she’d be less likely to wake anyone up down there. After a quick scalding hot shower, Joan stuffed her dirty clothes into a basket by the laundry room, grabbed the bag of food and left the house without anyone knowing she was there.

By the time she returned to the house on Crawford Street, hunger was gnawing painfully at her stomach. Since the sun had yet to make an appearance, Joan had to resort to eating her pitiful meal on the back porch, which was positioned in a way that the street light casted a pale arch of light on to. Starving, she dug into the food, focusing more on the cheese and meats since she wouldn’t have a cold place to put them for the day. Leaving half a loaf of bread, the apple and granola bar for later, Joan sat her bags next to the back door, stretched out on the wooden bench on the porch to wait for the sun to come up. She pondered over what she had found before losing the last bit of light in the bedroom.

The drawing appeared to be of her, but the paper it was on was crinkled and browned with age. Her hair had been different, too. Brown, not the shiny golden blonde tresses she had now. And it was pulled back tightly against the nape of her neck with a few curls strategically placed around her face. While the portrait was of her face, there were enough of her shoulders to know that the clothes were not of this century. High necked and trimmed in lace, Joan knew very well that it wasn’t something she’d ever be caught in, and judging from the types of clothes she’d found in the chests it clearly wasn’t something she’d have worn prior to her memory loss. Perhaps it was an ancestor? Or maybe one of those booths she’d seen in town where you could have your likeness sketched into different settings? Frowning, Joan didn’t think that was where the picture came from, but it was the only one that made any sense.

Exhausted and confused, Joan let the tears that had been prickling in her eyes fall freely. She had no idea what was going on! She couldn’t remember anything about her life before the day she’d been found, her thoughts were plagued by horrible visions of bloodbaths and mayhem when she was asleep and her body ached constantly as though she was starving, but she ate plenty so she knew that wasn’t the problem. Not to mention what happened with Spike!

She hadn’t even thought about him since yesterday morning. Joan wondered if he was all right, but didn’t know how to go about finding out his condition. Surely he wouldn’t talk to her, and even if he would, she highly doubted his father would let him come anywhere near her. An image of the rage that had shown in Rupert Giles’s eyes when he realized what she had done was burned into Joan’s memory. She felt horrible, but it was like she had no control over her actions. One minute her body was on fire from Spike’s touch, aching to be filled with him and marked with his desire. Then it’s as though her body was taken over by an unseen force, like she was overcome with bloodlust. In fact, she didn’t really recall exactly what had happened except she’d somehow hurt him badly. Picturing his bloody, unmoving body had her stomach churning with sickness and yet, underneath the pain there was that feeling again…almost like she was turned on by the sight of his broken body. Repulsed, Joan forced thoughts of Spike out of her head for the time being, there was nothing she could do about the situation anyway.

Her first priority had to be herself.