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“What did she smell like? I can’t remember…”

The dark haired vampire frowned, lifting his arm from where it was draped over his eyes to block out the sight of the ghost standing by his window. It had become a nightly ritual for Spike to haunt his bedroom, regardless of whether or not he was alone.

“The intern?”

Angel’s sheets were still coated with the scent of the woman he’d tumbled into bed with. Once he’d discovered how his soul still stuck to him (a perk in the contract with Wolfram and Hart) he had wasted no time in going to bed with a girl to take his mind off of the affair between Buffy and his most irritating spawn.

Spike’s eyes held only a fraction of their old spark as he glared back at his elder. “No, you pillock…” His shoulders slumped, and the former vampire wished he had the mental strength to gather his concentration enough to simply slump against the wall. “…Darla…”

“Darla?”

The ghost shrugged and stood stiffly by the window. The lights of the city played against his features, making the angles sharper. It was the only part of the world that could touch him.

“’Remember she had a deeper scent…didn’t like it as much as Dru’s…then again, never did like her much at all.”

“You forgot Darla’s scent?” Angel’s tone was doubtful.

Spike snarled. “Not just Darla’s…forgetting scent altogether.”

Angel sighed. The sound of the misery in Spike’s voice meant that he wasn’t going to get sleep anytime soon. He gathered the sheet up over his lap and sat up against the headboard, preparing himself to be the blonde’s reluctant audience.

“It’s like…” Spike sighed. “Like being in this black hole…cut off from the world. Like when you buried me that time, but, worse…there’s no scent, no touch, sometimes the sounds don’t even seem real…and sometimes, when I fade out…sometimes it all goes dark. And when I walk around here, it’s on borrowed time. ‘m just waitin’ to slip back into nothing. ‘nd the more I get dragged through the pitch black, the more I forget what the world is like…scents…touch…” He laughed suddenly, surprising the vampire on the bed. “But, all is not lost…at least I still have the bleedin’ soul to keep me company, ah mate?”

Something about the yawning emptiness in Spike’s gaze gnawed at Angel’s gut. He shuffled his feet against the mattress and stared at the veins under his own skin. They were still, without a pulse, but pleasantly filled with rich otter’s blood. He took a moment to enjoy those vivid sensations, completely aware of his own body, trying not to think about the fact that it was supposed to be his essence trapped in the amulet that had brought Spike to Wolfram and Hart.

“Darla insisted on the best perfumes…” Angel finally spoke. “She smelled like leather and lace, and sometimes a faint hint of gunpowder. She smelled like sex and mystique. And all the rich things in the world…”

“Do you miss her sometimes? Even now?”

His expression hardened in an instant. “Do you miss Dru?”

Spike closed his eyes and tilted his head to the side, imagining he could hear Drusilla’s voice, as he did many times after they had split apart. The familiar ache hit his heart, an almost welcome distraction from all the other aches. “Suppose I always will…”

“Even when you’re supposedly in love with Buffy?”

He opened his eyes to regard his grandsire’s rigid posture. “When have I ever claimed to love someone I didn’t?”

The silence reigned between them for long, tense minutes.

“Did you do it to spite me, Spike? To try and take something of mine, after what happened with Drusilla?” Angel finally asked.

“Had nothing to do with you. Didn’t even want it…didn’t want to love her.”

“How very romantic.”

The tense atmosphere swirled with memories shared between them; each memory centered around the three women on both their minds.

“Buffy…” Spike whispered the name like a prayer. “She smelled like vanilla…and honey…and she tasted like…”

Angel’s snarl was as useless as the bedside lamp he threw. It hurdled through Spike and into the window, cracking the thick pane of glass. When the ghost stared back at him dispassionately, he rose, stalking closer though he knew it would do no good. “Get out of here, Spike…leave! Go back into your little black hole. Buffy’s not here, she’s not going to be here, so what’s the point of sticking around? Stop haunting those that don’t give a damn!”

The hurt in his eyes was the most vivid emotion he’d seen from his grandchild in weeks. It startled him, and for a moment he felt like he had been dragged back in time, looking into the eyes of the young fledging William, instead of the ghostly pain in his side that dared to call himself a champion.

But soon after it appeared, it was gone. All depths of emotion once more faded into a weariness that sent chills down Angel’s spine when he dared to think of his own future.

Spike tried for his usual smirk, but it was a gruesome parody of what it had been before. There was no attitude behind it, only the world-weary appearance of someone who was far too used to being unwanted. He turned without another word, and walked away without his footfalls making a single sound.

His feet weren’t there. The body that Angel had beaten, fucked and molded had been burned to ash and buried under miles of rubble. It was just a shadow of it that walked through his bedroom wall, and out of his sight.


……………………………………………………………………………………..


Buffy sat with her knees pressed against her chest. Her fingers were busy with the important task of picking at her old nail polish, while she tried to ignore the packed boxes surrounding her. Most of it she didn’t yet associate as her stuff. She hadn’t really had any ‘stuff’ since after the collapse of her home, and all the stuff was new stuff.

But still, it was being packed so it could be moved so that they could go to a new place and collect more stuff to fill it.

London was only the first stop, not a place to rest.

“Come ON, Buffy!” Dawn tried to share her enthusiasm. “It’s ROME. We’re going to Rome!”

The Slayer managed a small smile. “I know. It’s great.”

Rolling her eyes, the teenager flopped down beside her sister, her long legs sprawled in front of her. “Yeah. That was real convincing.”

“No, really…” The Blond shook her head, trying to banish her own melancholy mood. “I am excited, Dawnie…things have been great. It’s just…” Her gaze went back to the window. It was raining again. “Does being here ever make you think of…?”

Buffy let her question drop, her gaze darting to her younger sister before moving back to the window.

But Dawn had caught her look, and she scooted closer. It was rare that they talked about their losses, especially when everyone was focused on rebuilding and making plan for the new Slayers.

“Yeah…” she finally answered. “I think about Spike a lot here. It’s…kind of hard not to. I mean, come on, I think I hear his voice almost every night.”

Buffy nodded, trying to ignore the way the back of her eyes burned at the thought of how many times she’d jumped or turned at the sound of a familiar accent. How her heart went pitter-patter in the anticipation of a familiar tingle on the back of her neck…

“I tried to find him, you know…” Her ruined nail polish became important to her again.

“What do you mean?”

“Spike…” Buffy folded her hands on her knees. “I tried to find out who he was…you know…before he was turned. I kind of wanted to know more…all the things that I never really asked him. And maybe if I knew where he lived…it would be like I had something of his…or some place I could go to…”

“Like a grave?”

She nodded, avoiding the thought of her former lover’s actual grave. The pit in the middle of the desert that used to be the hellmouth…the place of terrible memories and friends and homes that held ashes and dust and bones of the loved ones they had all lost.

“But I couldn’t,” Buffy said after a moment. “Find him. I had nothing to go on, really…I guess I could have asked Giles for help, but…” She shook her head. “And all the newspapers I looked at…I found plenty of ‘William the Bloody’ stories, but I couldn’t find anything on him as a human…not without even knowing his last name…”

“You loved him, didn’t you?”

“Yes!” The strangled confession felt like a gift to Spike that came too late. “Yes…was it obvious, Dawn?”

Dawn looked sheepish. “It kind of got that way, yeah…”

“Good…” Buffy whispered. “I just wish he’d seen it.”

“Does that mean…it’s ok to miss him?”

The vulnerable expression on her younger sister’s face felt like a burn on the Slayer’s heart. She wrapped an arm around her sister’s shoulders and brought her close, kissing the top of her head. “Oh Dawnie, of course it is…”

Dawn played with Buffy’s hair idly, trying to ignore the tears that made her blue eyes shimmer. “It’s just…I thought everyone was supposed to hate him…but then you forgave him…”

The Slayer swallowed and rested her head on top of her sister’s. “It’s complicated…not many people are strong enough to change the way Spike did…”

“Maybe we can make a grave for him, Buffy…you know, some place closer to us where we can go to remember him.”

Buffy was silent for a long moment, trying to put her thoughts to words.

“When the hellmouth closed…I stood by the edge and I thought about Spike, and I felt so much…pride. I was so, so proud of him…and then the world opened up, and everything changed…and I had this glowing happiness, because I wasn’t alone and we could have lives. So I forgot for a little while. When we went to the hospital, then to the hotel…I felt free, and light and glowing. The next morning came, and I still felt that glow. And I turned in my bed, and was ready to share that glow…I was going to tell Spike all about it, and we were going to bask…but he wasn’t there.”

“The day before, he was with me. While I was helping the girls, keeping track of who went to the hospital, helping Giles get the hotel sorted out…he was there with me. He was standing by my side, surrounding me, just like always. It felt like he would never leave me. But the next morning, that feeling was gone…I couldn’t hold on to it anymore…” The sight of Dawn’s brown hair blurred. She felt her sister’s arms tighten around her. “And I kept thinking…why did I stand there by his grave and smile? Why didn’t I tell everyone to stop talking about the future and show respect? Why didn’t I leave flowers or something? And…and did he see? Did he see me just going on with a smile and a light step and just think it didn’t mean anything? Like he thought I didn’t love him? Is that why I couldn’t feel him anymore?

Buffy barely noticed the small hands wiping away the wetness from her cheeks. “Dawnie…did he want to leave me?”

Disclaimer: The show aint mine.

Author’s Note: Very sorry for the short chapter. And try not to be too freaked out by Spike’s behavior in this particular chapter…this chapter’s a little on the lighter side, a completely different mood from the previous. I like to mix it up.

………………………………………………………………………………………….


Hospitals smelled like old people to Fred. She didn’t think that in a disrespectful way, or at least she thought it in a way that could be counted as the least disrespectful to the elderly…but it was sterile and filled with pajamas and frills and everyone was either trying not to die or smiling and studiously ignoring the fact that they could die at any moment.

There was also dry skin and frizzy hair.

That was the part that horrified Winifred Burkle the most as she stood outside the room reserved for the comatose Cordelia Chase. In her hands was a small but tasteful bundle of flowers and a basket of personal-care products.

Cordelia had always been one of the girliest girls that Fred had ever known. She’d always taken care of herself, no matter the crisis they were currently involved in. She had prided herself on her appearance in even the harshest and poorest environments.

Now she was washed daily by a bunch of strangers who didn’t seem to notice or care about the split ends in her hair or the flakes on her skin. They didn’t see any significance in her unpolished nails or chapped lips.

“Hey, Cordy…”

Fred made herself snug in the single chair beside the bed. She had cleared her schedule for the next few hours to prepare herself for a long visit. She hoped that her extra-long visits would make up for the neglect from the others.

“How’re you feelin’? You look tired to me….” She frowned as her poor attempt at a joke fell flat even to her. “Sorry. That was stupid.”

Winifred set the flowers in the vase on the bedside table and began to unload her basket of goodies. “I wish I did know how you were, though…I mean, are you sound asleep, are you dreaming in there, or are mystical comas completely different and you’re somehow trapped somewhere?”

She scooted herself closer to the bed and the still and silent Cordelia. “Maybe I should look into that…I mean, if I can open portals to other dimensions, a mystical coma shouldn’t be a big deal, right?” Fred’s smile felt forced as she took out the leave-in conditioner she’d brought, and rubbed some between her hands. “Angel would really like that; if I found a way…he’s been lonely as sin without you.”

Cordelia’s hair wasn’t soft to the touch anymore. Fred was determined to change that, and ran her fingers tenderly through it, massaging her scalp before moving slowly down, leaving a light shine to each strand. The room was beginning to smell less like antiseptic.

“What am I saying? We all miss you…” She looked at her friend’s blank face. “It feels like you were the glue that kept us together, you know? You were the one that…” She sighed, slowly removing her fingers from her friends hair after lingering a moment to stroke it. “And Wolfram and Hart is really testing us as it is. We’re startin’ to give way a little…though, I wouldn’t let the others hear me say that. I almost don’t wanna say it with the lab and all…but I know you’d raise hell over it if you could.”

Next came the lavender lotion. Fred started with Cordelia’s hands, rubbing the lotion into palms and fingers. “Is it wrong to miss Charles?” she asked suddenly.

“I mean…I know he slept with another woman…he never could keep a secret from me…although the whole lawyer persona is really helping him improve on that ability…and if I think about it, it was over before he did that. But I miss him sometimes…the way he was before. We’ve all changed. But none so much as him, I think.”

Fred pulled the sheet up and winced at the site of her friend’s feet. The skin was cracked and peeling at the heels and soles. “Sometimes I just want to shake him up and find the pieces of him that I knew…” The small built Texan used a generous amount of lotion on each foot, ignoring the scrape of rough skin against her hand as she massaged and moisturized. She looked down at her work and grinned. “Hey, maybe if this whole Wolfram and Hart business goes kablooey I can consider a new career path in massage therapy!”

Her cheeriness faded as she tried to think of more words to fill the room with to make up for her silent partner. “Oh! Spike’s here! Angel said you met him before…he’s not HERE here…he’s actually buried at the bottom of the hellmouth, which was destroyed by the way…by him from what I hear. He’s all ghostly now, haunting Wolfram and Hart…and not evil anymore, he has a soul. So he was a vampire with a soul like Angel, only now he’s a ghost-vampire with a soul…it just aint all that easy to keep up with, you know?”

Fred pushed the blankets up higher, blushing as she looked up at her friend. “I won’t try anything frisky, promise.” The hair on Cordelia’s legs had grown out, as expected, but Winifred was relieved to find them still shapely, the muscle still firm under her hand as she rubbed the lotion up and down her calves. “Well, at least the mystical comas good for one thing…it seems to be keeping you a little healthy, at least. Well…aside from the coma part. But, look, not much atrophy yet!” She smiled brightly as her hands moved up to Cordelia’s knees.

She stopped at her lower thighs in the name of modesty, and tucked her back in. “I think next time I’ll bring same nail polish. I’m not really good at manicures or anything, but now’s a real good time to learn, right?”

………………………………………………………………………………………….


The one thing that Spike had come to deeply appreciate was his ability to change his appearance. By concentrating enough he could manipulate his appearance and have others see him any way he wanted. With his slipping sanity, he knew it was best to distract himself any way he could.

And revenge was a sweet distraction.

He was thrilled to find that Angel would not return to his penthouse until later. And he was ecstatic when he overheard the intern that had been with him was planning another visit.

Spike had seen pictures of himself on his most flashy eye-liner days. He concentrated hard and projected that image. Though he couldn’t be sure that his face turned out right, he was reassured when he saw the black nail polish spreading across his fingernails. For the last step, he lounged across Angel’s couch and slowly the image of his clothing receded. His naked form, as he remembered it, was draped across the leather that Spike wished he could feel.

He had imagined his cock hard and waiting, and there it stood. He looked down at it with a fond and bitter grin. “What a waste of flesh, ah mate? We were a fine specimen.”

The former vampire wished he could project a cigarette, cock ring and leather harness, but was afraid too much would make him lose his focus.

Spike would have held his breath as the doorknob turned if he could. He spread his legs out wide to show off his goods. “’bout time you got your sweet little arse back – oh. It’s you.” Spike put a smug, contemptuous smirk on his face, acting as if he hadn’t been expecting little blonde intern standing stock still in the doorway.

She had been in the process of unbuttoning her blouse to reveal some enticing cleavage.
She couldn’t seem to move after catching site of Spike’s assets, bared to the world.

“Look all you want, you’re not gettin’ any.”

“I…I’m sorry…am I in the wrong…?”

“I know who you’re lookin’ for, honey…but see, you’re not needed anymore.”

“What…?”

The former vampire leaned forward and reached down to frame the base of his erection with his hand. “See, it’s like this. Angel…he likes to experiment a bit…keep his options open…test his boundaries, sort to say. But…he always does come crawlin’ back to me.”

By then the intern’s face was scarlet, and her mouth gaping open.

“So, you can tottle off now.” He waved his hand to shoo her away. “Oh! And some advice, luv…” Spike lounged back on the couch, the perfect picture of comfort and ease. “Keep to the boys…and leave the real men for real men.”

That was when Angel entered, his bulk blocking most of the doorway, and a civil smile on his face to greet the only guest he could smell. Spike had only a moment to smirk at his grandsire before the young blonde woman whirled on him, all fire and indignant rage.

“You…bastard! You…weird pervert!”

“What?” Angel did a double take as he caught sight of Spike’s nakedness, and right there on his couch. “What are you…? No…no!”

“It’s alright now, sweetness.” Spike put on his most soothing, tender voice. I told her everything. You don’t have to worry anymore.”

“Wait…Linda!”

“Ew!” Linda swiftly removed a bracelet from her wrist and thrust the tiny cross that dangled from it into the dejected vampire’s face. She tried to ward him off as she inched her way around him, and out the door. “Sick…you used me, you...sicko!”

“It’s not what you…!”

But she slammed the door in his face.

Spike grin was more genuine than it had been for weeks. “Gee…think you’ll ever get laid here again, ponce?”


……………………………………………………………………………………………

Linda wasted no time in storming down the hall in a fury, right past the former Watcher that was making his way to the penthouse.

“SPIKE!” The shout was followed by the sound of breaking furniture and shattering glass, something that instantly discouraged Wesley’s idea for a visit.

He paused to reconsider before he reached the elevator, but soon heard more shouting. “I do believe I’ll come back later…”

"Alright, now I'm serious. You've got to get out of here!" Tyler gave his friend a shove in the center of his chest, forcing him step by step to back up closer to the door.

"Come on, man." Conner wedged himself in the doorway. "Just let me stay for a bit...I swear, I won't make trouble.

"Dude, this is a bar. You're not twenty-one yet. My manager's gonna harass the hell out of me just for lettin’ you visit. You haven't been drinkin' any, have you?"

"No!"

Tyler raised a sharp eyebrow.

"...maybe a little."

He gave Connor a firmer shove, nearly dislodging him from the doorframe.

"Tyler, look, I don't want to be alone tonight...”

"Neither do I. But you see, that hot blonde back at the bar won't give me the time of day, so I can't help being alone tonight anymore then you can."

"Please..." Connor lowered his voice and his gaze. He swallowed hard against the irrational fear and rage boiling up inside. "Tyler...I've been having these weird dreams..."

His friend raised his hand, blocking eye contact between the two of them. "You've already been to sex-ed, Mr. college-bound, so I don't need to hear no weird dreams. Just go home to mommy and daddy, and don't go trollin' for more booze."

It was the harshness of his friend's words that loosened his group on the doorway, and a second later he found himself stumbling in the alley as the door to the kitchen slammed shut.

"Prick..." Connor sighed and kicked dejectedly at an empty beer bottle. He leaned against the wall when even that seemed too tedious, and pressed his forehead against the cool brick.

"Poor boy...all fierce and full of hatred, all curled up inside, where it's dark...never ever to see the light again."

Connor frowned and turned his head to take in the woman he hadn't noticed before, who stood at the mouth of the alley. Pale skin was the first thing he noticed, followed by the delicate features and wide eyes framed by long, dark curly hair. Her red and black dress and finely kept appearance were completely out of place among the rank and dingy discards in the alley.

Her every step looked like gliding. "So lost. Daddy set him astray...his most precious boy."

The stranger's voice was musical, and something in the way she was looking at him made him want her to keep talking. But her muddled words were starting to put him on edge.

"You ok?" Connor wanted to step closer to her, but his feet held firm. There was something that made the hairs on the back of his neck rise. "Do you...need any help?"

She swayed closer, a smile on her face and her gaze filled with mischief. Connor felt caught, snared by something, even though he didn't know what. She was soon very close, bringing with her the scent of rosemary and copper.

'Blood...' The knowledge was sudden, but not as shocking as he was sure it should have been. The woman raised her hand and the palm hovered over his face, never quite touching him. Each finger was tipped with a ruby red nail, but Connor could have sworn there were traces of a deeper red under each.

The dark-haired loon moved her hand away quickly, before snapping her small jaws close to his face, her blunt teeth almost catching his nose as she growled playfully. The young man felt the need to flinch back, but found himself unable to.

She was up against him then, her body curving intimately against his as her tongue found his ear. She traced the tip along the edge before whispering to him. "Dreams bring empty promises and shadows of secrets they'll never tell. Only I can bring you truth."

Something in him froze even more than his immobile body. The jagged pieces he had been trying to ignore since the dreams began were starting to form a disturbing picture. Connor knew he should be afraid, but he only felt confined, and ready.

Suddenly, the hold was gone. As soon as he knew he was able to move again he grabbed the deceptively frail looking woman by her thin arms and shoved her hard against the brick wall, using the extra force he had only recently discovered after the dreams began.

It startled him when she gasped and laughed gleefully at his show of aggression. "Will you hurt me nicely?"
"What are you? Are you like me?"

Drusilla purred and pushed her body closer to his, but he shoved her back against the wall. With a maniacal giggle, she nodded. "So much alike, you and I. And we're going to play..."


…


"I mean it, Fred!" Angel's voice was barely below a bellow.

"I know you mean it, Angel." Winifred kept to the slides she was studying, barely looking up to acknowledge her irate boss. "The whole floor knows you mean it. But I made a promise to help Spike -"

"Spike is dead! He's a useless spook, and he knows it! He's a miserable menace, and I want him gone! I want him where ever the hell he's meant to be right now instead of-!"

"Angel!" Fred's no-nonsense tone and steely glare was enough to kill the rest of the rant before it could leave his lips. "I am not sending Spike to hell just because he appeared naked on your couch!"

She'd heard the story. In fact, she had heard it from the horses own mouth, instead of the buzzing gossip going around the office that was helping to fuel Angel's irrational reaction. And Spike had had more life in him while telling the story than she had seen for a long time.

Angel deflated, shoulders slumped as he bowed under the weight of Fred's judgment. "I know he saved your life..."

"At the cost of his chance to be corporeal again," Fred reminded him. "Self-sacrifice seems to be a pattern for him...and it's something worthy of acknowledgement, at least in my opinion. I know you hate him, but he's earned better treatment than just being wiped away and forgotten because you have a mood-swing.”

The glower on his face remained the same throughout Fred's speech. "I wish I could just forget about him..."

"He does make that a little difficult." Fred grinned.

"You have no idea."


…


“Great…” Harmony Kendall crept through the hallways of Wolfram and Hart, trying to draw as little attention to herself as possible. Her soft pink skirt was covered in the blood that had been her breakfast before Brad from accounting had knocked the thermus from her desk, making her look like a recent guest at a massacre. She thought it could look like a murder, or…

“Ew! What if someone thinks I’m alive? Oh, god! Ew!”

Luckily, after an incident with an irate client, Harmony had begun keeping a change of clothes at her desk. Unfortunately, the skirt was white and didn’t match her cute pink top at all.

The bathroom was blessedly unoccupied. The blonde vampire thought herself lucky to have remembered where it was, since she never needed to use it.

She hid herself in a stall to make sure that no one coming in could see the mortifying stain on her outfit. As she shimmied out of her skirt and pulled the other from her purse, she debated changing her underwear. She had gotten some of the pig’s blood on it, and she didn’t want to be walking around smelling it on herself all day, and she certainly didn’t want one of her less-than-human co-workers to smell it, but she didn’t have another pair to change into.

With a put-upon sigh and a glance out of the crack of the door, she slipped them down her legs. “The skirt’s not skanky short, so it’s not like anyone’ll notice…”

Harmony stepped daintily out of them and shook her foot after they caught on her heel. She pulled the new skirt up over her generous hips. But when she reached down to pick up the pair of panties off the floor, they slid away.

“Huh?”

The vampire opened the stall door and peered around for her runaway underwear. They were resting innocently on the tile floor between the stalls and the sinks. On full alert, Harmony approached them slowly, then nudged them with the toe of her pump.

With a shrug, she reached down to retrieve them, only for them to slide away again, like a carrot on a string.

“Hey!” She hopped and chased awkwardly after them, trying to stomp the moving underwear onto the floor with her heel.

After the third attempt, the panties lifted into the air, hovering out of reach. Just then, the air began to shift in front of her, and a figure took form… one with a long black trench coat and white hair.

“Spike!”

“…balls.” Spike took off out of the open door of the ladies room, with Harmony right behind.

“Come back here with those! Come on, Spike! This is so immature!”

The ghost waved the blood-speckled treasure in the air as he ran from his ex. He ran straight down the hall and into and through the wall. The panties hit the wall and slid down to the floor as Spike stared at his empty hand on the other side.

“Pervert ghost!” Harmony huffed as she picked up her embarrassing dirty laundry.

Spike couldn’t stop staring at his hand. He flexed it before looking back at the wall. “Huh…odd thing to forget. That what’s solid doesn’t follow a ghosty through a wall…” He looked at cement walls and pipes criss-crossing under the ceiling and down dark corridors. “Hm. Must be a boiler –“

There were whispers from down the corridor. Scratching. He looked, on alert for movement, but saw none.

But there were still whispers. Familiar. Tickling his mind. He had the urge to scratch at his chest.

“Looks like that damned basement in SunnyHell. Don’t think I aught to stick around here.”

He willed himself to be anywhere else, and disappeared.