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A/N--i'm so sorry about taking so long for the updates!!

also, in this chapter the shit is DEFINITELY about to hit the fan.

please please PLEASE go to this site! It's dedicated to William/Buffy, and it's a site related to sinister-attraction.

http://www.sinister-attraction.org/poetic/
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Buffy threw down The Sunnydale Sun, sighing in disgust. "Spike," she said, addressing her pacing boyfriend. "This is getting ridiculous. These...reporters are saying that an "exclusive, inside source" told them that you've been hiding me in the proverbial closet all this time."

The two of them had arrived home two days ago; on Christmas Eve, just in time for Joyce's Christmas party. William, though exhausted, insister that he stay at Grandma's for tonight, leavin his parents all alone in Spike's hotel room...

All alone, with the exception of the tabloids.

"I know," he gritted out. "I fucking know, okay?" He ran both hands through his hair, sighing loudly. "Maybe I shouldn't have said anything about it. Maybe...keeping you and William a secret would have been a better idea."

She looked up at him, visibly wounded by his words. "So...you don't want people knowing about us?"

"What?" he frowned, turning back around to face her. Seeing her expression, he said, "Buffy, no..."

"So," she said, emotions getting the better of her. "Is that all I was? A...a pity girlfriend?" When he did nothing to answer her but gape open mouthedly at her, she grew near hysterical. "You know what, Spike?" she asked heatedly. "You can take your pity, your music, and your shitty movies and shove them up your ass."

She gathered up her jacket, purse, and shopping bags and slammed out of his hotel room, leaving him and his protests behind her.

---

Buffy tore through the spinning doors, tears streaking down her face. God! How had she been so stupid? To think that Spike actually wanted her, not because she had given birth to his son, but because he actually wanted her?

"Excuse me, miss?"

She turned around at the interruption and came face to face with a handsome, dark haired man, clad in a chauffeur's uniform. "I'm Lindsey McDonald. Spike gave me directions that I was to take you back to your house."

She stood still for a moment, then nodded, stepping into the limo.

And the sight that greeted her from the inside was not a friendly one.

As soon as her backside came in contat with the seating, two large burly men seated themselves on either side of her, nearly squashing her. Across from her, a woman was situated in a short red rube top dress and was fingering a dangerously sharp looking nail file.

"Hey," the woman said, not looking up at Buffy. "I've got two lessons for you. One, don't get into cars with strangers, even your son probably knows that. And two, munchkin, next time you try and sink your fashionably manicured nails into a star?" She looked up at Buffy and smiled chillingly. "Make sure he hasn't broken anyone else's heart."

---

THE NEXT MORNING

Spike cursed as he failed for the thirty-first time to call Buffy's home number. Sighing, he searched through his address book, found her cell phone number, dialed it, and cursed once more when he came across her voice mail.

He pulled into her driveway, frowning when he saw Joyce running out, panic written on her features.

"Joyce?" he said, stepping out of the car. "What's wrong?"

"Is Buffy with you?" she asked, craning her neck to see into his car.

"No," he said. "I thought she came to your house last night, after I called you."

"She didn't come, so I thought that she'd be here. She's not here, Spike. She didn't come home at all today."

"How do you know?"

"She has a calender that she keeps on her refrigerator. Each day, she crosses it off. If she misses one day, she goes crazy. Today isn't crossed off, Spike. She didn't come home."

"Fuck," he breathed. "Fuck. Get William; we're going to the hotel."

---

"Listen," Spike tried again. "You must have seen her. About five foot one, blonde hair, green eyes?"

Scott Hope, the doorman, thought for a few moments before his eyes lit up. "Ohh, her! Pretty little thing; too bad she was crying. Yeah, she left with your chauffeur."

Spike frowned. "She didn't," he argued. "I already called Ethan, he didn't pick her up last night. What did this guy look like?"

When the sandy haired man didn't answer for a while, Spike barely managed to restrain himself from hitting him. Panic was coursing through his veins, threatening to overwhelm him if he didn't get some answers, and fast. "What did he look like?! Did you get a name?"

"Name? Yeah, a name...it began with an 'L'...Logan? Larry? Laurence...oh!" He snapped his fingers. "Lindsey. Lindsey McDonald."

Spike's eyes widened, fear finally consuming him. "Fuck," he whispered again. "Not him."

"Spike?" Joyce said, tears in her eyes. "What...what's wrong? Who is Lindsey McDonald?"

Spike turned around to face her just as a tear rolled down his face. "He's bad news," he croaked out. "He works for Glory."

"He works for glory? Well, that's an odd thing to work for," Scott commented.

"Glory?" Joyce asked.

"She's...a mistake I made a couple months ago. I was with her for about...two months, and she became too attached. I broke it off, she trashed my hotel room..." He shook his head, heading to his car. "This is not good, Joyce. This is not good. She's psychotic; she'll kill you if she has to. She told me so."

Joyce gasped. "You mean..."

Spike nodded. "She has Buffy, and God knows what she's going to do with her." He shut his door hard, anger etched onto his features. "But I'll be damned if she's going to get away with it."

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A/N--the calender thing is what my friend does; she's slightly OCD.





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