Chapter Four

The drive to the hospital was silent: both Buffy and Spike vividly remembered when Buffy had nearly miscarried Will after Glory had attacked her. Bleeding and unconscious, she'd been sure she'd lose the baby - and Spike had been sure he'd lose her.

"Spike," Buffy blurted suddenly as he stopped the car in the hospital car park. "I have to tell you something."

Alarmed, he frowned at her. "What? Did you leave the oven on?"

She shook her head. "I - I wanted to tell you before, but... Well, we sort of got... And now isn't the time, but then will be the right time?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Love, you're babbling."

She made herself calm down. "I think I'm pregnant again. Whatever kind of Pill they have me on is obviously not working, 'cos I'm two months late... I wanted to tell you as soon as you got home," she added, looking up at him anxiously. His face was hard to read in the darkness. "Spike?"

"Are you sure?"

She nodded. "I did a test. I'm going to see the doctor tomorrow." She bit her lip. "Well? Say something?"

He threw her arms around her and held her tight. "Another baby?"

"That's usually the end result."

"Buffy," he started kissing her, "love, that's fantastic."

Relieved - although she didn't know why, because he'd been overjoyed the last two times she'd told him - Buffy kissed him back, and eventually they pulled apart and Buffy said, "We'd better go see Xander. And don't mention this - it would not be funny."

She ran to Xander as soon as she saw him and threw her arms around him, all embarassment forgotten. "How is she? What happened?"

"I don't know," Xander was pale and tense. "She said - it hurt and then she started bleeding and... I don't know," he said in frustration, slamming his fist against the wall.

Spike bent down and picked up his daughter, who was sitting still, watching them all. She didn't know what was going on, but she knew there was something wrong, and she clung to her father.

"Have you spoken to the doctor?" Buffy asked.

"Not yet. They just took her in there," he waved down the corridor, "and I haven't heard anything."

"She'll be okay," Buffy assured him. "She's strong and healthy. It's probably nothing."

"Nothing? How can it be nothing?"

Alice started quietly crying.

"She's tired," Spike said, "wants to go home."

Buffy nodded reluctantly. "You want me to stay?" she asked Xander, but he looked over her shoulder and shook his head.

"No, the girls are here. Thanks, Buff. You take care of Alice." He gave her a brief smile and kissed her cheek, then turned to greet Willow and Tara, who'd just turned up, looking anxious. Willow spoke with Xander, and Tara knelt down to Alice where she was huddled on Spike's lap.

"What's the matter?"

"Is Anna going to die?"

"Anya?" Tara smiled at the little girl's mispronunciation. "No, sweetie, she's not going to die."

"She was all bloody."

"Well, yes, but she's going to be okay. I promise."

"People bleed and get better, love," Spike told her.

"Was the baby bleeding?"

"Uh," Tara looked up at Spike. "Well, that's hard to say..."

"Mommy said the baby's in Anna's stomach and that's why it's so big."

Relieved to be on safer ground, Tara nodded. "Yes, it is. When the baby's born she'll be just like she was."

"I like Anna. She gives me wine."

"She gives you what?" Spike said, glaring furiously at Xander.

But Tara shook her head at him. "It's cranberry juice," she mouthed.

"It better be," Spike said darkly. "There's only room for one alcoholic in this family and that's me. Come on, kitten," he stood up, easily carrying Alice with him. "Time to go home."

"It's probably nothing," Buffy said as they went out to the car - his, it was faster - but they were both thinking about the horrible problems Buffy had had in the last third of her first pregnancy. Thankfully, Alice had been a trouble-free baby, but that didn't stop Spike worrying about Buffy for the whole nine months.

Alice fell asleep as soon as she got into her car seat - it was later than her usual bedtime and the excitement had worn her out - therefore they were in no hurry to get her home and to bed.

So when they came upon the little old car at the side of the dark road with steam coming from under the hood, and Buffy said they should stop, Spike pulled the Aston over onto the edge. There was a woman bending over the engine of the little car, a yoing woman, and she was alone.

"Do you need help?" Buffy asked, getting out of the car.

"I don't know anything about cars," the woman called back, although when she lifted her head free of the bonnet, Buffy thought she she looked like exactly the sort of girl who'd been fixing up cars since she was thirteen. Dark hair, dark lipstick, a couple of tattoos and lots of cleavage. She had a smoker's voice - Buffy knew, being married to one.

"Spike, come and help," Buffy said, but as he got out of the car, someone came up the dark, tree-lined slope at the side of the road.

And then everything happened at once.

Someone shoved Buffy to the ground, winding her, and rushed over to the Aston, reaching in the back and yanking Alice out. The little girl awoke with a cry, confused and frightened in the dark with a stranger holding her, and Buffy pulled herself to her feet.

Spike, hearing his daughter's cry, swung his head in her direction, but before he could move the tattooed woman had brought out a gun and shot him point blank in the chest.

Buffy heard the shot, her head whipped round, and she froze in horror as Spike fell backwards into the trees and tumbled down the slope, blood flying after him, spattering the woman with the gun.

"Mommy!" Alice screamed, and Buffy tried to gather the strength to move, but then something heavy crashed down on her head, and the last thing she heard was her daughter crying.

"Well, that was a big bust," Anya grumbled, glaring back at her husband as he wheeled her out of the hospital.

"Don't glare at me. Not my fault you got a... whatever he said."

"Something to do with a placenta?" Tara suggested helpfully.

"Or was it a pre-something?" Willow frowned.

"Whatever," Anya said. "It hurt. And it is your fault, Harris."

"How is it my fault?"

"You got me pregnant. You and your penis. Oh, have another orgasm, you'd say. And meanwhile it was all part of your plan to turn me into this massive whale."

"You're not a whale," Xander said, exchanging a look with the girls, who were trying not to smile.

"Yes, I am. Or I'm giving birth to one. Oh God! What if it never comes out? What if I'm stuck being pregnant forever? I'll have this giant baby just stuck inside me..."

"Poor baby," Willow murmured to her girlfriend as they waved goodbye and went to their own car. "Do you think we should call Buffy and Spike?" she added.

Tara nodded. "I have a feeling those two will have other things on their minds," she said, looking over at Anya and Xander, who were arguing as he helped her into the car. "Being pregnant must be hard: all those false alarms. Remember Buffy?"

"Kinda makes you glad you never have to go through it," Willow agreed.

"Well, you know, we could. A sperm bank or whatever."

"Yeah, but then it wouldn't be ours," Willow said sadly, and they got into her car and drove home.

She dialled Buffy and Spike's house as soon as they got home, but there was no answer and she left a message, unworried. They were often out, or engaged in other activities, as Anya had explained with glee while her husband squirmed.

"So what do you want to do?" Tara asked. "Go out or stay in?"

Willow looked at her and smiled slowly. "I vote we stay in," she said, "and relish being child- and reponsibility-free."

Tara grinned. "I second that."

Buffy woke with a throbbing head, to the sound of a child crying. Groggily, feeling dreadful, she rolled over to get Spike to go deal with it. She must be ill or something. She could hardly move.

And then she realised that the reason she could hardly move was that she was in chains. Her hands were manacles together and she was in leg irons - leg irons! - that were fastened to the floor. They clinked loudly against the rusty steel plating that surrounded her. The room swayed - but then that could have been her head.

"Can't you shut that kid up?" someone said in annoyance, and Buffy frowned, because there was something a little familiar about the voice. She prised open her sticky eyelids and tried to peer through the gloom, and when she did, she felt sick.

The first thing she saw was Alice, curled into a little ball beside her, tied with harsh ropes, crying pitifully. But as she reached out to comfort her daughter, she was pulled back by her own confines, and she tugged and rattled at them.

"Save your strength - and my ears," the voice said, and Buffy looked up to see the dark-haired woman who'd been having car trouble. She was leaning against a metal table on the far side of the small room, smoking a hand-rolled cigarette. The entire room was panelled in rusty steel, and there was a small, circular, riveted window behind the woman. A porthole. They were on a ship. "You won't get loose."

Buffy yanked harder, but all it did was chafe the skin of her wrists. She wriggled a bit, and managed to nudge Alice's body with her knee.

"Hey, sweetie, it's okay. I'm here."

The woman snorted. "Don't listen to her, kid. It is far from okay."

Buffy ignored her. "Alice? Come here, love."

Alice looked up, and her tearstained face wrenched at Buffy's heart. She shuffled and stretched, and managed to lay her head on her mother's lap. Buffy stroked at her hair, unable to move enough to cuddle her.

"Where are we?" the little girl sobbed.

"I don't know," Buffy said, "but we'll get out."

"No, you won't."

"Look," Buffy glared at her, "I am trying to comfort my daughter here. Just butt out, will you?"

"Ooh, feisty, are you?" the smoking woman said. She propped her cigarette in an ashtray and sauntered over. Her gait was confident, cocky. She had heeled boots and leather jeans on, and her top bound up her breasts into an impressive cleavage.

She kicked at Buffy's face, but Buffy raised her hand from Alice's head and knocked her off balance.

The woman sprawled back on the ground with a metallic clang, and Buffy tried not to smirk. The action had at least stopped her daughter's crying.

But it had pissed off the woman, who grabbed a rifle from the table and smashed the barrel into Buffy's face with a sickening thud. Then she grabbed Alice, pulled her away by her hair, making the little girl scream, and aimed the gun at her head.

"No," Buffy cried, reached out, the manacles pulling her back.

"It's her or you," the woman said fiercely.

"Don't hurt her. Please don't hurt her," Buffy said, hating the sound of her begging voice.

The woman shoved Alice to the ground, where she cowered, screaming with fear, and Buffy felt hot tears cascade down her throbbing face. But she didn't even have time to reassure her daughter, because the rifle struck again, hard across her aching cheek, and she was flung to the metal floor. A heeled boot struck her ribs, the pointed toe digging in, and Buffy caught her breath.

"I'm pregnant," she gasped, and an evil light lit up her attacker's face.

"Not for much longer."

It looked like a dead body: still and very pale, dried blood all over, eyes closed. Nancy didn't want to get too close, but her dog was fascinated.

"Rocky, leave it alone," she called, frightened. She didn't want to call it a man - it looked dead to her. White. Gross. "Rocky-" she tugged at his lead, but he was licking the still white face.

It moved.

Nancy edged a few steps closer. "Hey - excuse me?"

This time it let out a little groan. Well, okay - not it, he. He was definitely alive.

"Are you okay?"

Spike prised open one eye and just about managed to recognise the blurred thing above him as a woman. "'Course'm not blurry'kay," he croaked feebly, his head spinning and jolting. "Whassat-" he moved to bat the dog away from his face, and then realised he couldn't move his arm without severe pain all over. Actually, he couldn't move it at all, pain or no pain.

And there was lots of pain.

"Jeesschrist," he gasped, trying to sit up, but that didn't work either. "Wha'the blurry-?"

"I think you got shot," Nancy said nervously, still keeping her distance. "Or stabbed or something. Uh, stay here, I'll go and get some help..."

Stay here, Spike thought as she sped up the slope. Yeah, like I'm going to be moving so far.

He tried to remember what had brought him to this place, in this condition. He was lying at the bottom of a slope, in a wood, covered in dirt and dew and blood, and he was pretty sure that was a bullet wound in his shoulder.

Great. Another one. Buffy was going to be-

Oh God, Buffy.

Alice.

Oh, God.

But before he could think of anything else, pain overtook him and he passed out again.

"He's right down here," the girl said, and Willow took out her cell-phone, ready to dial 911. You heard about people luring lone women into woods - sure, this girl looked trustworthy... actually, she looked kind of hot... but Willow wasn't taking any chances. Whenever she went out jogging she took her phone and a defence spray with her. She had one in each hand right now.

But when she got to the bottom of the slope, she nearly dropped them both. There was a little dog yapping around her feet but she hardy noticed it as she ran over to the still, pale figure on the ground.

"Spike? Spike!"

He didn't move, and when she felt at his wrist his pulse was very weak. "Call 911," Willow thrust her phone at Nancy as she started checking Spike's breathing and tried to find out where he was bleeding from. God, there was blood everywhere. How had he survived? He could have bled to death. How long had he been there?

What on earth had happened?

Tara met her at the hospital, later than expected, towing a confused and frightened Will behind her.

"There was no answer at their house," she said, "or on either of their cell phones, so I went round and there was no one there. Buffy's car was there but Spike's had gone. So I went in - I just wanted to make sure, you know, that the house was okay, I had visions of Buffy falling down the stairs and knocking herself out and the kids being alone and... and there was no one there."

Willow gestured to Will, looking confused. "But-"

"The phone rang while I was there," Tara explained. "He was staying with a friend and Buffy was supposed to have picked him up hours ago. Only she wasn't there, so I went... I checked the answerphone, Wills, the message you left last night was still on there. No one's been back there since they left the hospital."

"But they left together," Willow said. "Buffy and Alice were with him." Her pale face turned paler. "We should tell the police. Whoever shot Spike could have-" she blinked, trying hard not to cry. She didn't want Will to see her cry: it'd frighten him even more. "Uh, Will, come here, stay with me. Aunty Tara's got a call to make," she mimed 'police' over the little boy's head, and her girlfriend nodded.

"What's happening?" Will asked, inching closer to Willow, who hauled him into her lap and hugged him.

"I don't know, sweetie. Your daddy's hurt and your mommy... Well, I'm not sure where she is. But I'm sure she's fine," she added, rather unconvincingly.

"What about Alice?" Will asked after a moment's pause.

"She's with your mommy."

"Are they okay?"

"I'm sure they are."

"What happened to my dad?"

Willow paused. She'd known Spike six, nearly seven years now, and in that time he'd managed to get himself shot at and stabbed and tortured and burnt and beaten up more than she'd ever thought possible. The man was a walking trouble magnet. But this was serious trouble: the doctors said he'd lost so much blood it was a wonder he wasn't dead.

Right then a doctor appeared and spoke to Willow, "He's stable now."

She let out a breath. "Can we see him?"

The doctor looked doubtfully at her and Will. "Are you family?"

"He's my daddy," Will said proudly, and Willow gave a little smile.

"I'm his godmother," she added, hoping that was good enough. The doctor hesitated, then he nodded, and they followed the doctor down a hall, into a room with lots of machinery in it. Spike was hooked up to wires and apparatus, and he looked strangely weak - strange, that was, for such a strong, vital man.

He opened his eyes when he heard Willow come in, and smiled a bit when he saw Will.

"Daddy?" the little boy said fearfully.

"Hey, kid. Your old man's a bit in the wars."

"Are you going to die?"

At that Spike smiled a bit wider. "No, love, I'm not. Just a bit feeble for a while. Remember when I fell off the roof and broke my arm? Like that."

Will nodded solemnly.

"What happened?" Willow asked, and Spike closed his eyes.

"I... dunno." His eyes snapped back open. "Where's Buffy?"

"I... don't know."

Will looked between them anxiously. "Daddy, where's Mommy?"

"She was with me," Spike said. "Her and Alice. We stopped to help this woman on the way home last night - only she was just pretending to have car trouble, 'cos as soon as she got us out of the car she-" his fists clenched. "Someone took Alice. They got her out of the car and when we tried to stop them..."

Will clutched at Willow and she held him to her. "They shot you?"

He nodded, eyes closed.

"And Buffy?"

He shrugged, painfully, hopelessly. "I dunno. She went down, I didn't see what happened. You did look - it was you who found me, right?"

"Well, sort of," Willow said. "We looked all around. Couldn't think why you'd be out there all alone and Buffy wouldn't know about it. We told the police - well, Tara's just calling them now. Spike, did you recognise any of them?"

He shook his head. "Only really saw her."

"Could you describe her? Recognise her if you saw her again?"

"Uh, let's see. Remember the woman who shot me in the chest? I think I could bring her face to mind."

Buffy awoke on a metal table, feeling horribly weak, her whole body in pain. In the background, Alice was crying, but Buffy's mouth was too dry to say anything to her. There was a man bending over her: dark skin, dark eyes, and he was muttering in a foreign language.

Buffy tried to kick out at him, but pain shot through her body and she fell back with a cry.

The man said something, and was answered by a familiar voice. The smoking woman.

"He says you should lie still," she advised Buffy. "He's almost done."

"Done - what?" Buffy's head was swimming. "Alice-"

"Just keep still."

Then something stung her arm, and blackness overtook her again.

Next time she woke, she was back in the rusty steel room, chains on her hands and feet again, and the pain had dimmed a little. She was groggy, like she'd been drugged, and the feeling that overwhelmed her was memory: this was exactly how it had been after Will had been born...

Slowly, she opened her eyes and looked around. Alice was curled in the far corner, asleep by the look of her - Buffy stared until she was sure her daughter was breathing - and the smoking woman was sitting on her table, cigarette between her lips.

"Morning," she said, looking at Buffy, who looked down at herself. She was wearing what looked like blue hospital scrubs, her feet bare, her hair loose. When she tried to move, pain arrowed through her, straight from her abdomen.

"What did you do to me?"

"You lost your baby."

Anger surged through Buffy. "I lost it? You beat it out of me."

The woman shrugged. "Hey, I got my orders. I fixed you up, though. You'll be okay." She dragged on her cigarette. "Probably."

"What do you mean, you fixed-" an image of the dark man crowded Buffy's mind. "That man-"

"Doctor," the smoker said. "A proper one. Don't worry, he was clean. Scrubbed the table and everything. You won't get infected."

Buffy shuddered at the thought. She'd heard horror stories from other women at her natal clinic about internal infections picked up after careless examinations - and this was in a clean, sterile American clinic. God only knew what sort of doctor that guy was.

"What did he do?"

"I dunno. Something gross."

Buffy felt at her stomach - still painful. Her baby was dead. She'd known that when she started bleeding, but that hadn't stopped the other woman from beating on her. Buffy had passed out long before the blows stopped.

"Why did you get me a doctor? A bit pointless, after all that..."

"Gotta take you in alive," was the answer.

"Take me? Where?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

Well, yes, actually, Buffy thought. "Why do you want me and my daughter?"

"Got my orders."

"From who?"

"Shut up, or I'll hit you again."

Buffy wasn't sure she could take any more; and what was to say that if she passed out, they'd bother to send for the doctor again? They could hurt Alice while Buffy was unconscious. No, no more heroics for her. She was feeling fragile enough as it was. Her whole body hurt; her bones were brusied; she wouldn't be surprised if a rib or two was broken. She'd been bleeding all over - that was why she'd been put in these new clothes. Her old jeans and sweater must have been soaked through and dirty. Dangerous for someone in her - hah! - her condition.

She touched her lip, which was crusted with dried blood. "We're on a ship."

"Woah, you're smart."

"Where are we going?"

Nothing.

"How long 'til we get there?"

Nothing.

"Who wants me?"

Nothing.

"Do you even know?"

"Yes, I know," the other woman snapped. "Now quit asking questions."

Buffy hauled herself up to sit with her back against the rusty wall. "What happened to Spike?"

This caught her attention. Her brows came down and her eyes flickered in Buffy's direction.

"Who?"

"Spike. My husband." Bufy winced to herself, then added, "The one you shot."

"He's dead."

For a second Buffy just stared at her. "What?"

"You saw me shoot him. Right in the chest. He's dead."

Buffy saw her husband, her lover, her best friend, the most amazing man she'd ever met, tumbling backwards down that dark slope, blood exploding from his chest.

He was dead. Her Spike was dead.

Chapter Five

It seemed to be forever before they'd let him out. Spike hated hospitals at the best of times, but right now all he wanted to do was go home and curl up on Buffy's bed and think about her. He couldn't even look at Alice's room: her bed was neat and small, and it was bereft of her favourite toy, the little scruffy dog she carried everywhere. It had been salvaged from Spike's car: charred and dirty, unsuitable for a child but enough for Spike to hold and wait with for Alice to come home and claim it.

The police had come up with nothing - apart from his car, wrecked beyond belief, thirty miles away in a landfill. He'd described the woman who shot him and they'd run a lot of names by him, but none of them meant anything. It was only when he said she had a barbed wire tattoo on her right arm - she one she'd raised to shoot him - that they suddenly came up with a suspect.

"Faith Andersen." The cop showed him a photo, and it was definitely her. "Yeah, she's wanted for a lot of things. Murder, assault-"

"Kidnapping?"

"Not until now."

"Who's she working for?"

"No one we know of. Live wire. She's got a juvie record but of course we're not allowed to see that."

Spike rested back on the sofa. The house seemed very empty without Buffy. "Why would she take Buffy and Alice?"

The cop shrugged. "We're working on it."

But if Faith was a murderer, then she could have just killed Buffy and Alice. There was nothing at all to let him think they were still alive.

Except that he was still alive.

He'd told her countless times, and desperately meant it: he couldn't live without her. Without her near, he couldn't draw breath. The only reason he'd managed to get himself home and get out of bed in the mornings was Will. Maybe that was the only reason he was still around. He loved his kids as fiercely as he loved his wife.

But he still felt empty without her.

Xander and Anya had taken care of Will while Spike was still hospitalised, and Willow had gone to his school to explain that his mother was away and his father ill. Spike wouldn't let her tell them the truth. He figured he should be the one to do that.

He'd been to see Will's teacher this morning, sat down in her office and explained that Will's mother and sister were missing. Will was coping well - he figured they were on a kind of vacation and they'd be back soon - and he thought it was cool beyond belief that his dad had got shot.

Miss Calendar had been less enthusiastic. "A little boy like Will, he relies on his mother. He needs her around."

"I need her around too," Spike said. "There's bugger all I can do about it right now."

He stormed out and got in Buffy's car, which he hated because it was crap and because it reminded him of her. Thank God it was an automatic, so he didn't have to use both hands. His right arm was in a tight sling to immobilise his shoulder while it healed.

He was really getting sick of being shot at.

It was made all the worse by the fact that it hadn't happened for a while. Well - he hadn't been hit, put it that way. When he was off 'obtaining' art for Buffy, people frequently shot at him. But the last time he'd been seriously hurt was when Glory had tried to kill him and Will. His son had only been a baby then, and both Spike and Buffy had nearly died saving him.

And then before that, not long after he'd met Buffy, that whole entanglement with the Angelus group. Oh, they'd shot at him, beaten him, tied him in a cellar and starved him, burnt him - although that was slightly Buffy's fault, too.

Spike reflected that he only seemed to get seriously hurt when Buffy or one of the kids was involved. He never risked himself otherwise.

But it was better a world without him than a world without them.

He got home and kicked his way out of the car, slamming the door shut. He hated this big ugly van. Why'd she need something so big? She was tiny, and the kids were hardly big. She needed something smaller - she'd never been good at parking anyway. Something safe and strong, something reliable so she didn't get caught breaking down at the side of the road...

He was startled out of his mental car catalogue by the person sitting on the porch steps. Riley stood up - always a few inches taller, he towered over Spike from the porch.

Spike ignored him and rummaged in his coat pocket for his keys.

"Aren;t you going to say hello?"

"What the bloody hell are you doing here?"

Riley supposed that was the best he'd get.

"I came to see Buffy."

Spike unlocked the door and strode in. "She's not here."

"Well, I can see-"

Spike slammed the door. Riley opened it again.

"Get out of my house," Spike said.

"I just want to see Buffy."

"I told you, she's not here."

"Well, when will she be back?"

Spike's fingers curled into a fist and his eyes closed for a second. "I don't know," he said in despair.

"Where is she?"

Spike turned away and went through into the kitchen. "Don't know that either."

"Don't know much about your wife, do you?"

"I know she got kidnapped a week ago," Spike snapped, taking down a bottle of bourbon from a high cupboard and sloshing some into a glass. "That's more'n you know."

Riley was silent for a second. "Kidnapped?"

"Yeah. Her and Alice."

"Her daughter?"

"Our daughter," Spike said, glaring at him, going through into the living room and throwing himself at the sofa.

Riley followed, and leaned in the doorway. "So you actually got her to marry you."

Spike narrowed her eyes. "Was there something you wanted, or did you just come here to annoy me? 'Cos I gotta tell you, I'm really not in the mood to-"

"How'd you do it?"

"Do what?" Spike gave up on the glass and drank straight from the bourbon bottle.

"Get her to marry you. You tell her you love her?"

"I tell her every day," Spike said, and winced, because lately she hadn't been here to hear him.

"And you know what, I think she actually believes you."

"Damn right she does, Captain Cardboard, because it's actually true. I love my wife, I love my kids, and I don't like you. And if you don't have anything useful to say, I'd advise you to leave because-"

"What? You're gonna throw me out?" Riley loomed over him. "With one arm? What happened to you? Bar fight?"

At that Spike moved, and even with only one arm for balance he still flowed to his feet like a cat, in an instant, graceful and menacing.

"I got shot," he said. "By the people who took my wife and my daughter," he emphasised the words just to piss Riley off a bit more, "and that's the only reason I didn't go after them. They left me bleeding and unconscious. If the bullet had been an inch lower it'd have killed me."

"What a shame," Riley said. "Did it occur to you maybe Buffy left you unconscious and bleeding on purpose? Maybe she wasn't kidnapped, Spike. Maybe she ran away."

Spike's free hand curled into a fist, but he managed to restrain himself.

"They knocked her out too," he said. "They took her. Even got a name as to who did it."

"I see you're champing at the bit to go and find her."

At that Spike's eyes narrowed again. "Find who?"

"Buffy. Your beloved wife, remember?"

Spike relaxed, and stepped away. "Listen, mate," he said suddenly. "You still an army yes-man?"

"NSA," Riley said tightly, "not army."

"Still got orders to follow and a pretty gun to shoot. You want to help Buffy? Think you can tear her away from this slave pit I've obviously been chaining her to," he gestured around the pretty, comfortable house, decorated with the kids' toys and pictures of the four of them laughing together. "Maybe you can do something for me. For her."

Riley looked around the room for a second. "I'm listening."

"Coppers give me a name to hate. See, the women who shot me-"

"It was a woman?" Riley was obviously amused.

"Yeah, a woman, with her .45 aimed at me. I got a good look at her face. Pretty girl, very distinctive. Got a lot of tattoos to help me remember her by."

"Lot of women have tattoos."

"Yeah, but not all of them have nice juicy police records. You ever hear of a Faith Andersen?"

Riley shook his head minutely.

"Well, hear of her. As I'm so obviously of no sodding use to Buffy, you can help me out." He glanced at the clock. "And now I'm gonna go any pick my son up. Our son." He gestured to a big picture of Will. "Looks like me, don't you think?"

With Riley sufficiently pissed off, Spike kicked him out and went and sat in Buffy's car. He was early to pick Will up, but then in this car it would probably take him hours to get there. Maybe he should go out and buy Buffy a new car. A present for her when she got back.

But no, she'd be pissed off with him if he bought her a car without consulting her first. He'd wait until she got back. Then they'd pick one out together.

Because she sure as hell was coming back.

A week passed, though Buffy was hardly aware of it. She spent most of her time in that little metal room with Alice chained just out of reach, and Faith sitting there on her table, fondling her rifle in a phallic way. She'd learned Faith's name by accident - a dark-eyed man had come to the door and beckoned to her through the small glass window. Faith had grinned and stepped out, taking her gun with her, and as soon as the door was shut Buffy saw her dark head against it, moving rhythmically as the dark-eyed sailor pounded into her. Buffy closed her eyes, grateful Alice was asleep and didn't have to listen as Faith loudly - probably on purpose - screamed in ecstasy.

And the man cried out, "Dios - Faith!"

Buffy wasn't good on Spanish, but she knew Faith was an English word. Or a name. She addressed the other woman by it twice before she noticed, and wasn't corrected.

She was always hungry. Food occasionally came - bits of bread or greasy meat, smelling foul to Buffy, but divine at the same time because she was so starved. There was never enough for even one meal though, and Faith watched with interest as Buffy gave the lion's share to Alice.

The little girl complained constantly about the chains that hurt her wrists - after the first day, Faith had had a set resoldered to fit Alice's small limbs, and they chafed all the time. Her skin, like Buffy's, was raw; but unlike Buffy, she wasn't carrying bruises inside and out.

Buffy had told Alice her father was dead, stretching out her hands to comfort her daughter while Faith watched boredly. Alice hadn't really believed her at first, so Faith had chipped in that she shot him point blank in the chest and no man could survive that.

"Data could," Alice referred to her Trekkie hero.

"He's an android, sweetie, and I'm not sure if he could anyway," Buffy said.

"My daddy's really strong," Alice said, her lip quivering. Her eyes were so big and blue and trusting Buffy nearly cried.

"I know, sweetheart, but some things can bring down the strongest man. He was trying to protect you, love. You and me. He always said we were the most important things to him."

"What about Will?" Alice said.

"Well, yes, Will was important to him too." God, already she was using the past tense. This was horrible.

"Where is Will?" Alice looked around as if expecting to see him hiding under the table.

"I... I don't know," Buffy said. "I guess Uncle Xander and Auntie Anya are looking after him. Or Willow and Tara." It was too kitsch to call both the girls 'auntie', so she'd never bothered. Spike did sometimes, to piss them off, but Buffy always-

She closed her eyes. She was determined not to cry in front of Faith.

"Who's Will?" Faith asked, and Buffy opened her eyes.

"My son." It still gave her pride to say that - an old-fashioned pride that she'd created such a strong, good-looking, healthy boy. His father's heir, although that, of course, was still a bone of contention.

"Lord Stanchester has an heir? Well - I guess your kid's the viscount now. Or is it the earl - I don't know how these English things work."

"He'll be Will Dashwood," Buffy said. "Spike renounced the title. Our nephew inherited."

"Nephew?"

"Yes. Spike had a sister, Darla. Her son Connor was the next in line after Spike gave up the title. He's two now. The youngest earl in the Stanchester line."

"Fascinating," Faith drawled.

"Mommy, why did Daddy re - re-"

"Renounce? He gave it up because he didn't believe in it. There's a lot of responsibility to being an earl, love, and your daddy never was good with responsibility."

"That, and the fact that the old earl disinherited him," Faith said idly.

"He did not," Buffy said hotly. "He threatened to, but he had no one else to pass the title to. He had to give it to Spike or it would have died out."

"Grandpa was a mean old man," Alice said, even though she'd never met him.

"Well, yes, he was," Buffy said, because there was no denying it. Ethan Rayne Dashwood had been a nasty piece of work. Part of the reason Spike had renounced his title was that he found out his father had been so desperate to secure an heir of good blood that he'd offered Buffy a substantial amount of money to walk away and never claim paternity from Spike.

Buffy had, of course, ignored him and married Spike anyway, but it had been a source of contention between them. She'd never really seen him as the Viscount of Spellingdon, and she definitely couldn't think of herself as a viscountess - and then, after Ethan died, they'd been the Earl and Countess of Stanchester, which was both hilarious and depressing, all at the same time. Poor Will, for the first few years of his life, until Connor was born, had been styled The Honourable William Dashwood, and then he'd inherited the viscount's title, at the age of eighteen months. Little Alice had been born a Lady - but when Spike gave the Earldom up, all their titles had vanished, and Buffy was glad. It had been bloody stupid filling out forms and having to cross out Miss/Ms/Mrs and write in 'Lady'.

She'd never suited being a lady, anyway.

And now, huddled in dirty clothes in a dirty metal room, chained to a wall while a fierce woman held a gun over her, Buffy had never felt further from her erstwhile title.

"Is that why we were taken?" she asked Faith. "Because of the title?"

"I don't give a fuck about the title, B. You were taken for your hubby's stash."

"His stash?" Buffy didn't understand. "Of what?"

"I don't know. Money, art, whatever. Drugs for all I know. Someone wants you 'cos you'll know where it is."

"But he doesn't have a stash of anything," Buffy said, confused. Spike had a bank account, like normal people. Actually, he had several, for tax purposes, and a few of them were offshore and therefore ever so slightly illegal, but he certainly didn't have a big stash of money and art and precious things locked away somewhere, like a dragon's hoard.

"Nice try, B. He's gonna beat it out of you. Or maybe he'll let me."

"Who's 'he'?"

"You'll find out."

At some point, Faith stopped kicking the crap out of Buffy - and stopped threatening Alice - and settled down to threats instead. She spent pretty much all day in that little room, just watching her two captives. Buffy guessed there must be a crew somewhere on the ship, but apart from the man who came to bring food - a plate of something steaming for Faith and some scraps for Buffy and Alice - and shag Faith up against the metal door, she saw no one.

Days blurred together - very little light came in through the little porthole, and there was usually an electric light on, a bald bulb swinging from the ceiling. At night though, Faith left for her own bed - or her sailor's - and Buffy and Alice were left together. Alice slept most of the time, for which Buffy was grateful. Lack of food and stimulation sent her daughter into some sort of stupor, which probably wasn't good for her, but at least she was missing the beatings and threats inflicted on her mother.

So far she'd managed to protect Alice by taking whatever punishment Faith felt like dealing out. But that could easily change.

Buffy was aware how close to death she'd come on that first day. Women throughout history had died horribly in childbirth, or after a miscarriage, simply because they'd been unaware of how invasive germs really were, and of how dreadfully important cleanliness was. It made Buffy shudder to think of that doctor touching her in this filthy room. Even if he'd been clean, and the table had been clean, there was so much dirt around, her clothes must have been filthy. Her skin and hair were crawling now - it had been a week since she'd showered, and the memory of the water beating down on her body while Spike pleasured her made her cry in the night.

He was gone. She'd seen that gun pressed against his chest, heard the dreadful thump of the bullet tearing through him. Seen him fall backwards through the wood. He was gone, her husband, her lover, her friend. Buffy couldn't remember ever loving or relying on someone like she did on Spike. She trusted him completely.

When she'd been pregnant she'd been more aware of how other women looked at him. He was the same as always - strikingly handsome, moving with confident grace, an air of predatory menace and sexual superiority floating around him. And there had been Buffy, tired and aching and bloated, feeling horribly ugly, knowing that other women looked on Spike with pity and longing. Hey, stud, come and try me out instead of that fat pregnant bag.

But he'd never even glanced their way. His every thought had been for her: he comfort, her happiness, her love. He'd done everything for her. He'd fought and stolen and killed to keep her safe - her and the kids, and Dawn too. He knew what was important to her, and it was important to him too.

One morning Faith came in and Buffy felt so depressed she didn't even look up. Faith called to her with increasing sharpness, and eventually came over and kicked Buffy's back where she lay facing the wall.

"Don't ignore me, I know you're awake."

"Leave me alone."

"You know, I don't feel like it."

Buffy said nothing.

"Well, if you're not going to entertain me, maybe the kid can," Faith said, and that got Buffy's attention. She rolled over to see Faith aiming the gun at Alice, who was still asleep, and said quickly, "Okay. What do you want?"

Faith withdrew the gun and went to her table. Her heels clanged on the metal floor.

"What were you crying about?"

"What do you think?"

"If it's your dead baby I'll be so disappointed. Thought you had more backbone, B."

Buffy hauled herself into a sitting position, resting her aching back against the wall.

"Not my dead baby," she said, her heart twisting at the thought of it, "my dead husband."

"Well, he was a major hottie, I'll give you that. What was he like in the sack?"

Buffy opened her mouth to tell Faith that there was more to Spike than a hot guy who was good in bed - but then she was assaulted with the memory of them crashing to the floor while the table collapsed around them, his body sliding against hers, his skin hot and slick with sweat, his fingers digging into her flesh, making her writhe and gasp with pleasure - and she caught her breath, flinching.

"That good, huh?" Faith whistled. "Wow. Shame he's dead then."

Buffy glared at her coldly.

"How long you two been together?" Faith asked, crossing her legs on the table.

"Six years."

"You know he was titled before you married him?"

"Yes, but not before I..." it sounded hokey to say it. Not before she'd fallen in love with him.

"What was your dress like?" Faith asked suddenly.

"What?"

"Your wedding dress. What was it like?"

Buffy blinked. "Uh, which one?"

"How many times you been married?"

"Well, twice, actually. We... after Will was born we sort of broke up for a while. We got divorced and started again. So my first gown was the big maternity thing, and my second one was this little white summer dress. It had daisies on it, and on the veil, too." Buffy thought of the photo over the mantel - her and Spike laughing together at something Xander had just said, arms around each other, bright and happy with love. She smiled a little as she remembered.

"Maybe I should call you Liz Taylor," Faith quipped, bringing Buffy back to the miserable present. "So he knocked you up before he married you? Shotgun, huh?"

"No," Buffy said, "I... he didn't know I was pregnant. We were sort of broken up then, too."

Faith shook her head incredulously. "You broke up twice?"

"Yep."

"Yeah, I can see how that'd make him the love of your life."

"We had some problems," Buffy glared at her. "We fixed them. We were - it was all fine until you-" her fists clenched; she was not going to cry.

"Yeah, sorry, B. Got my orders, you know."

"Your orders included killing my husband and my baby?"

She shrugged. "Call that artistic licence."

"It's a bit of a stretch to say you're sorry then, isn't it?"

Faith's eyes dropped, and she said nothing.