Author's Notes: Special thanks- to my beta suzy, you are the best, and kumi, for without her, you would not be able to read this. Love you gals.

Summary: Druscilla followed Angel into hell. Buffy did leave, but never went back to Sunnydale, due to an unforeseen circumstance of that day. Now known as Anne, she lives in a small town, outside of Tombstone, Arizona working as a stripper. Spike finds her. What secrets does she have to tell, and can they get beyond the pain of the past to start a future together?.

Spoilers: Through the end of Season 2

Rating: NC-17

Disclaimer: If I owned any of it, Buffy and Spike would be together, minus chip AND soul. All characters belong to Joss, except Mark, he is a creation of my own mind, and I intend to keep him! So there.

Distribution: Here and at Libidinous Desires, anywhere else, email me first, jypzrose@aol.com

Arizona

Jypzrose or Lisa

Prologue

"Mom."

"Buffy!" Joyce cried. Her mother's voice held its usual amount of relief and fear. Relief that she had called, fear that this could be the last time.

"Mom." The word was said with a hint of warning.

"I'm sorry. Anne. How are you?" Joyce asked quickly. Anne couldn't help but smile.

"I'm fine. Really good, actually. How's the Hellmouth?" She asked with a nervous laugh. She vaguely wondered if their monthly phone calls would ever get better. Somehow, she doubted it.

"And Matt?" The hint of longing rang across the miles, making it seem as if her mother was right there in front of her.

"He's good. Did you get the package I sent?"

"Oh, yes. He's so beautiful. I wish I could see him." Joyce told her. Anne closed her eyes against the wave of guilt that crashed over her.

"I. . .I know mom."

"Baby, why can't you come home?" Tears flowed down Joyce's face, the ache in her heart nearly unbearable.

"You've seen the pictures mom. You know why." Anne wiped her own tears away, and twisted the metal chord of the payphone through her fingers.

"Honey, you know it doesn't matter to me. . ."

"I know it doesn't matter to YOU. Or Giles. That's not what I'm worried about." Anne interrupted, feeling the hold on her temper strain just a little tighter. "Maybe when he's older. Not now." She listened as her mother sighed, the older woman's disappointment thick.

"Whatever you feel is best, honey." she conceded, finally.

"Yeah." What was best, she echoed in her head. For not the first time, she found herself wondering just what that was. "Look, mom. I gotta go. Give Giles my love."

"Of course. Do you want me to say anything to Willow, or Xander?"

"Tell Will I said Hi."

"Anne, you're going to have to forgive him someday."

"Who says?" came the reply, her voice cold. She heard Joyce sigh again, but her mother let it drop.

"Alright. I love you."

"I love you, too." She whispered, quickly hanging up the phone. Resting her forehead against the receiver, she took a moment to collect herself before leaving the booth and getting into her car. With a squeal of rubber, she pulled into the light afternoon traffic, and headed towards home.

~*~*~

"Uhn." Xander grunted as he hit the side of the crypt. He watched as the leather clad blond stalked over to him.

"You know, whelp. This would be a lot easier if you would just tell me where the bint is." Spike snarled, yellow eyes flashing.

"It would also go easier if you would just listen when we tell you that WE DON'T KNOW WHERE SHE IS! We've been telling you that for the last four years." Willow huffed from her spot by a tombstone. Spike glowered over at her, wondering briefly when exactly he had stopped scaring them.

"Do you think," Xander started, pushing himself to his feet. "That since this seems to be an annual thing, that maybe we could. . .I dunno, schedule it or something? It's very inconvenient to have to carry bandages around ALL the time." He finished, glaring at the vampire and wiping blood from his lip. "And, anyway. You were the last one to see her before she left. How the hell do we know that you didn't kill her?"

"Oh, and this is just some big ruse to cover my tracks?" Spike asked sarcastically, then pulled out a cigarette. He knew things were bad when beating on the loud mouth wasn't fun anymore. "I've killed two Slayers, boy. Why would I lie about the third. And WHY would I keep coming back to this pit of Hell?"

"Nostalgia?" Willow offered, crossing her arms over her chest. Spike leveled a look at her that had sent many a mortal skittering away screaming. The witch merely arched a brow. With a sigh, he shifted back into his human face, then took a drag from his cigarette.

"You're trying to tell me, that in the past five years, she hasn't come back? ONCE?" He growled.

"No, she hasn't." The look on the boy's face was so full of guilt and remorse, Spike knew that there was something more behind this than the Slayer fleeing the place that had caused her grief.

"Fine." He spat, flicking his cigarette away. He wasn't going to get anywhere here. Turning away, he stalked into the night, his duster flowing behind him. "Goodbye, kiddies." He called over his shoulder as he disappeared.

"Why didn't we stake him?" Xander asked, rolling his arms to assess the damage. Spike must've been slipping in his old age, since he only felt a slight twinge in his shoulder.

"Because Joyce told us not to." Willow reminded him, falling into step with him when he turned to start home. Xander snorted, wondering once more about the mental stability of the older Summers. "Do you think we did the right thing? Not telling him to go see Joyce, I mean. She did want to see him." Uncertainty clouded her green eyes, as she scanned the darkened grave yard, looking for him. She didn't like to be deceitful, and now she was wondering if Xander had been wrong to talk her out of telling Spike.

Xander's gaze was hard and cold when it met hers, causing her to shiver.

"Trust me, Will. Nothing good can come from a conversation with Spike." With that, he turned away, leaving Willow to scramble to catch up.

"Hi, Anne."

"Hey, Sue. How's the natives?" Anne asked, pulling the scrunchy out of her long, brown hair.

"Restless." Replied the blonde, with a smirk. Anne giggled in response, kicking out of her sneakers.

"Any good tippers?" She rolled her violet eyes, and straightened the white nurse's cap in her hair. Satisfied, she pulled out her lipstick, then with practiced strokes, expertly refreshed the color on her full lips. "That good, huh? Great. Don't they know my kid needs new shoes?" Anne huffed, dropping her sweat pants to the floor, then followed them quickly with her t-shirt. Feeling no embarrassment at standing in a room full of people in just a thong, she reached over and grabbed the lotion off the make up table.

"Don't worry, darlin'. I'm sure your sweet, little ass will pull in enough to buy out Payless. Well, how do I look?" Sue did a tight spin, then struck a pose, awaiting Anne's judgment. The brunette paused in the ritual of slathering her skin with lotion to appraise. Sue's lush body was draped in a short, tight, low cut nurse's uniform, a stethoscope tucked seductively into her surgically enhanced cleavage. White stockings encased the length of her long legs, the tops attached to the garters that peeked out from under the skirt. Her height was enhanced by the four inch platform pumps that adorned her feet. The white of the outfit glowed against her coffee colored skin. The blond wig hung in ringlets around her shoulders.

"Edible." Anne told her. Sue's creamy laugh drifted through the dressing room, drawing glances from the other girls.

"And don't you know it. One bite of Nurse Sugar, and you are guaranteed to get cavities." With a snap and a wink, Sue turned and left. Anne watched the black woman walk out of the room, a smile on her face. With a shake of her head, and a laugh, she returned to her nightly, pre-work ritual.

~*~*~

"Gentleman, please welcome, Silver." Cringing inwardly at her stage name, Anne burst through the shimmering curtain. The lights played over her golden limbs as she turned herself over to the music, her burgundy thong and bra set complementing her skin perfectly. The interior of the bar was smoky with the slight over smell of beer and watered down liquor. Multi-colored lights danced from the spotlights above her, and from the lighted stage. The area around her was filled with men varying in size, color and age, most just getting off work. The dance surface was in the shape of a T, with poles at each of the points. A long bar lined the wall across from her, and several round tables filled the space in between. Off to the left of her were the halls that led to the lap dance room, called the Dream Room, and the restrooms. Also off that hall was the room that Anne had never seen the inside of, and planned never to. That was the Paradise Room, where some of the other girls conducted a different sort of business. It wasn't actually a room, more like a series of cubicles that allowed the dancers and their clients a bit of privacy the Dream Room didn't allow.

Anne dropped to her knees and slowly rolled her hips to the music, holding her top to her breasts in a teasing manner. The one thing that she liked about stripping, besides the money, was that as long as the clothes came off, most men didn't care if you were a prima ballerina or as stiff as a stick. It was all about look, attitude, and how much they liked your tits.

She was about halfway through her first set when she felt it. That familiar, distinct tingly feeling in the pit of her stomach. Ignoring it, she grabbed the bar, gyrating her hips against it, and twisting her fingers over her nipples, a wide smile on her face. Bills littered the floor at her feet, as well as a few scraps of paper with the inevitable phone numbers.

As the final notes of her song faded, Anne leaned down to pick up her money, hazel eyes scanning the darkness around her. She didn't look for trouble, but if trouble found her, she took care of it. Most vampires that frequented the bar didn't come here to feed. But, every once and awhile, the odd one would come looking for the former Slayer, and would meet a quick demise for their trouble.

With another smile, and quick shake of her breasts at the audience, Anne disappeared into the back.

Twenty minutes later, she reentered the bar, pulling at the hem of her midnight, blue tube dress. Anne worked her way through the tables to the bar, smiling at the people she knew. This was the part of her job that she hated. Lap dances. But, they brought in good money, and as long as they kept their hands on the arms of the chair, she would deal with them. She would deal with anything to make sure her kid was taken care of.

Sliding up next to a young business looking type, she put on her best smile and started to flirt shamelessly. The tingling hadn't eased, but as long as he didn't bother her, the clientele, or the other girls, she wouldn't dust him. Moving with the yuppie toward the Dream Room, she hazarded one more glance around the room. As they disappeared into the dark hall, her observer stepped out of his place in the shadows. The strobe lights from the stage glinted brightly off his white hair, the orange glow of his cigarette casting an eery glow across his chiseled features. He stared after them a minute, considering going after them and ripping the bastard's head off for even thinking about touching her. Deciding he didn't care for that train of thought, he dropped the cigarette to the floor and crushed it under his boot. He then turned and left the club, the shock at seeing her, stripping no less, still tripping through him. He'd have to go to his hotel room and think, decide what to do. He'd been looking for her for four years, and he had certainly not expected to find her here, in this dive, taking her clothes off for money. A mental image of her straddling that wanker, her hips gyrating seductively against him flashed into his head. The anger the picture induced surprised him, and he had to force himself to keep walking towards his car. He'd take a day or two to think, then he would come back and find out what exactly was going on.

It had been four and a half years since he had gotten her message at Willie's to meet her in L.A. He'd had no idea why he had gone back to Sunny Hell, not wanting to admit that it had been his want to see her that had fueled it. But, halfway to Los Angeles, he had finally come to terms with it, knowing that once he found her, his unlife would change forever. Again. He hadn't found her there, however, and he realized just how old her message must have been. Who knew where she was now, where she had hidden herself. He had started to look for her then, always migrating back to Sunnydale in hopes that she had come back.

He had left there, just a month before, and started his search all over again. He had stopped at a demon bar in Tuscon, planning on drinking himself into a coma before going back to his hotel. He had just hit the halfway mark on his first bottle of Jack, when he overheard a group of vampires talking about a club, where vampires were allowed to go, as long as they didn't snack on the patrons. It never would have caught his attention if the one talking hadn't mentioned that a girl with the strength of a Slayer worked there. Interrupting them, he demanded to know just where this place was, then, drink forgotten, hopped into his car. His mind couldn't wrap around the possibility that it was her. He'd driven straight there, paid the cover and walked in. Then stopped dead as he took in the Goddess on the stage.

It was her, alright. In all her golden glory. Everything was just as he remembered, save the color and the length of her hair. He knew she had felt him, too. Her eyes had scanned the bar in the seconds after he had walked in, even though her movements never faltered. She was just as beautiful as he remembered, and her face held none of the grief and strain that had been there when they had parted ways. She actually seemed. . .happy.

Sliding into his car, he started the powerful engine and pulled out of the parking lot. He cursed inwardly as memories and grief he had thought long buried assailed him. He tried to remember the time when his every thought in regards to her had been about her death. That time seemed so long ago, so far removed from the vampire he was now. He had to think, then he would come back. They had a lot of catching up to do.

~*~*~

Anne stifled a yawn as she twisted the key in the lock, pushing the door open when it clicked. Pain shot up her legs, causing her to groan. To think, she used to slay vampires in heels with no problems, but dancing for hours in them caused her muscles to seize up. Shaking her head at the irony, she glanced down at the dark head against the blue fabric of her couch. She dropped her purse and gym bag on the floor, then closed the door before leaning down to blow on the sleeping figure's ear. He hadn't moved since she walked in, and the couch was situated right next to the door. Swallowing a chuckle when one long fingered hand came up to swat at his ear, she blew again, this time adding a well sculpted nail into the mix. He came awake with a jerk, his hand slapping soundly against the side of his head.

"Dammit!" he muttered, dark brown eyes glaring at the giggling woman behind him.

"Hi, Mark. Sleep well?" She asked, flopping down next to him on the overstuffed cushions and propping her feet up on the oak coffee table.

"I was, until something rude and annoying woke me up." he growled, running a hand through his long, black tresses.

"Aw, poor baby." she crooned, punching him lightly in the arm. It still amazed him that one of her 'light' punches could cause pain to sing up his limb. He often joked that she should be the bouncer, and he the dancer. "Was he good?"

"As gold." he told her, reaching for his cigarettes. She had given up long ago, trying to make him quit. He had told her that if he was going to die, he was going to die happy, with a cigarette between his lips, a guitar strapped to his body, and a beer in his hand. His job as a bouncer at the club paid the bills, but music held his heart. Blowing a plume of smoke into the air, he turned to look at her.

"How was the meat factory?" One, slender brown eyebrow shot up, but she let the comment pass.

"It was alright. All the big tippers decided to stay home and actually spend time with their wives, apparently. But, I made three hundred bucks. So, not a bad night." She watched the sleek line of his jaw tense, and sighed. *Here it comes* she thought.

"Lap dances?"

"They bring in the most money. And at least I'm not joining some of the rest of the girls in their side business." This had long been a bone of contention between them, since she had traded her apron for a g-string. He didn't like the thought of her rubbing herself against the overly hormonal male populace.

"It's close enough." Mark snapped, flicking his ash into the ashtray.

He had been her friend since the day she had stumbled into the Glamour Factory, very pregnant, underage, and in desperate need of a job. He had helped her convince the owner, a forty something bald man by the name of Ralph, to let her work in the kitchen until she turned eighteen. Ralph then let her waitress until the baby was born, dropping subtle hints about the money she could make dancing. Her slayer strength had come in handy, and she been the darling of the customers. None of the men seemed to care that she was pregnant, but they all treated her with respect, and some nights she would find herself going home with more money than the dancers. Of course, that had changed once she had actually given birth. Men.

Even with all the help that Mark had offered her, and mostly because she knew he liked her, she kept him at arm's length. Scared, grief-stricken and alone with a baby on the way, she had almost succumbed to the vampire that had attacked her after work one night. Her surprise was evident when she found herself staring at Mark through the cloud of dust, a pool cue turned stake in his hand.

That night, she had told him everything, not knowing until she was finished how much she had needed a friend. He had held her through her tale of sending her vampire lover to Hell, and how she came to be pregnant. When she was done, he had asked her quietly, if the father knew. She answered, just as quietly, no. But it wasn't that she didn't want him to know, she just hadn't seen him again. That had caused her an even greater sadness that she didn't have the strength, or the will, to analyze.

"You working tomorrow?" she asked, pulling herself out of her memories. He crushed out his Marlboro light and shook his head.

"Yep. You?" She nodded with a grimace. Thing about being the Slayer, it gives you absolutely no job skills to fall back on. Running his hand through his hair again, he looked sleepily around the room for his jacket. Finding it thrown across the dark blue recliner, he stood, stretching his tall frame. Anne watched with appreciation of the rippling muscles, wishing again that she could feel more for him than friendship. She stood and walked with him to the door, hugging him fiercely before saying goodnight. Tonight had been his night off, and he had offered to watch Matt for her, so she wouldn't have to pay a babysitter. She had been happy to accept. Matt adored Mark, and vice versa.

Locking the door behind him, she turned and started straightening up the living room. A swell of pride formed in her as she did this, her mind calculating how many payments she had left before it was finally hers. The day she had seen it, she knew she had to have it. It was a single story, bungalow, with a wide front porch complete with swing. A large yard was surrounded by a wood rial fence. Visions of her and her child spending lazy evenings swinging on the porch swing, or planting flowers in the patches at the front of the house filled her head. She had written down the number and called the realtor immediately to set up an appointment to see the inside.

Mark had gone with her to meet the man, and he had lost some of the sparkle in his eye when he saw the wanna be rock star, and what he assumed was his girlfriend holding a baby. He had led them inside, showing them the large living room with it's bay window, the two decent sized bedrooms, the small but cheerful eat-in kitchen, and the bathroom. All the while he kept making reference as to 'why' this wasn't the house for them. Anne had walked through the rooms, imagining how her life would be there, and shot down everything the man said. Mark held onto his temper, as Anne, with the determination of a woman borne to be the Slayer, talked him into rushing the sale. She had taken the money she had left from what had been given to her before leaving Sunnydale, and had walked away the proud owner of her house. Mark had had to co-sign, since she was barely eighteen, and hadn't been at her job for a year yet. But it was hers, and she had proceeded to build a life, a life she never expected to have. By rights, she should have died, her calling guaranteed it. One afternoon in an abandoned mansion changed that forever.

Turning off the lights in the living room, Anne walked down the short hall to her son's room, and went in. Placing the toys she had gathered from the front, she placed them in the large plastic tub that served as his toy box. She then moved across the bare hardwood floor to gaze down at her miracle. His room was done completely in Scooby Doo, an irony not lost on her. From the border around his walls, to the sheets on his bed. A Scooby Doo nightlight was plugged into the wall, and that as well as the light from the hall, gave her enough illumination to see him by.

She reached out and gently brushed a dark brown curl away from his face. She frowned a little, as she thought about her last conversation with her mother. Anne knew she wasn't being fair, to her or Giles. Or Willow. She knew that she could have gone back, told them that the baby's father was a man that she had met while she was away. She would have been accepted back with open arms by all of them. But, she did have Matt, and he was all that mattered. She knew that one look at the blue eyes that were currently hiding behind his eyelids, and one glimpse of the defined cheek bones under the baby fat, and the others would know just who his father was. She wouldn't allow them, him, and the prejudices that simmered deep to try to make her ashamed, or sully the beautiful memory she held close to her heart. And she would kill the first person who made her son feel like a freak for having the Slayer and a soulless vampire for parents.

Pulling the edge of his Scooby Doo blanket up to his chin, Anne leaned down and pressed a kiss to his temple. She smiled when she caught the distinct whiff of chocolate and grape Kool-aid. Making a mental note to discuss with Mark the wrongness of brownies and Kool-aid before bed, as well as the benefits of a toothbrush, she turned and left the room, pulling the door closed behind her. She walked across the hall to her room, running her hands through her hair.

If her son's room was Scooby Doo heaven, Anne's room was her own private sanctuary. A large, wrought iron bed dominated the room. She had found it at a yard sale, and had enlisted a very unimpressed Mark into helping her get it home. The damn thing was heavy, but it was beautiful, and the price had been perfect, so, she had to have it. A handmade quilt in the colors of the sunset was draped across it, and pillows were piled high at the head. Mr Gordo was propped casually against them. The walls were painted an adobe color, and pictures of sunsets and shores lined the walls. A large oak dresser sat opposite the bed, with a haphazard array of cosmetics and beauty items littering the top. Two framed pictures sat on the nightstand next to her bed. One was of her and her mother, right before she got called. The second was of her, Willow and Giles in the library about a month before that horrible, wonderful day.

Grabbing a brush off her dresser, she began to pull it through her hair, the memory of the vampire she'd sensed returning to her. When she had left the Dream Room, the vamp had been gone. Since none of the girls or the customers had been hurt or disappeared, she had just shrugged it off and went in search of her next customer.

But now, as he pulled her nightgown over her head, she could admit what had been bothering her. The 'feel' of the vampire had been almost familiar, comforting in a way. Telling herself that what she was thinking was impossible, Anne crawled under the warmth of her quilt and sighed as the tension drained from her body. As she drifted into sleep, the face of the man that had haunted her for five years surfaced in her mind. It wasn't the face of an angel.

Chapter Two Slowly, and with the stealth God granted the greatest of predators, he sought out his prey. Blue eyes peered over the edge of the bed, the sleeping woman peacefully lost in her dream world. She had no idea that she was being stalked, hunted. With a war whoop that would rival any Indians, he pounced. Only to find himself plucked out the air before he landed, and mercilessly being tickled. Shrill giggles filled the air as he admitted defeat, and tried to twist away from his mother.

"Mommy, stop!" Matthew Williams cried as squirmed in her arms.

"Oh, no. The tickle monster will not be denied." Anne said with a witch-like cackle. Laughter filled the room, much like it did every morning. Finally, when he was a limp mass of breathless giggles, Anne let him up.

"How'd ya know it was me?" He asked, smiling the smile of the happily defeated. She looked at him, hazel eyes dancing. His brown, curly hair fell across his forehead, blue eyes sparkled with the sunlight coming through the open windows. He was wearing his favorite pair of faded Scooby pajamas, and freckles dusted the bridge of his nose.

"It's a mom thing." she said, reaching out to tweak his nose. He giggled again, and began to excitedly jump on the bed.

"C'n I have panny cakes?" he asked, hope filling his eyes. She tilted her head back, and contemplated the ceiling.

"I dunno." She said, dragging it out. "I distinctly remember saying NO brownies before bed." She gave him the 'fess up now' look, one brow cocked and her mouth slightly pursed as she fought a grin.

"Mooommmmyyy." Matt cried, a shadow of his mother's pout forming on his face. Her grin broke free at the pleading sound of his voice.

"Alright."

"Yippee!" he squealed, throwing himself into her arms, then scrambled off the bed.

"Wait a minute, mister. Go get dressed first. You still have school today." she reminded him, chuckling at the crestfallen look on his face. He left the room, as slowly as he could, dragging his feet the whole time. She rolled her eyes, and pushed herself out of bed, wincing at the pain shooting up her legs.

A few minutes later, she emerged form her room, dressed in a pair of shorts and a t-shirt with the word Tombstone emblazoned across it. She had never seen a ghost town before, so Mark had taken them the year before to "enlighten them to the history of the Old West."

"Come on Matt." she called as she passed his room.

"Coming." he answered, his less than enthusiastic answer making her chuckle yet again. Walking into her kitchen, she set about making pancakes. Matt came in just as she was pouring the first ones into the pan.

"Hey, sit down and drink your juice." She told him, indicating the glass on the table under the window. Not noticing the sullen look on his face, because she was looking away, she expertly flipped the pancakes. Sometimes, she still thought it was amazing that she had ever learned how to cook. There had seemed no point in Sunnydale. Her life consisted of school, slaying, and Angel. She sighed a little as the image of her first love danced in her memory. It didn't hurt to think about him anymore. In fact, it hadn't hurt in a long time. Once she had found out she was pregnant, Angel missage had taken a backseat. She had felt guilty about that for a long time. Like somehow, she was disrespecting his memory by not wallowing in sorrow. Now, all she felt when she allowed herself the indulgence of memories, was a bit of melancholy.

"Mommy." Matt's soft voice broke into her thoughts, and she turned to look at him. The scowl on his face had visions of another vampire swimming through her brain, and she marveled again at how much he looked like his father.

"What's the matter honey?" She asked, turning back to the stove.

"Why don't I have a daddy?" The clatter of the spatula made him jump, and he looked quizzically over at his mother. "Mommy, are you okay?" She was staring at him gaped mouthed, the spatula on the floor at her feet. She shook herself out of her shock, leaned down to pick up the utensil. Throwing it in the sink, she turned off the pan, and took the finished pancakes to the table, silently contemplating her answer. She sat across from him, looking into his eyes, a wave of love so strong flowing over her, she almost felt like she was drowning. Curiosity and pain clouded the blue orbs, letting her know something had spurred on this question, other than natural interest.

"Did something happen at school?" she asked him, placing two pancakes on his plate. He picked up his fork and started to push them around, his scowl deepening.

"No." came the glum response.

"Uh huh. Try again." Anne smiled at him, her eyes coaxing him to answer. He looked up at her quickly, then back down at his plate. Shoving a forkful of food into his mouth, he started to talk.

'Sam said, sat I wuf a legemate." he mumbled. Anne struggled to understand the gibberish, hoping she hadn't gotten it right.

"What did Sam say?" She asked when he had swallowed. She placed a hand on his wrist before he could shove more food in his mouth. "Try it without the word jumbler."

"Sam said that I was ilgityment. He said that means I don't have a daddy." Closing her eyes against the urge to go rip little Sammy's head off, she waited to answer.

"Of course you have a daddy, honey. All children have a daddy." She began. Giles had been wrong, demons weren't the danger. Tiny kids with big mouths were. Maybe Sam was a demon, she could take care of that, she considered, evilly.

"Then why innit he here?"

"Isn't." She corrected automatically, her mind scrambling for an answer. How the hell was she supposed to answer this? Gee honey, me and your father were only together for a day, and then he left before I found out I was pregnant. Oh, and by the way, he's a vampire. She thought she'd have a couple of years at least before she had to answer this. Plenty of time to think up something. But, he'd started preschool this year, and apparently that opened up a can of worms she wasn't prepared to deal with yet. Matt watched her as she struggled for an answer.

"Didn't he love us?" *Oh God* she moaned internally at his tiny question. Tears shimmered in the depths of his eyes, and his lip started to tremble.

"Baby, some things aren't that simple. Me and your father had something special. But, sometimes, circumstances can keep people apart. It isn't right, or fair, but it happens." Anne told him, pulling him from his chair and into her lap. He cried quietly against her chest, and Anne knew that there were some demons, she couldn't slay.

"Do you think he'll come back?" His voice was muffled against her shirt. She smiled into his hair, and placed a kiss on his head.

"Yeah, baby. I do."

~*~*~

Druscilla's eyes turned away from Spike to the statue of Acathla, a dreamy smile on her face.

"Oh, here he comes." she sighed. Spike used the opportunity to wrap his arm around her throat and start choking her. Across the room, Buffy and Angel turn towards each other, swords at the ready.

"You almost made it Buff." Angelus said with a sneer.

"It's not over yet." Buffy returned, steely determination etched on her face. Angel looked over his shoulder at the statue.

"My boy Acathla here is about to wake up. You're going to Hell."

"Save me a seat." At that , Buffy thrust her sword at him. He parried and swung around with a thrust of his own, only to be blocked by her. The sound of clashing blades rang through the room each trying for the advantage. Thrusts and parries, jumps and swings, neither quite able to catch the other off guard.

"I'm sorry baby." Spike said, as Dru started to lose consciousness in his arms. As she slumped to the floor, he hazarded a look out to the courtyard, where Angel had Buffy trapped against the wall, blade pointed at her head. "God, he's going to kill her." He muttered, before shrugging a shoulder and reaching down to gather Dru. As he leaned down, the supposedly unconscious figure of Dru swung up with the andiron. Stars burst behind Spike's eyes and he fell to the floor. He grabbed blindly at her ankle as she tried to scurry away

"Now that's everything, huh? No weapons. No friends. No hope." Angel taunted, smirking as Buffy's eyes drifted closed. "Take that all away, and what's left?" Not expecting an answer, he pulled his arm back, ready to deal the killing blow. To his amazement, the forward movement of the blade is stopped between the palms of her hands.

"Me." She shoved the blade away from her, slamming the hilt into his face causing him to stumble back. She jumped to her feet, one tiny foot slamming into his chest, pushing him back farther. In one fluid motion, she snatched her sword off the floor and the fight was on again, this time Buffy with the advantage.

Spike blinked several times, trying to clear his vision. Dru was swinging the andiron again, cracking it across his back. He managed to keep his hold on her leg, while the pain scorched through his body. A wild swing landed in her stomach, causing her to drop the metal. He yanked hard and she landed on her butt with a shriek. Kicking wildly at him, she rolled and tried to gain purchase on her knees. What she saw when she turned made her pause.

Angel was on his knees in front of Acathla, Buffy standing in front of him. Just as the Slayer was raising her sword to finish off the Master Vampire, he gasped loudly, a groan of pain spilling from his lips. She watched as his eyes glowed red, then quickly fade back to brown. Their eyes meet briefly before he collapsed, crying. She stared down at him, sword still fisted tight in her hand.

"Buffy?" Angel's soft, confused voice asked. "What's going on?" Her eyes narrowed, confusion tearing at her

Spike reared up to latch onto Dru again, his own attention drawn to the couple across the room. Something was up, he could tell by the slow lowering of the sword, the embrace. They were speaking to each other, their voices low as they clung to each other like children. Behind them, the statue rumbled, the face contorting and the eyes glowing red. The mouth of the statue opened, and the swirling vortex to Hell began to open. *Oh shit* Spike though, at the same instant Angel raised his head, confusion marring his face. Spike let go of Dru, ready to take care of Angel himself should Buffy falter. Rising shakily to his feet, he staggered forward a step, his interest in Dru forgotten for the moment. He watched as Buffy kissed Angel, then stepped away. Spike sank to his knees when he saw her raise her sword, a surprising amount of sympathy welling forward as she thrust it into her love. He would have never been able to it, he thought, as Angel's surprised, pain-filled eyes snapped open. She stepped farther away when Angel reached for her.

"Buffy." he gasped. Behind him, the vortex had grown, the energy crackling as the sword and vortex react.

"Noooo!!!!" Came the crazed scream, and in a flurry of motion, Dru threw herself at Angel, latching her arms around his neck as the vortex came into contact with Angel's blood.

"DRUSCILLA!" Spike screamed, surging forward as the vortex closed, without so much as a pop.

~*~*~

Spike shot to a sitting position, gasping huge gulps of unneeded air. Pushing his legs over the side of the bed, he thrust both hands through his hair, swallowing heavily against the grief that tore through him. Snatching his cigarettes off the nightstand, he sparked one, sucking greedily on the thin tube of nicotine. His hands were still shaking when he crushed it out, so, he lit another one.

He hadn't had that particular nightmare in almost four years. He knew that seeing Buffy again had sparked it, the reliving of that day. Usually, he only dreamt of the time afterwards, the day spent with her. But, the fact that she had seemed happy hurt him for some reason, and that trudged up the memories of his Dark Princess. The one that had betrayed him.

Shaking his head, he crushed out his second fag, and walked over to the table. Sunset was fast approaching, he could feel it in his blood. He'd have to decide what to do. He had looked for her for so long, and now, he was within reach. However, if just the brief sight of her brought back all the pain, what would an extended conversation do? He didn't want to go through all that again, and he found himself not wanting to put her through it either.

Grabbing the bag off the table, he pulled out the bottle of whiskey he had bought the night before. As he ripped the seal on the bottle and took a long swallow, the image of her from the night before whipped through is head. Her tiny, muscular body writhing to the pulsating music. Her wide smile as those wankers ogled her. Another surge of anger at the memory of her walking into the back with that git nearly choked him. Sex had permeated the hallway, and he had no problems imaging what happened back there. The thought of her selling herself sickened him.

A growl rumbled from his chest, the sound surprising him. Why should he care? *Because you didn't spend four years looking for her to see her turned into a bloody prostitute.* He sneered at himself. He knew himself well enough to know that he was jealous. All those men getting to taste her sweet little body. What happened that she would be willing to do such a thing? How bad could it be?

Growling again, he drained the bottle in four long swallows, watching as the ray of light around the window softened into evening. He'd go again, tonight, he decided. He had to see her, talk to her. Maybe then he could understand this feeling that was curling around inside of him. Dropping the empty bottle into the trash, he stalked into the bathroom to take a shower. He'd get some answers tonight, he swore to himself. Then he'd drag her out of there by her hair and beat her bloody for allowing those pukes to touch her.

Chapter 3

A/N: We'll be jumping around a bit in this chapter, timeline wise. Enjoy.

Joyce stared out into the night, listening as Xander and Willow retold the tale of Spike's visit.

"Then, he just stormed away." Xander finished, exchanging a look with the witch. Giles was sitting in the chair next to the couch, looking at the woman in front of the couch. The last five years had aged her considerably. Deep lines of worry and sadness etched her face, and where she was once spirited, she now seemed withdrawn. He didn't quite know what she had been hoping for, but it seemed that she had been disappointed once again.

"Y-you know, Mrs. Summers. I could do a location spell. . ." Willow started.

"No!" Joyce said sharply, turning to face the two friends. Sighing heavily, she sank down onto the couch, rubbing her eyes. "Buffy left for her own reasons." Not the least of which was her own mother kicking her out. She brushed the tears away that had sprung to her eyes, and looked at the trio, smiling when Giles moved to sit next to her. "I want her to come home because she wants to. Not because we forced the issue. She's not a child anymore." She had hoped to be able to talk to Spike, let him know that he had a child. He had a right to know, and from the way Buffy acted, she wanted him to know. But, he hadn't responded to her message to come see her, and who knew if he would come back.

"Thank you, Xander, Willow. It's getting late." Giles said, hinting it was time to leave.

"Oh, right. I'm just going to hit the head first." Xander said, darting up the stairs.

"I think I'll wait for him outside. Goodnight." Willow gave them a tight smile, then headed towards the door.

"Goodnight, Willow." The adults said together as the redhead let herself out.

She was pacing the length of the porch when Xander walked out, waving one last time as he shut the door.

"What the matter, Will?" He asked, following her down the steps.

"I don't like lying." She told him, glaring at him.

"You didn't" He reminded her, pulling something out of his pocket.

"I don't like you lying. You're getting too free with it. What's that?" She demanded, coming to a stop.

"Can you do the spell with this?" Xander asked, holding out a hairbrush. When Buffy had left, she had only grabbed a few things. Apparently the brush had slipped her notice. Willow's eyes widened comically as she stared at the brush like it might bite her.

"What? Xander, Joyce said no spell. Or weren't you listening?" She cried, voice shrill.

"Willow, of course she would say that. She's Buffy's mother. We're her friends. It's our duty to find her." He justified, still holding it out. Willow looked between it and him, doubt on her face.

"Xan. I don't know."

"Come on, Will. Don't you miss her?" Xander pulled out his last card to persuade her.

"Of course I do." But, Willow had a card of her own. "She's still pissed at you, Xander." She reminded him, quietly. The look that crossed his face brought tears to her eyes.

"I know. But if we wait for her, I'll never be able to tell her how sorry I am. It's been five years already. How long are we supposed to wait?" His eyes begged her to agree. Willow felt herself crumble under the weight of her own need to see her friend, and Xander's need for forgiveness. Sighing, she reached out and grabbed the brush.

"Fine, we'll do it. But, if she doesn't want to see us. We leave. Understand? She has a completely different life now." She told him, stalking away. His smile was grim as he followed her.

"I don't know what to do, Mark." Anne sighed. They were standing outside the Glamour Factory, Anne having come in a little early to get some advice from him. She leaned against the side of the building, then crossed her arms over her chest and stared out at busy Interstate 10. Most people were heading home at this time of day. She watched the cars wiz by, like one of them would give her the answers she needed. Mark stood next to her, hands in his pockets, cigarette dangling from his lips.

"Well, when was the last time you tried to find him?"

"Almost a year ago. I called Willy, but he didn't have anything new to say, other than he had passed through, but hadn't gone into the bar." She pushed a frustrated hand through her dark tresses. She had managed to get Matt calmed down enough to go to school, and once there, she had pulled the teacher aside and told her what had happened between Matt and Sam. The teacher had promised to talk to Sam, but Anne hadn't missed the slight look of disdain on the older woman's face. Sometimes, living in a small town was a bitch.

"That's the third time. You think he's going back, looking for you?"

"I guess. Willy said that he had given him the message I left. Granted, that was six months AFTER I left L. A." She pushed away from the wall and started pacing in front of him.

"I don't know what to tell you, sweets. Finding wayward vampires isn't exactly my forte." Mark said, crushing his cigarette out. "You know, I'm always willing to fill the void." He told her quietly. She stopped pacing, and turned to stare at him. He looked away, kicking a rock with the toe of his boot. His dark hair spilled over his shoulder, hiding his face.

"Mark, I. . ." She started, then faltered. It wasn't the first time he had offered to fill the gap in her's and Matt's otherwise happy lives. And it wasn't the first time that she wished that she could accept it. He had been her best friend for four years, never judging her. She didn't want to lose that.

"Hey, never mind. I was just kidding." He said quickly, wanting to kick himself. He knew better than to get his hopes up on a woman who was so clearly enamored with another man. It was just, he had never met a woman like Anne before, and he had a strange feeling that he never would again.

"MARK!" A loud, booming voice came from the entrance of the club.

"YEAH!" Mark yelled back, walking towards his boss. Ralph tapped his imitation Rolex watch, indicating it was time for him to come back to work. "Alright, already. Shit." Mark muttered, walking inside. Anne stared at his disappearing back, not noticing Ralph eyeballing her as well.

"Ah, Ms. Williams?" His sarcastic voice reached her ears, and she looked up at him. Ralph McKenzie was a short, bald man with a beer belly that protruded over the belt of his tan leisure suit. Gold glinted at his wrists and neck, and the pinky ring on his hand. "If it fits into your schedule, do you think that maybe, I dunno, you could come in and, dance, or something?" Anne rolled her eyes and hefted her bag. Taking one last look at I10, she walked inside. She never saw the black DeSoto pull into the parking lot.

~*~*~

Mark stood by the door, arms crossed over his black vested chest. He was Mr. Cover Charge tonight, since the girl who usually did it called out sick. So, he took their money, checked I. D. when necessary, and waved them through, all the while keeping an eye on the rest of the club. There were three other bouncers besides him, but only two worked during the week. One at the door, and one outside the rooms in the back, just in case some customer didn't understand the word 'no'. On Fridays and Saturdays, all four were there. One at the door, one on the floor, and two in the back.

Tonight, however, was your typical Tuesday. Mostly regulars, a couple of business men stopping by on the way home for a beer, and some college kids. Mark wasn't paying much mind to the people coming in the door. He did his job automatically, his mind rehashing the way he had made an ass out of himself in front of Anne. Again. It wasn't as if she hadn't made her feelings for him perfectly clear. On the contrary, she was nothing if not up-front about it. He just couldn't quite seem to let go. Sighing heavily, he turned towards the door when he heard it open.

The man that came in had him double taking, his eyes narrowing into slits. Shorter than himself, this man held an aura of danger around him like a shroud. Short, white hair was slicked back against his head, a scar sliced though his left eyebrow. A long leather duster draped over his lean frame, covering the well worn black jeans and t-shirt. Heavy combat boots adorned his feet. As he came closer to Mark, the bouncer prepared to demand I. D. Until he got a good look at his face. Mark felt his eyes widen, and his heart trip in his chest when he looked into the piercing blue eyes that he knew to belong to a smaller, younger version of this man.

*Oh, fuck!* He thought to himself, wondering if he could get Ralph to cover for a minute, so he could go find Anne.

Spike glared menacingly at the bouncer, not understanding the look on the man's face. It almost seemed like recognition, but the blonde had no memory of him.

"Gonna take my money, mate?" *FUCK. British.* Only one more thing to be sure. When Mark reached out to grab the money from his hand, he purposely brushed his fingers across the other man's. *Cold. Double fuck.* Blue eyes locked with brown when Spike caught on to what Mark had done. He shifted his eyes to look behind him, and saw the sharpened pool cue. When he looked back at Mark, he didn't see any fear, or any indication that he should be ducking soon. Just that same look of shock and familiarity. "Who's the owner of this fine establishment?" Mark's brow shot up at the sarcasm dripping off the word.

"Guy sitting at the bar. Looks like he's doing a bad Wayne Newton impression." Mark told him, jerking his head towards the bar. He was cursing violently in his head, knowing he'd never get away from the door now.

"Thanks." Spike sneered, swaggering away. Mark tried to keep an eye on him and the stage, all the while dealing with the people coming through the door. Anne's set wasn't starting for another half an hour, and if he could, he would shoot back to the dressing room.

Mark watched as Spike sauntered over to Ralph, and began talking to him. He saw Ralph shake his head, then Spike reached into his duster and pulled out a wad of bills, dropping them in front of the bald man. Ralph fingered the money, then looked back up at Spike. After about half a minute, he nodded, waving his hand in the direction of the rooms in the back. Spike mock saluted the man, then turned and moved towards the hall, plucking a beer off the tray of a waitress as he passed her. Ralph then pocketed the money, and got up, starting towards the dressing room.

*FUCK!*

~*~*~

"Anne, can I talk to you?" Ralph called, ignoring the indignant shouts of the other girls. She was sitting in a chair in front of the make up mirror, laughing at something Sue said.

"Yeah, what's up?" Anne asked him. She hadn't changed into her costume yet, and she still had on her Tombstone t-shirt and shorts. Her hair fell around her shoulders in waves, and her face was heavily made up for the stage. Sue sat next to her, her shimmering gold body suit hugging every curve. Her hair was now gold to match, as were the contacts that she wore.

"Sue, could you. . ." Ralph waved a hand, telling her to go away. With a roll of her eyes, Sue smiled at Anne and left. "A man came in here just now," he started, not sure how to put the request. He had come to respect Anne's temper over the years, and he didn't feel like bearing the brunt of it.

"A man? Call the newspaper, it might be an epidemic!" she gasped, smiling wide. Her smile faded when she saw how nervous he was. When Ralph was nervous, something was not of the good. "What's that matter?"

"This man requested to see you. In the Paradise Room."

"Hope you told him to fuck off." She replied icily. She could tell by the look he gave her, that he hadn't. "Dammit, Ralph, you KNOW. . .

"I know, I know. I told him that. He swears that he doesn't want that. He just wants to spend the evening with you. Gave me a thousand dollars for you." Anne's eyes widened at that, as Ralph pulled out the thick stack of bills.

"He drops a thousand dollars, and he doesn't want to. . ." confusion marred her brow. Guys with this much money sure as hell didn't come here. "Are you sure?"

"That's what he said. He's waiting for you now." Ralph held the money out to her, his percentage already pulled off the top. She tested the wait of the money in her hand while her mind warred with itself.

"If he touches me, he's leaving with a broken hand." She warned, standing to start to change. She did it quickly, not giving herself time to change her mind.

"Absolutely. I'll get Cindy to cover your set." She nodded as he moved away, her thoughts a jumbled mess in her head.

~*~*~

Mark began cursing again when he saw Anne walking through the club, dressed in a short black skirt, and a purple spaghetti strap tank. Black high heeled boots hugged her calves to her knees. He waved, trying to get her attention before she disappeared down the hall, with no luck.

*Fuck!*

~*~*~

Anne stepped through the door of the Paradise Room, heart pounding against her chest. The smell of sex and booze permeated the room, making her stomach churn as well. She kept her eyes down as she walked down the short hall, not wanting to catch a glimpse of the varying activities that were being performed. There was barely any light in the room but she didn't want to take any chances. The cubicles stretched from floor to ceiling, with a long curtain covering the doorway. There were about ten of them in all.

As she got closer to the one that held her visitor, she groaned as the familiar feeling washed over her. *Damn.* She cursed inwardly, now they were paying to have her dust them. A little happier now that she knew what to expect, she calculated just where every penny of the easy money was going to go. The light was even dimmer at the end of the hall, and completely nonexistent in the cubby she stepped into. Standing next to the curtain, she blinked her eyes to try to adjust them.

"You know, if you wanted to commit suicide, all you had to do was ask. You didn't have to pay for it." She quipped. The soft chuckle that reached her had the hairs on her arms standing on end. *No, it couldn't be* her mind denied, but her heart screamed for it to be true. A bright flare of a lighter, followed by the smell of smoke filled the tiny space. She sucked in a gasp as the lighter brightened his features, casting the harsh lines of his face in stark relief. She stood, shocked as he flipped the lighter closed and took his first drag.

"Hello, kitten." he crooned, the deep resonance of his voice drifting to her, over her like a caress.

"Spike."

Buffy backed away from the stricken face of Angel. Tears coursed down her cheeks as she pressed her hands to her mouth, forcing her scream to stay inside. He looked down at the sword imbedded in his stomach, then back at her, a combined look of hurt, shock and love on his face. As the vortex started to pull him in, a loud wail that rivaled an animal filled the room. Buffy was knocked to the floor when Dru flew passed her, Spike one step behind her. Druscilla wrapped her arms around Angel just as the vortex closed, with nothing even as dramatic as a sizzle.

"DRUSCILLA!" Spike screamed, falling to his knees in front of the spot where his dark princess disappeared. He stared in disbelief at the space that was now empty. With a sound caught between a sob and a scream, the blonde vampire launched at the statue, his first punch causing a crack around the neck, and shattering the bones of his hand. Tears coursed unnoticed down his cheeks as he assaulted the stone. His arm screamed with pain, but he didn't care. Finally, he gave up punching and sent a powerful kick straight to the center of it's chest, making it crack in half. It wasn't enough.

When Spike advanced on it again, he felt a pair of tiny hands on his shoulders. He roared when Buffy flung him around, her face twisted with the same pain and grief that was tearing him apart.

"Stop! They're gone." She yelled, her voice raw and hoarse. "They're gone." she whispered again, her hand loosening on his duster, and she crumpled to the floor. A part of her brain realized that she was very likely going to get killed. But, the larger part of her didn't care. *Let him kill me* she thought, as the pain of losing Angel threatened to cripple her. She had chosen the world over love, and nothing mattered any more.

When she felt him over her, she silently screamed thank you, and waited for the sting of his fangs in her throat. When instead she felt herself being picked up, and cradled against his chest, her eyes flew open.

"What are you doing?" she gasped, struggling weakly. His lips trembled as his own tears fell, and he glanced down at her.

"Going to clean you up." He answered, shortly, walking up the stairs.

"Why aren't you going to kill me?" She asked, an angry tone to her words. His lips actually quirked at that.

"You don't want to die. Anyway, who would kill me, then?" He asked, kicking the door to his room open.

"Don't think so. If you won't kill me, I won't kill you."

"Well, I guess we have an understanding then." Truth be told, he didn't have a clue what he was doing. The sight of her, crumpled like a rag doll on the floor, had been enough to knock out a small portion of his own pain. He'd had to get out of that room, but also had a need not to be alone. Unlike her, he didn't have anybody, now that his dark princess was gone. She must've sensed this, because she sat quietly on the bed where he placed her, and watched him move to the bathroom. He shrugged out of his duster when he returned, cursing when the arm caught on his injured hand. Snatching the first aid kit away from him, she grabbed his good hand and pulled him to the bed. He allowed her to focus her attention on his injury, hissing when she dabbed antiseptic on it. He studied the fall of her golden hair, tying to force his mind to go blank. The image of Dru's ultimate decision kept replaying in his mind in slow motion. She only wanted her daddy.

His body started to shake as sobs tore through him again. Buffy looked up after she wrapped his hand, her own grief surging once more at the anguish etched in the vampire's face. Before either of them realized what was happening, they were laying together on the bed, arms banded tight around each other as they cried out their pain.

At some point, they must have fallen asleep. Buffy jerked awake with start, the feel of two strong arms around her confusing her. Suddenly, memory rushed back, and hot tears spilled down her cheeks once more. She found herself looking into the bright blue eyes of her mortal enemy, the agony she felt mirrored back to her. He reached up and brushed her tears away, the feel of his cool hand against her hot face soothing.

"Shh, kitten." He whispered, wiping the moisture from her lashes. She nuzzled her face against his hand. When he traced a finger across her lip, she felt a tremor pulse through her. She arched against him, tightening her arm around his waist. Spike watched the color of her eyes darken to emerald. "Buffy. . ." he rasped, his eyes searching hers. His body was responding to her closeness, the smell of her skin. When her hand came up to still his words, he captured it with his own, then pressed it against his lips. She shivered when she felt the tip of his tongue tease the palm of her hand.

"Just for today." she gasped, pressing herself closer to him. "Make me forget." He closed his eyes briefly, thinking about what she was asking. When he opened them again, the grief was stripped away, replaced by something hot and heady. She felt herself respond, her skin tingling with the look of promise in his face.

"Don't think." He said, before he crushed his mouth to hers. She couldn't if she had tried. As soon as his lips touched hers, she felt like she was being burned by icy heat. She almost felt like she was drowning as his teeth nipped her bottom lip. His tongue swept across it to soothe and tease, then dipped inside to taste. At the first tentative touch of their tongues, everything but each other was forgotten. Her fingers fisted in his hair as he tried to devour her, taking everything she gave and giving back equal in return. She tasted like sunshine and life and Spike found himself desperate for more. His good hand skimmed under her shirt, his rough fingers gliding over the silken skin of her back. She trembled against him, her moan lost in his mouth.

She kissed him back hungrily, her tongue dueling with his. The term 'homemade sin' popped stupidly into her head, and she decided this must be what he tasted like. Nothing like anything she had tasted before. Cigarettes and beer, with a slight coppery taste combined into an intoxicating bouquet that screamed Spike. She gasped a breath as she changed the angle, deepening the kiss. Clothes suddenly became a hindrance as they tried to touch everywhere at once. The evidence of his arousal pressed firmly against her thigh, and she wanted it. Now. Tearing her mouth away from his, she pushed him onto his back, she rose above him like a goddess, her golden hair framing her flushed face. Hastily yanking her shirt over her head, she grabbed his unbandaged hand and placed it over her breast. Surging up, he caught the stiff nub of the other in his mouth, sucking hard. His hand mimicked the movements of his tongue on her flesh. She clutched the back of his head, and ground her denim covered heat into his likewise hindered erection. Mewling noises escaped her throat as he worked his magic on her breasts, his hips thrusting up in time with her movements against him. Soft growls were muffled against her skin, as his hand traveled to the band of her jeans. His mouth switched to lavish attention on the other soft swell of her bosom, and his fingers deftly popped the clasp of her pants.

"Off, now." He hissed, releasing her so she could remove them. He sat up to do the same, and once they were both naked, they reached for each other again. Spike rolled them until she was on her back, legs wrapped firmly around his hips. He fused his mouth against hers again, his shaft sliding slickly over her burning wet sex. He pulled away from her again, trailing kisses down her torso, his destination clear. The first touch of his tongue to her aching clit almost sent Buffy over the edge immediately.

"Oh, God!" she sobbed, spreading her legs further to afford him better access, she clutched desperately at the bed. Spike took his time lapping and savoring the sweet juices pooled in her folds. Each pass of his tongue and lips over her sizzling heat caused her to jerk her hips, begging for release. Her skin felt too tight and hot, her stomach fluttered and her breathing came in gasps. She writhed helplessly beneath the expert motions of his mouth. When he gripped her thighs and drove his tongue straight into the very center of her, she screamed, high and long, back arching off the bed. Spike greedily drank all that spilled from her, then attacked her clit once more. Buffy thought it was impossible to cum again so quickly, but she found herself doing so with just a few stiff strokes of his amazing tongue. She was practically sobbing with pleasure by the time he crawled up her body and slid effortlessly into her still fluttering cunt. Their dual moans of rapture melded into one as his cool shaft stretched and filled her. Her heat scorched him, and Spike's eyes rolled back in his head at the feel of her surrounding him. Buffy's legs came up to lock around his hips, her hands sliding restlessly over his back. He stayed still within her, until he was sure that he wouldn't lose control. Then, with a slow rocking motion, he began to thrust. With each plunge he pulled out just a little more, making his strokes longer, more forceful. She met him, thrust for thrust, until they were moving together in a frenzy. He buried his face in her throat, his lips and tongue laving the skin over her jugular. The thrill that he could kill her and she would be helpless to stop it pushed her over the edge. She arched against him when her climax slammed through her, her fingers pressing his lips more firmly against her flesh.

Her muscles clamped hard around him, milking him, and he roared against her throat as he stiffened against her. His cold seed shot up into her womb, cooling her from the inside out. No sooner had they calmed down, than they were at it again. Over and over they took each other, each time the grief and pain threatened to crash through, until they were both raw, and exhausted. When sleep finally claimed them, they were wrapped tightly around each other, laying on their sides, Spike stilled buried to the hilt inside of her, the twin holes of his bite already starting to heal on her neck.

~*TBC*~

Spike sat in the plush, velveteen chair, silently smoking as his yellow eyes easily watched the play of emotion across her face. Shock was first, as he expected. That was followed quickly by a flash of anger, disbelief, and finally, longing. He hadn't expected the last one, but, he felt the same way. Standing in one smooth motion, he crushed out his cigarette and strode towards her. He stopped within a breath of her, the heat from her body warming him. He cocked his head to the side, and captured his bottom lip through his now blunt, human teeth. He brought a hand up and slid the back of his knuckles over her cheek, down her jaw, and along the line of her throat, hovering lightly over the faded scar of his bite.

"Miss me?" His voice was a mix of menace and teasing, lust coating each syllable. Instead of answering, her arm wound around his neck, and her mouth covered his in a searing kiss. Spike stood stunned for half a second before he was kissing her back, his leather clad arms crushing her against his lean form. Time stood still as their mouths glided over each other, and they found themselves adrift on a sea of sensation. Memories and thoughts receded as their bodies responded to each other.

Anne hadn't realized how much she needed. . .wanted, this. She had wanted to see him, tell him he had a child, and give him the opportunity to be a part of his life. But she hadn't known until he touched her, that it was HIM she wanted. For both of them.

Spike lost himself in the taste of her. She still tasted like sunshine, she still felt like sin. Her scent surrounded him, clouding his mind even further and driving his need to the edge. It seemed like the entire world began and ended with her, because nothing before her had touched him this deep. Not even Dru. Five years of wanting poured from him and into her. Five years of searching had come to an end. She was here, and warm and oh so sweet. He really didn't understand how he could have left her back then. Not when every sense was filled with her, every cell screaming to be joined with this woman, his equal. Spike reluctantly broke away from her mouth to allow her to breathe, and trailed a line of cool, wet kisses along her cheek to her ear.

"Buffy," he moaned, before capturing the lobe in his teeth. The sound of her real name, husky and soft, pulled her out of her sensual daze. She tightened her fingers in his hair, and wrenched his head back with more force than she had meant. "Bloody hell!" he cursed, releasing his hold in her. "What the fuck was that for?" he growled.

Anne didn't answer him, too preoccupied with trying to reign in her raging hormones.

"Slayer." He snarled, the word a mix of lust, anger and frustration.

"Wait, Spike." She gasped, pressing a hand against his chest, almost as if she was trying to make sure he was real, despite the very intimate contact they had just had.

"What's the matter?" His tone had softened, and he stepped closer to her again.

"I didn't think that I would ever see you again." And there it was. The doubt that she had carried with her since the day she had found out she was pregnant broke free, and her fingers fisted in his shirt, tears springing to her eyes. Suddenly, she was sobbing, and he was gathering her up in his arms, hands running over her back and making her shiver.

"Sh, it's okay, kitten. I'm here now. It took me a long time, but I'm here." He whispered against her hair, the scent of apples tickling his nose. She clutched him to her, her tears causing her to shake in his arms. After a few minutes, she calmed, and just relished the feel of his arms around her.

"We need to talk." She whispered, emotion clogging her throat. Spike frowned at the tone of her voice.

"Come back to my room with me, then," he said.

"I can't tonight." She replied, a slight tinge of regret in her voice. Spike stiffened in her arms, a stab of something nasty piercing his heart.

"Somebody at home waiting." He bit out each word, anger coating his voice. He felt her sigh, and allowed her to step back.

"Yeah," she answered simply. She couldn't see his reaction in the dark room, but she heard the low, dangerous growl and it caused her to shiver.

"Really? And what does he think of his woman working in a place that's no better than a whorehouse?" The flare of the lighter showed the rage filled lines of his demon visage. *Oh, this is going well* Anne thought, rubbing a hand over her forehead in an attempt to ease the headache forming.

"This isn't a whorehouse, Spike. And he doesn't know." This caused an eruption from the blonde that equaled any volcano.

"HE DOESN'T KNOW! And how do you explain coming home smelling like other men? Or do you shower their stink off before you go home to crawl in next to him and cuddle up for the night?" Anne held tight on her temper, reminding herself that he was only reacting to the non-information that she had given him. But, she didn't want to blurt it out about Matt, not here. She wanted to be able to have a supposed adult conversation with him. Which would be hard to do if Spike was dust.

"It's not like that." She started, before he cut her off again.

"Oh, it's not. How would he feel if he knew that you were just all over me like a bitch in heat? How would he feel knowing that I can make you burn?" This last bit was said in a low voice, the resonance and pitch accentuating the lilt of his accent. Her body responded even though her temper snapped.

"Do you even THINK before you open your mouth? Or do you just let whatever shit that pops up roll out?" She snapped. "I said it wasn't like that. Now, if you want to talk, give me the name of your fucking hotel, and I will meet you there tomorrow night after sundown. If you don't want to hear what I have to say, don't let the door hit you on the way out." Spike dragged deeply on his cigarette, trying to reign in his famous temper. When he finally felt calm enough to speak again, he crushed out the cigarette.

"Fine. I'm staying at the Days Inn on Lexington. Room 12." He ground out. She didn't back up when he crowded her, his cool breath tickling her face. "Just make sure your man doesn't come looking for you. I don't like sharing. Got my fill of that five years ago." He finished, crushing his mouth against hers, branding her. Anne slumped against the partition when he released her, unfulfilled arousal making her ache, anger causing her to burn.

~*~*~

"Are you sure this is it?" Xander asked the redhead sitting next to him as he pulled off of Interstate 10 towards San Rios. Willow glared at him in the darkness, before turning to look back out the window.

"Yes" was all she said as she watched the buildings pass by. San Rios was your typical small town, it seemed. Not that much different than Sunnydale. In fact, if it wasn't for the cacti, the dry desert grass, and the mountains in the distance, she would have thought that they had made a wrong turn somewhere and were home. They were currently traveling down the main street, which took them straight through the middle of town. Darkened storefronts had faces that were reminiscent of the old west. The movie theater looked like the kind from the 1950's, the Marquee boasting two of the newest releases. Occasionally, a Blockbuster, or a McDonald's would emerge, their modern structures seeming garish against the rest of the town. When they passed the courthouse, Willow almost giggled. She fully expected to see a gallows constructed in front of the huge brick structure, it's white columns gleaming in the light from the lamps, with some poor hapless horse thief swinging from the end of a noose. As they made their way into the residential part of town, tiny bungalows and ranchers spread along the road.

"Where to now?" He asked, breaking her away from her thoughts of saloons and gunslingers.

"There. Sleep." She ordered when the Days Inn came into sight. He looked over at her, clearly about to argue. One look at the resolve face had him changing his mind. It HAD been a long day, and they were both tired. With a sigh, Xander made the turn and maneuvered the old truck into the parking space in front of the office. "Two rooms," she reminded him as he climbed out of the cab.

"I know," he said before slamming the door. Willow just raised a brow. Sighing to herself, she stretched her sore muscles out, thankful that she was about to slip into cool sheets. This trip had not been easy on either of them, With a great deal of reluctance, Willow had performed the spell. Then they'd had to get their stories straight on what to tell Giles, and she'd had to finish her finals. Xander had grumbled when she said that she wouldn't leave before then. Now, they were here, and she was filled with a combination of excitement and trepidation. She wanted to see Buffy, but she didn't want to cause her pain. Joyce had confided in her, and Willow knew about her son. And she knew who the father was. Of course, she didn't find out that bit of information out until after Spike had left this last time, or she would have never let Xander talk her out of telling Spike Joyce's message. It also explained a lot about Buffy's reluctance to return to her family and friends. Having a child with a soulless, evil vampire that had tried to kill them all on more than one occasion couldn't have been an easy thing to deal with. Much less having to deal with the shocked, and in some cases appalled, reactions of those that loved her

"Here you go," Xander said, opening the door. "14 and 16." He tossed her the key and went to go pull their bags out of the back. Willow got out of the cab and turned to face the direction of the town.

As she looked out at the lights shining from the tiny burg, she hoped with all her heart that she hadn't made a mistake in coming here with Xander.

~*~*~

Anne walked out of her bedroom, braiding the long length of her hair. Her eyes were distant as she thought about the events of the evening. Seeing Spike, (well, she hadn't actually seen him, since it was so dark in the room) had opened up a floodgate of emotion she hadn't realized was there. She had missed him. And since they had spent most of their time trying to kill each other before that fateful day, it seemed a little odd. She had figured whenever she got that little pang in her heart when she looked at Matt, it was because she wished that Spike was there to watch him grow up. To see this miracle that had been given to them, a vampire and a Slayer.

Sighing heavily, she walked into the kitchen and turned on the light. Filling the kettle with water, she felt her skin heat up again at the memory of him pressed against her. After he had spouted out the name of the hotel, he had left, anger radiating off of him. She had waited five full minutes before darting back to the dressing room and using the back entrance to escape Mark's questioning eyes. She would tell him about it later, she just couldn't deal with it then. When she had gotten home, she had sent the babysitter off with her full night's pay, then had put Matt to bed herself. After the third story, he had gone to sleep, his tiny arm wrapped around the stuffed Scooby Mark had given him for his birthday. She had then gone and taken a shower, letting the warm water and her hand wash the tension away. It wasn't the first time in the past five years that she had pleasured herself thinking of him. At first, she had convinced herself that it was because it was too painful to think of Angel. Then of course there was the full day that she had spent with Spike learning just about everything about sex that she hadn't gotten to with her first love. So, she told herself that she just had more material to work with there. She had loved Angel, totally and fully, but it had been the blonde vampire that had snuck into her thoughts late at night, when it was quiet. And Matt looking just like him didn't help.

Putting the kettle on the stove, she turned it on then went in search of the tea that Mark had given her from his grandmother. It was an old Indian brew which was supposed to relieve tension. And boy was she tense. As she drove home, another doubt started to wiggle it's way to the front of her mind.

What, if after she told him about his son, Spike didn't want to be a father? He was a vampire. A soulless vampire at that. His life was full of blood, death, and destruction. Hell, he probably ATE children. For that matter, why did she WANT him to know? She sighed as she dropped the homemade teabag into her mug. She knew why. It was because he could also be gentle and caring. She instinctively knew that he would make a good father. And she wanted that for her son. She just had to figure out what she wanted for herself.

Pouring the hot water over the teabag, she thought about her instant reaction to his tender caress. She had often wondered, when she would see the scar on her neck, if he had claimed her with that bite. She hadn't thought so, because she didn't think it would've been that easy for him to walk away if he had. Granted, now that she looked back, it hadn't really been that easy. It was just neither thought that they could stay together. They hadn't parted as enemies, but they didn't think that they were friends, either.

Pulling out the bottle of aspirin, she downed two then picked up her mug and took it back into her bedroom. She had a lot of thinking to do.

Buffy and Spike leaned against the hood of the DeSoto, looking up into the starry night sky. He was smoking a cigarette, and she was playing with the straw of her drink. Both were still having a hard time grasping that little more than twenty four hours before, their lives had been changed irreversibly. After they had woken up, they had showered, separately, neither discussing what had happened between them. Then, they had walked out of the mansion, and straight to his car. He hadn't questioned her when she climbed into the passenger seat, just put the car in gear and left the town of Sunnydale without a backward glance. They hadn't spoken, each lost in their memories, and the tangled jumble of emotion where the other was concerned. Once they had reached L. A., Spike had pulled into a fast food restaurant, handing her some money before going in search of his own dinner. He hadn't been into the kill, and he had left the woman alive in an alley before heading back to meet her. She didn't question him when he returned, merely climbed into the car and waited for him to do the same.

Now, they were here, sitting in a parking lot by the beach, the sound of the waves and people on the boardwalk filling their ears.

"What are you going to do, now?" She asked, chewing on the straw. He took a deep breath, hazarding a glance at her.

"I dunno." He said with a shrug. "I can't stay here, though." She nodded in response, looking thoughtfully at the ocean.

"I have to stay close. At least until the new Slayer shows up in Sunnydale." Buffy said, fighting back the fresh wave of tears that burned her eyes. Kendra, her mind screamed. He quietly reached out and took her hand, offering comfort once again. She looked down at their joined fingers, wondering why it felt so right.

"I have a place here. Rent's paid up for a few months, if you want to stay there," he said, flicking the fag away.

"Thanks," she whispered, feeling her throat tighten. He stood then, gently tugging her to her feet.

"Come on, let's go get you settled."

The place was small, but clean. The door opened into the living room, and to the left was the tiny kitchen. Down a short hall was the single bedroom and bath. The couch and matching chairs were leather, and the coffee table was gold and glass. A large screen tv dominated the wall, along with a VCR and cd player. The bed was a simple queen, with a blue satin comforter thrown across it. Heavy curtains covered all the windows, to protect the occupants from the deadly UV rays of the sun.

They had stood in the bedroom for a minute, not quite sure what to do. Then, Buffy had simply stripped out of her clothes and crawled into the bed, too tired and drained to worry about nerves. When Spike had followed her, she had snuggled into his arms, and was quickly asleep.

When she woke up the next day, she found herself alone, a thick, long envelope on the pillow next to her. Sitting up and wiping sleep out of her eyes, she picked it up, a sharp feeling of dread lancing through her. With a deep breath, she slid her finger under the flap, eyes widening at the amount of money inside. Five stacks of one hundred dollar bills landed on her lap, as well as a letter. Picking it up, she quickly unfolded it and scanned it.

Buffy folded the letter, and put it and the money back in the envelope. Standing, she rushed into the bathroom and threw up, feeling for the first time that she was totally alone. She knew he was right, but that didn't make it any easier to accept his absence. The pain hadn't seemed as sharp with him there.

After she was done, she flushed the toilet, and splashed some cold water on her face. She then padded back to the bedroom, pausing as she was climbing back into bed. Her eyes were drawn to something black on the floor. Bending down to retrieve it, she came up with his t-shirt. Tears ran down her face as she lifted it to her nose. A brief sniff brought his scent to her. Soap, and something cool and spicy. Slipping it quickly over her head, she took comfort in it and climbed back into bed, quickly falling back into an exhausted slumber.

Chapter Five Anne stood outside door number twelve, staring at it like the next apocalypse waited on the other side. She hadn't slept a wink the night before, her thoughts a tangled mess in her head. Every doubt and worry she had been harboring transcended from her subconscious and spent the night glaring brightly in her brain. Mark had called the next morning after Matt went to school, wanting to know what had happened. She hadn't been surprised that he had recognized Spike, it wasn't like Matt looked like her, except for his dark hair. Of course, she didn't actually know what Spike's natural hair color was, but that wasn't the point. She had told him the edited version. Mark had known that she was leaving stuff out, but he didn't push, pretty sure he didn't WANT to know. He offered her his unflagging support, like always, and had told her to call him when she got home from telling Spike about his son.

She had then spent the day cleaning her already spotless house, attacking nonexistent dust bunnies like they were demons. That had been one side benefit to slaying, if you had some tension, go find a big nasty to beat on. Once she had picked Matt up from school, and had spent the day running errands, with a surprise trip to McDonald's for Happy Meals and milk shakes, the day flew by. Before she knew it, it was bath time for Matt. Then she had sat him down on the couch for his millionth showing of Scooby Doo on Zombie Island to wait for his sitter, Molly, to show up. All too soon, it was time for her to leave, and she had gathered up the pictures she was going to take to Spike, kissed Matt and left.

Now she was here, and the sun was fading fast behind her. With a deep sigh, she knocked on the door. Her heart was pounding in her ears, her stomach was churning dangerously, and a cold sweat had broken out on her skin. She hadn't been this nervous in a long time. She had good reason, as soon as he opened the door, life was going to change for better or worse. She could only pray that it wasn't worse.

The door swung open on silent hinges, its occupant standing behind it to avoid the last rays of the sun. Taking a bolstering breath, Anne stepped through into the darkened room.

Just as the door closed, another one opened. Xander and Willow emerged from her room, ready to begin their search for their missing friend. As they moved towards his truck, one of the cars in the parking lot caught the redhead's attention. Her eyes widened as she recognized the big, black car with the blacked out windows sitting next to a blue Honda Accord. As quickly as she could, she got into the cab, praying that Xander wouldn't see it.

She sighed in relief when he turned the truck around, then pulled out of the parking lot, none the wiser to Spike's presence in town.

~*~*~

"Hello, kitten. I see you were able to get away." Spike sneered, brazenly running his eyes over her. She was wearing a pair of jean shorts, a blue tank top and sneakers. Her dark hair was pulled up into a ponytail, and her face was devoid of make up. She was clutching an envelope to her chest, and she smelled of nervousness. Sitting down on the bed, Spike dug into the pocket of his duster and pulled out his cigarettes. "Gonna stare all night, or are you going to tell me what's eating you on the inside?" He asked, lighting the fag.

"I don't really know how to say this." She began, looking down at the envelope in her hand. This was hard, harder than she expected it to be. He watched her from the bed, shirtless and barefoot, his hair a tousled mass of curls on his head. She felt her body respond to the sight, memories surging forward to remind her of what he felt like, tasted like. Shaking it off, she looked into his eyes. The blue orbs burned her as she struggled for the right words. How do you tell a vampire that he's a father? Her inner voice asked.

"Buffy, tell me." His soft voice drifted to her, and she hazarded to meet his gaze. Gone was the arrogant smirk from when he opened the door. In it's place was a look of open curiosity and a bit of concern. . .and fear. He was as afraid of what she had to say, as she was to tell him. Taking another deep breath, she started.

"I have a son. He's four." She waited a beat to see his reaction. He moved so fast that she almost didn't see him until he was gripping her arms painfully. Rage twisted his handsome features as he glared down at her. The only thought reverberating through his mind was that she had been with someone else after him, and that shit was either letting her work in that hellhole, or he had left her alone with a baby to raise.

"Who?" He growled, his blue orbs flashing gold. Anne was so stunned, that it took a minute to comprehend his question. "I'll kill him. WHO. TOUCHED. YOU!?" The seething jealousy and anger sent her reeling for another loop, and she had to fight back the tremor of fear.

"Let me go, and I'll tell you." She said, her eyes imploring him to calm down. With a snarl, he let her go and started to stalk the length of the room. She watched him for a minute, trying to calm her nerves. *Good way to start, Annie. Got him good and pissed off.* She yelled at herself. Sighing again, she opened the envelope and pulled out a picture. It was of Matt, on his last birthday, and he was smiling hugely at the camera. She held it out to him, flinching when he snatched it from her. She watched him as he looked at it, knew the second recognition hit him. His hands started shaking and he sank to the edge of the bed, the cigarette in his hand forgotten.

"This isn't possible," he gasped, reaching up to trace a finger over the cherubic face of the child.

"Apparently, it is." She said, moving to sit on the other bed, facing him. His eyes met hers, shock permeating their depths. He looked back down at the picture, awe softening his features.

"How?" he gasped, his voice choked. Tears sprang to her eyes in response to the ones glistening in his. He looked so vulnerable, and all Anne wanted to do was reach out and hold him. But, he needed answers, and she had to give them. Linking her fingers in her lap, she started to speak.

Buffy knew with distinct clarity that something was wrong. What she had at first thought was just a case of the flu, was quickly turning into something else. Every day, for the last two weeks, she had woken up throwing up. She was tired all the time, no matter how much sleep she got. Not to mention, she was late. Very late. A month late to be precise. She had thought that it was just the stress from everything that had happened, but, since the onslaught of her 'flu', she'd started to change her mind.

The only conclusion she could draw was impossible. Staring down at her hands in the waiting room, she waited to be called in to see the doctor, all the while trying to convince herself that it was JUST the flu. She glanced around the room, taking in the various women that were waiting as well. One girl didn't look to be any older than herself, and she was ready to pop. They briefly made eye contact, exchanging tight smiles before looking away. Buffy's Slayer sense was going crazy, thanks to the blue demon woman sitting next to her. Once she had become suspicious of what was really wrong with her, she had called Willy in hopes that he knew of someone who specialized in just such things. He had, and had quickly given her the number, his response to her threat being of course he wouldn't tell anybody.

So, here she was, surrounded by various demon and human women, some with the fathers some not. She could only guess at what had gotten the other young girl pregnant, and she shuddered.

"Ms. Summers?" Buffy looked up at the pretty blonde nurse, and got up. She followed her into the examining room, and changed into the paper gown. She had done the bathroom thing when she got there, and now she was waiting for the results. A few minutes after the nurse had left, a quick knock sounded on the door to alert her to the doctor. When he walked in, she found herself staring at a kindly looking older man, with gray hair and face reminiscent of Santa Claus. The only disturbing thing about him seemed to be the onyx colored eyes with yellow pupils.

"Well, Ms. Summers. How are you today?" He asked, looking up from his file. His smile put her at ease, even if it didn't shut her Slayer sense up.

"Been better. What did the test say?" She asked without preamble. His kind, odd eyes met hers, and he came over to sit on the stool by the examining table.

"I think you know already." He told her. She shook her head, tears springing to her eyes.

"No, it's impossible." She gasped, her fingers clenching in her lap.

"I take it he was a vampire?" She nodded her head, sniffling. "You're the Slayer, right?" Her eyes shot to his at that, a frown pulling her brows together.

"Yeah, so?" Buffy asked with a hint of suspicion in her voice. She tensed, wishing she had thought to keep her stake handy. He chuckled, as if reading her thoughts.

"It's okay. You won't need it." Her eyes widened at that. "I'm a doctor, Ms. Summers. I had to take the same oath your pediatrician took. Do no harm?" He said at her confused look.

"Oh. So, how did this happen? I didn't think vampires could have. . .children." She nearly choked on the last word, her voice trembling. Sympathy suffused his face as he regarded the young girl in front of him. He could tell that she'd had some hard times. Pretty recently, if the dark circles under her eyes were any indication.

"They can't. With other vampires." He shifted on the stool, and continued. "I didn't think they could with humans, either. But, I'm willing to bet that it has something to do with you being the Slayer. I've never seen it, but, you are also the first Slayer that I have ever met."

"Will it be. . ." she trailed off, afraid to ask.

"Will it be human or vampire?" He waited for her to nod. "I don't know. Like I said, I have never seen this before. But, it's safe to say that since the host is human, the baby should be human as well. Although, it will have some attributes of the father also." He told her. Looking down at his file, he started to write something on his prescription pad. "I want you to get this filled. It's prenatal vitamins. Schedule an appointment with Nancy for next week, we'll start doing some tests then. Alright?"

"Okay." She stared down at the paper in her hand, fear and disbelief rolling through her. Pregnant? By Spike? The doctor was just as confused as she was, and now she had to have tests.

"Don't worry, Ms. Summers. Everything will work out. I'm going to go get the nurse, then we can do the pelvic, and take some blood, alright?" He waited for her to nod, gently patted her hand, then stood to leave. As soon as the door closed, Buffy buried her face in her hands and cried.

Spike had stared at the picture through the whole telling of her story. When she was finished, he looked up at her, amazement spread across his face.

"I'm a father." He whispered, the wonder in his voice making her smile.

"Yeah. You're a father. I tried to find you." she said, picking at her nail polish.

"I know. I got your message. I'm sorry, Buffy. That I wasn't there." A tear slid down his cheek. Happiness spread through her at his words.

"You would have wanted to be?" She gasped. He looked at her as if she had sprouted a second head.

"Christ, Buffy. Of course. Why wouldn't I want that?"

"Well. You know. Big Bad, and all that." she reminded him, making a face that indicated 'grr'. He rolled his eyes.

"I haven't been that in a long time now, pet. Not since. . ." he waved a hand in the air, indicating that day. "Spent too much time looking for you." he added with a smile. His eyes drifted to the picture once again, a feeling he had never felt before expanding in his chest. This little one was his. HIS. He had never thought. . .never dreamed. He didn't even have the slightest clue at how to be a father. He ran a hand through his hair, fighting back the wave of panic that hit him. "Is he. . .normal?" he choked out, afraid of what the answer would be. She smiled at the same fear she had felt herself when the doctor had handed him to her for the first time.

"As far as I can tell. No extra strength, no allergy to the sun. No sharp pointy teeth. He's just a normal, healthy little boy." Spike nodded, relief pushing aside some of his panic. "He's very smart. I guess he got that from you." She said with a smile, remembering her none too successful school record. Spike sorted on response. "He was walking before he was a year. Talking in sentences by two. And he asks questions about everything. And he REALLY doesn't like it if you answer I don't know." She giggled a little, a sound so full of joy it made his undead heart squeeze.

"What's his name?"

"Matthew." Matthew, he repeated to himself, smiling. Pride pushed out the panic completely, and the first real smile Anne had ever seen on his face emerged. It took her breath away.

"I want to see him."

"I figured that. But, we have to take it slow. He's going to be confused, and I want to make it as easy as we can." Spike nodded, willing to let her have her way. "Why don't you come to dinner tomorrow night. . .shit, I have to work. But, I'm off Friday." She looked up hopefully, a frown marring her brow at the black look that clouded his face. "What?"

"You're not going back there."

"Right." She answered with a roll of her eyes. "I have bills to pay, Spike." He stood up and glared down at her.

"I have money. You're. Not. Going. Back. There." Each word was accentuated with a slight growl at the end. She stood herself, her face an inch from his.

"You can't tell me what to do." She said, her eyes glittering dangerously.

"The hell I can't. You're the mother of MY child, and you will not work in a glorified bordello."

"Oh. Really." She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. "Need I remind you, soulless vampire." She said, poking a finger into his bare chest. "Not exactly the paragon of virtue."

"And I wouldn't object if you were a vampire. But you are a mother, and the Slayer. Your morals are supposed to be a touch on the higher side." He reminded her, sarcasm dripping from his voice, and stepping closer. They were practically touching now, anger snapping from their eyes.

"You might wanna remember that before you go telling me what I can and can't do." Another inch, and they would be standing in the same space. "Now, I am NOT discussing this any more. You are Matt's father, yes. You are NOT my keeper." Deciding to try another tactic, Spike backed off.

"Fine. I'll be over on Friday." He said, stepping away to go in search of another fag. An idea swirled in his head that would go a long way towards pissing her off, but it would get her out of that. . .place. Anne eyed him suspiciously, not sure if his acquiescence was a good thing.

"Good. I'll call you tomorrow with directions." She said, confused.

"Great."

"Fine. You can keep the picture." She said, turning towards the door.

"Oh, kitten." She paused, hand still on the doorknob, and turned towards him. The next thing she knew, she was slammed against the door, her body pinned between him and it. One of his hands was braced over her head on the door, the other was cupping her cheek. "Don't forget my goodbye kiss." She barely managed a squeak before his mouth descended on hers. Warmth collided with cool to cause them both to shiver. Anne felt her mind haze over as his tongue dove in between her parted lips, tasting and teasing, possessing. His hand skimmed over her, blazing a trail of fire through her clothes. "You are both mine," he growled in her ear when he pulled away. Anne was in too much of a trance to argue. It took her three tries to get the door open after he moved away. Her legs weren't in much condition to walk when she finally succeeded, but she knew on some instinctive level that she had better beat a hasty retreat. Now. It wasn't until she was halfway home that his words penetrated the fog in her head. She spent the rest of the ride home cursing the arrogant, self centered, EVIL vampire.

~*~*~

As soon as he heard her car leave, Spike walked to the phone and dialed information. Once he got the number that he needed, he dialed it quickly. Crushing out his cigarette in the overflowing ashtray, he waited for the line to pick up.

"Hello?"

"Ralph Henderson. Please." He added the last as an afterthought.

"Speaking." An evil smile spread across the blonde vampire's face as he explained to the man just who would be informed of the activities that went on in the Paradise room, if a certain brunette stripper didn't suddenly find herself out of work. With a smile, he hung up on the still sputtering man, satisfied that he had taken care of the situation.

"Oh, shit. Are you alright?" He asked, putting his bag down and reaching out to help her to her feet. The tiny redhead looked up at him, a flustered smile on her face. Her pale skin was slightly flushed from the hot Arizona sun, and a light sheen of sweat had her T-shirt clinging to her body. He pulled her fluidly to her feet, and smiled down at her. "I'm sorry. I wasn't paying attention." He said, staring into the greenest eyes he'd ever seen.

"No, that's okay. I was playing tourist girl and not watching where I was going." Willow looked up at the man, and found her self mesmerized by his smile. His dark eyes studied her upturned face, and his long, black hair was being teased by the warm breeze. She was amazed by how tall he was, the top of her head barely coming to his chest.

"Not from around here, then." She shook her head, and looked around nervously. "Well, my name is Mark Lynch, and may I be the first to welcome you to San Rios." He smiled that disarming smile again, and Willow placed her tiny hand into his much larger one.

"Willow Rosenberg. Thank you. It's hotter here, than I expected. A lot hotter than California." She said, glancing away again. God, he was hot, she thought. He held himself with confidence, and he had an almost predatory air about him. But in contrast, he smiled easily and his eyes were kind. Willow remembered that it had been a long time since Oz had left. She'd been single ever since. And this guy was making her remember just what it was like to want to be with someone.

"California, huh. Well, the big difference is, we don't have all that smog and pollution clogging up our skies." He said conversationally. He rocked back on the heels of his boots, fishing in his pocket for another cigarette. At the quirk of her brow at the smoldering tube, he grinned ruefully. "I meant from factories."

"Uh, huh. That's okay, I'm sure the cactus and the buzzards will forgive you." He chuckled, the sound sending a thrill down her spine.

"So, who do I thank for bringing you to our fair city?" He asked, forgetting he had told Anne he would meet her at her house for lunch.

"A friend." Willow answered, a bit hastily. One dark brow shot up, but he didn't press. Wasn't his business.

"Well, then you have to send your friend my appreciation." Willow couldn't believe he was flirting with her. And she was liking it. Just as she was about to say something, hopefully witty and cute, she heard her name being called. Sighing heavily and rolling her eyes, she turned to watch Xander come up to them at a slow trot. He eyed Mark suspiciously, and laid a possessive hand on her arm. Willow glared at him and tried to shrug him off inconspicuously.

"Will, I've been waiting for you." Xander said, tearing his eyes away from the tall Indian.

"I'm afraid that's my fault. Nearly ran the poor girl over." Mark interjected, instantly disliking the brunette man. Xander barely spared him a glance.

"I think I've got a lead, let's go." He said, then started to walk away, trying to pull her with him. Willow gave up on inconspicuous and finally yanked her hand out of his grasp.

"I'll be right there." She hissed, her eyes telling him to get lost. Xander shook his head and stalked to the truck parked by the curb a few feet away. Shooting another glare at him for good measure, she turned back to Mark, an apologetic look on her face. "I have to go." she said, with a hint of regret in her voice. Mark crushed the cigarette out before extending his hand again. She took it, and felt an electric shock jolt up her arm, leaving little tingles in its wake.

"It was nice to meet you, Ms. Rosenberg. I hope I'll get to see you again before you leave." His deep voice resonated over her, heating up her already burning skin. She smiled at him again, reluctantly pulling her hand from his.

"I'd like that." When he grinned, she felt herself struggling for breath.

"If that's the case, my band is playing at the bar over on Fifth tonight. If you would like to come."

"I'll definitely try to make it." She said, starting to back away. With another smile, she turned and joined Xander in the truck. What was it with her and musicians?, she thought as she buckled her seat belt. She sent him a final wave and a smile as Xander pulled out into traffic.

~*~*~

"You're late." Anne said as he walked inside, a huge grin on his face. She was sitting on the couch, painting her toenails. He dropped the bag on the table, and sank down next to her.

"Sorry, but I got held up by an angel." Anne rolled her eyes, but she smiled at the almost dreamy expression on his face.

"Uh, huh." She screwed the cap on her nail polish and leaned back on the cushions. Rubbing her tired eyes, she stretched.

"Tired?" He asked, filing the image of the pretty little redhead away for later perusal.

"Yeah." She said, resting her head on his shoulder.

"How'd it go?"

"A lot better than I expected. He wants to be a part of his life. Of course, he tried to tell me that I had to quit the Glamour Factory." Anne snorted at that. Mark laughed, thinking he would have loved to have been a fly on the wall for that.

"Can't say I blame him, sweets."

"You do remember that you work there too?" She asked. Shifting her head to glare at him.

"Yeah, but it's not somewhere I would want my sister or my mother working, and especially not the mother of my child."

"You don't have a sister." Mark quirked a brow at her and pursed his lips. She had to giggle at him.

"You know what I mean. It's not the nicest of places, and it was one thing when you were washing dishes or waitressing. Dancing, and that other stuff, is a whole different sort of thing."

"I don't do that 'other stuff', Mark." She ground out, standing up and stalking into the kitchen.

"I know that. But you work at a place that allows it." He replied, following her.

"So do you." The refrigerator was closed with a slam.

"I'm a guy." he said with a shrug. Anne threw her hands up in the air, and gave a frustrated sigh.

"Ugh, of all the chauvinistic bullshit." She spat, opening the bottle of water with a sharp twist. He bit back the chuckle, not feeling the need to get his ass kicked before going to play that night. "You know, you two would probably get along great. Kick back on the couch with a couple of beers, cigarettes hanging from your mouths. Watch football or whatever and converse about your very Victorian attitudes. Of course he has the advantage of BEING from the Victorian age, but, I'm sure you could overcome that hurdle." she snapped. Laughter danced in his eyes as he looked at her.

"Sorry, Annie. That's just the way of the world." He walked over to her and tilted her chin up to look at him. "Maybe you ought to think about finding a new job." When she started to sputter indignantly, he cut her off. "NOT just because us Victorian-thinking men think you should, but also because you do have a young son to think about."

"I know that Mark. That's why I started dancing in the first place. Being the chosen one doesn't exactly guarantee job security." She glared up at him, her hazel eyes shooting sparks.

"Look, all I'm saying, is that if he's willing, let him foot the bill and go back to school. Find something that you really want to do, not just something that pays the bills." Anne sighed, feeling her anger seep out of her. He was right, she knew. She hated her job, wasn't overly thrilled with the hours, even though she used to slay much later into the night than she did dancing. Matt was going to school, and Spike was willing to pay for them, now would be the perfect time. But part of her didn't like the thought of sitting back and letting him take over. She had been doing it on her own so long, that she didn't know if she could adjust to sharing the burden. Seeing that she was beginning to agree, Mark decided to back off. "Just think about it, okay." Watching her nod, he smiled at the sullen look on her face. "Good. Now, I gotta go. Wish you could come tonight." He said as they walked to the door.

"Yeah, me too. But, you apparently have a new groupie in waiting. You won't even miss me." She told him with a chuckle. He reached up and cupped her face, a sad smile on his lips.

"Nah, that's not true. Nobody could replace you."

"Somebody will, and you deserve it." Anne returned his smile, and leaned up to brush a kiss across his mouth. "Now, go. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

"Well, I think that leaves my evening fairly open." He told her with a smirk, grabbing his bag and heading out the door before she could hit him.

"You jerk." she called after him, sticking her tongue out for effect.

His laughter was all he answered as he pulled out of her driveway with a wave.

~*~*~

Oh, she was so going to kill that vampire. They wouldn't have to worry about how Matt was going to react to meeting his father, because said father was going to be dust. Anne pressed the gas pedal just a little harder, ignoring the honks of the other drivers around her. *How dare he?* her mind screamed. Her fingers fisted on her steering wheel, the strength behind her grip leaving indentations of her digits on the heavy plastic. With a squeal of rubber, she tore into the Days Inn parking lot, coming to a screeching stop next to the DeSoto. Stomping out of the car, she stalked to the door and proceeded to pound on it.

"SPIKE! Open this fucking door right now you peroxided rat!" she yelled. She didn't notice the looks of the people walking into the office to check in, or the doors opening and people peering out to see the obviously crazy brunette trying to beat the door down. When it swung open, she stormed in, ripping it out of his hand and slamming it closed.

"Well, kitten. What brings. . .fuck!" he spat when her fist flew into his nose. Staggering back a step he recovered in time to block the next blow.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" She sent a kick to his midsection, cursing when he blocked her again. She was shaking with anger, and her churning emotions were causing her to be careless. When she took another swing, he caught her wrist, spinning her around to trap her against him and then knocked her feet out from under her, sending them both to the floor. They landed with an 'oomph', with him pinning her to the rough, beige carpet.

"Now, wanna tell me why we're playing kick the Spike?" He already knew, but he figured he'd play dumb for a bit.

"You know damn well why. YOU GOT ME FIRED, YOU ASSHOLE!" She yelled, struggling to get free.

"Tsk, pet. What sort of language is that to use?" He asked casually, savoring the squirming woman under him. When the evidence of his pleasure pressed intimately against her buttocks, Anne reared up and finally managed to toss him off of her. He landed on the floor a foot away, but they were soon both up and facing each other again.

"Don't try the innocent act on me, Spike. It's so not going to work. How could you do that? You can't just waltz back into my life and start taking over. It doesn't work like that." She took a step forward, arms crossed over her chest, eyes blazing.

"I told you, you weren't going back there." He growled in return.

"Fuck you. You're not my father, or my lover. You have no right. . ." He hauled her against him, his own blue orbs flashing gold.

"That's right, kitten. I'm not your father. But as to the second, I'm afraid you're sadly mistaken. I have been and I will be your lover until you die."

"God, stalker much?" She snapped back, ignoring the trill of excitement that coursed up her spine at his claim.

"Don't you get it, Buffy? I'm here. To stay. And I won't allow other men to touch you. Period. Do you know how crazy it made me that first night I saw you go into the back with that yuppie wanker? I could smell the sex from fifty feet away. It was all I could do not to go back there and kill that bastard. And you for doing it." Her eyes blazed at the implication he made.

"I've never. . .I'm not a whore. I haven't been with anybody since. . ." Anne stopped, looking away from him. He wouldn't let her drop it though.

"Since when, Buffy?" He growled, pulling her closer. She refused to meet his eyes. He shook her a bit, trying to force her to look up. "Since. When?"

"Since that day with you. Are you happy, now? Does that soothe your male ego?" She glared at him from under her lashes, her anger quickly being replaced by something else. He was pressed tightly against her, his mouth mere inches from hers. He searched her face, seeing the truth of her words.

"Neither have I." Her eyes widened at his admission in the second before his mouth descended on hers. Desire, fury, frustration, and something else poured from him and into her as his lips plundered hers. Heat suffused them both the second their lips touched. She kissed him back with everything she'd had locked up inside since that day in the mansion. His fingers tangled in the length of her hair, her fingers fisted in his. The kiss was passionate, and violent, as they each branded the other.

They were both panting heavily when they pulled apart, arms still entwined around the other.

"I want you, Buffy. For five damn years I've wanted you." He told her, brushing his lips over her cheek. She shivered with the intensity of his words, her own inner thoughts mirroring them. But, somewhere in the back of her mind, reasoning started to kick in, and she started to pull away. Reluctantly, he let her go, sensing her need to distance herself, physically, if not mentally.

"I want you too." She admitted once she was seated on the bed. When he took a step towards her, she held a hand up, stilling him. "But, that can't be all it's about. We have a child, Spike. We can't rule whatever this is between us with hormones. I won't have him hurt because we can't control our libidos." She said, running a hand through her hair.

"Tell me what you want from me, Buffy." He said, sitting on the other bed and grabbing his cigarettes off the nightstand. Once he lit it, his eyes returned to hers, their color close to black with his want for her.

"Stop looking at me like that for one, or we'll never make it out of this room."

"And that's a bad thing?" He teased, trying to pull in his raging lust. She just huffed in response.

"You can't come in and try to control me, Spike. I've been taking care of Matt and myself for a long time now. I don't appreciate you getting me fired." Her words carried an edge of anger and hurt, and he was suddenly sorry for his actions.

"I'm sorry, Buffy. I just couldn't stand the thought of you there, doing that."

"I told you I never did that..." she began, this time he held up his hand to stop her,

"I know that. Your 'employer' made it very clear that you didn't. You're better than that place." He finished, taking a deep drag from his cigarette.

"Yeah, well, for the record. I was considering taking you up on your offer, and maybe going back to school, or something." She told him with a half smile. "But, that doesn't excuse you for what you did." She sent him a glare, and was met with his disarming grin. Finding it infectious, she grinned back. "You better make sure you're ready for this, because I have a house payment, a car payment, AND utility bills that need paying. Not to mention little things like food, and clothes."

"Don't worry about it, kitten. I've got plenty of money." He said, crushing out his cigarette.

"Do I even want to know how?" When all he did was grin, she dropped her head into her hands and groaned.

"The crime was done long ago, before you were born. I'm just good with making it multiply." He said, wagging his eyebrows. She laughed, feeling the rest of her anger drain out of her.

"Do we have an agreement? No more trying to be all control freak?" He nodded, holding out his hand. With a laugh, she took at and they shook on it. When he tried to tug her to him, she resisted. "Oh no, lusty. That's not gonna happen."

"Why not? I thought we were all made up." He said with a pout. Anne's eyes widened at the unexpected look, and she found herself giggling again. He liked the sound, so different from that day, and he exaggerated the look even more to get her to do it again.

"We are all made up, you dork. But, we need to see if this real, and not just sex. We already know that we do that well."

"No bloody shit." He said, causing her to scrunch her nose up at him.

"However," she continued, ignoring him. "We need to see if we can do the rest well."

"Alright, luv. How do we start?" He linked his fingers loosely through hers, and gave her his full attention.

"A date." He blinked, not sure if he heard her right.

"A what?"

"A date. You know, you take me somewhere, pay for everything then drop me off at home with a chaste kiss at the door." She said the last part with a gleam in her eye. He grumbled under his breath at that. She smiled at his scowl. "Hey, I've got an idea. Since my sitter's already paid up for the night, my friend Mark is playing at the club over on Fifth. Wanna go? I'd love for you to meet him." Biting back the jealousy that surged forward at the mention of her friend's name, he gave her a tight smile.

"Sure." Then he gave her a horrified look. "He doesn't play that 'my women done left and my dog died crap', does he?" He said in a mock southern accent. Anne raised an eyebrow, offering him a coy smile.

"Some." At his groan, she chuckled, standing and pulling him to his feet. "Come on, fang face. Let's get you decent so you can take me out. I'm hungry, so you can feed me too." She turned towards his bag and started rummaging through.

"Hey, what are you about?" he asked, trying to stop her.

"Trying to see if you have anything with color in here." She said with a scowl. Buried underneath the mountains of black t-shirts and jeans she found a dark blue button down. "Well, this will have to do." She muttered, throwing it at him. He caught it, and sneered at her. She yanked out a pair of clean jeans and socks, noticing with some interest that there wasn't a pair of boxers or briefs in the entire bag. Of course, they had undressed so quickly that day, she couldn't remember if he had on any then. "Here, go get dressed. I have to call Molly and let her know that I'm not at work." Looking down at the clothes in his hand, he growled softly and stormed into the bathroom. With a smile at his bare back, she picked up the phone and dialed.

~*~*~

Two doors down, another argument was starting, just as Anne and Spike's was finishing.

"Dammit, Will. We're here to find Buffy, NOT pick up long haired musicians." Xander exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air. Willow's mouth formed into a hard line as she sat on the bed. "I don't see why you can't do the spell again. I so don't believe that she would be working as a STRIPPER." The word was said with such disdain that she cringed. Xander had apparently spoken to the clerk at the small drugstore in town, who had told him that a girl fitting Buffy's description worked at the strip club off of 10. He had promptly dismissed it.

"I told you, Xander. You're lucky that it got us this far. She obviously hadn't used that brush in years. The hair was old. And what does it matter if I try to have a little fun while we're here? He was nice."

"Uh, huh. Don't you remember what happened with Oz?" He said, glaring at her. Her eyes went wide at that, anger making her green orbs flash black. Struggling to calm down so she didn't do something irrational, like turn him into a toad, she stood.

"Of course I remember what happened. But that doesn't mean that's going to happen again. And you need to chill out. In case YOU forgot, this little obsession with Buffy is what made Cordy break up with you." She snapped. He grimaced at the reminder, but he didn't back down.

"It's not an obsession. I'm just trying to make sure she's okay. She needs her friends." Willow was just short of having enough. With a wave of her hand, and a quite word slipping from her lips, Xander was asleep. With a sigh, she levitated him to the bed. She then went over to him and grabbed his keys. She really hated using magic for selfish means, but he was seriously starting to pluck her last nerve. She loved him, she really did. But he could be the most single minded person she knew. She really needed to get away from him for awhile.

With a sigh, she took the map off the table, then walked out into the night.

Arizona (continued)

Chapter 7

Willow walked into the bar, the smell of smoke, food and bodies hitting her. It was altogether not an unpleasant smell, and she found herself smiling at the differences in people there. People in cowboy hats and boots sat with people in business suits. A few punk looking types were laughing with some good ole boys at the dart boards. Waitresses wove through the tables with smiles and words for everyone. Willow suddenly knew why Buffy had chosen this place to live. These people were NICE. And not in that scary Stepford kind of way. Shuffling through the restaurant part of the bar, she followed the sound of loud music and worked her way through the throngs of people to the stage area. The band was just setting up, and the jukebox was apparently getting everybody ready for the high decibels to come.

Seeing Mark kneeling on the stage, tuning his guitar, she threaded her way through the crowd to him. Once she reached him, she tapped him on the shoulder, offering him a shy smile when he turned around. The grin that split his face made her breath catch in her throat, and fluttering start in her stomach.

"You made it." He called over the din. She nodded, nervously twisting her fingers in front of her, her bright hair bouncing around her shoulders. Taking the guitar off, he set it aside and jumped off the stage. "Where's your friend from earlier?" He asked, taking her by her elbow and leading her to a table.

"He sacked out." She told him, hoping her blush wasn't noticeable in the dark club. The feel of his hand on her elbow caused her heart to speed up in a pleasant way.

"Too bad." Mark said in such a way that let Willow know that he didn't really think so. "Want something to drink?"

"Uhm, yeah. Just a coke though, I drove here." She told him.

"Beautiful and conscientious, I knew I liked you." Willow blushed again, and he flashed her a wicked grin before moving to the bar. When he came back, he set the drink down in front of her, then waved to his bandmates on the stage. "We're getting ready to start. Will you stick around til the end of the show?" She nodded, smiling again. He brushed a hand over her hair and moved away, jumping gracefully back onto the stage. She watched as he picked his guitar back up and plugged it in, before turning towards the crowd. His eyes sought her out, and he smiled hugely. She caught her bottom lip between her teeth, nervously tucking her hair behind her ear when some of the people near the stage turned and looked at her. Their attention went back to the stage when Mark started to speak.

"How's everybody doin' tonight?" He waited for the loud roar of whoops and whistles to stop before he spoke again. "I figured I'd start off a little different tonight. We have a special guest from out of town, and I would like to play this for her." All eyes turned to Willow again, and she was grateful for the darkness once again when she felt her face blaze. When the first few haunting chords of Hotel California filled the air, Willow forgot all about the people and just lost herself in sound of his voice.

~*~*~

Anne and Spike walked in just as Mark started the second verse. Spike felt himself relax a bit when he recognized the Eagles. *Least I won't have to pretend to like that twangy shit* he thought to himself as Anne pulled him into the room. It was packed, and there was no chance of getting close to the stage. Spike saw the bouncer from two nights before, and his look of recognition was now understandable. He was Buffy's friend, and knew that Matt was Spike's.

"They're good." He said, with no little amazement. What they were doing here was a mystery.

"Yeah. They play here most Thursdays, since Mark works on the weekends. I rarely get to see him play anymore." Anne told him, allowing him to draw her into his embrace, and leaned back against his chest. His arms banded around her waist, and he rested his chin on her head, gently swaying to the music. When the song was over, they launched immediately into Tears of Jupiter, and Spike found himself thanking the God that had forsaken him that Anne had apparently been teasing him.

Between songs, the crowd hooted and howled, stomping and clapping while Mark and the rest of the band drank it in. He was an amazing player, Spike soon realized, when he burst into a guitar solo that rivaled any the blonde had heard before. Women crowded the front of the stage, their faces dreamy with the hopes that he might notice them, but Anne knew none of them would get lucky. She watched as his gaze was continually drawn to the side of the stage, whoever was there was hidden by the crowd. She smiled, happy that he had met somebody that held his attention so raptly.

"You guys have been great." Mark crooned into the microphone an hour and a half later. Wiping his arm across his forehead, he grinned again. "We're going to go out on a soft note tonight, so, all you couples grab your honeys and get to swaying." This elicited a chuckle from the crowd, as several people began to do just that. When the first few notes of Arms Wide Open sounded form the speakers, Spike turned Anne in his arms and pulled her against him. She searched his eyes, a slight frown marring her brow.

"Dance with me." He said, placing one of her hands on his shoulder, and tucking the other into his and holding her against his chest. With a sigh, she turned herself over to him, and got lost in the blue fire of his eyes, and the feel of his hand pressed against her back. Time stood still as the world seem to come down to just the two of them. Mark's deep, soulful voice washed over them as he sang about a man finding out he was about to be a father.

Mark watched them from his position on the stage, a bittersweet feeling running through him. They seemed so in tune with each other, so right. They danced like they were the only two people in the room, and the guitar player felt himself smiling. His brown eyes drifted away from the dancing couple, over to Willow. He may have been wrong about there not being another woman like Annie in the world, and he may have just been lucky enough to find her.

Spike slid his hands down her arms as the song came to a close, linking his fingers through hers. He lowered his head, just as she raised hers to brush their lips softly together. Gently they caressed each other's mouths, tasting and teasing, not rushed or brutal. Everything they felt, but were still too afraid to say, was spoken in that kiss. When they pulled away, and stared deeply into each other's eyes, it was as if the answers to the universe could be found there.

Anne was the first to recover, and she smiled, releasing one of his hands to tug him behind her .

"Come on, I want you to meet Mark." He followed her through the crowd, his eyes drinking in the smooth line of her back, the silken curves of her legs. She seemed to wear shorts all the time, and he, for one, was glad. Neither noticed the appreciative glances of the men, or the enthralled faces of the woman as they passed. Mark was standing in the corner of the room, speaking to somebody Anne couldn't see, and acknowledging the people he knew. She walked up to him, and tapped him on the back.

"Hey, I thought you had to work." He said, turning to face them. She stepped into his hug, smiling against his chest.

"Tell you about it later. Mark, I would like you to meet Spike." She waved her hands between the two, looking expectantly at them. Mark took a deep breath and pulled himself to his full height, finally sticking a hand out.

"We met the other night." He said, reminding the blonde.

"Yeah, I know." Spike said, taking his hand. They both briefly considered the very childish idea of squeezing just a bit too hard, but one look at the glittering hazel eyes of the woman next to them dispelled it.

"Oh, hey, I've got somebody I want you to meet, too." He turned to the person still behind him, pulling her to his side. "Anne, this is. . ."

"Willow." Anne's shocked voice cut Mark off. He looked down at the redhead beside him, then back up at his friend. She had gone pale and was clutching at Spike's hand as if it were a lifeline. Spike was frowning at Willow, and she looked shell-shocked.

"Buffy?" Mark realized with a sudden clarity that this girl wasn't just from California, she was from Sunnydale.

"Never mind. You two seem to already know each other." He bit out, his mind finally conjuring up the memory of the picture beside Anne's bed. This girl was older, her hair shorter and a little lighter, but it was definitely her.

The two women stared at each other for what seemed like forever. Spike was getting ready to say something, just to break the tension, when, as if a spell had broken, they were suddenly in a fierce hug, tears pouring down both of their faces.

"Oh God, Buffy. I missed you."

"I missed you, too Will. I'm so sorry." Anne gasped, clutching Willow like she might disappear. Mark and Spike stood by awkwardly, both uncomfortable with the emotion flowing between the two woman. When they pulled apart, they each raised a hand to the other's hair.

"Your hair's brown."

"And your's is shorter." They both giggled at the inane observations. Then, Anne seemed to remember the men. "Oh, Mark, this is my best friend from Sunnydale. You've heard me talk about her. I can't believe this is the girl you met today." Willow looked up at Mark, her smile fading at the angry gleam in his eye. Her eyes widened when she realized what he must be thinking.

"Oh, Mark. No, I swear, I didn't know who you were." She gasped. His brow quirked and he reached for his cigarettes. Spike decided that seemed like a damn good idea, and reached for his own. He felt bad for the bloke, not honestly thinking that Willow was lying, but understanding how it might look to Mark. He felt the need to show some solidarity with the other man, and decided that creating a batch of secondhand smoke for them to breathe would do just fine. Anne looked between the two, her own mind putting the pieces together.

"Mark, if she says she didn't know. She didn't know." Anne told him firmly.

"Fine. I'll just go get my stuff, let you guys catch up." Willow watched helplessly as he stormed away. Anne looked at Spike, her eyes asking him to stay with Willow. He nodded and let her hand go so she could go after the tall brunette.

"So, where's the whelp?" He asked, casually smoking his cigarette. Willow pulled her eyes from Mark's retreating back, and looked at the vampire.

"Back at the hotel," she mumbled. Spike's eyes sharpened at that.

"He's here?" He growled. She flinched at his tone.

"Yes."

"I thought you didn't know where she was." His tone was accusatory.

"We didn't. . .look, it's a long story. Could it wait until Buffy gets back? I only want to tell it once."

"Fine." He snapped, dropping his cigarette to the floor and grinding it out. "Want a drink?" Willow waited a beat.

"Hell yes."

"Right then. Come on."

~*~*~

"Mark." Anne walked up behind him, watching him as he pulled the cord from his amp with jerky movements.

"What?" The word was clipped, his usual good humor stripped.

"She's not deceitful." She began, only to shrink back from the angry blaze in his eyes.

"That's good. Why don't you go talk? Sure she has some interesting things to say." He said, shoving the cord into his bag.

"Mark. Don't be an ass. If she came here tonight, it was because she liked you. Not because of some covert reason." She snapped, glaring at him. When he dropped his hands to his sides, his head hanging so his hair was covering his face, she sighed. "Come on back. Get to know her, you'll see." She tugged on his hand, willing him to look at her. When he finally did, she saw that the anger was gone. In it's place was a touch of wariness. "Come on." With a sigh, he flashed her a smile.

"Alright. You go, take them to the restaurant side. I'll meet you over there."

"Promise?" Her voice held a note of mock threat, her eyebrow quirked up as she waited for him to answer. He snorted, and shook his head.

"Promise. Now go. I've got to clean up."

"Okay." She smiled brightly, then turned to find her vampire and her best friend. She found them a few minutes later, leaning against the bar commiserating over booze. Actually, it was a beer for Spike, and one of those fruity drinks that Mark always turned his nose up at for Willow. "Ooh, I want one of those. Then let's go over to the other side, it's quieter. Mark said he'll meet us there." Anne said the last part directly to Willow, pleased when the smile returned to her friend's face. She didn't know what had happened to Oz, but it was obvious he was out of the picture. Once Anne had her drink, she took Spike's hand, much to Willow's surprise, and led them to the restaurant. When they were seated, she flagged a waitress down and ordered, then indicated that Willow and Spike should as well. Granted, she didn't actually think Spike would order anything, with the whole need for blood situation.

"You got those blooming onion things?" He asked the pretty blonde, sending her a disarming smile. She nodded mutely, her speaking ability seemingly stilted. She stared at him openly, causing Anne to clear her throat angrily.

"What? Oh, yeah. I'll just go put this in." She then beat a hasty retreat, not caring for the hostility from the woman at the table.

"Ow," Spike whined, when Anne punched his arm. "What the bloody hell was that for?"

"Eyeballing the waitress." She growled, in a fairly decent imitation of his own fierce rumble. The scarred eyebrow shot up, and he leaned in to brush his mouth over hers.

"Never, kitten." Her eyes drifted shut for a second, and she savored the cool feel of his lips against hers. Willow watched in amazement at the two across from her. Spike seemed almost lighthearted, a stark contrast to the vampire that had thrown Xander around the month before. And Anne seemed, happy. Being away from Sunnydale had done her a world of good. The witch felt a surge of guilt threaten to choke her.

"So, Will. How did you find me?" Anne asked, as Mark came over to the table. He slid into the booth next to Willow, smiling at her. She smiled back, thankful he wasn't angry anymore. After he had ordered, Willow took a deep breath and started her tale of how she came to be in San Rios.

~*~*~

"So, you beat up Xander?" Anne asked, nibbling on a piece of deep fried onion.

"Yeah." Spike said with a smirk. They were all taking bites of the flowering onion, and listening to Willow.

"Good." She replied, turning back to the redhead. Willow felt a stab of disloyalty when she snickered, but dammit, he had pissed her off.

"Was that the guy that came up to you today?" Mark asked, finding her blushing face stunning.

"Yeah." She looked down at her hands, twisting the ring on her finger.

"He's here?" Anne asked, incredulous. Her eyes darted around the room, as if searching him out. Spike watched her reaction with interest, making a mental note to find out just what the boy had done.

"Yeah, here, as in San Rios. I kinda make him go to sleep so I could come tonight." Spike snorted, and Anne giggled through her ire. Mark looked her gape mouthed.

"You put him to sleep?" Willow felt a touch of pride swell in her breast.

"She's a witch." Anne supplied, picking up her drink. Interest filled Mark's face at that.

"Really?" The redhead nodded, wondering if there was a record for the most blushes in an hour. "You'll have to tell me about that." she smiled, and nodded. Anne rested her head on Spike's shoulder, thinking *Awwww*. Her two best friends seemed to be hitting it off. Spike looked down at her, and smiled. He liked the easy comfort she had with him, and he wondered why he had ever left her.

"I'm sorry, Buffy. I didn't mean to come here and intrude on your life. It's just, Xander can be very convincing when he wants to be." Anne reached across the table and took Willow's hand.

"I'm glad you came, Will. I didn't realize how much I missed you until I saw you." Their fingers linked, and the men suddenly felt out of sorts again, each reaching for their cigarettes.

"You know, your mom really wants to see you. And Matt." Three sets of eyes snapped to the redhead, making her feel like a bug under a microscope.

"How did you know?" Anne gasped. Willow's green eyes met hers, sadness filling them.

"I went over to your mother's one day to return one of Giles' books. He wasn't there yet, and the door was open, so, I went in. I found her sitting on the couch, crying. She had a picture, I guess you sent it to her. It was of you and Matt. She said he was your son. One look, and I knew who his father was." Her eyes dropped to the table, as an uncomfortable silence descended over them.

"Do you have a problem with it?" Anne asked, her voice tight. Spike tensed next to her, waiting for the witch's answer.

"Oh, Goddess no, Buffy! Why should I if you don't?" Willow was quick to say. "He's beautiful."

"Thank you." Anne replied. Spike blew out a plume of smoke, a surge of pride spreading through him. Matt was beautiful, as was his mother. And they were both his.

"Think it's about time to go, kitten." He said, when she yawned wide. Anne nodded.

"Yeah. How long are you going to be in town? I want to talk, find out about stuff." Her eyes drifted to Mark, in silent indication of what she meant.

"I don't know. A while, I guess." Her own eyes drifted to Mark, then quickly back to Anne. "He's going to want to see you," Willow said. Anne sighed, rubbing her tired eyes.

"I don't know, Will. I don't know if I can deal with him. Look, just tell him to give me a couple of days. Really important things are going on right now, and he's just going to have to wait his turn." Willow nodded, taking the napkin that Anne held out to her with her number. "Call me tomorrow?"

"Alright." They all filed out of the booth, each reaching for their wallets to pay the check.

"I got it." Spike said, throwing the money on the table. The girls hugged, and the men shared nonchalant looks.

"Bye, guys." Anne said with a wave, pulling Spike out with her.

"Bye, Buffy, Spike."

"Later, Red. Tonto." Mark's eyes widened and he moved to go after him. Willow hazarded a hand on his arm.

"Don't, he just seems to need a nickname for everybody. He calls Xander whelp and puff boy." Mark didn't look very convinced, and even less happy, but, he didn't continue after the couple.

"Can I walk you to your car, m'lady?" he said with a rakish grin, and a grand sweep of his arm. She giggled, and preceded him out into the night.

The walk to Xander's old, beat up truck was done in a comfortable silence. When they reached it, he placed a hand on the door, and smiled down at her.

"So, you put him to sleep and stole his truck?" She nodded, a guilty look on her face. Her heart tripped in her chest when he rubbed his thumb across her cheek. "Remind me to never piss you off." She laughed, the sound more nervous, than mirthful. His dark eyes seemed to burn into hers, and the air swirled with electricity. "I'm going to kiss you now." He warned, his soft voice flowing over her.

"Okay." She whispered, her eyes drifting shut at the first, gentle brush of his mouth across hers.

There's something about the first time you kiss somebody. The taste, the texture, the newness of the sensation. The way it makes your stomach flutter, and your heart skip beats. Willow lost herself in the feeling of his lips exploring hers. His mouth was soft, and warm, the taste of the beer he'd had still lingering. When his tongue darted out to tease her slightly parted lips, she responded, sighing when he slipped inside. He throughly explored the sweet cavern of her mouth, before engaging her tongue in a sensual battle. He tasted like cigarettes and beer, and something earthy and wild. She tasted like strawberries, and rum, with the undertone of something purely feminine. He felt like he could drown in her, and die happy.

When he pulled away, he smiled at her desire filled, emerald eyes.

"I want to see you again." He whispered, his voice husky.

"Me too."

"I'll pick you up for lunch tomorrow?" She nodded mutely, looking into his near black eyes. He leaned in to kiss her again, this time with a little more urgency. She met him with her own, her fingers curling around his wrist. Reluctantly, he pulled away, and opened the door for her. After she climbed in, he shut it, and leaned a arm on the open window. "Where are you staying?"

"The Days Inn. Room 16." Alarm broke through her hazy senses. "Oh, shit, I forgot to tell them that we're in the same hotel Spike is." She slapped a hand against her forehead, cursing her stupidity.

"Uh, oh." Mark said, wondering if he needed go home and get his gun.

"It should be okay tonight. He'll sleep until tomorrow. I just have to remember to call her in the morning so she can warn Spike. Not like he can't take care of himself, but Xander can be irrational sometimes." *Stupid, stupid, stupid* she chanted to herself.

"Well, I'll call her, too, just in case." He told her, giving her a reassuring smile.

"Thanks. I'll see you tomorrow." She said, not really wanting to leave, but feeling like she should get back to make sure he did, indeed, stay asleep.

"Definitely." He stepped back so she could pull out, watching until the truck was out of sight. Whistling softly to himself, he turned to go back into the bar to get his stuff.

~*~*~

Spike put the car into park, and drew Anne into his arms. She went willingly, inhaling deep his scent.

"It's nice, seeing them together." She said, her voice tired.

"Yeah, I suppose." Spike replied. Anne snorted against his chest, leaning up to look at him.

"You suppose? You're such a romantic Spike." she teased. He hauled her against his chest, teasing her jawline with his mouth. Anne trembled with the sensation, relishing the heat his touch induced.

"I'll show you how much of a romantic I am." He whispered in her ear. His hands ran restlessly over her back, sliding under the t-shirt she was wearing. The promise in his voice made the ache intensify between her thighs, and she felt herself dampen considerably.

"I told you, no sex. Not yet." She gasped when his wandering fingers found the swell of her breast, and she suddenly forgot what she was protesting.

"Not going to have sex," he purred, his other hand deftly sliding inside her shorts. He silently thanked the gods for whoever invented elastic.

"Oh, God." She moaned when his cool fingers parted her folds and slipped inside. Two fingers delved into her tight heat, as his thumb circled the tiny bundle of nerves at the top. Her hips gyrated against his hand, her head lolling to the side to give his mouth more access to her throat.

"That's it, Buffy." He whispered, quickening his hand's movements to match hers. Her fingers clutched tightly at his shoulders, and her breath came in husky gasps. His lips latched over his mark on her neck, sucking hard. With a shriek of his name, she jetted over the edge, her juices flowing over his hand, her inner muscles clamping tight over his thrusting fingers. His other arm snaked around her waist as she rode out the orgasm, tremors shaking her to her core. Spike felt like he was going to bust, but he didn't move to try to take things further.

She collapsed in a heap against him, and Spike pulled his hand out of her pants. She turned to look at him, watching in erotic fascination as he licked his fingers clean.

"Delicious." he purred, leaning in to kiss her. The taste of herself on his tongue had her seriously reconsidering this whole waiting idea. "Think you'd better go on home now, kitten. I'll see you tomorrow." With a grimace, Anne moved to climb off of him. They got out of the car together, and he walked with her around to the driver's side.

"Know of any good butcher shops that'll sell a man a spot of blood?" He asked her, holding her door open for her. Her eyes widened when she realized the implications behind his words. Yeah, he had told her that he had stopped being the Big Bad, but she hadn't thought he had stopped feeding on humans. The thought that he had made her heart swell.

"There's one off of Maple," she told him, pulling him down to her for another scorching kiss. When they pulled apart, it was all he could do not to throw her over his shoulder and drag her back into the hotel room for some proper reacquainting. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Nothing could keep me away from what's mine." She smiled hugely at him, before reluctantly pulling her door closed.

"Goodnight, Spike."

"Goodnight, kitten." Then, she pulled out of the parking spot, and drove off into the night. Smiling to himself, and savoring the taste of her in his mouth, and the smell of her on his skin, he turned and went inside.

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