A/N: Thanks to Eowyn and Lindsay for betaing, and to Always for the fabulous new banner. Only one more chapter to go :D



A sewer in downtown L.A.

"Drusilla, it hurts so much," Darla said brokenly, wrapped in the burned arms of her sire. "Why aren't I healing? It was never like this before!" Darla wailed, tears running down her face. She knew that Drusilla wasn't nearly as scarred as she was, and she couldn't understand why.

"It's okay, my luv. You're still new, you see," Drusilla soothed, head resting gently atop the blonde’s. "The mind doesn't match the heart anymore. Though it is a wonder why you didn't go up in a cinder."

As soon as she finished that sentence, Drusilla grew still, ceasing her gentle petting, and wailed out, inadvertently gripping Darla and her sensitive skin too hard. At Darla's cry of pain, Drusilla released her, standing up abruptly.

"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry! I didn't see! I couldn't see! Oh, I've been such a bad mummy..." she lamented to herself.

Darla looked up at her in shock, certain that the dark haired vampire was not speaking to her. "What do you mean?" she asked in a quiet voice, confusion written on her face.

"I failed you. And my sweet William—he hurts so! Uhharg!" she yelled, pulling at her hair, turning away from her daughter. Then, she calmed, tilting her head, listening to voices only she could hear. "Oh—oh!!" she exclaimed gleefully, clapping her hands and spinning around until she faced Darla again. "I can fix it! Yes, Mummy's going to make it all better, isn't she?" she said to herself, walking down the tunnel.

"Drusilla—wait, where are you going? Don't leave me here! Please! Dru!"

But Drusilla kept walking, muttering to herself, fingers lightly dancing along the dank wall of the sewer as she increased the distance between her and an openly weeping Darla.

Her boy needed her more, for he had no one.

~~~~~

Lindsey knocked back another glass, sitting by the phone and feeling silly for even wishing it to ring. If Darla was going to contact him, it most certainly wouldn't be by phone. It would be by—

The knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.
He leapt up from his comfortable leather chair and rushed to his door. He opened it with haste and saw her. Alone.

He became gripped with terror.

"Drusilla—I heard about Angel setting you two on fire...I see it's true," he said, taking in her burns. "Where's Darla? Is she—"

"You...you can help her, can't you?"
Lindsey exhaled in relief, motioning for the dark vampiress to enter.

"Come in. She's alive? She's all right?"

"She's not all right, no. But you can help—you love her," she said emphatically. “It surrounds you like a thick cloud of red smoke, it does.” Lindsey just leveled his gaze at her, waiting for her to continue.

"I'll tell you where she is, of course. But first..."

"Whatever you need, Drusilla," Lindsey said earnestly, willing to do anything to help Darla.

Drusilla cackled, throwing her head back.

"Of course, of course, luv. Whatever I need. Metal wings, for one." She paused, staring at him intently, dark eyes lucid and serious.

"I'm going to make it right as rain again."

~~~~~

Several weeks could make all the difference in a man's life.

Spike decided to stay at his crypt—determined to not let Finn win. It was his home, damn it, and he was not not going to let anyone or anything intimidate him into leaving.

At the very least, he forced himself to sleep there.

It was rough—the memories and initial lingering smells, and without Harm’s incessant (albeit, grudgingly welcomed) chattering, it was damn quiet. But it was a trial that was slowly beginning to ease.

Spike began to spend most of his free time at Giles' for the liquor and the records, and Joyce's for discussions about the gallery and her day in general, occasional Dawn tutoring, and sometimes awkward conversations with Buffy.

Those in particular were always a slap and a tickle.

There was also Xander. One day, when they had run into each other at the Magic Box, Xander had offered, out of the blue, "So...wanna have a beer or three at my place? I mean, it'd be like old times—except maybe we could try to not annoy each other to death, you won't be tied to a chair, and my parents aren't drunkenly screaming bloody murder in the background."

Seeing Spike's dead look, he’d added, "Unlike Giles, I have a thirty-six inch color television with satellite."

"Yeah. All right."

Spike wasn't sure what the boy knew or how he knew it, but there was no doubt that the invitation was only extended to him due to some kind of pity. But Xander never brought it up, so Spike decided to not think about it. It was awkward at first, but eventually a rhythm ironed itself out. Git wasn't so bad once he got past all the pettiness.

Things were going as smoothly as possible, considering. His relationship with Buffy had been progressing nicely these past several weeks, slight uneasiness aside.

Or so he had thought.

When she came bursting into his crypt that afternoon, not looking exactly pleased (which was of course, the understatement of the century), Spike slowly began wonder...

How he could have possibly cocked things up so horribly?

All right, so he hadn't gotten the chance to celebrate her birthday. Of course, it wasn't his fault, really. Just as he had shown up, wrapped gift and all, Dawn just had to be sneaking out, didn't she? And he knew he'd be remiss (and blamed, of course) if he just let her scamper about, breaking into stores and possibly getting eaten all on her own. And then that whole Key business—really, what was a guy to do with info like that? So, he’d dropped the Nibblet off, figuring it was best for her mum and sis to suss out her existence or whatall, and went home.

In hindsight, as he took in Buffy’s glower, he was beginning to think that perhaps that wasn't the right course of action.

"Hello, Sunshine. See you're in a good mood this afternoon."

Buffy stopped short at the coffin on which he sat, anger radiating from her. "How could you? I trusted you."

"Damn, pet, sorry. I wanted to come to your party—I did."

"What? Not that, Spike." Though Buffy was miffed at that as well, it wasn’t her main reasoning for coming by. "How could you let her find out like that? From books and papers?"

Spike squinted his eyes at her. "You can't be serious."

"Can't I?"

"The first thing you said to me was, 'I trusted you.' Clearly you didn't, ’cause I didn't know a bloody thing about what's been goin' on ’round here, did I? If I knew she was a soddin' Key or whatever, then yeah, I could have stopped her from finding out about herself from books and so forth." He scoffed, hopping down from the sarcophagus. "Figures you'd come busting in here, hell-bent on blaming me. Another reason to just push me away, right?"

"Are you kidding? This has absolutely nothing to do with...with whatever is or is not between us," she said, flustered. "This is about Dawn."

"Uh-huh. Maybe so. But next time you wanna get your knickers in a twist, try looking in the mirror, yeah? If you had told me, or hell, bothered to tell her, all of this could've been avoided." His voice was low and dark, his expression stern, and Buffy faltered under his gaze. Instead of replying, she turned and left, leaving him to lament. He supposed he could have been nicer. He wanted the girl, after all.

He would have to try harder.

And what a bitch that was going to be.

Lucky for him, an opportunity to do so presented itself later that evening, when Dawn decided she couldn't deal and scampered off. Buffy gathered the whole team to find her, and for whatever reason, she put together the two best trackers out of the group of six. He wasn't exactly sure why she paired herself with him, but he could tell she was tense. Best to tread lightly then he figured.

“Dawn! Dawn!” Buffy yelled out into the night.

“Yeah, that should do it,” Spike said, with subtle sarcasm.

“Spike—not now.”

Well, okay. He couldn't help but still be pissed at her for blaming him and keeping him out of the bloody loop.

“The Nibblet scampered off to get away from you. She hears you bellowing, she’s gonna pack it in the opposite direction.” They both stopped walking as Spike looked around. “Can’t say I blame her.”

So, he was being a little harsh. Not that she
was undeserving of it, of course. And it wasn't like he wasn't telling the truth, right?

“You were right,” Buffy said quietly, staring at the ground. Though he believed it to be true as well, surprise was written all over Spike’s face at the admission. “This is my fault. I should’ve told her. And I'm sorry for taking it out on you.”

Spike sighed at that, feeling guilty for who bloody knew why. He just knew that he had to comfort her.

“Look, she probably would have skipped off anyway, even if she never found out. She’s not just a blob of energy, she’s also a fourteen-year-old hormone bomb.” He paused again, exhaling another sigh. “Which one’s screwing her up more right now, spin the bloody wheel. You’ll find her, just in the nick of time. That’s what you hero types do,” he finished with a shrug.

Buffy gave him a hopeful look, needing to believe him.

“You’ll find her,” he reiterated firmly.

“And then what?” she asked quietly. Spike was silent for a moment, mulling over his answer.

“And then… and then you say—” He placed his hands on her shoulders, gripping them with a firm gentleness. “Hey now— chin up, yeah? Everything will be okay. No matter what you are, I still love you. I’ll always love you. Nothing’s changed.” His voice gradually lowered and became thick with emotion as he went on. He slowly embraced her in a hug, and she folded into his arms.

“We’ll make it through this,” he continued softly. “I’ll be right here, right beside you.” He secretly inhaled her delicate scent of lilacs and vanilla. He collected himself, and pulled away before she noticed something.

“See? Easy.” He cringed inwardly at the slight tremble in his voice. Buffy looked off to the side, staring at the ground, though he was fairly certain she wasn’t seeing it.

“Will you?” she asked, glancing up at him. He tilted his head, giving her a questioning look.

“Be here with me,” she clarified.

"’M already here, luv. Question is, will you be here with me?" His voice was quiet, his expression slightly pained, anticipating her rejection. Buffy looked away again, eyes sweeping the playground.

"We should get going—we're supposed meet up with the others," she said, hating herself for avoiding his question.

For avoiding him.

Spike sighed, watching her walk away a few yards before beginning to follow her.

"Damn it, Summers," he muttered, subconsciously trying to pick up Dawn's scent on the breeze.

~~~~~

When they came up against Glory, Spike had to forcibly push aside all of his emotions in that moment. He couldn't be all broody boy—not that he did that. Ever.

He snuck up behind Glory as she landed a punch to Buffy's face, grabbing her arms and pinning them against her sides. She struggled a bit, but Buffy regained her footing, punching Glory as he held her. A bloody team, they were.

"I thought you said this skank was tough," he joked. Of course, it was then that Glory broke free, grabbed Spike's arm, flipped him over, and hurled him against a wall. She then picked him up and head-butted him before throwing him across the room, sending him crashing into a bunch of medical equipment on an exam table. He fell off the other side, and landed against the wall, unconscious.

So much for team work.

Buffy watched, feeling concerned on the one hand for Spike's well being, and pissed off on the other at the hell god.

"He wakes up, tell your boyfriend to watch his mouth," Glory jeered.

Buffy stepped up to her, getting in her face with a steely glare. "How about you don't touch what's mine, hell bitch."

"That’s funny, coming from the bitch that has my Key!"

Buffy's anger at the sheer audacity of the hell god gave her enough of an upper hand to keep Glory busy, along with Giles and Xander's attempted assistance, as Willow and Tara continued their spell. Though Buffy was stabbed with a tire iron for her trouble, Glory finally dematerialized into a cloud of dust before disappearing altogether.

Aside from her little flesh wound, Will's bloody nose, and a few bruises on Spike, Giles and Xander, Buffy realized how lucky they all were to be going home in one piece. She began to realize luck could only go so far, and that she should do a better job of keeping those that she cared about close to her as well as safe.

The trouble was, she couldn’t be everywhere.

~~~~~

Drusilla had to admit—she was quite full from all of the passengers. But something...someone was calling to her. The thing that would end up causing her boy so much pain.

The Beast.

It was close—so close she could almost taste it. She paused, rubbed her belly sensuously, and then inhaled the air deeply. She walked and walked as the voice...the Beast whispered, even though it didn't know she could hear it. She found herself in a parking lot, and she saw him.

She could see the Beast behind his eyes.

She walked up to him slowly, a coy smile on her face. He was at his car, inserting a key into the lock. She was just inches from him as he turned around.

"Um, may I help you?"

"Lying eyes—there's someone else there. I can see it..." She took her index finger, and drew imaginary circles in front of his left eye, and then his right.

"Your other face wishes to do my sweet dear heart harm. Can't allow that, can I?" The young man looked deeply annoyed at this.

"Oh, great. Another one of Glory's crazies running around. I thought the Queller would've—"

Before he could finish his thought aloud, Drusilla had wrapped all ten of her slender, pale fingers on both sides of his face, and gave it a sharp jerk. He collapsed on the black pavement, head twisted at a dreadfully awkward angle. She licked a finger, tasting a bit of the excretions from his skin on her fingertip.

"Well, it's safe now, isn't it? Don't have to worry about the Beast awakening, do I?" And then she bent down, face shifting, fangs elongated, and had herself a taste of god blood.