[A/N: Its amazing how much simple rest can rejuvenate a person. I got some rest and relaxation over the Thanksgiving break and this is the result. And that tells you how long of a lag I have, because this is now January. I could look up the California regulations for suicide attempts, but I don’t feel like it, so any mistakes are mine (I do know it’s the case in New York, though, so I’m going to follow the idea what works in one works in the other). Title is from one of the quotes, which are as attributed. Disclaimers are in full force and effect.]

Previously: Lawson and Drusilla have slept together; Faith’s told Giles and Wesley the contents of her dreams and what she saw in the trance state; Giles has realized he’s in love with Anya; and Dawn has attempted suicide. This picks up immediately after the previous installment.

Book two. Chapter 47. Grief’s best music

In the hour of adversity be not without hope,
For crystal rain falls from black clouds.
Nizami Ganjavi, Azeri poet and philosopher, 1141 - c.1209

Hope, like the gleaming taper's light,
Adorns and cheers our way;
And still, as darker grows the night,
Emits a brighter ray.
Oliver Goldsmith

True hope is swift, and flies with swallow's wings;
Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures kings.
Richard III, act v, scene ii

Hope is grief's best music.
Author Unknown

There is no hope unmingled with fear,
and no fear unmingled with hope.
Baruch Spinoza




The instant the door was closed, the alpha male lifted his nose from atop his paws, growling lowly in his throat. His hackles rose, and his sudden alertness communicated itself through the pack, waking them all in order of standing. The female, his mate, stood up, the mated alpha pair calmly waiting side by side, waiting for the Huntsman’s signal. The younger males, impatient and anxious for the hunt growled in concert, begging for permission to move, to isolate their prey. . . .

But permission from the Huntsman never came, beyond the single word command, “track”.

The russet-coated female moved forward, snapping at two of the younger hounds, whelps from her first litter, and with a vicious nip at their hind quarters, she took off.

Hesitating for just a moment, the marked two swung their large heads back, looking for permission from both the Huntsman and the alpha male. Two low growls, sounding remarkably similar, sounded from other-than-human and canine throats, sending the pair on their way.

Marking the scent of the redheaded witch, the trio followed, their presence blithely ignored.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Spike held onto Dawn, his right arm wrapped loosely around her waist, his left hand constantly slapping against her cheek, in a vain effort to wake her up. He kept up a constant stream of admonitions – her name – interspersed with pleadings for her to wake up and talk to him.

Buffy stumbled from the bathroom, scrambling almost on her hands and feet, to get to the phone in her room. He could hear her babbling into the phone, the strain in her voice clear.

The baby started crying and Buffy appeared in the bathroom doorway, a blank look on her face. Spike looked up at her and ached to take her in his arms comforting her, but his focus had to be on Dawn.

“Get dressed.” Buffy shook her head, coming further into the small bathroom. “You’re gonna have to get dressed so you can go with her.”

Instead Buffy crouched in front of them, a hand covering his, the other resting on Dawn’s leg. She squeezed the hand on Dawn’s thigh, her voice quavering. “C’mon Dawnie, wake up for me, please. . . . Please Dawnie.”

Anguish filled her voice and Buffy finally met Spike’s eyes. “Spike?”

“I know.” He stared at her, his eyes roving over her face. “Go get dressed and get the sprog.”

A door creaked open in the hallway and Kirsten appeared in the doorway, sleepily disheveled. Understanding came swiftly and she merely said “shit” then “I’ll get the baby.”

Suiting action to words, Kirsten did just that.

“Go on, get dressed. You’re gonna have to go with her to hospital.” Spike’s voice was soft, barely a whisper between them.

“Don’t let her go.” Buffy stared back into his eyes, tears brimming. “I’ll be right back.”

She scrambled to her feet and as she reached the doorway, his ears picked up the faint sounds of sirens, he said, “better get the door, too, kitten.”


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Jonathan Levinson was ridiculously easy to find, once they decided to locate him. For some strange reason, Anya had all his information stored at the shop, from phone numbers to address. Giles got him at the third number – his dorm – and Jonathan agreed to meet them at the shop later in the day.

In the meantime, Faith had finished writing down every detail of her most recent dream, backtracking now writing down the others, specifically the most ones which had prompted her trip to Sunnydale. Wesley was researching ways to reverse the spell and Giles was looking up Aurelian vampires. Anya was dusting shelves, checking and double-checking inventory while keeping an eye trained on Faith.

It was obvious to Giles there was little love between the two women, and while he was grateful for Anya’s vigilance, her short temper was beginning to wear on him. Her grumbling and grousing about the shop and what was extremely valuable kept distracting him. Or maybe that was her perfume. He couldn’t actually decide what was worse, the grumbling or the scent.

Pulling another volume on Aurelians off the shelf, Giles intercepted Anya on her way into the back. “Anya, please stop whinging on about the situation.”

She hissed at him, an angry look on her face. “She’s not trustworthy. She’s probably going to switch bodies or steal our identities and ruin everything. I can’t allow her to control any part of my life.”

“Really, Anya, must you? She’s hardly going to switch bodies with Wesley or I and I doubt seriously she’s going to harm any of us.” Giles grabbed her arm, peering down into her eyes. “I doubt helping any of us would be her first choice unless she has changed.” He paused once more, saying in a much softer tone, “we have to start trusting her sometime.”

“I still don’t think its very smart.” Her face had softened, responding to his expression. She smiled up at him prettily. “But I trust you, so I’ll try.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


The restaurant was barely occupied when they got there, the morning rush long since over and the afternoon rush about to start. Willow dragged her girlfriend in by the hand, her excitement communicating itself easily to the other girl. Determined not to let thoughts of the spell spoil her mood, Willow plastered on a happy face and pushed aside any worries she might have. Besides, Tara was actually smiling and laughing, something Willow hadn’t seen her do in so long, not since before . . . . well, almost before the mess with Glory.

Not going to think about any of the bad stuff. Gonna ignore it all, pretend its not there. Just gonna spend the day with my girlfriend . . . . .

Sunlight was glinting off Tara’s dark blond hair and Willow was mesmerized by the sight. It had been so long since she’d been able to just look at her and for a moment, tears filled her eyes. She missed Tara so, while they’d been apart, Willow was willing to do anything in her power to keep them together. . . . but not thinking about that now. Thinking good thoughts. About how we are here, eating pancakes together, no fighting or anything.

Tara was watching the guy at the next table, who was struggling to eat a huge pancake that poofed out over the plate, standing almost eye-level. The guy was chowing down, and had the thing almost finished before Willow even realized Tara’s attention kept wandering.

“Hey baby, what’s so funny?”

Leaning forward a bit, so their faces were very close, Tara whispered, “watch his face. It‘s
so cute. He looks like a little kid.”

Stealing a glance over, Willow saw what had caught Tara’s eye. The pancake was this huge monstrosity of a thing, poofed up and about two feet high. Everyone at his table was laughing at him, but the guy had this look – it was Christmas and his birthday all rolled into one – and neither of them could stop their own giggles.

“Want one of those?”

Willow laughed again, shaking her head, answering, “I don’t think the two of us together could eat that much pancake.”

Tara frowned a little, then brightened her smile. “Would be fun trying though.”

Shaking her head again, Willow caught a glimpse of a pair of big dogs watching the restaurant. They were huge, almost all black, but what held her attention were the weird red spots on their coats. The spots weren’t noticeable, until they moved, showing up only in the sunlight. Willow hesitated, when the dogs got up and stretched, one of them almost looking right at her. A flicker of fear stole through her, but Tara was talking and Willow shook it off.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Angel had heard them.

It was impossible to disguise when Drusilla decided to let herself go and really indulge. Apparently she’d taken a fancy to Lawson – or at least – he’d presented an interesting puzzle for her.

Drusilla had a penchant for the new – for novelty, and she’d always been unable to resist whenever she was face to face with novel temptation. Not that she ever resisted much temptation at all. Hell, it had been what drew her to William in the first place. . . . though that had been a mistake from the beginning, at least in his opinion.

He’d almost expected Drusilla to take up with Jenner and not Lawson, but should’ve known she’d pick the former naval officer.

There was something off about Lawson, something he couldn’t quite grasp about his last childe. Not that he felt like taking the time to figure it out. No, he had other, more important things to worry over.

Like where the witch was.

He’d played around with the Slayer and her people long enough. Granted, he’d allowed himself the indulgence of playing, Cordelia’s capture proving a more than adequate distraction. Now she was once more out of his control, he needed to focus.

Right now, his focus had to be on Willow.

Either turn her or leave her broken body on the Slayer’s steps as a message, somehow he needed to neutralize her completely.

Watching Drusilla leave Lawson’s room from the shadows, Angel contemplated his options. He could turn the witch, binding her power to him for as long as they existed; or kill her outright. . . . Losing all that power. . . . .

“Drusilla.”

Perhaps she could be sweet-talked into a vision, or at least some sort of counsel. More than likely she’d be unhappy sharing the spotlight as his link to the future. “Come here Dru.”

Without missing a beat or worried about being caught leaving Lawson’s room, Drusilla practically danced across the floor in his direction. She was a vision in black and crimson, long trailing sleeves dipping and swaying with each sinuous step.

“Hello Daddy. . . . did you sleep well?”

Her smile was wickedly innocent and feline content graced her features. Angel’s answering grin was a bit more feral, though Drusilla ignored the angry glint. “Question should be how did you sleep?”

His fey childe threw her head back in dark laughter. “Silly Daddy. . . . you know I didn’t sleep a wink.” She giggled again, slyly watching him from the corners of her eyes. “Your baby girl was naughty, stayed up all night. . . . perhaps she should be punished. . . “

She laughed again, seeing the brief flash of interest sneak over his features.

“Oh, but I’m sure you enjoyed yourself.” He couldn’t resist the remark, not when he could clearly smell just how thoroughly she had enjoyed her morning’s activities.

“You could have joined us.” A long finger traced along his jawline, the mingled scents of her and Lawson assaulting his nose.

“I don’t like to share Dru. . . . you know that.” He made a face, pushing away her hand, playfully slapping her ass.

She laughed again, circling around his seated body, draping her arms over his shoulders, dangling her hands in front of his chest. “Oh now, you know you’re lying. . . “ Drusilla nipped his ear, grazing fangs along his neck. “You just don’t like when you can’t be the one to pick who you’re sharing with.”

A grin split his features; here was the opening he’d been waiting for. “I’ve been thinking about sharing, especially lately. How do you feel about a little sister?”

Pretending to consider his words, Dru slid her hands down his sides, long nails, dragging lightly over his skin. “Daddy wants to find the dark seer?”

“A replacement.” He shifted away from her mouth, intent for once, on her thoughts.

“Another little girl?” Dru froze as Willow’s face flashed in her mind, distorted by fangs and ridges, then shuddered. “Not a nice little girl, not one to likely to share, Daddy.”

Getting to her feet, moving away from Angel, Drusilla let the lullabies of her childhood fill her head. Dipping and swaying to a haunting melody only she heard, Drusilla allowed the visions to come forth. “Blood and ashes. . . . skin and bones. . . little red hides behind a mask. . . . darkness breeds and coils . . . Baying hounds, trailing, tracking. . . . Dark hands she has. . . . “

Angel watched her with concern, trying to make sense of her mutterings, with little luck. Nothing she said made much sense, it never really had. Spike always understood her, or at least knew how to cajole her enough to get her to explain further. Not that Spike’s presence would do any good at the moment.

Resigning himself to having to ask Drusilla to explain everything, Angel settled in for a long afternoon.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



They’d actually caught a break; the paramedics responding to the call knew both of them; on more than one occasion, they’d made it away from an accident site because of a timely intervention from either one or both of the blondes.

Buffy met them at the door, surprised to see Karl and Rob, although she was quickly grateful when they both told her they would do everything they could.

And they were true to their word. Dawn was strapped in, an IV drip inserted before Spike was finished dressing. By the time Buffy was tying her sneakers, they had Dawn out of the bathroom and in the hallway.

Kirsten had a now quiet Connor in her arms, her features drawn and tearstained, watching the paramedics working efficiently on Dawn.

Spike walked past her, pulling on a shirt when he caught a glimpse of her expression. “Not your fault, princess.”

She glanced up at him, a sad look on her face. “I know. I should’ve watched better though.”

He was shaking his head. “Not you too. Buffy’s blaming herself f’r all this, tellin’ you what I’m tellin’ her. ‘S not your fault. Niblet’s been low since. . . well, long time now. ‘S nothin’ to do with anyone but herself.” Spike shook his head. “Girl needs time.”

Moving past her, he squeezed her shoulder, then realized something. “Gonna need you to stay put with the sprog. Will you do that?”

She answered him without thinking, then blushed darkly. “Yeah, sure Daddy.”

“Keep that quiet.” He shook his head, heading for the stairs and Buffy.

He found her at the bottom of the stairs, silently watching the paramedics load Dawn into the back of the ambulance. Spike touched her shoulder, jolting her back to herself. “Go with them, I’ll meet you at hospital.”

“I can’t. . . . I can’t go.” She refused to look at him, tears sliding unchecked down her cheeks.

“Yeah you can. I’ll be there just after. Kirsten’s gonna stay with the sprog. Everythin’ ‘ll be fine. Go on now.” He nudged her toward the door, unmindful of the sunlight.

“Promise you’ll be there?” Buffy looked up at him then and he wiped away the tears from her cheeks.

“Right behind you. Go on.” He pushed her again and she ran from the house, jumping up lightly into the back of the ambulance. Karl slammed the doors behind her and Spike watched as the ambulance took off.

Closing the door, he turned around, heading right for the stairs.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Jonathan was right on time, arriving at the Magic Box promptly at three. He was wary, tentatively unsure of why Giles had called him, concerned there were problems with the website designs, or glitches in the forms, anything other than what he was asked.

It was typically Anya who jumped right to the heart of the matter, getting him at the doorway. “Hello Jonathan. We need to pick your brain. Not in the literal sense like a Eusi’ty’k demon, but we need to know everything you know about that spell you cast.”

“Anya, please. Hello Jonathan.” Giles motioned the visibly taken-aback young man forward, toward the research table. “While I prefer to ask your assistance in this, Anya is quite correct. We do need to know exactly what you did regarding that spell you cast a couple of years ago.”

“You need my expertise?” Jonathan was more than shaken, he was floored. The most renown demon hunter, aside from Buffy, wanted his expertise. Standing tall at his less than considerable height, Jonathan glanced from one set of features to another. “You’re serious?”

For the first time since he’d walked into the shop, the other man spoke, one Jonathan vaguely remembered as seeing before, although he couldn’t recall his name. “Rather.”

A look passed between the two men, one Jonathan couldn’t interpret and he didn’t make the attempt. Shrugging away his confusion, he asked, “what is it you want to know?”

Wesley pulled out a chair, motioning Jonathan to sit, then taking one for himself, replied, “why don’t you start at the very beginning and I’ll just take notes.”

Faith grabbed Giles before he got all involved in the discussion, motioning toward the training room; when she got his silent permission, she moved quickly in that direction, the slayer allergy to research apparently not an inherited trait.

Before she’d thrown her first punch, the males were all knee-deep in their discussion, effectively ignoring the two females.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gathering things he thought Dawn and Buffy might need, Spike rifled through Buffy’s dresser drawers, frustrated when he couldn’t find anything he wanted, just his own things. “Bloody fuckin’ hell!”

Slamming shut another drawer, Spike spewed venomous words at the thin air. “Fuck!”

Kirsten stood at the bottom of the stairs, listening to him stomp and curse, the occasional thump of something hitting the wall indicating his temper wasn’t in any danger of going away anytime soon. Connor was staring at her, as if trying to figure out who she was, or why she was here and Kirsten found herself babbling out loud to him. “I know this is crazy, I shouldn’t even be here yet and its just . . . . okay, so maybe I shouldn’t have come back, but you know I did the right thing, even if they are mad at me. It’d be worse if Dawnie were gone. . . . Mom would be completely out of her mind and Daddy’d be. . . . Daddy would‘ve taken off and he’d be gone for a while and Mom would get worse and it’d be all messed up and . . . “

Her voice ended in a trailed off sob and Kirsten held onto the baby tighter, afraid to say anything else. The baby, as if understanding why suddenly there were tears falling onto his face, reached up a hand, tiny fingers pinching Kirsten’s lips closed, putting a stop to the flow of words coming from her mouth.

She sobbed a bit, holding onto Connor tightly, heavy tears falling from her eyes, softly whispered words emerging. “I had to come back. I had to.”

Spike stomped down the stairs, having heard nearly every word, staring at the two of them. Noting the tears falling from Kirsten’s eyes, and the sorrowful look on her face, he decided against questioning her about what she’d just blubbered about. “Princess?”

“I had to Daddy. Please don’t be mad at me.” She hung back, afraid he was about to lash out and verbally flay her, for the incredible risk she’d taken.

He nodded, unsure of what exactly to say. Kirsten had taken a risk, but now, afer overhearing her wail at the infant, he wondered what else had gotten all buggered when Dawn hadn’t survived. And he couldn’t yell at her, couldn’t be the cause of any more tears. “C’mere princess.”

His arms opened, the bundle of clothes falling to the floor beside him, and Kirsten slipped easily into his arms with a soft cry, the baby cuddled between them.

Neither one of them spoke for long minutes.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Jenner listened to Hawkins’ report on Angel’s activities, and those staying under his roof, curiosity about Drusilla’s behavior peaking his interest. Why would she spend the better part of the morning having sex with a relative fledge when her precious Angel was just within reach . . . . Although the fledge – Lawson – was a direct childe of Angel, he lacked the instinct to become a full master, which was again something to note. So few Aurelians didn’t attain master status that it was notable which ones didn’t.

Although Hawkins also reported that Lawson had sent cannon fodder to gauge the Slayer’s people, holding back, completely unobserved. Tracking them to hospital after Angel’s misguided attack on one of the Slayer’s people – rumor had it the Slayer’s sister – keeping either side unaware of his presence, and escaping unscathed spoke more to Lawson’s intelligence and training than he’d thought the fledgling capable of on first meeting.

For a long minute Jenner stared at his best re-con man, almost disbelieving what he heard. Lawson’s tactics were straight out of William’s methods.

That was unexpected.

This fledge acted more like William then Angel, and yet by all accounts Angel was his sire. Jenner placed the floor, half-listening to the speculations of his other men.

He had to admire the intelligence of copying William’s moves; although he had to wonder when and how he’d learned to do so. By all previous stories, this fledge had been turned, and pretty much disappeared, leaving everyone to speculate Spike had let him flounder or killed him outright. How he’d managed to remain underground in a vampire society for so long astounded Jenner. It denoted an intelligence level that hadn’t been displayed since William’s turning, although Spike had been a bit more brash and far more determined to make his mark as a vampire of notoriety.

Spike was one of the few vampires, even his fellow Aurelians that Jenner actually respected, despite their past and more importantly, despite his liaison with Drusilla.

Perhaps it was time to reveal his presence. . . .



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


It was almost like being on a real date, something they’d never really done. Their relationship, when it started, had taken both of them by surprise, and they’d kind of skipped certain things. But now, here they were, holding hands and walking through the open air mall, window shopping and just being together.

Willow spotted something in a shop window, and the two headed inside, intent on the jewelry display.

This time, neither one of them noticed the silent hounds padding behind them, nor did they notice the single one that left the others, heading back in the opposite direction.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, Buffy found herself in the emergency room waiting for word on her sister, hoping that she’d make it through this latest crisis. This time however, she was alone, at least for now. Spike promised her he’d be there as soon as possible, and despite knowing he was forced to travel through the sewers in order to get there, she kept flicking her eyes to the clock.

They hadn’t been at the hospital long, barely an hour having past since they arrived. Bypassing the normal procedures, the paramedics had wheeled Dawn directly into the last room, the same room from last night. Only now, there was no sympathetic mom-type nurse, nor was Spike hovering just outside the room, and neither was anyone else just beyond the waiting room doors.

She was alone.

Dawn . . . . Buffy sat in the chair opposite the gurney holding her sister, head in her hands, unable to lift her eyes to look at her. Dawn was still unconscious, two IV lines pumping blood and other fluids into her system, in an effort to counter-act the half bottle of OxyContin she’d swallowed. Everything they’d pumped into her had stabilized her condition and the attending ER physician decided it would be best for her to come out of the drugged stupor on her body’s schedule.

According to the doctors, her blood gases were stable, her hemoglobin was getting better and her neural responses were climbing. . . All of which made no sense at all to Buffy.

Not much was making sense.

A nurse was standing beside Dawn, checking her vitals, watching for any change, but she studiously avoided speaking to Buffy. The tiny blond was curled up, hunched over, head nearly touching her knees, body screaming with unexpressed emotional pain. Venturing close, the nurse started to reach out a hand when Buffy, sensing her nearby, lifted her head. “She’s resting comfortably. I’m just gonna go check on getting her a room and then I’ll be right back.”

“A room?” Buffy stared up at her, more than a little dazed.

“Standard procedure to keep all suicide attempts twenty-four hours for observation. As soon as we have a room, she’ll be moved upstairs.”

There was a sympathetic look in the other woman’s eyes, but Buffy barely registered the emotion. “No. She’s not. . . when she wakes up, I’m taking her home.”

“Those are state laws, not hospital regulations. She has to stay.”

But Buffy was shaking her head in denial. “No. No. She’s coming home.”

“Look, let me get the doctor to explain this to you.”

With a quick flurry, she was gone.

Staring at the still figure on the gurney, Buffy tried to understand why Dawn would do something like this. . . why she would want to take this way out. .. Without conscious thought Buffy found herself getting to her feet, standing beside her sister. Wrapping shaking arms around her middle, Buffy fought the tremors and sobs building in her throat. This was her worst nightmare, having everyone she loved leave her. This was hard – too hard.

“I can’t do this Dawnie. You need to wake up. You have to be safe. You have to wake up.”

Buffy moved her hand, almost to touch the still form of her sister, then changed her mind. Instead her hand covered the sobs emerging from her mouth, hiding them from the world. Have to be strong. . . can’t show anyone. . . can’t.

Trying mightily to thrust away all her jumbled emotions, every single shred of feeling behind a wall, Buffy fought a tiny voice in her heart urging her not to close herself off.

Dawn was so pale, even against the white cotton sheets covering her still form. A light blanket covered her, though her bruises gave a sickening contrast to the lack of any other color.

The bandage wrapped around Dawn’s wrist, with the IV drips in her other arm, was a direct reminder of what brought them here.

She had no idea how long she stood there, her mind almost blank, afraid to look closer into the reasons why her sister felt being gone was better or easier. Despairingly afraid she understood far too well why being gone was easier; understood far too well how seductive and easy it would be to lay down all burdens and give into the need to let the pain go. Forever. To just – surrender the burdens, surrender every pain, every emotion, everything that was too hard to face. Shying away from that mentally, Buffy continued blindly staring at nothing.

The door creaked open behind her and Buffy said nothing, determined to ignore the presence of whoever dared brave the stifling atmosphere of the room. Ignoring the person, Buffy finally reached out a hand to smooth the blanket over her sister.

A strong hand reached out, arm covered in black leather, another arm circling around her waist. Breathing out a deep sigh, she leaned into the strong chest behind her, resting her head into the crook between shoulder and neck. Spike’s deep whisper broke into the silence. “How’s she doin’?”

“Okay I guess. They wanna keep her overnight.” Buffy fought to hide the distress this news raised, but Spike picked up on it.

“What for?”

“Observation. Said its state law and there’s no way around it.”

“Might be for the best. Niblet needs more than. . . “ his voice trailed off at the look on her face and he fell silent, waiting to see what she might say, realizing he might have struck a nerve, inciting her temper. Spike pulled back expecting to hear her barbed tongue or even bear the brunt of her fist. He was unprepared then, when her face crumpled and Buffy’s tears slid unchecked down her cheeks.

“I’m a horrible person. Mom. . . . Mom left her in my care and. . . and all I do is keep failing.”

“No. None of that now. Your mum knew what she was about, leaving Niblet in your care. No one loves her better.”

“I’m so bad at taking care of anyone. I can barely take care of myself.”

“Weight of the world on your shoulders, kitten, got all you can do to fight the hordes of demons coming at you. Can’t be expected to know everything. We’ll figure it out. Got all of us to help.”

He sent a wave of reassurance through to her, which Buffy clung to like the lifeline he’d intended it to be.




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