Questions

Disclaimer: Not mine, just like playing with them.

Summary: There are more questions than answers. Is it Spike?

Reviews: Wow the response to this story has been awesome. Thanks. Please read and enjoy. Tell me what you think. Readers rock but reviewers RULE!!!

A/N: Well, gotta tell you, my house could qualify for federal aid and the insane troll is threatening to destroy my trusty little laptop but here it is: chapter 2. Thanks for reading!

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Buffy dug her cell phone out of her pocket, handing it to Dawn. Not taking her eyes from the painting, she spoke. "Call Angel. Get him here as soon as he can."

Dawn nodded and placed the call. "Cordy, I need Angel. Right now, please." The teenager waited impatiently for the dark vampire to answer.

"Dawnie, what's up?" Angel asked.

She took a deep breath, not sure what to tell him. "We need you." Was all she could come up with.

"Is something wrong?" A worried note appeared in his voice.

"I don't know. We just need you to come here and… I don't know how to explain it." She stammered.

"Dawnie, calm down. Tell me where 'here' is. I'll come there." Angel picked up on the confusion in her voice. He wrote down the address as she stuttered it out. He assured her he would be there soon and hung up.

Buffy's green eyes were teary as she studied the portrait. She noticed the title of the smaller bedroom scene.

It read: Abandoned.

Her breath hitched painfully. Could it be Spike? Why? How?

A short balding man appeared in the periphery of Buffy's eyesight. He nervously approached the sisters staring at his latest display with mixed expressions of love, loss and hope.

"Hello? I'm Mr. Howard. How may I help you?" He asked the petite blonde, instinctively knowing she was the one to speak to.

Without taking her eyes from the piece in front of her, she nodded. "Tell me who painted these."

"I'm afraid the artist requested that we keep all information about these pieces confidential." He stated pompously. That got Buffy's attention.

The expression in her eyes chilled the officious little man. "The man in these paintings died six months ago. I want to know who painted them and I want to know now." Her low tone turned his veins to ice.

He shook in fear although he wasn't sure why. "I'm really very sorry, but I can't tell you." He stammered.

Dawn turned to look out of the window, noticing gratefully that the sun was beginning to go down. Angel's convertible screeched up to the curb. Wesley emerged from the passenger side as Angel got out of the driver's seat. They hurried into the gallery, scanning the interior for the threat to the slayer and her sister.

"Buffy." The tall vampire strode up to the petite blonde. Dawn launched herself into his arms in relief.

"What's wrong?" Wesley asked as he approached. Dawn pointed wordlessly at the paintings. She slid out of Angel's embrace as he got his first look at the canvases.

"Oh my God." He gasped. He moved from the larger portrait to the profile on the right, inhaling sharply as recognition slammed through him. Spike. His Childe. The memory of the day Spike died flooded his mind. The pain had torn through his chest, doubling him over. He'd been in a meeting with Gunn and Wesley, planning the second front that Buffy had requested when it hit. They had thought he was dying. Angel had known instantly what had happened. He'd sent his friends away and retreated into his room to grieve. Spike. The insufferable pain in the ass. The thorn in Angel's side. Angel's greatest regret. He was gone. For so long Angel had hated Spike. The feeling had been mutual. But they had been family.

He pulled his gaze away with difficulty. "Who painted these? They were done before…" He stopped and cleared his throat. "More than six months ago. They had to be."

Wesley had been studying the portrait on the left. He was able to look without the emotional response of the others. "Angel." The tone of his voice caught the vampire's attention.

"What is it Wes?" Angel went to stand beside his colleague.

The former Watcher pointed at the amulet draped over the bedside table. "These are more recent than that." He stated.

Angel's hand rose slowly. His fingers traced the contour of the amulet.

"I must ask you not to touch the artwork." Mr. Howard ventured timidly.

Angel turned suddenly amber eyes to the officious little man, causing him to back away nervously. "How much?" The vampire snarled.

"Um? Excuse me?" The gallery manager stammered.

"I'm buying them. How much?" Angel's cold eyes pinned the annoying little human.

"I'm afraid they're not for sale." Mr. Howard squeaked as the tall dark-haired man advanced with unnatural speed. Wesley put a calming hand on Angel's arm.

The Englishman moved to intervene. "I'm afraid we didn't ask if they were for sale. I believe Mr. Angel told you he was going to buy them. It was not an offer. We will be purchasing these pieces. Now, give us a price." The low tone Wesley used was more intimidating than any snarl could ever be. Buffy was surprised. This was not the same man who'd been her watcher for so short a time. This man was… well… scary.

Silence reigned in the gallery. Wesley's cold blue eyes held the frightened gaze of the manager. Mr. Howard dropped his eyes. "I'll have to contact the artist and see how much to charge for them."

Wes nodded. "Do that. We'll wait."

While they waited, Angel continued to inspect the paintings. He noted the title of the smaller bedroom piece. What could that mean? He mused. 'Abandoned'. They wouldn't abandon Spike. The posture of the figure in the chair disturbed Angel the most. The curve of the bare back screamed sadness and defeat. Never in the one hundred plus years since Spike was turned had he ever shown defeat. He noticed the curtain completely covering the window. It was a sure indication that the man was a vampire. Angel's brown gaze scanned the profile portrait, the only one that was untitled. The arch of the dark brow was so very familiar.

The medium brown curls ending in the platinum tips surprised Angel. It wasn't like his Childe to let his hair grow long enough for his curls to run rampant. His curly hair had been the bane of his existence. The dark blue of the revealed eye was the exact color of Spike's sapphire gaze.

Buffy moved over to stand next to Angel. She was more nervous than she'd ever been in her entire life. Could it be? Could Spike really be alive? Well not alive, but back among the undead? Where was he and why hadn't he come back to her? Part of her didn't want to believe he would be in this world and not seek her out. Her frightened green eyes sought answers in Angel's comforting brown gaze.

"I don't know Buffy." He murmured, answering the questions he could see in the green depths. "I don't know how or why. But it seems that he's out there somewhere. I felt him die. He was gone. I wish I knew what this means."

Wesley moved back over in front of the portraits. "We'll figure this out. I promise." He swore quietly.

Dawn retreated to a chair and sat down. She wrapped her arms around herself. Spike was back. Her mind drifted back to the summer Buffy had been gone. He'd taken care of her, protecting her and making sure she was provided for. She had regretted not making peace with him before the big battle that had ended his existence. Buffy had placed a box of his possessions on the bus so they wouldn't be lost to him afterwards but he'd never made it out to claim them. The sisters had left the box in the corner of a closet shelf, too deeply in mourning to face going through it.

The gallery manager scurried back to the small group waiting for him. He was terrified. How as he going to tell them? He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and mopped his sweating brow. Angel growled softly as he scented the little man's fear. Wesley placed a calming hand on his friend.

Wes moved forward to intercept the annoying manager. "Well?"

Mr. Howard was shaking violently. "I'm really very sorry but the portraits aren't for sale. I told the artist you were very determined to own them but the answer was the same. Not for sale." He backed up at the fury flashing in the eyes of the taller dark man.

Wesley pulled a checkbook out of his pocket. Quickly writing out a check, he tore it out. He showed it to Mr. Howard before folding it and sticking it in his shirt pocket. Patting the odious little man's chest over the pocket where the check now resided, the Englishman leaned close. "I believe the amount is sufficient. We will take the paintings with us."

Mr. Howard watched in shock as the four of them released the portraits from their easels and carried them out to the car. How was he going to explain this? He'd thought the individual who'd brought him the paintings had been frightening but not compared to the tall dark man and the one with the English accent. They had made the blood run cold in his veins.

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The man lounging on the sofa looked up as his housemate returned from answering the phone. "Who was that?" The question was tinged with a refined British accent.

"No one important." The answer was accepted without further question as the dark blue gaze returned to the television flickering in the dimly lit living room.