Imzadi: Sorry for my lateness, but here's the new Episode. The part Darla deals with Little Joey was incredibly funny to write, and I hope you've enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. As for Lindsey, perhaps in Episode 12 you'll find something that might interest you...

Episode 10:

'So, no one told you life was going to be this way.

Your job's a joke, you're broke, your love life's D.O.A.

It's like you're always stuck in second gear.

When it hasn't been your day, your week, your month,

or even your year.

But...

I'll be there for you (when the rain starts to pour)

I'll be there for you (like I've been there before)

I'll be there for you ('cause you're there for me too)'

- 'I'll Be There For You', by The Rembrandts -

'So,' a low voice with a strong British accent came from one end of the phone, 'what are the big news? Don't keep me waitin', pet.'

Instead of answering at once, Darla shifted the phone on her shoulder so she could have both her hands free, and began to untie her shoes, being deliberately slow just to get on Spike's nerves. Finally, a sharp 'C'me on!' from the phone, and the chilly thought of what the phone bill would be like if she took too long, she answered:

'Well, brace yourself... Connor's coming over this weekend!'

There was a short, stunned silence.

'Darla, that's...that's great.'

'Yeah, I know! And without Snape's supervision. You don't have an idea of how hard it was to convince him that I wasn't going to eat my son up the second he dropped his watch.' Darla pursed her lips. 'Anyway, he's given me permission, and like Cinderella, I have to return Connor to his home at an appropriate time for a boy his age... I might take him to the movies, I bet he's never been in a cinema. What do you think?'

'I think movies'll be alright, pet. He's gonna luv Disney. And, Darla... I'm afraid I sound like a nancy boy, but I'm happy for you.'

Darla smiled, even though there was nobody to see it. 'Thanks, Spike. I'm so excited about it that's almost silly. Last night I couldn't sleep...'

'Luv, vampires don't sleep at night'.

She snorted. 'It's a manner of speech! And I remember you saying something like that to Buffy once... Or was it a verse of that morbid song of yours, rest in peace or something?'

'Hey!' he exclaimed. 'It wasn't morbid. Well, perhaps a little. But it wasn't that bad.'

Darla rolled her eyes.

'Yeah, sure. Anyway,' she paused, and then she asked, trying her best to sound natural, 'have you heard anything from her lately?'

There was a silence, and Darla could mentally see Spike shrugging off the implications of her question.

'Niblet said something. Seems like she'll come back for Platelet's holidays. Have you heard about Wild Girl?'

Darla realised he was desperate to change the subject, so she obliged and told him what she knew about Faith, without mentioning her boyfriend. The subject of Wood – and his murdered mother – was still painful for Spike, just as Holtz was for her.

After the events of Sunnydale, Darla had hoped that... Well, she didn't know what she had hoped for. But the moment Spike had been about to burst into flames, and Buffy had stared at him with that anguished look in her eyes... Damn it, Darla would have bet there had been something there. And the tender way Buffy had treated the wounded Spike all the journey to Cleveland... it had to mean something.

When they'd reached Cleveland, though, and it was obvious Spike wasn't in mortal danger anymore, Buffy had been the first one to offer herself to search for new Slayers around the globe, leaving her ex-lover behind, as though nothing had happened. Darla could not understand it.

Spike, of course, had tried to justify her. He'd said that, after all, she didn't have the obligation to stay. She'd never said she returned his feelings, and she had every right to move on with her life. He'd sounded convincing...but his eyes had told another story. Inside, he was hurting all the same, and Darla was mad at Buffy because of that. Couldn't she see she was wasting a precious thing? Last time Darla had been offered something like that, she hadn't been able to appreciate it, but Buffy had no excuse.

She tried to wip those thoughts from her mind. It was none of her business. Spike was free to ruin his unlife the way it suited him best. And there was nothing she could do about it.

Darla folded her arms, in a futile attempt to stop the chilly wind from scratching her chest. The jacket wasn't an opponent for the cold weather, and God knew her hideous uniform was anything but warm. Wasn't it supposed to be summertime? Why, then, was it so damned cold?

By the time she reached her apartment block, she was already starting to freeze, and her situation didn't improve once she was inside. Even though her own apartment was cozy and warm, the rest of the building was under construction, and there were no lights or heating in the long, narrow corridors. That was perhaps the reason there weren't many people living in that building, except for some poor old ladies and a grumpy old man, a numerous family and a gothic girl named Cheryl who seemed to be perpetually stoned.

Fortunately she didn't run into any of them, because she certainly wasn't in the mood to be sociable. She had had enough at work, with an especially annoying customer who'd threatened to sue them all for a hamburger not completely cooked, Darryl's awful jokes and the always irritating fellow waitresses, including Sobbing Karen. Darla would have been very happy to avoid human company for the rest of the night, and spend a quiet time in her favourite armchair reading a book or just dozing off, warm and comfortable. She smiled in advance and walked faster.

Her smile faded away, though, as soon as she set foot in her apartment, because even before she turned on the light she realised there was something very wrong. There had to be something very wrong, because otherwise her feet wouldn't be completely immersed in a pool of freezing water.

When she finally turned on the light and saw the disaster her beloved apartment had turned into, did the only thing she could do at the moment.

She cursed.

The phone rang, startling her. It took her a moment to realise she actually had to answer it. She jumped from her armchair, which didn't feel so cozy now, and strode over towards the phone. She grabbed it with so much energy that she almost tore it from the wall.

'What,' she snapped. There was a stunned silence. Finally, a hesitant voice said:

'Darla?'

'Oh, Spike. Hi.' She tried her best to sound calm, and began rubbing her neck. Obviously she didn't sound convincing enough, as Spike, still dubious, asked:

'Are you alright?'

Darla opened her mouth to say everything was just peachy, but something went wrong because instead she almost shouted.

'No, I'm not alright. I'm not alright at all. My house resembles Kosovo, or maybe Waterworld. I'm cold, I'm wet, most of my furniture is ruined, the water keeps coming out of nowhere, I don't know what to do to stop it, and Connor's supposed to come here this Friday!'

There was a pause, during which Darla fumed and Spike tried to digest the information.

'So,' he finally said, in a calm voice, 'what did you say that happened?'

Darla sighed, walked a couple of steps backwards and let herself fall into an armchair.

'The other night, when I came home, the apartment was flooded. I mean, completely flooded. And the kitchen's wooden floor had risen, or something. It seems that the damned pipes collapsed, exploded or disintegrated themselves, I don't know, and I don't care. And you won't believe how much it costs to repair it!'

'How much?'

Darla snorted. 'Way more than I can afford, at least until I get my pay, which won't happen in two weeks.'

Spike asked again about the sum of money. She told him. He let out a whistle.

'That's a lot of gold, pet.'

'Tell me about it! I don't know how I'll get the money, and how the hell I'll get it soon enough to get everything ready for Friday night!'

Spike reflected about it. 'Well, maybe you don't need to get it before Friday. Weren't you taking the kiddo to the movies? He doesn't have to see the place.'

Darla was on the verge of tearing her hair from frustration.

'Don't you understand, Spike? Snape will bring him straight here. And when Snape sees this...' Her arm made a gesture that included the whole disastrous place, gesture that Spike could not see but neither need to. 'He'll say that I live in a trash can, that I can't keep a place in good state, or even worse, he's capable of suggesting that I destroyed the pipes all by myself, due to my vampiric evilness. Don't laugh, you don't know him! He's the most paranoid person I've met, and he hates me. Or at least he hates what I am. He'll use any excuse to keep Connor away from me. He still thinks I'm gonna eat him up the second he's not watching.'

Before Spike could reply, she went on with her rant:

'He'll think I'm not trustworthy at all, and that if I can't take care of an apartment I won't be able to take care of a child, and that would be the end of all my hopes to ever sharing Connor's custody, and I really can't believe I'm on the verge of hysteria because of a damned pipe!'

Spike tried to calm her down, which wasn't an easy task as the old advice 'breath in, breath out' wouldn't work in her case. Finally, Darla managed to compose and recovered from her hysteria, at least for the moment.

'I'm so sorry for yelling at you and all, Spike... I didn't even ask you why you had called.' Suddenly she frowned. 'Is everything okay there?'

Spike replied a second too late.

'Sure, just peachy. Little Bit's very cheerful and all these days.'

'Because of Buffy's visit?'

This time, the awkward pause was even longer.

'Hmm...no exactly. I'd say she'd happy 'cause her sister send her a plane ticket so they'd meet in Paris.'

Darla understood at once what Spike's words implied, and also understood why he had called her.

'Oh, Spike, I'm so sorry to hear that.'

'Why? Niblet's happy.'

Darla would have liked to smack him, but the miles between them prevented her from doing so.

'And what about you?'

Spike let out a fake laugh.

'I've told you, I'm peachy. Not like there was nutting between us anymore, right?' He let out a sigh. 'Who am I kidding? I was so down when I found out that... no, you're gonna laugh.'

'What, Spike? You think that after my breakdown due to a broken pipe I can laugh at anybody?'

'Hmm... I guess no. Well, I... I spent the whole day trying to remember the verses of that song we talked the other day, see. Let me rest in peace and all. There you have. That's how depressed I was.'

Darla took pity on him. 'Oh, Spike. That's bad.'

'I know. I had to make up some of the verses 'cause I couldn't remember them... Do you want to hear it?'

Darla grimaced. 'If that'll make you feel better...'

'C'mon, Darla, it's not bloody Manilow'.

Finally, though, he decided not to sing it, and instead they began to talk about football, and the Manchester United which, as it couldn't have been other way given Spike's bad luck, had lost its last match.

Once their conversation was over, Spike couldn't say he felt much better, but at least he'd gotten distracted from his own depression due to Darla's problems. Not like he could do much to help her, though. He didn't have one bloody penny to give her.

He picked up a magazine from Dawn's collection, just to laugh a little at the cheesy articles – in his current mood, it might cheer him up – and flipped through the pages. Suddenly, an advert caught his eye. 'A chance to earn some money and become famous!'

An idea began to form in his mind...

Darla had tried it all. She had asked her boss to give her part of her salary in advance, she had tried applying for a loan at the bank, she had been even tempted to ask Giles to lend her some money, but she knew damn well he had spent all his money putting up the Slayers School and was rather bankrupt by now.

She had resigned to live in a perpetually flooded place, at least until she got her pay, and she'd began to consider that perhaps she should tell Snape that she wouldn't be able to take care of Connor that week (no way, she had to see him) or try to arrange another place to meet, which Snape would never allow, as he'd surely want to see the place she lived by himself...

Knocking was heard on the door. Sighing, Darla buried her face in the pillow. She really wasn't in the mood for seeing anybody. And it wasn't like she got any visitors apart from Cheryl, who occasionally came to ask her for some coffee. Darla had ran out of coffee and, besides, she wasn't in the mood to listen to the girl's incoherent babbling, which reminded her a little too much of Dru to make her comfortable.

Knock, knock. Darla groaned. Perhaps it wasn't Cheryl. Perhaps it was Giles, or one of the Slayers-in-training. Either way, she had to rise from bed and answer the door.

To her surprise, on the doorstep was standing a boy in his twenties, with a face covered by acne and fully dressed in a Western Union uniform. He beamed at her, ignoring her pitiful clothes and her messy hair.

'Miss Darla Jones?' At her nod, his smile became broader, like Cheshire cat. 'Please, sign here.'

She did so with the pen he offered her, and he handed her a brown envelope. 'Have a nice day.' Still smiling, he left, although she hadn't pronounced a single word.

She ripped open the envelope, and to her shock she found the exact amount of money she needed to repair the pipes.

It didn't say who had sent it... and it wasn't necessary at all.

When Darla called, more than thrilled, to thank him all over again and to tell him how Connor's visit had been (it was so great, Spike, you should have seen his face at the movies!), Spike felt happier than he had done since Niblet had taken the flight to Paris. He felt oddly satisfied knowing that he had contributed to Darla's happiness, even though he felt so down.

And, anyway, as she was in France Buffy would never found out that he'd sold 'Rest in Peace' for a deodorant TV advert...

Next to come: Darla receives an unexpected visit, and romance's in the air...or not.