A/N: First off, I realized I've been forgetting the disclaimer. Well, in case you're curious, nothing is mine, just the idea for this fic. None of these characters are original or anything. Second, I've been horrible at updating, and I apologize ... I really need a good burst of inspiration, which I'm sorely lacking what with Buffy and Angel both off the air. I got a bit, which helped me finish this chapter. And from now on, I'm going to try to make the chapters a decent size.

The girl groped blindly through the alley, hoping to find some remainder of times past, hoping to find something that could tell her she wasn't crazy, something to give her life the meaning it had lacked for over a hundred years ...

The streets were barren and dead, which disturbed her greatly. They should be teeming with life, people walking down them, chatting happily, being alive. But instead, there was only the empty echoes of her small feet hitting the old cement pathways that carved their way through the towering skyscrapers. This is hell, she thought. The absence of life, of hope, and of warmth. Is that what had happened to her? Had she hit the deepest circle of hell, where sunlight couldn't reach, where demons ruled because no one could oppose them?

And then, just as the girl was about to give up hope, a man stepped from the shadows. He paid her no heed; he walked right by her, muttering to himself. But in the moment that her eyes rested on his face, recognition had shot through her like a knife. She knew who it was. He'd been there, all those years ago. And even though she remembered how she didn't trust him, how he had betrayed her, she followed him. He didn't notice her follow him; she smelled like the street, and her feet were bare and silent against the ground.

I didn't care about the ache of my muscles as I unleashed all their strength upon the attacking lurks. I didn't care about the feel of the skin scraping against the cold, rough pavement as they threw me to the ground. All I cared about was the empty hole inside me, which hadn't even begun to heal. Loo was gone, Loo was dead, and no matter how many lurks I killed, nothing could bring her back. She was the only reason I had left to live after Harth died; she was the only thing that kept me going, the thing that dragged me out of bed and made me get off my ass and grab, because she needed her meds, she needed me ... and now she was gone. That thought always created a raging fire in my gut, that nothing could put out except my own despair.

There were too many lurks, I realized dimly. One was holding my arms behind me as another punched me hard, in the face. You deserve this, I told myself. You trusted Urkonn – you caused Loo's death. Still, I swung my legs forward, bunched them up and then jerked them forward again, sending the lurk in front of me flying backwards. The lurk behind me stumbled, and I twisted free, but two more were coming. I faulted over one and tackled the other to the ground, but this was all meaningless, I could hurt them but without a weapon I couldn't kill them. I quickly struggled to my feet, trying to dodge the three lurks that were heading toward me. I jumped over the counter of the tav, searching desperately for something, anything ... but all the equipment was designed for safety in case of a fight breaking out.

A lurk grabbed me and threw me to the floor. Stupidly, I put a hand out to steady my fall, and I heard the resounding CRACK as it impacted. Ignoring the horrible pain that now ran through my arm like a stainless steel knife, I got to my feet, yet again, but this time I couldn't move fast enough. Lurks were swarming all over me, and all the Slayer strength in the world wasn't going to save me.

For the first time in my life, I surrendered. I was going to die, I wanted to die – and with the thought of wanting to die in my head, I knew with absolute clarity that it would happen. Spike had told me – every slayer has a death wish. I hadn't given it a moment's thought at the time, hadn't even considered it a weakness ... but it was. I wanted to see Loo again. If I had to die to see her, than I would.

I laid, waiting for death ... but death didn't come. The lurs clawing at me disppeared.

Confused, I struggled to my feet. The ground was sick with my blood, and I slipped, but someone caught me, grabbing my arm roughly. Oh, well, what were a few more bruises?

I looked up at my rescuer, and my eyes met ice-blue ones. Very angry ice-blue ones.

"What the bloody hell did you think you were doing?" Spike snapped.

"Fighting," I found myself replying.

"Without a weapon? Have you listened to what I've told you at all? You don't fight without weapons, unless you want to be killed."

"What do you care?" I asked. "I'm just a slayer, and a defective one at that."

"What do I care?!" Spike yelled. "Mel, I searched for you for years, do you realize that?"

"You searched for a slayer," I corrected.

"No," he said, "I searched for you."

Something about that surprised me. I looked up.

"Mel, you might want to die and join Loo or whatnot, but how do you think that will affect the people around you? Ava and Jove, they care about you, they worry about you, even though you don't let them. What about your sister? If you die, she'll be all alone. He brother vamped, her sister killed – do you really want her to have to go through with that? And your boss, whathisname – he seems to go through some awful hoops and jumps to protect you, from the laws, from his enemies – and I don't think it's just cuz you're his best runner. He cares about you, too."

I kept staring at him, confused. There was something that he was holding back, something he wasn't saying.

"Do you understand, Mel? You have to live. For them. Alright?"

I nodded, still trying to figure him out. There was something in his eyes which seemed somehow familiar, but I couldn't place where.

"Now, let's get you some more weapons so you never get caught in this situation again."

The man entered the building – his home, the girl thought – and she followed. It seemed miraculous that he didn't notice her – he'd always been aware of her, before. His heightened senses always gave her away. She'd found it annoying back then. She'd never really liked him, and it seemed wrong that he could keep tabs on her any time he wished.

She krept inside, looking around and confirming what she had thought: it was his home. Only he could take every spec of dust and dispose of it. It was another thing about him that she'd never liked; his obsession with cleanness. Everything had to be in the right spot, to get dirt on the floor was a sin. The same went for his own appearance: not a hair out of place, not a spec of dirt. It was probably one of the things that had drawn her to her husband: he wasn't that neat. Maybe he used to be, but when she met him, he had been merging with his darker side. His hair was always a bit messy, and it seemed like he was never completely clean. She'd found it somewhat endearing.

"You!"

She jumped. She'd been lost in her memories, and now he'd seen her. Briefly, she wondered why, but the answer was obvious: she was filthy, in an unnaturally clean environment. He could smell her.

"Hey, 'Mmortal," she said. Her voice sounded harsh. Talking scratched her throat.

The Immortal glared at her, and approached.

"What's this?" I asked.

"Reaper blade," Spike answered. "Very handy for beheading and so forth."

I looked it over. "I like it," I declared.

"I'm glad," Spike said. "However, we need something more portable." He picked up a long, thin blade. "This looks like it'll do. It'd fit nicely in those boots you wear."

"It needs a case," I pointed out.

"Sheath," Spike corrected. "Of course it does. Unless your feeling particularly masochistic." He gave me a pointed look.

"What's that?"

He sighed. "Never mind."

I was starting to grow restless. Shopping had never really been one of my interests. I saw, I grabbed, I kept. But Spike had said we might as well buy them, seeing how they'd probably save my life.

I kept thinking of the lurks at the tav. Why had so many gone to one place? It didn't make sense. Usually lurkes preyed on people who wandered into dark alleys. They didn't attack in the middle of the day, in broad sight of anyone.

It struck me: They were Harth's men. I wondered if Spike had figured it out, but then instantly grew suspicious. How did Spike know to be there?

I hoped those files of Erin's would come through soon. I wanted answers.

The Immortal looked at the child before him. She was dressed in filthy rags that hung around her so loosely that it was ridiculous. Her feet were filthy, bare, and appeared to have been cut in many places. Her hair hung around her in a filthy, knotted tangle. She was unnaturally thin; probably on the edge of starvation. He voice sounded as if she didn't know how to use it.

It was disgusting.

"Get out of here," he snapped.

"No," she said roughly. "You're the only one I've found that I 'member."

"Yes, well, I don't remember you." This child was highly annoying, he thought. He would have killed her, but it might have stained the carpet.

"'Course you don'. I was older when I met you."

Now she was talking nonsense. Wonderful.

"Get out before I kill you."

"Y'won' kill me," she said with infuriating certainty.

"Oh? What makes you say that?"

Her eyes – her wide, oddly alert eyes, shifted behind him. "She won' let you."

He turned. Ah, so the arrogant brat had noticed his prize. "When she wakes up, she'll be under my control," he said confidently.

The child made a sound, as if amused. "Her?" she asked. "Fine, go 'head an' try, but if she find out you killed me you'll be dead by ... by dawn." She laughed, as if that were funny.

The carpet be damned. He grabbed the child's boney arm roughly and shoved her outside. She'd die – but not on his carpet.

"You're going to die, little girl," he growled.

Her wide eyes looked up at him with innocent curiosity. "Am I?" she asked. "I haven' died in awhile, y'know."

"Well, you'll die tonight." He drew back his fist, ready to strike. This child was begging to die. He'd kill her, quick as anything, and then maybe he could meet that charming woman for dinner tonight.

To his immense surprise, though, he got knocked down. It took a second to figure out why: a man – or perhaps a demon – dressed all in black had thrown him, viciously, away from the girl. This warrior met his eyes and passed along the silent message: I'll die for her.

"Oh, you will," the Immortal muttered as he struggled to his feet. But the warrior was looking at the girl. Her eyes grew wider, and she cocked her head in curiosity ...

"Oh, look!"

The Immortal and the warrior both jumped at the sound of a woman's voice. The girl didn't seem to notice. She was still staring at the warrior in puzzlement.

The Immortal leapt to his feet and bolted. He had a reputation, and he wouldn't ruin it by being caught here.

As he ran away, he heard the woman speaking.

"Oh, look, Jove, isn't she darling? Reminds me of Loo, bless her soul. And it seems like she's an orphan. We should give her a home ..."