A/N: Sorry for the delay in updating. Health concerns and a death in the family threw everything out of wack. RL bites, I like this world better. Also, FFN got a glitch and decided it didn't like me. It wouldn't let me upload anything. All fixed now though. (Obvious much?) Never again will I speculate on when I may be posting.

A/N #2: I apologize in advance for where I've put the chapter break in. It just seemed appropriate. Some things aren't exactly what they seem though. Thank you everyone who has reviewed so far, it warms the cockles of my fragile little ego. ;)

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Angel surveyed the room silently. This one might do- far enough away that it wouldn't make Connor uncomfortable, but close enough to let Angel breathe (metaphorically speaking) a little easier. "What do you think, Cordy?"

"I think you might need to slow down a little." Cordelia stepped out of the doorway and sat on the foot of the single bed. "I know you're excited but-"

Angel looked at her strangely. "You don't think I should be happy? Cordy, I just received something I never thought I would be able to have- a second chance."

"Angel," Cordelia snagged his hand and tugged until he was sitting beside her. "Of course I think you should be happy, but I think you should slow down a little, too. Co-Stephen has grown up in a place I can't even imagine and with a guy that doesn't exactly have a reason to be singing your praises. I just think you shouldn't push him."

Angel's eyes softened. "I won't push him. I won't push either of them."

"Either of them?" Cordelia experienced a sinking feeling when a goofy smile broke across Angel's face.

"Connor and Buffy."

"Angel-"

"I know, I know. But Connor is here and he wants to know me. Not pushing, but I get a second chance. And I'm going to do everything in my power to make sure Buffy comes back to us. When she does, I'll be there for her. You and Groo proved there are options out there. I can be with her, like I was meant to be, and not have to worry about losing my soul. I know it won't be easy, but this is my second chance and I'm not about to blow it."

Angel practically bounced off the bed and went to the open doorway. He turned to Cordy with a smile that she knew wasn't meant for her. "I'm going to get Connor. See what he thinks about this room." He left her sitting on the bed, staring at the door, wondering why, when Angel was so obviously happy, she felt like her heart was breaking.

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Spike slipped stealthily down the shadowed hallway, nostrils flaring wide to take in the curious mix of scents in the hotel. If they were going to be throwing their lot in with Angel and company, even temporarily, then Spike was going to make sure there were no nasty surprises lurking in the building and he damn well wanted to make sure he had a couple of escape routes and easily defensible positions, if it ever came down to it.

He'd caught a nasty piece of business in one of the rooms- woman, crushing guilt, numbing fear and grief, something demonic hanging over the room like a hungry, suffocating blanket, death and Angel scent- but it wasn't anything recent and seemed to be slowly fading away. He'd keep Buffy away from that room, just in case, but it wasn't something he was going to worry about. He had quite enough to worry about as it was.

Spike had barely turned the corner at the end of the hall when he saw Cordelia coming out of one of the myriad non-descript rooms. He froze, catching a small glimpse of her face before she turned to walk away from him. She didn't seem to have seen him, or maybe just didn't want to, so he simply filed the almost-encounter in the back of his mind, something to take out and examine later, and slowly backed back around the corner.

He'd taken two steps backward when he suddenly twisted and dropped to the floor, lashing back with a booted foot as he went. A hand grabbed at his ankle and lower leg and drew him up off the floor and slammed him hard into the wall.

Spike slammed his other foot into a knee and was rewarded with a grunt of pain before he was lifted again and thrown into the corner of the hallway, his back twisting painfully around the ninety degree turn. He let himself crumple to the floor before leveraging himself against the hold on his leg and jackknifing straight back to plant an elbow into an exposed throat.

Spike was immediately free, falling onto his hands and knees before whirling around and up into a defensive crouch.

A ham-sized fist plowed into Spike's nose and he stumbled back a few steps, one hand reflexively coming up to protectively cup the battered appendage. "Bloody fucking hell! Why is it always the damned nose?"

"It makes a satisfying crunch, would be my guess." Angel ghosted out of the shadows, smirking. The mocking smile slowly died and Angel's expression turned hard. "Why were you lurking around Connor's room?"

"Don't be daft." Spike wiped a trickle of blood from his right nostril and absently brought it up to his mouth to lick it clean. "Didn't know it was going to be Junior's room, did I? Saw your bird coming out all upset and didn't want to deal with another woman emotionally screwed up by you."

"My b- you mean Cordy." Angel looked down the hall, took one step, then two before stopping uncertainly and looking back at Spike. "She was upset?"

"Oh don't even try to give me that shit, mate. There is no way you can tell me you can't smell it all over her every time she comes near you. What I want to know is what are you going to do about it?"

"Spike, you're making even less sense than usual."

Spike jabbed a finger in the direction Cordelia had gone. "That woman wants you so bad she's choking on it and you know it. I know you know it. So, what are you going to do about it?"

"Spike, you don't know me at all."

"And that's still twice as well as your little playmates do. I know where you live. I know what they can't even begin to understand. Play clueless for the masses if you want, but that 'oblivious me' shit won't work on this member of the peanut gallery."

"This is not a discussion I'm having with you."

"When it concerns Buffy's safety, you damn well will. I have no problem putting a nice sharp piece of wood straight through your shriveled little heart, mate, I'd just like a little warning first. You plan on getting groiny, I'd like a heads up."

Angel blinked and raised his eyebrows. "Groiny?"

"Sodding Scoobies," Spike grumbled.

Angel and Spike smiled at each other, a genuine smile of companionship that died a quick death when they realized what they were doing. The entire hotel seemed to hold its breath as the two continued to stare at each other.

"You don't have anything to worry about." Angel stared into Spike's eyes, trying to impress upon the younger vampire the sincerity of his words. "Cordy has Groo. He's… he worships her. She's better off with him. I don't… He would kill himself before hurting her or allowing anything else to hurt her."

Angel shuffled his feet and lifted a hand to rub the back of his neck but kept his eyes locked with Spike's.

Spike snorted. "Cheap knock-off, mate. Cheap knock-off."

Angel was the first to blink and look away. And the hotel could finally release its held breath, along with the strange, electric tension of the two vampires.

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Stephen sat on the bed and looked around the room he'd been taken to. It was nicer than the hotel his father was in, even if it did smell funny. He hoped he wouldn't have to keep up this charade much longer. The vampire wasn't his father, would never, could never, be his father. His father was in a cheap hotel across town. The sooner Dad realized that, the sooner Stephen would get to go home and be with his real father.

Angelus wasn't at all what he'd been expecting. He was just as devious as his father had said he'd be but…Stephen had been braced for a smooth-talking vampire who could wrap anyone around his finger. He'd thought the humans his father had told him stayed with Angelus were under some sort of thrall, or possibly evil. It wasn't like that as far as he could see. The vampire was awkward and didn't seem to know how to talk to him at all. Of course, that could be exactly what he wanted people to think, what he wanted Stephen to think. He'd have to be very careful and keep his guard up at all times.

"What are you doing here?" Stephen asked without turning.

"Thought you wanted to talk," Spike said from the doorway. He leaned against the door jam and studied the young man he'd been told was Angel and Darla's son. Kid definitely had his father's brooding down pat, even if he did look more like Darla than Angel. Spike would bet the mind behind those blue eyes was pure Angelus though.

"Why would you think that?" Stephen turned until his back was against the headboard and stretched his legs out on the bed.

"Didn't go with Pops to kill the club full of vampires and save the helpless bird, did you?" Spike looked once around the room before walking confidently to the bed and shifting the boy's feet to the side so he could sit down. "Now, if I had just come back from a hell dimension and told my dad I wanted to spend time with him, I would've gone with him when he offered a spot of father-son bonding violence." Spike looked Stephen in the eyes. "Unless I wanted to have a little personal chat with the only person in the room who didn't seem to be on the Angel bandwagon."

Stephen shrugged. This one was smarter than he'd thought. And apparently the invitation-only clause hadn't kicked in yet. "I just wanted to know things, things he probably wouldn't want to tell me." And things you probably would.

"What do you want to know? Dirty little secrets? He's got a million of 'em. Mistakes? Got a million and one of those. Ways to break him? Very few, junior." Spike waited for what he knew to be coming. The others might not see it, and even if Angel did he wouldn't want to admit it, but Spike knew there was something off about this whole thing.

"Tell me about the girl. The one he was holding." Stephen had surprised the demon, he could see it. "Is she a vampire, too? She moved like one…before."

"Ah." Spike took out his lighter and started flicking it open and closed, open and closed. "Now there's a tale for the campfire."

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Rupert Giles sighed and slipped his glasses off to rub the bridge of his nose. Damned useless gits every single one of them, himself included. No one knew anything. The Council had no answers and neither did the coven. Giles had spent every moment since he'd returned to Sunnydale looking for any trace of the children. That's what they were, all of them, his children. The ones he'd never have because of his calling.

Even Spike had mysteriously disappeared. Of course, he should in no way be relieved that, wherever they all were, Spike was most probably with them. But Giles was relieved. Spike was a strong ally, though unpredictable, and he had a feeling that Anya was correct; whatever had happened, it was bad.

The phone messages he'd received before contacting Anya had been from Spike. Not Buffy. Spike. And they had chilled Giles to the bone.

He'd just come back from a particularly interesting seminar on talismans of the 15th century and noticed the message light blinking rapidly on his machine. The first three were hang-ups. The fourth through ninth were from Spike and he'd become increasingly terse with each message. Giles had a feeling the tenth through fifteenth were also from Spike, though no further messages had been left.

The only clues Giles had were that Buffy was in some sort of trouble and needed a cure for something.

When he finally found them, Giles was going to wring the vampire's neck for not giving him any more information. How the devil was he supposed to help when he didn't know what had happened or where they'd gone?

It may have been silly and quite melodramatic, but Giles was certain that this was somehow all his fault. He should never have left. He hadn't known any other way to get through to her, though.

Giles knew she was a strong and capable young woman, even if she hadn't seen it herself, and the only way to show her had been to take himself out of the picture. If he hadn't gone back to England, he would've been too tempted to act the father and make everything right. She never would've stopped relying on him and started relying on herself again.

And now, because of his short-sighted, though well-meaning, decision, she was out there somewhere in who knew what sort of trouble. It also disturbed Giles to no end that neither Willow nor Tara had been to any of their classes and were, in fact, listed as missing persons.

He was startled when the quiet of the house was shattered by the ringing of the phone. Giles had been staying at the house in anticipation of Buffy and Dawn's return, though with every day that passed he was losing hope that they'd ever be heard from again. And that little voice in the back of his head that wouldn't let him sleep at night kept repeating that it would be all his fault.

"Summers' residence," he said into the phone, trying to keep hope out of his voice.

There was a slight hesitation and then, "Giles? It's Angel."

Giles' fingers clenched white around the receiver. "If you're looking for Buffy, I-I'm afraid she's not here at the moment. I'm expecting a very important phone call so if you don't mind…" Giles trailed off hoping the vampire would get the hint.

"I know Buffy's not there. She's here in L.A. With me." Giles heard a faint noise on the other end of the line, as if a hand had been held over the receiver, and then Angel came back on. "She's here with me and Spike."

Giles felt as if a great weight had been lifted from him and was surprised to feel tears pricking at the back of his eyes. "Oh, thank God." He had to clear his throat before continuing. "Is ev-everyone alright? Do you know what's happened?"

Giles heard the sounds of a brief scuffle and then Spike's voice came booming over the line. "What the bloody hell! I've been trying to reach you for two months and you're at the sodding house?"

"Yes, well, I got your messages and came back straight away to find everyone had disappeared. I might ask you what the bloody hell you're all doing in L.A."

"Giles." This time Spike's voice was hesitant and filled with sadness. "There's-- oh, hell, Buffy needs help. She's…and then the rest of them…balls! The others are dead, except maybe Harris-- don't know where he went after the wedding that wasn't-- Buffy's lost in her head somewhere, and I don't know what to do."

At that moment, Giles felt himself being torn into three separate and distinct people.

The Watcher was calm and collected. There was no time for horror or hysterics. If he wanted his Slayer back, everything Spike could tell him was vital. He listened closely to everything the vampire told him, questioned Spike until the situation was firmly solid in his mind and made all the appropriate assurances.

Ripper was enraged. His people- hurt, dead. He didn't give a damn about the circumstances. Right then he wanted nothing more than to get roaring drunk and kill something. Several somethings.

The father in him struggled not to give over to grief, nearly choking himself trying not to scream out his rage and sorrow. All of them gone away. And it was all his fault.

Never should've left them.

Soft, sweet, helpful little Tara with her shy smiles and her nervous stutter.

All his fault.

Intelligent, babbling Willow with her flaming hair and ridiculous shapeless clothing who used to look at him with hero worship and not a little bit of speculation.

Left them vulnerable.

Dawn beaming at him after even the smallest bit of praise and trying so hard to be the normal young girl she actually wasn't.

All his fault.

Buffy, his darling Buffy, who he'd once lost and had returned to him. And then he'd just thrown her away.

All.

His.

Fault.

The father heard Spike's voice droning on from the phone and then he heard his own voice answer, though he couldn't say just what was said. It all seemed very far away from where he was. In a minute, he'd pull himself together with his other two selves and do whatever needed to be done. In a minute.

Right then, he was a father who, in one cruel blow, had just lost his children.