A/N: I'm baa-ack! Yet another update, despite the lack of reviews on chapter 8 and 9. Shame on you! Now, it won't matter one way or the other when it comes to me finishing this fic, because I promised myself I would see this project through, no matter how it was received. In the end, I am writing a story I would have wanted to read, and that's what matters to me. And I'm dying to see how it ends!

Still, virtual cookies to everyone who takes a few seconds out of their busy lives to leave a review. It makes it about a thousand times easier to write (and the updates will come quicker). Thanks for staying with me, and please, enjoy (or hate) chapter 10, and don't hesitate to tell me so!

//Moonspring

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The sight that met DCI Barnaby when he walked trough the door to Anne Sinclair's room would stay with him years to come. There was his sergeant, lying on the floor behind the bed, looking decidedly dizzy and barely concious. The bed, that currently housed a happily giggling baby girl, under a year old, watching her mother punch a man he had never seen before right in the face, producing a loud crack when she must have broken his nose. The man stumbled backwards a few steps but managed to stay upright, much to Barnaby's surprise. It had looked like the little blonde packed one hell of a punch!

The man regained his balance, and gingerly wiped his nose, while Anne stood there staring at him, her mouth slightly agape. She was visibly trembling. The unknown man studied the bloody tracks left on his hand intently. Then he started to laugh.

It began as a low chuckle, but quickly rose in volume and intensity, until Barnaby was sure he could hear the beginning of hysterics at the very edges of he young man's voice. Apparently Anne could hear it too, because she aimed another punch at him. This time, however, he managed to avoid it, and he exclaimed with an indignant voice;

"Bloody hell, slayer! Watch it!"

And then the woman suddenly burst into tears. "Watch it? WATCH IT?!!" she screamed at him, while the tears streamed down her face. "I spend over a year mourning you, believing you were gone, and now you turn up here, telling me to WATCH IT?!! have you got ANY IDEA..." She took in huge gulps of air, visibly trying to calm herself down, failing miserably, before she continued; "Have you got any idea how much I've been hurting? How? Why? How did you get back? Why aren't you dead?"

Before the man could answer her, she crumpled to the floor and covered her face with her hands, emitting heart-breakingly loud sobs. The young man clearly didn't know exactly what to say, he just stood there, gaping like a fish out of water.

Then he turned his head towards the ceiling, and closed his eyes. He sighed.

He sat down on his knees beside her, and wrapped her in his arms. They just sat there, holding each other, the woman sobbing on the man's shoulder, and Barnaby could feel a lump in his throat. Even he was being affected by the touching reunion, even if he hadn't understood a tenth about what had been said.

He cleared his throat loudly, as much to dislodge the lump as to get their attention. The couple on the floor started, and for the first time looked directly at him. None of them had noticed his arrival until now.

He walked passed them to his sergeant, and helped the poor man to his feet. Anne stood up as well, just now remembering to look after the child. There was nothing wrong with the little girl however, she just looked slightly confused about all the commotion. She put her small hand against her mothers cheek, as if trying to wipe her tears away, and got a shaky smile from Anne in return. The strange man sat on the floor beside them, staring up at hem, studying the baby.

Barnaby helped Jones to the bed, where the sergeants still weak legs forced him to sit down rather heavily. All the while the DCI studied the unknown man intently. Barnaby had learned early in his career that peoples faces often told more truth than their words did, and over the years he had learned to interpret the most subtle twitches in someone's facial muscles with a startling accuracy. He was very, very good at his job.

Now, he used this talent to read the man in front of him. He didn't really need to try. The young man's face was not just an open book, it was a cinema screen. It was a little tricky to keep up with him though. A wide range of emotions swirled past his pale features, (and he was very pale, Barnaby thought. His skin looked almost translucent!), and he thought he could see confusion, anger, sadness and resignation in the man's eyes, with a lot of other emotions as well. All the while the man's gaze didn't leave the baby for even a second.

Barnaby felt it was time too speak. "I would like an explanation for all this, if you don't mind. I will get it, one way or another, either by bringing you in to the station for a proper interrogation, or we could talk here. Now, I don't know about you, but I would prefer the second option. It's your choice." his voice was authoritative and firm, and would clearly not tolerate anything but total cooperation. However, he felt like e was being more or less ignored by the two people he had addressed. He was getting more and more frustrated.

The unknown man was still sitting on the floor, but now he slowly stood up. He barley spared the two policemen a glance, but had his eyes firmly placed on the woman with the child in her arms. He spoke, further reviling his cockney accent.

"You know, luv..." he said, with a slightly shaking voice. "I wouldn't mind some explaining myself".

"Then get in line!" she spat at him. "I asked you first, dammit! You're not dust! Why aren't you dust? How long have you been back?" Her face was not as easy to read as the man's had been, but Barnaby had a lot of experience at it, and he could see anger and confusion in the woman's face, but they were almost overshadowed by the brilliant light of hope shining out of her eyes.

Barnaby stepped in before the man got a chance to answer her. "Before we continue with this, I'm afraid I have to know your name," he stated firmly, and looked straight into the man's eyes. He finally managed to get his attention.

Spike stared right back, quietly challenging him, but when he saw nothing but steely determination in the older man's grey eyes, he backed down, just this once. Maybe he would get to talk to Buffy alone faster if he cooperated. He would give him his human name. A name he hadn't used for over 120 years.

"I'm William Sinclair. Who are you?" he had to ask, just because he didn't want to give any information, however inaccurate, without getting some in return.

"Detective Chief Inspector Tom Barnaby, Causton CID. I am in charge of the murder case that miss Sinclair here is in the middle of at the moment. And from now on, I will be the one asking the questions around here, thank you! Starting with..."

He was interrupted before he could say anything more. William , as he had called himself, whipped his head around to once again stare at the young woman. He he lifted his eyebrows and asked incredulously, in a rather loud voice;

"Miss Sinclair?!"

The girl stared right back at him. You could still see the tear tracks on her cheeks, but the tears had stopped falling. When she answered him, her voice was shaking, but strong.

"I knew that was your name. That's why I chose it. It seemed... right."

William blinked, then blinked again. He opened his mouth, but this time it was his turn to get interrupted, even before he could actually say anything.

"Enough!"

Barnaby had reached his limit. He was bloody irritated. It wasn't often he felt like nobody listened to him, but with these people, he felt almost invisible!

"I give you two seconds to start giving me an explanation, or I WILL call in reinforcements and take you to the station by force! Is that clear?" When he saw their mute nodding, he continued, in a much calmer voice; "Now, Who exactly are you?". He pointed at William.

"He's Heathers father, isn't he?" Sergeant Jones spoke up for the first time. He was still sitting at the end of the bed, with the DCI standing beside him. All eyes suddenly turned towards him, one pair of questioning eyes from his boss, startled eyes from the young woman, and a pair of first chocked, then bitter and finally regretful eyes from the man that had punched him. He had directed is question towards Anne, who was standing a few feet away from him, still with the baby in her arms, but it was the man that answered him.

"Well no, we know it can't be me, don't we pet?" he said, while his eyes turned from the sergeant towards the woman and with a hurt and bitter tone to his voice. "In fact, I just found out she had a kid, and I thought you were the nipper's Da'. That's why I knocked you one". He added the last bit casually, without the smallest trace of regret to his tone. That earned him a heated glare from the woman he had addressed, but he didn't waver. 'Brave man', both the others thought.

"I didn't ask you!", Jones barked at him, but he didn't move his eyes from Anne either. "I believe I asked miss Sinclair. And I would like an answer, if you wouldn't mind". He was swaying slightly were he sat, but his voice held strong and firm, and broke no argument. His boss was quite proud.

For a split second, Buffy didn't know what to do. To tell, or not to tell? That was indeed the question. But what to say if she lied? And what to say if she decided to tell the truth? That would lead to more explaining and a lot of persuading, because right now, Spike didn't look inclined to believe anything she had to say.

But she couldn't lie about this. Not now. She was still confused, angry and upset, but inside she was deliriously happy! The man she had mourned for over a year was standing right in front of her, looking lost, angry, hurt and as confused as she was. She had him back! The man she loved was back!

And with that thought, a chill went through her. She had told him that, right before he had gone up in a pillar of fire. He had said; 'No you don't, but thanks for saying it'. It had almost destroyed her. She had finally said it, but it was to late. He had died, thinking he was alone and unloved, and it was her fault! If only she had said it sooner, if only...

If only a lot of things! The steely, rational part of her mind took control over her thoughts. It was no use crying over 'what could have been's'. She knew that. What counted was here and now, and right now, she had to tell the truth. For once in her life, she was going to fess up to Spike.

She owed him that.

All that went trough her mind in less than a second. She saw Spike turn towards sergeant Jones and open his mouth, no doubt to make an angry repartee, and she she knew she had to speak first.

"You're right. He is. William is Heathers father." She looked Spike straight in the eyes when she said that, daring him to contradict her, to call her a liar.

Which was exactly what he did.

"No bloody way in hell I am the kids father, you know that!" His head turned back towards her sharply. "I'm as sterile as you can get, I can't bloody have children!" There was anger and hurt in his voice, and quite a bit of sadness, but also a bit of uncertainty. Buffy knew she had him.

"She's eight months old next week. I went ten days over when I was pregnant. Do the maths, William. Count from the night before the ba... before the fire." She remembered hastily that they weren't alone in the room, and instead of saying 'battle', she changed it to 'fire'.

Before Spike could answer her, they both heard Jones saying; "I knew it! You'd have to be bloody blind not to notice Heather's practically his clone."

And Spike looked at Heather again. He'd had his eyes trained on her almost the entire time he had been in the room, and he had thought she looked like someone he knew. At first it had made him even angrier, thinking that not only had Buffy gone on to sleep with another guy so soon after he'd dusted, but it was someone he knew. But then he had begun to doubt. He couldn't remember anyone specific, she reminded him of, except... but he knew that was impossible.

Still, he had to say it.

"She... she reminds me of my mother..." He almost whispered it. His throat felt like it had clogged up.

Barnaby spoke up. "Yes, I can see it... the nose, the cheekbones... definitely the eyes. She does look remarkably like you":

Buffy was still looking at him, and he could see a tear glistening in the corner of her eye, and a small, almost invisible smile playing at her lips. He couldn't detect anything that indicated she was lying.

He collapsed against the wall. His head felt numb, and afterwards he wouldn't be able to remember what, of anything was going on in his mind at that time. With an incredible amount of effort, he managed to choke out one word;

"How?"

And Buffy smiled.

***

She held the head in her hands, staring into its lifeless eyes. She was pleased. Everything was actually going better than she ever could have planned! The vampire had found them, almost without any assistance from her. That was good. She needed to save her strength. The stronger she was, the sooner she could get out. She had thought she would need to steer him to get him to were she needed him to be, and that would have been draining. Vampires were a bit harder to influence than ordinary humans, and even that was cripplingly difficult these days, if they weren't really simple minded.

She needed to make another grand gesture. They needed to be ready for her. It was not necessary that they knew who she was, but her vain streak wouldn't allow her to remain anonymous for much longer, and certainly not for three full more weeks!

Maybe she should take another head? She already had the one she needed, but it was always good to have a spare. You couldn't be too careful. It was a bit draining, but now when she hadn't needed to steer the child's father in the right direction by her powers, she felt like she could afford to use just a little bit more. She would work on that. It would take her another few days, but there would soon be another body in Midsomer Parva. And this time, she would be sure to sign her work.

They would finally know her name.