A/N: See people? Reviews make me update! I dedicate this chapter to Sarra Torrens, who actually took ten minutes out of her life to write a few lines about this story. Now, would it kill you to do the same? Chapter 15 shoul be up soon, and for the first time in a long time I can actually see an end to this fic! Yay me! :D Enjoy reading chapter 14 in the meantime.
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"What do you mean 'there's nothing'? How can there be nothing? He doesn't even have a birth date? Anything?"
Jones had decided to ignore his boss's suggestion that he take the rest of the day off, and by lunchtime he was back at the office again. The first thing Jones had been charged with after coming back to work was to research the background of one 'William Sinclair', the man who had punched him in the face barely twenty four hours ago. He really didn't mind the rather tedious task. A small, petty side of him wanted to find something incriminating on the man. Hoped he had a police record. There was something strange about him, something that wasn't quite right. He just couldn't put his finger on it.
He wasn't just thinking that because he was slightly jealous. It was definetly not because he had a slight crush on Anne Sinclair. Of course not. That wouldn't be professional.
He hadn't expected it to be easy, but not to find anything at all... sure, there were a number of 'William Sinclair's' around Great Britain, many of them having had trouble with keeping at the right side of the law, but not one of them was the William Sinclair who'd hit him straight in the face at the Bed and Breakfast in Midsomer Parva. They were too young, too old, too fat, too skinny, too scarred, too tattooed... not a single one fitted the profile of a Caucasian male between 25-35 with light brown hair, blue eyes and no significant marks on him apart from a scar over one eyebrow.
There was nothing there.
And he had to tell the DCI that. Barnaby had not been pleased. In fact, he had seemed more agitated than Jones had ever seen him before. His normally cool and calm demeanour was still there, but the sergeant could tell that his boss's temper was stretched to the limits.
He just hoped he wasn't going to be there when it finally snapped.
***
There hadn't been any good news. No leads whatsoever in the murder investigation. The autopsy report had come back on the first victim, but it hadn't revealed anything they didn't already know. No toxins, no drugs had been found in the body, and it had no other injuries apart from a missing head. And still there were no identification to either victim!
There was nothing there.
Barnaby could feel the hold he had on his temper getting weaker and weaker. And now his sergeant tells him there hadn't been anything to find about the man, William Sinclair. It seemed like he didn't exist. No parents, no birth date, no former occupation... the man was a bloody ghost!
He wasn't completely out of ideas yet though. He was quite good at solving mysteries. It kind of went with the job.
He still had some contacts with the MI6. He really hoped he wasn't going to need them though. He wanted to talk to mister Sinclair one more time, to see if he couldn't get any answers the easy was first. If it didn't work, he would turn to higher authorities.
Even if it left a foul taste in his mouth.
That could wait though. Right now, he needed to talk to the man who seemingly didn't exist. He was going back to the Bed and Breakfast.
***
Giles had reluctantly left the council in the competent (he sincerely hoped) hands of Xander, who'd just as reluctantly had accepted. He was thinking about calling him to see if everything was all right. Then he realised he hadn't been away from London HQ for more than a couple of hours, and decided against it. He didn't want to seem too paranoid.
It was about twenty minutes left until they would arrive at their destination. It had been a quiet ride. None of the girls had said more than a few words, Dawn being unusually tight-lipped.
He had no idea what was wrong with the girl.
And Rona hadn't spoken either. She'd stared out the window, seemingly lost in thoughts. She was so distracted he had to address her three times if he wanted to talk to her, so he soon decided it was easier to just leave her to her contemplations until they arrived. Something was troubling her, but he but he wasn't very worried. It was probably just some trivial teenage drama or other. It was probably the same with Dawn.
Still, he couldn't wait for the car ride to be over. He sped up.
***
Rona stared out of the car window, but didn't really see anything. She was lost in thought.
Spike. She'd seen Spike. With her own eyes. She'd been the one to first find out he wasn't as dusty as he'd obviously wanted them all to believe. She'd not been there to bring him in to headquarters, but she'd talked to the girls that had been in the search party. They said he'd seemed more... annoyed to be caught, than anything else. He hadn't tried to fight them, hadn't tried to hurt them, but he had made an extraordinary effort to goad them, to be as irritating as possible, apparently trying to provoke them into doing... something. No one had been sure what, exactly.
She hadn't lived in the same house as the vampire for more then a few weeks, but even she could see that that sounded a lot like the Spike she'd known. Apparently he hadn't changed that much.
So why try to hide his return? Why didn't he want them to know he'd somehow escaped the hellmouth with his unlife intact? He would have been welcomed back a hero, she was sure of it! Hell, she'd hand him a freakin' medal herself.
He'd saved them all.
And Buffy had been a complete wreck for weeks after the battle. Quiet, introspective, often with bloodshot eyes from crying. She never let any of them see the tears, but she knew. They all knew. And then, suddenly, she'd seemed happier. Calmer. And then she had told them the news. She'd gathered everyone in the biggest room in the council biding in London and told them she was pregnant.
She hadn't said anything about the father, and the rumours had gone wild amongst the junior slayers. Every male person in the area had been considered, even mister Giles, which Rona though was not only stupid but... Blech!
Rona, and the other Sunnydale survivors had had their own theory. They didn't talk about it much, only on occasions they were sure no one could hear them, and always in hushed voices. They all knew were Buffy had spent the night before the battle. The timing fit, perfectly. And then, when Heather was born, it had almost been a confirmation that they were right. No one who'd ever laid eyes on Spike couldn't deny the likeness between him and the baby girl. She was his, all right.
And now, Spike had escaped the watcher central. No one knew how, but she had a pretty good idea where. Clara had told her about his reaction when she came in and told mister Giles about the phone call from the police about the murder. The look on his face had been almost comical, she'd said, if the situation wasn't so serious.
He'd been chocked and terrified.
Rona was convinced that he'd headed straight to Buffy when he escaped. The affection between those two during the last days in Sunnyhell had been unmistakeable. He was going to go straight to see her, to see if she was all right.
A small smile played across Ronas lips. She'd pay a lot of money to see Buffy's face when she first laid eyes on Spike.
And to see Spikes face when he first saw Heather.
***
It was raining when Giles parked the car outside the brick building he'd been told Buffy was currently housed in. the girls got out without saying a word to him, and rushed towards the front door. He followed in a sightly calmer step, holding an old newspaper over his head to shield him from the worst of the raindrops. When he got inside, he saw Rona talking to a plump, elderly woman, and a flash of Dawn as she quickly bounded up the stairs, no doubt already knowing exactly were to go to find her sister.
He sighed, and walked over to Rona and the elderly lady. The Summer sisters might use some private time. They hadn't seen each other for ten weeks, after all. He'd give them five minutes.
The kind woman gave him the keys to his room, and gave him directions to where he'd find Buffy, or 'Anne'. When he turned to go up the stairs, she said;
"Perhaps you should wait a minute to go up there. The police that was here earlier said there was a man visiting her, and that she wasn't to be disturbed."
Giles sighed, but didn't slow his steps down. So apparently Spike had found her. He would actually had been more surprised if he hadn't been there. But enough was enough. Giles would see to that he wouldn't be there for much longer.
***
Dawn ran up the stairs towards the room that the sweet old lady had told her she would find Buffy in. Or Anne, as the woman new her as. She stopped outside the door. She contemplated just barging in, as she usually did, but she didn't want to disturb her niece. She might be napping or something. She opted to knocking instead.
There were the muffled sound of voices from inside the room. Buffy's and... Dawn smiled. Spike was there, as he'd said he would be. He'd found them, not that Dawn had ever had any doubts about that.
"What the hell do you want... Nibblet?" Spike opened the door, thinking that it was the police that'd come back, but instead he got an armful of seventeen-year-old girl, hugging him so tight that would have had trouble breathing if he still had needed to breathe.
Her voice was muffled in his shirt, but he had no trouble understanding her.
"You owe me an explanation, you stupid vampire, or I would find a flame-proof bed to sleep in tonight if I were you. "
Spike smiled over her head, and hugged her back.
"It's nice to see you too, Dawn."
***
Paul Horner woke up, and immediately wished he hadn't.
His head felt like someone had stuffed his ears with shattered glass, his tongue felt furry, and when he opened his eyes everything in his line of vision was blurred. Putting on his glasses didn't help. In fact, it seemed to make his headache even worse. He quickly ripped them off again. This was by far the worst hangover he'd ever had, hands down.
Except he had no memory of drinking.
He was not a poster boy for sobriety, far from it, but he never drank enough quantities to end up with amnesia. The last time he could remember having a hangover even close to this one was at his brothers stag night, and that had been nearly three years ago.
He tried to stand up, but quickly realised that that hadn't been the best idea he'd ever had. He sat down with a sigh, then clutched his head and moaned. His head felt like it was a nanosecond away from imploding.
He had to get to work today too. Mister Giles was going to kill him! Probably feed him to the first vampire he could find. A watcher never stayed home from work because of a hangover! A watcher should have enough sense not to get a hangover on a day he had to work. No matter he had no memory of drinking anything the night before. He obviously had, otherwise he wouldn't feel like he did right now.
Right?
Still clutching his head he managed to stand up on wobbly legs and make his way to the bathroom without falling down in a heap on the floor, even though it was close a couple of times.
He leaned on the sink with his head bent down and his eyes firmly closed, trying to get the room to stop spinning. Without opening his eyes he managed to turn in the cold water. He cupped his hands and put them under the tap, filling them with the cool liquid, then he rinsed his face of.
He never noticed the water in the sink turning pink as he washed off the blood covering his face and staining his hands.
Just as he hadn't noticed it the last time either.
And the bloodstained broadsword hidden in his closet would remain unnoticed for quite a while yet.