Disclaimer: standard.

Hunt

2: Carly and Mikaela Banes

Spike made his way into the backyard. The garden was unruly. The grass looked like it hadn't been cut in a long while, weeds made up a good one-third of the floral population, and miscellaneous papers and objects, a car engine among them, were scattered in the yard. No wonder the Banes's neighbours insisted on a fence, though the fence looked just as downtrodden as the rest of the yard did. Mom and Dad would have burst a couple of veins if they saw their yard ever looking like this…A wave of sorrow hit Spike then, and he forced it away. It was not the time to be thinking of such things. He needed revenge first, and then he could move on. He was going to repay the man who gave him the gift of his un-life with a stake through the heart. The scars on his back were a testament to that promise.

The Banes's dog, Mojo, identifying a pack brother, ran happily to greet him, limping just a little with his cast. Spike almost laughed at the fact that he had missed the little dog in his inspection of the yard, as the grass nearly towered over Mojo. He held it back, however. The dog had enough insecurity problems as it was, being a Chihuahua and all.

Mojo went to Spike's feet, and exposed his belly, identifying himself as the underdog in that afternoon's antics with his pack brother. "Hey Mojo," Spike crooned, reaching down to rub his belly, "how're you doing, you little pill-moocher?" Mojo yipped happily in response, nipped his fingers playfully, and then assumed the universal "doggy-wants-to-play" position, paws out in front of him, tail whipping back and forth in the air.

Spike grinned. Carly wouldn't come home for a couple hours yet, at least. There was time to play.

After peering through the windows of the surrounding houses and insuring that no one was looking, he ducked behind a sorry-looking tree, got out of his clothes, and changed form.

He crouched to accommodate the random spasms going through his body, and tried not to gasp too much at the throbbing in his gums as teeth elongated, giving way to fangs. Mojo stood a little way off, head cocked, curious but not alarmed that his pack-brother was changing form. Spike had decided, long ago, that dogs were good like that. They didn't care what form their pack-brother took. Humans were often a different matter.

The change was soon over. Spike bounded over to Mojo, exhilarated whilst in his wolf form. The sunlight was less taxing to him as a vampiric wolf than as a vampiric human. It was still tiring, still made him feel sluggish, but it was better.

He wrestled with Mojo for a bit, being careful with the smaller dog. After all, he didn't want to get him into another cast. Then, succumbing to the afternoon light, he dragged himself to the shade, and closed his eyes. Mojo tried goading him into another playtime by nipping his tail, but soon gave up and curled between his pack-brother's forepaws.

When Spike awoke, it was already—thankfully—dark. Mojo had run off somewhere, doubtless causing trouble even with a cast on. Spike got up and shook himself, bits of grass flying off his fur. He was contemplating whether or not to change back to human form, when he heard a familiar car pulling up the driveway. His ears went back, and he gave a low growl. As silent as a large wolf could be, he slunk towards the sound.

"Still don't get why you won't let me drive, Trent," came a disappointed and almost pouting voice.

"You see this tires, babe? They're not playthings!"

"Well maybe next time I'll just walk home."

Any further banter was interrupted by Spike, who nimbly trotted over and pressed himself against Mikaela's side, and looked challengingly up at Trent. Trent looked a bit unnerved.

"Woah, Mikaela. I thought you said your dog was small." Mikaela looked a bit surprised, but recovered quickly.

"This is small," she said obstinately.

Trent looked like he was about to say something further, but Spike growled at him. Quietly, of course. A wolf's equivalent of: Go home, and stay away from my daughter. Trent gave a hurried excuse to Mikaela, and rushed out.

As soon as he was out of the neighbourhood, Mikaela turned to her "dog." She lowered herself to his level, and scratched behind his ears. "Man, Spike. I already got my mother interrogating all my boyfriends. With you and her together, I'm never going to get married." Spike gave an indignant sniff, then turned and walked back towards the backyard. By the time Mikaela caught up with him, he had already changed back to human form and was in the final stages of dressing.

"I still don't get why you hang out with guys like them, Mikaela," Spike muttered, pulling on his shirt.

"Yeah, sometimes I don't know either," Mikaela answered, plopping down on one clean spot in the yard. She looked around. "Hey, where's Mojo?"

"Don't worry; I didn't eat him or anything."

"Better not. He's already in that cast thanks to you."

"Aw, don't be so mean. He's forgiven me for that already."

"Just don't be so rough when you're playing," she sighed, in a long-suffering voice.

"Yes, Mother," Spike said, and sat down on the ground next to her. Mojo, as if knowing he was being talked about, decided to make his appearance and squished himself in between them. Spike stroked his ears idly.

"Is your mother home yet?" Spike had, long ago, accepted that he could never be part of Carly's life. And not in the social-status sense either. The Camarilla allowed only one past human link, and one new human link, per vampire. If he were to introduce himself to Carly, he'd get them both into major trouble with the ruling vampiric powers. However, that didn't mean that he couldn't watch her from a distance.

"Nah, she's visiting Dad. His parole is coming up soon."

Spike nodded absently. The only thing he had against Daniel Banes was that he landed his daughter with a juvie record. Daniel was his time's equivalent of Trent. Carly was probably his time's equivalent of Mikaela. Like mother like daughter, he thought, then stowed that thought away in the deepest corners of his mind. He knew that Mikaela, though she loved her mother, would not appreciate him comparing her to Carly.

That was another thing odd, too. Lately, Spike had been mixing up Carly and Mikaela. Mixing them up in his conversations with Miles, in his dreams…sometimes even in his memories. It was disconcerting.

"You must be excited. This is the first time he's been home in years."

"Sort of. It's just kind of awkward, you know? After all this time, after all that's happened…" Neither of them said what was obvious. Spike had been there for most of Mikaela's childhood whilst Daniel was doing his dealings. And while Daniel was away, Spike had taken over some of his roles as father, though Carly, of course, knew nothing about that.

Carly was a busy, working mother. So she didn't notice when Mikaela brought home a stray dog. She did notice her boyfriends though, to Mikaela's chagrin.

"When Dad's back again…will you still be around?" Mikaela asked quietly.

"Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

Mikaela didn't answer, but instead grinned and said, "Hey, I got all the A's I needed."

Spike looked surprised at the change in topic, but went along with it. "Cool. Guess that means that you're going to get a car tomorrow?"

"Yup. Hopefully one that's not too beat-up."

"Won't matter. You'll find something to do with it."

"Just what I need," Mikaela rolled her eyes, "another project."

"Hey, no sacrifice, no victory," Spike told her, grinning. She punched him in the arm mockingly, but then sobered.

"You know…if you ever need it, to go out into the city or forest or something…you're free to take it, you know." She paused. "Or you could always buy your own car. I'm pretty sure that the Camarilla encourages suburban vamps to do so."

Now it was Spike's turn to roll his eyes. "You and Miles are always giving me grief about that. I have you know that I can commute."

"Well, yeah, but for emergencies…you know?" She looked at him, and put her hands on either side of his face, and looked at him. Spike kept back a flinch at the contact, but couldn't keep himself from blushing. "You should feed soon, Spike. I can see it in your eyes," she said quietly.

Spike didn't answer. It kind of felt good, to have Mikaela looking at him like that, to hold him. But then both of them, simultaneously, remembered that he just turned forty years old, and that Mikaela was underage, and both pulled back, embarrassed, at the same time.

Mojo snoozed contentedly between them.

"I should get going," Spike said, rising.

"Yeah, and I guess I should do some homework." Mikaela picked up Mojo and walked with Spike until they were in front of the house.

"Sleep well then," Spike said, initiating their customary send-off.

"Feed well," she answered him.

Spike headed down the road.

X x X

Hacking into the foster-child care system in order to find out where the boy lived had been easy. But when Bumblebee stopped in front of the slightly-worn house, no one had been home. To the passing human, everything would have looked acceptable, normal. But to Bumblebee, something was wrong. Not only were there no signs of life in the house, no children, parents, or pets, but his scans were showing that no human had set foot in the house for at least two days.

Bumblebee waited outside the house until well after the human educational day had ended, but still no one came.

Having no other choice, Bumblebee left that post and started to roam around the town, hoping to come across the boy. His files on all the child's supposed ancestors—assuming that he was, indeed, a descendant of Archibald Witwicky—had led to millions, if not billions of sketches of what his descendants could look like. Humans had such variation in their genes. Their genes could recombine to an amazing extent, and then be combined again with another gamete of equal variety… The child could look like anyone, but at least the sketches gave Bee somewhat of a starting point. He was most likely looking for a five-foot eight, lightly-built male with brown eyes and—

Bumblebee stopped short as he registered the figure coming towards him from the sidewalk. The child walking towards him matched the photo in his files of Samuel James Witwicky. A little more tired-looking, hair a little different, but it was Samuel James Witwicky coming towards him from the other side of the street.

Samuel James Witwicky, who had disappeared twenty-three years ago, and would have to have been forty years of age.

Bumblebee shook off his astonishment, and told himself that he was lucky that he didn't have too sensitive of a logic processor. He was sure that if Prowl were in his position, the poor mech would have keeled.

The child ignored him as he passed. Quietly, Bumblebee took a U-turn, and started to follow from a distance.

But the boy seemed aware of his presence, aware that he was being followed. Bumblebee turned a corner to follow him, but by then, he was already gone.