The Dawn

Part Two of the Forgiven Series

By Ariel

Author's Note: This is the second part in the Forgiven series written by me. For those of you who don't know, this story is set after the events of "Amends", and takes a few liberties with the characters I'm not particularly fond of. Any comments, criticisms, or requests please send to . I need them.

The lyrics are from "Building a Mystery" by Sarah McLachlan, from her album 'Surfacing', and "Weak" by Skunk 'N Anasie. Building a Mystery made me think of Spike the moment I heard it.

Disclaimer: I would probably sell something, my soul, my aura, whatever the hell I have to own Angel and Spike for one night. But I don't own any of them, so I'm stuck deeply coveting Joss. If he would just name the price...

Thanks to Duchess reading for me, and for liking it. Thanks to Ike for reading it and constantly reminding me of the failures in my personality. And thank *you* for reading it at all. -----------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Then, window, let day in and let life out."

William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet

Buffy stood outside of the mansion, staring in the darkened windows. Behind her the sky no longer had it's deep velvet black, but was swept with a grey pallor. Just a few hours until the dawn.

Something was very wrong. While at Giles' Buffy had remembered something Spike had said. At the time it had seemed small, but now she swore at her own stupidity for not noticing it sooner.

He said "Enjoy another night dreaming WITH Angel." There's only ever been one time I dreamt with him. In the same dream. And that was when the First was haunting him. But how did *Spike* know? What does he know? And where the hell is Angel?

Buffy beat on Angel's door again, before giving up and breaking the lock with a swift turn of her wrist. The inside was pitch black.

"C'mon book boy, where are you?" Buffy was growing increasingly worried. A noise behind her made her turn around, instantly on her guard.

"Angel?"

A ringing laugh answered her question.

Shit. Oh God, please, no. Buffy's stomach constricted and she strained to see in the dark.

"Hello..." Angel lit a candle on the desk, and dragged something with him into the light, his arm wrapped around the waist.

"Lover." Angel threw a limp body at Buffy's feet. It landed heavily and rolled slightly, allowing Buffy to see the face. Bite marks on the neck allowed no doubt the fate of the body.

Buffy couldn't breathe.

No.

--------------------------*FLASHBACK*-------------------

And you won't give up the search

For the ghosts in the halls

Spike pulled up outside a dark warehouse in a bad part of LA. Loud, sensual music could be heard issuing from the open doorway of the building, and a particularly large vamp slouched against the doorframe, his ugly face staring blankly into the night. Spike slammed shut the door of his car, stalking towards the entrance. He removed his fag from his mouth and viciously growled out the 'bouncer'. His game face came to the fore all too readily, and the larger vamp stepped back, surprised, acknowledging Spike's superiority. Spike swished past, his long duster swinging out behind him.

Once inside the building he stopped, momentarily surprised. The whole warehouse had been gutted and replaced with lavish furnishings. The ceiling, about fifteen feet up, was painted a deep midnight blue, and seemed to fade up out of reach of the low lighting. It was almost indiscernible from the black of the walls and black stained wooden floors. The west wall was covered in huge mirrors with swirling art nouveau frames in dark pewter, which reflected back the mirrors on the other wall, making the place seem to stretch in an endless line of ever decreasing hallways. The lighting was minimal, gothic candleholders illuminating un-mirrored parts of the walls. About half of the forms dancing sensually to the music reflected in the glass, making it obvious who in the room was human.

Spike was shocked at this obvious display of confidence. *A whole building full of vamps, with mirrors on the walls? God, this is my kind of place. *

Pulling his mind back to the pressing business, Spike scanned the room and noticed that several rooms lead off of the back wall, separated from the main dance floor by heavy cloth curtains. He strode purposefully across the hall and ignored the looks he got; some appreciative and some pissed off. As he neared the wall, he searched with his mind, senses trying to detect Drusilla in an inexplicable way.

Somewhere between hearing and smell, he knew that the left-hand doorway was the one for him. He pushed through the curtain. Entering the darkened room was like entering another world, music much softer and slower than the grinding beat of the one outside. 'Weak' by Skunk 'n Anasie was playing. In the near blackness, Spike allowed his vampire sense to scan the room, easily finding Drusilla in the corner, curled around a chair with one of her dolls. He walked over to her, wondering why she was sitting alone. Flickering purple candles rested on surfaces, and a bed could be seen in a dimly lit corner.

"Princess?" Spike knelt down. "Dru, pet?"

Drusilla snapped her head up, insanity and joy looking back at him.

"Spike? My Spike. Miss Edith said you'd come back. Back to your princess." Dru's eyes stared straight into Spikes and he caught an unneeded breath. She was so beautiful. But so mad. Spike guessed that the other vamps here had shunned her, from fear or contempt most likely. None of them looked like the type to take on a rabid vampire queen.

"Yes Luv. I only went away to find Angelus for you. To try and say sorry." Spike lied, knowing the risks, but also knowing Drusilla would be too eager to try and read his thoughts for now.

"My Daddy? Oh Spike, Princess forgives you. See Miss Edith, Spike does still love us. He brought me my Daddy."

"No, Dru... I found Angelus, but, well, he wasn't Angelus. He was back to being soulboy again." Spike watched Drusilla's face, knowing what was coming next. He ground his teeth that she should be so wrapped up in Angelus; that he should be so weak for her.

" But Miss Edith didn't tell me..." Drusilla looked into Spikes eyes then ran her hand over his short hair, digging fingers into his scalp. His eyes rolled back and closed, his body swaying slight as she saw his memories, read his thoughts.

"No! My Angel gone back to her!" The view of Angel and Buffy together flashed behind Spike's eyes, then he found himself sitting on his heels, having to lean heavily on his hands to find his balance as Drusilla released him. He staggered to his feet. *God I hate when she does that. *

Drusilla was vamped out; her mind still focused on the pictures of Angel and Buffy together. She hissed, then doubled over, falling from the chair onto the floor, curling into a ball.

"My daddy, My Angel..."

Suddenly her voice choked, and she keened, the sound of a wounded wolf. Dry rasps broke from her throat.

Spike stared at the groveling body of his lover, amazed. Various incoherent thoughts flew around his head. Never had he seen Dru cry. God, he'd never even seen her upset except when one of her damned pets died. I expected anger, but this? She turns into a bloody sniveling wreck when...

*She loved him. *

Spike's face contorted with rage. This thought was new to him. I figured lust, insanity or selfishness. But after two lifetimes together she loves a bastard demon who's been gone longer than she's been un-dead? She loved Angelus? A snarl escaped Spike's lips.

"Nobody left...All gone... nobody loves Dru. Does Spike love Dru?"

Suddenly she was rising, standing up with a killer's grace that never failed to obsess him. Her face was close to his, luring and sensual, and he blocked the sheet of anger for now. Damn her. Damn her to hell. She ran one of her flitting hands down his chest and he watched as if from outside his body as her tongue touched her lips. Need flooded his body, pulling him back from the frozen moment of time in which he had realized...He needed her to want him. Him, not Angelus. Could he never win against that sick fuck? Dru's other hand touched his cheek, gentle, evil. She stared through him again, trying to read his feelings. Irritation rippled his face. *This will never do* He leant forward and kissed her. All his hatred and anger came out in that kiss; came flowing out in the guise of passion. In the background the music mimicked his thoughts, mocking him.