Paris, 1954

"And is it any wonder that I find you sitting here alone? Could it be that Drusilla has finally found some sense in that addled brain of hers and left you? And what did you do to your hair?"

Spike looked up from his copy of Le Figaro to observe the slim blonde woman standing before him. She was, not surprisingly, dressed fashionably, favoring the nipped in waist and flowing skirt that were hallmarks of "The New Look" that was all the rage in Paris this year. The hat with a half veil was just too cute, though. "Good to see you, too, Great-Grandmamma. It's been, what, thirty years?"

"Twenty-five." Darla settled herself in the empty seat without asking if it was taken. "Chicago, and you were trying to present yourself as a bootlegger and grow a mustache. It looked ridiculous. You didn't answer my questions."

He put the paper down with a sigh, realizing he wasn't going to get any peace. "I was trying to read my paper. Dru is off eating some designer and is supposed to meet me here later. She's doing quite well, thank you. There are far more lucid days the longer she's away from you and Angelus."

The words were meant as an insult, but Darla simply smiled, gesturing for the waiter. "A Dubonnet, please. Do you need another, Spike?"

"Are you buying?"

"Just the Dubonnet, then." Once the waiter was gone, she turned her attention back to him. "Actually, all you need to do to have her relatively lucid is keep her away from Angelus; he's what sets her off. I found her quite the playmate when it was just us girls. You haven't told me about the hair."

Spike shrugged. "A fad. Was trying for the Bogey look, but I'm growing tired of it. Haven't figured out what to do with it."

"Well, thank goodness you grew out of the letting it flop in your eyes phase. Didn't your mother teach you to comb your hair?"

"That's not funny," he said quietly with menace in his voice.

"It wasn't meant to be." Darla was drawing off the short red satin gloves that went with her dress. "You haven't changed, Spike. I suppose that should be a comfort in this world. You take on whatever mask you think necessary, but underneath you're still the same bundle of insecurities...and those insecurities present such a lovely target."

"Don't you have somewhere to go? People to eat?"

She smiled. "Actually, I'm here on business. The Master is summoning the clan."

"I'd heard the Master was stuck in some hole in the ground in California."

"He is, but there is a possibility he could get out if he has enough of the family there. Not the minions, but the powerful ones."

"So you're saying he needs Drusilla and I to drop whatever we're doing and sing 'California, here we come.'"

"Well, Drusilla needs to. As for you, well, I suppose he wouldn't mind if she brought a small entourage. Actually, what I came to see you about was I'd heard a rumor you'd seen Angelus."

He stared at her for a moment, and then Spike simply laughed. "I should have known. Can't give up on him, can you? Half a century and you're still pining away for the big lug."

The waiter delivered Darla's sherry at that moment, which forestalled any reply she might have made. Spike noted with satisfaction that she took several sips of the drink before speaking again. He'd managed to annoy her and put a point on his side in the running tally. "I'm here on the Master's business," she said at last, her voice tight. "You might not care for the ties and lineage of our clan, but I do. This is a summons and I'm to deliver it to Angelus personally. Do. You. Know. Where. He. Is?"

"Haven't a clue." This was fast becoming more entertaining than the paper. "Last time I saw him, we were on a sub in the middle of the Atlantic during the war. Apparently he was playing sailor boy and helping the American government."

"What the hell were the two of you doing on a sub?"

"I got captured by the Nazis, who had apparently decided they needed to experiment on vampires, trying to turn them into super-soldiers for the Third Reich. Wanted to cut into our brain, put some kind of control there."

He expected Darla to say that would be an improvement in his case; what she did was grimace. "And Angelus rescued you?"

"Angelus didn't know I was on board until after he showed up. Rescued the crew, made me swim back to shore...oh, and turned one of the sailors so he could fix the engine and get the rest of the humans home. Made the boy swim as well. I ask you, what type of sire does that to a fledgling?"

"And these experiments?"

"I burned the papers. Gave him a good chorus of 'God Save the King' for good measure...and you know I sing better than Angelus does," he added as she winced.

"That's not difficult. So, it's been, what, a decade and you don't know where he is?"

"Nope. Sorry you made the trip for nothing. Funny, for a moment, I thought he'd come to his senses and was playing both sides against the other like he used to do."

Darla shook her head. "He tried, but he can't do it. That's why he left us in Peking."

Every detail of that evening was burned into Spike's brain and her words didn't jibe with those memories. "I always thought he buggered off because I'd killed a slayer and he realized he wasn't Alpha dog anymore."

The look she gave him was far too familiar; he'd seen it for twenty years, before he and Dru had struck out on their own. "Spike, you're a fool. It wasn't the fact you killed a slayer that made him leave; it was the fact I made him choose. I told him he had to stop living this half life of only killing murderers and what he considered scum to salve his conscience or he needed to go."

She downed the rest of her drink and stood up. "That's what made him leave, Spike. Not you. If you think you could ever do anything that would make Angelus afraid of you, you're a bigger fool than I thought. And don't worry; I'll be sure to find Drusilla and tell her about the Master's summons myself. I don't trust you to do it."

As she walked away, Spike remembered exactly why he tried to avoid his blood kin as often as possible. No, he didn't know where Angelus was, but he had his suspicions his grand-sire was back in the good old US of A, hiding in one of their cities where he could be just another faceless, anonymous drone. If that's how he wanted to spend eternity, he was welcome to it; Spike had places to go and things to do...and they most definitely did not include trips to California. In fact, California was going on the permanent moratorium list. He could live without visiting the Golden State.

Picking up the paper, he flipped through the pages idly, too distracted to really read. When he thought he saw a figure in the back of a photo of Frank Sinatra and his Rat Pack that looked like Angelus, he simply gave up and tossed the paper on the table. He needed to find Drusilla before Darla found her anyway, before the bitch could convince his dark queen that family loyalty demanded she answer the Master's call. Pity. He'd been enjoying Paris and wasn't eager to leave. Summer was almost on them, though; they could travel south to Nice and live the high life there for a while until it was safe to come back.

He had to move fast; he'd be damned if he was going visit California.