She was utterly exhausted, ached like she’d been beaten, and was reasonably sure that she’d never be clean again.

She’d never been so happy in her life.

"Hey, pet!" her Sire called from across the huge room, "you think we should leave this floor open or put up partitions down here and leave the next floor up open?"

Emily smiled, incredibly pleased that her Sire cared enough to ask her opinion. She’d seen enough of Sires and Childer, while trying to find someone to claim her, to know that Sires were the bosses and it didn’t matter what the Childer wanted.

"Partitions down here, I think," she called back, "for bedrooms and such. I would feel safer, since there are no windows."

"Your wish is my command, luv," Spike teased her. "We’ll make a big playroom upstairs, yeah? Tellies and games and such. Find us a pool table, maybe."

"I like billiards," Emily nodded enthusiastically.

"That’s me girl," her Sire beamed at her, then went back to - what on earth was he doing over there?!

"Sire? What are you doing?" Emily picked up the box of papers she’d just finished collecting - the last of the trash on this floor, thank the gods! They’d thought there was none, then her Sire, inspecting the furnace, had suddenly said it wasn’t oil, but an old-fashioned boiler-style furnace. He’d opened the door, and the wind going through the pipes and chimneys had immediately blown what seemed like tons of paper all over the room.

Emily grinned at the memory - she’d never heard anyone swear like her Sire had then. Apparently, the last factory owners had used the old furnace as a convenient dumping place for their waste paper instead of paying to have it hauled away.

Now she carried this last box with her as she went to see just what her Sire was up to.

"Put that in the freight lift," Spike said, glancing at her, "I’ll take it up later."

"All right," she nodded, "but..."

"Oh." Spike looked back at the rough rectangle he’d chalked on the brick wall, "gonna put a door here."

"A door?" Emily stared. "But - there’s nothing on the other side except dirt."

"Yeah," Spike agreed, "M’gonna dig us a back way out. Only thing wrong with this place, y’know? Stairs and lifts are the only ways out."

"A tunnel?" Emily asked faintly, her brain boggling at the amount of work that was going to take.

"Yeah, I done it before," Spike stood back, his hands on his hips, and gave the wall a good-natured glare. "Have to buy a sledgehammer if one don’t turn up - bust up some brick, frame up a doorway, do a bloody lot of diggin’. Have ta get that old truck goin’, haul some beams to prop it up. Or, I dunno, maybe brick or rock so you don’t get all dirty when ya go through it, pet."

"Sire," she protested, "I don’t mind getting dirty. That’s too much work for you to do, and you’d have to teach me to do brickwork before I could help you!"

Spike frowned at her. "Yer not helpin’ me in there, luv," he said firmly, "s’too dangerous."

"Dangerous?" she squeaked, green eyes wide.

"Could cave in ‘fore I get it shored up right," Spike said, turning and taking the box from her, striding over to the freight elevator and its current load of rubbish, muttering about shovels and wheelbarrows.

"But..." Emily stopped staring at the wall and rushed after him, "but - Sire! If it could cave in on me, it could cave in on you!"

Spike grinned at her, stuffing the box into the already-full elevator and pressing the button to send it to the main floor. "I’ll be all right, pet. Anyway, ya don’t gotta worry ‘bout it right now. Gotta get that truck going ‘fore I can start that job."

"To carry the rubbish out," Emily nodded, happy that the tunnel was put off for now.

"Yeah, the rubbish, and some hauling."

"The beams." That didn’t make her quite as happy.

"And some other things," Spike was grinning more broadly by the second.

"Like what?" Emily asked, getting suspicious.

"C’mon, pet," Spike teased her, "Ya don’t think I’m gonna leave ya in a sleepin’ bag on the bloody floor, do ya? Wouldn’t be much of a Sire, would I?"

Emily opened her mouth to tease him back - then caught the faintest flicker in those already-beloved blue eyes.

Abruptly changing her tactics, she flung her arms around him.

"I wouldn’t care if it was a plastic tarp on a dirt floor as long as I was with you," she said intensely, "I looked for you for so long, my Sire. My perfect Sire."

Spike stroked her dusty hair with a hand that was definitely trembling. "Now pet," he tried to laugh, "‘M nowhere near perfect."

"Says you," Emily sassed him bravely, tightening her grip. "You’re so perfect; exactly what I needed. What I wanted. I watched other Sires. I saw how they treated their Childer. They wouldn’t let me argue with them, or fuss about the tunnel. They’d make me dig the tunnel, or turn dozens of minions to do it. You haven’t beaten me, or even punished me at all. You feed me Sire’s blood for every meal. You haven’t dragged me to bed with you..."

"You’re too young for anything like that!" Spike was horrified. "F’ya was still alive, ya’d just be sixteen!"

"So? I’ve seen Sires that would turn children just so they could keep them as little sex slaves. Other vampires didn’t care. You may not be a ‘normal’ Sire, but don’t you ever dare not think you’re a wonderful Sire!"

Spike gave her a brief - but very hard - hug, then gently pushed her to arm’s length. "Gettin’ ta be a real sweet-talker, Em."

She flashed him a grin. "I’m learning it all from you. Besides, every word I said is the truth."

"Go get cleaned up," he changed the subject, but she could see the pleasure in his eyes. If he was capable of blushing, she was sure he would be. "I’ll work on the truck for a bit, then we’re goin’ out."

Emily caught a glimpse of her future self, standing in a high-class store, being fitted to a black lace dress that made her look older and more sophisticated - then having her hair done in a posh salon - talking her Sire into trying on a black suede jacket - loading a cart with jeans, skirts, and her other favorite styles of clothing - driving her Sire insane in a shoe store.

"A shopping spree?" she asked delightedly, her whole face lighting up.

Spike gave her a mock-glare. "No reading Sire’s mind, Childe, or I’ll give ya one o’them beatin’s ya think yer missin’ out on!"

"Suuuure," she drawled, darting away when he grabbed at her.

"Brat," he chuckled.

"I’ll be ready really fast!" She headed for the other elevator.

"Take yer time," he called after her, "I gotta make a list of parts I need!"

After her shower, Emily pulled her wet hair back into a ponytail, put on her least-worn jeans and a faded green tank-top, then went to look for her Sire.

She found him on his way to his own shower, liberally coated with engine grease and muttering over some papers. He gave her a distracted look, then stopped, looked again, and frowned at her.

"Make ya a list, pet - everythin’ ya need. Put a hair dryer on it."

"Will do," she said, saluting.

"Cheeky brat," he laughed, and vanished into the shower room.

"Sire?" she called after him - the room didn’t have a door, but one of those little hallways that took a sharp bend and kept you from seeing inside.

"Yeah?" his voice sounded muffled - he was probably pulling his shirt off as he spoke.

"We don’t have any place to put a lot of clothes."

"Yeah, we do," the water cut on and would have muffled his voice if she didn’t have vampiric-enhanced hearing. "Went up while ya was showerin’, got a couple filing cabinets for folded stuff and extras. We’ll use the balconies ta hang clothes. Write down clothes racks on yer list. Gonna get ya some pretty furniture and such once the truck’s running. Don’t wanna have it delivered - don’t need no humans knownin’ there’s somebody gonna live here."

"Oh - okay." Emily lapsed into silence, pondering this new information. Sire was obviously setting this up as a permanent lair - one they would come back to again and again - maybe even their main lair. That meant there was an even more unbelievable amount of work in store for him - she wasn’t worried about herself. Even with vampire strength and ability, it was going to take forever and she just knew her sweet Sire was going to try and do most of it himself.

And he wasn’t as strong as he was trying to pretend. That chip he’d had in his head had weakened him considerably, and it would take plenty of time and rest to get his true health back.

Then there was the soul.

Emily’s own soul didn’t bother her - she’d never been without it. Her father had spelled it back to her before she’d opened her eyes after her turning. Her demon had simply accepted it since it was already there - she craved blood but only as food. There was no longing for murder and mayhem in her heart.

Sire’s soul was different - he was in torment - constant torment. He tried to hide it from her, but that was impossible. Even if she didn’t have second sight, she had her own physical eyes and she wasn’t stupid.

And the only reason he was fighting the horror and the depression and not walking into the sun was because of her.

She wasn’t sure that she was going to be enough to keep him fighting - Sire loved her, but one single Childe couldn’t keep him occupied for the entire time it would take his soul to settle. It could be decades.

‘Very well, then,’ she decided, finally walking away from the shower room and going hunting for paper and pen to make her list, ‘I’m just going to have to step up my plan. It’s going to happen anyway - I’ll just have to make it all start happening sooner.’

*

Shopping was not a new experience for Spike. Drusilla had adored shopping, choosing clothes for herself, materials to make matching clothes for her dolls, choosing new dolls, snacking on assistants in the dressing rooms, buying useless knickknacks that she would abandon within hours, twirling to the sounds in the music stores, munching on customers in the restrooms, being mesmerized by the cartoons as they went by the entertainment centers with the telly displays, cooing at babies and making Spike snicker when she called them ‘delicious little treats’ and their parents beamed, completely misunderstanding her...

Shopping with Emily was a big difference.

His little girl knew exactly what she was after, exactly how much she was willing to pay, and exactly how long she would put up with sales clerks in the fancy stores fawning over her once Spike flashed cash at them.

They were inclined to turn their noses up before he did that, at least until he got Emily to stop in a restroom and change into one of her new outfits.

She ignored other customers - up to and including the teenagers who tried to flirt with her - and she was just as interested in everything he bought as she was in her own pretty purchases. Drusilla had never cared what he was doing, so long as he bought or stole what she wanted.

In the home department, she stood laughing while he argued with the clerk over the paint samples he wanted. So what if he wanted red and black and maybe some dark blue or green instead of the gag-worthy pastels that the clerk insisted were the latest rage in decorating. He liked his dark colors, and Emily was nodding her agreement.

"You want to order them in bulk?" the clerk gasped when he asked about some deep, rich shades of green that would set off Emily’s hair and eyes a treat. "What on earth are you painting?!"

"What the bloody hell does it matter? Keep it up, an’ I’ll paint you," Spike shot back, keeping his voice as utterly polite as he could manage.

Emily’s sputtering laughter didn’t help.

In the clothing department of one upscale little department store, Spike stunned his Childe by being fitted for a tailor-made suit, and then ordering a sales assistant to find something for his daughter that was ‘fit to take her out on the town, fancy places like opera and ballet and such.’

Spike had his turn at being surprised when Emily insisted on clothes to go clubbing, including a gorgeous suede jacket for him and a dress that he frowned over for her.

"Don’t think I like ya showin’ so much skin," he protested, eyeing the length of the tattered silver skirt.

She grinned at him. "Don’t go all ‘daddy-dearest’ on me, Sire," she whispered as the sales clerk went to find her some more outfits to try, "I’ve got to fit in."

"Where exactly are you planning on going?" he wanted to know, scowling at some boys who had stopped to gape at her pretty legs.

"To that club on Goodwinter Boulevard called ‘Destiny’," she replied easily, turning back and forth in front of the mirror to look at the dress from every angle.

Spike nearly swallowed his tongue. "I do not think so, Childe! You’re never setting foot in that place!"

"Oh, but I have to. So do you."

"What in the bloody fucking hell for?!" Spike hissed.

"It’s our destiny," she replied, flashing him a smile.

"Emily..." he groaned.

She grinned again at her rarely-used full name. "Don’t worry, Daddy, I don’t want to be picked up by some nasty old man. We have to go there to fetch someone."

"Oh, yeah? And who exactly would that be?"

"A vampire with about twenty-seven minions at his beck and call."

He sighed, dropping his head. "Em, I’m not lettin’ ya near any other vampires, ‘specially not none with minions."

"But we have to get him, Sire," she said softly, "he belongs with us."

"What’s that supposed to mean?!" Spike stared at her, feeling his mouth drop open.

Emily’s sweet face went utterly serious. "He has a soul, Sire, and he’s waiting for us. Even though he doesn’t know it. He’s waiting for us - because he’s to be my Brother."