Author's Notes: This section is told in a third-person, past tense narrative.
"Spike. I'd like to speak to you. Would you care to join me in the gardens?"
Spike's head shot up from the book he'd been reading to study the man in the doorway. His face seemed more honest and more open than it had in days. The blonde vampire stood and sauntered out, following their captor to the terrace.
Once outside, the bald man began speaking of his love, a man named Kal-El, and this man's death. An accident, more gruesome than most, had claimed this love, and he believed it was his own fault.
"'Ow are you supposed ta stop a car wreck? These things happen, I suppose," answered Spike.
"I had had the car made especially so that he would buy it. I had the engine laced with Kryptonite to weaken him. Only, it did its job a little too well. He had a heart attack and drove into a building. They said his body was burnt beyond recognition, but I knew it was him." He paused glancing out over the gardens. "And I knew it was my fault."
"Of course it was your fault. You did the worst thing one lover could do to another; you betrayed him."
"No! He betrayed me first! He lied to me!"
"I would have too."
The man's grey eyes flashed, then began to darken as tears threatened to make themselves known.
"I know. I know, and what I did..."
"It's the past," Spike said simply. "Now, I want to know what you plan to do with us, mate."
"I have plans to...experiment a little with Dawn's physiology. Nothing that will harm her, I promise. I know that you two have become lovers in your time spent here, and I would like to say that I am glad for the both of you."
"Ta very much."
"I promise, I will not let Dawn be hurt by my proceedings. If she expresses any pain or discomfort, I will discontinue the experiments."
"If you hurt her, I'll kill you."
"If you kill me, you'll be dust before my last breath."
These were not threats, but mere statements of fact, and both men knew it. They nodded curtly to each other and headed back into the house.
More time passed; days, weeks, months, and Dawn had no way of really telling. She couldn't find a single calendar or clock in the entire mansion. More often than not, her time was divided fairly evenly between her captor, his cryptic conversations, and his endless questions about her origins.
One day, after what seemed like hours of proding and interrogation, he stood, motioning for her to do the same. She followed him down the long staircase that lead into the basements she and Spike had been kept in their first days here.
A tall, glass curio cabinet stood at one end of the impossibly long room. Her captor crossed to it and unlocked the gold and platinum padlock on the doors. He removed a tiny grey box and beckoned for her attention.
"This," he whispered hoarsely, "is what you are, Dawn." The box's lid sprang open, revealing a small green jewel.
Dawn was struck by its beauty, then its pull calling her to touch it. As her fingertips came closer, he pulled the box from her reach. A stern, yet asking glance was all it took for her to gain rights to touch the object. She picked it up and studied it. "It looks like an emerald," she said bemusedly. "Beautiful."
"Yes, it's the only piece of Kryptonite I have allowed to survive. All of the others have been destroyed."
"Why did you destroy them?"
"Because they always seemed to pain Clark. I don't know, actually. If I were a hoping man, I would hope that, by ridding the world of Kryptonite, I might be able to bring him back, but as I am not a hoping man, I don't know why I've gone to such lengths."
"You miss him?"
"But you killed him?"
"I'm sorry, but you are just a font of oxy-moron tonight."
A short laugh and, "I know. My apologies. I don't know why I brought you down here. It just seemed like something I should do."
"I get that."
"I knew you would."
They stared at each other for a long moment before Dawn realized something was happening. A slow fire trail up her arms from her hands; no, from the *stone* in her hands. Her vision began to blur and spin. But she held on to the fragment and tried to steady her sights. When everything returned to normal, she noticed something strange. She only saw in shades of violet; Lavender, royal purple, lilac, every color of violet imaginable. A man stood in front of her. He was the brightest shade of all; a type of neon glowing against deep, plush colors.
"Clark," she whispered before falling to the ground, the stone tumbling out of her hands.
Her captor knelt at her side, his hands cradling her head. "Dawn?" he murmured. "What have I done?"
"I'm okay. Whoa, just a little, uh, weirdness going on." She stood shakily with his help. "Thanks. Hey, wait, wasn't that green?" asked Dawn, her eyes shining a bright violet.
He pointed to her. "Yes, and so were your eyes, but now look."
She bolted out of the room and up the stairs, flying as fast as her feet could take her. Finally, she reached the hall and looked in the mirror. He was right; her eyes were no longer their vibrant green, but an equally vibrant purple.
His hand laid gently on her shoulder and she whirled around to face him. "Wow."
"Yes, interesting. How did you turn this from green to purple?" He held up the stone in front of her face.
"I...I don't know. I held it, and my arms started tingling - no, burning, and the room spun. I saw someone. They and everything else was purple - all shades! - and then I guess I passed out."
"You said his name before you fainted, Dawn."
"You said, 'Clark.'" his voice was icy and sent shivers up her spine.
"Clark? I said, 'Clark?'"
"Who said, 'Clark?'" a new voice asked. No lilting British, no fierce Cockney was contained in this voice; it was home-spun, no nonsense.
Dawn turned to face him. The voice belonged to a young man, maybe 25 or 26 years old, with black hair and the lightest blue eyes she'd seen on anyone other than Spike.
Her captor grasped her shoulder even tighter as he tried to keep his balance. "Clark?"
"Yes, Lex?" An adoring smile crossed Clark's lips as Lex attempted to remember how to breathe. The raven haired man crossed the distance quickly, taking Lex's shaking form into his arms. "I'm sorry. But next time you're pissed at me, don't kill me, okay?"
"I'm so sorry, Clark," Lex whimpered, "I'm so sorry."
"Thank you," mouthed Clark over Lex's head.
Dawn nodded and turned away from them. It was time to go home.
Three months had passed by the time Dawn and Spike had managed to free themselves from Lex. Two more months had passed since they arrived on Xander's doorstep.
Dawn sat down on the couch, cradling young Divine in her arms. She cooed and whispered to the sleepy child, who asked sweetly for a song. Her chubby pink cheeks scrunched as she smiled, then yawned, settling in for her lullaby.
After Dawn finished the song for her daughter, she stood, taking the child upstairs to her bed and tucking her in. As she stared down at the small sleeping form, she felt a pair of strong arms circle her waist and a chin rest on her shoulder.
"She's a doll." The words warmed Dawn's heart as she felt nothing where his heart should be.
If the child was not his by any blood, she was the child of his heart, and for that Dawn would be eternally grateful. "She's our doll," she corrected.
Clark watched the tremors of Lex's muscles as the older man slept. He couldn't help but be angry, yet be incredibly happy at the same time.
Obvious as it was in his actions, Lex told him every day that he loved Clark and was sorry for trying to kill him. Clark had responded with the same phrase every time.
"Death without you would've been boring."
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