There were no streetlights out here. They were in barren land now. Bat country. The moon had set and the sky twinkled quietly overhead.

Spike lit a lazy cigarette in the darkness of the car. Connor paid no attention. Spike liked that about the kid, he had no cancer hang-ups. If his story was true, then he probably didn’t know what cancer was.

“So,” said Spike. He didn’t say it because the silence was uncomfortable. He didn’t care about silences. He wanted to hear more from this weird kid. “You don’t look like him.”

Connor glanced over at Spike lounging in the passenger seat, then back to the dark road.

“I think I look like my mother,” he replied.

Spike looked at the youthful face in the soft glow from the dials on the dashboard. He nodded.

“Yeah,” he said after a little while. “You do.”

Connor kept his eyes on the road.

“Anyone ever told you about your Mum?” said Spike after another lengthy silence.

“No,” replied Connor.

“You ever asked?”

“Not really.”

Spike saw the unnatural stillness in the kid’s face.

“She was a one, your Mum,” he said conversationally. “Loved her fine things, and loved your Dad. No question.”

Again those eyes flicking over at him, curious now, but still wary.

“See,” continued Spike. “People say that soulless vampires can’t love. Your poofy Dad even says it. Load of bollocks and he knows it. Darla loved him. Was heartbroken when he left. Twice.”

Spike could see the glow of the city orange in the sky ahead. Connor said nothing. Spike shook his head.

“Anyway,” he said, wrapping his duster closer around himself. “You should ask him about her. Hated her myself, but you’ve got to know where you come from, is all.”

He smoked moodily, the boy’s taciturnity grating on him now.

The city came ever nearer. Soon Spike could see little sparkly lights in the hills. They grew clearer with every mile.

Connor cleared his throat, causing Spike to look around.

“I’m bringing you to LA so you can tell me about my Dad,” he said.

Spike exhaled.

“So you mentioned,” he replied.

“You believe me now? That he’s my Dad?”

“Maybe,” said Spike. “You’ve got his conversational skills.”

There it was, a vague hint of a smile. Spike looked out the window to hide his own smug grin.

“We’ll be there in an hour,” said Connor. “Will you be happy to see him again?”

The question hung in the air while Spike felt around for his cigarette pack. He lit up another and leaned back into his seat.

“Well,” he said at last. “There’s a question.”

He left it at that. Connor didn’t press the issue. Spike watched the dark hills slide by.

There was something to be said for taciturnity, he supposed.