"We’ve been holding his mail and messages but he hasn’t shown up yet," the hotel clerk advises Maria. "Is there a message from him for me?" Maria says hopefully. "No, we haven't received any messages from Mr. De Luca."

"Can I at least go to his room?" Maria prompts the clerk. "Sorry, miss but hotel policy doesn’t allow that."

Policy, schmolicy! Maria thinks. That’s not going to stop me from seeing my Dad. Her previous experience of breaking into a hotel room comes to mind. Michael and her rummaging through the FBI agent’s motel room. She smiles at the memory, then pushes it aside.

She sneaks in to her father’s room by the way of a maid’s empty cart. Suits, shoes, ties, toiletries … all were meticulously arranged. But aside from that, there was nothing, not a single thing that gave a clue to what happened to her dad. Even the trash was empty.

Out of the corner of her eye, Maria spots a fluffy white object lying inside the closet, propped up against a wall. She walks slowly towards it.

It was a stuffed dalmatian dog. "Oh, Daddy! You remembered." Tears well up in her eyes and she stoops down to grab the stuffed dog.

Maria fights to hold back the sudden flood of memories assaulting her. Her dalmatian puppy Prince jumping up on her, almost knocking her over, her father laughing as she frolicked on the living room with the dog. Her father joining her and Prince in a game of chase. Her father taking Prince out into the yard for a game of fetch when Maria finally became to exhausted to play.

She quickly flicks the tears away and grabs the Dalmatian toy. Wandering around the streets of Sunnydale in slow, plodding steps, she becomes lost in a haze of disbelief and depression at her father's no-show.

Night falls. Maria's steps are fast and snappy as anger replaces depression.

Turning at a corner, Maria's progress is halted as "Oooooooof!" she careens into a blonde male stranger. "Hey, watch where you’re going, shortie, or Spike’s gonna get nasty," the English-accent-bearing stranger snaps.

She turns to looks at him, an apology hovering on her lips. "I’m sorry!"

Maria squints her eyes then slightly shakes her head. "Wait. Spike? What kind of name is Spike?" she says in an I-can’t-believe-someone-would-name-themselves-Spike tone.

The blonde stranger gives her the once-over and responds, "Trust me, you don’t know want to know how I got it! And what, pray tell, is your name, shortie?"

"Definitely not something like Spike!" she mutters under her breath. Spike smiles and adds, "I think I'll call you Mildred."

"Maria! My name is Maria!" she declares to him.

"As in 'I just kissed a girl named Maria'?" Spike asks.

"You wish," Maria responds bitingly.

"I don't know, shortie. You might like it," Spike taunts her.

She bristles at that and opens her mouth for a scathing retort but Spike interrupts, "Of course, my taste runs to brunettes," Spike scoffs.

"Puh-leeze, like anyone would want to kiss you! You look like you lost a battle with white paint!" Maria whirls around and starts walking the other direction.

Spike dogs her footsteps, relishing the taunts he hurls at her. Deciding not to waste time on the walking Dutch Boy ad, Maria keeps her silence. Barely. Her temper is simmering.

"What’s the matter, Mildred … dog got your tongue?" he goads her.

She grits her teeth, trying to hold on to her temper.

"Hey, Mildred, I think your dog just mistook your blouse for a toilet and peed on it. Can’t say I blame him. Where do you get those shirts, love, TackysRUs?"

That's it, she decides, no one got away with insulting her clothes.

"Please … I’m not the one wearing the long trenchcoat when it’s 100 degrees outside. Didn't someone tell you the X-Files refugee look is SO over? Get some new material, dude!"

Their words escalate. A short blonde full of attitude enters the picture. "Feeling a bit chompy, Spike? Oh, wait, I forgot, you don’t have any chompers left. So, how’s life through the end of a straw?" the blonde Buffy directs a sweet, sarcastic smile at him. Spike glares at Buffy.

He looks past Buffy as he cackles to Maria, "I’ll get you, my pretty ... and your little dog, too," referring to the stuffed toy Maria held in her hands.

"And you, blondie!" he addresses Buffy, "I’m looking forward to the day when the straw I’ll be sipping through is filled with you!” With that parting shot, Spike leaves.

Unable to decipher Spike and the blonde's cryptic comments, Maria just tells the newcomer, "Thanks!".

"No prob!" Buffy responds. "Don’t mind Spike, he’s … delusional," she tells Maria.

"Or maybe he just had one too many blows to the head," Maria adds.

"Could be," Buffy smiles.

Maria takes her leave and starts walking back to the hotel. "Maybe I missed something in the hotel room, something that can tell me where Dad is," she thinks to herself.