Xander wouldn’t venture back into the basement alone.
“Please, Ahn! I need you to be my back-up guy,” He pleaded, waiting for the microwave in the Summers’ kitchen to beep. It was 4 am, he was tired and bored, and even more tired from feeling guilty about feeling tired and bored. After all, he had the easy job. The Slayer was on the hunt. Had been for almost 6 hours now. And he had promised to take care of things here for her. Take care of things in the basement.
“Human shield, you mean. Do you no longer care for my well being above all others?”
“Anya. You’re a demon. I think you can take care of yourself.”
“Oh. That’s how it’s going to be, is it? Just because I can call upon a weyr of fire-breathing dragons at the flick of my thin and elegant wrist?” She raised her hand to demonstrate and Xander grabbed it from the air, before she could do any damage—“I’m no longer a damsel worthy of your gallant protection?”
“Well that, and you aren’t my girlfriend anymore.” Anya swung away from him to pout. “A weyr? Huh.” She nodded. “Come on, it won’t take that long. We just slide the mug along the floor, and run back upstairs. It’s safe. There are shackles and chains and stuff.”
“In any other context that would be extremely alluring. But, oh, hey! If it’s soooo safe, then why do you need me, hmm?”
“Moral Support,” he said, and Anya simply rolled her eyes. The microwave beeped finally, and Xander pulled out a steaming hot mug of blood. “You can’t tell me you aren’t curious.”
“I know what vampires look like, dummy. And I’d rather not see this one, to be honest.”
“Do you think I want to? Christ, Anya! This is hard for me, okay? I need you,” he admitted, his voice getting progressively quieter.
“Alright then,” Anya stated triumphantly, then took the mug from his hand and led the way to the basement.
“I can’t stand seeing her like this, you know?” Xander added, trying to explain his sudden weakness.
“I know.”
They ventured down the stairs cautiously, and Xander whispered out her name.
“Dawn?”
>>>
In the alley behind the local independently owned video store, Spike and Buffy fought a group of 4 young vamps with particularly emphatic brute force. Without the bumpy faces, they would have looked like typical college boys, with the cargo pants and slightly rumpled dress shirts. But Buffy had been looking for a certain special UC Sunnydale student. One who worked at Jim’s Video. One who looked kinda like Orlando Bloom. One who’s name was Clint, who’s eyes apparently made Dawn go all mooshy, and who brought her home from their date a vampire.
Quickly, and surely, Buffy and Spike staked all but one. They saved the best for last.
“I’ve got him, Buff. You want the honors?” Spike asked gruffly, sitting on the fledgling vamp, stake in the upright position.
“Just finish it,” she snarled, disgust and pain coating her words.
So he did. And then he watched Buffy as she cried, her mission complete, finally able to grieve for her sister. Tears slid down Spike’s cheeks too, anger making way for despair.
>>>
“Xander, please!” Dawn pleaded, twisting against the chains which held her to the wall. “I promise, I won’t hurt anyone. It’s me, it’s Dawnie!”
Xander and Anya stood as far away from the demon as possible, their backs against the opposite wall.
“No. You aren’t Dawn anymore. And you know I know that.”
With a scream, a lunge and a snap at the chains more violent than ever, her face transformed. It was a face Xander had never wanted to see again. The vampire face, on one of his friends. On Jessie. And now, on Dawn. He knew what they would have to do.
“You disgusting fucking pig,” the demon hissed. Xander was in shock. He knew it wasn’t her, but hearing those words come from her lips . . . he felt sick.
“Shut up. You’re verbal harassment of us will in no way facilitate your release. So shut up,” Anya yelled. She grabbed Xander by the arm and led him up the stairs.
“You’re a pathetic vengeance tramp crack whore. I hate you and when I get out of here I’m gonna make your life really suck a lot!”
Anya slammed the basement door behind her very loudly, on purpose. She turned to Xander who was looking at her, confused.
“Did you hear her?” he asked.
“Yes. She called me a tramp crack whore.”
“Yeah, but she . . . she sounded like Dawn, you know? Evil, potty-mouthed Dawn—but Dawn. It’s messed."
Anya nodded in comprehension, and then looked towards the front door as she heard it open.
>>>
“I have to do this, Spike.” Buffy said flatly, as Xander and Anya met them in the living room. Spike grabbed her arm, and she looked up at him tiredly. Xander glared at Spike’s grip, and Anya glared at Xander's glare. It was a tangled web of looks.
“No. You don’t.”
“You aren’t gong to do this for me. No one is.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Spike replied calmly, shaking his head, and letting his hand slide into hers. She pulled her hand away, questioned him with her eyes, and he continued. “Let me help her.”
“Help? She’s gone. How can you help her?”
“I can get her what I got once already—for me,” Buffy simply stared at him blankly. “A soul. I can win her soul back, like I did mine.”
“Wha? Like you whoa whaa?” Xander garbled.
“Won it. From a demon bloke. In Africa.”
“And you’re just gonna pop back for seconds?” Anya asked harshly.
“Well, it’s not that simple, luv. There are trials. Torture and what-not.”
“Go for the what-not,” Xander suggested.
“I did it once. I can do it again. I have to, Buffy. I need to do this.”
“I . . . you . . . won it?” She gasped.
“Yeah.” Spike bowed his head.
“I’m coming with you.”
Within 24 hours Spike and Buffy were standing outside Lurky’s cave. The trip to the remote African village had been long and quiet, the two travelers exchanging a bare minimum of words. Now, the time had finally come, and Spike had to admit, he was more than a bit nervous. It had been easier when he didn’t know what to expect. Walking blindly into danger was always easier than walking into it with the bloody Zagot’s guide.
“Are you sure about this?” Buffy asked him, genuinely concerned. “You barely just got over the whole crazy in the school basement thing. What if this drives you around the bend for good?”
“Then I’ll be bonkers, and your sis’ll have her soul.”
“Right,” Buffy said, and turned Spike so that he was facing her, then placed her hands gently on his chest, and kissed him sweetly on the cheek. It was the first time she had touched him purposefully since she had found him at the high school. His face was one of complete astonishment. “For luck. The good kind.”
“Right then,” Spike huffed, “papa needs a new pair of shoes.” At that, he peeled his t-shirt off, and walked into the cave, his pale, muscular back glowing in the desert moonlight.
>>>
It had been over half an hour since the hideous screams had ceased. Buffy took this to mean one of two things: The trials were over, and Spike had passed out in the cave, or he had failed, and was now a pile of dust or something equally failure oriented. She got up from the not-chair shaped rock she had been sitting on and pacing around for the past 5 hours, and inched towards the spooky cave entrance.
What she found barely resembled the exquisite creature she had watched enter the cave earlier that night. As she knelt down next to the battered vampire her throat wrenched and tears swelled in her eyes. His body was riddled with gashes and bruises, and his limbs were twisted in ways that even a contortionist would wince at. Her first thought was that she had to get him home. But how, in this state?
“It’s done,” he rasped, coughing with the effort. Buffy’s mind shook itself out of Africa, and back to Sunnydale. Dawn. He had won her soul back for her.
“Spike . . .w-was it this bad last time?” she asked, her hand wavering over his body, until it could find a place to land that might not hurt him.
“Nah,” he sighed, “More with the bugs, less with the leeches and rock demons.”
Buffy wasn’t really curious, so she didn’t go anywhere with that info. She just sighed, and tried to wipe the blood from Spike’s claw-marked face. That was when she noticed him raise a trembling finger, to point towards a nearby corner of the cave. Buffy turned to see that a sparkling blobby thing was apparently growing there. It looked like a pool of water or something, but it was defying gravity.
“Wh-what?” Spike wheezed. Buffy didn’t answer. She was too busy staring with awe at what was quickly beginning to resemble her mother’s bedroom. And what was quickly starting to look like a person that looked a hell of a lot like her best friend, Willow, sitting in the aforementioned bedroom. She heard a familiar voice in her head, and knew exactly what to do.
She lifted Spike carefully from the cold, hard ground of the African cave, only to, moments later, be resting him gently on Willow’s soft, warm bed.
“As soon as Dawn came back to us, I figured you could use a hand,” Willow said casually, rising from the floor where she had assembled the spell’s ingredients. “Or a, you know, mystical portal.” Buffy practically jumped into her arms, and she hugged her friend fiercely.
“Thank you.”
“I guess it’s him we should all be thanking, huh?” Willow said seriously, taking in the severity of Spike’s injuries.
“Oh, god. Willow. It-it was hours. And I had to just . . . listen,” Buffy said, her voice tired, and hoarse.
“It’s okay now. We’ll take care of him,” Willow reassured her, placing a hand on Buffy’s shoulder, as the girl bent down at the head of the bed.
“Spike,” she whispered, touching his cheek with her thumb. His eyes fluttered open, and he turned his head, with a clenched jaw, to face her. “I have to go see Dawn. I’ll come back, though, I promise,” she said, and Spike merely blinked at her and closed his eyes, the pain stealing him away once again from the land of the conscious.
“Go. Xander and I’ll try to fix him up a bit.”
Buffy nodded and made a mad dash for the basement, where she assumed Dawn would still be.
>>>
“So the down side is, I’m dead. And the up side is that I don’t have to go to school!”
“Dawn!” Buffy said angrily. But in reality, she was sighing an uber-sigh of relief, knowing that her sister was so okay that she was making stupid jokes. “This is not something to make jokes about. You are a vampire. My god! Could my life be any more screwed up?”
“Hey! Ego-girl? Me. We were talking about me.” Dawn said with urgency, still chained to the basement wall. “And, um, could we do something about these?” She waved her shackled wrists in the air. “’Cause Amnesty International is only one phone call away, ya know.”
“Sorry. They just had to be sure. That it was you. The not-evil you,” she said, unlocking the shackles.
“Oh God!” Dawn exclaimed, as she rubbed her sore wrists. A feeling of fear rushed through Buffy like a stampede of wooly mammoths.
“What? What is it?”
“I called Xander a disgusting fucking pig! Oh, no. He hates me. I bet he hates me,” she moaned.
Buffy failed to stifle her laugh. “Dawn. If that is the worst thing you did as a soulless vampire, then you should have no excuse for brooding a lot or going insane.”
“Well, now what ever will I do with myself on Saturday nights,” Dawn sighed wistfully. Suddenly, a more serious expression emerged on her face. She looked deliberately at her big sister. “Buffy? How did I get my soul back?”
>>>
Xander had somehow managed to align his bones, and Willow had bandaged the worst of the wounds on his body. But Spike still looked like Hell.
Dawn stood in the doorway for what seemed like hours, in shock. Here, lying before her was a testament to the pain and torment that was the price of her soul. Apparently, it was a damn high price.
Finally, she worked up the courage to approach him.
“Spike?” she said, her voice high, and quivering. She took his hand in both of hers, being careful not to clench it too tightly, a: because she couldn’t be sure if the hand had been damaged somehow, and b: because she was still highly unaware of her own demonic strength.
“Bit?” he whisperer, not opening his eyes.
“Yeah, I was actually,” she answered thoughtfully. Spike opened his eyes then, and at the same time, a crooked smile appeared on his swollen lips. They parted, as if to talk, but Dawn wouldn’t have it. She rested an index finger softly over his mouth.
“Don’t talk, kay? I just wanted to see you. To thank you, Spike. Buffy told me what you did. You saved me from eternal damnation.” Spike looked away. “No big deal, right? I don’t think so. Okay, maybe if Buffy staked me before I got to kill any one, I might not have been damned. But, hey, I could have sooo kicked her ass. Oh, yeah,” she continued, watching Spike’s amused, if not overly expressive reactions to her words. “I think I would have made a good evil-doer. Or, well, you know what I mean. And then of course I got the whole speech about how easy it is to kill a vampire. Sure. Sun light, wooden stake. . . man! Like I don’t know this garbage already! And, you know, it’s a trade off. ‘Cause hey, being hit by a bus, with the death-causing, not so much! Right?”
Suddenly she realized that Spike’s hand didn’t feel all that cold. Then she realized that it was because they were the same temperature. The thought sent a shiver up her room-temperature spine. The lack of heart-beat was also high on the freak-out factor. It would take some getting used to. No longer having a need to breath didn’t bother her too much, and thinking about it, she had a sudden urge to go snorkeling. Of course, it would have to be at night, so she would need a waterproof flashlight or one of those funny spotlights you strap to your head.
“Dawn?” Spike said quietly, squeezing her hand.
“That was a weird digression,” she thought aloud. How long had she zoned out for? “Sorry. It’s just I’m still getting used to the whole deadness of me thing. It’s cool, but kinda creepy, you know?”
“I’ve got some idea, yeah.”
“Anyway, what was I . . .Oh, right, the bus. So, Buffy’s like, ‘you’re easily killed,’ and I’m like, ‘sure, if you don’t take into account the whole crazy-strength, and the immortality thing.’ I mean, she can be so full of herself sometimes! And lets face it, if you can make it over 100 years without getting staked, how hard can it be, right?”
“Hey, now!” Spike exclaimed, with a tinge of the Big Bad in his tone.
Dawn let out a sudden nervous laugh. “I kid!”
“Listen, munchkin,” Spike said, his voice forced and slow, “when I’m up and kicking again I’ll help you sort things out, adjust to being a vamp and what-have-you. Alright?”
“Will you teach me your moves?” Dawn asked excitedly.
“Sure thing. We’ll have a big montage ‘bout it.”
“Ooo! It’s goona be so cool!” Dawn said, standing in order to demonstrate a couple of air kicks. She stopped, however, and looked back down at Spike’s broken body. That awful feeling in her gut, that had left her immobile in the doorway earlier, had returned. She sank back down next to him, and cupped his cheek in her hand.
“I think I kinda love you for what you did for me,” she said, without a moment of hesitation.
“You’re bloody amazing,” Spike breathed. Dawn looked straight back into his eyes and cocked her eyebrow.
“Shut up, you.”
Then she kissed him—on the lips.
“She’s like ‘vampire with a soul’ version 3.0. New and improved!”
Willow’s cheery analogy wasn’t doing much to brighten Buffy’s spirits. She was still staring into her chicken noodle soup with that mopey look on her face. Xander tried to lend a hand:
“Yeah, Buff. No pesky happiness clause, or trail of dead bodies and carnage behind her!”
“It’s just, I don’t think she realizes how serious this is,” Buffy explained. “She doesn’t even seem all that upset about it. She’s crazy . . . .Oh, god. What if she is crazy?”
“She’s just coping well, that’s all I think it is. Really,” Willow consoled her.
“So what are you saying? I can’t cope? ‘Cause I’m a coper, Will,” Buffy replied, slamming her spoon on the kitchen counter in agitation.
“No, no. I just think that Dawn is really strong. She’s dealing. In her own way, just like you are.”
“I wouldn’t call modeling her fangs in the video camera for half an hour ‘coping’ so much as preening. It’s just wrong,” Buffy grumbled.
“She does seem pretty peppy for someone who recently passed away,” Xander admitted.
“I dunno,” Willow mused, “put yourself in her shoes. She was so confused when she found out she was the Key. And then, last year Joyce and you . . .left. She must have felt pretty lost. Helpless. And now, suddenly, she has all this power and strength. She’s not just the Slayer’s little sister anymore.”
“No. And maybe that’s what scares me the most.”
>>>
Dawn withdrew her lips from Spike’s, and looked into deep blue eyes that seemed far less surprised than she would have liked. He merely squinted at her.
“Like to tell me what that was about?” he asked.
“Not really.” She didn’t blush. She never would again. Score one for team vampire-Dawn!
“Alright,” he replied, and he sounded like he meant it—like that was it. No problem. Just forget it ever happened. That hurt her a bit, she realized. But her confusing feelings could wait.
“Do you need anything?” she asked.
“Blood would be nice.” He winced as he shifted his weight on the bed.
“Oh, Jesus. Of course. I can’t believe no one’s brought you any!” she said, a bit shocked, and disappointed in the Scoobys’ thoughtlessness. Almost through the doorway, she turned her head back, her arms suspended on either side of the archway. “Spike? I’m gonna take care of you, okay?”
“Thanks, Bit.”
>>>
And she did. All day she stayed with him, held his hand, and ran her fingers through his tangled hair. She held hot blood up to his mouth—his arms weren’t being very co-operative—and watched with a strange and new sense of pride, as he swallowed it all down. None of the others entered the room, not even Willow, who’s room it was. Not even Buffy. She hadn’t told them outright not to, but every time anyone ventured even near the doorway they got the distinct feeling that they weren’t welcome.
It wasn’t really intentional on Dawn’s part. She couldn’t help what she was feeling. She wondered if it was this demon inside of her that caused her to feel this way, to act so possessive and animal-like. It scared her and excited her all at once. She was dead, but she felt more alive than she had before in many ways. All of her emotions seemed stronger, more visceral. But there was a control that wasn’t there before too. Her inner spaz had receded, and made way for a new found confidence. One that had decided, ‘hey, let’s kiss Spike—that sounds like fun!’
Looking down at the sleeping vampire, she resisted the urge to plant another one on him. She decided instead, to climb onto the bed next to him, and get some well deserved shut eye herself. She draped an arm around him, and drifted off with ease.
She awoke from her dream with a great sense of satisfaction. Until she remembered it. She and Spike had been at a school dance. They had feasted on her math, history and biology teachers. And she had enjoyed it a little too much.
>>>
Willow and Buffy were in the living room being domestic, folding laundry, like normal people. Because even heroes have laundry. And the ones without endorsements from Nike or Gatorade had to do it themselves.
“I’m seriously going to freak out soon,” Buffy explained, folding her big black sweater.
“Hmm. Because Dawn’s been acting all kooky, or because she won’t let you see Spike?”
“What!?”
“Come on Buff. It’s understandable. You care about him.”
“Willow, he--” she began defensively.
“I know what he did. And it’s sick. And it makes me want to deface really expensive art. But the soul—it changes everything, doesn’t it?”
“I think . . . yeah. It really kinda does.”
>>>
Dawn took Spike’s arm, wrapped it around her shoulder, and carefully helped him to stand. But he let out a painful cry.
“Bloody hell,” he mumbled.
“Owey. This was a bad idea. You aren’t strong enough.”
“Balls. Let’s get on with it.”
Spike met every excruciating step with a clenched jaw and a furrowed brow. Dawn could barely watch him without cringing herself. Why couldn’t stupid Willow sleep in the basement? It had been a mere 30 hours since he finished the trials. It boggled the mind that he was even conscious, let alone mobile. He groaned, and Dawn took one more look at his tragically stoic face. That was it. She picked him up off the ground, and carried him down the stairs. Spike, strangely enough, laughed.
“Well, aren’t we a sight.”
“I’ll say.” It was Buffy, holding a basket of folded laundry. Spike fumbled for dignity as he shoved his way out of Dawn’s arms abruptly, almost collapsing to the floor. But he held himself up, gripping the back of an armchair with determination.
“Buffy.” The longing in his voice made Dawn want to puke.
“Are you okay?”
“Be spiff in a few days. Back to my bad old self. You’re sis here’s been taking good care of me, she has.”
“Yeah.” Dawn and Buffy exchanged weary glances, as if the two girls no longer new each other very well at all. Dawn laid her hand over Spike’s on the chair, and Buffy looked down at it with concern. “Spike, I’d like to talk to you.”
“What is it?”
“Uh, alone?” she replied, looking at Dawn sternly. The girl gave her a bitter glare, and spoke up:
“He needs to get downstairs. You can talk once he’s better.” Dawn spoke with such authority, that it left shocked expressions on both Buffy and Spike’s faces.
“It’s alright, Bit,” Spike said, as Buffy set down the laundry basket, and took his arm around her shoulders.
“Come on, I’ll help you into the basement.”
As she and Spike made their way carefully down the hallway, Buffy could have sworn that out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of yellow in Dawn’s eyes as she watched them walk away.
>>>
“Maybe we should talk later,” Buffy said, watching Spike fall awkwardly onto the cot, stiff, weak, and completely zonked. “You should sleep.”
“I’m alright. Sleeping won’t help much. So spill it.”
Sometimes, Spike’s total disregard for his own well being really pissed Buffy off. And sometimes it really made her heart break into a gazillion pieces.
“Does Dawn seem okay to you? I mean, is she doing okay with the . . . uh . . . transition?”
“Better than okay, luv. Shining colors, gold star okay. Stunningly okay.”
“Yeah.”
“What? There’s something bugging you out, isn’t there?”
“Oh yeah. There’s the fact that she spent half an hour video taping herself changing into game-face this morning. There’s the fact that she demanded we buy her human blood or else she’d steal it from the hospital. Oh, and there’s that whole thing where she’s suddenly your bodyguard, and she won’t let me come within 100 yards of you. It’s irksome.”
“Strange, yeah. She’s almost happy about the whole situation. As if she’d planned the whole bleedin’ thing. I mean--”
“Spike. You don’t think . . . no way.”
“No. She didn’t know about the trials. She couldn’t have,” he reassured her. “And she just wouldn’t, Buffy. I know it.”
“You’re right. It’s just, I’m worried. Maybe she can’t handle it. What if she loses it?”
“You mean, like I did?” He asked knowingly.
“No . . . Spike. I didn’t mean--”
“’S alright. Look. My soul’s what drove me mad. It’s a burden. Weighs me down with guilt and pain and all those nice things. Dawn’s? Wasn’t gone but a few measly hours. It doesn’t hurt her any more than yours does you.”
“Just, keep an eye on her, okay? Tell me if she does anything, says anything—you know—tattle-worthy.”
“Sure thing.”
Gently, Buffy sat on the edge of the cot, and rested a hand on one of Spike’s bandaged arms. “I never thanked you.”
“For what?”
“You’re kidding, right? God, Spike. Do you know how hard it was waiting for you outside of that cave? Hearing you screaming out in pain, and not being able to . . .” tears welled up in her eyes, and she squeezed them shut. “All I wanted to do was run in there and help you—kill whatever it was that was hurting you. But I couldn’t. And it was so damn hard.”
“Buffy . . . I--” Spike started, astonished.
“No. And then, once we got back, and I knew Dawn was okay, all I wanted to do was go to you. Hold you, and make sure nothing ever hurt you again. But she wouldn’t let me.
“I couldn’t sleep last night! I just stared at the ceiling, listening for the door to Willow’s room to open, so I’d know she‘d left. So I’d be able to see you. It never did.”
“What are you saying?”
“Please, don’t ask me that. I don’t know what I’m saying. I just need you to need me. I need you to ask me to stay with you tonight instead of Dawn. And I don’t care if it sounds stupid, or selfish or weird. Because I’m beyond that—caring what other people think. It only ends up making me feel like crap.” She let out a final sounding sigh, and rubbed the arch of her nose.
“Buffy?”
“What?”
“Stay with me,” he told her, taking her hand in his. She looked at him with a slight, tired smile.
“Oh. Okay.”
“Dawn’s a good kid,” Spike explained. “She’s acting strange right now. But you can’t rightly blame her. She just changed bleedin’ species. She’s acting territorial around me, and I think it’s ‘cause in some fucked up way, I’m her sire. I sired her soul. Does that make sense?”
“Yeah, actually.”
“She’s compelled to protect me. But, Buffy?"
“What?”
“Last night, I, uh, had nightmares. Was back in the cave. Woke up, and you weren’t there. I . . . wanted you to be.”
Buffy said nothing. She simply squeezed onto the cot, and let Spike drop his head onto her chest. She wrapped her arms around him protectively, and felt the tension that had been building inside of her since the moment he walked into the cave slowly dissipate.
At the top of the stairs, two big, round, glowing amber eyes peered through a crack in the doorway.
Buffy awoke to the sound of her name being called out in a low, desperate whisper. She realized he must be back in the cave and rubbed his upper arm, hushing him reassuringly.
“Spike, you’re home now. I’ve got you.”
Spike turned his head to face hers. “No. There.” He pointed to the top of the staircase. Buffy looked at him and waited for elaboration.
“She was there, on the stairs, watching us.”
“Who? Who was—“ she stopped. Realization hit her like a big glob of mud in the face.
“Yeah. The Bit.” Spike watched as the anger and confusion surfaced in her bleary eyes.
“That’s it.” Her voice was determined and regretful all at once. She climbed over Spike—careful not to bump any of his numerous injuries—and off the cot, and started for the stairs.
“Buffy.” She turned around, and he was standing, looking at her as if she had done something really dumb, like forgotten to wear pants, but he just didn’t have the heart to tell her.
“What?” It was a genuine what. A ‘please, I really want you to tell me if I’m not wearing pants’ what.
“Let me talk to her, pet,” he said sternly, and walked—or, really, it was more of a slow staggering he had going on—towards her, where she stood at the bottom of the stairs.
“Oh. I get it. Vampire thing.” She paused to give him a somewhat patronizing, but well meaning once-over. “Although, you look like you could use an escort up those stairs. And I’d advise against pissing her off too much, what with you being all puppy-doggish, and her being . . . honestly, even the old Dawn could beat you up at this point.”
“I’ll remember that puppy dog comment,” he grumbled, despite accepting her help up the stairs rather graciously.
>>>
Some kind of modern torture device posing as music blasted through the walls of Dawn’s bedroom. Particularly upsetting to Spike was the idea that anyone thought of this tripe as punk rock. Buffy had propped him up against the wall next to Dawn’s door, and retreated, leaving him to the challenge of actually getting let in. He didn’t have to yell to be heard over the music. He knew she would be able to hear him just fine.
“Come on, ‘m not mad. Just want to talk, yeah?”
Nothing.
“Right then. I’ll say it. Sorry, okay? I’m sorry I ditched ya for the Slayer. Was stupid. Now be a good Bit and open up.”
“Go away!” she screamed from within, her inner banshee making a cameo appearance.
Spike rolled his eyes. His legs were about ready to give up on him. “For fuck’s sake, Dawn, open the bloody door! I’m about to pass out here!”
Of course, that worked like a charm. In an instant, Dawn had swung the door open, pulled Spike into her room, and slammed it shut again. She shoved him onto a rattan armchair, and left him there, to go sit on the far side of her bed, facing away from him. Her human face had been dropped, for some time, Spike suspected. The stereo had been turned off—mercifully.
“Whatever it is, you can tell me. I’d likely understand. Got a lot in common now, you and I,” he said plainly.
“You don’t have a clue. No one in this stupid house does.”
“Try me.” It was a dare.
“You’re fucking pathetic, you know that? Look at you! You’re a freak. An amoban- an anbonate-“
“Abomination.”
“Whatever,” she growled, and continued. “You can’t even be what you are. You just suppress it. Everything. All those instincts and desires.” She turned her head now, to stare at him with her stunningly bright amber eyes. “How many times since you found out you could hurt Buffy did you look at her and just wanna rip her throat out?” Spike frowned, letting her know with his look that she had no right to be asking such questions. “Your life is a lie. You’re a fucking fraud.” She turned away again.
“You’re forgetting one thing. The chip? Didn’t have much choice in the matter now, did I?”
“Oh, please. Spare me the tortured vampire routine. There are ways around that little road block. And you know it.”
“And what makes you think you have a bloody clue about any of this?”
“Well, I feel it, obviously. God, I was so naïve before. Is that how Buffy thinks too? That you can just magically forget that you exist only to feed on hot, living, pumping human blood? That you don’t dream about the hunt, that your mouth doesn’t water whenever you hear a heartbeat? I know, now. Everything you feel, I feel. You can’t pretend with me, Spike.”
“I was never trying to pretend,” he answered, indignantly. He tried to control his anger. “And you’d be wise not to bloody well presume you know me inside out all of a sudden just ‘cause you’re a vamp now. If you hadn’t noticed, I’m not exactly text book. And I’m not just talking ‘bout the soul.”
“Tell me you don’t have the dreams.”
“What?”
Suddenly, her voice was calm, almost melancholy. “I had a dream last night and you were in it and we went to my school and there was a dance and the teachers were all there and you and I, we-we drank . . . three of them. It was amazing—fun and exciting and sexy and awesome. I felt whole, like my life had some kind of real, very basic purpose, and that they- the humans, theirs didn’t. It felt right. Really right.” She was crying now, softly. “I woke up, and knew it wasn’t. It wasn’t right at all.”
Spike rose from the chair, and sat next to Dawn on the bed. “Yeah. I’ve had those dreams.”
“How do you . . .?”
“It’s hard, Bit. Not gonna tell you otherwise. Sometimes, I think it might just be easier to end it. Drive out to the mountains, take in a California sunrise. But then, I remember what I’ve got.” Dawn looked up at him like a confused child. “You, you silly bint! And your sis, of course. Not gonna leave the two of you. Not ever.”
“And my sis, of course,” Dawn hissed spitefully. He wasn’t taken aback whatsoever. This is what Spike had been waiting for.
“Hmm. Care to elaborate on that sentiment?” Spike asked. Dawn stood in front of him now, looking down in disgust.
“Buffy! It’s always about Buffy,” she said as if her sister’s name was the most un-palatable cough syrup known to man. “You only ever want Buffy. Even though she’s using you! She doesn’t even love you!” The words flew out of her mouth like sharp little stakes, and each one hit Spike’s heart, dead on. There was no remorse in Dawn’s eyes, as she watched him crumble. For her, it was the ‘even.’ He hadn’t noticed the word, but it made all the difference to her. “I love you. She doesn’t,” she thought.
“Don’t.” It was a last attempt, a desperate, final order from a General about to fall in battle. And it was pointless. He lowered his head, and braced himself for the oncoming fire.
“You think you mean something to her? You’re just there. She likes how pathetic you are, likes having you moon over her while she uses you, and tosses you aside whenever she gets bored of playing boink the vampire. You’re like this sad geek with a crush on some popular chick. She insults you with her friends, and spits on the floor when you walk away.”
“Please,” Spike winced, his head sunk deep in his lap now. Buffy was right, Dawn didn’t need vampiric strength to hurt him. Only words.
“You don’t have a chance in hell.”
“You think I don’t know that?” he gasped, reaching for the words that wrenched at his gut. “It’s only killing me a bit more, every fucking day.”
Something happened then, and it was strange and wonderful. Spike looked up at Dawn, and there was no anger in his eyes, only sadness, the exact same sadness that she felt when she had seen him and Buffy lying together so peacefully in the basement. It was raw and hopeless, and completely unbearable. So, as her eyes turned effortlessly from yellow to brown and the bumps on her forehead receded, she hugged him.
He let out a few hitched breaths, but there was no pathetic blubbering. Just tears, sliding down his cheeks freely, without pause, without coaxing.
“I’m sorry. It’s not true,” she said.
“Yeah, it is. ‘S why it hurts.”
“No. I was just angry. I was lying, to make you feel like- like crap.”
“Mission bloody accomplished,” he replied with a small laugh.
“Oh, god,” Dawn smiled sadly. “I am sorry. Really. It’s just I was- ich, I can’t say it. It’s too retarded and embarrassing.”
“Bit. For Christ’s sake. I’m a master vampire crying on a recently vamped teenage girl’s shoulder. What was that about retarded and embarrassing?”
“Fine. Jealous. I was jealous.”
“Yeah, well, obviously.”
“Great. Glad I’m such a freakin’ mystery to you.”
“You’d be surprised, Bit.”
“And what’s that supposed to mean in vague Spike talk?”
“Just that you’re a very unique and unpredictable creature.”
“Really? You think so?”
“I know so.”
Spike stood up, and let his hand slide down Dawn’s long brown
hair. Then, he passed out.
>>>
Buffy was watching TV, some black and white movie on PBS, sitting on the couch eating a fruit roll-up. She had left Spike upstairs less than 15 minutes ago, and was already contemplating going to check up on them, when Dawn came clonking down the stairs.
“Dawn?”
“Get some blood. Spike collapsed.”
“What did you-” Buffy stood up abruptly, her fruity, paper-like snack falling to the floor. Oh yeah, she was pissed off.
“Look, I know I’ve been acting creepy, okay. Sorry. I’m passed it. Let’s move on,” she said, irritated that she had to stop to explain herself. She pulled Buffy by the arm into the kitchen.
“What did Spike say to you?”
“Nothing. Well, stuff. We worked things out, okay?”
Buffy looked at her for a couple of seconds, with mild uncertainty, but tossed it, and took her sister into her arms. “Dawnie!”
“E-gad! Buffy!” Dawn whined, which only made Buffy smile wider, and hug harder.
>>>
“Stupid vampire,” Buffy muttered, pouring some blood down Spike’s throat. She figured it had been about 12 hours since he’d had anything to drink, which would normally be no big deal, but the trials had pretty much drained him dry, and he had only had about 3 pints since he got back. Three pints wasn’t even enough beer to get him drunk. Stupid vampire.
“How is he?” Dawn asked, as she walked up behind her sister to peer down at the vampire passed out in her bed.
“Still out of it. He shouldn’t have gotten out of bed in the first place. Why couldn’t Willow sleep in the basement?”
“Because she’s a dolt.”
“There’s that,” Buffy sighed. She was on her knees now, her face inches away from Spike’s. He tossed a bit, and she smoothed over his forehead with her hand. His eyes opened.
“Hi there,” Buffy whispered.
“Buffy?”
“Yep. Dawnie’s here too.”
“Howdy,” Dawn said, and waved unenthusiastically.
“Tell me I didn’t faint,” he groaned
“Oh, you fainted. Like a big girly girl,” Buffy teased.
“Liar,” he said, and passed out again.
Buffy rose up, and turned to Dawn. “Listen, I can just . . . if you want . . . I’ll go,” she said. Dawn looked down at Spike, and then at Buffy. She bit her lip.
“No. It’s you he needs, Buffy,” she said simply, and walked away.
Even though she was going to be sixteen until the day she died, Dawn suddenly felt very grown-up.