Dawn loved the shop he took her to. It sold a variety of items, from live and silk flowers to statuary to garden structures to hand drawn greeting cards. It may have had stock similar to a dozen other stores in town, but the higher quality of the items as well as the creative displays set it apart. It was full of charming little nooks and surprises that had Dawn smiling and exclaiming with pleasure as she explored.

They wandered about the shop companionably, while Spike silently enjoyed Dawn's excitement.

"Here we go, bit," Spike announced. He indicated a statue of an angel about three feet tall. The male angel's wings were spread, its' robes billowing in an unseen wind, and it held a sword aloft, preparing to strike.

"Do you think we should get an angel with a sword?" Dawn questioned his choice. "How about this one?" she suggested instead, pointing out a cherubic little angel with a sweet, innocent face.

Spike practically snorted in disdain.

"Angels are warriors and guardians," he told her. "Your mum was a fierce woman," he recalled with pleasure. "Don't think she'd want some insipid little cupid hanging around forever. But if you want something all cute with wings and such, go for a fairy. 'Course most fairies are vain, bitchy little things, and I can't see how they'd be a good choice for guardin' a grave, but I do have to admit, they can be cute." He said 'cute' as though it was an extremely distasteful word. "At least, some of them," he qualified, frowning.

"You've seen fairies?"

"Well, yeah." He looked puzzled that she needed to ask.

"Where?"

He made a sound that sounded rather like 'pffft'. Dawn gawked.

"They're around, bit, if you look. Easier to come by back home in England. Big in gardens. Some fairy communities have been inhabiting the gardens of the great estates for more than a thousand years. The colonies are still pretty young. Fairies tend to like things more established. Don't like t' have t' pull up stakes too often. You try lookin' in some of the older gardens on the east coast, and you're sure to find some. And the Appalachian Mountains are bleedin' full of the little buggers."

Dawn was staring at him as though he had grown a second head. A neon colored second head. With ringlets.

"What?" he asked indignantly. "This is a flower shop. Ask Liza there about fairies. 'Spect she knows what's what."

"Liza?"

'The owner. Right over there - dark haired woman."

"You know her?"

"Yeah."

"How?"

"Never you mind. But if you want to know about fairies, and don't wanna take my word for it, go chat her up a bit."

Dawn looked at him as though he had just issued a dare. She lifted her chin and got that could-be-patented Summers Stubborn Look #7 in her eye, then headed over to 'chat up Liza for a bit'.

"Ma'am?"

"Yes, dear? How can I help you?" Emily Huggins asked, a hint of the British Isles still evident in her voice despite nearly twenty five years in the United States.

"My friend said you might know something about fairies."

"I might," Emily smiled. She nodded toward Spike. "Is that your friend?"

"Yeah. Spike. He said he knew you," Dawn threw out.

"Yes, I guess you could say that. He saved my life one night."

Dawn's eyes lit up. "He did?"

"He most certainly did."

"He's saved my life, too," Dawn told her in a confiding tone.

Emily smiled. Her eyes ran over the tall, pretty girl with the coltish limbs and gleaming hair.

"So he's kind of a hero, is he?"

"Yeah, I guess so. But don't tell him that. I don't think he'd like it. He likes to think he's all big evil and stuff."

Emily looked thoughtful. "I've lived in Sunnydale since I graduated from Berkley - more than twenty years now. There's not a lot that surprises me anymore. But, in some ways, he did."

"Yeah. I guess you could say he's kinda unique."

"And just how does a young girl like you know, er, someone like him?"

Dawn hesitated. "He - he kinda worked with my sister."

"But he doesn't any more?"

"No. She - she d-died a couple of months ago," Dawn admitted, totally forgetting that Giles had suggested they keep Buffy's passing as quiet as possible.

Maternal instincts Emily had never used in her own life, and really hadn't thought she possessed, seemed to bubble up.

"I'm so sorry to hear that. You have my sympathy." Her eyes slid to Spike, who was strolling around the shop, touching things here and there, picking up small art pieces to examine, then setting them back down. She thought of the flowers she had taken to leaving out back each night. Special, sometimes unique, blossoms that she placed in a small bucket of water to help keep them fresh. Flowers that were almost always gone in the morning. She thought of the blond hair that she sometimes caught a glimpse of in the faint light of the alley where he had saved her life. "He was in love with your sister, wasn't he?"

"Yeah." Tears sparkled in Dawn's eyes. "Big time. I thought he was gonna die too, when she did." She glanced back at Spike too, and lowered her voice. "Sometimes I still worry that he will. You know, die." She swallowed. "And he's all I have. My Mom died too, just before Buffy."

"Oh, my dear child," Emily was clearly moved. "What's your name?"

Dawn told her, wondering if everyone from England said things like 'my dear child'. Well, everyone but Spike, that is. He would never say anything so - Gilesy.

Emily stroked a hand over Dawn's hair, fighting tears of sympathy for a young girl she'd just met, then cleared her throat. "So, you want to know about fairies, hmm?"

"Yeah." Dawn was glad to leave the tear forming subjects behind, and was grateful that this woman seemed to know that. "I mean, I do know a little. I have read 'Shadow Castle'.

Dawn didn't want to appear completely ignorant.

Emily's face lit up. "That's one of my very favorite books," she said with genuine enthusiasm. One so seldom ran into another person who had read it. "Mika and Gloria..." her voice trailed off nostalgically.

"Robin and Bluebell," Dawn chimed in, grinning.

"And Flumpdoria!" Emily finished, and they smiled at each other in shared delight. Some books are meant to be treasured for a lifetime.

"Let me show you the Flower Fairies. I think you might like them." She led Dawn to an enchanting display of Cicely Mary Barker's little flower fairies. An array of dried, silk, and living plant materials had been used to create a woodsy and magical little haven for the tiny statues which had been mounted, tacked, and wired into half hidden spots among the foliage, and made to look as though they belonged there. "Fairies are often tied in with garden and plant lore..." she began and Dawn lost herself in the little four inch depictions of the fairies from the famous artist's books, listening to Emily's descriptions of the fairies and their creator.

"And why do you want to know about fairies, anyway?" Emily asked after Dawn had admired most of the little statues.

Dawn looked surprised. "Well, actually, we were talking about angels. I want to get one for my Mom's - well, for her grave. Spike says angels are warriors, and not cute and cuddly, and that we should -"

"He's right." Emily told her. She seemed to have no trouble following the explanation. "Angels can be pretty terrifying, by all accounts. Don't think of the little things you see flying around in a good many paintings. Think of the Archangels Michael and Gabriel instead. Messengers and warriors of God."

"Oh. Well, okay." Dawn decided she was willing to bow to their combined, and supposedly superior, adult knowledge. "We were looking at that one statue..." She gestured, indicating spread wings.

"I know the one you mean. The angel brandishing a sword. It's supposed to be Jhudiel, one of the lesser known archangels. He conquers evil with love and forgiveness, and bears the sword of justice and mercy. I love that one. His posture is so fierce, yet if you really look at his face, he seems so kind, too. Is this for your sister's grave?"

"No. For my Mom's. Buffy wouldn't... Buffy would be able to protect herself." Dawn mumbled.

"She must have been a very special person, your sister."

"Yeah, she was."

"Let's take a look at that statue, shall we?"

The price tag seemed to have disappeared by the time the 'looks like stone but is really made of some miraculous new material that is much lighter and doesn't know the meaning of biodegradable' statue had been carted up to the cash register. Dawn frowned at the price Liza quoted, sure that the angel had been priced much higher than that. Spike stood back a bit, letting Dawn take care of the transaction, but when he heard the price Emily gave Dawn, his eyes flew to those of the shopkeeper, and he inclined his head in silent gratitude. Emily smiled.

"This is great. Thanks so much, Liza." Dawn was happy and letting both of them know it.

"Liza?" Emily's brows rose.

"Isn't that your name?"

Emily looked at Spike, considering. "Eliza Dolittle, right?"

Spike just shrugged. To Dawn's amazement, he looked a little sheepish. Well, just for a moment, anyway. "Seemed fittin' - flower shop and all," he muttered.

Emily smiled at Dawn. "My name is Emily," she explained. "And that's what I usually go by," she added, laughing. "I hope you'll stop in again. Let me know how you're getting on. Even when you're not shopping. I always enjoy the company."

"That would be great!!" Dawn enthused. "Your shop is really, really nice."

"Thank you, Dawn. I enjoy it myself." Her eyes went from Dawn to Spike and back again. "You're both welcome here. Anytime."

~*~

They were halfway to the cemetery with the angel when Dawn stopped short. Spike turned to her, head tilting, blue eyes slightly annoyed at the hold up.

"What is it, bit?" He wanted to get to the cemetery before anyone saw him carting an angel down the street. Didn't exactly go with the image, did it?

"We didn't get anything for Buffy's grave," she told him.

Spike's lips firmed and he shifted the angel to his other shoulder, walking on as though she hadn't spoken.

Dawn tried to see his face, which was now partially hidden by the statue, but with the additional shadows cast by the angel's wings, it was too dark. She tried to ignore the sudden throb of pain in her chest, and followed him.

~*~

"The most famous star in Ursa Minor is Polaris, the North Star. It you were standing at the North Pole, Polaris would be almost directly overhead. That means that if you know how to find it in the sky, you can always tell which way is north. Comes in handy if you're lost in soddin' Moscow, let me tell you. It was also the most important star for navigating at sea. Sailors should still know how to navigate by the stars if you ask me. Can't always count on all those dials and such. Brit sailors can still get by without the modern bits and pieces, of course. Best in the world, they are."

He'd been talking for quite some time now, and the more he talked, the more he sounded like some sort of bizarro 'Guide to the Night Sky' book. Written by someone from England.

"Duh. I've known about the North Star since I was like - two, Mr. Keep Looking Up."

They were lying side by side, flat on their backs, and just a few feet to the side of her mom's grave. They had finally placed the angel to their mutual satisfaction. Dawn had been amused by the way Spike had stood back, looking at the overall effect, before moving the piece a few inches closer to the simple headstone. He'd adjusted the angel's position three times before he'd seemed satisfied, sought her nod of approval, and drove the anchoring rod into the ground. He'd then mentioned the possibility of planting a rose bush and asked Dawn what type of rose her mum had preferred. Floribunda? Old English?

"Light pink," Dawn had stated definitely, and didn't understand why Spike had looked at her oddly, sucking in his cheeks.

"I'll give it some thought, then," he'd murmured, wigging Dawn out a little. What could Spike know about roses? Her _expression must have revealed her surprise at associating Spike with gardening in anyway, because he had shrugged, and mentioned that his nan had been a keen gardener and had forced him to help her for hours on end when he was a boy. Dawn's incredulity increased. The entire idea of Spike as a little boy, of Spike with a *grandmother*, was sending her somewhere far beyond wigged.

But now, laying there beside him, she had to admit she was enjoying his knowledge of the constellations and the night sky. It sure seemed to suit him more than gardening knowledge. She was impressed, and knew she really shouldn't be. After all, he lived in the dark, in the night. And he was old. Really, really old. If you added up all the hours he'd probably spent on his back looking at the night sky, it could be like - years, even. Geesh!

Draco, Antares, Orion. Spike pointed out various stars and constellations, telling her their stories, the myths and legends surrounding them. When he showed her Scorpio, he made a point of mentioning that those born under that astrological sign were the sexiest.

"Huh?" Dawn questioned.

"Common knowledge, pet," he stated with offhand confidence.

"And I suppose a certain blond vampire just happens to have been born under that sign?"

"Well, Dru turned me in November. So re-born, anyway," he affirmed. "And, believe me, luv, I'm much sexier as a vamp than I was as a human. So - proves my point."

"Really?" Dawn rolled onto her stomach, propping her chin in one hand as she studied him. "I bet you were, like, the coolest guy in your school. I mean - um - you did go to school, right?"

Spike rolled his eyes in disgust. "'Course I went to school, bit. Wasn't born in the Dark Ages, ya know, when only a few people were educated. I graduated from Oxford. Spent a year studying in Rome after that, then another year in the Greek Isles."

Dawn tried to work her mind around the idea of Spike studying in some stuffy English school, dressed like Giles. Ooh - or maybe he had dressed like Prince William. That picture was much better, she thought, visualizing the hunky young prince in whatever kind of jacket those tuxy looking things she'd seen him pictured in were called. The one with tails. She visualized him leaning against a stone pillar, head dipped as he looked up at her from under his lashes with his mother's eyes. Oh, god, yum! Dawn blinked. Spike. Right. Spike in school. Spike in Italy and Greece. It was even harder to picture him there, in such sun-drenched countries. It was really much, much easier to picture Prince William - Wills. Or, oh, oh, Wills in Greece, bare-chested, jet skiing in the Aegean. ..

"What did you study?" she asked, forcing herself out of her day-night-dreams of the young royal. It was sooo not her fault he was so totally dream-worthy.

"Literature. Philosophy. History. Languages." He spoke several languages fluently. It was one thing Angelus had actually appreciated about him - his ability to speak to the locals if necessary, as they traveled in Europe and Asia. He still found it easy to pick up languages and dialects, even demon languages.

It sounded awfully boring to Dawn. "I'm gonna major in art," she told him. "I love sculpting and drawing, working in all sorts of different mediums. Creating things." She swung her feet back and forth, relaxing with him in a way she rarely did with her friends. "I'm gonna be way famous someday."

Spike raised a brow. "That so?"

"Yeah. Not, ya know, DaVinci famous. Or even Waterhouse famous. But famous." She relented a little. "Or at least known. Known is good for an artist. Well, so long as 'known' also sells," she grinned. "I've already talked to my art teacher about it tons of times. She is sooo cool. Ms. Nimue. Hey!" she said, struck by the similarity. "She studied in Europe too - three years in France after she finished grad school. Or maybe the years in France were part of grad school. I don't remember.

"Anyway. She's the coolest. Pretty and smart and funny. I love her classes. Wish I could have her all the time. If I have to go live with my dad in L.A., I'll just die. It'd be bad enough leaving all of you. I'd have to leave the best teacher I've ever had, too. And she really listens to me, you know, about stuff. Not just art. Other stuff, too. Like you do.

"So, after you finished school, did you have a job?"

"Wanted to teach, and write, I guess." Spike was feeling a little glow of warmth from her words about him listening to her. He hoped he didn't somehow bollock that up too.

"You?"

"Yeah, I was a right wuss. No edge at all, sweets, believe me."

"I just can't see you like that. Booky. Oh, god. Like Giles."

Dawn dissolved into giggles, rolling on the grass while Spike eyed her. The glow dissipated. She was looking tastier by the minute.

"Finished, missy?" he asked in annoyance, as her laughter began to abate.

"Yeah." Another giggle escaped. "Well, almost."

She calmed, catching her breath, and began brushing a few stray blades of grass from her tiny little top. Sometimes, with a sort of lingering Victorian sensibility, Spike wondered if there was some kind of magical barrier at the entrances to the Summers home that prevented shirts and blouses that actually *concealed* the body in any way from entering. Like a vamp barrier for loose fitting turtlenecks.
Dawn picked a rather stubborn twig off her shorts and rolled over to toss it away, coming face to face with her mother's tombstone.

Horror struck. "Oh. My. God."

Instantly alert, Spike came up to his haunches, body poised, ready to strike. His eyes raced around the area, checking for danger. He'd sensed nothing. Was he slipping that badly?

"What? What is it?" His voice was urgent.

"Oh, god," Dawn sounded distressed beyond words.

He moved to her side, curling his hand around her upper arm in a gesture of comfort and protection, eyes still darting about.

"Bit?"

"It's Mom. I was...I was laughing. Right here. *On her grave.*" The last words came out in a horrified whisper.

Spike relaxed.

"Dawn," he began, but she cut him off.

"How could I do that? I must be such a horrible person! Laughing on my own mother's grave. How could I do something so awful?"

She'd never told him about how angry she was at her mother and Buffy for dying and abandoning her. That was truly too awful to talk about. Even Spike, who everyone seemed to think was so evil, wouldn't love her if he knew *that* dark secret. This - this was bad enough.

He shifted around, putting himself between her and the headstone. "You didn't do anything bad, luv. Your mum loved to laugh. How many times did I hear the two of you laughing together? Dozens of times. Why, I 'spect she was  laughin' right along with you just now, glad to see her girl having a good time. Even if you were laughin' *at me*," he added, glaring at her.

"But -" Dawn respected Spike's opinion, but this was so bad. Really, really bad. "-on her grave? Right on her grave?"

Spike shrugged. "Sure, why not?" he assured her. He lifted her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. "You know she's not here, right? 'Spect she's all happy and livin' it up in heaven. Doin' all the things she liked. Cookin' and lookin' at that god awful African art she liked. Watchin' 'Passions' and listenin' to the Beatles and Juice Newton. And bein' able to read an entire book in one sitting. She told me once that was one of her fantasies." His mouth quirked at the memory, and he smiled at Dawn.

Dawn's eyes teared, even as she smiled shakily. "You think?" she asked for reassurance.

"Sure, pet."

"You think Buffy's with her now?"

He hoped so. God, he hoped so. Who knew what that portal had done? Had it thrown his Slayer into some hell dimension, or just allowed her to die, and go on to her reward? Chosen One, right? He reminded himself daily, hourly. Chosen One damn well *better* be enjoying her reward in heaven with her mum.

"Yeah, I do," he tried to instill confidence in his tone. Needed to reassure his girl, didn't he? "C'mere."

He tugged her back down to the ground so that they were laying side by side again, looking at the stars as they'd been doing earlier.

"Pick a nice bright star, baby," he urged her.

Dawn considered the night sky carefully. "That one," she indicated one of the stars in Orion's belt.

"Good choice," he complimented. "Now, whenever you look at the sky, you can look at that star and think of your mum. She's a lot closer to that star than she is to this slab of marble. And if you laugh, you'll be able to see her winkin' at you."

Hell, could he be more of a poof? Spike thought disparagingly of himself. But Dawn seemed to enjoy the idea. Her head turned toward his on the dampening grass, and she smiled, almost shy now.

"Thank you," she said with quiet sincerity. She took a deep breath. "How about Buffy? Should we choose a star to be Buffy, too?"

*They never, ever went to Buffy's grave.* She'd tried to persuade him to take her there a few times, but he ignored her completely when she talked about it, not even acknowledging that sound was coming out of her mouth. So her visits to Buffy's grave were made during the day, alone or with Tara. Once or twice, she'd gone with Xander. She had no idea if Spike had ever even seen the headstone they'd gotten her. But sometimes...sometimes she'd see something that made her think he might be stopping there without her, sometime when he was alone.

Spike didn't reply. He just stared up at the star filled sky in silence.

"Don't you think we should choose one to be Buffy, too?" Dawn pressed.

The silence lengthened. Then Spike swallowed and forced sound to move out of his throat, past the lump of pain. "You choose, luv."

Dawn considered it carefully, then chose the North Star.

"It's strong and bright," she explained her choice. "And it guides." Dawn struggled to keep the tears out of her voice. "It's a good choice for Buffy. Strong."

"Yeah." The word emerged, barely more than a huff of air.

Silence fell between them, and they continued to lay there, side by side, looking up at the dark sky, at the miraculous sweep of the Milky Way, the infinite, unknown worlds it contained. *Other skies. Other worlds.* For a time, their thoughts were their own.

Long minutes later, Spike tried to lighten their introspective moods.

"Someday, bit, when your time comes, you and your mum and your sis will be together again. Probably sharin' big group hugs all the time. Laughin'. Yakkin' up a storm. An' you'll spend your days doin' good deeds. Hero-type stuff."

Dawn turned away from Spike and stared up at the night sky. She didn't want him to see the tears in her eyes, and she ruthlessly blinked them away. He talked about her eventual reunion with her mother and Buffy as if it was an absolute certainly, something he believed in without question.

She knew that vampires, except, of course, for the dark and brooding one, didn't have souls. No Soul = Evil = No Heaven. Even though no one had really laid things out for her quite so bluntly, the whole situation with Angel/Angelus, with Spike, and with demons in general, had definitely led her to believe that was the way things were.

She wondered how it must feel to Spike to know that a reunion with his family and the people he had loved was something he himself would never, could never, *ever* have.

Blinking furiously, *she would not cry*, she stretched out her hand very slowly until it touched his. Then she curled her fingers around his pinky and squeezed. He didn't acknowledge the move, but he didn't pull away either.

She didn't know if mystical key thingies made by monks had a soul. Spike seemed to think so, but neither of them could really *know*, could they?

Dawn gripped his finger more tightly.

She had Spike.

If it turned out she didn't have a soul, maybe she could spend whatever eternity existed for soulless beings with him.

~*~

Spike sat silently on the roof, smoke curling around his head from the burning cigarette he held loosely in his left hand. He'd spent more than 120 years in the dark, and he still loved the sounds of the night. He listened to the calls of the various birds that hunted after dark, the chirping of crickets which he found so soothing. He'd enjoyed the cool, welcoming night air even when he was alive, and that hadn't changed in all these years. Unlike some vampires, he rarely missed the sun. There was always much more to see in the night sky.

Daylight was the not the kind of light he craved.

He heard Dawn shift in her bed, heard her breathing change slightly, and his body tensed as he listened for any sounds of distress. None came, and her breathing evened out again. He relaxed. Perhaps there would be no nightmares tonight, no need to go to her and offer comfort, as he had so often these past weeks.

But he remained in his place, just outside her window. Guarding her, keeping watch, being there. Just in case she needed him.

 

~*~

Continued...