SERIES: Nobility
AUTHOR: Tisienne Blue
E-MAIL: tisatko@msn.com
DISCLAIMER: Joss owns 'em; I'm just playing with 'em.
SPOILERS: Everything through 'The Body' and 'Epiphany' (??) may be mentioned in passing.
RATING: up to NC-17 eventually
PAIRINGS: Dawn/S;W/A( mentioned);Anya/Ben(mentioned).
DISTRIBUTION: Ask, take, have.
FEEDBACK: is a good thing.
DEDICATIONS: Mystra for the title; Nat and Salice for helping with that;
Di for getting the idea of a Dawn fic in my head; the
orgy, just cuz... also: Angel Negra, Di (again), Nat (also again), Whitewolf
Alpha, and Marie-Claude-- thanks for the
feedback!!!*G*
NOTES: 6 years in the future; just a bit AU. The Hellmouth is closed, and
everyone's more or less left Sunnyhell. Oh, and * *=
emphasis, while ( ) will enclose thoughts... Also: I know I've made Spike
a bit of a... loser in this part, but that WILL change in
the next couple. It was necessary, in order for me to take this the way
I want to, so... sorry!!!
&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*
"All right, Giles," Dawn said, sitting down across the kitchen table from
him, "What exactly do you want to say?" She'd felt
strangely when she'd first brought the drunken vampire home, but in the
time she'd just spent getting him settled in her bed,
she'd been able to think, and she'd realized something that to *her* mind
was very important. As shocked, and surprised, as
she'd been to see Spike, not to mention his condition, the former watcher
*hadn't*. He'd hardly even batted an eye when he'd
seen just who it was she'd dragged home, and... that bothered her. "Could
it possibly be," she continued, staring hard at the
man who'd adopted her five years earlier, "Some sort of *explanation*?
I mean, that's *Spike* in my bed." She continued
staring at the uncharacteristically quiet man, her eyes hardening slightly.
"You know," she finally said into the silence, "I seem to
recall *someone* telling me that Spike was in Chicago. That he was working
for the Powers, kind of like Angel does. *And* I
remember that *same* someone saying that he was doing well there; fighting
the good fight!" She stood suddenly, pacing back
and forth between the table and the wall, trying to control her sudden
anger. "Well, guess *what*?" she cried, feeling betrayed,
"He's *not*! And it looks to me like you already *knew* that! Why, Giles?"
She stopped in her tracks, looking again at the
Watcher. "Why would you lie to me like that? And about *Spike*, of all
things?"
The former librarian sighed deeply to himself; he'd really hoped that they'd
never have to have this particular conversation,
but... "Because we were afraid of how you'd react," he said quietly, his
hands clasped together. "We... look, Dawn, I know that
you had a bit of a crush on him when you were younger, and..." He sighed
again. "And it wasn't a *complete* lie, Dawny... He
*was* in Chicago, working for the Powers. For a while, at least... and
he *was* doing well..."
"So what happened?" the girl demanded tightly, refusing to back down. "I
mean, Gods, Giles, he was our *friend*; a part of our
*group*! What could possibly have happened to make him like... *that*?"
She gestured wildly in the general direction of her
bedroom, her eyes boring into the older man's.
"The new Slayer." Giles announced softly. "She went to Chicago, and they...
ran into each other. She... she wanted him, and...
I think it broke him somehow." He watched, from underneath his lashes,
as sudden understanding blossomed in her eyes.
"Oh..." she murmured, sinking slowly into her chair once again, "Oh, *gods*...
And after Buffy..." She blinked quickly, stopping
the tears from spilling only through sheer willpower. "I see. But why didn't
someone *tell* me? I... maybe I could have helped! I
mean, he was my friend! I could have..." Her voice trailed off as she realized
that there was nothing she really could have done,
short of going to him, and... she'd been needed here. "You still should
have told me, Giles," she said curtly, "I'm not a little girl
anymore; I could have handled it!"
The former librarian looked sadly at his daughter. "I know, Dawn... I see that now, but at the time? I just..."
"Wanted to spare me the pain of remembering." the girl finished for him.
"But don't you see, Giles? I *always* remember. That
night is etched into my mind! I think about it all the time; it's not something
I *want* to forget." She sighed, her fingers twisting
anxiously at the end of her braid. "I know he loved her. I don't doubt
that for an instant. And I know he would have stopped
what happened if he could have. But he couldn't. There was nothing he could
*do*, and... I thought he understood that." She
pulled her eyes away from his then, staring at the table top. "I really
thought he did, but... he didn't, did he? He blames himself.
He blames himself, and now he's punishing himself. He's almost suicidal,
Giles," she said slowly, the realization distressing her
more than it should have; "One of these nights, he's going to drink himself
into oblivion and decide to greet the sun... And no
one thought to *tell* me?" She could feel the tears spilling now, comprised
of equal parts anger and anguish. "How could you
keep it a secret? What were you going to do when he finally succeeded in
ending it all? Tell me some demon or other got him?
*What*?" she demanded hotly.
"Maybe!" Giles cried, pushing himself suddenly to his feet and glaring
at the girl. "Maybe I *would* have!" He strode around the
table and pulled the girl from her chair, his hands gripping tightly at
her shoulders as he spoke slowly and clearly into her eyes. "I
appreciate the fact that you're out there hunting vampires every night,
Dawn. I understand that it's what you feel you need to
do, and it's a fitting tribute to Bu... to your sister. You're good, but...
the last thing we thought you needed was to be
distracted! We didn't want you to take any more chances than you already
do, and... can you honestly tell me that you
wouldn't have tried questioning before killing? That you wouldn't ask the
bloody demon-spawn if they knew anything about him?"
He shook his head angrily, pushing the girl back into her chair. "I know
how you feel about him, sweetheart, and... I just couldn't
take the chance!"
She stared at him, shocked almost speechless. "But..." she finally squeezed
out, "But Giles..." She shook her own head, slowly,
and glanced at him in confusion for a moment before finally putting what
she was thinking into words. "I was a *school-girl*,
Giles! I had a *crush*! I mean, Gods! It's not like I swore eternal love
for him! And, sure, I think he's *attractive*..." She
wrinkled her nose, and almost smiled, remembering how he'd looked just
a short while ago, all stretched out on the dirty slate
stones, twigs and leaves in his hair. "Well, OK, not right *now*, but...
in general." She did smile then, at the look on her
'father's' face. "I'm not my sister, Giles," she reminded him softly. "I
don't imagine him to be my soul mate. He's an old friend, and
he's hurting. That's all. And I want to help him." She gazed at the former
Watcher beseechingly. "So please... don't try to stop
me, OK? I'm not in love with him. I *know* I'm not in love with him. But
I look at him now, and all I can think is... 'Poor Spike',
and... I want him to be better."
"She's right, you know..." Gabriella said softly as she stepped into the
kitchen and put her arms around her husband's waist,
"He's an old friend, and he's torn apart inside. He won't be of any use
to the Gods if he isn't fixed, and trust me, they want him
to be of use. He's important..."
Giles sighed, ignoring Dawn's 'I told you so' look, and gazed down into
his wife's eyes. "All right," he said softly, knowing better
than to argue with her when she was in Priestess-mode, "But why does *Dawn*
have to be the one to fix him? Why can't he go
to Angel and Willow? I mean, wouldn't LA be more..."
"Because," the creole woman cut him off, "Dawn has always accepted everything
in him, and has never tried to change him. The
Powers don't need a carbon copy of the Warrior, they need *Spike*; and
Dawn... Dawn can bring him back." She pulled away
from her husband, her eyes moving to the young blonde woman. "But doncha
go thinkin it's gonna be *easy*, child... He's not
the same being he was years ago. The Slayer's death hit him hard, and he'll
need constant reassurance that it wasn't his fault.
If ya let him think it was, even once, he'll be lost to the Gods forever."
She stared seriously into Dawn's eyes then, nodding
slightly at what she saw there. "Are you up to the challenge?" she said
softly, her voice suddenly deeper and a bit more
melodious, "Do you accept this task, girl?"
She thought about it for a moment, meeting the gaze of the God riding her
'stepmother'. Did she really want to tie herself to the
vampire? Commit herself to putting his emotional well-being above everything
else in her life, even the job she'd taken as her
own? She found herself remembering the nights she'd spent with him, talking
in his crypt... the stories he'd told her... the way
that he'd been the only one who hadn't treated her any differently when
her status as the key was brought to light. No one else
had ever accepted her so completely; made her feel so comfortable in her
own skin, and... she owed him for that. "Yes." she
said, a sense of peace flowing through her as she said that one word. "Yes."
she said again.
"Heard and witnessed!" the God cried from within Gabriella's body, and
"Good luck, child..." it said softly, as it abandoned the
vessel that had so briefly housed it.
Giles caught the suddenly limp form of his wife, and lifted her in his
arms. He gazed impassively at the blonde girl and turned
away. "I hope you know what you're doing," he said over his shoulder as
he carried Gabriella from the kitchen. She'd be fine in a
little while, but it was late, and she'd need her sleep. It was always
tiring for her, being God-ridden, and the Gods... the loa...
seemed to like riding her the best.
Dawn watched them go. "I hope so, too," she muttered softly to herself
as she turned down the hall towards her bedroom. "I
really, really do."
She entered her room, intending to get clothes for when she woke up later,
but ended up sitting on the edge of the bed,
watching as the now black-haired vampire writhed in what was obviously
pain. He had to be having some sort of a nightmare,
she knew, and she reached out, lightly stroking his cool forehead. "Shhh..."
she whispered, brushing his hair back, "It's going to
be all right, Spike. You're safe here, and... it's going to be all right."
Her lips twitched into a sad smile when he slowly stilled,
pressing up against her hand. "I'm not going to let anything happen to
you," she murmured softly, "I'm going to bring you back...
Now, sleep." She stood, sighing. Hopefully, she'd be able to keep that
promise. Of course, she realized, as he began twitching
unhappily again, it might be harder than she'd thought.
She sighed again, and stretched out beside him, relieved when her nearness
apparently soothed him enough that he stilled once
more. Giles would *not* be happy when he didn't find her on the couch,
but... what could she do? She'd given her word that
she'd do everything she could to help the vampire, and she'd given it to
a *God*, so... Giles would just have to deal.
The thought brought a slightly wicked smile to her lips as she drifted
down into a sleep that was so deep, she didn't even realize
it when she turned in her slumber and wrapped one slender arm around the
vampire's cool waist.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
He was sure, when he finally woke, that he had to be dreaming. It was the
only possible explanation, because that was the only
way he could be in a warm, fresh-smelling room, on a nice, soft bed...
not to mention the only way he could have his arms
around a slight, warm body that was exhaling deliciously moist gusts of
air against his neck. Yes, he decided, he *had* to be
dreaming, and since he was, he might as well open his eyes and see just
who his subconscious had conjured up as his
bed-partner, although... he had a suspicion.
Of course, he told himself, he might just be wrong... after all, he vaguely
remembered dreaming about the Slayer's sister the
night before... He wasn't sure of why he'd had her pointing a *gun* at
him, but he was sure it had been her. She'd looked older,
of course, but... it had been five years, give or take, so that only made
sense. He doubted that she actually looked like that,
but in his dream, he'd recognized her immediately. It had hurt him, seeing
her, even if it *was* only in his mind. It had reminded
him of just why he'd been drinking non-stop for the last two years.
Buffy. The Slayer. She still lived in his heart, and he was afraid that
she always would. She'd somehow managed to move herself
in, all those years ago, and not even her death had been able to remove
her. He'd almost come to hate her for filling him with
such despair, but... he couldn't. It was his fault, and he knew it. She
was dead, and it was his fault.
He should have let the others come with them that night, but he'd wanted
that bit of time, patrolling, to belong to him alone,
and when the large group of humans had attacked, he hadn't been able to
do a blessed thing! He'd tried, but... the pain had
stopped him, time and again, until finally he'd been nothing but a quivering
heap on the cement in that alley. He still wondered
why they hadn't staked him when they'd finished with the girl he loved,
but he doubted that he'd ever find out for certain. He
suspected that it was meant to be a message to him and the rest of the
Scooby gang, but... he wasn't sure.
He shook his head, groaning when it began throbbing madly. Even in his
dreams, he apparently had to be hungover. He was
being punished; he was *sure* of it, and he really wished he didn't know
why, but... he'd set himself one task, back in
Sunnydale, and that had been to protect Buffy. He'd failed, and he deserved
all the pain he was feeling, and then some.
His eyes opened slightly, tentatively, and he sighed in relief at the almost
total darkness surrounding him. He could barely make
out the slightly lighter patch of what had to be an extremely well-covered
window in the far wall, and he relaxed fully as he
realized that he probably wouldn't be bursting into flame anytime that
day. Unfortunately, with the way his head was throbbing,
and the soreness of his body, he wasn't entirely sure that that was a *good*
thing.
He groaned again and turned his head towards the slight red glow beside
him, and closed his eyes again when he saw that the
digital clock read ten am. Dreaming or not, he wasn't through sleeping
yet, and he tightened his arm around the still unseen
body beside him as he slipped back into what was the best sleep he'd had
since... well, just *since*.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"Rupert," Gabriella said softly, rolling over to look at him, "You're troubled,
cher... what's wrong? Is it... it's about Dawn and her
vampire, isn't it?" She could see him deciding how much to tell her, and
she rested one hand lightly on his chest, just over his
heart. "And your Slayer." She sighed when he closed his eyes, but she couldn't
let it slide this time. She remembered what the
God had said while it was speaking through her, and the things it had said
to her privately as it took its leave, and... she had a
feeling that if she couldn't get her husband to open up, finally, about
his feelings over what had happened, the girl wouldn't
have any chance of fulfilling her promise *or* her potential. "You never
even say her name; did you know that? Not even to
Dawn."
Giles opened his eyes then. "I most certainly *do*!"
Gabriella shook her head slowly as she sat up in their bed. "No." she told
him. "It's always 'your sister', or 'she'; never 'Buffy'. I
don't... it's not healthy, cher... You're stifling your own emotions, and...
it's not good for you *or* Dawn."
His eyes traveled slowly down her naked back, finally coming to rest on
the verve tattooed at the base of her spine. It marked
her as what she was-- a voudon priestess, a follower of the hidden ways;
leader into mysteries,-- and... he knew she was right.
It *wasn't* good to never speak her name, to never refer to her the way
she'd liked in life; it was just... "I feel," he said quietly,
his voice breaking on the words as he forced them out, "I feel like if
I say it-- her name-- then... it's real. She'll really be gone,
and... she won't ever come back."
She shook back her head of riotous curls, and glanced sadly over her shoulder,
meeting his eyes. "But she *is* gone, Rupert.
She's gone for good." She turned and held him tightly when the long-denied
tears began to fall. "You should be honouring her
memory, cher; not trying to deny her very existence! Because that's what
it says to the spirits, you know, when you don't
speak of them; don't *name* them."
Giles sobbed harshly into his wife's hair. "But it *hurts*... it hurts so much..."
"I know, my love... I know. But imagine how much more it must hurt Dawn,
to have you refuse to acknowledge the life that
Buffy led; the great things she accomplished! And she's going to need you
now, more than she ever has before." She stroked his
hair gently, and rocked him against her comfortingly. "She's given her
word to the loa... she'll be needing your support if she's
going to keep it."
He sighed deeply, his throat raw from the guttural sobs and moans he'd
been releasing, and pulled back slightly, staring at her
from red and swollen eyes. "What... what's going to happen, Gabriella?...
Am I... am I going to lose Dawn, too? Is this... is
she..."
"Hush, my love," she said softly, pulling him tightly against her once
more. "it will happen as it's meant to... we just have to do
everything we can to ensure that. Which means," she continued, her voice
almost stern, "That *you* must do nothing to
interfere with their relationship." She slapped him lightly on the back
of the head when he began to object. "No, Giles. There's
nothing you can do to change things now. She's bound herself to him, more
tightly than you know... Probably more tightly than
even *she* knows, and... the God witnessed it. It's out of your hands,
cher. The only thing that you could accomplish by trying
to interfere now, would be to make her path even more difficult. And it's
already going to be hard for her. *And* for Spike...
maybe *especially* for Spike." She pulled back just far enough to stare
deep into his eyes. "There are forces at work here that
would take serious offense if you tried to stop their plans."
"What are you saying, Gabriella?" Giles asked intently, "That I'm supposed
to just sit by and watch history repeat itself? I *saw*
what happened before, with Angel... saw the heartache and pain that loving
a vampire can cause, and... you want me to just
sit by and let it happen *again*? I'm not supposed to interfere, and she'll
somehow manage to put him back together; make him
whole again, and then what? He goes off to Chicago again, and leaves her
shattered." He shook his head rebelliously. "I can't do
that. I can't just watch while it happens again. If she'd just listened
to me the *first* time, none of this would..." His hand rose
to cover his mouth, and his eyes widened in horror as he realized what
he'd just said. "Oh, Good Lord..." he whispered, finally
recognizing his own actions of the last five years for what they were,
"I've tried to make her into..."
"Buffy." Gabriella agreed. "But she's *not* Buffy, cher. She's *Dawn*,
and... you need to figure out just what that means. But
*first*," she said softly, pulling his head to her chest as she lay back
down, taking him with her, "You need to sleep... let your
mind rest and re-order itself. It'll all be clear when you wake..." She
smiled gently when she felt him relax against her, and ran
her fingers slowly through his hair as he drifted off to sleep. It *would*
be clear, she knew, and then... then he could begin to
heal. She had a God's word for it, after all, and the Gods rarely lied.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
When he woke for the second time, it was with an odd sense of clarity.
His head was clear, and the hangover-pain was mostly
gone. He opened his eyes in the darkness, the slight glow around the edges
of the tightly shuttered window giving him just
enough light to see by. So it *hadn't* been a dream, was his first realization.
The second was that just as the warm room and
soft bed were real, so was the warm body wrapped in his arms.
He still wasn't sure of exactly where he was, but... it sure beat the abandoned
apartment he recalled being in last. It smelled
better, too... no scent of things long-dead and forgotten, just the wonderful
smell of... his eyes widened, and he took a
surprised breath. It *couldn't* be! It just wasn't possible! But then he
remembered the encounter that he'd been so sure was
just a dream... an hallucination brought on by the liquor. He twisted his
neck slightly, and glanced down to see a pair of
familiar-- though somewhat older than he recalled-- eyes staring back at
him. "D... Dawn?" he almost whispered, tentatively,
shocked by the concern she wasn't even trying to hide, "Wha... *Dawn*?"
"About *time* you woke up, Spike," she said happily, as she reached above
their heads and turned on the lamp clipped to the
headboard of the bed, "You sleep like the *dead*!" She grinned at the surprise
on his face, and giggled softly. "Never thought
I'd see you speechless, but it's all to the good, I suppose."
Spike knew he was gaping, but he really didn't care. "What... you..." He
shook his head, his earlier clarity completely gone. "I
don't understand." He shook his head and rolled onto his side as he released
her from the hold he'd apparently had her in all day.
His nose wrinkled as he caught a whiff of a truly *foul* stench, and he
glanced quickly around the room. "And what the *hell* is
that *stink*?"
Dawn grinned again, glad that he was at least *sounding* a bit more like
his old self than he had at first, and stared straight
into his eyes. "That would be *you*, Spike. And as soon as you get in the
shower, I'm going to burn your clothes, *and* these
sheets!" She rolled from the bed then, ignoring her sudden feeling of loss,
and smiled at him, almost shyly. "Unless you *like*
smelling like a month-old garbage heap, that is..."
For his part, Spike couldn't believe that he stank so badly he'd been able
to smell *himself*, and he wondered just how the girl
had been able to stand being so close to him for so long. Granted, his
personal hygiene had been rather... questionable lately,
but... He was obviously her good deed for the day. She'd get him all cleaned
up, and send him on his way. But maybe, just
maybe, she wouldn't think he was quite so pathetic once he'd had a bit
of a scrub, and they could talk... he'd missed their
conversations almost as much as he missed... No. Besides, he thought, as
he got up and followed her down the hall to the
bathroom, cleaning up some might actually improve the quality of the bars
that would let him in. Yes, he decided, he'd bathe,
and maybe even wash his clothes, he'd talk to the girl, and then... And
then he'd lose himself again in the alcohol that was his
only solace. So intent was he on his thoughts, he didn't even notice that
the mind-numbing, gut-wrenching grief that had been
his constant companion for just over five years was lessened by her very
presence... And he *really* didn't notice the slight
eddies in the air as a watching God laughed in satisfaction.