Chapter 5: String of Memories

Sometimes I feel lost

As I pull you out like strings of memories

Wish I could weave them into you

Then I could figure the whole damn puzzle out"

If I had It All", Dave Matthews Band

Her neck was stiff. House keys dangling in her hand, she let her head fall to the side and then rolled it gently around - right, back, left, front. The tension eased a bit. She could fight demons all night long, but teaching self-defense to a dozen women for an hour wore her out. She had to hold back; she was afraid of accidentally hurting one of her students. The effort made her muscles ache. She thought about taking a hot shower. Or maybe a bubble bath. But there was dinner to make, quality time to spend with Dawn, and a cemetery to patrol left on her to-do list. Pampering Buffy just didn't fit into the plan. Again.

Buffy sighed, unlocked the door, and headed upstairs to her bedroom. She pulled the scrunchie out of her hair and shook her head to get rid of her ponytail. Kicking off her sneakers, she picked them up and wandered over to the closet. She groaned when she opened the door. Here was another thing she had no time to do. Clothing hung in a tightly-packed, disorganized mess. The floor was a jumble of shoes. She threw her sneakers on top of the pile. Then she unzipped her sweat jacket and took it off. Shoving an arm into the closet, she rooted in the back for a hanger.

She knew what it was as soon as she touched it. It had a different feel than any of her own leather jackets. Softer. Heavier. Worn. She knew its feel as well as she knew the feel of her own skin; as well as she knew the feel of his skin.

Buffy let her jacket slip to the floor unnoticed. Using both hands, she pulled Spike’s duster out of the closet. She ran a hand over it and then frowned. Tracing a finger over an imperfection on the back of one shoulder, she idly wondered if it was a poorly-repaired knife or axe cut. Was it a new wound? Something she had inflicted? Or was it an old scar made years ago, before he even knew her?

She held the coat up to her face. It stank of liquor, tobacco, vampire dust, and assorted demon goo. But underneath all that, it also smelled in some indescribable way like Spike. Dangerous and comfortable. Repellent and attractive.

‘Do you even like me?’

‘Sometimes.’

"Buffy."

Buffy jumped. She whirled around to face Dawn, who was standing in the open doorway. Her face flamed scarlet. "Hi. You're home from school early."

Dawn raised an eyebrow. "What are you doing?"

Buffy felt her face grow even hotter, if that were possible. "Just, um, hanging up my jacket."

"On the floor?" Dawn sounded skeptical.

"No! Of course not. I was looking for a hanger." She held up the duster. "I found Spike’s coat." She folded it carefully over her arm. Her eyes slid away from Dawn's. "I forgot it was here."

"Do you miss him?" Dawn’s voice held no expression whatsoever.

Buffy remained motionless, giving nothing more away. "Things are simpler this way."

Dawn crossed her arms. "Simpler because if he never comes back then you don't have to face what he did to you?"

Simpler because then I won’t have to face...anything. "Look, no biggie. I’ll get rid of the coat and we’ll forget about it."

Something like panic flashed across Dawn’s face. "N-no." Now it was Buffy’s turn to raise an eyebrow. "I mean, it’s...he’ll...we should return it. It doesn't belong to us." Buffy said nothing. "I’ll take it to Clem at the crypt."

Buffy hesitated, then relinquished the coat to Dawn. "I’ll go start dinner." She brushed past Dawn and headed downstairs.

Her eyebrows drawn together in a troubled frown, Dawn watched her sister walk away.

Xander shielded his eyes from the glare of the late afternoon sun with his hand. "Want me to carry those, Will?"

Willow buried her nose in the bouquet of fall blossoms. "Nope. I'm good." She looked up and smiled. "It's a beautiful day for a walk, isn't it?"

Xander reached out a hand to cup her elbow in order to help her over a rough spot of ground. "In a cemetery?"

"At least there's no fangy or grr during daylight hours," she replied.

"True." Xander pointed his finger at her. "But you, miss, are avoiding my question. How are classes?"

Willow shrugged. "The technical term is dull." She stepped carefully around a newly dug grave. "Why is it all the way out here?"

"Tara's father insisted they take her home. He made a big, obnoxious scene." He made a face. "Bully."

Willow stroked the back of her hand across the delicate petals of a daisy. "We were the only home she's ever known."

Xander put an arm around Willow's shoulders and squeezed. "Yep. But we figured we'd need a place where we could remember her. A special place."

"Remembering is of the good." Willow fiddled with the paper wrapped around the flowers, nervously folding and unfolding it. "Uh, I'm thinking of moving out. I mean, moving in." She took a breath and tried again. "To the dorm, that is."

Xander stopped walking and stared at her incredulously. "Why would you do that?"

"Feeling kinda like a fifth wheel." Willow tugged at Xander's arm to get him moving again.

He frowned. "Is Dawn giving you problems?"

Willow raised her eyebrows. "Dawnie? No. I mean, not really. It's just that it's like the Dawn and Buffy Club. And I don't know the secret password."

"Huh?"

"It's like they have all these special rituals." Willow struggled to explain. "Like Summers Movie Night. One night every week they rent a movie and watch it."

Xander felt his temper flaring. "They don't include you?"

"Sure they do. But they have all these little things that they do. They make popcorn and argue over whether to mix in the peanut M&Ms. They drink YooHoo through Twizzlers."

Xander shuddered. "That's just gross."

Willow grimaced. "Tell me about it. And then they talk about, well, everything. But I don't get the jokes and the references. It's like some secret language I don't know anymore." Willow waved a hand to chase a bee away from the flowers.

"You'll learn the language again, Will."

"Maybe. But it feels weird." She paused. "It feels weird without Tara."

"I understand that. It's weird to be a couple for so long and then suddenly... not be." Xander moved a low-hanging branch out of their way. "I think you should talk to Buffy. Tell her how you feel." Willow remained silent. "At least give it a little longer. Give things a chance to settle."

Willow sighed. "Okay. Enough about me. I'm tired of me. Speaking of weird couples, what's up on the Anya front?"

Xander dropped his eyes and stared at the ground. "Nothing. A cease fire has been declared. The troops have withdrawn. It's over."

Willow raised an eyebrow. "Ain't over 'til the fat lady sings."

Xander stooped and picked up a twig off the ground. He brandished it like a sword. "The fat lady is sitting on my chest singing her third encore."

"Xander, you can't give up. There's always hope. Look at me and Tara."

Xander snapped the twig in his hand. "I dunno, Will." He tossed the broken twig aside.

They had arrived in a small clearing, shaded by willow trees. Buffy's headstone was gone. Now only a small, red marble marker sat on the grass. It was surrounded by wildflowers. Willow broke into a tremulous smile and said, "It's pretty."

Xander pulled at his ear, a bit self-conscious. "Yeah, well, Dawn helped me pick it out. She planted the flowers." He gestured with his hand. "I'll hang back. Give you some space." He turned and walked a few steps out of the clearing.

Willow knelt and placed the flowers in front of the stone. "Hey baby." She traced her fingers lightly over the carved letters that spelled Tara's name. "I miss you." Tears welled in her eyes. "I'm better. I promise. Don't worry about me." A tear streaked down her cheek and landed on the wildflowers. "No more bad stuff." She pressed two fingers to her lips and then touched the marker. "I promise."

"Oh no." Anya clicked on the e-mail to open it. As she read, a crease began to form between her eyebrows. "This is not good at all." She frowned harder. "Not good at all," she repeated. A customer who was perusing a shelf full of books about love spells peered nervously around the bookcase at Anya.

"Hallie." Nothing. Anya tried with a little more force. "Hallie!" The customer, alarmed, dropped the book she was holding and hurried out of the store. "Great. Now I’ve lost a sale on top of everything else." Taking a deep breath, she yelled, "Halfrek! Get your ass down here now!"

*Poof*

Hallie smoothed a hand over her hair. "There was absolutely no need to yell, Anyanka. I heard you the first two times." She straightened her skirt a bit. "I am a guidance counselor, you know. I can’t just teleport over here at the drop of a hat. If I go back and find that poor child in my office has shot up the school, you’ll be to blame."

Anya waved her hand dismissively. "That’s not important now. I’m having a crisis."

Hallie raised her eyebrows. "Well, what is it?"

Anya looked a bit frightened. "I received an e-mail from D’Hoffryn’s secretary today. It’s time for my semi-annual performance review."

"Ah." Hallie smiled like a cat that was contemplating a very large saucer of cream. "Is now the time I say 'I told you so?'"

"That’s not even remotely funny, Hallie." Anya bit her lip. "Do you think I can have it postponed?"

The trill of Hallie’s laugh was like nails scraping across a blackboard. "Postponed? Anya. Dear." She shook her head pityingly. "You’ve been a vengeance demon for what? Over a thousand years? Even taking into consideration your little leave of absence, you should know that no one gets D’Hoffryn to postpone a performance review." She studied her nails, looking for chips in the polish. "I gave you my advice weeks ago, but you didn’t want to hear it. You don’t have time for anything big. But you’d better get some small stuff under your belt." She thought for a minute. "You know. Induce a minor case of syphilis. Cause a few boils on a penis. Inflict a bit of leprosy or shingles. Something."

Anya wasn’t feeling very confident in her ability to take that advice. "It’s not that easy finding an appropriate wish to grant." She frowned, disgusted. "So many people are just in it for themselves. I think..."

Hallie interrupted, triumphant. "See -- that’s your mistake. Don’t think. Just do it. And do it quickly." She smiled brightly, confident that she had solved the problem. "Call me next week and we’ll do lunch. Ta!"

*Poof*

"Ooh." Anya crossed her arms in frustration. "I absolutely hate it when she teleports and runs."

Buffy twirled her stake in her hand. She was feeling restless, unsettled. Lonely. She shook off that thought. She really needed to kill something tonight. Where's a nice, big T'zarnik demon when you need one? There weren't even any fledglings around. She could usually count on bagging at least one during patrol since they were too stupid to put up much of a fight. But the night was as silent as the grave. Buffy giggled. Why was she always alone when she came up with these gems?

She shuffled her feet along the ground. She wondered if she should stop by the crypt to see Clem. After all, it would only be polite. He was the nervous type. It would reassure him to know she had everything under control. It was neighborly, especially after all the time he had spent with Dawn.

It had absolutely nothing to do with Spike.

Suddenly, she was standing outside the door to Spike's crypt, not really sure how she had gotten there. A wave of panic rushed over her. She should have brought the coat. She'd go back home right now and get it.

Apparently her hand didn't get the message from her brain, because it started moving of its own accord to knock on the door. Before her hand reached its destination, the door flew open.

"Aarrggh!" Buffy fell back a step, instinctively raising her stake. Clem huddled against the door, shaking with fear.

Buffy tucked her stake away quickly. "Clem, I'm so sorry." She reached out tentatively. He flinched, but then let her pat his shoulder. "Are you okay?" He nodded, but his ears continue to quiver. "I just stopped by to make sure you were all right. Kinda like Neighborhood Watch." She grinned. "Buffywatch."

Clem had almost all the trembling under control. "Thought I was a goner when I saw that stake. Almost tossed my cookies." He held up a box of Nilla Wafers.

And the guilt just never ends. "I'm sorry," she said again.

"That's okay, Slayer. You were just doing your job." Clem pulled himself together to give her a sweet smile.

Buffy looked a little more closely at Clem. Was that a tie he was wearing? An ascot? Or just some excess skin? He seemed more dressed up than usual. "Were you on your way out?"

Clem hung his head bashfully. "Gotta blind date." It was a tie. Was he blushing? It was hard to tell with all that loose skin drooping all over the place. "My cousin fixed me up. Her name is Mary Sue."

Buffy grinned. "That's great, Clem. I hope it works out." She reached out and brushed some cookie crumbs off of his tie. "I'd better finish patrol. Let you finish getting all dateworthy."

Before she could turn to go, Clem asked, "Did you want something, Slayer?"

"Oh." Buffy struggled to make up an excuse. "Uh, it's been so quiet lately. I was just wondering if you knew anything. It seems strange." Brilliant, Buffy.

"Nope. Everything's right as rain, as far as I know." He smiled widely. "I can check with my poker buddies, though."

"Good." Buffy bit her lip and then tried to appear nonchalant. "Um, Dawn was wondering. Any news?" Clem looked confused. "From Spike?"

"N-no. Nothing. Nada." He shook his head, ears flopping wildly.

He's lying. Buffy felt her heartbeat hitch and then speed up. Clem's expression was soft, full of compassion. He's not coming back. For a moment, breathing required a conscious effort. Then she shrugged elaborately. "Oh. Well. Doesn't matter. Just wanted to return his coat." She realized again that she didn't actually have the coat with her. "I mean, uh, Dawn'll come by with it." She turned and began to walk away. Over her shoulder, she said, "Have fun on your date, Clem."

Clem waved, although Buffy couldn't see him. "Goodnight, Slayer."

The old man enjoyed sitting in front of his window and watching the people pass by. He often wheeled his chair over to the window at just this time of day to observe them as they scurried home from work like busy ants that were building their little hills of sand. "Better come closer, boys. These old eyes can't see as well as they used to."

Two hobbit-like creatures sidled across the room. Reaching the wheelchair, they stopped and bowed obsequiously. The old man continued to stare out the window. The taller of the two minions spoke. "O Wise One, we come bearing glad tidings." He elbowed the second minion.

The second minion nodded. "Yes, it is as Jinx says. We have glad tidings, Most, er, Mobile One."

Jinx rolled his eyes, then continued. "Our tortuous days of waiting are nearly at an end."

The old man chuckled. "Saw the temple, did you?"

Jinx nodded. "Yes, Your Magnificence. It is exactly as you said it would be."

The old man stopped looking out the window. He reversed his wheelchair, turned it, and then rolled forward so that he faced the minions. "And the witch?"

"We have observed that she now lives with The Slayer." Jinx paused to increase the dramatic effect of his announcement. "And with The Key." The old man's hands tightened briefly on the arms of the wheelchair. Jinx continued. "They appear unaware."

The old man laughed harshly. "In time, boys. In time, they'll see."

The minions bowed again. "We have our orders, O Gracious One."

Doc blinked slowly, his reptilian eyes opening and closing like blinds across a dark window. "Soon, we're all gonna see something, boys."

Chapter 6: Sweet Like Candy

Sweet like candy to my soul

Sweet you rock,

And sweet you roll,

Lost for you…I’m so lost for you.

“Crash Into Me“ Dave Matthews Band

Juggling several pillar candles in her arms, Anya struggled to pull the training room door closed behind her. When she reached the center of the room, she carefully set the candles on the floor to mark the four points of a sacred circle. She moved to stand within the circle, wiping her sweaty palms down the sides of her skirt. She pulled a lighter from her pocket and began to light the candles, moving from the east to the south, then to the west, and finally to the north. Her hand trembled and the flame wavered, forcing her to make three attempts to light the last candle. "There's no reason to be nervous," she whispered. "None at all." She wished she believed that.

Anya struggled to kneel in the center of the circle. "Ooh!" Her stupid skirt (specially purchased for this meeting, along with an incredibly expensive silk blouse) was too tight, too straight, and the slit was useless. Wriggling, she managed to awkwardly fall to her knees while yanking her skirt up her thighs. Scooting around so that she faced east, she took a deep breath to calm herself and began to chant. "Blessed be the name of D'Hoffryn. Let this circle now be a gateway to Arashmaharr, the place where demons are spawned."

"Anyanka. Welcome, my dear. It's been too long." D'Hoffryn materialized out of the thick, inky darkness that now surrounded Anya. His pale skin and seafoam-colored robes made him appear to glow. "Why so formal? You could have teleported in and saved yourself the trouble."

Anya blinked, a little dizzy from the inter-dimensional trip. "Oh, you know. I didn't want to disturb you if you were busy."

"Pish tosh." He reached out his hands to grasp hers, leaning forward to lightly kiss her left cheek and then her right one. "What a lovely outfit! Have you done something different with your hair?" He squeezed her hands gently before he released them. "And you look divinely thin. Positively sylphlike."

Anya smoothed a hand over her painstakingly coiffed hair, preening a bit. "Well, I have been working out."

"One's body is one's temple." He patted his flat stomach. "I myself do two hundred crunches a day."

Anya's eyes were starting to adjust to the darkness. Squinting, she took a closer look at D'Hoffryn. "Is that a new robe?"

D'Hoffryn stroked his mustache, trying to hide a pleased smile. "Yes, it is. Business has been looking up, so I decided to treat myself. And since it was a total steal at the Heimdall Day sales, my wife can't complain." He waved in the direction of what was presumably a chair. "Please."

Anya reached out a hand, fumbling blindly in the darkness, until she found the chair. "You really do need to do something about the poor lighting in here." Sitting down, she crossed her legs and demurely tugged her skirt over her knees. "It's absolutely primeval. And it's also a liability claim waiting to happen."

D'Hoffryn fussed with the long sleeves of his robe until they draped to his satisfaction. "Ah, well." He shrugged. "It suits the mood. Dark void between dimensions and all that. Track lighting would hardly say 'vengeance', would it?" He sighed. "My, how time flies. I must finally be getting old. It seems like just yesterday that we sat here after that unfortunate incident with your human."

"You look wonderful. No one would ever refer to you as old." Anya tilted her head and considered him. "Well-preserved, possibly."

He shook his head. "I'll be 8,500 on my next birthday."

Anya raised her eyebrows. "But you don't look a day over 7,000. And with the surprising array of pharmaceutical products now available, there's no reason you should experience any diminished capacity."

D'Hoffryn chuckled. "You always know just how to flatter an old man. Now enough of this small talk, however pleasant it may be." He moved to stand next to her chair. "Tell me, my dear, what have you been up to?"

Anya gave an abrupt little cough. "Well, amazingly enough, it's been fairly quiet in Sunnydale. Not much call for vengeance at all, really. Oh, there have been a few minor things, here and there; but all in all - very quiet." D'Hoffyn folded his arms, but said nothing. "Frankly, I'm beginning to wonder if something unnatural is causing it." D'Hoffryn continued to stare at her. Her fingers strayed to her throat, fiddling with her necklace. "Maybe sunspots." She swallowed. "Or bunnies?" Her voice trailed off.

"Hm." D'Hoffryn waved a hand and a Palm Pilot appeared. "Let's see, shall we?" He carefully took the stylus out of the case. Tapping the screen several times, his eyebrows drew together in a frown as he read. "Anyanka. You have not granted a single vengeance wish since your reinstatement."

Anya cleared her throat, tugging again on her necklace. "Oh no, that can't be right." She bit her lip, giving the impression that she was thinking very hard. "I'm sure I, er, well, there was that young man and the boils, I think. And that woman who wanted to sever...."

"Anyanka." D'Hoffryn's voice was stern. "No wishes granted. Two hundred and thirty-four ignored wish opportunities. My files are never wrong." Anya hung her head and said nothing. D'Hoffryn sighed. He tapped the stylus against the screen again. "I also see that you attempted to trick someone into making a wish on your behalf against that puffy young man you had planned to marry?"

"Hallie," Anya muttered under her breath. "I'll kill her."

D'Hoffryn eyes twinkled. "I can't say that I blame you. I shall let that one slide." The stylus clicked again. Anya flinched. Each click felt as if it were boring a hole through her skull. "Most disturbing, however, is this report that you actually prevented a witch from the pursuit of proper vengeance."

Anya uncrossed and recrossed her legs, tugging on her skirt. "Well, that was Willow. You remember her. My red-headed bridesmaid. The one with all the vengeance potential." She picked at a loose thread in her hemline, avoiding D'Hoffryn's eyes. "She was grieving over the murder of her girlfriend and not really in the right frame of mind to make life-altering decisions. Plus, she was having a really bad hair day."

D'Hoffryn raised his eyebrows. "So you aligned yourself with The Slayer to stop her?" He frowned. "It's our job to fulfill vengeance wishes, not to prevent them. Have you forgotten our mission statement?" He waved his hand again and a framed poster appeared, suspended in midair.

Anya rolled her eyes. "Yes, I remember. 'To consistently provide high-quality pain and suffering in order to increase shareholder value and delight our customers.' The consultant you hired made us memorize it." She looked up at him, her eyes wide and sincere. "It's just that...I've seen what vengeance can do. How it can consume you until there's nothing left inside. How it becomes more important than anything. More important than justice. Than mercy. Than love."

D'Hoffryn snorted. With an impatient flick of his hand, the poster and the Palm Pilot disappeared. "I see your time amongst those humans is still affecting you. I had hoped that by now you would have shaken off these foolish notions."

"Are they foolish? Shouldn't vengeance be about serving what is right?"

D'Hoffryn began to pace in front of her. "And who will tell us what is right, Anyanka, so that we can serve it? We do not mete out justice. We are not omniscient beings. We are demons. We keep the balance. That is all."

Anya leaned forward in her chair, trying desperately to make him understand. "But isn't it possible to bring balance in a way that doesn't cause so much pain?"

D'Hoffyn stopped pacing and stared at her. "Who are we to cancel the debts of karma?" He suddenly seemed taller and his voice rang through the darkness. Anya drew back in her chair. "Pain purifies. Suffering purges. You used to believe in this cause." D'Hoffryn moved behind her, resting his hands lightly on her shoulders. "The choice before you is clear, Anyanka. Resume granting wishes, or...well, you know what happens to vengeance demons who are judged unfit." Anya stiffened and she felt a bead of perspiration trickle down her neck. D'Hoffryn patted her shoulders lightly. His voice softened. "But I am foolishly fond of you, my dear, as fond as if you were my own daughter. I don’t want to see it come to that. I am willing to give you some more time." He removed his hands and his voiced hardened again. "Do not disappoint me."

Anya squeezed her eyes shut and whispered, "I - I won't."

Willow shuffled listlessly into the house. She threw her bookbag onto the stairs and slumped down next to it. The paper was rolled up and stuffed inside the bag, but she could see the grade in her mind as clearly as if she were actually staring at the paper. F. Willow had never gotten anything below a B in her entire academic career; not even in PE, although she had gone through a period where the term 'klutz' would have been generous. Only her friendship with Xander had kept her from being the perennial last pick for any team activity. What made the entire thing unbearable was that the paper was for her Mythology & Folklore class - it should have been a cakewalk, considering she lived the subject 24/7.

Willow rubbed her temples. She'd been fighting a doozy of a headache ever since she had picked up the paper. She hadn't even tried pleading with the professor for another chance. She'd just fled the building in a sort of stunned shock, certain that everyone she met could see the shameful, scarlet 'F' emblazoned on her chest. She stood up and started upstairs, deciding that she'd try meditating to see if that could relax her.

Willow lit some sage incense and marked a circle on the floor with some votive candles. She sank down in the center of the circle and crossed her legs. "I call upon the Earth to strengthen me. I call upon the Air to enliven me. I call upon the Fire to warm me. I call upon the Water to cleanse me." Breathing deeply, she visualized a circle of blue light surrounding and protecting her. The circle slowly appeared, bounded by the candles. For a moment, the circle of energy flickered as a vibrant purple. Willow frowned and refocused herself. The circle instantly glowed again with cool blue fire.

Closing her eyes, she imagined herself standing in a sunlit meadow that was strewn with wildflowers. She let herself relax into the visualization. She began to walk, feeling the flower petals stroke her bare legs and kiss the palms of her hands. It was a warm day and the light breeze lifting her hair was perfumed with the scent of the meadow. The pain in her head began to subside.

At the edge of the meadow, a dark line of trees appeared. Willow frowned, trying to erase the image, but it only became clearer and more detailed the harder she struggled to get rid of it. Although she didn't want to leave the meadow, she felt compelled to investigate. Arriving at the edge of the woods, she squeezed between two large cypress trees and took a few steps forward. The woods swallowed her. When she turned to look back, she could no longer see the meadow nor the path she had taken. The air was dank and felt thick to breathe.

She could hear the relentless, throbbing beat of a drum. Voices chanted rhythmically somewhere in the distance, but she couldn't make out the words. She felt something pulling at the very core of her, forcing her further into the woods. I'm here. I'm waiting for you. The voice was soft and seductive, whispering directly into her ear. Her blood pulsed in time with the drums. Despite the coolness under the thick shade of the trees, Willow felt her entire body heat and flush. Her clothes clung to her and her hair was plastered wetly to her forehead. Branches trailing from the trees reached out to stroke across her arms, her thighs, her breasts.

Finally, the trees began to thin. Suddenly she was in a clearing containing a small stone temple. She stood panting, pushing her wet hair back with a trembling hand. A figure cloaked in black stood in the doorway. Willow moved forward and then knelt in front of the figure. "Who are you?" she tried to ask, but she was unable to form the words. You know me. A cold hand, white as alabaster, reached out to caress her cheek. Willow moaned. "Yes."

"No!" Dawn walked through the circle of blue energy, dissipating it, and kicked over one of the votive candles. The flame hissed as it was extinguished and hot wax spilled across the carpet.

Willow, startled out of her meditation, slumped to the floor in a heap. "Wh-what?"

"Stop it! Just stop it." Dawn stood over Willow, trembling with rage. "No magic. You're not supposed to be using any magic."

Willow struggled to sit up. "Dawnie, I was just...."

"Shut up! I don't want to hear it." Dawn's face and neck were a mottled red; she practically smoldered with anger. "You're a liar. You told us you were better."

"I -- I was meditating." Willow reached out a hand towards Dawn.

Dawn slapped it away, screaming. "Don't touch me!"

The front door flew open, crashing against the wall. Buffy raced up the stairs and into the bedroom. "What's wrong? Is anyone hurt? I heard a scream."

Tears pooled in Dawn's eyes. She pointed accusingly at Willow. "It's her. The junkie. She's back on the magical mystery tour again."

"Dawn!" Buffy's voice sliced through the air like a whip.

Willow tried to interrupt. "Buffy - I was just -"

Buffy ignored her and grabbed Dawn's arm. She gave her a shove towards the door. "Go downstairs. I'll talk to Willow."

Dawn's lower lip began to quiver. "But...,"

"Just go downstairs." Dawn stormed out of the bedroom.

Willow stood up slowly. Buffy scanned the room, taking in the candles and the incense. She prodded at a bit of cooled wax on the carpet. Then she looked up at Willow. Her eyes were cold. "Are you doing magic again?"

"I was meditating." Buffy raised her eyebrows. "Yes, I was using a form of white magic, but it's harmless."

"So Dawn just overreacted?"

"Yes. No. I don't know. She was upset." Willow crossed her arms across her chest, hugging herself. "Buffy, I know I should have explained sooner. About the magic. I'm not avoiding it. It's part of me, just like being the Slayer is part of you. I have to learn how to live with that."

Buffy pressed her lips together tightly. Then she said, "Willow, you know I can't - I can't have it in the house. It's too risky."

Willow lowered her gaze to the floor. Her body ached with the effort of keeping her voice steady. "Fine. I'll move into the dorm. I was thinking about it anyway."

"Will, I'm sorry." Buffy reached out a hand toward Willow and then withdrew it. "I realize that this is what you need to do. If it was just me, I'd...but I have to think of what's best for Dawn."

Willow nodded. "I understand. I'll be out this week." She continued to stare at the floor.

Buffy took a step towards Willow. "No, that's not - I mean, take your time."

Willow bent down and began to gather up the votives. "I think I'll pass on dinner tonight. My head's really pounding."

For a moment, Buffy watched Willow clean up the remnants of the circle, unsure what to say or how to make the situation better. Finally, she just turned and walked out of the room.

Willow closed the door quietly and lay down on her bed. They don't trust me. They've been waiting for me to screw up. "No. That's not true. I just scared them." They'll never trust me again. They don't know who I am anymore. "I should have explained sooner about the magic." Turning on her side, Willow curled herself up into a ball, clutching a pillow to her chest. Soon, they'll see who I am.

Dawn pushed open the crypt door, forgetting to knock in her agitation. "Clem? You here? Can we talk?" She stopped, transfixed, and stared at the figure standing in the center of the room.

"Spike."

He slowly turned around. And there she was.

Spike had always known he loved Dawn, although he had never admitted it to her -- or to anyone else for that matter. It was one thing to play love's bitch for Buffy; after all, that was romance, passion, and well, sex. His affection for Dawn, while more easily stirred, had always been harder to show. He had hidden his feelings beneath his promise to protect her and hoped no one was any the wiser.

Some soft, pathetic memory of poncey William’s love for his sisters still lived inside him somewhere. But Spike had been unacquainted with the reality of this emotion until Dawn had wound fiery little tendrils around his heart while he wasn't paying attention. Now they couldn't be removed without killing him.

God, he had missed her. He wasn’t quite prepared for the wave of love that washed over him at the sight of her, stealing his breath. She looked as if she had grown at least an inch since he had left. Had her hair always been so shiny? It seemed to glow like fire in the candlelight. He wanted to do something stupid and reckless like hug her.

It was now official. He was a right pillock. "Bit." He was surprised his voice didn’t tremble.

"Don’t call me that!" Dawn's voice was high and thin. She made a visible effort to compose herself. "I can’t believe you had the nerve to come back here."

She knew.

Spike felt the bile rise in his throat, choking him. He had realized he’d have to tell Dawn at some point; he hadn’t really thought Buffy would. Coward that he was, he had hoped for this to happen later, rather than sooner. But then, what else did he really deserve? He swallowed hard and then cocked an eyebrow. "Where else would I go, Bit? This is home."

"I told you, don’t call me that! My name is Dawn." She was quivering, like a thoroughbred anticipating the start of a big race. "And this isn't your home. You left."

"Now I'm back." Spike watched Dawn slip the stake out of her sleeve and into her hand. Either Buffy had been teaching her some moves or the Nibblet had been paying closer attention than they had all thought. "Might want to rethink your attack strategy, pet. If I was the sort you ought to stake, you’d be a Scooby snack by now."

Dawn raised the stake in her hand. It was shaking. Her eyes were wide, dark and deep with pain. Pain that he had put there. "Why shouldn’t I stake you? Why shouldn't you pay? You tried to rape my sister."

He stared back at her, his own gaze steady and unblinking. "That I did, Bit."

"Stop it! Stop using that name! Stop looking at me like that!" Tears began to slip down her face. "You don’t have any right. You weren’t here. You promised to protect us and you weren’t here." The stake clattered unheeded to the floor. Spike took one cautious step toward her. "Warren shot Buffy. She almost died." Dawn's words were now intermingled with big, gulping sobs. Spike took another step forward. "And T-tara. She did die. Willow went c-crazy. She k-killed Warren." The words kept tumbling out, tangled with tears. "She t-tried to k-kill all of us. And she tried - she tried -." Dawn put a hand over her mouth, choking.

And then she was caught in Spike's arms, crying incoherently against his shoulder. "I know, sweetheart. I know." He stroked her hair. He murmured all the impossibly foolish things he had always imagined himself saying when faced with Dawn’s tears. And she didn't push him away.

After a while, she rested still against him, taking deep calming breaths punctuated by an occasional hiccup. Suddenly she stiffened and slowly pulled back. Her face was filled with fear and a sort of wonder. “Your heart is beating.”

He smiled, unexpected joy bubbling in his blood and making him dizzy. He pushed the hair off her hot, damp forehead. "No flies on you, Bit."

TBC

Chapter 7: Forever Pay

I'm a long way

From that fool's mistake

And now forever pay

"The Stone," Dave Matthews Band

Dawn pulled open the door to the Magic Box so that she and Buffy could enter. "I can't believe we're finally doing this." She practically vibrated with excitement.

Buffy groaned. "I know I'm so gonna live to regret this."

As they headed for the training room, they passed by Anya, who stood lost in thought behind the counter. Dawn bounced over to her. "Hey Anya! Today's the big day -- I learn the esoteric secrets of slayage." No response. "Anya?"

Anya jumped, startled out of her reverie. "What? Oh. Very good." Then she went back to staring off into space.

Once they were in the training room, Dawn asked, "Did you notice anything weird about Anya?"

Buffy shrugged. "Nope. I mean, maybe she was a little quiet."

"Catatonic, practically. She didn't even complain about us using the training room during business hours. Or remind us that we'd have to pay for any damages."

Buffy walked over to the bench and dropped her gym bag next to it. "Well, she probably has stuff on her mind. Business stuff."

"Are these the same keen observey skills you use as a Slayer? 'Cause I'm kinda seeing why you've died twice."

"Those only work on demons. Anya's not a demon." Buffy frowned, confused. "Well, wait, I mean, she is a demon, but...do you want to do this or not?" she demanded.

"I guess." Dawn wandered over to the weapons rack and pulled down a quarterstaff. "Can we start with this first?" She began to twirl it with both hands, losing control of it almost instantly. It spun away from her and flew across the room, smashing into the wall with a loud clatter. "Oops."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Okay, klutzy. Step away from the weapons." She sighed. "The monks can't possibly have made you from me. I have coordination." She began to pull her hair into a ponytail with the scrunchie she had retrieved from her bag.

"Yeah and a big head, too," Dawn muttered.

Buffy turned around and looked at Dawn. "What'd you say?"

"And a big heart, too," Dawn said sweetly.

"Flattering the instructor gets you nowhere." Buffy walked over to Dawn and gave her a big hug. "But the sister likes it."

"Buffy, you’re talking about yourself in the third person. Stop it. It's creepy."

"Just instructor-speak." Buffy bent her right leg, heel to butt, and grabbed her foot to enhance the stretch in her quadriceps. She released her foot and repeated the move with her left leg. Then she shook her arms to loosen them up. "Let's just start with a few basic self-defense moves." She stepped behind Dawn. "I'll pretend I'm a vamp. You're walking through the cemetery, minding your own business. I come up behind you, looking for breakfast."

"Dinner," Dawn corrected.

Buffy shook her head. "No, it's his first meal since he woke up. Breakfast."

"But it's nighttime. So it's dinner."

"Vampires are nocturnal, so their meals are reversed."

Dawn looked at Buffy as if she were crazy. "Meals are meals."

"Who's the Slayer here, huh? This is my area of expertise. Anyway, it doesn't matter what meal it is! It's a snack, okay? He wants a snack."

Dawn rolled her eyes. "Geez, overreact much?"

Buffy ignored her. "Let me show you a couple of standard moves to break his hold if he grabs you." Buffy put her arm around Dawn's neck in a loose chokehold. "When you feel my arms tighten around you, put your hands up between my arms and your neck, and then snap them outward to break my hold."

Dawn tried, with minimal success. "Ow. You're pulling my hair, Buffy. Stop it."

Buffy loosened her grip slightly. "If I'm a vamp, baldness is the least of your problems right now, 'cause you're dead."

Dawn pulled her ponytail away from Buffy's reach. "Just lay off the hair, okay?"

Buffy suppressed a sigh. "Let's try something else. This time I'll sneak up behind you. When you feel me about to grab you, I want you to bend, dip your shoulder, grab my arm, and let me flip over your hip. Use my own body weight against me."

The next few minutes were fairly intense. The fourth time Buffy knocked Dawn to the floor, she didn't get up. "That's it. I quit." She leaned on her elbow and began to rub her sore butt.

Buffy stared at Dawn in amazement. "You quit? You're the one who has been pestering me for weeks to train you."

Dawn gave her a resentful look. "Well, I didn't know you were such a sucky teacher. I can't believe they pay you to do this." She stood up slowly and headed for the bench, wincing.

Buffy followed her. "Hey! I'm a great teacher. All my students love me."

Dawn snorted. "Yeah - keep telling yourself that, Captain Torture." She sat down on the bench and pulled a water bottle out of the gym bag. "My bruises are going to have bruises."

Buffy sat down next to her. "You're such a wuss."

"Am not! I killed the first vampire I ever kissed. That's not wussy." At Buffy's look, she said, "Okay, so I shouldn't have been with a vampire in the first place. But still."

"Well, we could try to enroll you for a class at the gym. Maybe if you were with a group of other students, I could teach you properly." Buffy paused. "On the other hand, it's been so quiet lately that it's no biggie."

Dawn gulped some water. "Quiet?"

"Yeah, it's weird. I hardly ever see a vampire anymore when I patrol. It's like they've cleared out or they're hiding from me. And last night, I found this huge Fyarl demon dead in the middle of the cemetery. No idea what killed it. But it wasn't old age. It was hacked to pieces."

Spike. Dawn willed her cheeks not to redden. "Maybe you can take a few nights off, then?" she suggested weakly.

"If this keeps up, I'll think about it." Buffy leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes.

Dawn ran a finger around the opening of the water bottle. "Buffy?"

She opened her eyes. "Yeah?"

"I've been thinking. About Willow." She took a swig of water and then continued. "Um, I overreacted. About the magic, I mean."

"I may have overreacted, too," Buffy admitted.

Hope blossomed in Dawn's eyes. "Maybe we could ask her to stay?"

"I don’t think she wants to." She reached out and tugged Dawn's ponytail. "But it'll be okay anyway."

Dawn leaned over and put her head on Buffy's shoulder. "I want to forgive her. I thought I had."

Buffy stroked the hair back from Dawn's forehead. "Forgiving is easy. It's forgetting that's hard."

"I keep remembering how she tried to undo the monk's spell." Dawn's voice was low; Buffy had to struggle to hear her.

"It takes time to rebuild the trust. You have to both want it really badly."

Dawn lifted her head from Buffy's shoulder and sat up. "Buffy. What...." She hesitated for a second and then forged ahead. "What happens when Spike comes back?"

Buffy bent over to fiddle with one of her sneakers, hiding her expression behind a curtain of hair. "He's been gone so long now. I'm not sure he's coming back."

Dawn wasn’t giving up that easily. "But if he does?"

"It's complicated, Dawn." She concentrated on retying her left shoelace.

"That's code for 'it's none of your business.' Talk to me, Buffy." Dawn touched Buffy's shoulder gently. "Please."

Buffy straightened up and stared across the training room. Everything about that last encounter was sharply clear. Pain, shooting across her back as she started to turn on the water. Spike, a black silhouette of misery cut out against the white glare of the tiled walls.

'Why do you keep lying to yourself?'

'I'm not saying that I don’t have feelings for you. I do. But it's not love. I could never trust you enough for that.'

Buffy avoided meeting Dawn's eyes, absorbed in tracing mysterious symbols on her knee with an index finger. "It's -- it's not that I can't forgive him. I just can't trust him. Ever."

"But you still trusted him with me." Dawn paused; then said quietly, "After Warren."

Buffy turned to Dawn, tucking a wayward strand of hair that had escaped Dawn's ponytail behind her ear. "That’s different. Spike would never hurt you. He loves you."

"That makes no sense." She frowned at Buffy's twisted logic. "He loves you, too, but he still tried to hurt you. Why would you trust him with me, but not with anything else?"

'You were going to use a spell on me?'

'It wasn't for you. It was for me. I wanted something -- anything to make this feeling stop. I just wanted it to stop. You should have let him kill me.'

Desperate, forceful kisses. Hard hands, ripping at her robe. The look on his face as he realized what he had almost done. Buffy forced the memories back. "When he tried to...," she stopped, not liking the image that sentence evoked, and tried again. "I don't think he knew what he was doing, Dawn." She paused again, rubbing a hand across her eyes. "He was very upset. Out of his mind."

"And that makes it okay?"

Buffy shook her head, the anger and the fear from that night washing over her again. "Of course not." Those feelings drained away suddenly, replaced by a sad sort of resignation. "But he is what he is."

"But if he tried -- really tried -- to change? Could you trust him then?"

"That's not an option, Dawn. He has tried." Buffy stood, her body tight with tension. "He's a demon. He gets off on violence and pain." Her eyes darkened, full of shadows. "He can't change. No matter how much he wishes he could." No matter how much I wish he could. She closed her eyes briefly, struggling to stop that train of thought.

Dawn's eyebrows drew together in a stubborn frown. "Just answer the question."

Buffy crossed her arms, frustrated at Dawn's persistence. "I can't! I - I don't know." She began walking across the training room, her movements stiff and jerky. "I didn't know he could hurt me like that." She stopped pacing. "I didn't know I could hurt him like that," she whispered, almost to herself. She turned around to face Dawn. When she spoke again, her voice was casual, but the look in her eyes was not. "You know what? I'm over my limit for discussing the horror that is Buffy Summers' love life. Can we get out of here and go grab a pizza for dinner?"

Dawn stared at her for a moment, realizing she had pushed Buffy as far as she could. For now. Dawn stood up. "Okay Buffy," she said quietly. "Sounds good." She picked up the gym bag and walked over to her. In silence, they headed for the door.

Before they got there, Anya appeared in the doorway. "I'm going to close up early tonight. Would you mind locking up when you leave?"

"Sure." Buffy caught the keys that Anya tossed to her. "Everything okay?"

Anya ran a hand through her hair. "What? Oh, yes. Fine. Good night." She left the training room and then they heard the tinkle of the bell over the door when she left the shop.

Dawn looked at Buffy. "That was seriously weird."

Buffy nodded in agreement. "Yeah. Scary."

Xander pocketed his change and picked up the bag containing his dinner. "Thanks, man," he said to the teenager who had waited on him. He headed for the door and then stopped abruptly. Anya was seated in the booth near the door, staring blankly into what was probably a double latte. He couldn't leave without passing right by her. For a minute, he thought about asking to exit through the kitchen. Once more into the breach, my friend. Steeling himself for the encounter, he walked up to her booth. "Hey." She didn't move. She was ignoring him. No, wait. She didn't even know he was there. Judging from the expression on her face, it looked like she barely knew she was there. "Earth to Anya. Hello?" He waved his hand in front of her face.

Anya flinched, almost spilling her latte. She looked up at Xander, confusion giving way to wariness. "Oh. It's you."

Let the games begin. "I was picking up some dinner, and I saw you sitting here. Thought I should say hi."

"And now you've said it. You can move on. Your duty is fulfilled." She swirled the stirrer around in her latte, dismissing him.

He knew he should just do what she had said and leave. But something stopped him. His spidey sense was tingling. Something was wrong. "Taking a break for dinner?"

Anya kept staring at the coffee swirling in her cup. "No. I closed early."

Closed early? His spidey sense was right; something was definitely wrong with her. Anya never closed the store early. Without asking her permission, he slid into the seat across from her. That got a brief reaction from her: she glared at him. "Something wrong?"

"And why would you care if it was? Are you looking to gloat?"

Xander laced his fingers together and rested them on the table. "An...we used to be able to talk about stuff."

Anya sniffed. "You mean that I talked while you tried to drown out the sound of my voice by watching sporting events on television."

Xander held his temper in check. "Not all the time."

Anya's expression softened slightly. "You're right. Not all the time."

Score one for the Xanman. He opened the paper bag containing his dinner and began setting the contents on the table. "Since you haven't eaten, why don't we split my dinner? I have two sandwiches and I'm ready to share." He offered her the second sandwich.

Anya hesitated and then accepted the sandwich. "Xander, you know you're supposed to be watching your sodium intake. And your cholesterol level."

He unwrapped his sandwich and waved a hand at it. "Hey. I'm all about the wellness. Whole grain roll. Lean, low sodium turkey. No mayo. Lots of lettuce and tomato. No chips." Anya struggled to hide a smile and started to unwrap her own sandwich. "Now why don't you tell me what's putting those little lines on your forehead?"

Anya's hand flew up to her forehead in dismay. "There are lines forming on my forehead? The sales associate who sold me that ridiculously expensive alpha-hydroxy cream assured me that I'd never have lines. Do you think I can curse her? Or maybe just sue? Yes, litigation. That's the answer."

I miss this. Xander was disoriented for a minute, afraid he had said it out loud. But Anya was hunting in her purse for a mirror, so he must not have. "Anya, put the mirror down. You look beautiful. I just meant you seemed worried about something." He picked up his sandwich and took a big bite.

Anya put her purse down. She looked unsure about whether she wanted to confide in him. Hesitantly, she said, "It's work."

Xander swallowed a bite of sandwich and washed it down with some iced tea. "The Magic Box? What's the problem?"

"No. Not the Magic Box." Her hand strayed to the necklace at her throat.

"Oh. The vengeance stuff." A vision of Warren skinned alive flashed into Xander's mind. He imagined Anya doing that - and worse - in cold blood. He wiped his mouth with a napkin, feeling a bit sick.

"Let's just forget I said anything, Xander." Anya began to slide out of the booth.

"No, wait." Anya sat back slowly. Xander carefully took another sip of his iced tea and then said, "Tell me."

She stared at him, surprised. "Um, well, I've just had my performance review."

It was Xander's turn to look surprised. "Demons have performance reviews?"

"Vengeance demons do," Anya said defensively. "We take the quality of our work very seriously."

"Yeah." Xander raised his eyebrows, skeptical. "Halfrek seemed real concerned about maiming the wrong guy."

"Hallie was just joking about that, Xander. She doesn't maim the wrong guy." Anya frowned. "Well, not with any regularity." She waved her hand dismissively. "Anyway, this isn't about Hallie maiming the wrong guy. It's about me maiming the wrong guy. I mean, me maiming the right guy."

"Huh?"

Anya leaned forward and whispered, as if afraid someone would overhear. "I'm having, er, well, difficulty granting wishes."

Xander raised his eyebrows. "Like wish impotence or something? It's a medical condition?"

"No! I'm not impotent!" The couple in the next booth turned to stare at them. Anya crumpled a napkin in her hand and lowered her voice. "I'm not impotent. I'm just having trouble finding the right wish to grant."

Xander's mouth dropped open, giving Anya a view of half-chewed turkey sandwich. She wrinkled her nose in distaste. He closed it with a snap and finished chewing. "You mean you haven't granted a wish yet? Since the, uh, you know."

Anya raised her eyebrows. "Do you mean since you ran out on our wedding and left me to handle a room full of our friends and relatives? Yes, since then."

Xander wisely kept silent.

Anya opened up her sandwich, scrutinizing it. She picked off a pallid tomato slice and made a face at it before discarding it. She looked up at Xander, annoyed. "I've been busy, you know. First I was trying to get someone to make a wish against you. We all know how that turned out." She removed another offensive tomato slice. "Then there was that whole mess with Willow and having to save the world again." She started removing excess turkey from the sandwich. Her voice altered in tone and became softer, more tentative. "And after that...." She stopped picking at her sandwich. "I just don't want to hurt anyone anymore."

Holy crap. "But the whole demon thing. That kinda means you will hurt people, right?"

"But what if I only hurt the bad people? The ones who hurt other people? The ones who really deserve it?" Anya's eyes were alight with sincerity.

Xander grimaced. "Kinda hard to tell who's who sometimes without a scorecard."

Anya nodded, deflated. "That's basically what D'Hoffryn said."

Xander wasn't sure if he liked the comparison. "What else did the big guy say?"

Anya bit her lip. "Well, he said if I didn't start granting wishes, he'd have to take action."

"What kind of action? Confiscating the pendant? Suspending you without pay?" Anya's expression became increasingly troubled. Fear began to work icy fingers into Xander's heart. "What? Tell me."

"I really don't know. Unfit vengeance demons are pretty rare. The recruitment process ensures that only the cream of the crop is selected. But I've heard rumors. Something to do with exile into a formless hell dimension."

"An." Xander reached over and grabbed her hand. "What are we going to do?"

She stared at him. "We?"

"I just meant - I can’t just turn my back on this, on you. What's the plan?"

She shook her head. "I don't know."

Xander thought for a minute. "Maybe you could just grant some wishes a little differently? Maybe like make the pain temporary? You know - inflict the funny syphilis, but only for a week. Or make it recurring if the guy cheats again."

Anya brightened up a bit. "You know, that might actually work. Of course, it would violate a few rules."

Xander smiled. "Well, make the rules bendy, not breaky."

Now Anya gave a full-fledged smile. "It’s worth a try." They both suddenly realized that Xander was still holding her hand. He released it abruptly.

Flustered, Anya stood up. "Well. Thank you. For dinner. And for the useful advice. I appreciate it."

Xander stood up, feeling awkward. "Yeah. Well. Let me know how it turns out."

Anya nodded. "Okay. Well. Goodnight." She turned to go.

"An?" She stopped and turned around. Xander shifted nervously on his feet. "Want me to walk you home? It's getting dark."

"Um. Okay. That would be nice." She smiled tentatively. "Thank you."

Xander held the door open for Anya as they left the coffee shop. And suddenly, the fat lady sitting on his chest wasn't singing quite so loudly.

Dawn knocked on the crypt door and then pushed it open without waiting for an answer. She staggered inside, an over-stuffed shopping bag in one hand and a small space heater in the other. She dumped them on the floor. "Hey Clem."

Clem was sitting in the armchair, a box of kittens in front of him. He was counting them while they meowed piteously for their freedom. "Hey Dawnie."

Dawn wrinkled her nose. "Poker winnings?"

Clem smiled brightly. "Yeah. Got real lucky."

"You're not gonna..."

Clem cut her off. "No. I promised you, Dawn. I'll find good, loving homes for all of them. Maybe the Sunnydale Senior Center." One of the kittens leaned its forepaws against the side of the box and stretched up on its hind legs to lick Clem's hand. He chortled.

She smiled. "Thanks Clem." Looking around, she asked, "Where's Spike?"

Clem cocked his head towards the opening to the lower level. "Downstairs." He rolled his eyes. "He's in a mood." He noticed the bag on the floor. "Whatcha got there? Presents?" His ears perked up.

"Just some stuff to make Spike more comfy."

Clem nodded in approval. He knew a lot about comfy. He appreciated comfy. "Need any help?"

"Nah." Dawn picked up the bag and the space heater. Heading for the entrance to the lower level, she yelled, "Hey Spike! Incoming!" She dropped the shopping bag through the hole. Carefully, she started down the ladder, gripping it with one hand while she carried the space heater in the other. When she got halfway down, she said, "Come grab this, Spike."

Spike walked over to Dawn and took the space heater from her. "Told you to stop coming here."

Dawn jumped off the ladder and landed lightly on the floor. "Yeah, yeah. I don't listen to Buffy; why would I listen to you?"

Spike stared at the space heater as if it were a particularly noxious demon. "What's this?"

Dawn spoke slowly, enunciating each word as if he were a simpleton. "It's a space heater."

"Yeah. Can see that. What the bloody hell's it for?"

"Hello? Warm-blooded now. It's freezing in here at night. Do you wanna be a human popsicle? Or are you planning to spoon with Clem?"

Spike made a face. "That's just gross, Bit." He walked over and put the space heater by the bed. "Anyway, been taking care of myself for over a hundred years. No need for you to take a hand now."

Dawn rolled her eyes. She was starting to understand what Clem meant by 'a mood.' "Oh, is this penance for all your many sins? Let me tell you something, Spike. Going without heat doesn't count as making amends for killing half of Europe."

"First off -- didn't kill half of soddin' Europe. That's a bunch of codswallop. The bleedin' plague didn't kill half of Europe."

"O-kaay. Am I supposed to know what codswallop is?" Spike opened his mouth as if to answer her, but Dawn held up a hand to stop him. "I don't wanna know. Just -- eeww. The soul hasn't cured the attitude much." She looked at him slyly. "And should you be cursing in front of me, Mr. Shiny New Soul? Impressionable young mind here." Spike made a disgusted noise.

Dawn ignored him and stooped to pull something out of the shopping bag. She held it up for Spike to see. "I brought another blanket, too." Spike crossed his arms, refusing to take it. Dawn shoved it back in the bag. "If you'd just let Buffy know that you're back, you could come stay at the house and Clem could get his crypt back. Willow's moving out, so there's room."

Spike's jaw dropped. "Are you stoned? Let me see your eyes." He stalked over to Dawn and grabbed her upper arms, squinting to look at her pupils.

She pulled away. "Cut it out, doofus."

"She'll more than likely stake me on sight."

"Well, that’s gonna get messy, considering the whole newly human deal. And besides, I don't think she's mad at you for...the thing. But that's between you and Buffy."

"Well, she should be angry." His voice rose mockingly as he imitated her. "For the thing." Suddenly, the joke wasn't funny anymore. He stared at the floor, his eyes shadowed. "Very angry. You should still be angry." More to himself than to Dawn, he muttered, "It was unforgivable."

Dawn sighed. "Okay, I thought we settled all this the other night. And who says I've forgiven you, anyway? Maybe I'm just keeping you alive with space heaters and blankets so I can prolong your suffering." Rooting in the bag again, she triumphantly held up some socks. "I also brought these." Spike looked up. They were thermal rag wool socks with bright orange toes and tops. She cradled them against her face. "Mmm. Toasty."

Spike eyed the socks with something akin to horror. "Wouldn't catch me dead in those LL Bean rejects, Bit." Off Dawn's look, he warned, "Don't say it." He threw up his hands in disgust. "You're like a bleedin' mother hen clucking over her chick. Don't you have dolls or something to torment instead of me?"

Dawn was outraged. "Dolls!" She sniffed. "If you don't want my help, fine. You don't have to insult me."

Spike's expression softened under the threat of Dawn's tears. He walked over to stand in front of her. "Truth be told, Bit, you're reminding me of Joyce." He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"Well, what would Mom say if she were here, Mr. I Can Take Care Of My Bloody Self?"

Spike snorted. "Huh. First she'd thump me for teaching you British curse words." Dawn smacked his arm. His expression grew sober. "Most likely she'd say, 'Stay away from my daughters'. Probably while laying an axe upside my head again." He smiled a little, remembering the sight of Joyce's maternal rage in action.

Dawn shook her head. "No. She'd say something comforting like, 'There's always tomorrow for dreams to come true.'"

Spike frowned suspiciously. "That's from Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer."

"Is not!"

"Is so!"

Dawn giggled. "Okay, maybe she wouldn't say that." Her voice grew soft and serious. "But she'd tell you that everybody's weak. That everybody makes terrible mistakes. We all need forgiveness. But as long as we fight, as long as we don't give up, as long as we can love, there's hope."

Their eyes met in a moment of total understanding. Spike reached out a crooked finger and tapped Dawn under her chin. "When'd you get so bloody wise?"

Dawn smiled. "It's a Summers' family trait. Except it skipped Buffy. She's totally without clue." Her smile faded. "You need to tell Buffy that you're back. Soon. This sneaking out to see you stuff is getting old. And Buffy and I aren't supposed to be keeping secrets from each other." Spike said nothing. Dawn sighed. "Okay, change of subject." Her eyes sparkled. "Ooh, I have an idea. Let’s make hot chocolate. I'm sure Clem has some."

"Don't think so, Bit." Spike crossed his arms. "Now, you'd better scamper off home before Buffy starts looking for you. And I've got business to attend to."

Dawn pushed her lower lip out, sulking. "You're no fun." She took the blankets and the socks over to the bed and set them down on it.

Spike rubbed his jaw. "By the way...Red's moving out?" He kept his voice casual, as if merely curious.

Dawn turned around to look at him. She began to twist a hank of hair. "Yeah. There was sort of a scene. About using magic."

Spike's voice was sharp. "She's using again?"

"No. I mean, not black magic. Just white magic." She made a face. "It's part of the therapy or whatever that the coven suggested. I don't really get it. But Buffy asked her to move out."

"That must've been hard."

"Yeah." Dawn scuffed the toe of her shoe on the ground and didn't say anything for a moment. "And what business have you got anyway? Killing the baddies before Buffy has to? Or more rending of clothing and gnashing of teeth?"

Spike loped over to the ladder and yelled into the opening. "Clem better start keeping his pie-hole shut." Upstairs, something crashed to the floor. Spike shoved his hands in his pockets and faced Dawn. "Just trying to give her a bit of a break. No need for her to patrol every night. She should relax." His throat tightened, but he forced the words out. "Maybe find a nice guy. Go out on a date."

"Oh. My. God." Dawn put her hands on her hips and stared at him, wide-eyed. "You are truly pathetic. Yeah, that's a genius plan. You secretly patrol every night so that Buffy can find some nice normal guy to date in her suddenly free time. I'm sure she'll never catch on. I said she was clueless, not vegetative." She rolled her eyes. "I'm starting to see why the whole Big Bad thing never worked out for you. Besides, martyr complex much?" Dawn raised her voice so it would carry upstairs. "Clem, we may need to take Spike back to Africa. I think the soul's defective. It's addling his brain." They heard another crash.

Spike gave her a laser-sharp look. "Being serious here, Dawn."

"You know what's serious here? The lameness that is your new look. Where's the bleached hair? The cool clothes? You made fun of the socks, but is that a cardigan you're wearing?" She shuddered.

Spike ran a hand self-consciously through his hair. "It's cold in here," he muttered.

Dawn threw her hands up in the air. "That's what I've been telling you. Anyway, you look like Giles."

"Do not! Take that back."

She shrugged. "Whatever." She headed for the ladder. "I'll bring your duster the next time I come over to save you from total fashion disaster. We kept it for you."

Surprise and then pleasure flashed across Spike's face before he pressed his lips together, a line of white ringing his mouth. "No. Don't." Dawn gave him a puzzled look, but decided to drop it. "And stop coming over here at night. Christ only knows what beasties'd like a taste of you."

"I can take care of myself." She started climbing up the ladder.

He eyed her sourly. "Yeah. Sure. Just humor me."

Dawn paused halfway up the ladder, turned to stick out her tongue, and then resumed climbing. Spike walked away, chuckling in spite of himself. "Hey Clem." Dawn's voice carried down from the upper level. "Spike wants hot chocolate. Got any with the little marshmallows?"

Spike yanked off the cardigan and threw it across the room in a fit of pique. Head bowed, he slunk over and picked up the space heater. He didn't want the Nibblet to get cold while they drank their hot chocolate.

{Next}