“Definitely an improvement on the DeSoto,” Dawn mumbled from the passenger’s seat.  Spike smiled slightly, but didn’t turn to look at her.  They’d been driving nonstop for what seemed like days, and he was having a hard enough time keeping his eyes open and on the road as it was.  Well, he amended, almost nonstop.

Beside him, Dawn snuggled further into the king-sized quilt they’d picked up at one of the many malls that dotted the highway.  He’d left Dawn asleep in the parking lot, finally overcome by the last of the hospital medications in her blood, and she’d barely woken when he’d gently maneuvered her into her quilted cocoon.  Hopefully, she’d sleep for a couple more hours…

“Whoa.  But THIS is really hideous.”

Or perhaps not.

“It was on sale – besides, it’s functional.”  Spike blearily rubbed his eyes, doing a quick bit of mental arithmetic.  The hospital called at about two on Friday afternoon, and now it was… Saturday, only just past noon.  He blinked.  Should be able to stay up much longer than this.

“How long have I been out?”  Dawn struggled to free her arms from the brown and blue plaid comforter, her hair tangled and mussed.  Her mouth tasted funny, she noted sourly.  And the quilt…

“Seriously, Spike, I can’t tell if you’re color-blind or not; is this not the FUGLIEST thing you own?”

“You’ve been sleeping for the past ten hours, love, and no, it’s not the fugliest thing I own.  It’s the fugliest thing YOU own.”  He shifted over into the breakdown lane so that he could look at her as they spoke.  Besides, he was really exhausted.

“Wow.”  Dawn was examining the fabric closely as Spike brought the van to a halt in the tunnel beneath an overpass.  Not the most scenic of stopping-points, but shady, and at high noon there was no better place to rest.  Spike’s eyes had begun to ache; even the tinted windows weren’t proof against the harsh, flat glare.  The welcome cool of the shade immediately soothed the fire that had begun to pound behind his sinuses.

“I think I liked you better when you weren’t giving me presents.”  Dawn was well awake, and transfixed by her wrapping.  Spike snorted.  She truly did look affronted about the bizarre plaid/check monstrosity, her head pulled back and a disgusted grimace on her face.

“It was the biggest down comforter I could find,” he sighed, leaning on the steering wheel with both arms.  The girl was so damn perky for someone coming out of medicated sleep… Dawn finally picked up on his mood and changed her tone.

“Sorry – I was kidding.”  She plucked guiltily at a seam, head bent.  Maybe this wasn’t a time to joke around.  “Oh!  And thank you for the quilt!”  Oops.  God, Mom would’ve killed her for being so ungrateful… But this was Spike, and she – no, she stopped herself.  She’d been really rude. “Sorry, Spike.” Her face flushed a little, and she looked away from Spike’s hunched form. 

Hunh?  She peered around, trying to get a better idea of their location.  “Do you know where we are right now?  I mean, besides under a big concrete bridge, obviously.”

Spike’s voice was muffled, his head buried in his arms.  “Ohio.  Bloody, bleeding Ohio.” 

“I’ve never been to Ohio.”  Spike didn’t answer, and Dawn chewed her lip.  How to phrase the next bit without sounding like a child?  She gentled her voice, practically breathing her question.  “Just for planning purposes - how much longer do you think we’ve got?”

Spike didn’t explode, though.  He just answered, still muffled.  “From what I remember, this can take about two days, straight through.  But we’ll be stopping to rest halfway, so it might take longer.”

“Why rest?” 

Spike lifted his head just enough to look at her flatly, but she jutted her chin out determinedly.  “I’m a fully licensed driver, have been for almost a year.  Besides, it’s not fair that you have to drive the whole way… you look beat.”  Spike gave her a doubting glance and she redoubled her efforts, trying to coax rather than whine.

“I’m a good driver.  Sure, Buffy’s just about the worst driver on the face of the earth, but that’s not genetic or anything.  She’s just got a natural impulse to hit things – maybe it’s Slayer-related, instinctively trying to knock stuff over.”  Spike chuckled a little, and Dawn grinned hesitantly.  Even if he didn’t let her drive, she could get him out of whatever mood he was in.  “I’m a GOOD driver, I got my license way back in freaking October, and I haven’t even got a warning since!  Sean and Lise taught me in his car – I can do rotaries and everything!”  She smiled at him and tilted her head so that it was angled in the same direction as his, meeting his bleary eyes directly.  Spike’s mouth hitched up at one corner, and he buried his head in his arms again.

“Right, you can drive.”

“YAY!” 

“But only for two hours!” He shoved himself back from the steering wheel again, shaking his head vigorously to wake himself up.  He hadn’t wanted to put the radio on while she was asleep, just in case it bothered her.  Not everyone could sleep like he did.  Like the dead.  Spike caught himself chuckling and winced.  God, he must be tired to find that pun funny.

Dawn watched him warily.  Honestly, she’d never seen him so drained.  Dark circles ringed his eyes, and the light that filtered through the tinted windows of the car made him look a sickly yellow.  “When did you last get some sleep?”

“Oh, ‘bout forty-eight hours ago, I’d reckon.”  He smiled at her wanly, eyes half-lidded, head leaning back against the headrest.  “It shouldn’t hit me this hard, but I guess I was burning through a lot of nervous energy in the past twenty-four.”

“Yeah, I know.  Thanks,” Dawn whispered, taking his hand.  Spike shrugged and squeezed her fingers gently, happily noting how warm they were.  The “fugly” comforter had done its work, at least.  The van might be less noticeable than the DeSoto, he mused, but it definitely lacked a heating system. 

The thought of Dawn shivering in her pajamas all night wasn’t the only reason for the purchase, though.  As brave as Dawn was, she hadn’t been able to mask her pain completely. 

By all rights, she should’ve been wheeled out of the hospital doors, but that was way too noticeable.  Dawn tried to be stoic; unfortunately, her aircast didn’t provide much in the way of support – every step, she thought she could feel the bones grinding at each other.  She hadn’t said a word, but the thought of her weakened bones suddenly giving way drained the color from her face and made her feel vaguely nauseous.  Every step across the hospital parking lot made her wince, until Spike swept her into his arms and carried her the rest of the way to the van. 

She’d barely had time to register his actions before he had her safely settled against his chest, and after that, protest had seemed petty.  She’d settled for entertaining herself with the snowflakes falling on his dark hair, avidly trying to pluck them away before they could melt and trickle down to his scalp.  He was helping her, Dawn had reminded herself.  Her ankle hurt, and he’d stopped it from hurting her.  Goodness all around.  Any rumbles of indignant independence quieted after that.

Spike wasn’t just worried about her aircast, of course.  He’d also realized how slippery the pavement could be, and any jarring motion for Dawn at this point could injure her badly.  Dr. Prescott had mentioned joint replacements, broken hips – things not usually associated with young girls, only elderly people.  The thought of Dawn immobilized hurt him more than he could bear, and had set him thinking about the cross-country drive ahead.  One of his mother’s sayings sprang to mind, something about “wrapping you in cotton wool”, a phrase that implied safety and protection… and that was when he’d seen the Linens’N’Things sign glowing above the highway.  Perhaps providence existed after all.  His long-departed Mum, keeping her eye on Dawn’s ankle… Hold on a second.

“Ah – nope, no driving for you.”

“What?  Why?”  Dawn was startled. But he’d only just said yes!  “What’d I do?”

“Broke your right ankle, that’s what you did, and I’m not letting you experiment by driving with your left foot on the pedals, so don’t even ask.” 

“Oh.”  Dawn looked down at her feet; damn, he was right.  She’d pulled off her right sneaker almost as soon as they’d gotten into the van – even though Spike had tied the laces loosely, her foot was too swollen to bear constriction without discomfort.  But it looked like the swelling had gone down some, and now it didn’t even hurt.  She twisted her toes up a little to get a better look and immediately gasped.

“What?”  Spike’s head snapped around.

Dawn blinked back tears, panting.  “Damn – sorry, I was trying to see if my -  foot’s gone down, and -  I just twisted it wrong.”  Spike leaned across the seat for a better look.  Dawn was holding her foot high above the floor, dangling limply from the ankle, but he could see it jerking in response to her pulse.  The unconscious twitching motion alone caused sharp little intakes of breath from Dawn; she had her hands planted on either side of her seat, elbows locked and back straight, as though she could will her entire body to hold still.  Spike winced.  She would not have an easy time driving, even as a passenger, with every motion jarring her.  He pushed back to his side of the van and mulled.

“Right, pet, this is what we’re going to do.”  Dawn shut her eyes, more than happy to leave the immediate decisions up to him.  Spike reached behind him and dragged an old carriage blanket into the front seat.  It smelled a little musty, but it would do.  “Pop the glove compartment, would you, bit?”

Dawn quickly reached forward to open the latch, then settled back into her stiff pose.  Her breaths were getting longer, Spike noticed – she was easing out the pain on her own, controlling her body’s reactions, rather than letting her body to control her.  Smart girl.  He snatched a roll of electrical tape from the compartment in front of her and slammed the door shut again, then paused.

“And should we discuss how comfortable playing with duct tape and a camouflage-color blanket on the side of a highway make me feel right now?” Dawn laughed shortly, still trying to relax her posture.  Spike rolled his eyes.

“You’ve been watching crime shows again, haven’t you?” Dawn smiled guiltily.  “Are you sure you can handle them?  Or am I going to be searching all of the closets before you go to bed for weeks, like that time we watched the ‘Law & Order’ marathon?”

“That was almost three years ago!” Dawn protested.  Spike just looked at her.  “Yeah, you probably will,” she admitted sheepishly.  “C.S.I. repeat, stalker in a closet, not a good scene for me.” 

Spike shook his head.  “I just don’t understand you.  Surrounded by demons and evil, and what gives you nightmares?  A fictional television show about crime in Las Vegas.”

“Yeah, I know, I’m mental.  Now gag me with the tape, wrap me in the blanket and chuck me in a river.  You know you want to.”

He groaned, but jumped out of the van and jogged around the back.  Dawn had her door opened by the time he reached it, and he was pleased to see that she’d anticipated his plan.  She had already carefully extended her injured leg, tucking the quilt away so that Spike would be able to wrap the entire area.  He was an expert at it, too – within minutes, he’d neatly bound her from shin to toe in a soft splint, the black tape forming secure and even bands every few inches. 

“That a little more bearable?”  He looked up from where he knelt in front of her, propped up on one knee.

“Oh, you have no idea,” Dawn breathed happily, experimentally moving her leg from the knee.  The splint held her entire foot immobile, enough so that the van wouldn’t cause her pain every time it went over a pothole.  “Thank you.  Now get up before I knight you or something.”

“Somewhere, the Queen rolls over in her grave.”  He stood, brushing the grit and sand from his jeans.

“She’s not dead.”

“Oh.  Well, I was talking about Victoria, actually.”

“Oh!”  Dawn blinked at him, surprised.  It wasn’t often that he referenced the past like that, and it always unbalanced her for a moment, twisted her reality. She kind of liked it.  But she’d think on that personality quirk later. 

She moved on.  “Now, here’s what we’re going to do.  We’re going to drive for a little, tiny bit longer, and then we’re going to get a room for a while.”

“And what makes you think I’m that easy?” Spike was full of amused outrage, but Dawn fixed him with a steely look.  “Sorry – serious.”

“Spike, what other options are there?  I mean, you’re much more awake right now than you were a couple of minutes ago, but I don’t want you wearing yourself down in some superhuman rush to get to Sunnydale.  Either we wait until you get too tired and end up sleeping in the back of the van on the side of the road under the Quilt of Fugliness, or you fall asleep at the wheel and we become one with a tree.”

“Touche.  We find a motel.” 

“And we shower.”  Dawn wrinkled her nose.  “I feel like I’m covered in hospital-smell, not to mention airplane-crashy-smell.”

“Trust me, nibblet, you smell fine.” 

And honestly, now she was partially out of the van, Dawn didn’t feel as icky anymore.  She edged further out of her quilt, even though there was a bit of a breeze in the shade, and let the wind tease through her hair.  Ohio.  Ohio felt pretty good.  Who’d’ve thought?

Spike stood beside her and leaned against the side of the van, careful not to press against Dawn’s damaged leg, but close enough to feel her presence.  He enjoyed being out in the daylight like this; it made him feel as though he’d cheated his nature somehow.  The wind swept under the bridge, bringing with it the scent of thawed soil, tall grass, wildflowers, sun.  Even in the shadows of the overpass, the elusive heat was palpable to him, dry and heavy with earthy, sun-baked tones.  So unlike the night, when everything held its scent close, shuttered up and closed away from prying senses.  Selfish, secretive, wary. 

But this – this was so different, like a completely new world.  The day was when the world flung itself open and let the wind mingle scents into a heady breeze, made all the more potent by the sun.  A sun whose rays gently filtered and bathed those particles, turned them, coaxed their full potential out in dizzying waves.  A sun which would char him to ashes, given only the chance.

“It’s completely different, isn’t it?”  Dawn asked quietly, her head leaned close to Spike’s.  Her words seemed random, but she knew he understood, nodding silently in reply.  True to her word, she wanted to understand his world.  And in doing so, she would try to imagine his night-bound senses as they encountered daylight.  In her own mind, Dawn was surprised how easily the change came to her; much like one of her harmless white lies, Dawn slid her reality.  Slightly to the right, this time, close to where Spike stood, into his shoes.  Lying to her mind, just for a while.

He turned to see her by his shoulder, her head bent and eyes closed, concentrating.  So pale…  Well, that’s what a year in New Hampshire will do to you.  Her dark hair tumbling around her white, unmade face reminded him of something, and he reached over to tuck her hair behind her ear.  She leaned into his hand a little, and he started. 

Their skin was almost the same color.  A wave of revulsion passed through him, harsh and fleeting, as he suddenly imagined her dead.  No.  Never.  He leaned in and kissed her forehead gently, happy for her warmth against his lips; she smiled and snuggled closer.  He was so used to seeing her bronzed and Californian - this delicate and haunting presence disturbed him a little.  A word floated through his head, a new name, a name only for her, and he held on to it tight.  An image that bound itself inexorably to the girl beside him.  Blooming beautifully, day and night.  He tucked it away, secret.

He couldn’t grasp the feelings rushing through him, couldn’t name them.  But he knew that Dawn was different.  So different from her sister, who interrupted night with her own violent light, a brash and demanding presence so strong that she could make the night recoil by sheer will, a personality that couldn’t, wouldn’t be contained.  No – Dawn’s presence had always seemed so natural, so expected.  She acclimated to her surroundings with such subtle grace, she probably didn’t realize how unusual she was.  Wove herself into the patterns of your life and before you realized it, she belonged in you.  And, in some strange way, made you belong to her.  Adopted.  Spike’s throat tightened; he swallowed, hard.  Whatever piece of him Dawn had taken, she’d given him so much more in return.

Dawn was oblivious to Spike’s quiet thoughts, her cheek on his shoulder, the soft leather pressed against her skin.  When he picked her up last night, she had suddenly realized that he didn’t smell as strongly of cigarette smoke as she remembered.  But she didn’t miss it; no, the other Spike-smell was still there.  It had been so masked by the stale tobacco stench, she’d never had the chance to indulge in it properly.  Cool and leathery, with an underlying scent of…  The words flowed through her head too quickly to catch, each one adding a particular dimension to the smell of Spike.  Moss, water, stone, night, wind, wood, vines, dirt.  All of those scents bright and new, sharp and alive.  If it could be bottled, thought Dawn, it would be the most popular cologne ever.  Strong and loyal, earthbound.  Rooted.  She wound her good arm through his, feeling the muscle in his arm tense as he caught her hand and held it.  A pale young man stealing breaths of the bright spring breeze, while the girl beside him inhaled the odors of a life lived without sunlight.

A few minutes later they continued on their way.  Dawn rewrapped herself in her fugly quilt, making ambitious noises about ripping off the cover and quilting her own design to replace it.  Spike found a station broadcasting a Stone Roses afternoon and sang along loudly, ignoring Dawn’s mock-protests.  And together they barreled westward on the I-80, through the warm Ohio afternoon in a van that smelled like midnight.

TBC

“Taco.  How I’ve missed you.” 

Dawn sighed and bit deeply into her tortilla, the hot food steaming in the chill air.  She was perched in the back of the van, doors flung open wide to the moonlit California morning.  Mexican food, finally.  After months of scorning the Taco Bells of New England, the taste of REAL Mexican seemed close to ambrosia.  Dawn envisioned her favorite taco restaurant in Sunnydale; only two hours away now, and then she’d be there.  Well, she corrected, she’d be home.  Which wasn’t the Mexican restaurant, but hey.  She’d get there soon enough, too.

Spike stalked back into view, fiddling with one of his blood bags.  Dawn watched him struggle impassively as she chewed, too happy about eating real Mexican food again to care.

“How the hell did you do this?”  Spike growled as the blood on his hands made the bag slip in his grasp.  Dawn smirked at him and turned to rummage in the far corner of the van’s interior.  Over the past 24 hours, she’d come to appreciate the huge, empty space of Spike’s new mode of transportation.  Obviously designed for cargo rather than passengers, it became the perfect place for Dawn to curl up and doze as Spike blew through state after state.  Occasionally, he’d mention the posted speed limit, but only if he could then claim to be going at least twice as fast.  But usually, Dawn just slept, all curled up on the burgundy shag-pile carpeting, Fugly wrapped tightly around her, the stretches of straight highway soothing her to sleep.

She found what she was looking for in the van and turned around again.  Spike was standing a few feet away, trying to dig his blunt nails into the top seam of the bag.  A plastic straw crinkled angrily where he clenched it in his teeth, and Dawn deftly swiped it.  “Hey!  I was getting somewhere with that!”

“No, you were making a mess – god, you are SUCH a boy.”  Dawn beckoned him closer and he grumpily complied.  Delicately holding one corner of the plastic pouch, she twisted a small screwdriver through one of the flexible walls, leaving a neat rip in the bag.  “It’s just like those Capri Sun juice boxes – well, I guess they weren’t really boxes, more like pouches – but they were just about the coolest thing around when I was in kindergarten.”  As Spike watched on, she crimped the bottom of the straw into a point, jammed it through the slit, and squeezed experimentally. 

“OI!  Careful, you!”  Spike jumped back as a stream of red spouted from the straw, missing him by inches.   Dawn rolled her eyes and held the bag out to him with one hand.  He took it, warily sipping through the straw, then drinking deeply.

“Thanks,” Spike muttered. 

“It’s not completely altruistic – keeps you from dribbling blood out of the corners of your mouth.”  Dawn smiled, but Spike didn’t respond.  Worse, he began to walk away from her again, pacing out to the edge of the rest stop to stare out at the hills.  Dawn’s smile faded.

He’s been doing this for the whole trip, she thought.  Saturday had been fun, sure.  But as Sunday wore on, the banter and joking had gotten sparser, sharper – sometimes a little too sharp.  Actually, she got the feeling that Spike would’ve liked her to be asleep the whole way.  And that wasn’t a good feeling to have.  Dawn crumpled her taco wrapper slowly, thinking as she crushed.  

He’d been so nice to her at the beginning of the trip, and then he’d just steadily gotten more irritable.  And even now, after hours of reflection, she couldn’t for the life of her figure out what she’d done wrong!  She’d been wicked patient about bathroom breaks, she’d offered to share her fries from Burger King, and she’d been really intelligent about the motel check-in.  Donna Williams and her brother Spike – the hotel clerk hadn’t even blinked at her 14-year old act.  She’d taken care of all of it, letting him stay in the car until the last possible moment when he had to dash from car to room.  She thought he’d wake up refreshed.  Instead?  He’d woken up just plain foul, not to mention determined to finish the trip by Monday.

Dawn sighed. Four AM on Monday, and he was practically inaccessible.  Surly, tense. It was as if every mile that brought them closer to Sunnydale…

“Oh.  Duh.”

Spike looked up.  Even after eating (Dawn refused to think of it as “feeding”), his face had a drawn cast to it.  “What?”

“It’s Sunnydale.  That’s why you’re all weird.  And here I was thinking that you just hated me.”

Spike’s head dropped momentarily, his face twisting.  Dawn sighed.

“Spike, you’re acting like…”  Dawn searched for the proper metaphor.  “Like Superman approaching the source of all kryptonite.”

“Stop talking like Harris.”  Spike slouched over to her and leaned against the van.  “Besides, bit, this can’t exactly be a surprise to you.”  He twisted a lit cigarette in his fingers, focusing on the smoke as it curled up into the air.  Dawn watched him play with it.

“Stick o’Death.”

“Not really a problem here.”  But he took only one more pull before tossing it away.  “No, Dawn.  I’m not filled with joy at the prospect of the old stomping grounds.”

Ah.  So this is when we have the talk.  She took a deep breath as inconspicuously as she could.

“It’s because of Buffy, isn’t it.”

Spike jolted a little at the name.  Only a little, so that it would have been imperceptible to anyone else.  But Dawn was watching for his reaction, and he didn’t disappoint.

“Dawn..”  Spike coughed and paused, looking out on the lightening sky for a few moments.  He cleared his throat.  “There’s things that happened between me and your sister.”  He stopped again.  Dawn waited, but he didn’t continue.

“LOTS of things happened between you and her.  But you’ve changed, right?  And she’s kinda changed, too…”  Her voice was pitched high in her ears.  Hopeful.  She winced away from it.

“Love… I don’t think I can change enough to fix the damage done.”  Spike shook his head, his profile silhouetted in the fluorescence of the rest stop lights.  Dawn wished vainly for more light, so she could see the expressions on his face.  Then again, Spike had never been able to hide his emotions well; they permeated every aspect of him.  The way he spoke, the way he moved, the way he held himself apart.  And right now, Spike’s whole body was radiating shame, regret, and most surprisingly - resignation. 

“Spike, whatever happened between you two, you’ve been gone two years.  Maybe if you tell her where you’ve been all this time…”  She stopped, worrying her lower lip between her teeth.  Okay, then.  Now or never.

“Maybe you could tell me first.”  He didn’t move, and she rushed to fill the silence.  “I mean, you could tell me whatever parts of it you want, and I could tell you if Buffy wouldn’t like it, or maybe help you figure out how to say it…”  She trailed off.  I sound like a total child, she realized.  Too eager, way too eager.  Dawn blushed and waited, too embarrassed to speak again.

Spike stared out at the horizon, studiously avoiding Dawn’s eyes.  The silence stretched out, far beyond simply uncomfortable, approaching the kind of “you’re over the line” silences she sometimes got from Buffy.  Oh, crap.  Crap crap crap.  Dawn’s heart began to pound in her chest, panicking.  She’d been so close, and then to lose him because she took a stupid chance…

Suddenly, Spike moved.  Dawn flinched away from him, her active imagination working overtime in the dark and cold, and Spike’s eyes widened briefly.  But he didn’t rebuke her – he just settled against the wall of the van, facing her.  Gently, he nudged her through the quilt with his boot.

“I know you’re trying to help, bit, but if I see Buffy, I’ll just have to – muddle through.  If she asks, I’ll tell her anything she wants to know.”  He glanced at Dawn, who flushed again.  Then he cleared his throat.

“But I’ll tell YOU now, if you want to know.”

“Oh!”  Oh.  Oh, lord.  Dawn’s already-jumpy pulse skipped and her face fell. Caught.

Spike watched the emotions flicker over her face, quiet amusement tugging at his lips.  When it came to asking the more difficult questions, Dawn tended to hide behind others.  Not hard to do, with the pushy lot she grew up around, he realized.  Even now, as her expressions telegraphed the internal war of wills she was settling, she was still holding back.  But he wasn’t about to let her hide behind Buffy this time.  Not with this sort of question.  He knew that she thought of herself as too polite to pry into the business of others, but now…

“Oh, tell me!”  Dawn blurted out, then quickly clapped both hands tightly over her mouth.  Spike laughed at her expression of horror, and Dawn peeked out at him from between splayed fingers, her muffled voice barely audible over her giggling.  “I mean, I’d like to know, please, if you wouldn’t mind, and I’ve really got to get a filter fitted between my brain and my mouth.  Sorry.”

“Love, if it’s any consolation to you, I think that certain thought’s been brewing for a while.”  He raised an eyebrow.  “How long did it take you to figure out how to phrase it?”

“Oh, Alicia and I figured that out way back, the night after the movie.”  Dawn rolled her eyes expressively.  “You were quite the topic of conversation.”

“I’m sure.  And what took you so long in asking?”

Dawn snorted.  “Oh, you think it’s easy to make it look like I’m not being nosy?  ‘Hey Spike, so there’s this subject you’ve been mysteriously avoiding?  Tell me all about it.’  I had to wait for the perfect opening!”  She sobered a little.  “Besides, I really do mean it.  Sure, I want to know what you’ve been doing, but hey – sister.”

“Yeah.”  Spike fished a can of Coke out of his blood cooler and tossed it to Dawn; she opened it and took a sip without even a comment about its proximity to the other liquids.  Not even a grimace.  “Speaking of your sister…”

“Mmmmm – you want the Sunnydale update?”  Dawn turned to face him, mirroring his pose.  She suddenly tensed and looked out into the darkness.  “Not to change subjects or anything, but should we be worried about getting vamped here?  Or, in your case, re-vamped.  Heh.”

“No, ducks – this is about the point when you start seeing ‘Hellmouth or Bust’ signs.”  He shrugged.  “It’d be like heading to New York, but stopping at the last exit on the New Jersey turnpike.  Bit of a letdown.”

“Riiiiight.”  Dawn was still a little twitchy, so Spike elaborated.

“If any vamps see us, which they won’t, they’ll think you’re dinner.  And though I’m sure you’re absolutely delicious, Dawn, it’s just not worth the effort for another vampire to take you from me.  It would likely make me angry.”  As he spoke, he allowed his face to slowly change, and by the time he stopped speaking he was in full vampire mode.

Dawn studied him.  “How perverse it is that I feel better now you’ve done that?”  She shook her head, and he chuckled, letting the face recede. 

The sun was far from rising, but the sky was beginning to turn from black to blue.  Dawn squinted at the horizon.  “I think my knee is bruising that color.”  Spike smirked.

“So,” Dawn sighed, settling back again.  “What’ve you been up to?”  She set the empty Coke can down beside her and pulled the quilt up to her neck.  Like a bedtime story at a sleepover, she thought.  Well, boy, and vampire, but whatever.

Spike began to play with his lighter, not looking at Dawn, just watching the flame.  It was hypnotizing.  Orange-blue flare, again and again.

“I went to Africa – guess that’s the most important part.  Went because… well, honestly love, because I was very angry.  A whole lot of it was because I’d fought with your sister, but even more of it was because I was just lost.  You live a hundred years doing one thing and doing it well, and then you’ve got nothing.  Not a pretty feeling.

“So I got angry and completely misdir – uh, actually, I’ll keep it in the mindset I had then, right?   Right.  So, I pretty much wanted Buffy dead.”

“Again?!?”  Dawn groaned.  “Seriously, Spike.  Time for a new angle.”

“Yeah, I know, I know.  But I did mean it, at the time.”  Spike casually passed one hand over the lighter’s flame, and Dawn lurched forward and smacked his hand away.  “Hey!”

“Don’t do that,” Dawn scolded.

“People do it all the time, it doesn’t hurt at all…” He dragged his index finger through the flame, briefly cutting the fire in two.  Dawn gasped and snatched his hand in one of hers. 

“That is IT!” She crawled over beside him, sucking the air in through her teeth when she inadvertently knelt on a bruised area.  He stayed still as she curled up next to him, wary of bruising her again with a careless movement, and soon found her clinging tightly to his arm, imprisoning his right hand. She winced briefly as she settled, then turned to glare at Spike.

“Spike, for a centurion, you can be really dumb.”  He opened his mouth in protest, but she cut him off.  “Humans?  Made of 98% water.  That’s why the flame trick doesn’t hurt us.  But YOU?”  She poked him in the sternum with one finger.  “You and your ilk crumble to highly flammable dust when you die.”

“My ‘ilk’?  Any reason you’ve gone all archaic, or has someone been telling you to build an ark lately?”

Dawn ignored him.  “You can light the lighter.  You may not turn yourself into an undead torch.”  She suddenly grinned up at him.  “You can do that later, on your own time, when I don’t need you to drive me home.”

“As long as we’re all sure that your own particular needs have been considered,” he growled back.  She stared back at him, full of mock-sternness.  He slouched a little more against the wall until she was able to rest her head on top of his shoulder, all the while flicking the lighter on and off.  On and off.  On and -

“Keep going.”

Oh, right.  “So I went to this demon - don’t ask how I knew of him – and I told him to de-chip me, turn me back into something worthy of the title ‘Bloody’.”

“It was that easy?”

“Hell, no.  There were all kinds of tests, the kind of meaningless torture that can have no real point – think ‘Fear Factor’ a million times over.”

“You had to eat BUGS?”  Spike snorted at the horror in Dawn’s voice. 

“Niblet, I’m figuring that the wee small hours are probably NOT the time to tell your hyperactive imagination about my trials.”

“Oh – gotcha, good call, tell me those tomorrow.  Go on.  After the totally icky test?”

Spike scowled.  “Well, love, turns out that I wasn’t properly focused before I took the damn thing.  While my head was saying that I wanted to kill the slayer and all her nearest and dearest, with elaborate plots and diagrams and aplocalypses bouncing ‘round my head like sodding sugarplums, my mouth was doing its usual shorthand.  In effect, I said something about Buffy getting what she deserved.”  The lighter was dying out a little, and he shook it violently, nearly dislodging Dawn with the motion.  He flicked it open again and it sputtered to life, renewed.

“Okay, ‘what she deserves’… What the hell does that mean?”  Dawn said.

“Well, I meant it to represent bloody misery and devastation.  A very simple, yet vivid word picture, if you will.  Unfortunately, the Powers That Be had a different take on it.”

“Which would be…?”  Dawn didn’t trust the Powers at ALL.  Spike could feel her stiffening up, her suspicious little mind running circles.  Good girl, a part of him commented.  He pushed the thought aside and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

“As far as I can tell, bit?  It means that she deserves one less rampaging, insane vampire on her hands.  ‘Cause after the tests, I became the cool, calm specimen you see before you.”  He spread his hands wide, smirking. 

“But the chip…”

“Ah,” Spike nodded.  “That’s the Out of Africa part of the story.  You okay for more?”

“Hit me.”

“Left Africa, returned to the States to gather together some things from various sources, and headed north.”

“North?  Why?”

Spike snorted.  “Well, we’ve your sister in the States, then Drusilla below the border.  And as far as I know?  No one hates me in Canada.”  His forehead suddenly creased in concentration. “Wait, hold on – there’s some sort of lair in Vancouver.  Hmmm. Just remembered that.”  He shook his head.  “Must’ve been pretty out of it to forget them.”

“You were out of it?”

“You have no idea, bit.  Crushed hopes, along with some of the nastier side effects of the demon-encounter in Africa.  I was a tad – depressed.  I got about as far as Minnesota.”

Dawn laughed.  “A haven for disgruntled vampires, I’m sure.”

“Then you’d be bloody mistaken,” Spike grumped.  “You ever seen the mosquitoes in that state?  Wouldn’t be able to find a victim worth draining after the bugs got to them.”

“So then what?  You snuck across the heavily fortified border under cover of darkness?”  Dawn was beginning to enjoy the story, now that the killing-Buffy part was over.

“Actually?  I ended up spending some time with Oz.  Willow’s wolf.”  He enjoyed this part of the story, so missed the reaction of the girl beside him.  “Turned out to be a not-bad bloke… not to mention, he’s been reading up on the philosophers.  Damn intelligent little beastie.  You know, Red sure knows how to pick ‘em.  Though,” he amended, “Oz and Tara do have a lot of the same traits.  Like, they think the same.  Oz told me all about his little encounter with our good witch…”  Dawn gaped at him.  He chuckled.

“What?  He said she’s lovely, and I can’t disagree.  ‘Course, it took a little time and perspective for him to figure it out.”  He suddenly ducked his head.  “Not that it was all talk about you lot, you understand.  You may think the bloody world revolves around you, but…”

“Spike.”

“What?”  Dawn swallowed audibly.  Spike looked at her, his concern growing.  “Dawn?  What?”

Dawn pulled away and turned to face him, sitting Indian-style across from him, quilt tight around her shoulders.  She shivered as a chill swept through her, but she had to tell him.  Had to get this part out now, before he used her name in the present tense again.

He gentled his voice to a concerned rumble.  “Dawn.  Tell me.”

“Spike – that’s one of the things that happened.  Tara.” 

Spike tensed.  Then he said, quite unconsciously, “She’s dead.”

Because she was.  Every ounce of instinct in him had been on alert, and he hadn’t even noticed until it was too late.  Dawn’s reactions, her tenses, her scent, her posture – now he knew what to look for, Tara’s death was written all over her.  And it was old death, at that; the kind that had been around so long that Dawn had stopped fighting it, that she now accepted it.  And yet, he surprised himself with his own blunt statement, and startled Dawn a bit.  He stared, dazed.

“Oh.  Okay.”  He breathed.  His chest rose and fell, which was comforting, if unnecessary.  Dawn watched him, wondering what was going on in his head.  She didn’t feel the ache of Tara’s death anymore.  She’d cried so much… two years had dulled the more violent images, of blood and blankness and too much light and silence.  But watching Spike as he stared off, concentrating on something far away, she felt the need to explain.  Explain why she wasn’t crying. She felt guilty, being so quiet and calm.  One of them should be crying.  Shouldn’t they?

“She died just after you left – only days after you left.  And she was really, really happy.  She and Willow were together again, and she was living in the house, but then someone shot her.” 

“A gun.”  Spike made a disgusted, laughing sound at the back of his throat.  “Stupid, stupid…”

“Yeah.  But it was quick,” she stammered. “And when I found her she wasn’t in pain, I don’t think there was any pain at all… I stayed with her.  Just in case.”  Dawn tugged very gently on his bootlace, not wanting to draw his attention, just wanting contact.  As if she’d be able to feel rage, or pain, or sadness – whatever emotion that Spike was bottling up.  He stared into the distance, breathing, quiet.  But all she felt was his bootlace.

Suddenly, she heard his head lift, and when she looked at him he was staring right at her.  “She loved you, bit.  She loved you to pieces.”  He was saying the words forcefully, like he could convince her.  “She would’ve made a wonderful mum, and that’s part of what she felt for you.  I saw it.”  Because that’s what she’s left behind, he thought.  The ability to feel that kind of all-encompassing love and forgiveness and - an image of Tara rushed up from his memory, laughing, beaming.  As long as Dawn carried a part of her, they’d all be okay. “She was family, and she loved you.”

“I know,” she said.  It was simple and true.  Tara had been something inexplicable to her, the perfect transition person between mother and sister, the one who knew exactly what to say… Dawn shook herself before she could tumble into reverie. 

Spike had to strain to hear the next words she said.  Dawn practically breathed them, shyly.  “You know, sometimes I think about what it was like talking to her, or helping her around the house, or going to the movies.  And when I snap out of it, it’s like she was there.  Right next to me.”  She blushed a little.  “I don’t really mention that too much, though.  Anya would call me insane, or maybe send me to a shrink.  So…”

“I won’t tell,” he said simply.  Then he smiled, just barely.  “Love, it wouldn’t surprise me if she’s still looking after you.  Not at all.”

A truly brilliant smile lit up Dawn’s face.  “Thanks,” she whispered.  Spike continued to smile at her, and suddenly she felt more relaxed than she had in days.  Gingerly, she curled up in the space beside him, closing her eyes, happy. 

The rest of the conversation can wait, she thought as Spike’s fingers gently swept her hair back from her brow.  The rest of the conversation would be difficult, after all, and she was tired.  The pent-up nervousness at her estrangement from Spike had kept her awake a lot more than he knew, a gnawing feeling in her stomach, and now the need to sleep deeply was sweeping through her relentlessly.  Spike continued to run his fingers over her scalp - soothing, repetitive brushings that made her head feel light and sleepy.  She yawned once, and realizing she was on the brink of sleep, struggled up to the surface of her consciousness for one last statement.

“Spike?”

“Yeah?”

“Tara watched over you too, more than you knew.”  She paused, and Spike momentarily wondered if she’d drifted off.  “She always thought of you as – one of us.”

A breeze swept through the trees, beginning to break up the heavy smell of night with lighter scents of daylight.  A bird began to chirp in the trees above, a high trilling that cut through the air sharply.

“Well, love, let’s hope she’s watching over us still.”

TBC

“Right, love.  Time to wake up.”

Dawn groaned and blinked, momentarily unsettled by the blur of brown and blue around her.  Oh, right.  Fugly.  She shut her eyes tight and peeled the quilt away from her body, noting with disgust the vaguely sticky feeling of her clothes clinging to her skin.  “Oh, wow.  That’s just nasty.”

Spike turned a little to peer into the back of the van.  “Yes, Dawn, we’ve established that I’ve got bad taste in quilts.  Drop it already?”

“Oh, blah, I’m so over that.”  Dawn hitched herself upright, staring at the deep creases in her pajama pants.  She’d seen what clothes could do when worn in the car for hours, but her current state was really dismal.  “I’ve been wearing these clothes for so long, they’ve decided to meld to me.  Eugh.  I can’t WAIT to get into the shower.”  She suddenly bolted upright. 

“Oh my god… I’m not smelly, am I?”

Spike snorted.  “Only a tiny bit more so than usual, bit.  You did take a shower at the motel, if you’ll recall.”

“Yeah, but I was thinking about vampire-sense and everything… never mind.  Besides, who knows the last time you showered, you disgusting thing.  Thank god I don’t have your nose.”

“Hey, watch it.”  Spike glared.

“I like that you’re trying to give me a dirty look in the rearview mirror,” Dawn smirked.  “Very scary and non-reflecting.”

“See, I always suspected you were a rotten morning person,” Spike replied.  “And that’s why I’m going to feel no guilt at all for not giving you a donut.”  A crinkling noise caught Dawn’s attention, and she watched in horror as Spike produced a Krispy Kreme pastry bag from the passenger seat.  Savoring the moment, he murmured appreciatively as he produced a huge donut and waved it in the air jauntily.  Then all hell broke loose.

“NOOOOO!”  A brown-and-blue blur lurched over the seat, snatching the powdered donut Spike was slowly bringing to his mouth. Spike jumped, not expecting such energy from someone who’d been snoring only moments earlier.  He carefully steered the van back to the center of the road, Dawn’s head bobbing just over his shoulder as she took a huge hunk out of the donut.

“Dawn!  Be careful, you’re not as tough as you were!”  The thought of her long limbs shattering haunted him more than she knew; every time she lurched or turned in an odd way, his heart leaped.  He eyed the seat division distrustfully.

Dawn, though, was completely oblivious to his concern.  “Thank yooooooou,” she crooned at him as she loomed over the divide, her mouth full of chewed-up pastry, her breath overpoweringly sugary.  She could barely close her lips due to the size of the bite she’d taken, and Spike was seriously worried that she might end up showering him with saliva-drenched crumbs.

“Lovely AND revolting.  Sit down and buckle up.”  Dawn obliged, sliding into the passenger seat, her mouth still covered in powdered sugar.  She finished it quickly, ravenously, and Spike couldn’t help but laugh at the sight of her.  All limbs and length, she curled up in the extra seat with no problem, pausing only to haul Fugly over the divide after her.  She hummed happily, bouncing a little in her seat as she licked the remains of her breakfast off her fingers.  “Loon,” he muttered, and she beamed at him again before looking out the window.

“Hey.”  Dawn glanced around her with a slight air of irritation.  “We’re, like, twenty minutes from home!”  She scowled.  “Thanks.  It’s a much better idea for me to be awake and nervous for the next fifteen miles, rather than peacefully ignorant.”

Spike looked at her flatly.  “Ignorant?  Nice turn of phrase there, bit.  And here I thought I there’d be no problem with me carrying your unconscious body right up to your sister’s front door.”

Dawn reddened, feeling very foolish.  “Oh.  Good point, actually.” 

“A dusty piece of business, right there.”  Spike shifted in his seat, shooting a quick glance at Dawn.  “Dawn, about that?  We should clear some things up before we get to your place.”

Dawn snapped to attention, turning to face him.  “Oh, yeah.  We didn’t get to most of it last night.  Ummmm…”  She squinted, focusing. 

“Well, essentially, Willow went all nuts when Tara died.  I didn’t see much of it, but the second-hand reports are pretty gruesome.  She went back on the magic crackpipe in a major, MAJOR way.”

Spike pressed his lips together tightly, focusing on the road.  “That’s one who should never have gotten a taste of it in the first place.”

“Yeah, I’m guessing just about everyone would agree at this point.  Anyhow, she went after the geeks.” 

“The Star Wars pillocks?”  Spike laughed grimly.  “Would’ve liked to do that myself, actually.  Did they have tape of her and Tara?”

“Oh!  No, no, we found all the cameras…”  Dawn trailed off, wincing away from that particular memory.  “No, Spike – the ringleader was the one who shot Tara.”

“What?”  He could remember the tall one clearly, smell the ambition and greed and arrogance on him.  For Warren to have even existed in the same world as Tara was vile.  For him to have taken her life was practically sacrilege.  “Bastard.”

“Yeah.”  Dawn hesitated again, and Spike looked at her, concerned.  “He went all crazy, came after Buffy in the backyard, but she’s fine!” she added hurriedly, as Spike’s knuckles bulged, his grip on the steering wheel tightening.  “He got her, but Willow fixed it.  So, I guess that part was good.”

“And then.”  His voice had lost all intonation, and Dawn rushed to finish the story.

“And then Giles came, because Will was trying some sort of apocalypse thing – I know, you missed one, shocking – and she DID try to kill all of us, but then Xander got to her and made her stop.  I don’t know about that, though – Buffy and I were about thirty feet under in the cemetery.”  She twisted the drawstrings of her pants in her lap.  “Xander won’t tell us what happened, but it all stopped.”

“Right.  Good.”  Spike’s tone remained even, impersonal.  Calculating.  She watched him as he mentally sifted through the information, unsure of what to do or say next.

Spike himself was having a hard time sorting it all out.  Two years gone, all of this was.  He told his muscles to relax; they had tensed during Dawn’s explanation, and they didn’t understand the passage of time as well as his mind did.  He felt pity and rage and despair, but most of all, numbness.  This fight hadn’t been his.  It was long over, the participants were all two years away from it.  And so he carefully, clinically deadened his reactions.  Removed them from himself.  He, too, would treat the entire event as dead and gone.  He breathed.  In and out.

“Well, bit.”  His voice was startling in the stillness he’d created, but he gave it no thought.  “Were there any other world-ending events?”

Dawn smiled hesitantly.  “Well, Clem got a girlfriend.  That could be considered apocalyptic.”

Spike chuckled, and the serious mood was broken.  Dawn eased her posture and drew one knee up to her chest, musing aloud. 

“Yeah, a live-in, gorgeous girlfriend!  So, in other words, you’re not going back to the crypt.”  She looked at him apologetically.  “Besides, it’s totally overrun with cats.  He’s the equivalent of the creepy old lady who lived down the street until her corpse was found half-eaten by her ninety tabbies.”

“Vivid,” Spike said.  Dawn shrugged.

“He’s nice, it’s just a little – overwhelming.  And, you know, smells of cat all the time.  So I don’t go to the crypt that much…  On the home front, Xander moved into the house.  With Buffy and me.”  She watched Spike very carefully as she spoke, but the car didn’t swerve off the road, Spike didn’t hit the brakes – he didn’t even flinch.  She continued. 

“It’s not like they’re dating or anything.  It just worked out that way.  You know, after breaking up with Anya and everything.  Besides, the money helped and - you’re just going to have to see how all that worked out later,” she rushed, suddenly impatient.  She was beginning to recognize the surroundings, and her nerves were getting to her.  Besides, there was one more thing she needed to talk to him about.

“Spike?”

“Bit?”

“What happened with Buffy? What made you leave?”

Spike froze.  She hadn’t asked in all this time; he thought he was safe.  He’d been planning to touch on the subject, obliquely, tell her that he and Buffy might have some problems when they met… But there she sat, just looking at him, expecting an answer.  She might think it was Buffy’s fault that I left, he realized.  Dawn was always that bit protective of him. She wouldn’t have a clue.  But to tell her…

He swallowed roughly.  She would hate him.  She would want to kill him, and he couldn’t blame her.  Oz hadn’t been particularly gentle about this certain transgression, either.  But she’d asked, and he couldn’t lie.  Wouldn’t lie.  He loved her enough not to lie.

“I attacked Buffy, when she was already hurt,” he said.  “I was crazy, off my head, and I just…”  Saying it, with the images running through his head, made him feel ill.  He pulled to the side of the road, rested his head on his hands where they gripped the steering wheel.  His breath was coming quickly, in shudders, as he tried to focus on speaking.  Trying to tell her.

“Spike, are you okay?”

“God, no, bit.  I’m not.”  His eyes watered, blurring his vision, head still down.  “I’m not, Dawn, and I wasn’t then.  I attacked her.  I threw her to the floor, and hurt her, and made her hate me.  Unforgivable, Dawn.  Irrevocable.  And if she dusts me the moment you get in the door, I won’t blame her.” 

He could hear Dawn breathing, quickly.  He lifted his head a little, eyes closed.  “I dream of it a lot.  Of what happened.  Usually, she kills me at the end.  And usually I want her to.”

“But what…?”  Dawn asked softly.

“You’ll have to ask her the rest, Dawn.  Because I’m not – I can’t…”  He breathed deeply, trying to get himself under control.  Finally, he looked up at her with reddened eyes and finished.

“Dawn, anything she tells you is true.  Whatever she says, no matter how horrible – believe her, I did it.  To her, when she was close to me.  When she’d let me in…” his speech was halting, and he paused to control it. 

“I can’t tell you – she’s your sister, and she has the right to keep her own counsel.  But I was wrong.  I was hurtful and gave her every reason to kill me.”  He winced.  “I made her feel things no one should ever have to feel.”

Dawn studied him.  “And?” she asked softly.  Her stare was so calm, solid, impassive; Spike wanted to hide from it.  But she deserves this much, he told himself.  At least this one person, he would love correctly.

“I can’t bear to think of it, Dawn.”  He shut his eyes briefly, but forced them open again, determined to face this head-on.  “I can’t help it, and I can’t change what happened, but I see it all the time.  Every time I think of it, I feel sick, like there’s a hole in my chest.  My head clouds; I see what happened, what I said, what I DID, over and over again.  And I can’t excuse it, ever.  I can’t explain it away.  It’s the single most despicable thing I’ve done, and I think of it every day.  It’s always there, and I’m more ashamed than I knew was possible.” 

He unconsciously placed his hand over his stomach; the tingling, aching, throbbing feeling was familiar now, but he never expected to get used to the physical manifestation of shame.  He shuddered silently.  Minutes passed on the side of the road as he clutched his gut, doubled over in silent anguish.  Dawn’s breath slowed as she watched him, but she waited until his halting breaths had evened before she spoke.

“She did.”  Dawn said.  She hadn’t moved from her seat, still curled up against the door, but Spike didn’t understand her words.  She said it again.

“She did.  Tell me.”  Pause.  “Buffy told me what happened in the bathroom that day.”

Unbidden, a guttural sound came from Spike; it sounded as though he’d just been punched.  He stared at Dawn, wide-eyed.

“So I knew, and I’ve known all along.”  Dawn’s poise was perfect, but stern.  Far from a teenager, she reminded Spike of a queen.  Regal.  Distant.  To be reckoned with.

“I’m not sure that she ever would have told me, Spike,” she said honestly.  “But Xander gave me the short-and-shocking version, so I think she had to repair some of the damage.  She told me what happened, but she’s never told me what she felt.”

“Oh,” Spike breathed.  Dazed.  She had known, and called him family.  She knew, and said she loved him.  His head ached.

“I don’t know what’s going on there,” she added frankly.  “And I can’t tell you what she’ll do.  But,” she added, “I don’t think she wants you dead.  I guess you’ll just have to ask her about that yourself, ‘cause I’m not going to tell you more.  You might need to talk to each other, or you might need to go far away – but I love you both, and I don’t know what to do here.”

After she finished, they were silent.  Spike didn’t know what to think of this strangely mature girl, who behaved in ways contrary to everything he knew.  There was nothing more to say, so he pulled back onto the road, his confused mind focused on the task at hand.  “Dawn.  I’m so sorry.”

Dawn gazed at him.  “Yeah, I know.  You’re also pretty guilty about it.  And I won’t lie, I’m damn glad you are.”  Spike nodded shortly.  Wouldn’t have it any other way, he said to himself. 

“Do you want to see her again?”

Spike answered the question immediately.  “Only if she wants to see me.” He’d been thinking about that question for two years now, and his reply was utterly truthful.  He would never force anything on her again.  Dawn drew the same conclusion, watching the resolve on his face.

“I’d do this any other way, if I could,” he admitted.  “This isn’t fair, just turning up, but I couldn’t put you on a bus or taxi or anything; you’d have to tell her about me eventually, and the longer it’s put off, the more like lying it becomes.”  He pressed his lips together tight.  “So I’ll bring you home, then leave.  If she wants to talk to me, I’ll do whatever she wants.  But I’ll drive back to New Hampshire and never come here again, otherwise.” Two days of highways had formulated the plan, and it was all he could come up with right now.  It would have to do.

But he was still curious about something.

“Bit?”

“Yeah?”  She looked out the window, the breeze brushing her hair back from her face.  It was early, so early the paperboys hadn’t made their rounds, but the curious light that preceded daybreak cast its bluish sheen on Dawn’s upturned face.

“Why did you ask?”  He stammered a bit in asking.  “I mean – if you already knew.”

“Because I’d already heard it from Xander, and from parts from Buffy.  But you’re the one who did it.  I needed to hear it from YOU.”  She stated it honestly and seriously, unsmiling.  She couldn’t smile right now.  Maybe later, once she’d seen her sister.  But not right now. 

“Besides, that was a weird time.  She was so mean to you all the time, and then you went off with Anya, and I can’t even pretend to comprehend a tiny bit of what was going with all of you.  It didn’t help that you all kept me in the dark, about EVERYTHING, but still.”  She shrugged.  “I don’t get it, obviously.  It’s a confusing thing for me to take a stand on.  This is a you-and-Buffy thing; if she doesn’t want to see you, then I guess we’ll know where she stands.  But for now, I’m withholding judgment.  She’s my sister, and I love her, but she’s shutting me out.  You’re my friend, and I love you, but you hurt her.”  She shook her head, frustrated.

“I know I’m way out of my depth here.  I don’t know what to feel, so I’m waiting for one of you to tell me.”

“Oh.”  Spike didn’t understand, but he’d learned that there were many things he didn’t understand in the past years.  He kept driving.

“Spike,” she relented, placing one slender hand on his arm, “It’ll be okay.  Nothing’s really changed between you and me, we just got this out in the open.”  She sighed.  “And I did miss you, think about you, either way.”

Her hand was light on his arm, but he treasured the feeling of it.  After all, who knew when someone would touch him gently and carefully again?

“Can’t we just wait until she goes to work?”  Dawn asked as Spike stopped the van at the bottom of Revello.  Her calm demeanor had ebbed away as they approached the development, and she was now worriedly rocking in her seat.

“She works?”  Spike wasn’t really invested in the question, trying to deal with his own emotions.  Too much pushing from Dawn, he realized, and he might just give in and drive away. 

“Yeah, at a bank.  Weird shifts, but it’s a thing she does, she’s been doing it for a while now,” Dawn said, babbling.  “We could just wait until they both go to work; then they could come home and just find me in the house, and we wouldn’t have this entire surprise-reunion-scenario going on.”

“No.”

“Why?”  Dawn panicked.  “It’s not like you’re all desperate to see her, and besides, it’s getting kind of sunny.”

“Firstly?  Daybreak’s not for another fifteen minutes.  And secondly?”  He turned to her with new resolve.  “We may have made it out of the hospital without the police coming after us, but it’s Monday morning, and there is no way in hell that the hospital hasn’t found out your home number.  They’ll call today.”

“But I’m FINE!”  Dawn groaned, banging her head on the doorframe. 

“Their point exactly; they’ll want the bill paid, and now.  And I don’t want your sister to find out about your crash through a hospital accountant.”  Spike restarted the engine and put the van into gear as Dawn thought that through. 

Coming up on the house was a surprise.  It was a lot smaller than Spike remembered.  But it looked the same.  Dread washed over him and he shuddered; just looking at it reminded him of his last time in that house, upstairs, where he never should have been…

“Okay.  Are we going to do this?”  Dawn was jittery; the combination of her injury, her escort and her sudden appearance were beginning to add up in her head.  And her arithmetic resulted in this being a very, very bad idea.  Her leg spasmed violently, involuntarily, and she gasped as her blanketed foot connected sharply with the dashboard.

Spike was out of the van in an instant, barely giving the dangerously light sky a second glance.  He pulled open Dawn’s door and knelt, carefully checking his impromptu splint.

“Too tender?” he asked, gently touching her toe.  She shook her head, but he didn’t want to risk it.  He hesitantly held his arms out, asking if he could carry her.

The expression on his face reminded Dawn of a kicked puppy.  Dawn flinched.  No more pet names, then.  No more camaraderie.  She hoped this awkwardness would be over soon; she didn’t like her estrangement from Spike.  But she didn’t want to hurt her sister, and her stomach twisted violently at the thought of carelessly springing Spike on Buffy. 

Had she misjudged her sister?  Dawn hadn’t wanted to mention it to Spike - but a lot of the reason she was comfortable with him now, was because of Buffy.  Apparently, Buffy had still trusted him to help, trusted him with Dawn’s life.  Had gone to him voluntarily.  And so, she thought nervously... maybe Buffy would be all right with this. 

But it was too much to second-guess, and her head was aching almost as much as her foot, so Dawn just wrapped her good arm around Spike’s neck and let him lift her from the van, then stride across the lawn.

They were on the stoop in a matter of seconds; Dawn could feel Spike’s ribs rise and fall erratically under her hip.  If his heart could beat, she was pretty sure that it’d be hammering through his chest.  Then again, her heart was making up for the lack.  It throbbed sharply, almost painfully, as she stared at the familiar bronze numbers. She wanted to run away.

“Right, Dawn.” 

“Yeah, I know.”  She pressed the doorbell, and Spike took a few steps back.  No need to be overwhelming, he supposed. 

Dawn nodded briskly at his movement, then suddenly reached up and planted a light kiss on Spike’s cheek. 

He looked at her quizzically, unsure of whether he should smile or consider it a goodbye.  Dawn took a deep breath, letting out a gust of donut scent. 

“Okay.  Well, it has to be said - there’s no way this thing can be anything but fucked up.”  She shook her head wearily.

Spike chuckled weakly.  “Never has ‘facing the firing squad’ seemed so literal.”

Voices could be heard inside the house, and Spike’s arms tensed around Dawn.  She hugged him clumsily with her casted arm.  They clung to each other briefly, desperately.

“Thank you for bringing me home, Spike.”

“You belong with your family,” Spike replied, realizing too late the double edge of his words.  What he was about to lose, having just found it.  “I wish I could fix it, no matter what the cost.”

Dawn smiled at him ruefully.  “I wish everything had a happy ending.”

And then footsteps were at the door, the door was opening, and there was no time left for wishing.

TBC

“Oh,” Xander breathed.  “Oh, no.” 

He lurched out the door, his hands outstretched.  He was already dressed for work; his yellow Timberland boots, a pair of worn jeans, a lumberjack shirt that had seen better days.  His hands, too, showed the wear and tear of manual labor.  Calloused, worn, scaled, with dirt clinging stubbornly onto nails cut to the quick.  And those hands, thick and grasping, are what caused Spike to dance backwards, Dawn still his arms.  How could Xander, so used to clutching steel and wood, know how fragile Dawn had become?

“No, Harris, wait…” Spike said quickly, still watching the other man warily.  And that was when recognition dawned on Xander’s face, when the accented words of a dark-haired man suddenly caused his blood to run cold.

Xander’s face leached of all color as he took in Spike, standing outside his house, with Dawn in his arms.  Dawn looked wan, with dark circles under her eyes, and she had apprehension on her face.  No wonder, thought Xander as his rage built.  Something was wrong with her arm, with her leg, and Spike was trying to hold her back, make a bargain.  He flushed in fury, but came to a standstill a few feet from the pair, eyes smoldering.

“Give her to me.”  His voice was lower than Spike remembered, and the sheer control the boy was exerting was impressive.  It was obvious Harris longed to rip Dawn from his grasp, out of harm’s way, and then tear Spike to pieces.  But that was exactly what Spike feared – someone would grab Dawn roughly, trying to save her, and kill her instead.

“Harris, she’s fine,” he said.  Calmly, he nudged Dawn in a subtle appeal for help.

“Yeah!  It’s okay, Xander, he didn’t hurt me,” Dawn stammered.  She’d thought Xander would be at work by now, that Buffy would be the one to deal with.  But there was no sign of her sister, and Xander’s sheer hatred of Spike would make any conversation difficult.  “Xander, I’m fine, really!”

“Put.  Her.  Down.”  His tone hadn’t changed.  His eyes flickered briefly to Dawn, but for the most part he focused on Spike.  Dawn had always had a soft spot for the piece of filth.  Xander stared at him with deadly intent.  Dawn’s words had no effect on him.  She was biased, under Spike’s influence, after all.

Watching the man ignore Dawn, seeing how he allowed baser emotions to prevail, Spike snapped.  “Focus, Harris!  I can’t put her down, she can’t bloody STAND, her ankle’s shot!”  He spun Dawn around so that Xander would have to look at her wrapped leg. 

Xander allowed himself a glance, and his face softened briefly.  Not for long.

“Fine, I’ll carry her,” he stated flatly.  But as he reached out his arms again, demanding, and stepped towards them, Spike stepped back again.  Xander snarled, flashing Spike a look.  “What?  What the hell do you want, something in exchange?”

“Xander!”  Dawn shouted, pulling herself into a more upright position, clumsily maneuvering her arm.  “Stop it!  NOW!”

And he did, if only for the fact that she sounded so like Buffy for a moment.  He dropped his arms to his sides, breathing heavily.  Waiting.

“Look, he’s only HERE because he didn’t want to make me crawl to the front door, okay?”  Dawn was shivering with rage, small movements that reverberated up Spike’s arms.  She knew that most of her anger was unwarranted, but she unleashed it on Xander gladly.  She was nervous, she was tired, and she’d just had some pretty intense conversations with Spike.  And the way Xander was acting towards her, after she’d been gone so long… Standing there, threatening Spike, like she didn’t even exist?  Treating her like just another victim to be rescued?  Her emotions boiled over, and she made no effort to rein them in. 

Years of being treated as a child, built-up slights and being ignored, all of it came rushing out of her in a torrent.  She’d make him listen to her, this time.

“Jesus, Xander!  How fucking horrible can you be?  I got hurt, and he picked me up from the hospital, drove me CROSS-COUNTRY to bring me home, bought me food and a quilt and didn’t sleep JUST so we could be here before the hospital called Buffy!  And he didn’t WANT to come back, Xander!  He wanted to stay far, far away!”  She was sobbing now, ripping gasps that she had to force her words through.

“And now, I don’t know why the hell we came home at all!  Because I HATE being talked over!  I HATE being ‘taken care of’ without someone asking my opinion!  And I HATE that YOU answered the door!”  She was losing control again, and her exhaustion suddenly caused the whole experience of her accident come rushing back.  Any defenses she’d built up crumbled away as she remembered the trouble she’d gone through to get to Sunnydale, and she felt her mind give way. 

“I want my SISTER!”

She began to shake even harder, so hard that Spike began to worry about her injuries. Ignoring Xander, he crouched on the front lawn, trying to give Dawn more support with his body.  He settled her in his lap, slipping one arm from under her legs and pulling her closer.

She turned to him, both arms clinging to him tight.  Completely lost, she burrowed her face into his neck, keening loudly, repeating the one phrase over and over again.  Spike tried to soothe her, gently brushing her hair back, rocking her, murmuring quietly, but she was beyond his reach. 

Panic began to build in him; he hadn’t realized how hard the drive had been on Dawn, and the last thing he wanted Buffy to see was this image.  But he knew what his girl needed, and he wasted no time in demanding it for her.

“Get Buffy.”

Xander glowered, but obeyed; Dawn’s visible breakdown rattled him.  Without taking his eyes off of Dawn, he shouted back through the open door.  “Buff!  Get out here, and bring a stake.”  He lowered his voice, his face blank.

“Spike, if you’re trying to get back into her life…”  The threat was thinly veiled.  Unfortunately, Dawn was coherent enough to hear him, and she pulled away just long enough to hiss at him. Xander was taken aback for a moment.  Then he sneered.

“That your influence, Spike?”

Again, Spike decided to ignore him.  He was too busy with Dawn to bother with posturing.  “Did you hear, Dawn?  Buffy’s coming, love.  She’ll be here soon.”  Dawn hiccupped against his shoulder, her hot, halting sobs warming his neck.  “Oh, love – it’ll be all right, I’m here, she’s coming.  Don’t pay any mind to him, nibblet.” 

Xander flushed and looked ready to insult Spike again, but a sleepy voice distracted him. 

“What?  Xander, I’ve got to get up in an hour, and I’m really…”  Spike looked up, and there she was.

She’d changed her hair, he thought.  Not that he found it surprising; he’d actually be more shocked if her hair had been the same.  A light chocolate brown, falling to her shoulders in waves.  The face was the same, the eyes, the mouth – he cut himself off before he could think further along that track.  What mattered now was that she was darting towards him, her bathrobe flapping around her, the tank-top-and-flannel pajamas mirroring her sister perfectly. 

“Oh, god, no!”  Buffy choked, crashing to her knees beside Dawn with little grace.  Her face was slack with shock, and Spike felt ill.  Oh no, this was not the picture he wanted to give her.

Dawn jolted upright at the sound of her sister’s voice, her head connecting with Spike’s jaw hard enough to make him see stars.  Buffy reached out instantly, and Dawn began to clamber over to her, awkwardly trying to work around her cast and splint.

“Love, careful!  Careful!”  Spike frantically tried to ease Dawn over to Buffy without twisting any of her limbs, but Dawn was making it difficult.  She had wrapped her arms around Buffy’s neck and was mindlessly clinging to her, twisted oddly between Spike and her sister.  He deftly straightened her limbs, reoriented her body until she was properly curled up, a child in Buffy’s embrace.

“I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m just crying because I’m upset!” Dawn assured her sister hysterically, tears pouring down her face.  “I’m sorry I’m crying, I can’t help it!  I’m not hurt, not really, and there isn’t any trouble, you don’t need a stake…” She was ranting, babbling now, and Buffy hushed her gently, pulling her closer and kissing her brow.  Dawn shuddered into her sister’s arms, allowing herself to be calmed, rocked, soothed. 

Spike backed up a little, wary of intruding on the reunion any more than necessary. 

“You don’t call her love,” Xander grated behind him.  It took Spike a moment to realize what he was talking about.

“Piss off, I was talking to Dawn,” Spike spat back.  But he could feel the man hovering behind him, watching.  Irritating.

Buffy either missed the vibe between Xander and the vampire, or she just ignored it. All of her attention was focused on the girl in her arms, crooning softly to her.

“Dawnie, it’s fine, it’s okay.  Oh, honey.”  She tilted Dawn’s chin, looking at her tear-streaked face.  “Where does it hurt?  And how?”

“M-my arm, and my ankle,” she choked out. “But it wasn’t Spike!  It was an accident!  He helped me, please don’t hurt him!”  One of her arms flew out in an wildly protective gesture, as though she were trying to sweep Spike behind her.  The tips of her fingers brushed his jacket lapel and she clung, tightly.

Spike glanced up at Buffy, painfully aware of the awkwardness of the situation.  Buffy just shrugged helplessly.  Dawn was clearly marking her attachment to Spike, and in that one gesture, had grouped them into a unit.  With Dawn so unstable, Buffy wasn’t willing to do anything to upset her. 

It was a strange picture.  Dawn had grown lankier in her year away, and was now taller than her sister; she draped over Buffy awkwardly, though the smaller woman supported her well.  With one hand clutching Spike, she had unconsciously formed a bridge between them.  Buffy and Spike avoided each others’ eyes, devoted to the girl on the grass between them.  A tenuous link, but a link nonetheless. 

Xander noted all of this bitterly from his position a few feet away.  Something inside him realized that he could have been a part of that group, possibly could have even taken Spike’s place in it.  But he’d missed the chance, if it had ever existed.  All that was left to him now was to stand on the outskirts, watching grimly, waiting for the sun to rise.

“She’s delicate right now,” breathed Spike, gently brushing Dawn’s tear-drenched hair behind her ear.  He was very careful not to touch Buffy at all.  “I’m sure she’ll tell you everything, but she was in an accident.  She’s rebroken the arm Willow broke,” he said, and Buffy’s eyes hardened momentarily.  “But the ankle’s only sprained, isn’t it, petal?”

Dawn nodded tiredly, her head lolling on Buffy’s shoulder.  “Yeah, the splint’s all Spike; there’s an aircast under there somewhere.”  She looked at Spike plaintively.  “Cant’ we talk about this later?  I mean, there isn’t anything really important, is there?  I’m so tired…”  She was too wrung out to cry again; she just implored him with reddened eyes.

Spike relented.  “’Course, bit.”  He smiled gently at her, and delicately unhooked her fingers from his lapel.  He glanced at Buffy. 

“You all right to carry her upstairs?” he asked.

Buffy snorted.  “Yeah – I know she’d bigger than me, but she’s got nothing on some of the nastier demons I’ve come across.  She’s light as a feather in comparison, it’ll just look weird.”  She began to gather Dawn together, until Spike held out a hand in warning.

“Careful,” he stressed as Buffy looked at him warily.  “Ask the hospital when they call, but she’s got some sort of brittle-bone condition.  She’s got to be really careful with her movements; she might have hurt her ankle more on the way here, can’t quite tell.”  Spike grimaced.  “That’s why we made the trip in the first place – weren’t sure how the Key qualities would mix with a hospital investigation.  Figured you could have her checked out here.  You know, where you’d be close by, just in case things got a little hairy.”

Buffy stared at him for a moment, expressionless, then nodded.  Carefully but effortlessly, she lifted Dawn up and headed back to the house.  After a moment Spike rose from the grass, brushed the dew from his jeans, and followed.

Xander had returned to the door, and he held it wide open so Buffy could get through without difficulty.  “I’m just going to tuck her in, she’s wiped,” Buffy muttered to him as they passed.  He nodded silently.  Dawn was already nodding off, he noticed.  Poor kid, completely knocked for a loop.

Outside, Spike stopped at the bottom of the stoop, watched Buffy carry Dawn up the stairs.  Buffy was right – it looked odd, but she carried Dawn’s weight without a sign of discomfort or awkwardness. He smiled inwardly.  Apparently, the woman didn’t have limits.  Either that or she just refused to recognize them, and they surrendered in the face of her stubbornness.

Xander waited until the last stair creaked before turning to Spike.  The vampire had a distant look on his face;  Xander reveled in the thought of his alienation.

“What,” Xander crowed.  “You thought that she’d invite you in?  That you would all play house for a while; the slayer, the vampire and their mystical ward?  Dream on.”  He leaned against the doorjamb casually.  An affectation.  Spike steeled himself, lips pressed together thinly.

“I’m not here for that,” he muttered.  He didn’t want to look at Harris, but the man was making an effort to be intrusive.  “I’m here for them.”

Xander’s eyes lit up.  “THEM?” he vented.  “So you admit to coming back for Buffy?  Oh, man.  You sick bastard.”  His sneer, his eyes, were all caught up in a superior smirk; he enjoyed this chance to kick a downed man.  His voice became silky-smooth, and he leaned forward a little, enunciating clearly.

“After what you did to her, she’ll never forgive you.  Don’t you get that?”  His stare flashed cruelly.  “You may have sucked Dawn back in, Spike, but Buffy’s not dumb.  She won’t forget.  Ever.”

Both men heard a door shutting upstairs, but Xander wasn’t finished.  He lowered his voice; it lost none of its venom. 

“Maybe you helped Dawn; that means nothing.  She’ll never love you, or trust you, and even better?”  He smiled harshly.  “She’ll make sure Dawn doesn’t see you again.  So you can consider that last scene your curtain call.  Hope you enjoyed it.”  Footsteps coming down the stair silenced him again, but Xander smirked triumphantly.  He’d said all he needed to.

Buffy reappeared in the doorway, looking apprehensively at the two men. She was too confused to deal with the nasty vibes they were giving off right now.  “I’ve tucked her into my bed, I think she’s okay, just emotional and exhausted.”  She rubbed her hand over her eyes.  “I’m going to call the hospital now, get the full report.  Or the financial damage, whatever.”  She sighed deeply.  It was not something she looked forward to.  “But at least Dawn’s here, and safe.”

Xander smiled at her broadly, slinging an arm around her shoulders.  Buffy let him, though she sensed more in it than a show of friendship.  She turned her glance to the bottom of the stoop, where Spike stood, head bowed. 

He looked… kind of broken, she realized.  She twitched uncomfortably, all too aware that Xander’s good humor must have a source.  And with Spike standing below him, looking hurt, bereft – that could definitely brighten his day.  She sighed, gazing at the lone figure at her doorstep.  There were so many things that had to be said, that should be mentioned…

“Your hair is brown!” she blurted out.  Xander stiffened beside her, but his arm didn’t move from her shoulders.  Below her, Spike squinted up, smiling ruefully.  He’d changed, she thought.  Maybe it was the absence of peroxide; he seemed gentler somehow. 

“Always was,” he replied, self-consciously raising a hand to muss it.  He half-grinned.  “Yours too, I notice.”  She didn’t reply, still studying his appearance.  Spike stiffened.  This wasn’t the time or place, or company, for small talk.  He ducked away again.

“Needed a change.”  He shrugged nonchalantly, but there was a tenseness to him that made Buffy wary.  She reached out with her senses.  Nope, couldn’t pick up on anything.  Except - suddenly, she blinked and peered up at the sky.

“Spike.  It’s almost dawn… shouldn’t you be somewhere dark?”  She said it with a measure of concern, he noted, and it made his heart a little lighter.  Truthfully, he was pushing the sun-limits even now; he could feel the hot, tight sensation on the surface of his skin that preceded daylight.  He guessed he only had a few more minutes before he began smoking.

“Yeah, I should.”  He recognized a good exit line when he heard it, and began to back away.  “Be seeing you, then.”

Buffy watched as he slouched away, a crease forming on her brow.  There was something about this entire setup she didn’t like, she realized.  Spike had brought back Dawn, and Dawn was frantic to proclaim his chivalry, but now…

Now, she was watching him leave, without a word of thanks, standing with a gloating Xander in the doorway of their home.  And something wrenched inside her.  This was wrong, to leave it this way.  Xander overbalanced a little as she suddenly slipped out from under his arm, leaped down the steps, and crossed the lawn to Spike. 

He heard her coming.  At least, he thought her heard her coming, but it could be wishful thinking.  He thought he smelled her, all soap and sun.  But he refused to turn around, in case he’d imagined it all.  He wouldn’t be that foolish, too look back only to find the door closed, Buffy gone.  Or worse, Harris glaring at him.  He refused to be that fool.

He just slowed his pace a little, even though the sun was rising, his skin was burning, and he knew he was on borrowed time.  It would be sweet though, he supposed.  Burning to ash with the bizarre conviction that she was just a few steps away from him, that she was just about to speak to him.  He could char happily with that delusion in his heart.

And so he was a little shocked when she said his name as he reached the door of the van, a voice from only feet away.  He turned and there she stood. Uncomfortably, he realized, but there wasn’t much he could do about that.  Everyone was uncomfortable.  He shifted.

“Yeah?”

Buffy flushed.  Pretty. 

“Spike.”  She tasted the word as she said it, still unsure of how it felt on her tongue.  She rushed on.  “I know you’ve got to take off, but thanks for helping Dawn.”  She half-shrugged shyly.  “She likes you, and I’m sure it made everything a lot easier, having a friend with her.”

Spike smiled hesitantly.  “No matter, she’s worth it.  And, right.  You’re welcome.”  They both stared at the ground, stalled.  Talking had never been a strong point, especially in natural light.

Daylight.  The sunburnt feeling was getting worse, and Spike really needed to get out of the breaking morning.  He glanced at the van and suddenly noticed something he could use to break the silence.  Perfect. It was a moment’s work to reach in and retrieve it.

“Here,” he said, handing Buffy the mass of quilt.  “She likes thi – well, actually, she despises it, but I think she’s gotten a little attached.  She’s named it Fugly, by the way.” 

Buffy laughed.  “Figures.  Way to circumvent the non-swearing rule once again.”  She wrapped her arms around the bundle, swamped by its sheer size.  They looked at each other and smiled.

“Can Clem find you?” she asked abruptly. Her face was barely visible above the bedspread, and he couldn’t quite see the shape of her mouth as she asked. 

“Uh, yeah – probably will look in on him, see what he’s done with the old place.”  He hadn’t thought about it, really, but it seemed important right now.  He would see Clem, if she needed him to.

“Good.”  Her voice had an air of determination.  “Then I’ll tell him if I need to talk to you.  About Dawn.”

He smiled, dazedly.  “Yeah, sure.  Glad to help.”  He would definitely visit Clem.

“Good.”  She nodded definitively, and stepped back from the van.  Spike took the hint.

“Right, then.  I’m off.  Tell the nibblet to get well soon.” 

He hoisted himself into the van, businesslike.  Buffy began to head back to the house, trying to fold Fugly into a more manageable shape.  Neither of them looked back as they parted, each head whirling with conflicted thoughts.  Trapped in their own worlds, neither noticed as the sun rose on another morning in Sunnydale.

“Hello, dearie, well don’t you look nice today!  I love it when the spring comes around, all the girls wearing pastels, reminds me of Monet, doesn’t it?  And I just said to myself, I said, ‘Why not take a walk into town?’, what with the nice weather and I heard it’s going to rain tomorrow.  And then I remembered that I had all these silly checks that I just can’t keep track of, and I’m so hopeless at addition, wouldn’t you be a sweet girl to total it up for me?” 

With that, the elderly woman reached into her cardigan pocket and produced a huge wad of crumpled-up papers.  She set the entire handful down on the counter and began to smooth out selected scraps, humming happily.  Buffy sighed as she recognized a couple of promotional checks in the heap, “You May Be A Winner” clearly emblazoned on their faces.

“Ma’am, I think some of those are just advertisements…” she ventured, trying to get a better look.  Suddenly, the woman’s hand smacked down on top of the pile, sending wadded paper everywhere.  Buffy looked up, startled, to see the formerly-kindly lady draw herself up and fix her with a beady eye.

“How dare you accuse me of lying!”  Two pink spots had appeared on either side of the woman’s nostrils, and Buffy focused on them involuntarily as the woman continued to bristle.  “I demand to speak to your manager!” 

Ugh, no, thought Buffy.  Not again.  “Ma’am, I don’t think you’re lying, but see this writing?  It says…”

“I certainly don’t need some teenybopper telling me about my finances!  I’ve been depositing checks in this bank since 1953!”  The woman’s voice was getting more and more shrill, causing other customers to stop and stare.  Buffy looked at them and shrugged apologetically.  “I want your name, miss!  And your manager!”

Buffy abruptly got tired of this.  She’d been on shift for six hours now, and her mind wasn’t really on the job.  With Dawn at home, Xander in a raging mood, and Spike in town, one little old lady was just proving too much.

“Yeah, cool.”  She cut the woman off mid-rant and made her way down the counter to Neil’s office.  About the last person she wanted to see right now – or ever, for that matter – but she’d happily dump her customer on him.  Crazy Lady HAD asked for the manager…

She poked her head through the door.  “Neil?  Customer on three.”  She tried to skip out again as quickly as she’d entered, but Neil was already on his feet.

“Again?”  He made his way around the desk, and Buffy tried her best not to shudder.  She couldn’t help it.  Something about this weedy, wormy little man just GOT to her.  Something about his pasty white skin, the watery blue eyes, the head that had been shaved to preempt the signs of  pre-30s balding…  Gah.  She backed away from him, trying not to be obvious about her revulsion.

“Oh, Elizabeth,” he sighed.  Neil shook his head regretfully, heaving a deep sigh.  He leaned back against his desk in his best ‘boss’ pose, wide beady eyes staring.  “We’ve talked about your interaction with the customers before, and you’ve really got to improve your interpersonal skills and managerial independence.”

“Hunh?”  Yeah, Neil – that might have been English.  “No, Neil, she’s got those Ed Macmahon coupons, she’s trying…”

“Well, did you explain to her the difficulties of promotional materials in the proper manner?  You’ve had enough time to read the entire manual, I would hope...”

Buffy rolled her eyes.  She was too tired for this right now.  “Neil, she’s trying to cash a one million dollar check.  She asked for you, I’m getting you.  I tried, I failed, she conquered.  I’m covered in shame, and I’m going to go give myself a stern talking-to later, I promise.  But right now, she’s wigging at the desk, so I think you might want to check on her.”

Neil straightened up, his face pulling tight.  “And you, Elizabeth, might find it useful to reintroduce yourself to our terms of service in the back.  The blue binder set, just in case you don’t recognize it.  You might as well take it out of your lunch break.” 

He brushed past her, and her skin crawled.  Why couldn’t he be a demon, she thought despairingly.  The one person she wanted to kill outright, and not a horn or tentacle in sight.  Just a glistening bald pate, with that one throbbing blue vein right above the right temple, matching his translucent blue eyes… she shivered and instinctively scrubbed at her arms.  Mind cooties.

The little old lady pointed and shouted as Buffy slipped by her counter position.  Neil was already trying his patented “talk-louder-than-the-customer” technique, and the entire spectacle promised to be deafening.

“Don’t slay the humans, no slaying of humans…’ Buffy muttered under her breath as she stalked into the back room and leaned against the door of the safe.  The six-volume bank manual stared at her accusingly from the makeshift shelf, and

Buffy was hit by a wave of despair. She was very conscious that her emotions were giving her two options: crying uncontrollably, or screaming at the top of her lungs.  Given that either would probably get her fired, she didn’t see the point in delaying.  Slumping into the nearest chair, she laid her head on the kitchenette counter and waited for the onslaught to begin.  “I quit, I just quit.”

“No.  Remember, you’re not allowed to.”  Ruth stepped through the back door, tossing the butt of her cigarette into a potted plant.  She tried to shut the door behind her quickly in a vain attempt to trap the fumes from her smoke-break outside, but the  tobacco fumes wafted in nonetheless.  Ruth made a face.

“Jesus – it’s a bank!  You’d think you’d be able to close the doors quick when you need to.”  She shook her head in disgust and marched over to one of the kitchenette cabinets.  She tossed a spray-bottle down to Buffy.

“No quitting.  We made a pact, we don’t leave the other one here to rot and despair.  ‘Breeze me.”  Buffy smiled wanly and obeyed, dousing the woman in Febreeze as she spun, arms outstretched.  Ruth’s body-hugging sweaters and long skirts did tend to carry the scent of tobacco with them, and Buffy wasn’t sure how much the spritzing helped. 

“Does this stuff actually work?” she mused, trying to read the back of the bottle.

“Don’t know, don’t care – keeps Neil off my back.”  Ruth took the bottle back and stowed it as she peeked out to the front counter.  Her lips twisted downward sourly.

“Got chased off by the prick, I see,” she spat.  Ruth’s hatred of Neil was never far below the surface, and was probably the only thing that kept Buffy from killing Neil outright.  No matter how vile he was, how pompous, how rude, Buffy would never, ever be able to hate him more than Ruth already did.  It perked her up a little.

“Yeah, but I foisted some crazy lady off on him.  He’ll be busy for a while.”  Buffy watched Neil at the counter for a moment, wincing as she heard his voice crescendo in competition with the customer’s ranting.  She cocked her head. 

“Does he even know that he’s really unbelievably rude?  To everyone?”

“Refer to previous ‘don’t know, don’t care’ reply, but this time with deepest sincerity,” said Ruth, snagging a Wheat Thin out of the open box on the counter.  She casually rattled the box to check its contents, then extended it to Buffy.  “Eat some of these before I finish them off.”

“No, thanks.”  Buffy rested her chin on her crossed arms, looking miserably out of the window as Ruth began to chatter.  She hadn’t eaten all day, but she didn’t feel like it right now.  Every time she tried to focus, images went flashing through her head.  Dawn, Xander, last night’s fight, Spike beginning to smoke in the morning sun….

“Hola, chiquita, you’re missing out on my fascinating theory.  It involves Neil, a maverick Russian robotics corporation, a sudden lack of funding and then program budget cuts under the heading of ‘human social interaction skills’.”  Ruth pushed her gently on the shoulder, and Buffy shook her head, blinking.  “But something tells me that you’re not really going to be into the theory humor right now.  You feeling okay?”

Buffy shook her head wearily, trying to clear it.  “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.”  Ruth gave her a look, and she relented. 

“Okay, fine, I’m totally zoning out, have been all morning, feel like crap and could probably kill all the customers with a stapler.  At this point, without provocation.”  She sighed, rubbing her eyes.  “It shows that much?”

“Only when you talk, walk, or interact in any way.”  Ruth slumped into a chair next to her, digging into the box of crackers.  “Seriously, Summers, what’s up?  I haven’t seen you this out of it in ages.  You sick or something?”

Buffy took a deep breath and let it out in a gust, half hoping that Ruth would just drop the topic.  But Ruth knew her too well; when Buffy finally looked at her, she was just sitting expectantly, daintily munching cracker after cracker.  Waiting. 

Buffy cradled her forehead in her palm, fingers covering her eyes to block out the light.

“An….” Uh.  “Old friend came back to town this morning – totally unexpected.”

“I see we’re saying ‘friend’ with air-quotes,” Ruth quipped.  “Which, of course, means that opportunities for mackage abound.”

“No, no.”  Buffy shook her head.  “He came with my sister.”

Ruth’s eyes widened.  “Oh, so that should be SMACKAGE, rather than mackage – how the hell old is Dawn anyhow?  Twelve?”

Buffy laughed in spite of herself.  “No, not like that!  She was flying home to surprise me, there was plane trouble, she got hurt, he drove her home.  No nothing of any kind.”  She paused.  “Ever.”

“Good to hear.  Well, not about the hurting, but the rest…”  Ruth settled back against the counter, squinting out of the window.  “So she’s okay?”

“Yeah, she’s fine, I left her at home, casts and everything.  She’s asleep, I think.”

“Right.  Yeah.”  Ruth was obviously thinking hard, with the narrow-eyed concentration that made her so intimidating to the average customer.  Ruth’s face at rest settled into an unconscious ‘piss me off and die’ expression which, according to Ruth, “Is very useful at work or on the street late at night, but not so good when someone’s trying to set you up at a cocktail party.  Hence, single and fancy-free.”  She’d smiled when she said it, but Buffy could tell it bothered her.

“So.”  Ruth turned to her, businesslike.  “You’re at work, even though your sister’s at home, hurt.”  Buffy nodded.  “And there’s some guy around who…” she raised an eyebrow, “…is something different.”

“To put it mildly,” Buffy groaned.

“Exactly.  And you are here, for a nine-hour shift, even though there’s all this important crap going on at home and you really should be there rather than here.  Right?”

Buffy’s mouth twitched downwards – Ruth’s diagnoses were often dead-on, and this was no exception.  “Yeah, right.”  And after this morning’s talk with the hospital accounts department, she’d need as many hours as possible to cover the bill.  She slumped further in her chair and peered over at her friend, who had gone very silent.

Ruth was still staring out of the window, and Buffy turned to watch her.  The rhythmic motion of her jaw as she chewed was oddly fascinating.  Circular, grinding, the little bits of cracker getting crushed into….

“Elizabeth.” 

Buffy jumped as Neil entered the room.  “Yes!  What?  Hunh?” 

“Mrs. Eidleman has requested that you be reprimanded for your behaviour towards her, and I can’t say I blame her.  We don’t accuse our patrons of lying, Elizabeth – it’s one of the many, many things we never say to them.  And this kind of slip shows a certain lack of respect for the profession in general, honestly….”

Buffy gaped at him.  “But I never said she lied!  SHE used the word, and then I got you!”

Neil continued as though she hadn’t spoken.  “I think we might have to review your position here, Elizabeth.  Certainly something with less customer interaction, and the raise we usually offer at six months will have to be reviewed, but…”

Buffy’s heart pounded in her chest.  Oh, not now.  Not now, of ALL times.  Her throat closed and her eyes blurred; she could see the house accounts changing in her mind.  Xander would have to pay too much – he would, because he’d never let her down, but she didn’t want him to have to – and then with Dawn to feed, the possibility of more hospital bills… She was in such a daze, she almost missed Ruth’s opening volley.

“Neil, stop being such an ass.”

Neil blinked and his head shot up.  “Excuse me, Ruth?”

“You heard me, and we’ve worked here the exact same amount of time, you only got promoted a few months ago and I don’t respond to power-tripping so don’t try it.  Her sister was in a plane crash, arrived this morning, no one’s at home with her, Buff’s a little bit concerned about that because it’s a human emotion and people sometimes feel those, Neil.”  Ruth was on a roll now.  “And the fact that she came in today?  Shows professionalism, don’t you think so, Neil?  But it’d probably be a good idea to let her go home now, take the rest of the day off, because frankly I don’t want her to be around you, now you’ve made all those lovely little threats.  Which we’ll be talking about as soon as she leaves.” She smiled icily at Neil.  “Buffy, honey, grab your shit, you’re going home.”

Buffy paused for a split second before swiftly rising and heading for the cloakroom.  Ruth’s voice, only slightly softer, continued behind her.

“Don’t look at me like that – did you even ask her if there was something wrong?”  Silence.  “Yeah, going out on a limb to say no.  And Jesus, Neil – you know she’d never tell a customer that they were a liar.  Me, maybe, but never her.  So that was just dumb.”  Ruth had obviously meant her to hear that bit, but then she lowered her volume and Buffy couldn’t make out the rest of the conversation.  Just in case, she lingered in the cloakroom until all sounds of talking had stopped.

“Am I leaving?” she asked Ruth hesitantly.  Neil was nowhere to be seen.

“Yep, off you go.”  Ruth rooted around in the cracker box, not looking at her.  “You’re also off for the rest of the week.”

“What?”  She panicked.  “Am I fired?”

“Hell, no, sweetie.”  Ruth smiled up at her softly.  “You’re just taking a few of your sick days to shore up your sister.”

“But I don’t have that many sick days saved up, do I?” 

“No, but you do have cover for the rest – I’ll take two of them, and Marcus’ll take the other.  As for the sick days – well, you never get sick, so I wouldn’t worry.”  She grinned at Buffy, who wasn’t processing the news.  “Lord, woman!  We’re taking your shifts so you can go back to your sister!  Don’t look so shocked!  Head for the hills!”

“J-just let me know how much I owe you guys,” Buffy stuttered.  “I don’t know if accounting can work it out, but I could write you checks, too…”

“Oh, shut up,” Ruth chuckled affectionately.  “We’re covering you, you don’t need to pay.  It’s all right.”

Buffy was stunned.  Ruth could see the emotions playing across her face silently, flickers of joy, confusion, suspicion, panic – it was as though the girl didn’t understand how well-liked she had become at the branch in the past months.  Well, she’d just have to get used to it.

Ruth shrugged unapologetically.  “You don’t have tons of cash, and it’s no trouble for us to take your shifts.  With Dawn home you’ll need it.”  She looked at Buffy bemusedly.  “Buffy – we like you.  We’re happy to do it, don’t worry.  Besides – I kind of get the feeling you’d do it for us.”

Ruth wasn’t expecting the blur of leather that enveloped her, but she handled it well, only spilling some of the Wheat Thins on the floor.  She could feel Buffy taking deep breaths in her arms, trying to pull herself together, and smiled.  “Watch out, kid – the Febreeze might kill you if you breathe it too deeply into your lungs.”  She was rewarded with a shaky laugh, but when Buffy pulled away her eyes were bright and happy.

Ruth stood up as well, straightening her sweater.  She gave Buffy a gentle shove towards the door.  “Don’t worry about Neil, it’s not you, it’s him – he was taking something out on the wrong person, and now he’s got me to deal with.”  She smiled evilly.  “I plan to enjoy this afternoon, don’t you worry.” 

Buffy was still standing there, grinning goofily.  Ruth snorted.  “Now take off before I change my mind or request payment for my services, and whoops, sounding like a hooker.”

“Thank you, Ruth.” 

“No problem, Buff.  Love to Dawn.”  Ruth watched the brunette stride out the door and smiled to herself.  Poor kid – so much to deal with, and she so rarely let it get to her.  Days like this, she must just shatter…  Ruth turned and headed back to the front counter, smiling cheerfully.

A day in which she helped Buffy and demolished Neil?  Ahhhh… Life was good.

“Dawnie, I’m hooooo – HOLY CRAP!”

Xander dropped his keys and sprinted to the kitchen door where Dawn was clumsily hopping on one foot, her arms full.  He was beside her in a few steps; Dawn let out a soft whoop of surprise as he easily swept her up, letting the contents of her arms fall against his chest between them. 

“What are you doing out of bed?  Buffy’s going to kill you!”

Dawn’s reply was cut off by a voice from the living room. 

“Yeah, I will, if she doesn’t get that ice cream in here soon.  Move your gimpy little ass, wench!” Dawn snorted and poked at Xander to let her down, but he ignored her completely, carting girl and ice cream together into the living room.

Buffy was lying on the couch, Fugly pulled up to her chin and an abandoned bag of microwave popcorn on the table beside her.  She waved cheerily at him as he entered, but was quickly distracted by the Ben and Jerry’s pint that Dawn lobbed at her clumsily from across the room. 

Xander carefully set Dawn down in the depression Buffy had left along the inside of the couch, noticing the many empty cans of soda littering the windowsill.  “Well, I’m going to make a wild guess and dub this a sugar high?” he drawled. 

“Oh, there is no word to describe the amount of sugar I have in my system right now,” Dawn snorted, turning her arm over to reveal two spoons stuck handle-first into the top of her cast and offering one to her sister.  Buffy scrunched up her face, but accepted.  “I think my teeth have turned into Chiclets.”

“So… we’re NOT in bed.”  Xander rolled his eyes and collapsed to the floor in front of Buffy.  She offered him the ice cream lid and he set it on the coffee table.

“We’re improvising,” admitted Dawn.  She was wearing a new set of pajamas, he noticed, and she’d washed her hair somehow, and was now looking delighted to be home.

“Yeah, she got all uppity and wanted to take a shower and roam freely, so we made a deal: I washed her hair for her, she became Ice Cream Bitch during the movie.”  Buffy smirked at her sister, who made a totally ineffective threatening gesture with her cast.  Xander smiled at how easily they were falling back into the same old patterns.  He eased up a little, relaxing against the couch.

“So, what’re we watching?”  He accepted the spoon of Cherry Garcia Buffy thrust at him and focused on the television.  A woman in a floaty white dress gracefully coasted down a huge staircase towards a man in extremely tight pants.  A trailing end of her dress blew out behind her in a gauzy, 30-foot trail.  Xander waved the empty spoon at the dancers.  “I sense the influences of a wind machine, ‘cause that’s not natural.”

Buffy snatched her spoon back.  “A Gene Kelly retrospective - but we skipped anything without Cyd Charisse.” 

Xander nodded.  “As you do.”

Dawn slid further down on the couch, her ankle propped up next to Buffy’s elbow.  She’d taken the aircast off, Xander saw.  While the entire area was still mottled with yellowish-green bruising, it had returned to its normal proportions. 

Buffy was watching Dawn too, and noticed her sister’s ice cream tip over in her lap.  “Hey!  Don’t spill on the blanket!”

“Why not?  A little ice cream might improve it…”  Dawn held her spoonful next to the quilt with an appraising eye. 

“So,” Xander interrupted.  “How was work?” 

Buffy’s brash manner changed completely as she ducked her head, a small smile on her lips that she half-heartedly bit back.  “Um – good, good.”  The smile broke into a full-on grin.  “Actually, I got the week off!”

“But how?  Oh, ah - what did Neil say about that?”  He’d heard far too much about Neil to trust any sort of favors from the man.

“Didn’t matter – Ruth took him on!  It was like a prizefight.  Well,” she amended, “except that Neil didn’t’ really fight at all, Ruth just destroyed him.”  She brightened.  “And the guys at work are taking all of my shifts!  So I’m clear to spend all the time I can with my favorite person in the world,” she crooned.  Then she turned to Dawn.  “Oh, and you, too.”

“Knew it was coming, already had the pillow ready,” responded Dawn as she launched a cushion at her sister.  Buffy caught the pillow easily, and Dawn took the opportunity to simper at Xander.

“The people at work like her!  They really, really like her!”  She clasped her hands in front of her, eyelashes batting manically. 

Buffy mock-glared at her, but her face was flushed and happy.  “May I point out that you didn’t even exist for that acceptance speech?”

“Did too.  Was glowy and energy-bally, but I existed.  And the sincerity of that speech cut through all dimensions.  Demons in hell wept.”

Buffy was different, Xander realized.  As the sisters sparred good-naturedly, he couldn’t help but notice the change in his friend.  Far from the tired, wan girl he’d lived with for the past months, she was bursting with energy and light.  And all because of a kind gesture by her coworkers, because she had her sister with her again, that’s all it took.  At least, that’s what he hoped had triggered the change.  He wouldn’t let himself think of the other part of the equation.  A high-pitched wail brought him back to attention.

“No, seriously, you have to go to bed now.”  Buffy was trying to extricate herself from the couch, but Dawn wasn’t making it easy, trying to trap her sister in the blankets. 

“But Buffeeeeeeeeeeee…” she groaned as Buffy neatly escaped onto the floor.  “It’s only nine o’clock!  What’s up with that?  It’s wicked early!”

Buffy stopped to stare at her.  “What language ARE you speaking right now?  “Wicked”?”

Dawn smirked.  “All the cool kids are saying it.”

“You’re bizarre.  And you’re also going upstairs to bed, either under your own power or under mine.”  She lifted an eyebrow significantly; choice A would be far less humiliating than choice B.  Xander averted his eyes, choosing to become much more interested in the carpet than the battle of wills.

Dawn considered starting an argument for a moment, mentally weighing the pros and cons.  But to her surprise, she found she was actually quite tired.  Maybe the drama from the morning, maybe it was the road trip, maybe it was the idea of climbing into the clean sheets of her room while she still smelled of shower gel.  “Whatever,” she concluded, shrugging and hoisting herself out of the cushions.  Buffy gave her a grateful smile and began to pick up some of the trash littering the room.

Halfway to the stairs, Dawn stopped.  “Are you going out on patrol tonight?” she blurted.  Only at the end of the sentence did she take in Buffy’s expression.  Oh, god, not in front of Xander, they’d as good as talked about this… She cringed inwardly but tried to brazen it through, apologizing to Buffy with her eyes.

“Yeah – thought I’d do a quick round,” Buffy answered, her voice carefully bland.  “Why?”

“Well, if I have to go to bed all early and crap, I might as well get pancakes out of the deal tomorrow morning.” 

“Last time I tried pancakes, I nearly burned the house down,” admitted Buffy.  “But I can do waffles!”  She turned to Xander in appeal.

“Yeah, she can do those – there’s this nifty red button on the machine that goes on when they’re done.  Buffy-proof – hence, breakfast sometimes escapes unscathed, unlike every other meal.”  Xander grinned at her, and Buffy let out a breath.  He was acting normal.  Everything would be fine. 

Dawn thumped up the stairs behind her, an uneven gait that reminded Buffy of Quasimodo.  Heh.  Would have to use that nickname tomorrow, she decided as she left the trash in the kitchen.  He was still standing in the hall when she returned; she avoided Xander’s eye and went to the closet, pulling out a long canvas jacket.

“So – you’re home late,” she commented, pulling the jacket on.  Unconsciously, her hands flew in and out of pockets, checking on the various weapons.  “What happened?”

Xander slouched against the wall of the foyer, staring at his feet.  “Oh, the architect’s gone and convinced the homeowner that a swimming pool would be a great idea.  Unfortunately, the only place to put it is over the garage, and what we’ve got up so far?”  He shook his head.  “Not going to do that too well.  I spent most of the night explaining how the structure would slowly collapse over the next five years, and one day he’d find his precious Jag full of chlorine, but he didn’t like that so much.  The architect doesn’t help, he’s a total brownnoser – he just keeps insisting that there must be SOME way to do it on the current budget.  And I keep telling Mr. Gregson that it’s not going to happen without more funds, but there’s no WAY he’s going to pour more money into this house, so now he’d just mad at me because I say it won’t work.”  He sighed, rubbing at his eyes.  “I might just build it, then let it fall.  Serves him right, less grief for me.”

“Rich people and their money, hunh?”  Buffy walked over and leaned against Xander’s chest, one arm wrapped around him.  He dropped his arms around her shoulders, resting his chin on the top of her head, a familiar and comforting pose for them both.

“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t know about rich people.  Or money.  But I do know about construction, and if they’d just listen to me…”

 

Buffy nodded sympathetically, the motion causing his shirt to crinkle under her cheek.  “Everything would be all right.  But they never listen to you.”

“They’re not the only ones.” 

Buffy stiffened at his tone, aware that his hand had stopped rubbing her back and rested flatly against her shoulderblade.  He hadn’t forgotten, and he wasn’t going to let it go.  She pulled away, looking up at him resignedly.

“You’re not going to see him, are you.”  It was a hopeful statement, almost a question.  She studied his face.  He was calm, still, seemed almost relaxed - but beneath the surface his emotions were broiling, a sort of tension palpable in the room. 

“I’m just going out on patrol, Xander.”  She belted her coat, pulling her hair out of the collar.  Xander waited.  She sighed, exasperated.

“I don’t even know where he is,” Buffy said, her hands spread wide.  “I’m going on patrol, I’m going to get some waffle-stuff, and then I’m going to Clem’s before coming STRAIGHT home.”  She paused, then decided the whole truth was better than half.  Reluctantly, she dragged out the rest of the sentence.  “And yes, I will be asking Clem to tell Spike to call me.” 

Xander let out an explosive, disgusted breath and paced away from her into the living room.  She followed quickly.

“Xander, I just need to talk to him,” she tried to explain, but Xander was furious.  She stood back as he began to gesture wildly, his voice bouncing off the walls.

“WHY?  Why could you possibly need to see him?  You saw plenty of him last time, and then he went off to… wherever the hell he’s been!  And you know what?  I don’t CARE where he’s been!  I wish he had stayed there!”  He laughed bitterly, raking his hand through his hair.

Buffy steadied her tone, speaking quietly.  “Yeah, and that’s one of the things I need to know.  Like, how did he find Dawn?  Was he looking for her?  And I also want to know about a lot of the hospital stuff, because Dawn can’t tell me, she was too drugged up.”

“Besides,” she added quietly.  “We need to talk about some other stuff, too.” 

Xander spun to face her, blazing.

“But what if he hurts you?”

“Xander, he won’t.”

“Hello?!  Am I the only one who remembers why he left in the first place?  What he did to you last time?”

He’d gone too far.

Buffy silently waited for him to turn to face her before replying, deadly calm.  “Actually, Xander, I may have a vague recollection of that.”  She watched him with narrowed eyes, no longer worried about soothing him.  It only took one look for him to realize that she was seconds from snapping; he couldn’t push it anymore without her walking out on him altogether.

All at once, the fire went out of him.  He collapsed onto the couch heavily.  “I hate him, Buff.  I hate him more than I can explain.”

“I know.”

“But not for me, Buff.”  He looked at her plaintively.  “I think he’s dangerous – he’s BEEN dangerous.  I - I don’t want you to get hurt again.  I don’t want him to be able to hurt you, any of you.”  He buried his head in his hands.  “I just want to keep everyone happy.  Safe.  Normal…”  He trailed off dejectedly.

“Yeah, I know you do,” Buffy replied.  She made no move to assure him, but crouched down in front of him.  She caught his gaze and held it.  “But you can’t.  It’s my battle, Xand, and I have to deal with it my way.”

He chuckled hopelessly.  “Yeah, probably should have learned that by now, but I keep on trying.  Dammit.”  He closed his eyes, his teeth clenching.  He could feel Buffy starting to stand, and reached out for her instinctively.

She paused, allowing her hand to be caught in his.  He seemed to have trouble choosing his words.

“Xander, it’s okay, don’t…”

He looked up at her and squeezed her hand.  “Okay.  I won’t.”  He tried to smile, but it came out as a grimace.  “Please, just be careful.”

She tried to pull away but he held her fast, pulling her closer.  Confused, she let him until their faces were only a few inches apart.

“I mean it, Buff,” he breathed.  His expression was serious, his stare imploring her to hear him, to listen.  He didn’t want to say it out loud, but he couldn’t afford to have her forget. 

“You aren’t as strong as you used to be.”

Her lips pressed together thinly, but she nodded.   

“I’ll try not to be late.” 

And then she was gone.