Part 2:

Part 3:

Part 4:

* * * * *

Buffy decided it wasn’t quite so comforting a thing to watch a vampire sleep. It was almost like watching over a corpse; as if the person she sat sentinel over had fallen suddenly into death.

Her only comfort was the tranquility of that sleep, for it assured her that his sleep was deep and dreamless. She could only image the amount of torture he had endured in waiting for her arrival, and to see him safe now and rested came of great comfort to her; more than she would have liked to admit.

The petite blonde stifled a yawn, shifting uncomfortably in the chair she sat watch in. She had relinquished her bed to him, after much argument; assuring him that she would rest in Dawn’s room while he slept. But she could never have let him know how responsible she felt for what had become of him. Her need for sleep had been drowned out by her stubbornness to see him cared for after his ordeal, and she had spent the remainder of the night and early morning hours instead holding needless sentry in a corner of the room.

“You really should get your rest, dear,” spoke a soft voice near her ear.

Buffy no longer flinched at the now-familiar intrusion of her mother’s worrisome advice, still watching the sleeping vampire with guilt-laden concern.

“You should really be the one in that bed right now, Buffy. You need your rest more than anyone here.”

The blonde Slayer shook her head softly. “No. I can’t rest yet. Especially if you’re the one telling me to do so.”

She turned to face her mother’s apparition finally, her look almost apologetic. “I know you’re not her.”

The figure of Joyce, which stood clear as day beside her, bending close, pulled a face of motherly frustration; shaking her head despairingly at her daughter’s stubbornness.

“Buffy, what are you talking about?” she replied gently, sounding exhausted. “You need your rest, honey. You’re not making sense anymore.”

She shot a glance at Spike, then back to her daughter, a reproachful look in her eyes. “And what have I told you about having vampires in your bed? You know the house rules, Buffy. Especially after the trouble with Angel.”

The expression on Buffy’s face hardened, and yet somehow remained sorrowful and guilty; unable to mistrust the image of her mother entirely.

“Stop,” she spoke softly, her tone pleading. “Just…stop. Stop pretending you’re her. Stop coming to me like this.”

Joyce peered at her sadly, the concern growing in her eyes. “Stop pretending I’m who, Buffy? What’s this about?”

The older woman sighed, placing a gentle hand on her daughter’s forehead and brushing away the stray strands of hair that lay there. “I’m your mother, Buffy. I’m worried about you.”

Buffy’s countenance seemed to tremble. There was a quaver to her voice when she spoke again.

“No. You’re not.”

* * *

She didn’t startle as much from this dream as she had the others. Instead, she woke slowly, raising her head from her shoulder and looking about the room for familiarity. Nothing appeared out of place; Spike still sleeping soundly across the room in her bed, the faint warm glow of early morning sunshine glittering through the shades.

Getting up from her chair and stretching stiffly, she went to the window and tightened the shades further; replacing the blanket that had been pinned up the night before, which had at sometime come loose and fallen aside. Assured that the sunlight had been held sufficiently at bay, she slipped silently from the room then, with only one last glance at the vampire still slumbering in her bed.

* * *

“Morning,” chorused the others off-handedly as the Slayer entered the kitchen, which was already bustling with activity as the five girls and Andrew sat at the overcrowded island.

“Good morning,” replied Buffy earnestly with attempted cheer, heading for the refrigerator. “You guys are all up awfully early.”

The girls all shared a glance, looking perplexed.

“Its 10 a.m.,” pointed out Molly helpfully, giving Buffy a concerned look. “Your time.”

The blonde froze slightly, carton of orange juice in hand. “Oh,” she replied comically, looking sheepish.

Heading for the cupboard and getting a glass, she poured herself some juice, downing it rapidly in her thirst.

From the counter, Kennedy offered her a supportive grin. “Hey, don’t sweat it. You needed your sleep.”

The others nodded and murmured their agreement, as Buffy began pouring herself another glass.

“Right,” was Buffy’s overeager reply, smiling assuredly. “My sleep. Needed it. A lot. Great stuff.”

She quickly downed another glass of the orange juice, returning the nearly empty carton to the fridge and retrieving a box of cereal from the cupboards.

The others watched her silently for several moments, especially Dawn, who seemed concerned over something.

“How’s Spike?” she asked suddenly, watching her sister prepare herself some breakfast.

Buffy nodded readily, not looking up from her cereal. “Good. He seemed to be sleeping well when I last looked.”

Dawn nodded faintly in reply, looking somewhat relieved by this. It was obvious that just as her sister, she had been worried over the vampire as well.

“I didn’t sleep well,” spoke up Andrew suddenly, gaining strange and annoyed glances from the women in the room. “The floor in the living room is really hard. A-and I think there was this, stray piece of glass and it sort of dug into my back, and…”

Realizing he was earning dirty looks from the others, mainly Buffy, he trailed off, clamping his mouth shut once more.

Ignoring the interruption, Buffy turned to her sister once again. “Where’s Xander? He was supposed to give you a ride to school this morning.”

The teenager looked somewhat guilty. “W-well I told him you probably wouldn’t make…me…go today…” she began hesitantly, looking hopeful. The stern look in her sister’s eyes, however, hurried her to correct herself.

“But I could always go late.”

Buffy nodded severely, looking pleased with her reply. “As soon as he gets back,” she added firmly, looking serious.

Dawn nodded earnestly. “He went to pick some things up at his place, along with some clothes for Spike, now that the heats off of us. But I’ll have him take me when he gets back.”

The potentials suddenly looked serious.

“That’s right, Buffy,” spoke up Kennedy suddenly, sounding grim, “We haven’t seen anything of this First thing since you killed that super vamp of it’s. Should we be worried?”

The blonde Slayer looked grim as well, giving the girls a firm glance. “We should always be worried. Always be ready.’

“It looks as though The First’s in remission, as Anya’s resources say, but we can never tell for sure. All that means for now is time for us. Time to train; time to plan. We have to always be ready; always be en guard.’

“Because time for us, means time for them. The First may be biding it’s time for now, but it will be back once it’s regrouped, and it will probably be stronger and a lot more dangerous than before.”

Buffy got up from her seat, jaw set with determination. “Therefore, training begins today.”

The other’s faces showed mixed responses; some fierce enthusiasm, and others, unease.

Andrew also showed enthusiasm. “Goody!”

Buffy shot him a stern glance. “Not you, Andrew.”

The sci-fi geek looked suddenly disappointed.

Buffy and the other girls suddenly looked up as Spike silently entered the kitchen, looking about at the sea of faces with concealed discomfort.

“Whoa!” was Vi’s loud exclamation, her fear of the vampire for once overshadowed by obvious surprise.

“Your face!” spoke up Molly loudly, voicing all of the potential’s thoughts. “I-it’s…!”

“You can see out of both eyes now,” finished Kennedy wryly, looking slightly impressed, not to mention a bit amused.

Andrew looked uneasily up at the vampire as well, scooting a bit further away from the doorway. “Yeah, you look great,” he muttered nervously, trying to appear unobtrusive for once.

Spike gave them all a dry glance. “Glad you’re all so chipper this morning,” he murmured sardonically, slipping past them into the room and heading for the fridge.

Buffy turned her gaze from the vampire to the girls. “Vampire’s heal incredibly fast. Almost as fast as Slayers,” she informed them all curtly, turning her cheek to indicate the cut that had been an open wound only just the night before, and was now but a mere pink mar of her features.

The potentials seemed to take this in with some amount of awe, Molly hurrying to scribble the information down on a tablet already littered with notes; just as the former Slayer-in-Waiting, Annabelle had been known to do. Dawn rolled her eyes slightly, looking somewhat irritated with their lack of worldly knowledge.

“Buffy,” came the vampire’s voice softly from just off of the Slayer’s shoulder. She turned to meet his gaze questioningly, pulling back slightly at the sudden close parameters she found herself to him.

“Want I should take this upstairs?” he murmured guardedly, lifting the medical bag of pig’s blood in his hand for emphasis.

The petite Slayer turned to eye the collection of teenage girls once more, who were now talking eagerly amongst themselves and occasionally throwing curious glances in the vampire’s direction. She raised a brow wryly at the thought of them dealing with a vampire taking breakfast in their midst.

“That would probably be a good idea…” she replied finally, nodding insistently.

The peroxide-blonde vampire grimaced slightly, dark humor in his eyes. “Right.”

Hefting the bag of blood and closing the refrigerator door, he made to slip out by way of the living room, but Buffy caught his arm suddenly, stopping him momentarily. He turned to meet her eyes, his gaze questioning once more.

“How are you?” she inquired softly, her gaze intense; interrogating him.

The look in his eyes spoke of further perplexity as he turned to face her more fully, inclining his head slightly at her concern.

She took a deep breath, her gaze softening ruefully. “I know it’s early, but the girls need training. And I could use your help. If your strength’s up to it right now.”

Normally he might have laughed at her concern, but in light of the situation, he merely frowned slightly, looking ruminative.

“Just a few cuts ‘n bruises; a rib or two still out of place,” he murmured in low tones, keeping his voice from reaching those in the kitchen.

His eyes rose to meet hers again, dark and intense. “I can manage. I’ve fought on more fatal wounds.”

Buffy avoided his gaze almost imperceptibly, pretending to be in thought. She appeared not entirely to trust his assessment, her expression still hinting at concern.

“I need you at full strength, Spike,” she began insistently.

“I’ll be fine,” he continued adamantly, cutting off her persistent concerns. He gazed at her firmly, willing her to meet his eyes once more, which she finally did; returning his look for equal strength; and he favored her with a faint, sorrowful smile.

“I’m alright, Buffy.”

She gazed at him for several more moments, and finally finding assurance there, she nodded slowly in confirmation.

“Wow. Check out the sparks,” murmured Rona suddenly from the other side of the room, breaking the tense silence between vampire and Slayer, and leaving Buffy looking rather shamefaced for it.

The other girls giggled affirmation, as Buffy firmly refused to meet their eyes in disgrace, her countenance tight. Beside her, Spike fought back the urge to grin in amusement at her embarrassment; despite the fact that he looked nearly as guilty himself.

At the island table, Dawn shot her sister a sorrowfully accusing glance. It went unnoticed, however, in the amusement coming off of the girls around her.

“Girls!” broke in Buffy’s voice suddenly, the giggles dying short. All eyes were on her once more, their expressions apologetic.

“That’s enough fun for now,” she began, looking around at them all, her expression severe. Vi gulped nervously.

“We’ve got training to do.”

* * * *

Part 5:

* * * * *

The worries that followed her to work hung heavy on her heart and mind as she attempted some semblance of normalcy in this, their greatest hour of warlike preparation.

As much as she would’ve liked to begun the training of the SIT’s that morning, she knew that things would be difficult on the war council if she continued to be a no-show at work. It was her decision that she go, no one else’s, and yet, she felt as if she had been forced into a sudden tedium she was not quite ready for in her current state of mind. She was so tired, so very tired. The only thoughts she could focus on clearly were that of The First and how to battle it; her worries over the abilities of the potentials; the extent of Spike’s abilities at the moment.

The excess workload that had crept up on her at work had not helped matters any, either. Principal Wood hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d told her of the huge list of students waiting to see her over her short absence. Buffy couldn’t imagine ever having been so overwhelmed by something other than Slayer business. Had she not been so worried about other matters, she might have appreciated the normalcy of her plight, but as it was, she had no time for leisurely meditations. She hadn’t even granted herself the time for sleep, and she was greatly regretting it for the remainder of the day.

Four-o’-clock couldn’t possibly come soon enough.

When she did get back, however, it was to the sight of bedlam.

“What happened?” she demanded loudly of the guilty trio before her upon entering the kitchen, her tone incredulous. The kitchen was a cooking nightmare, food and cooking utensils strewn everywhere.

“Everyone was getting rather peckish…” muttered Molly sheepishly, wiping a splotch of something unidentifiable from her cheek with the back of her hand.

“So we thought we’d cook something for lunch,” finished Vi in a tinny voice, trying to look as small as possible.

Buffy’s shocked gaze shot to Andrew, turning accusing.

The sci-fi geek shook his head hastily, attempting innocence. “I-I had nothing to do with it. I swear! I just came in to see where the burning smell was coming from!”

Buffy’s accusing glance shot to the two girls, darkening further.

Molly looked further embarrassed, shrinking in on herself somewhat. “That was the oven mitt…”

“Oven mitt?!” exclaimed Buffy, her pitch dangerously high.

A loud clambering from upstairs cut off any further admonishments she had as all four of them turned to see Rona and Kennedy go rushing by, giggling under their breaths in smug amusement at some unknown joke.

Arms crossed like a stern mother, the blonde Slayer turned to the two with an icy glare, freezing them in their tracks. “Alright, you two. What have you been up to?”

She cast a glance around the kitchen, taking in the carnage once more. “I can only guess it was no good…”

“Up to?” queried Rona innocently, licking her lips nervously to try and keep from smiling.

Beside her, Kennedy crossed her arms defiantly, looking utterly innocent. “Nothing,” she replied coolly, “We weren’t up to anything.”

“Girls!!”

Spike’s quite obviously infuriated voice echoed quite suddenly down to them all from upstairs, the potentials and Andrew both reacting with most likely well-placed fear at the tone and flinching despite themselves.

Buffy’s glare grew sterner, turning back to Rona and Kennedy for an explanation.

She needn’t have asked, however, as Spike soon appeared down the stairs himself, storming into the kitchen looking rather hacked off; not to mention rather wet. It looked as though he had thrown his clothes on in quite a hurry, his bleached locks in a wet tussle from doing so.

“I could kill you both, y’know—soul or no soul!” he growled angrily, sounding suspiciously more like a disappointed father, than a blood-sucking demon.

Rona and Kennedy only seemed to find the urge not to laugh harder at the look on his face, threatening to burst into outrageous laughter.

Sighing with waning patience, Buffy turned to the vampire with a harried expression. “Spike, what have they—“

“They were peeking on me in the shower!” he cut her off with a tone of indignation, pointing violently in the direction of the two now giggling perpetrators. He turned to give them both a harsh glare again. “I mean it! Either of you ever seen what a disemboweled corpse looks like?!”

“Spike!” cut in Buffy harshly, before he could elaborate any further on his threat. The blonde vampire turned to her, still looking fiercely angry, but slightly cowed by the tone he’d caught in her voice.

She didn’t proceed to berate him however. Instead, she gave him a somewhat confused glance, suddenly tinged with amusement. “Why didn’t you lock the door?”

He looked at her, still openmouthed with indignation; his mouth working a bit, but not quite succeeding at formulating an answer to her question.

Then he huffed loudly, dropping his arms to his sides in frustration. “You think I’m used to bathing in a house full of teenaged girlies?! It’s like the bloody Brady Bunch around here!”

Andrew raised his hand shyly. “Can I be Greg?” Everyone ignored him.

Rona and Kennedy both turned suddenly to Buffy, forgetting their laughter momentarily and looking apologetic.

“We were just curious…” spoke up Rona, beginning to look rather embarrassed about the whole thing. “We wanted to know what vampires…look like.”

Spike turned to her, calmed somewhat, but still incensed to some degree. “Yeah, well, I’m not a bleedin’ peep show,” he countered angrily. “If you want pictures, find a bloody Watcher’s Diary!”

Kennedy tried to cover up another amused chuckle with her hand. “It’s not like we saw anything important…”

The two potential Slayers and vampire began to go at it again in a large shouting match, and pretty soon, everyone had begun to shout, arguing loudly.

“Guys!” yelled Buffy loudly over the din, trying to get their attentions. The arguing continued, increasing somewhat in volume and strength.

“EVERYBODY!” she yelled fiercely. “SHUT UP!!”

Everyone was suddenly quiet, all eyes on her. Taking a deep, thankful breath, she looked around at them all, piercing them all with a dark, no-nonsense gaze.

“Finally,” she sighed in relief, continuing to look them all over. She suddenly pierced the four Slayers-In-Waiting with a commanding gaze. “Girls—downstairs,” she commanded sternly. She turned to Spike. “Spike, come with me.”

“What about me?” spoke up Andrew hurriedly, not wishing to be left-out.

Buffy gave him an annoyed glance. “Go to the living room. Or something.” She shrugged, annoyed with his constant pestering.

The sci-fi geek obeyed silently, hurrying out of the room like a puppy with it’s tail between it’s legs; and Buffy led Spike out to the entryway, where she turned to face him grimly in front of the steps.

Spike gazed back at her, his anger having melted away to be replaced by a somewhat shamefaced expression. He avoided her eyes slightly, waiting for the verbal dress-down, which he knew was inevitable.

What he got was a rather silly looking grin.

* * *

Indignation spread in his dark eyes, his jaw tightening in humiliation.

“Slayer, are you laughin’ at me?” he murmured, his tone tight with annoyance.

The look on Buffy’s face began to grow slightly more tortured with the effort of holding back so much laughter. Silent, muffled chuckles rose slowly into amused giggles, as she stared at the vampire before her in growing amusement.

Spike continued to look indignant with her. “Well if that just—I can’t believe you’re laughing about this!” he countered in a harsh stage whisper.

Buffy shook her head helplessly, enjoying the look of indignation on his face. She placed a hand over her mouth to try and muffle her laughter.

“I can’t believe you didn’t think to lock the door!” she gasped through her laughter, tears of mirth beginning to build at the corners of her eyes. “I’m gone for only a few hours, and the big bad vampire is almost defeated by a bunch of untrained, 15-year-old girls!”

Spike rolled his eyes, his embarrassment evident as he avoided her gaze. “Alright, Buffy. That’s enough now.”

The blonde only laughed harder, still clamping a hand tightly over her mouth to muffle the sound, and suddenly, the bleach-blonde vampire couldn’t help but stifle a smile of his own at her amusement.

And it hit him suddenly, that he hadn’t seen her this relaxed, this amused for quite sometime now. When was the last time she had laughed quite so hard, he couldn’t even recall. His smile softened sadly, turning almost bittersweet.

The petite Slayer’s laughter died away slowly at the look in the vampire’s eyes. It had been a long time since she’d last laughed quite like that, she realized suddenly. Spike had obviously realized it as well.

Her laughter died, but the sparkle in her eyes because of it was still there; still dancing with an inner fire he had long since forgotten in her these days. The moment stretched on between them, soured by recent events that prevented each from voicing their thoughts.

Spike was the first to look away, sliding his hands into his pockets with pent-up frustration; but his face only spoke of sorrow.

“We should probably get to training those troublesome girls, eh?” he suggested softly, his tone holding no real emotion. “With Giles off to Shanghai to pick up that Chao-Ahn girl or whatever her name is, it’ll be only you ‘n me to train ‘em for awhile. Best we get started.”

Buffy’s countenance seemed to have gone just as dark, as she lowered her eyes in discomfort. “Yeah, you’re right. I should’ve started them sooner it’s just—“

She suddenly broke off in mid-sentence, gasping loudly in realization. “Oh, God! The kitchen!”

The vampire looked momentarily confused, then remembering the state of the kitchen, nodded shortly. “Oh. Right. Yeah, the kitchen.” He paused for a moment to ponder this.

“Have Andrew take care of it,” he proposed suddenly, his tone serious. Buffy looked at him in surprise, pulling a strange face.

“Andrew?”

The vampire shrugged dismissively. “Well, yeah. ‘S got to earn ‘is keep somehow, doesn’t he?”

There was suddenly a rather darkly mischievous glint in the Slayer’s green eyes. “You know, you’ve got a point there…” she murmured, the corners of her mouth quirking in an impish grin.

Smiling back at her, Spike followed as she turned into the living room, shouting Andrew’s name commandingly.

Perhaps tonight’s training wouldn’t go so bad after all.

* * * *

Part 6:

* * * * *

Weapons were a funny thing.

Funny how they’d become something so familiar to her, and yet remained unknown. How they could be the very thing she needed in a situation, and at the same time, be a burden to her that came unwanted. They were something she need fear when in the wrong hands, but in her own, they required trust and dependence.

Weapons were her enemy, and at the same time, her most important ally.

She had become all-too familiar with them in her six-and-a-half years as the Slayer; had learned their names, their uses, the strength and skill required to use each one properly. But there had always remained this distance there, between the knowledge and herself. The knowledge was there, but it was not a part of herself. Weapons were still just objects; still just tools of the trade which she relied on when the weapon she had made her body into just wasn’t enough. She was a reluctant ally of weapons, in the end; no matter how much it seemed she relied on them.

She relied on that separation between her and the weapon. It was the one thing that kept her grounded when it seemed she could only be sucked in further by the killing and death that was her trade.

The words had seemed to entrance the Slayers in Training. She had hoped they would do as much; hoped they would encourage their growing trust in their own abilities.

As soon as she had awoken that hidden potential within each of them, the lessons had begun to take hold. Things fell in place, just as they had when she had first discovered her purpose.

No, none of them had the strength and power she did. But they had the instincts. Instincts were all she needed from them right now.

Buffy paused a moment in her thoughts, gripping the handle of the ax she held in her hand. Eyeing it critically for a moment longer, she loosened her grip and placed it gently into the weapons’ chest along with the others.

Footsteps on the stairs alerted her to the other girl’s presence, but she didn’t turn her head; continuing to go through her cache of weapons, inventorying them as she returned them to their chest after the day’s training.

“You remind me of my Watcher,” came Kennedy’s calm voice from the stairs, breaking into Buffy’s monotony with a nostalgic tone. “He was always going through the weapons after practice. Think he just liked the feel of them in his hands.”

The blonde finally turned from her work, shooting the potential a stern, but not unfriendly glance. “You should be resting, Kennedy. We’re going to get started a lot earlier tomorrow.”

The dark-haired potential came further down the steps, smiling wryly. “I’m still a bit wound up after the training session you put us through,” she commented, coming into the basement, “I’ll get some sleep in a bit.”

She took a seat on one of the benches that graced the training area, looking to the Slayer with sudden seriousness. “I was actually looking to talk.”

Buffy straightened up from her work, shooting the other girl a surprised look. She seemed to have been caught off-guard. Her eyes widened in a comically innocent expression.

“Talk?”

* * *

Dawn stifled a yawn, trying to deny how tired she had become over the last few hours. The pages opened before her had become white blurs covered with incomprehensible smears of ink in her exhaustion. Not that the hard-to-decipher texts had been any clearer when she had been fully awake, but it was obvious that she was getting nowhere at this point.

She shot a glance at the clock, groaning slightly at the late—or rather, early—hour it indicated. It was a good thing that the day wasn’t a school day, or Buffy would have gone into Lecture Mode for her benefit, she was sure.

Shaking her head slightly to clear her daze, the girl attempted to turn her attentions back to the task at hand.

“Shouldn’t you ‘ave turned in quite sometime ago, niblet?” came a familiar, lower-London accent from behind her.

Dawn started sharply, turning to glance in surprise at the vampire leaning in the doorway behind her. She calmed somewhat from her spook, eying Spike with familiar, teenaged defiance at the interruption. But her eyes softened somewhat at the unfamiliar lack of smugness to the peroxide-blonde’s stance. He looked tired, she realized. Tired and worn, a mask of wry humor trying unsuccessfully to cover his exhaustion up.

Spike smirked half-heartedly, pushing himself off of the doorjamb and slipping further into the room. “Big Sis’d have a turn if she knew you’d been up all night at the books,” he added, his tone more concerned than teasing for a change.

The brunette turned back to her books hastily, her posture stiff. The memory of her last exchange with the vampire was still fresh in her mind, and it wasn’t a pleasant one. A lot had happened since then, that was sure, and she didn’t know quite how to face him.

“I was researching. Guess I lost track of time,” she replied, her tone growing a bit cold. She began to close the books before her hastily, getting up from her seat and making as if to leave.

She didn’t see the hurt that flashed in the vampire’s eyes. Spike sighed softly, allowing the façade of humor to fall away. “Dawn,” he began, his tone raw and drained.

The girl paused, caught off-guard by the use of her name, instead of his usual monikers for her; and also, the tone of weary seriousness that invaded his voice. She was reminded once more of the vampire who had looked after her the summer following her sister’s death, the one who had shared her pain but had still tried to remain strong for her.

She turned to him again, pursing her lips in agitation as she did so.

Noting the painfully serious expression on the girl’s face, the blonde vamp attempted a small smile for her benefit, lightening the mood a bit. Fishing in the pocket of his jeans for his smokes, he waved vaguely in the direction of the front door with his other hand, motioning for her to follow.

“Come on. I’ve got a few minutes before the sun comes up,” he muttered gently, a cigarette already between his lips as he fished for his lighter, his eyebrows raised towards the door.

Dawn looked down at the stack of books she had been perusing for a moment, uncertainty in her stance. Then, nodding softly, she shot him a consenting glance, smiling slightly; and followed him out onto the front steps.

* * *

Kennedy’s dark eyes were wide, contemplating the blonde Slayer in a new light. Her tone sounded impressed when she spoke.

“Really? Three times?”

Buffy smiled softly at the other girl, her eyes sad. The two sat, side by side on the bench amidst the training equipment. After Kennedy’s request, Buffy had realized just how exhausted she was. She had joined the girl on the bench, allowing herself to be questioned about her life as the Slayer; choosing which details to share and which not. For her part, the dark-haired potential had ignored the gaps in Buffy’s answers with penetrating glances; allowing the blonde her privacy, but expressing her interest despite it. She was different than the other Slayers in Training, in that she didn’t press Buffy for details or reasons for her answers; she seemed only interested in learning what it was like to be the Slayer.

Buffy found she could respect the other girl’s interest, and so she had relented. She felt like a mother passing down womanly wisdom, or an artisan sharing her trade with an apprentice.

The dark-haired girl leaned back thoughtfully on her hands, looking amusingly disbelieving. “Is that normal? I mean, are there a lot of Slayers who’ve died and come back like that?”

Buffy smiled again, wryly. “No. ‘Fraid I’m the one and only,” she replied modestly. “At least, so far. But, there were…factors involved.” Her eyes widened slightly, almost childishly, as she attempted to further explain. “L-like, the first two times, were really just flukes. I mean, anyone can die for a moment and be revived with CPR—it happens all the time on ER.”

Kennedy shot her a look, which was tinged with humor. “But the third time you were like, buried and everything. People don’t normally come back from that. Unless you’re a vamp.”

Buffy raised an eyebrow, surprised at the other’s knowledge. Kennedy grinned, somewhat sheepishly. “Hey, I…hear things,” she muttered, shrugging her shoulders carelessly.

The Slayer sighed, sounding frustrated with the news of her friends’ flapping gums. “Well, radio silence couldn’t last forever, I guess…” she muttered dryly to herself.

Kennedy sat up once again, her smile fading into an expression of grim interest. “Buffy,” she began, sounding very serious, “although I’m really curious about the whole ‘coming back from the dead’ thing—which, by the way, whoa! Major dedication to the cause ‘n all—I have to be honest with you.”

The blonde turned to meet her gaze, green eyes attentive at the other’s sudden change in tone.

The Slayer in Training continued unhindered. “I didn’t come to you for tid-bits about life as the Slayer.” Kennedy sighed roughly, sounding frustrated with something. “I know the rundown; I’ve read the Handbook. Unlike the other girls, I had a Watcher. I was fed all the regular lines: “In every generation there is a Chosen One” blah, blah, blah, “fight…the forces of darkness” etcetera, etcetera.’

“I was told this gig was a solitary, lonely deal. I was told it was a destiny and I couldn’t avoid it, if I was chosen. And I accepted that.” She took a moment to release a breath, sounding lost for the first time since she’d arrived in Buffy’s care. Her expression was tight, uncertain, as she turned to the blonde once again, meeting her gaze levelly.

“But ever since I got here, it all seems to have been proven wrong. You operate without your Watcher, you’re surrounded by friends; you involve civilians in apocalyptic matters. You save vampires, instead of staking them; keep them and other demons in your group as allies. And, if I’m not mistaken, you’ve been romantically involved with vampires as well.”

Buffy opened her mouth as if to object, defiance dancing in her eyes, but the expression on Kennedy’s face stopped her from doing so.

Kennedy continued, her voice taking on a tone of awe. “And I realize, I don’t know anything about what it is to be the Slayer. Books, guidelines—none of that prepared me for what you are.” She sat forward suddenly, eagerly, her eyes pleading. “Buffy, I don’t want to go by what Watchers have told me, by what books have told me. I want to hear it straight from the source.”

There was silence for several heartbeats as Buffy seemed to digest this. She lowered her eyes in thought, and when she raised them again, the look of defiance was still there. But Kennedy realized it was the look she had always worn. It was the look of the Slayer; hard and defiant and ever strong; laced with a sadness that would always be hidden there, but quickly replaced with the righteous, warrior’s determination that defined her.

She met Kennedy’s eyes levelly, green eyes glittering. “Alright. You want to hear it from me? Being the Slayer isn’t about handbooks; it isn’t about the tests they give you, the lessons they drill into you, the rules they want you to follow. It’s not about Watchers and it’s not about the Watcher’s Council.’

“It’s about you. You’re the power. The Slayer is power. And you can let them wield you, or you can wield yourself.”

The blonde looked suddenly small, frail, as she looked down at her hands for words. “When…” She took a breath, as if willing herself to continue. “When I first found out…I was the Slayer, I was terrified. I wasn’t trained; I didn’t know about vampires, or the “forces of darkness”. I thought I had gone insane. I thought, this was all just a terrible nightmare and I just needed to wake myself up.”

Looking up from her hands, she gave the other girl a soft, assuring smile. “You may not agree with everything you’ve been taught—and Lord knows I sure don’t follow the books—but you, and the other potentials…” Her smile seemed bittersweet. “You’re lucky to have any prior knowledge or training at all. I never had any of that.”

Kennedy looked sympathetic, meeting the Slayer’s eyes with her usual show of self-assurance. A frank smile touched the corners of her lips.

Her smile turned sardonic. The blonde Slayer patted her thighs energetically, rising to her feet. “’Course, even after I did receive training, I ignored much of it and defied the Watcher’s Council anyway, so hey, maybe it’s not all that much of a plus…”

The dark-haired potential chuckled slightly in amusement, though she gave Buffy a thankful glance. “I think Mr. Giles is right. You definitely are a unique Slayer.” Her gaze softened genially. “A unique person.”

Buffy seemed to take a deep, grounding breath at this. “Oh yeah…” she muttered sardonically in agreement, the weight and worries of the last week seeming to return to her once more. She turned away from the other girl, picking up a stray weapon that had been left out of the chest and returning to her earlier business, her eyes distant and brooding.

“They should’ve added a few chapters to the Handbook, just for my sake,” she murmured, half to herself.

The smile on Kennedy’s face sputtered and died like a fading light, the girl’s face darkening along with the Slayers. “What do you mean?” she asked curiously, her tone imploring Buffy to elaborate.

The blonde looked up from the weapon in her hand once again, her eyes seeming to take a moment to focus as she did so. A frown tugged at the corners of her mouth, weighing down the seriousness in her mind, but Kennedy merely turned where she sat on the bench; her posture sympathetic and willing to listen.

Buffy looked away once more, clearly uncertain whether to continue. Although her mind had been plagued with worries for the past few days, she hadn’t had much time to think on them. But she had had years to think on other things; other things that now found their places among the many worries and concerns that plagued her now. Things that had started to come into focus, but being only exposed to the dark recesses of her own thoughts, had not yet clearly developed. She was unsure as to whether Kennedy was the right person to be sharing these thoughts with, however.

But the urge to share these things with someone was too great. She realized, speaking with the young potential, that there were some things she herself needed answers to; some things she was dying to get out into the open and take apart with a fine-toothed comb. And perhaps, along the way, she could share some wisdom; could serve as a warning, perhaps to someone who might just possibly succeed her someday.

Her green eyes turned to pierce Kennedy’s gaze once more, her features blank and impassive. “Well, for starters, “Don’t Fall in Love with Vampires.’”

* * *

Vampire and girl were both uncomfortably silent for sometime, Spike absently taking drags off of his cigarette and watching the idle path of its ashes as he flicked them off into the early morning wind. Dawn drew her knees up beneath her in discomfort, tracing the grain of the wood on the front steps with her hand; making lazy patterns out of them.

Another long minute passed in silence before Spike tossed away his butt, pursing his lips in thought as he did so.

“I’m sorry ‘bout that potential business, pet,” he spoke up softly and suddenly, his low baritone comforting. “Know it must’ve been a hard blow.”

Beside him, Dawn nodded absently, not looking up from her fascination with the wood’s grain. “Yeah, well, no big deal,” she insisted, her tone implying otherwise. But she gave a small sigh, and when she spoke again, her tone was more assured. “And anyway, Xander said some things to me which really made a kind of sense, and I guess he was sort of right. Being a potential could’ve been cool, but maybe being normal is more important sometimes, too…”

Spike raised an eyebrow at her appreciatively. He turned away, a faint grin gracing his lips, observing the lightening skies with wan appreciation. “Mighty grown-up of you to think like that,” he murmured with equal appreciation, his gaze still on the skies; watching as deep black faded into sharp, midnight blue. He sniffed slightly, enjoying the smell of dawn on the air, and yet dreading it at the same time.

His gaze once again turned to the Dawn beside him, his soft smile almost paternal with affection. “Can see you’ve done a lot of that in the past year or so, bit: growing up. ‘Aven’t seen much of you in all that time, it seems.”

The girl’s head swung up at the sadness in his voice, and she finally turned to meet his gaze. Her blue eyes were equally accusing and equally pained, still tinged with teenaged defiance. But there was fear there as well, though she tried to hide it, but much like her sister, there wasn’t much she could hide from the blonde vampire.

“Of course. Because you left,” she stated, her tone cold, but laced with other heavy emotions.

Her eyes were sharp and accusing now, as well as her words, and Spike found himself turning away with no small amount of guilt, unable to face those eyes. “You know I had to,” he replied in low tones, a muscle in his cheek twitching at the memory.

Dawn nodded emphatically; sardonically at his reply. “Yeah…yeah, I know.” She pulled her legs out from beneath her roughly, stretching them out before her over the edge of the steps.

Yet instead of growing further incensed, her tone became suddenly softer. “When Buffy…told me…about that night,” she began softly, painfully, her forehead pinched at the weight of unpleasant memories, “I wouldn’t believe her at first. I couldn’t. I mean, you had been there all that summer when she’d been gone…”

There was a twinge of pain in the vampire’s features.

Dawn took a shallow breath and continued. “I knew…I knew you had been in as much pain as I had—I knew! There was more man than monster left after her death, I could see it in the way you acted; in the way you treated me.’

“I felt safe that summer.” Her voice was soft, almost reverent. “I didn’t feel so alone. And I knew”—she looked at him suddenly, forcefully—“I knew more than ever that you really loved her; you really did! And then you went… then you went and did that.”

He didn’t need for her to elaborate, the way she spoke. He knew exactly what she spoke of—the very mention of it tore at his recently returned soul with renewed vengeance. It had been his reason for leaving, whether the right or the wrong at the time. And it had been the catalyst for getting his soul back in the first place.

“Dawn,” he began softly, his voice laced with pain.

“No, it took me months to get myself to hate you like I should have,” she continued, cutting him off. Her tone was now fiercer, bitter. Pained. “I should have hated you. After what you did! It was only right.’

“But if you had only stayed…” Her blue eyes swam, focusing on the grain of the wood in front of her again.

“Dawn, pet…” began Spike once more, his hand flexing as if to rest on her shoulder, but he resisted, fearing her reaction. Beyond the eaves, shades of blue turned ever slowly to slate gray as dawn grew continually nearer; the faintest hints of rose appearing along the edge of the horizon.

Dawn’s voice was even quieter than before, perhaps only perceivable to his vampire ears. “I missed you,” she admitted suddenly in a frail voice, still averting her eyes from his. “I know I said—“

Spike abruptly cut off her excuses, trying to spare her the pain. “I missed you too, Dawn,” he replied in a clear voice, his usual baritone soft with affection. She turned suddenly, uncertain, and caught the flash of a grin on the vampire’s sorrowful face. “Though I’d figured you knew that already,” he added wryly.

There was surprise in the teenager’s steel-blue eyes as his words slowly registered. “You…! No—no, I didn’t know…” she began faintly, a slow revelation coming over her features. When her eyes were finally able to focus on him again, they were brimming with unshed tears.

“Y-you…missed me? Really?”

The vampire’s smile was bittersweet and slightly abashed. He looked away in embarrassment, his eyes wandering to the exciting pattern of the wood just as she had done earlier. “Well, it’s true you’re no Buffy…” he muttered uncomfortably, still averting his gaze.

Dawn didn’t seem hurt by the casual insult. Spike took an unneeded breath, sighing heavily with discomfiture. “What I mean, bit, is…”

Dawn faint smile melted the words on his lips. “Thanks,” she murmured suddenly, finally understanding just what the vampire was trying to say.

Spike turned to meet her gaze once again, confusion in his dark eyes. He pursed his lips in a show of irritation, but Dawn could see that that was all it was: a show.

“Oh, sod it all! You Summers women have got—“

The teenager’s smile became a satisfied smirk. “I know; we’ve got you wrapped around our little fingers,” she finished for him, looking smug. She sighed in mock hopelessness. “You are so dead.”

Spike pretended to glare at her smugness, but she could see the look of affection in his blue eyes. The wall that had been there since his return from Africa was nearly undone; or at least, a great deal weaker than before.

“Alright. Time for you to run along to your beddy-bye, now…” he grumbled with feigned irritation, signaling the end of their little heart-to-heart. “Or Big Sis will really do a number on me for keeping you up this late.”

Dawn climbed to her feet obediently, with only some reluctance, trying to cover up a further grin at his brotherly concern.

“See,” she pointed out, her eyebrows raised for emphasis. “You’re a slave to our charms…” She was failing horribly at covering up her grin.

“Bed. Now,” was Spike’s gruff reply, pointing sternly in the direction of the house. She followed obediently, closing the front door after her. But not without a shooting a smug grin in his direction.

After she had gone, Spike allowed himself a chuckle at her spirit as he turned back to watching the sky. For several minutes longer, he watched the horizon blossom with early morning color. And then, somewhat reluctantly, he headed for the safety of the house once more, turning his back as dawn finally burst forth in its full radiance and filled the sky with light.

* * * *