Not that I really try to.

I’m mean, he’s Spike. In love with Buffy. Nothing wrong with a little flirting.

But now there is. Now she’s gone.

Now he stares at me with empty blue eyes as if somewhere, deep inside my own, he sees her there.

And I guess, as much as I miss Buffy with every second that passes since her death…

//Dawnie, I have to.//

…I’m using her to make him see me. Make him want me like he wanted her.

I figure maybe if he sees her in me, he’ll finally see me. See me the way I see him.

I’ve crushed on Xander pretty much since we moved to Sunnydale, that’s no secret. But no one, not even my diary knows how much I love Spike. And I had it all planned out, that I’d keep it a secret. Wait for Buffy to break Spike’s heart and then be there to help him pick up the pieces. But things work out differently.

She’s not here to break his heart. She’s not here, period.

But I am.

And so is Spike, though I’m not sure he’s too happy about that these days.

I’ve been spending a lot of time with him lately. We play cards, watch TV, he tells stories, I tell stories…oh, how he loves to hear high school gossip, I swear he was a girl in a past life. We do everything together.

And it doesn’t mean anything to him.

He’s doing it for her.

Never for me.

But things are gonna be different. Tonight he’s gonna see me.

And if I have to dye my hair, wear *very* flat heels and raid Buffy’s closet to do it, I will.

*****

“Uh…Dawn, are you…wearing Buffy’s top?” Willow asks me, awkwardly.

I smile and look myself up and down in the mirror, in my bedroom. “It fits. I didn’t think it would.”

“You’re only going to Spike’s.” She reminds me, softly, pain resurfacing in her eyes at the vision of ‘Buffy clothes.’

I roll my eyes. “Yeah…and I wanna look good.”

She sort of frowns and for a minute I think she’s gonna figure it all out.

“Alright, lets go before the others get here.”

“Willow?” I ask, nervously.

“Yeah?”

“You think it’s wrong…that I’m wearing her clothes?” I ask her.

She hesitates, before doing the infamous patronizing smile they all wear around me. “You look good, Dawnie. Buffy would want you to have it.”

“You think she’d want me to have her beige mini skirt with a slit, too?” I ask, hopefully.

“Not a chance in hell. Sorry.” She says, with a smile. “Come on.”

*****

We hear him yelling before we even see the crypt. Willow gets that worried look on her face and I can see she’s debating on turning back.

Not tonight.

I take the lead and open the door, walking inside. “Spike?”

Sound of a bottle smashing and he freezes like a statue at the sight of me standing there.

My heart pounds. Almost a perfect moment.

Almost.

“Spike, can you look after…” She stops as she sees him. “Have you been drinking?”

Okay, I know she’s a witch and all, but Willow scares me sometimes. He doesn’t look drunk. Except that he’s swaying slightly. And he seems to be taking a long time to process what she’s saying.

But that could be because he’s seen me.

Yeah, dream on, Dawn.

“Spike?” Willow demands.

“What?”

“Are. You. Drunk?” She asks, angrily.

“Yes. I. Am.” He replies, with a grin. “What of it?”

“You’re supposed to baby-sit Dawn.” She points out.

“I’m not a baby.” I tell them.

“No one told me. You scoobies…think you bloody own me.” Spike begins to grumble. “Can’t be there all the time, ya know. Sooner or later…” He breaks off and collapses in his chair, his mind wondering.

Willow looks at me. “Dawn, I can’t leave you here…”

“No! You can.” I say, quickly. “It’s fine. I’ll make him some coffee and keep him company. He’s just upset. He can’t hurt me, remember?”

She doesn’t look too impressed.

“Leave her here.” Spike says, emotionlessly.

“Spike…you watch her. Don’t let anything…”

A loud bang cuts Willow off. Spike’s slammed down his TV remote in anger.

“Nothing’s gonna happen to her.” Spike says, sternly.

Willow nods then looks at me. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay?”

“I’m fine. I can take care of one chipped drunken vampire, ya know.” I joke.

A bit more worrying and she finally gives up. “I’ll be back as soon as possible. Be good.”

“Yes, mom.” I mock, kissing her cheek as she leans over to kiss mine.

Funny how she’s adopted that role so quickly.

“Bye Spike.” Willow says as she leaves.

“Red.” He acknowledges.

I watch her leave as I step backwards, deeper into the crypt.

As I turn to walk over to him, in his chair, he blocks my way.

I gasp and step away, looking up into his eyes. “Spike…you scared me.”

There’s a long silence, where he simply stares at me. “You smell of her.”

It takes me a while to register. “It’s her top. I…borrowed it.” I say, wishing I’d worn something else. This is only going to make him torment himself more.

He accepts my explanation and goes back to his chair, staggering as he goes.

“So, you okay?” I ask, nothing else coming to mind.

He grunts in reply and holds out one of the half drunk bottles by his side, to me.

Shocked by the gesture, but never one to pass up an opportunity, I take it from him and take a swig.

Vile doesn’t begin to cover it.

I moan in disgust, passing it back.

He smiles softly. “You’ll get a taste for it one day, Bit.”

I hate that. Making me feel all young and stupid. “Just not my drink. I’m a vodka person myself.”

“Yeah?” He asks. “Drink it often?”

“Oh yeah.” I lie. “And beer.”

“And beer, huh?”

“Yeah. I’m not so young anymore, you know.”

“I can see that.” He says, looking directly at the top. Better yet, at the neckline of the top, which conveniently drops quite low.

Suddenly embarrassed by the look, I turn away. “How many hours have you been drinking?”

“Why?”

I frown. “‘Cause I asked.”

“Why?”

“Don’t be a jerk. Are you really drunk?” I ask him.

He laughs quietly to himself. “Probably.”

“You thinking about Buffy?”

The laughing fades and he simply stares at the bottle in his hand before downing the rest of the foul tasting liquid.

“Take that as a yes.” I say, looking around for something to do.

“Here ya go, Pet. Vodka.” He says, passing a bottle of brown stuff. Looks gross, but I smile and sip it anyway.

Just as disgusting as the last stuff, but I force it down and pretend it’s nice, before giving it him back.

“Nice vodka?” He asks, with a grin.

I nod, keeping that fake smile up. “Yep. My favourite kind too.”

He laughs and puts the bottle down. “Also known as whiskey.”

I roll my eyes. “Whatever.”

“Look, if ya wanna go sleep, ya can. You can watch the TV…you can do what you want, but I’m not in the mood for talk, alright?” He tells me. “I ain’t exactly in the mood for company.”

Slightly hurt, I turn towards the door. “I could leave.”

I’m yanked back by my arm, a little too violently, but it doesn’t do much to the chip, so all I’m left with is an angry glare. “You’re not leaving.”

I try to pull my arm away but it doesn’t budge. I don’t think he even realises he’s holding onto me. “Fine, whatever. Let me go.”

He pulls me closer, inhaling as if he actually needs to…

He’s smelling me.

Ew, gross.

The scent’s obviously doing something for him, because he’s closed his eyes and his iron grip on my arm is finally melting.

I pull away and he snaps to.

He looks at me guiltily, before wondering off, silently.

“I could take it off, if you like…” I say. Way to go, Dawn. Real lame. Now he’s gonna think you’re a slut.

He turns and frowns. “What?”

“The top…it’s bothering you.” I say.

“Leave it.” He says, turning away.

But he’s not supposed to be ignoring me. He’s supposed to be looking at me. And seeing something there.

I follow quietly, but he still hears me approaching.

As he turns round, I get as close as I can and look up at him.

I don’t have to say a word, because he’s closing his eyes again, seeing Buffy here with him and not me.

I raise my hand and go to place it on his chest but he catches it, mid-air.

He holds it there for a second, before pulling me closer, leaning down and…this is it. He’s going to kiss me.

Or not. He stops mid way and opens his eyes. I see the look of shock pass over his face and decide not to let him push me away.

I make a quick move forward and press my lips against his.

He tries to move back at first. I guess I should be insulted. But it’s not long before he starts to respond.

His hand moves up to my face, holding me to him.

And this should be the most amazing moment of my life.

But as his cold tongue slips into my mouth, I feel nothing but disgust. This isn’t how it should be. It’s supposed to be different. There are supposed to be fireworks.

I can taste a horrible coppery taste on his lips and I’m not sure I wanna know what it is.

I didn’t realise he’d be so cold. Like kissing a dead body. Great, that’s all I need in my head while I’m kissing the man of my dreams.

His right hand finds it’s way to my waist, slipping up, slowly under the top. I feel cold skin touching my own and he breaks the kiss to begin teasing my neck with his lips.

“Buffy…”

Before his hand can get any closer and make this even more of a nightmare, I jerk away, anger flashing in my eyes.

“My name is Dawn.” I say.

His face distorts and I can’t tell whether he’s shocked, disgusted or terrified. Possibly all three. And he looks as if he’s about to cry. Not a look I ever want to see on Spike again. Not since…

“Dawn…” He says finally. “God, I’m sorry…”

I can’t deal with this.

Before he can say anything else I take off.

Out of the door, before he even notices, I bet.

Realise after two minutes of running that he’s not following me. If he was, I wouldn’t have got this far.

I have to go home. I have to be…away from him.

It was wrong, it was so wrong.

It was supposed to have fireworks and music and he was supposed to love me too.

But he’s cold. So cold and it felt so wrong.

I read Buffy’s diary years ago, about her first kiss. Some random boy she ‘loved’ at the time while we lived in LA. She said it was amazing. That she wanted to do it again and again…

But it was wrong…and I don’t know why.

God, what if I did it wrong! Spike’s gonna think…

Spike thought I was Buffy. He was drunk and sad and I was wearing her top and he thought I was Buffy.

He was kissing my sister.

I’d say that was pretty much the wrong part.

And now I’ve ruined everything. He’ll hate me. And I’m such a slut…I made him think I was Buffy because I wanted him but he couldn’t want me back because I was making him think of *her*.

It’s my fault. It’s all my fault.

And it was wrong.

It was *wrong*.

There were no fireworks.