Disclaimer: I am not making even a shiny nickel off of this. Joss is God, I bow before his creative genius. I really do.

Rating: PG-13 or R, depending on your sensitivity to language

Feedback: Makes my day, positive or negative. Here or at tmeyerswa@yahoo.com

Spoilers: Everything through Doublemeat Palace

Summary: Dawn thinks Buffy needs a break. She asks Spike to help her make it happen. Mostly fluff, with a little angst thrown in for contrast. I miss the Spike/Dawn interaction!

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The sound of his crypt door scraping open brought Spike awake instantly. Impossible to get a good day's sleep around here, he growled inwardly, reaching for his knife. He stood up in one fluid motion and began prowling silently towards the ladder. Bad enough I've got the Slayer haunting my dreams, now I can't even get a bloody buggering sodding--

Just then, the smell of hairspray and strawberry lip gloss penetrated the fog of sleep and profanity. He relaxed, grinning. "Down here, Bit," he called, wiping the smile off his face before she could see it. A man had to keep up his reputation, after all. He collapsed into a chair, slinging one leg over the arm, running a hand through his sleep-tousled hair. Good thing he'd taken to sleeping with clothes on, with all these visitors dropping by unannounced. Dawn appeared at the top of the ladder, rucksack in hand, looking tentative.

"Spike? You awake?"

"Nope, just doing a bloody good imitation of it." She made a face at him as she started down the ladder. "School out already?"

"Nope, just doing a bloody good imitation of it," she shot back.

He grinned, and she grinned back. It was surprisingly good to see her; she hadn't stopped by his crypt in weeks. "Saucy little chit, aren't you?"

"I thought that was what you liked about me." She took a seat in the chair across from him, looking around approvingly. "Looks good in here. This place so needed a woman's touch."

It had been Dawn's mission, over the summer, to get him to spruce up his crypt. Finally he'd given in, just to get her to stop nattering about it. And he had to admit, it was good to have a few things of his own. Even if he'd had to steal them. "So, what brings you to the vampire's evil lair, pet? Did you just stop by to give me advice on internal decorating?" Then, more seriously, "Does big sis know you're here?"

Dawn blew her breath out between her teeth in a purely teenage scoff. "Yeah, right. Her head would probably explode if I told her. She's like the Nazi Mother of the Year these days. Wants to know where I am every second of the day. She might as well get me one of those little thingies they make convicts wear on their ankles, you know, so you can track them wherever they are?"

"She's just trying to take care of you, Dawn." He had yet to figure out what it was about Dawn that led him to spew ridiculous fatherly platitudes, but it happened more often than he liked to admit.

She looked at him for a second, disgusted. "You know, Spike, for someone who's supposed to be, like, this major rebel, you sound an awful lot like a boring old man sometimes. But," she continued quickly, as he narrowed his eyes at her, "Buffy's actually what I wanted to talk to you about."

Little brat. She knew exactly what would distract him from reminding her that, once upon a time, he used to eat smart-mouthed little girls. He sighed. "What about her?"

Her brow furrowed, and he softened in spite of himself. "She's… she's just so different now, ever since she came back. She never laughs anymore, and she won't let me even mention Giles' name, and sometimes I hear her crying at night, when she thinks I'm asleep. She just seems… lost. Empty. I mean, the robot was more human than she is these days. She's not happy, Spike."

"I know." The sky is blue; vampires like blood; Buffy isn't happy. Hardly news to him. Didn't mean it didn't hurt, though.

"So help her."

His laugh was short and bitter, scraping his throat its way out. "I don't think she wants my help, pet."

"Of course she doesn't. But she needs it. Needs you."

This time, the laugh couldn't quite make it past the knot in his chest. "I think she'd beg to differ with you there."

She rolled her eyes impatiently. "Will you stop it? This isn't a pity party, Spike! I mean, we're talking major problems here! Something is really wrong with her, and I can't help, and Giles is gone, and I'm afraid if we don't do something she's going to--" She stopped abruptly, tears in her eyes. He wondered if hell, for him, was going to be an eternity of watching the Summers women cry. "She was going to jump, that night they brought her back. She went back up onto that crazy tower of Glory's, and she was going to jump. The only reason she didn't is because she wanted to protect me. Again." Her eyes blazed behind the tears. "I can't imagine what this is like for her. But I'm not going to live without her. Not again. I know it's selfish, but it's the way I feel."

He leaned forward, patting her hand awkwardly, feeling like a fool. "All right, Bit. All right."

"So dammit, Spike, help her." The resolve in her eyes was so familiar, that tone of command. Bitty Buffy, he thought, for probably the hundredth time, and had to restrain a fond smile.

"All right, General, what do you want me to do?"

She leaned forward eagerly. "You've got a car. You've got money. Just… take her somewhere. She needs to get out of here. Have some fun. She doesn't need to worry about protecting you or taking care of you, and you can fight together if you run into any oogly-booglies. She can relax a little, take a break from being the Slayer for awhile. I don't know of anyone else who could give her that."

He eyed her appraisingly. "Been thinking about this for awhile, haven't you?"

She gave him her patented understatement-of-the-year look. The general was back to being a teenager. "I cannot stress to you enough how not fun things have been at Casa de Summers lately." She wrinkled her nose. "Besides, the grease smell is starting to get all over everything. Total yuck. We need at least a couple days for things to air out."

He chuckled, having experienced that grease smell rather intimately himself. "You should try it with vampire senses." Then, before she could dwell too long on the implications of that, "Well, Niblet, you've made your case. And I'll think on it. Now you'd better get home, before your sister finds you here and stakes me for corrupting the innocent."

Dawn snorted, but stood up. "Yeah. She comes home covered with unknown demon goo every night, we live with a magic-oholic, Xander's marrying a demon--and you're the one who's corrupting me." She turned away, but turned back again almost immediately, eyes serious and pleading. "You'll do something? Soon?"

He rolled his eyes. "Tenacious little thing, aren't you?" Then, as she started towards him again, he held up a hand to ward her off. "Yes. I can't guarantee that she'll accept my help, but I'll try. I'll give it my best. Now shove off and let me get some sleep."

She grinned, and something eased inside his chest at the relief in her eyes. "Thanks, Spike." She stood there for a second, looking at him. "It's good to see you," she said finally.

He was glad he had no blood in his veins, otherwise he'd have blushed like the stupid sod that he was. As it was, he couldn't meet her eyes. He'd killed hundreds of enemies, including two Slayers, without batting an eyelash, yet suddenly he couldn't face one little girl. It was pathetic, really. "You too, platelet," he muttered.

She smiled, pleased, and headed for the ladder.

"Dawn." It slipped out before he had time to think about it. She stopped, one foot on the bottom rung.

"Yeah?"

"You're a good sister. And smarter than they give you credit for."

She gave him the close relative of the understatement-of-the-year look: the pointless-statement-of-the-obvious look. "Well, duh." She laughed, continued up the ladder. "See you later." She gathered up her rucksack, and a couple of seconds later he heard the crypt door scrape shut again. He settled back on his bed, hands behind his head, sleep forgotten as he pondered how he might help the woman he was supposed to want to kill.