The trouble with teenagers
Spike patted the pockets of his leather duster and cursed. He looked around the Summers' lounge, checking out every flat surface. Then he dropped to his knees. He lowered his head to the floor and peered under the coffee table and under the sofa. Not finding the object of his search he scanned the rest of the floor from one end of the lounge to the other and then across the width of the room.
Jumping up abruptly, he began lifting cushions and throws on the sofa and then stuffing his hand down the back and the sides of the sofa, grimacing as his fingers met unidentified dust and dirt.
With his arm stuffed into the upholstery practically up to his armpit, he suddenly stilled. He lifted his head and sniffed the air.
"What the buggering fuck?" He straightened up and turned away from the soft furnishing anarchy that was now the sofa.
He sniffed again and a low growl reverberated from somewhere deep in his chest. Stealthily, as only a vampire can move, he crossed the lounge and began climbing the stairs. His footfalls were silent and he had suspended his usually instinctive breathing. Reaching the top of the staircase, Spike sniffed once more then stiffened and drew in a deep breath. In two paces he was at the door of one of the bedrooms. He didn't knock, but opened the door noiselessly and strode across the room to the willowy figure sitting on the sill of an open window.
A screech hit high C at a frequency only just below that required to shatter windows in the entire Summers zip code, as Spike slapped a cigarette out of Dawn's hand.
"You stupid bint! What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Spike bellowed, with more conviction than when he had told Drusilla she was a batty, blood-obsessed barmcake with an unhealthy Daddy fixation. (Of course, 24 hours of punitive celibacy wrought an abashed, abject apology for his 'misguided jealousy', and two door-to-door religious types and a cheerleader as atonement.)
Another screech hit the rafters, which sounded like a strangled "Spike!", fortunately less ear-piercing than the first.
"You stole my fags? You fucking rifled through my pockets an' stole my fags?"
Dawn seemed unable to get her vocal chords to work a third time and she knew better than to deny the theft since the proof was apparent; sitting alongside her on the sill was Spike's pack of smokes. In the yard below her window the remains of her partially smoked cigarette burned itself out. Her guilty expression was just as condemning.
"You think that's clever, do you? Stealin' an' smoking'?" Spike's voice was barely audible but carried a chilling undertow.
Dawn found her voice, thankfully at a tiny fraction of the earlier decibels. "I just wanted to try …."
Ignoring her, Spike continued, "I didn' reckon you for a tealeaf. An' I thought you had more brains than courtin' cancer. What the hell were you thinkin'?"
"T-tealeaf?"
"What?" Distracted, Spike's brows furrowed.
In a quiet, hesitant voice Dawn ventured, "Um, you said I was a tealeaf."
"Tealeaf: Thief. You're a pickpocket, a pilferer. And worse, you want to fuck with your health. You gotta steal cancer sticks? You couldn't steal vitamins or Sketchers? No belay that. You gotta steal at all? You got no respect for yourself?"
Dawn's reply was simply to blink like a rabbit with contacts caught in headlights.
Spike ducked his head until it was only inches from Dawn's. "Com'on, answer me. What got into your poor excuse for a tiny mind?"
Dawn flinched slightly but made no attempt to answer. What could she say, after all?
"Come 'ere!"
Spike grabbed Dawn's arm and hauled her to her feet. Pocketing the cigarette packet, he dragged her out of her room, down the stairs and through the kitchen to the back porch. Throwing her down none too gently on the back steps he barked, "Sit!"
Dawn obeyed, but in a small gesture of defiance she rubbed her arm theatrically where Spike had held her.
This didn't escape Spike's notice. "That hurts, does it?" It was rhetorical and he continued, "I'll tell you what hurts: tryin' to breathe through shredded lungs, coughing up blood and bein' stuck like a pig with needles for drugs an' transfusions an' suchlike.
"Think smokin's cool? Yeah, it's cool. Cool like the dead body it leaves on the mortuary slab!"
Dawn found her voice. "But you smoke!" she said petulantly.
"Yeah, an' I drink blood too. Gonna kill a mate and drain her? Or you gonna pick off a tasty shopper from the mall? A stranger might be easier to digest."
Dawn had the decency to look embarrassed.
"An, in case it had escaped your notice: vampire here! 'M already dead! Like your brain, it seems."
Spike sighed and sat down alongside Dawn. "Budge up."
Making room for Spike to join her on the step, Dawn kept her eyes focused on her Scooby Doo slippers that had been a present, and sort of in-joke, from Xander at Christmas.
"Your sis puts her life on the line ev'ry night to keep you and the Great Unwashed safe from the likes o'me. You want me to tell her not to bother on your behalf 'cause you're determined to top yourself using emphysema as your weapon of choice? Or are you holding out for cancer with a side helping of arteriosclerosis?"
The girl next to him squeaked petulantly, "It was only one."
"I'll pretend I didn' hear that," Spike responded harshly, "'cause it sounded like you justifyin' Russian Roulette on the grounds that it was only one bullet. I know that can't be right 'cause the 'Bit I know has more sense. Every alcoholic in the land started with just one drink. Kids dead from Ecstasy or the latest designer drug started with just one and often it was the only one.
"But it's not just the smokin': you stole from me."
"I'll pay you back!" came the defiant voice.
"An' still you don' get it!" Spike stood up and stepped down to face Dawn. He put his finger under her chin and raised it until he could see her face.
"Look at me," he commanded. And she obeyed, trying to look rebellious and not quite making it.
"You can't make stealin' ok by payin for it if you get caught. Don' work like that, luv, an' you know it. Stealing makes you one of the bad guys. You can't be trusted and once that trust is gone it's hard to get it back.
"An' while we're on the subject, don' think I haven't noticed that little collection of trinkets you've hidden in your room."
Dawn's eyes went wide before she affected nonchalance and replied, "Trinkets? I don't have any trinkets in my room. And anyway how would you know if I had anything hidden in my room. If you've been snooping I'll tell Buffy!"
"Ah, pet, you gotta get up a lot earlier than that to catch me. You want we should have this li'l conversation with Buffy here? 'Cause that's fine by me."
The stubborn chin dropped and a barely audible "no" gave Spike his cue to continue.
"No, didn' think so. Now I'll tell you what you're gonna do to put this right. First, you go back to ev'ry shop you nicked from, ev'ry shop, an' you return all the stuff you stole. Ask to see the Manager in each shop, …"
Dawn squeaked in alarm, but she may just have been repeating, "Every shop".
Spike glared and continued, "See the Manager in ev'ry shop and apologise. I won't make you admit to thieving, although I bloody well should, but you can tell 'em you got home an' found the what-have-yous in the bottom of your bag so they must have fallen in there accidently while you were shopping. Understand?"
A curt nod in reply allowed him to continue. "Now, I hear that you've half-inched anything ever again, …"
Dawn's puzzled look caused Spike to stop. .
"Bloody colonials," he mumbled to himself before he reviewed his last statement. "If I find out that you have pinched, you know, stolen, thieved, robbed, nicked, swiped, purloined, pilfered or otherwise misappropriated somethin' that doesn' belong to you, I will personally drag you round each shop to confess to stealing an' wait for the handcuffs to click shut. Get it?"
A chastened nod told him his message had hit its target. He continued, "An' make no bones about it, luv, I will hear what's going on round town. If I hear stuff's gone missing you'll be my first port of call."
He paused for a moment to let his words sink in and to order his thoughts. Then he murmured, "It hurts that you stole from me."
Dawn looked stricken. "Spike, I'm sorry but I wasn't stealing from you especially. It's just that you're the only person I know who smokes."
"The only person who you know who smokes, is a member of the undead fraternity? Does that not tell you all you need to know about smokin'?"
Dawn shrugged sheepishly.
"Look, pet, I understand wantin' to experience the big bad adult world, but this isn' the way. Cigarettes are for demons, vampires and losers with a death wish of the painful lingerin' kind, pure an' simple.
"If you wanna kill yourself there are quicker, less painful ways." Spike raised his eyebrows and flashed his game face suggestively.
"Ew, gross!"
"Oi, there's no yuk factor when it's done proper. Gotta be an experienced vamp but it doesn't have to hurt. In fact it can be quite pleasurable done right and …."
"Ew, Spike, TMI!"
"Yeah, Yeah, sorry about that. Not what you need to hear. Got carried away." He seemed almost wistful. "Look, when it comes to death, love, I'm a bit of an expert, yeah? Cigarettes are a dumb way to hasten your demise. And besides, no bloke will want to kiss you if you smell like an ashtray!"
"Spike!" Dawn sounded shocked but her face broke into a smile.
"Now if you promise you're gonna clear up you're act, we'll say no more about this. But if I hear one thing …"
"No, no, I promise, Spike," Dawn said earnestly. "But, um, this, well, can this just stay between us? Um, Buffy doesn't need to know, does she? Please?"
"Told you, Niblet, you don't give me any more cause to be disappointed in you and this little episode goes no further. Buffy doesn't need to know about this."
Just as Dawn opened her mouth to reply, she became aware the Spike had straightened almost imperceptively and was staring over her shoulder towards the back door.
"What doesn't Buffy need to know?" Buffy's voice was hard and suspicious.
"'Lo, love."
Dawn remained rooted to her perch on the back stairs, looking up at Spike with the rabbit/contact lenses/headlights round-eyed look she had perfected, not daring to turn to look back at her sister.
Buffy repeated her question with more force. "Spike, what doesn't Buffy need to know?"
"About this." Spike fished out something from his pocket and held it up for Buffy to see. It was a $50 bill.
Is that money? Who did you steal that of off?" Buffy barked.
"Oi, nobody. 'S'mine. Well, it's Niblet's actually. She did some kitten-sitting for me a while back and I've been a bit slow paying her back, is all. Didn't wan' you to think I welshed on my commitments. Hadn't forgotten I owed her, but took a while to get the money, er, legitimately."
Dawn, was stunned into not moving a muscle, except that her jaw had dropped open. No way had she done any kitten-sitting for Spike. If he'd asked her to, she would probably have taken the kittens to the local animal rescue centre.
"And what exactly do you mean by 'legitimate'?" Buffy asked, not hiding her cynicism.
"I got Willy to change up my winnings to pounds, shillings and pence, er, dollars."
"Let me get this right, you gambled for kittens and then sold them to Willy?"
"Yeah," Spike replied, looking a tad sheepish. "What? It's the only way I have of making money and I owed Niblet. Wasn't gonna let her down."
Buffy sighed. "No, I suppose that's legitimate enough for you. But $50 is a lot of money for a little baby-s … um, kitten-sitting."
"Well, she helped me out in a tricky situation and I figured I owed her interest, me being so late in paying up. There you go, Half Pint." He handed Dawn the bill, who took it as if on auto-pilot with a dazed look on her face."
"Oh, and Slayer," Spike continued, "You could do me a great favour."
"I could, could I?"
"Yeah, well I'd promised your sis here that I'd taken her shopping in the mall tomorrow evening to spend her earnings but I forgot I'd already made arrangements with Clem and the lads from Willy's."
"You have something else to do? You? Mr 'I lurk in cemeteries because I have nothing better to do'?"
"Oi, I have a social life! Just don't tend to brag about it. Anyway, thought perhaps you could stand in for me, you know, take Niblet to the mall for me? I'll do a late patrol for you on the way back from Willy's."
"You, not bragging; there's a first."
"Look, never mind your high opinion of me. Will you take 'Bit here shopping tomorrow? Don't wanna let her down."
"All right, all right. Dawn, do you want to go to the mall?"
The girl turned her head and nodded, unable to find her voice.
"Right, that's sorted, then." Buffy sounded pleased. We'll go after school tomorrow." She smiled indulgently and patted her sister's shoulder. "It'll be fun. When our feet start to ache we'll have an ice cream break and end up at Paulo's Pizza.
"And, if you could take my patrol, Spike; that would be of the good. Dawn and I can stay out as long as we like then. We haven't had a lot of 'sister time' recently. I'd like to change that and hitting the mall together tomorrow is a good way to start to put that right. That's if the Sunnydale shops are ready for the Summers sisters!"
Buffy's smile widened and was reflected by Dawn.
"Glad to give you a break, love. You two have a right good time."
"Hey," Buffy shrieked suddenly, "They've got a new cosmetic counter at Mear's department store; we can get make-overs!
"Ooo, yes. I want evening eyes, all smudgy and sexy." Dawn cried out.
"We'll see," Buffy said, impersonating her mother's tone as best she could. "Well, maybe."
Spike rolled his eyes. "Great! Well, my debt repaid, I'll take my leave of you delightful ladies and go back to my non-existent social life. Good evening, ladies."
Before they had even registered the swish of his duster as he turned away, Spike was striding across the lawn.
Two young women stood on their porch both mouthing the words, "Thank you" in the direction of the retreating dark figure who was even now merging into the shadows. Both had cause to thank him but for very different reasons.