A Wished For Song

Sunnydale was actually having a mini French Film Festival at the cinema on Broad Street. Janice had shown Dawn the flyers in class and they'd giggled, as maturely as they could, over the one that mentioned kinky sex. Of course, what was more important was that it was much more probable to see a hot Sunnydale U guy at a film festival than the losers they normally ran into. They could get talking about the meaning of the film, do their best to impress, then take it from there. It was A Plan.

Trouble was, Dawn had had a really recent movie experience involving Willow, an abnormally weird warlock (and she knew a thing or two about abnormal) and a serious case of the wiggins, which had all resulted in wearing the thing that shall not be named (TTSNBN) on her arm for over a week. Slipping out of the house had been the easy part – she just waited 'til Buffy left for Doublemeat Palace Hell, snapped so bitchily at Willow that she retreated to her bedroom, then Dawn snuck out from her own bedroom window. Her landing was a bit impaired given her arm was still a bit tender from the TTSNBN, but overall she'd give herself a 7.5 out of 10. Yeah, all that was fine, celebrating the freedom from the cast, until she started reliving that whole fateful night a few times over in the dark.

The other problem was that because of the lack of lighting inside the room, while they watched the film, they couldn't see any hot guys. So far. The film was long and complicated in parts but Dawn tried her best to remember important details, when she wasn't reliving the run-in with the hairy demon, in case The Plan went into action.

The Plan was ceremoniously cut short once the film finished and they were milling about in the lounge, by a fleeting glimpse of shocking white hair and a flapping black coat that was getting rapidly closer.

"Dawn!" said the owner of the coat impatiently and geez it was first names, no pet names, which was not a good sign. "Not learned your lesson?"

Dawn could feel Janice drop into 'Hot Guy' mode that went on overdrive when Spike was around. "Hi Spike," she said, drawing out the vowel sounds and twisting her hair around her finger. Dawn got the patented eye roll out, and used it for full effect.

Spike emitted a low, "Hmmppff," then looked at Dawn. "Where's your sister?"

"On the night shift, where'd you expect?" Dawn said sulkily, 'cos when did they ever not talk about Buffy.

"When's she due back?" Spike asked, trying his best not to look interested.

"How am I supposed to know? I'm not her keeper. Come on, Janice," she said, grabbing her shuffling friend. "Let's go."

"Oh no you don't," he said, reaching out for her retreating collar, "'m walking you twiglets home. To your separate houses." He turned them around and marched them out the door. "Buffy'd stake me if I didn't, now wouldn't she?"

Janice's eyes just grew like saucers.

Janice's house was nearest, more or less, and they walked most of the journey in sulky silence. Spike had tried some conversation with a cocky, "Tell me, when'd you two girls become interested in the oeuvre of Jean-Luc Godard?" which had resulted in choking from Dawn and some embarrassed bluffing from Janice.

The two girls farewelled each other with a 'kiss kiss mwah'. Janice had looked hopefully at Spike, but he'd been much more interested in the puffs of smoke he could make from his cigarette. Janice ran up the stairs to her house and went inside. Spike and Dawn looked at each other.

"Dodgy girl she is, Platelet. Won't ever get you into anything but trouble."

"Loadsa fun though," Dawn countered and smiled.

Spike returned a wicked grin. "There is that."

"Buffy doesn't like her though," Dawn complained.

Spike appeared to jump at her sister's name. He suddenly became gruff and turned on his heel. "Gotta get you home now."

"But Spike, come on," she wheedled, "I'm not tired. Can't we do something together? Hang out. Like we used to? Before you forgot about me?"

With his back turned to her, the only expression she could see was an infinitesimal tightening of his shoulders. "Your sister will worry," he said to the night sky. "Gotta get you home."

"Please Spike," Dawn whispered. "I don't want to. Not when…" She paused, maybe for dramatic effect, but also because she could taste the tears threatening at the back of her throat. "I don't feel safe there."

"Huh," he grumped, turning around, "that won't work on me. Shouldn't feel safe with me, should you? I'm the – " He stopped, watching her kick the dirt, hanging her head so that her hair shielded her tears.

"Big Pushover," he finished, flinging his cigarette to the ground in frustration. "'S not right though. Big Sis'll get her knickers in a right twist when she finds you not at home."

"It's ok, Spike," Dawn replied, eyes luminous with hope, "sometimes she's out all night."

"Great," was all Spike said.

The only thing they could agree on, as amicably as Spike would allow the conversation to get, was a quick ride around Sunnydale on his bike, before she was returned home. They walked back to the movie complex and located the vehicle. Spike stopped short and contemplated Dawn for a moment, eyebrow raised in speculation, before swooping further down the parking lot, and returning with a black helmet. Dawn giggled, but Spike said haughtily, "Still not a pushover."

"Will you return it, d'ya think?" Dawn posed, as she put the helmet on.

"Maybe," he muttered, swinging his leg over the bike, and reaching around for her. He lifted her up and she felt weightless in his arms. He wrapped both of her arms around him, with a tenderness that lulled her, lightly patting her healed arm.

"How's the arm, Bit?" he asked.

"Itchy," she muffled.

He nodded, as if this was the answer he was looking for, and struck up the engine. They pulled out of the lot, and moved into the Sunnydale streets.

It took Dawn back. Way back. To the night when the world had altered back on its axis. As the chill of the wind bit into her jeans and light jumper, she wondered about how things had changed with Spike. How he'd become distanced, separated from her. Not only her, but she hardly ever saw him at the Magic Shop. Perhaps he was up to something evil that he didn't want anyone to know about. Perhaps he was bored. Perhaps he was finally sick of putting up with Xander's put-downs and Buffy's indifference.

Dawn hoped it wasn't anything to do with her, the reason he'd seemed to have vanished from their lives. Maybe he was bored. After all, what could a fifteen-year-old girl do to keep him interested?

Too soon, they arrived at Revello Drive and Dawn tightened her arms around Spike, as if to capture the moment one last time.

"Walk me in?" Dawn asked, after they pulled up and she removed the helmet dejectedly. "You never know what Willow…" She stopped the sentence there. After all, Spike had taught her the imagination was far worse than the truth when it came to horror stories.

He did walk her in, he even made sure she got into bed, and patted the bedspread over her. His whispered, "Sleep tight," and the delicate kiss to her forehead lingered long in her dreams, even after he'd jumped from her bedroom window to the ground, striding off into the night. Possibly up to something...evil.

Finis