***
Dawn's plans of coolly…nonchalantly…seductively greeting Spike suddenly went out the window (as if the vampire actually had a window in his basement apartment, anyway). When she caught sight of the vampire she hadn't seen in over a year (except for the image she caught of him bleeding and battered through the Wiccas' portal), Dawn launched herself into Spike's embrace, clinging to him with arms and legs, clutching the vampire as though he might dust from underneath if she were to let go. Instead of the smart quips, stinging recriminations, or husky double entendres she had practiced in her head on the long flights she had just endured, all that could escape her throat were sobs—great, gut wrenching, shuddering sobs that nearly broke the stunned vampire who held her.
Overcome with happiness at having Dawn in his arms, Spike's tears rolled silently down his cheeks, punctuated with unnecessary, shuddering breaths. Coupled with the ecstatic joy of Dawn's return and the fervor with which she held onto him, this reminder of his old life caused the weight of all he had lost in the last few years to drop like a lead weight into his gut—Dru, Joyce, Buffy, Tara…torture and madness at his own hand and others. His ill-fated affair with Buffy, Dawn's rejection, the deaths of Anya and so many of the Potentials—all those tragedies merely preceded his own fiery end, his ghostly return, and finally the loss of Fred, Wes, and Gunn—all those mortals who could not withstand the onslaught of demons any longer. But here she was—his Nibblet, his Dawn—embracing him so tightly that Spike considered he would be in dire straits if he actually had to breathe. In that moment, Dawn's warmth, her scent, her thudding heartbeat filled Spike's keen senses fully, allowing all those painful things to once again retreat from whence they came.
They stood there for long minutes until Spike registered that Dawn's hip was digging into the gash he received from a Polgara demon who, in Spike's estimation, just got lucky because of Spike's distraction from the other countless demons he was battling at the same time. Of course the skewered wound to his midsection was enough to draw Spike back to the nasty blighter who soon met the deadly blade of Spike's sword.
Spike gently scooted Dawn's bag out of the doorway where she had dropped it upon entering the apartment, closed and locked the door behind them, still conscious of any lingering demons on the street who might be looking for revenge. Spike backed up to the worn but cozy recliner in his rather Spartan living room, and holding Dawn snugly to his body, eased them down into the chair, conscious as he was to avoid jostling the emotional girl any more than necessary. Dawn's tears had fairly soaked the right shoulder of Spike's tee-shirt as she buried her face against his pale neck.
Dawn felt Spike wince as he eased them both into the cushioned chair—her weight still firmly centered against his middle.
"Ohmygod!—I forgot—your side…," Dawn shifted back against Spike's lap, looking around for another chair in the small apartment as her hands went to the padded armrests, preparing to push herself off.
Smiling, Spike tightened his hold against the lithe beauty in his arms, "Huh-uh," Spike resisted with a grin, "You're not going anywhere, Nibblet." Spike nuzzled into the crook between Dawn's neck and shoulder, relishing in her scent, her warmth, the slight weight of her body keeping him pinned to the world for the moment. "Just had to sit down for a minute—that's all, my sweet girl. You aren't hurting me at all," Spike stroked his hand through the length of Dawn's chestnut-colored locks, to try and soothe them both.
When another congested sniffle sounded over the litany of Spike's reassurances, he pulled back to study Dawn's face, streaked now with rivulets of watery black, Dawn's attempt at glamorous seduction reduced to a raccoon-eyed waste.
"Ah, what's all this…?" Spike tenderly admonished, swiping at a running tear on Dawn's face with his fingers. At her small, embarrassed smile, Spike looked around fruitlessly for a tissue or napkin, but finding neither, he stripped off the tear-stained black tee from his body and wiped delicately around Dawn's eyes and down her flushed cheeks.
"Whad'ya want with all that silly make up anyway?" Spike cooed as he tidied Dawn's face. "You're beautiful without all that nonsense," Spike smiled as he regarded Dawn, coaxing something between a pout and a grin from her lips.
"Be grateful *you* weren't wearing eyeliner today," Dawn snarked in good-natured retaliation as she took up the cotton tee and wiped away the tears from Spike's cheeks as well.
"Touché," Spike conceded, well-aware of the punk look he sported many years ago. He again drew Dawn's body to his own, gratified even further to feel her soft cheek against his shoulder, her long fingers stroking gently across his back, her….'Cor,' Spike thought as he glanced down to see the plaid skirt of Dawn's school uniform bunched at her flat belly, 'She's scorchin' me through those little cotton panties…and her scent…'—the young girl scent he recalled from the years when Dawn started thinking about boys, and her crush on him was evident at a blush. That scent had now ripened and bloomed, along with the rounded breasts now crushed against his chest and the beautiful curved bottom that rested on his thighs. Spike tried to shake off the thoughts that disturbed and threatened to embarrass him. The vampire prayed to will away the arousal that was sure to follow if he was unable to block out the Siren's call that was Dawn Summers.
With light kisses to Dawn's forehead, Spike reminded himself that this was the Slayer's little sis—and that nothing good could come from those thoughts except a quick stake through the heart. Thankfully, Spike was broken out of his reverie by a sudden smack to the chest.
"And how could you not tell me you were alive?" Dawn demanded in just anger, remembering her hurt from just a couple of months before when she found out from a begrudging sister that Spike had apparently returned.
Spike groaned internally, knowing that the question would come—he had certainly already heard the same question from her sister's lips.
"I wanted to…at first…but I couldn't—wasn't solid, you know…."
Dawn nodded at his recitation, urging him onward to see if his explanation was anywhere near sufficient.
"After that…wasn't so sure how big sis would take it…"
Dawn studied the vampire, pain etched on her face at the mention of Spike's attachment to Buffy.
"Peaches and I went to Rome…looked her up…she'd hooked up with that wanker, the Immortal…Andrew said she'd moved on, so I let it go, you know. When Fred got in a bad way, we tried callin' Giles, but the ol' sot wouldn't be bothered—figured Angel had gone and got himself turned evil again," Spike shook his head slightly to push way the unhappy memory.
"After that, that Ilona bird spilled the beans to Buffy—just couldn't resist tellin' her where to find a nice leather jacket to replace the one some Skench demon snott'd on—and how 'Spike had just * laahhved* the coat she'd bought him there,'" Spike sighed with regret.
"So needless to say the Slayer was less than pleased to find all this out second-hand. Calls me up—pissed off o' course—wonderin' why I didn't have the balls to let her know I was back, and why I wouldn't believe what she'd said to me before I--I…," Spike blinked away the sting of tears as Dawn's hand unconsciously traced at the scars on Spike's palm.
"Anyway, I got all defensive—started raggin' her 'bout that Immortal git—how he was always lappin' up my sloppy seconds," Spike grimaced as he recalled his tactless words. "And she said, 'don't you mean Angel's *sloppy thirds*?!' and that was the last conversation your big sis and I had," Spike blew out a sigh at how even after the tenderness of those last days…the forgiveness…the sacrifices—it was so easy to fall back into those old habits with Buffy—insults and recrimination instead of happiness and gratitude.
"But what about *me*?" Dawn's voice rose and thinned in the sob that was about to overcome her. "*I* needed you too," her blue eyes filled with tears once again as her mouth trembled.
"I'm sorry, Bit, so sorry, baby," Spike's lips rained down kisses on Dawn's hair, holding her tightly to his chest.
"And then—and then—," she stammered, as she recalled his next slight, "Before I can even make it back here, you let stupid Angel sign up for the *next* apocalypse," Dawn pouted swatting at his chest once again in righteous anger.
"Hey," Spike's voice softened as he raised Dawn's chin with his forefinger, "You saved me that time, dind't ya?" their eyes met softly as Spike raised Dawn's palm to his lips, closed his eyes and kissed the small pink scar.
"It really wasn't me," Dawn shook her head and discounted the compliment, "just my blood," she shrugged.
"Bollocks! S'not what I heard from Red. Said they had to hold you back from comin' through yourself. Would'a been rainin' Niblet down on me," Spike smiled warmly a he tucked a stray lock behind Dawn's ear.
Dawn sniffed and smiled, "If you'd dusted…I couldn't have told how sorry I was for what I'd said…how mean I was to you that night…," a fresh round of tears threatened to form which were immediately quelled by Spike's solid body and gentle touch.
"S'forgotten, Bit…nothin' to be sorry for…shh…." He stroked a steady line down Dawn's back.
Dawn's regretful whimper was interrupted by a growling in her stomach.
Spike chuckled at the noisy rumbling, "Babygirl needs some food, yeah?" Unconsciously the back of Spike's fingers rubbed gently at the small strip of skin peeking out from between the hem of Dawn's knotted blouse and the turned-down waistband of her skirt. Spike's eyebrow rose as he noticed the alteration to her uniform, but stowed away his query for later. "Got some Wheetabix in the kitchen cabinet," he teased.
He laughed at Dawn's predictable retch and patted her bare thigh. "Hop up and lemme see what I got on hand."
"Mm-k, just gotta run to the bathroom," Dawn bounced off the chair backward and headed in the direction indicated by the nod of Spike's head.
Spike pushed himself up, trying to will his stiff legs to move once again as he made his way to the kitchen, popping a packet of blood in the microwave for himself and finding a frozen pepperoni pizza for Dawn. Turning on the rarely-used oven, Spike unboxed the pie and slid it onto the oven rack. After pouring out the blood into his favorite mug and drinking enough to restore his energy, Spike retrieved a beer from the fridge, unscrewing the cap and tossing it onto the counter. He found an unopened bag of spicy Doritos at the back of the cabinet and set them on the counter to tie Dawn over till the pizza was ready.
At the sound of the flush and running water (which reminded Spike to pick up more toilet paper when he went to the store) Dawn returned to the kitchen, taking a seat at the bar and opening the bag of chips.
"Pizza should be ready in about 20 minutes," Spike reported as he searched for clean plates.
"Mm-k," Dawn munched, "Wow, these are hot," she panted after the peppery kick warmed her mouth. Leaning across the counter, Dawn reached for Spike's beer, taking a long, cooling swig from the bottle.
"Watch it there, missy!" Spike admonished as though no time had passed between them.
"Spike, I'm eighteen, you know…," Dawn groaned.
"Yeah, and in the state of California, you're s'posed to be 21 before you drink that," Spike lectured.
"And I've been living in Italy for over a year where I've been perfectly legal . They even let you drink in church, you know, it's like a requirement or something," Dawn responded, nonplussed.
"Fine," Spike gave in with a raised eyebrow, retrieving another beer for himself from the refrigerator. "Italy, huh? Red said you were at Assisi? Anything there besides statuary?" Spike asked, trying to discern how Dawn had wound up in the tiny Italian town.
"Not really, started out in Rome—seems that the monsignor and I didn't exactly see eye to eye when it came to demons. He said 'All demons were evil, soulless creatures' and I said, 'Huh-uh, that I knew of two personally who had souls…,'"
"Some of us had to work for it," grumbled Spike under his breath.
"'One of whom had saved the world from an apocalypse, in fact,'" Dawn continued with sincere vehemence, "'and that I knew plenty of demons who didn't do anything worse than play a little kitten poker on the weekends,'" Dawn defended. "I went on to say that my sister fought thousands of evil demons and vamps, and had even sacrificed herself to keep a hell god from taking over the world, even though she was later resurrected. I told him she said heaven was very peaceful and was pretty pissed when her friends yanked her back," Dawn curled into herself as she sat on the barstool, a little guilt pinching at her face.
"Monsignor Silvestri thought I would be better suited for their school in Assisi, where the 'less hectic pace might give me time for more thoughtful reflection,'" Dawn smirked at Spike's chuckle.
"Appreciate the good word to the higher ups," Spike smiled at her defense of his contribution, none of which was apparently appreciated by the Monsignor.
"You're welcome," replied Dawn primly, trying to hold in her wicked smile. "So anyway, end of the world, part eight, arrives, and my poor, sheltered roommate comes back to our room to find chanting witches, a pentagram drawn in sheep's blood, ritual knife in my hand—you know, the usual," Dawn shrugged.
Dawn smiled as Spike had to wipe away tears from laughing so hard.
"So the sisters fast-tracked my coursework—lots of independent study—less of a negative influence on the other students, of course—plus I was assigned an extra month of animal waste disposal at the local shelter—a little penance I suppose for holding an unauthorized Wiccan spell-casting in my dorm room."
"So, I packed all my earthly belongings in my knapsack, left a message for my sister who was incommunicado somewhere in the Caucasus, sorted out my diploma, transcript, and passport, said goodbye to the two people who would still speak to me in the entire school, bought my tickets, and here I am," Dawn flipped up her palms and shrugged innocently, having entertained Spike with her exploits of the last year. "Planning to check out some colleges in the next few days," Dawn took a long swig of beer to hide her certain mortification if Spike figured out her true motivation for showing up on his doorstep earlier that day.
Spike turned his attention to the buzz of the oven timer, pulling the piping hot pizza from the rack and slicing it up for his guest. Spike joined Dawn for a piece of pizza as was his tendency to hang on to certain human traits, unlike the other souled vamp in existence. Dawn was reaching for her third slice when Spike's cell rumbled against the bar.
Dawn paid little mind until Spike's one-word greeting—
"Slayer."
"Spike," Buffy answered just as evenly.
Spike's next words were stalled as Dawn frantically waved to get his attention, mouthing the word "No!" and frantically shaking her head. Spike's eyebrows scrunched in confusion and concern though he coolly returned to his phone conversation.
"What can I do for you, Buffy?" his tone softened a little in his inquiry.
"I just received a message Dawn left with Andrew saying she was flying to the U.S. to check out colleges."
"A bit vague, that," Spike replied with a glimmer of accusation in his eyes as he glanced at Dawn who held her head in her propped up hands.
"I had Willow do a locator spell and it seems that she was heading your way. I mean Southern California—it's either you or Angel, so I'd say all bets are on you."
"I've got to agree with you there."
Buffy exhaled heavily across the distant connection, "I mean—she's graduated, she's eighteen, she's pissed at me for sending her to convent school for the last year," Buffy groaned, "You know—thought it'd be safer and everything—all that hallowed ground and all."
"Makes sense."
"I know she wants to go back to the States for college, and she has the money to pay for it," Buffy sighed in understanding over her sister's departure. "She made great grades, even though she pissed off the Monsignor, he couldn't fault her coursework. Wish I'd had *her* scores when I left high school," Buffy mused. "I guess sometimes it does pay to be a thousand-year-old mystical being."
Spike chuckled lightly at Buffy's observation.
Buffy knew, without Spike uttering a word, that Dawn was there with him. If she asked, point-blank, he could deny it all he wanted to, but Spike had always been a lousy liar. His lack of reaction was what gave him away—normally, if Buffy said that Dawn was missing, Spike would have called everyone from the National Guard to the CIA, and every demon contact he had in between. His composure, his control revealed everything to Buffy—Dawn was at his place, and she didn't want Buffy to know. Buffy also knew that Spike would not betray Dawn, even if Buffy begged him to.
Spike's astute hearing picked up the soft, resigned sigh in Buffy's voice—she now knew exactly where Dawn was.
"Um, Spike, when she gets there, please tell her to be careful—I know there must still be a few stray demons who hung around even after Willow opened the portal, and if they find out she's my sister, or that she's the Key…," Buffy voice was thick now with emotion.
"I promise—won't let her go anywhere alone. You're right—s' not exactly safe just yet. Keepin' m' doors locked up tight and all," Spike tried to reassure. He breathed a heavy sigh, "So when might we be x'pectin' ya?"
"Well, that's the thing—I can't exactly leave the country right now."
"Wha's up? Got the pox or somethin'?" Spike snarked lightly.
"I've applied for my Italian citizenship—can't leave for six months," Buffy breathed deeply before her next revelation, "I'm getting married, Spike," Buffy's voice tightened at the strain of delivering her news. "He was called as a watcher six months ago. Giancarlo's his name," she continued lamely. "I volunteered to help train him, started spending lots of time together….."
"Does he make you happy, Buffy?" Spike questioned.
"Yeah…," Buffy replied softly, "And when he gets pissed, he swears at me in Italian, so I have no clue what he's saying," Buffy laughed with Spike chuckling in response.
"Well, congratulations on your engagement, Buffy—hope it all works out for you," Spike replied with graciousness.
"Thanks," Buffy accepted.
"Buffy,…before you go…I'm sorry 'bout what I said before," Spike exhaled deeply at the apology.
"Me, too," Buffy agreed with understanding. "Spike," Buffy's voice tightened at her request. "Please take care of Dawn…ok?"
"What'd I tell you before, Slayer?"
"That you'd kill me on Saturday?" Buffy replied with a smile.
"That I'd always look out for the Bit. I'll always take care of her, Buffy—count on it."
"Thanks, Spike. Have her call me when she gets a chance," Buffy's voice broke a little.
"Will do. Take care of yourself, Buffy."
"You, too, Spike."
Spike closed his phone and set it carefully on the bar before taking a breath and turning toward Dawn who had stopped eating once Buffy's name was spoken into the air.
Dawn Summers' blue eyes looked up expectantly to meet Spike's, her breath just as still as his own.
"So, Dawn,"
The young beauty sucked in a trembling breath at Spike's rare use of her given name.
"You gonna' tell me what you're really doin' here?"