TITLE:
Darkest Before Dawn #23 "Hearth"
AUTHOR:
Nmissi
PART:23/?
DISCLAIMER: I own Nothing and No one.
Especially not Spike. If I did,
what makes you think I'd share him with you?
DISTRIBUTION: Want it? Take it. Just let me know where it's going.
Feedback:
Please. Nmissi@aol.com
SUMMARY: The way the world would work if I wrote the Buffyverse.
There simply was not enough good scotch in the
world, to make this better, thought Giles, as he poured himself another one.
He could hear them, in the stock room. A plaintive female
voice and a strident male one; Xander and Anya, engaged in argument as they had
been for weeks now. Arguing over the same topic; Spike.
Spike
was Human. The gods alone knew how that had happened. The gang had spent a
goodly amount of time debating the possibilities. Buffy was of the opinion it
was a result of Ben's botched healing attempt. Dawn thought it was a miracle,
Willow thought it was some sort of magic. Giles himself thought it might be a
combination of factors, starting with the chip, involving the healing, and
maybe some mystical significance- Perhaps Spike, and not Angel, was the vampire
of myth and prophecy.
Spike, for his part, refused to discuss it and had
sullenly retreated into a bottle of Smirnoff. It had been three weeks, and he'd
yet to come out of it.
In
the front room, Giles tried desperately to ignore them. Perhaps if he did, they
would go away.
He turned his attention back to the task at hand.
Surrounded by his books, Giles felt
better. Glory was a mystery, a conundrum- but she was a mystical problem. And
Giles welcomed it. In light of months past, he welcomed a problem he might be
able to solve. He'd felt so powerless during Joyce's illness. He had been
rendered positively impotent by her death, unable to do anything but spout
platitudes and write thank you notes. But the banishment of Glorificus; well,
she was a riddle fit to sink his teeth into. If the obnoxious pair in the back
room could stop screaming at each other long enough to let him read, he might
actually be able to find something.
"How can you defend him like this?"
Xander was bone weary with the
argument.
"He's killed thousands of people,
and he doesn't feel the slightest bit ashamed of it. He's tried to kill all of
us multiple times, and never even so much as said "I'm sorry." And you stand
here telling me that its okay, that he ought to be forgiven just cause he's not
eating people anymore? What about all the ones he DID eat, Anya; have you
forgotten them?"
She shook her head at him.
"No, Xander. I haven't forgotten.
But I think You're forgetting what he's done for us, and for Buffy. I think it
ought to count for something. He's adjusting badly, I know, but give him a
chance-"
"Adjusting badly? Anya, he's drunk
all the time. He never goes anyplace, he just lies on Buffy's couch watching
TV. Eating her food, drinking beer he buys with her money-"
"THAT's the problem, isn't it? He's
living with Buffy and you're jealous!"
The hurt in her voice was gut
wrenching. He struggled to defend himself.
"No, An, it's not about Buffy. Well
it is, but not like that. It's not like that. It's just,"
He lowered his voice, trying to
think of a way to get his point across without upsetting Anya any further. He'd
been on the couch since Friday and he'd had hopes they could patch things up
tonight. That's why he'd come in to help her do inventory today.
" He's USING Buffy. He sponges off
her like a big- Sponge,thing. He's sucking up her money and her energy, making
her all worried about him when she needs all her attention for more important
stuff. I mean, B's working her ass off, at the Gallery, and patrolling, and
trying to keep up in school, and take care of Dawn. And what does Spike do? He
drives Dawn to soccer practice, when he's sober enough. Oh, and he screws Buffy."
He gave her a very pointed look.
"
Anya, we have a name for men like that."
"Dawn,
where's did you put the little boxes of Macaroni?"
Dawn looked up from her notebook.
"Dunno. I didn't put the groceries
up last night, Spike did."
She watched Buffy
grow increasingly more agitated, as she searched the cabinets. Finally Dawn got
up from the table, and joined her, looking in the pantry.
"Buffy, if we can't find it, just
fix something else."
"Like what?"
Dawn shrugged.
"Or just order a pizza."
Buffy looked over at Dawn, murder in
her gaze.
"Look, the schedule says this is
fish and macaroni night. Pizza night is Friday. If we order pizza tonight, then
it messes up the whole week."
She sighed, running a hand through
her hair.
"Look, just go wake him up and ask
him where he put the boxes, okay? While you're at it, tell him not to use the
Palmolive for pots and pans anymore, it's for the glasses. The Dawn is for pots
and pans."
Dawn nodded. She'd learned since
Mom's death, to pick her battles carefully. If Buffy wanted to come unglued
over dinner schedules and dishwashing liquids, she wasn't going to argue about
it. Giles had explained it to her, it was a "Coping Mechanism". When Buffy
wigged over scuffs on the floor, or improperly folded laundry, she was really
wigging about losing Mom.
Dawn
understood that better than anyone could imagine. She had her own "coping
mechanisms".
She wandered into the living room, over to the
couch.
Her sister's boyfriend was sprawled out on it,
snoring, a can of beer in his hand. Three more littered the surface of the
coffee table, alongside an ashtray full of butts.
Dawn prodded his shoulder with a forefinger.
"Spike. Hey, Spike. Wake up."
He mumbled in his sleep, shifting. He tried to turn
over on the couch, and she barely managed to grab the beer before he could pour
it out onto the furniture.
"Get up, drunkard."
Her tone implied derision and scorn. He'd once been
her hero. But the hero had clay feet; in the weeks he'd been here, she'd seen
little of the man she'd admired in him.
He rolled over and peered blearily out at her from
behind a three- day binge.
"Nibblet?"
Her heart rolled over. When he looked at her like
that, she wanted to forgive him anything. But it was hard, so hard to see him
like this.
"Get up. Buffy wants to know where you put the mac
'n' cheese."
He stared at her for a minute like he didn't know
what she was talking about. Then he sort of rolled off the couch, to his feet,
and staggered into the kitchen.
The smell of fish sticks in the oven was repulsive
when combined with the boiling green beans on the stove. The addition of onions
nearly did him in; he gagged. Beer. He needed a beer, where was his beer?
Lurching over to the fridge, he greeted the Slayer.
" 'ello Buffy."
He popped the tab on the can, and let the cool taste cleanse the inside of his mouth. The food smells in the kitchen became more bearable.
"Well, look who's up for the day!"
She looked down at her wrist, her face full of false cheer.
"And you know? It's not even six thirty yet."
He ignored the jab. It was nothing new. When they weren't shagging, they were fighting. If he let it go for now, she might play nice until after dinner. Besides, witty comebacks took brain cells he was currently pickling. He didn't want to go up against her in a verbal sparring match; there was no way he'd win.
"Where'd you put the boxed mac n cheese last night?"
Think, Spike. Blue box, yaay big. Where is it?
In an attempt to placate her, and stop her continual whining about how worthless he was, he'd unloaded the groceries last night and washed up the dishes. Unfortunately he'd been drunk off his arse at the time, and had no idea where anything was in any of the cabinets.
He started opening them randomly, and Buffy groaned.
"Forget it. Look, can you just pull yourself together long enough to set the table?"
He retrieved plates and cups, arranging them onto the tablecloth.
Then he got his ashtray, and sat down at the kitchen table, lighting up. He regarded Dawn, sitting across from him, as she poured over algebra homework. School was out, but the stress of past months had lowered her grades. In order to stay with her class next year, she had two summer courses to complete.
" 'Ow's it coming, then?"
He motioned with his cigarette towards her notebook.
She shrugged back at him.
"I don't know. Okay I guess. Summer school sucks, what else is new?"
Okay, that line of conversation wasn't going anywhere. Except to make Buffy angry when she notices that Dawn said "Sucks." She'll probably blame that on me too, he thought glumly.
"A- Ha! Target acquired!"
Buffy stood triumphantly clutching the Kraft box.
Spike raised an eyebrow at her.
"Bully for you."
She shot him a disapproving gaze.
"You know, I don't HAVE to feed you."
He rolled his eyes at her, and then noticed the pan on the stove.
"Buffy, the beans are boiling over."
"Damn!" she hissed quietly, racing to turn them down. They'd boiled onto the stove, and that would be a bitch to clean up once it'd cooked onto the surface.
He watched her add the macaroni to boiling water, and turn the timer on. Then she came over to join them at the table, resting her hand on the back of his chair.
"How's the homework, Dawn?"
Her sister just looked at her.
"I don't know, Buffy. It's homework. How do you think it is?"
Buffy tried to ignore the sarcasm. It was Dawn's way these days; everything that came out her mouth came out ugly. Buffy put on a bright smile for her.
"Well, you don't have much more of it. Just think, this time next month you'll be back at the high school."
"Yeah. I can hardly contain myself."
The deadpan delivery was perfect, and Spike struggled not to laugh. Buffy would not like it if he laughed.
His cigarette smoke wafted up, drawn by the cooking vents and the fan.
Behind him, Buffy choked.
Dawn was reacted instantly, all traces of disaffected teenager purged in sisterly concern.
""Buffy? You okay?"
Buffy nodded, and Spike turned around to look at her. She was pasty white, her eyes watering.
"You don't look good, love. Here, sit down."
He tried to pull her down into the chair but she jerked out of his hands, and fled the room.
He rose to follow her, but Dawn stopped him.
"I think she might be getting sick. Why don't you watch the food, I'll take her some water," she said, as she filled a glass at the sink.
He nodded, and went to stir the macaroni.
The stench of the onions was enough to make anybody sick, he reflected.