openhouse

Title: 'Open House'
Author: Spikelicious
Disclaimer: Joss yes, me no. Cheese, me no likey! g
Rating: PG-13
Summary: First in the 'And Life Goes on Series' set after 'The Gift' but once school has started. Buffy is still dead, and you'll have to assume that Spike is staying in Dawn's basement.
Feedback: Yes, please! :)
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"Spike, I need a favor."

"Shoot, Nibblet." Spike didn't look away from the tv screen he was glued to; he had several hours worth of 'Passions' to catch up on and it was best done uninterrupted.

"Spike, you could at least pretend to listen. That's what the 'pause' button is for," she added, snatching up the remote and freezing the picture just as Timmy was about to launch into some expository whining.

The platinum blond turned to make a snarky comment to She Who Would Interrupt His Viewing Pleasure until he caught the look on her face. THE look. The big, watery eyes, the 'I need some attention and you are just the vamp for the job' pout. He fell every time; she was the only reason he woke up at night, and the only reason he didn't greet the sun each morning. The look thoroughly chastised him; he *was* a bad, rude man.

Fixing an attentive gaze on the teen, he smiled apologetically. "Sorry, pet. What's up?"

Dawn sighed and flopped down onto the couch next to him.

"Well, we have this thing for school tonight. Open House. I gotta have someone come talk to my teachers and stuff. Basically you just need to show up, look interested in whatever the teacher says, nod politely, and leave. You can do that, can't you?"

Spike frowned, but in confusion rather than irritation. "Pet, why? That's what the 'Bot is for. Hasn't Willow fixed her yet?" The 'Bot's wiring had gotten fried in a fight with a large, gooey demon the previous night. Although the robot had managed to make it home, she had shut down shortly thereafter and Willow had been trying to clean out the innards and fix whatever needed fixing.

Dawn shook her head. "No. Something about replacing wires and fuses or some techno-geeky thing like that."

"Oh. What about Willow? Can't she do it?" Although Spike was touched that Dawn would come to him for something like this, BuffyBot or Willow took care of the mundane every day stuff in Dawn's life. Spike was more concerned with the 'protecting Dawn 'til the end of the world' stuff.

"No, she's still trying to get the 'bot ready for the next Social Services visit, and that could be any day now. Plus, she isn't very good at lying so, you know, major squirmage in front of my teachers. Again, not good for the whole 'everything's fine in Dawnland' act."

"Are you sure, luv? I don't want to go mucking up your situation here," he added worriedly.

Dawn smiled at his concern for her. "No, really, it's okay. You just pop in to each class, chat for a minute, look at whatever the teacher hands you, and go to the next class. There's only four, so it shouldn't take more than half an hour or so."

Spike sighed. He didn't know why he didn't just say 'yes' right away whenever Dawn asked him for something, avoiding all the inevitable conversations that tended to reaffirm his status as a big, soft-hearted poofter.

"Fine. What time?" He tried sounding gruff, knowing by Dawn's smirk that he'd failed completely.

"Thanks, Big Bad. Be at school around seven. Oh, and wear your 'hottie' outfit."

"Bloody hell. I am *such* a soddin' wanker."

* * * * *

"I'm glad you were able to come tonight, Mr..."

Spike reluctantly glanced up from Dawn's writing folder, realizing that the teacher was prompting him for his name. Having already visited Dawn's other three classes, he'd located room 109 a few minutes earlier and strode in all brusque and business-like,
announcing that he was there for Dawn Summers. Quickly glancing around the desks in the room, he'd located the folder with Dawn's name printed on it and snatched it up. With genuine interest, he was now perusing a quarter semester's worth of class work.

The teacher cleared her throat. "Mr..."

Ah, it seemed that his Little Bit had decided to neglect the formal niceties of proper society and leave him to introduce himself. Which meant also inventing a history with her family. Well, he could at least use his real name.

"Dunhill. William Dunhill." He noted the woman's look of skepticism and wondered if she'd been expecting him to share the Summers' name.

"I'm Joyce's nephew," he added quickly. Hell, he'd be damned again before claiming blood kinship to that self-absorbed prat, Hank. Spike could see where Buffy's deeply-rooted and entirely justifiable abandonment issues sprang from.

Dawn's English teacher, a Ms. Murphy by the sign on the door, was a thin, handsome woman in her mid-forties. She had keen gray eyes and slightly graying but still mostly-auburn hair, currently pulled into a haphazard knot at the back of her head. Her clothes were well-kept but poorly matched, and Spike was reminded of a future Willow. As she peered at him curiously, he wondered if the teacher sensed that something about him was
different. Perhaps noticing a certain undead quality to his nonetheless convincingly human appearance. Finally, she nodded almost imperceptibly, albeit with vague suspicion of his
origins still evident in her piercing gaze.

"So you're from England, then, Mr. Dunhill?"

Spike groaned inwardly. Was he going to have to diagram a family tree? You'd think in this day and age the woman dealt with unconventional families all the time. And Dawn's family was certainly unconventional; with Buffy dead and Giles back in England, the 'Bot had been acting in Buffy's stead to keep Social Services away. However, with the 'Bot temporarily out of commission thanks to last night's battle, here he was attending Open House Night. Once upon a time, he'd been one-quarter of the Scourge of Europe, Big Bad Extraordinaire, Big, Scary Undead Creature of the Night. But now? Bloody babysitter to a
teenaged girl...well, an undead babysitter, but still. The fact that he loved the chit more than any human now walking the earth still did not endear her to him in this particular instance.

"Yeah. I've been here in the states for about four years now, but I grew up in London." He'd skipped a few years in between, but close enough. Sticking to the truth whenever possible was always 'of the good', as any one of the Scoobies would say.

After a few beats of silence, Spike decided that the 'amicably confused' act would work best in this situation.

"Er, didn't Dawn tell you I was coming in for Open House?" He cocked his head and turned on the charm, flashing that killer smile and assuming his 'I'm just a big fluffy, puppy' persona.

Ms. Murphy was apparently not immune to his rakish good looks and English charm.

"Well, she didn't say who was coming in. Just that a family member would be sure to make it." She frowned slightly. "I thought that her sister, Buffy, was her guardian now? Shouldn't
she be here?"

Spike smiled conspiratorially. "Didn't she tell you?" He hoped Ms. Murphy would fall for his 'leading the witness' bit

She fell. Her eyes widened and a look of concern crossed her face. "No, she hasn't said anything regarding her sister. Is something wrong?"

Spike shook his head and smiled soothingly. "No, no. Nothing bad, just that Buffy's a bit, well, under the...weather." Spike bit the inside of his cheek to keep from choking in front of this clueless woman. His grief at Buffy's death was still fresh and sharp, and he had difficulty reigning in the impulse flee from the room and have a good cry. Or, get good and drunk. Again. And then possibly have the good cry anyway.

He let his gaze drop back to the folder, finished leafing through it, studying certain pages now and then. Dawn had written a lot of poetry for this class, and she was good. Much better than he had ever been, he thought wryly, not that *that* was saying much. Not
an 'effulgent' to be found within these pages, certainly. He closed the folder and placed it back on Dawn's desk.

"Is this all I do? Look at her work?" Without the folder to keep his hands busy, his fingers were itching for a cigarette, and his gaze drifted longingly to the door.

Ms. Murphy shook her head. "Usually we have a conference. To address any issues, concerns, or questions that may have come up," she added helpfully, noticing William's confusion. His face cleared.

"Oh. Okay. Well, I don't have any questions and her work looks great. Are we done?" Spike was dying to get out of these clothes; falling into the Gap had done his comfort levels not one bit of good. Not to mention that he was wearing the clothes he'd, er, 'procured', to impress Buffy once upon a disaster. When the 'hottie outfit' comment hadn't worked, Dawn had insisted he look 'less Sex Pistols, more 'let's not throw Dawn into a foster home'.Hence, he was leather-free and wearing colors far removed from any shade of black or red.

"Well, I had a couple of issues I wanted to address. Dawn's work is good, but still very melancholy. She usually ends up reflecting her state of mind and often misses the point of the assignment completely. Now, I realize she just lost her mother this year, but
certainly if she is to get what she needs from school she must fulfill her scholastic obligations." Concern for Dawn's emotional health warred with Ms. Murphy's deeply-embedded sense of teacherly duty, but she was nothing if not pragmatic. Surely Mr. Dunhill could see that she wanted what was best for his young cousin.

Spike blinked. "Scholastic...what? Didn't you just say Dawn was writing?"

Ms. Murphy seemed startled by his clipped tone. "Well, yes, but she-"

"Well, innit what you do in English class? Read, write, all that good stuff? Where's the problem?" Spike was quickly becoming irate. His little...Dawn, was going through some of the worst shit in her newly-human life, and this bint had the nerve to judge Nibblet's efforts as being not up to snuff?

He took a deep breath--Ms. Murphy didn't know he didn't need it and it helped him to focus--then firmly tamped his anger down. He would do Dawn's cause no good by presenting himself as an unstable influence on her, or giving Social Services any reason
to come knocking on the door before they were due. When they did, Willow would have the 'Bot fixed and programmed with the correct responses for any questions regarding Dawn's school work.

He plastered Fluffy Puppy back onto his face and smiled apologetically. Her distress at his previous anger turned to confusion at his current appeasing manner, but she remained
silent. He sighed heavily, the understandably long-suffering sigh of a male cousin that did not know how to deal with a female teenager who had lost her mother recently.

"I'm sorry. All I can say is that when Buffy is...feeling better, she will be fully apprised of your concerns and if you'd like, I can have her contact you directly." He noticed absently that he'd lapsed into William's cultured accent, rather than speaking in his trademark street brogue.

Ms. Murphy seemed to want to pursue the discussion, but finally nodded and smiled weakly. "Yes, well, I certainly look forward to hearing from Ms. Summers. But thank you for coming and and showing such interest in Dawn. She's lucky to have such a caring cousin."

Spike shrugged. "I love her like she was my own." Off Ms. Murphy's look, he added, "Sister. Like she was my own sister, you know."

Satisfied that she needed to move on to the parents who had arrived moments earlier and were trying not to look as impatient as they obviously felt, Ms. Murphy smiled again and lightly rested one hand on Spike's forearm, directly underneath the rolled-up cuff of his chambray shirt.

"Yes, well, Mr. Dunhill, it was good to meet you." Her smile faltered and her gaze fell to her hand and the room-temperature flesh under her fingers. As her sense of wrongness registered, they both quickly pulled away, attempting to do so casually. As Ms. Murphy clasped her hands in front of her, Spike shoved both hands in the back pockets of his khakis, as if he had been intending to do so anyway. He could tell by the expression on her
face that she was already inventing excuses as to why there was no indication that blood flowed through the veins beneath his cool skin.

"Likewise. Now if you'll excuse me, I must be off." Spike edged towards the door, and with a last confused and wary look at him, Ms. Murphy turned towards the couple waiting by the blackboard.

Making his escape, Spike turned and fled the classroom. 'Bugger all, that was close', he thought as he forced himself not to exit the building with inhuman speed. After that brief but
unsettling experience, he couldn't understand how the 'Bot hadn't been detected already in her dealings with...oh, wait. This was Sunnyhell. Home of rampant PCP gangs and the Cause of Death: Mysterious Neck Wounds section in the Sunnydale morgue.

As he made his way back to Revello Drive, Spike thought ruefully that if he hadn't promised his eternal unlife to protecting Dawn, it would be wise to get the hell out of Dodge. This town was too weird even for a vampire.

* * * * *

Dawn sat in the middle of the couch, a bowl of popcorn on her right side and a can of diet soda nestled in her lap.

Spike came in and disappeared downstairs to his room in the basement without a word. He returned a moment later, wearing his familiar black t-shirt and jeans.

As he settled down on the cushion next to her she rolled her eyes. "Geez, predictable much?"

He ignored her barb and asked instead, "What's on?" nodding at the tv.

"Real World reruns. Puck's gotten into the peanut butter again."

Spike grinned at her. "That bloke is just misunderstood. He'd make a great vampire."

"He really would. Blond, bad clothes, obnoxious beyond comprehension. I can just see him as a vamp," Dawn concluded sassily.

Spike snorted, then turned to face her with a humorless expression. "Speaking of your Open House thing tonight, I was wondering why you neglected to let you teacher know who I was. Or that I was even coming," he added in irritation.

Dawn shrugged, but she dropped her gaze and played with the soda in her lap in order to avoid his eyes. "Well, I just figured that you would make up some great thing about who you were and you could just fill me in later."

Spike stared at her for another minute before turning back to the tv screen. After a moment, he asked conversationally, "Don't you want to know who I was?"

"Uh, you mean who you *are*?"

"Whatever. I'm your-"

"-please don't say father-"

"cousin. Bloody hell, Nibblet, why would I pretend to be that bastard? Come to think of it, I've been more of a father to you than that pillock."

"Spike, I haven't actually ever met him, so it's no contest."

"What?"

Dawn turned away. "Nothing. Nevermind. Did you embarrass me?"

Spike glowered. "No! But she wants to see the 'Bot when she's 'feeling better'. I told her Buffy was sickly and would contact her."

"Okay. Willow called about twenty minutes ago and said she was fixed. She just wanted to know if it needs any new files."

Spike had noticed early on that Dawn never referred to the 'Bot as anything but 'it', except when referring to 'it' as 'Buffy' in front of strangers. He briefly wondered if they weren't doing the girl more harm than good by forcing her to have her sister's robot double around. It was bad enough that Dawn blamed herself for Buffy's sacrifice; that he could understand all too well. But to be constantly reminded with a realistic-looking ringer that would never actually come close to being Buffy...no wonder her work was 'melancholy'.

"Yeah, she'll have to create a file on 'how to deal with teachers \who are concerned with Dawn's mental health'."

Dawn groaned, but didn't even ask why. She knew all too well that her schoolwork reflected the guilt and grief she felt buried under every minute of the day. Instead, she asked,

"Let me guess. Ms. Murphy?"

"Yeah. How'd you know?"

Dawn paused, considering her answer. "She's the only one who would care enough to notice my mental health. Or lack thereof."

Spike glanced at her but said nothing. After a moment, Dawn's curiosity got the best of her.

"So, you tell her your real name?"

"Yeah."

They were into the fourth episode in the 'Real World' marathon before Dawn finally caved.

"Spike?"

"Yeah, pet?"

"What *is* your real name? I mean, I know William, but I assume the Bloody' wasn't on your birth certificate."

Spike chuckled. "Your cousin, meaning your mother's nephew, is William Thomas Dunhill."

"Huh. That's a good name."

"I'm glad you approve. Now shush."

Thirty seconds passed.

"Spike?"

"Pet, this better be good. Rachel is giving Puck a good tongue lashing."

"Okay, first, ewwww. Second, thanks."

"S'okay, Nibblet. That's what family is for."

"Sure, cuz. Hey, I have this thing called a 'progress report' I need signed, and you don't even have to read it or anything, just slap your 'William Thomas Dunhill on it..."

"Don't push it."

FIN