Spoilers: Season 5. This story takes place directly after "Crush"
Rating: PG
Content: Spike/Buffy
Disclaimer: They are Joss's! All Joss's! I'm just *cough* borrowing them for a bit.
Feedback: Your words are literally keeping me writing on this one. I need all the help I can get! Thanks!



Chapter Four

"Just let me change, first," Buffy started running up the stairs, holding her orange and white plaid skirt modestly down as she took two steps at a time. "She's probably just at Jackie's house or something."

Joyce frowned as she leaned against the wooden banister. "She's not like this. Where is she?"

Buffy paused at the top of the stairs, tugging at the sleeves of her sweater. "Undoubtedly having a merry time without us. I'll check Jackie's- after I change -then I'm gonna meet the guys at the Bronze tonight. Don't worry. I'll send her straight home."

"Before you do that, maybe you should get them to look for her," Joyce hinted forcefully.

The girl sighed as she pulled her arms inside her sweater, effectively shrouding her torso in a cocoon of polyster and fleece. "Okay. Like compromise time. If I can't find the brat in a couple of minutes, I'll set the hounds a sniffin'. How's that?"

Joyce nodded slowly, her eyes filled with relief. "That I can agree to. And don't talk about your sister like that."

"Mom," Buffy moaned as she shrugged out of the sweater and into a slinky purple top. "But come on! She could have taken like two seconds to call you or something..."

"Exactly why I'm worried. Please go now?"

"Gimme a second to throw on some jeans..."

Buffy heard a loud sigh as the front door creaked open.

"That's okay. I'll do it myself. You go play with your friends," Joyce's light voice took on a distinct martyristic edge. "How do I use one of these stake things again?"

"Mooooooom! Geesh. Evil Emotional-Blackmail Mommy," Buffy breathed grumpily as she stomped down the stairs, her miniskirt flying up with each exasperated step. "It's not even dark yet!"

Joyce looked at her daughter with wide, innocent eyes.

"Oh, I don't know, Buffy. It looks pretty dark."

Buffy rolled her eyes as she pushed back the sleeves on her top. "In about 2 more hours, anyway. Geesh, Mom. My clothes don't even *match*!" the girl complained as she stepped out the front door.

"Your sister won't mind. Speaking of Dawn, Xander will help you. So will the girls..."

"Mom, it's okay. I'll find Dawn," Buffy smoothed her skirt down as she thanked whatever gods were listening that Cordelia lived in LA now. An orange skirt and purple top. She would have never heard the end of it.

"While you are at it, why don't you ask Spike to help you look? I know he's been... ah... difficult lately, but he's always been good at help..."

"Mom!" Buffy sputtered suddenly. "I don't NEED Spike to find my sister for me!"

"I know, sweetheart. But ask him anyway."

"Mother!" she groaned as she turned to the empty street. "Erk. I'll be back in a few minutes. With Dawn. And without Spike's help!"



He tapped his meticulously manicured nails along the case of the cellular phone, his lips pulled into a frown as he contemplated the thing. With a shake of his head, Samson turned the ringer to vibrate, thanking the Creator that the high-pitched buzzing a few minutes before hadn't alerted his quarry to his presence.

Sighing as he leaned back against the door carefully, Samson shoved the tiny phone into the interior pocket of his duster. He peered inside the crypt, frowning as he noted that the human girl was still in there and seemed to have no intention of leaving anytime soon.

It wasn't supposed to be like this, he grumbled as he pulled out the complimentary British Airways deck of cards from a pocket. Ten hours, Samson thought as he pulled the deck free of the shrink-wrap, ten hours squished into a seat that's hardly big enough for a doll (much less a grown man), only to end up sitting more in a cemetery listening to some vacuous conversation.

This was his golden opportunity to show the others the stuff from which he was made. Hell, this was his chance to *shine*. The fate of the world very well rested in his hands. And instead of anything good happening, he was stuck watching some self-absorbed brat flirt rather shamelessly with a member of the Undead Society. He crumbled the wrapping into a small ball and threw it at an empty vase at the base of a worn headstone. Missed.

"Hail the Creator," he cursed softly as he looked down at the cards, his long fair hair waving in movement.. With a shrug, he carefully aimed for the lip of the vase. "Going to the bloody dentist is more intriguing," he muttered beneath his breath as he tossed a card. Missed again.

Samson glared at the vase, his light eyes flashing with irritation. Carefully, he extended the next card, lining it up the best he could. He flicked his wrist, only to groan softly as the card bounced off the side of the vase. He wrinkled his nose as he readied the next one. He'd get it this time, Samson promised himself as he took careful aim. With a steadiness in his hand and intent look in his fair eyes that were more befitting to a surgery room than a cemetery, he cocked his wrist back and tossed.



Dawn leaned her head back, watching the tiny spider with undisguised interest as it swung back and forth above her head.

"Da itsy bitsy spider climbed up t-the water s-spout!" she burst into song, her fingers twitting and fluttering in time to the song. "Down came the rain and *SPLUUUSH*! washed the poor damn s-spider out. Well, ain't that just sad?"

"So true. Sing it, sister," Spike encouraged, a brand new bottle of bourbon pressed to his lips as he watched the young girl giggle.

The Key waggled her eyebrows exaggeratingly as the spider drooped from its loft at the ceiling. "Say, Spike. Where d-da h-hide the spool...?

Spike blinked slowly, trying to focus on the girl. "Spool, pet?"

Dawn giggled suddenly, her face red as she covered her mouth with a pale hand. "You called me 'Pet'. Mreow!"

"Spool?" he repeated, trying to regain some semblance of intelligence

Dawn nodded, reaching for the bourbon. "Ya know. Where they hide all that webby stringy stuff. They are sooooo tiny. Where'd'it all go and stuff?"

He wrinkled his forehead as he considered the question. Where *do* they hide their little spools of thread? Abruptly, he shook his head. If Buffy came in right now, he'd...

Be dust. Without a doubt. Sighing, he pulled the bourbon out of Dawn's reach. She was a fun little drunkard though, he thought as he recapped the bottle. But really! her song repertoire needed expanding...

"Heeeeeeeeeey!" the teenager protested grumpily. "I haven't f-finished that one yet."

"Another time, Bitty Bad," he closed his eyes as he tried to will himself sober. Yeah, right. "Gotta save some of it for your next drunken excursion, ducks."

"Quack! Quack! QUACK!" she giggled, throwing herself back in the armchair. "Wooooo! The room is m-moving..."

"It won't move as much if you stay still, Nibblet," he advised sagely, he himself an expert on the subject. Sighing, Spike looked at his nemesis's sister. The girl was pissed off her chair and the second Buffy found out what had happened... "Dawn? Your sister has no clue where you are at, right?"

"Not that she'd ever care," the girl spit out venomously, her pretty face contorted by pain. "God, they didn't want me there, you know. They never d-do."

He froze at her words, frowning as he saw the sincerity on her less than alert face. The girl really believed it.

"Oh?" he prodded softly, uncertain of what to say.

Dawn nodded emphatically, a torrent of tears pressing at her brown eyes. "I'm so l-lonely," she mumbled, her arms wrapped around herself protectively as she turned her gaze to the vampire.

"She acts like she's all alone or something," the teenager sighed as she leaned against the recliner, the tears falling freely from her eyes. "Like, hello. She doesn't even know what b-being alone *is*. I mean, really. She's got the Scoobies. I mean, they aren't just her friends. They are more than that. They know what she is! And they l-love her anyway. They'd die for her. Yeah, and she has the gall to think she's alone. Really. She has me!"

"Look at me."

Spike frowned as he considered the girl, the pain in her strong voice tangible even in his moderately intoxicated state. Those brown eyes were filled with an awareness he had rarely seen in all of his existence, yet that awareness was poisoned by the girl's self-loathing. What she had to hate about herself, he really couldn't fathom. She wasn't the vampire here.

"Really look at me," Dawn commanded softly, her voice strained but certain. "Who do I have? I'm just Buffy's dumb little sister, maybe not even that. I'm not a person to them. Hell, I'm not sure I'm even a person to me. Does she think *I* have my own Scoobies? Does she think for a second that any of my friends love me enough that if they were to even have half a clue of what I am, they'd be there in the morning? Does she know w-what it's like to r-realise that I'm all I've got?"

His frown deepened as he scooted over to sit next to the girl. Almost timidly, he patted her on the back. He nearly jumped out of his skin, though, when Dawn leaned her head against his shoulder.

"I'm so tired, Spike. So tired. I hate this," she whispered vehemently. "I hate being like this. I hate being so lonely. I hate being scared of going to sleep at night because I don't know if I'll wake up in the morning. I'm not real. Oh, god. I'm not *real*. How can I feel so much? How can it hurt when it's not really there? When I am not really here. Spike, what's wrong with me? Why me? Why do I feel real when I'm *not*?"

He pinched her hard on the arm, his face wracked with pain as the chip responded.

"Ow OW! Thanks much," she grumbled sarcastically as she rubbed the welting mark. "Why did you pinch me?"

"Don't be a git," he growled as he resumed massaging her back. "If you aren't real, then I guess I really didn't pinch you now, did I?"

The teenager glared at him as she silently rubbed her arm.

He held up his fingers, faintly surprised at the shimmer of blood coating his nails. He didn't think he had pinched her that hard.

"Though it felt real enough to me," he muttered as he brought his fingers to his nose. Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply.

"Smells real enough too. I wonder how it would taste..."

Dawn grabbed at his hand suddenly, her eyes flashing with anger. "Don't you dare!"

"Why would it bother you, love? If you aren't real and all?"

The girl frowned as her eyes focused on the blood. Her blood.

Spike shook his head slowly as he regarded the girl. Gently, he brought his fingertips before her eyes. "This is real enough, Nibblet. How much more real do you want?"

"I just want..." she started weakly, her voice choked with emotion. "I guess that's why I like you, Spike. You're just like me. We're special, you know," Dawn smiled at him sweetly, her eyes fluttering closed.

"That we are, pet," he agreed, running his fingers through her hair as her breathing slowed and became deeper.

"No one else out there like us and for that, we'll always be alone."

Spike winced involuntarily at her softly spoken words.

"Or maybe not," she murmured softly. "If I'm the Key, then maybe there's a Lock out there. Just like me."

A small crash suddenly echoed beyond the door. He looked up curiously, but shrugged as his thoughts turned back to the girl's words.

Quietly, he stood, pausing only to lay his duster over the sleeping form. No sense in the Nibblet catching her death of pneumonia, he told himself as he walked slowly to the exit. He needed to have a word with the Slayer, whether the twit wanted to hear them or not.

Anyway, just looking at the woman made him feel less lonely and right now, the loneliness was almost a bit more than he could take. Buffy. There was just something inherently comforting about the fact that someone like *her* could even exist ...

"Of all the moronic, self-destructive nonsense!" he growled as he pushed the door open.

He paused in midstep as he realised the door had been left ajar.

"Silly twit," Spike grumbled as he closed the door tightly behind him. "Gotta speak to the girl about... what's this?" he blinked as he looked at the scattered deck of cards beneath his feet.

No more than five feet away, lay a shattered vase encircled by a dozen playing cards. Curiously, he knelt before the vase, prodding the crumbled remains with a finger.

Someone had been there, he realised. And for quite some time, as well. Probably some teenage boys, he decided as he stood slowly. But it wasn't worth the risk. He couldn't leave the girl here.

Sighing, he nudged the tarnished handle, his eyes darting across the grounds cautiously. He closed his eyes as he took a deep breath, his long-dead lungs filling with the scents carried in the air.

Male. Probably early twenties, he decided.

Some sort of frat hazing? he wondered as he pushed on the door. Stupid gits. They'd do anything for a lager and a lay. His lips quirked into a slight smile as he had to admit he wasn't much different.

Sudden movement out of the corner of his eye made him stop in his tracks.

A young man stood confidently just beyond the reach of trees to the west, a homemade crossbow in the man's hands. With a haughty smirk, the man cocked the bolt and aimed it pointedly at the vampire's heart.

"Oh, bloody hell."