Dawn was out, finally. Spike needed time alone to think. Not brood, just think.

"I don't bloody brood." He muttered to himself, stepping out onto the porch as the last rays of the sun disappeared. He sat down on the porch swing and lit a cigarette. So much time around Dawn, after the paintball insanity, was harder than before. Being so close to her the other week had been like waving food in front of a starving man's face, then whipping it away when the poor bugger tried to take a bite. Which Spike would have thoroughly enjoyed years ago.

He shook his head at his own pathetic thoughts, "You poor bastard, you've gone and become Angel."

*Fuck Angel* a little voice it Spike's head growled, *Just forget the girl and go on the way things were, you stupid git.*

But that was impossible. He was too far gone to just stop his feelings for done. They had progressed past a crush and now he was fairly certain he was falling in love with her. Spike groaned and stood, knocking something off the swing as he did so. He bent and picked up the small journal.

"Dawn's diary." He murmured. He shouldn't open it. It was wrong. "And I'm a morality-impaired idiot. Hello?"

The first page held a short poem. Or maybe a song. Who knew.

I sit here in this coldness of mine

Staring at the ground

Waiting for my chaos to arise within

So that bloodshed may be found

The blade is sharp, my mind is aware

Of the burning inferno's surrounding

The chase begins, it's in the air

Frightened hearts beat without sounding

Eyes open wide, the redness coats the floor

The moonlight shines upon white flesh

Midnight hands pulling the frail soul in

To what the sunlight could not caress

Inside the crypt, restless souls awaken

From the glares of the blankened eyes

They feed on fear, drink down the screams

Of the most innocent lover's cries

Demonic wings spread accross the stones

That were once sacred to the living

Cold hands rise from their final sleep

Deadly whispers of un-forgiving

You'll find me here, in this place

Sitting beside shadows of the dead

Listening to the coated silence

That lies within my head

In the past the time stands still

Held by stone statues in agonized poses

Surrounding the field, I lay still in

The small circle of my black roses

--June 3, 2001

That date...only a week or so after Buffy's death. Spike closed his eyes briefly. The depression Dawn had sunken into had been deep and had lasted close to a year before she started living her life normally again. This poem showed what she had been feeling but had probably been afraid to say.

Flip. Flip. Flip. Several pages later

April 5, 2002

My birthday today. I'm 16, now. Yay, I guess. I don't know. It just feels weird without Buffy here to celebrate. Without her or mom to say Happy Birthday, Dawn, it's kind of a sad day. But Spike gave me this awesome necklace with a key charm. I'm so glad I have him. It's not just the protection thing, either, like Willow and Xander assume. I feel safer with Spike, that much is true. But it feels like, since he loved Buffy he has more of a reason to want to take care of me. I don't know if that makes any sense, but not much does, anyway.

I met a guy named Jag. He's new at school, and plays the drums. He won't tell me his real name. He's kind of cute, but I have a feeling he has a thing for Mia, already. Most guys like her. Who wouldn't? She's prettier than me.

"Bollocks." Spike muttered. Dawn was beautiful. The kind of beauty that hit you in the chest because she had that sense of "I'm beautiful and I don't even know it" that made you want to hold her in your arms...

Flip. Flip. Flip.

For Mia and Jonathon, the romance that lasted four whole months. I was in a really melodramatic mood…

Dont go claiming maturity with me

When your the one who never wanted to grow up

You wanted to stay in the world of dreams and sunshine

Vanquishing your trolls and rescuing your maidens

Like Peter Pan and Wendy

We would be young and cool forever

But its too late for all that now

We've outgrown all our teenage angst

We were thrown out of Eden a long time ago

And the thimble kiss you gave me

Is gathering dust in the attic

With every other childhood memory

That once meant something to me

Its time to face the real world now

Its time to see what living is about

Because our castles in the sky crumbled long ago

When we first made love on that dusty concrete floor.

 

--December 3, 2002

Spike looked at a few more poems and songs she had written, amazed at her talent and the feeling in her writing. He found the last page she'd written, two days before.

March 21, 2004

I'm getting more and more nervous by the day, because of this weirdness with Spike. Yes, we talked. Yes, we played paintball. Yes, things got way better. But it's not like we can conveniently forget what happened that night we kissed.

I don't even know where THAT came from. I mean, hello? It's Spike. I don't go around kissing Spike. Not because he's not kissable because OH MY GOD, he so is. But because he's my protector, my care-giver. It seems wrong, because I have this feeling that he's sorry. Like he feels like my father or brother and he shouldn't do stuff like that with me. Or, maybe I'm just not his type. I mean, he was in love with Buffy, and I'll never, ever measure up to that, no matter how much he says I fight like her or how proud she would be.

I wish I was a different person.

Spike shut the book, feeling as though he had violated her in some way, by reading her thoughts like that. But he needed to know what was going on inside her head. He worried about her, and that last entry told him most of what he needed to know.

Dawn wasn't sorry about the kiss, she though *he* was sorry, and her insecurities were brought to the surface, if not magnified because of it.

"Bloody Hell." He muttered, for once wishing he was evil again so he wouldn't worry about other people so much.

NOTE!!! The two poems above are not mine. The first is Black Roses by Christine, who can be contacted at kuroi_hanten@hotmail.com.

The second poem is called Thrown out of Eden by Holly who can be contacted at orangefish4@hotmail.com