Part Two

A chill ran down Buffy's spine. She stood up slowly. "Dawnie—"

"You'll feel it again," Dawn growled and stepped forward, grabbing for Buffy's shoulders. Her sharp little fingernails dug into her skin.

Buffy tried to shove her off, but Dawn's grip was too strong for her to move her without the risk of injuring her sister. Their combined weights toppled them both over, Buffy landing first, slamming her back into wall of the porcelain tub. She cried out.

"You'll feel it again, Buffy," Dawn seethed, and began tearing at her sister's shirt.

"Dawn!" Buffy yelled, trying to bat away her sister's frantic hands. "Dawn, stop it!"

"The only time you ever felt it was when I was inside you," she continued obliviously, hell bent on her purpose. Buffy felt scratch marks forming across her chest.

"Stop it!" she yelled one last time, and managed to flip them over. She pinned Dawn underneath her on the bathroom floor. "Dawn, what the hell's going on?"

"You, you'll—" Dawn spat out angrily. Her eyes suddenly widened in confusion and she stopped struggling. "Buffy?" she asked in a small voice.

Buffy immediately relaxed. She let her weary body collapse on top of her sister's.

"Buffy, what's going on?" Dawn asked. "What just happened? I—I don't know what I was doing. It was like I was watching, but I—

"Buffy?" she asked in concern when her sister didn't respond, and tried to maneuver herself into a sitting position. Buffy, despite her massive strength, was so light Dawn had no trouble lifting her up. "Buffy," she tried to meet her sister's eyes. "Are you okay? I didn't mean—whatever just happened, I didn't mean it. I don't know what…"

Buffy met her sister's gaze, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I know, Dawnie, I just…"

"Oh, God, I ruined your new shirt." Buffy just stared back at her blankly. "I'll… well, I don't have money to buy you a new shirt, but, um, you can borrow any of mine that you want. Even that new purple one that I haven't even worn yet. Buffy?"

Buffy stood up slowly. "Dawnie, that wasn't you, don't worry about it. It must have just been… I don't know. Demonic possession or something. Wouldn't be the first time."

"Buffy?" Dawn frowned in concern.

"Dawn, let's just deal with this in the morning, okay?"

"Of course." Dawn stood up and leaned over the bathtub to shut off the faucet. She reached a hand into the almost-overflowing tub and cursed, withdrawing it quickly. "This is way too hot." She knew Buffy liked hot baths but this was ridiculous. She reached over to pull the drain and turned back to her sister, but she was already gone.

Dawn snuck back into the bathroom after she was sure Buffy was asleep. She turned on the bright fluorescent lights and stared down at the floor while her eyes adjusted from the darkness. Reaching into the cupboard beneath the sink, she pulled out a disinfectant and began spraying it over the small white tiles, its lemony scent wafting up to her. She grabbed a paper towel and began to scrub.

Tears came to her eyes as she replayed the events of the evening in her mind. Buffy's reaction, or lack thereof, had said it all. Somehow she had been caught up in a twisted re-enactment of the infamous attempted rape. More than caught up, though. For a moment, Dawn had been Spike. She had felt everything he had felt that night, thought everything he had thought.

She guessed it was only expected to be disturbed by that, by being in the mind of a would-be rapist, a known serial killer and an evil soulless demon. But the worst part was that she hadn't been in the mind of any of those. She had been in the mind of a good man – a distraught, desperate, confused man – but a good man, nonetheless. A man who had loved her sister to no end.

And if he could twist his human emotions and good intentions into such depravity, what did that say about the rest of them? What hope did anyone have?

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The Next Morning

"Hi, Spike," Willow said quietly and the vampire jumped.

"What are you—what are you doing here?" he asked anxiously, his eyes darting back and forth with a nervousness she had never witnessed in Spike before.

She gave him a small smile.

"I just came to say hi." It was nice to finally find someone in worse shape than she was.

Spike sighed noisily. "That's bloody beautiful, innit?" he asked, his voice directed somewhere above her. "The witch wants to say 'hi' to bloody William. Well, say hi, then, witch, and be on your merry little way. Important tasks at hand, there are."

Willow didn't have trouble following his ramblings. "And what are these important tasks? Anything I can help with?"

He shot her an extremely suspicious look. "No. Better off alone, better off… you should go. 'Fore I hurt you. I hurt people like you."

"But you can't hurt me, remember?" she reminded him quietly.

"Oh, yes, yes I can." He laughed hysterically. "In ways you can't even imagine, witch."

"No, you can't," she insisted firmly. "And I'm staying." She looked down at her watch. "I'm supposed to meet Xander at the work site for lunch in an hour. Until then you're going to have to put up with me."

"You made the blood run," he said quietly, his demeanor shifting as he stared at her intently. "I heard about you. You liked the blood, didn't you? Sweet like honey, but you didn't like the aftertaste much."

She nodded, but didn't respond. Instead she glanced around the dingy basement room. The walls were covered in pipes, and there was no furniture. Just dirt. Dirt on the floor, everywhere. "So I heard you're living here now. I have to say, I liked the crypt better."

He laughed again, that high-pitched maniacal laugh. "There's blood in the crypt, Red. Red… red like blood. Red everywhere. Do you see red everywhere, too?"

Dawn slammed her locker door shut and then jumped in surprise at the noise it made. She took a deep breath to calm herself, and then turned to walk down to class.

Coming down the hallway towards her, though, was no other than Brian himself. Before he could make eye contact, Dawn turned and hurried the other direction, hoping to lose herself in the noisy crowd of teenagers.

Someone bumped into her, though, and forced her aside. Before Dawn could see who it was and yell a 'hey!' or a 'watch it!' she looked up and read the sign on the door she found herself slammed against.

"Basement Access. No Student Entry."

Spike. Spike was down there. All day long, just twenty feet below her, was the man she had suddenly gotten to know far too intimately.

She jerked herself away from the door and turned around to find herself suddenly staring into light blue eyes.

"Hey, Dawn," Brian greeted her with a warm smile.

"Brian." She glanced desperately around him for an escape route.

"Are you all right?" he asked. "I saw that jerk practically knock you down over there."

"Oh… oh, right." Dawn desperately searched her addled mind for an appropriate response. "I'm fine, thanks."

"People can be so rude sometimes." He shook his head, his beautiful eyes filled with concern.

"Right… yeah. Um, I have to get to class, but I'll talk to you later, k?" She hurried off before even finishing her sentence, calling the last part out to him over her shoulder.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

That Evening

"Happy birthday!"

Dawn jumped at the flurry of voices. Well, not flurry. The three voices that heralded her as she walked into the kitchen. Her eyes widened.

"What's going on?" she asked, taking in the homemade "Happy Birthday, Dawn!" banner and the copiously-frosted cake on the kitchen island.

"It's a surprise," Buffy said, coming over and hugging her sister. She pulled away, looking down at her sister with a small frown. "It was a surprise, wasn't it?"

Dawn forced a happy smile. "Of course. I can't believe it. Thank you!" She exclaimed as Willow and Xander both came over to hug her in turn. "I've never had a surprise party before."

Buffy smiled broadly. "I know. And look, we got everything. Cake, decorations, music—" Willow took that as her cue to slip into the living room and turn on the stereo.

"Presents?" Dawn asked.

"Oh, you wanted presents?" Xander joked. "It's not enough that we're all here?"

Dawn forced another smile. As if they were all here. The Scooby gang was now practically boiled down to its primary three members. Dawn wondered if she would be the next one to disappear and leave them finally to themselves.

"We got lots of presents for you, Dawnie," Buffy assured her sister, taking a large butcher's knife from the rack and heading towards the birthday cake. "Well." She frowned, looking up from her work. "Not lots. But several. Several presents. Which is more than the poor kids in China who don't eat their broccoli get."

Buffy, seemingly content with her argument, went back to cutting the cake.

"Ooh! Is it chocolate?" Dawn asked, walking around the island.

"No, it's yellow. Oh! Did you want chocolate?" Buffy asked in a flurry, yanking the knife out of the cake.

"No, no, yellow's fine… chocolate's too rich anyways."

Xander, who had been rummaging around in an upper cupboard, turned around, brandishing a paper box of candles. "Got the candles!"

"I think you're supposed to do the candles first," Dawn commented, eyeing the butchered cake. "And bring it in all lit up when you surprise me with it. Oh, and there should be singing, too."

"Candles?" Buffy's eyes widened. "I forgot the candles! And I already started cutting it," she gestured towards the single piece she had already extracted from the cake.

"It's okay," Xander said pragmatically. "We'll just put them in the rest of the cake." He began counting out the small, whirled, supermarket candles, and Dawn held her breath, praying her wouldn't stop at two. And half-hoping he would, because that would mean that at least they hadn't forgotten. But, no, he didn't even hesitate until there were sixteen candles asymmetrically gracing her birthday cake.

"Will, are you okay?" Xander called out from the upstairs landing. Willow wrenched her gaze out the window of her – no, Buffy's now – room and turned to face him.

"Sorry, I just…"

"Had to get away?"

Willow gave him a small smile from across the room. "Yeah, I… I just haven't been back here since… I just needed to see."

"I get that," Xander said supportively, and stepped towards her. His expression suddenly softened. "Things fall apart," he said softly. "They fall apart so hard."

Willow's eyes widened. "Xander?"

"You can't ever put them back the way they were," he said, and then lifted his shy gaze to meet hers.

"Xander, what are you doing?" Willow demanded, panicked.

"I'm sorry, it's just, you know… it takes time," he said and sighed.

"I know," she said carefully, watching him from across the room.

"There's just so much to work through," he said, and looked tired at the thought. "Trust has to build again, on both sides. You have to learn if we're even the same people we were, if you can fit in each others' lives. It's a long and important process and… can we just skip it?"

Willow stared back at him, not sure who was talking to her. Was it really Xander? Or was it Tara, trying to reach her from the world beyond? Maybe using Xander's body as a vessel for her beautiful spirit?

"Can you just be kissing me?" he entreated desperately.

Suddenly it didn't matter who or what was talking to her. She was being given a chance to relive the best moment of her life. She strode quickly across the room and took Xander into her arms, tilting her face up and launching her lips at his.

She put everything she had into that kiss. Every regret, every missed memory. Every ounce of love she still felt for her lost lover. The kiss was wild and desperate and passionate. Lonely but oh, so sweet… She finally came up for breath and felt cold tears running down her cheeks. Then she leaned in to kiss him again.

"Guys, something weird's going on."

Dawn looked up from the coffee table of presents Buffy was arranging for her.

"Something's really wrong," Xander continued. Willow followed him into the room, ashen-faced.

"What is it?" Buffy asked, pushing down a suspicious bow to make sure it stuck.

Xander sat across from her on the couch and said in hushed tones: "Tara's still here."

Willow sat down silently next to him.

"What do you mean?" Dawn demanded.

Xander leaned forward, his eyes wide, still disbelieving the whole situation. "Just upstairs, Will and I, we were talking and suddenly, I was channeling Tara. I was like possessed by her."

"You think she's a ghost?" Buffy asked.

"Well, she was…" Xander shot an apologetic look at Willow, who still looked partially nauseated. "Killed here. Violently. Maybe she has issues."

"So she was a ghost and she was possessing you?"

"Yeah, like all of a sudden I was her and thinking all her thoughts and feeling her feelings and saying things to Willow that gave me a major case of the wiggins—no offense, Will."

She nodded tightly.

"So she possessed you and you started acting out something that happened before? Was it…" Buffy paused, glancing quickly at Willow. "Her murder?"

"No," Willow answered quietly. "It was a good time."

"Oh, so…" Buffy trailed off.

"So we need to do an exorcism, before, you know, she has wasps swarming the house," Xander said.

"What?" Dawn asked.

"You know, the old high school, the Sadie Hawkins teacher-icide?"

"Do you think she's been trapped here all these months?" Willow asked suddenly. She turned big sad eyes to Buffy. "Do you think she's been here when she should have been in heaven?"

Buffy stood up abruptly and paced across the living room carpet.

"We need to help her," Willow continued desperately. "I have some supplies at Xander's place and I can do the spell tonight. But then, last time it didn't even work. So maybe we should try and talk to her first."

"No," Dawn interrupted softly. "It's not Tara."

All three Scoobies stared at her.

"The same thing happened last night," she continued hesitantly. "To me."

"Tara possessed you, too?" Xander asked.

"No," Dawn said and Buffy looked away. "The same thing happened but it wasn't Tara. It can't be Tara here because she wouldn't know… no. It wasn't Tara."

"Are you sure?" Xander frowned in confusion. "Because I was Tara back there."

Willow nodded. "It was Tara. It had to be. No one else could have known what happened."

Dawn sighed. "I'm not saying it wasn't Tara there, but I don't think it was really Tara. Last night with Spike—"

"Spike?" Xander jumped in. "What did he do now?"

"Nothing!" Buffy exclaimed, rejoining the group. "He didn't do—nothing happened."

"Why was he here then?" he demanded.

"Dawn was possessed by something that made her…" Buffy met her sister's eyes carefully.

"Reenact something he did," Dawn finished for her.

"Oh," Willow said, furrowing her brow. "So… it wasn't just Tara then?"

"No and I don't think it was Spike, either. I think it was something else," Buffy said.

Xander let out a long breath. "So we're just talking run of the mill hellmouthy stuff then?"

Buffy nodded, her eyes still on her sister.

"So what did Dawn reenact?" Willow asked.

"Nothing," Dawn answered, aware of her sister's agitation. "Nothing important just… regular ol' conversation." She finished her sentence with forced cheer.

Willow stood up. "I should get back home and research this."

Buffy frowned. "I thought the books were, you know… gone?"

"Giles sent me some from England and I still have my trusty old computer." Willow shrugged into her jacket, and Xander followed her into the front hall, casually touching her shoulder in support.

"Sorry Dawnie." Willow turned back to the teenager. "I wish we didn't have to leave early on your birthday and all, but research calls."

Dawn forced a half-smile. "It's okay."

"We'll make it up to you," Xander promised. "I guess all Summers birthdays are cursed."

"See you later, guys," Buffy called out after her friends. She turned back to Dawn. "So… you want some more cake or do you want to start with the presents?"

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The next morning

"So the witch is back." Spike rose from a crouch in the corner of what Willow assumed was 'his' room in the school basement. He strode to her, his eyes piercing. "Why is the witch back?"

Willow gulped. Between the vampire's intense stare, the major hellmouthy vibes and the general creepiness that came from being underground in poorly lit basements, she was starting to regret her decision to come back here. After her research session last night, which had lasted into the wee hours of the morning and still turned up nothing, Willow had decided to try the Scoobies' sometime informant. Even if he was currently not all there. But seeing him now, she suddenly felt shallow and guilty for trying to use him, when he obviously needed her help. So she changed tactics.

"I'm here to help you," she said, crossing her arms self-consciously across her chest.

"Help me?" He cackled loudly, and doubled over, either in pain or mirth, into a crouch on the dirty concrete floor.

"Yes," she said, more firmly this time. "Help you. So tell me what happened to you, and what's going on."

"Buffy--the slayer—she sent you?" Spike asked.

"No," Willow said, noticing that his eyes seemed to fall in disappointment. "But," she added quickly. "I'm sure she would have if she knew how… bad it was down here."

Spike aimed a sad, self-deprecating smile up at her. "No," he said softly, resignedly. "She wouldn't."

"Well, uh…" Willow tried to brighten her voice. "So, tell me what's going on, because I'm sensing mucho bad energies down here. What happened to you?"

"Uh, uh, uh." Spike stood up and stretched his lean body. "You want to play the games I play, but are you willing to pay the entrance fee?"

"I already have," Willow said firmly. She deliberately stepped in his path so that he was forced to look up at her. "And I think you know that."

"The boy you killed," Spike said in remembrance, staring back at her. "Ripped the skin from his bones, you did."

"I did," she said, her voice shaking only slightly.

"So how'd it taste?" He asked, and then shook his head. "'S a shame the only one you killed was so old. Children's blood, now that's the best."

"What?"

"Oh, yeah," he continued, focusing his eyes now on some point behind her. "Little babies, they're the greatest delicacies on earth. Like veal and honey."

"Babies?" Her upper lip curled in revulsion.

"You ever wonder why something so horrid could taste so good? One of the mysteries of the bloody universe, I s'pose. Little babies, tots not yet old enough to run away from my true face—"

"Wait… are you saying that you feel bad about it? Do you feel guilty?"

"Sometimes they didn't even cry, didn't know. They never knew, never saw it coming," Spike continued, oblivious to Willow's scrutiny. He was lost in retrospect. "The older ones, the parents, they always knew. Always ran, always screamed, always—but the babies, how they trusted you—"

"You have to tell me what's going on, Spike," Willow interrupted forcefully, taking a step towards him. He shaded his face with a pale hand. "You never felt guilty before."

"They trusted you up until the moment that you broke their tiny necks, twisted their heads with a quick turn of your wrist, squeezed and air from their lungs and suckled their blood when they should have been suckling at their mother's breasts—"

"You're starting to sound like Angel."

"But their mothers were dead at your feet, blood drained, their faces blue and purple. There was no milk left in their breasts, none at all. And--"

"You got your soul back, didn't you? That's what changed?"

Spike stopped his tirade abruptly, mid-sentence, and lowered his hands from his face. "Well, yeah. Thought she told you."

"What? You mean it's true?" Willow stepped forward again, and knelt in front of him. She stared the vampire wonderingly. "You do… I thought… What happened, were you cursed? Do you still have the chip?"

Spike just stared back at her. "She didn't tell you?" he asked, his voice small.

"No, no one told me. Who would have—oh… Buffy? Is it Buffy? She knows, too?" Spike dropped his head back between his legs and Willow looked at him in pity. "Well, I mean, I'm sure she had reasons for not telling anyone."

"Yeah," he said morosely.

"But you're…" Willow shook her head and blinked, focusing her eyes back on the crumpled vampire in the corner. "Why are you here? In the basement of the school, in the hellmouth of all places. Especially now that you have a soul."

He shook his head, not looking up at her.

"I mean, you lived above-ground all the time. In your crypt – why aren't you there?"

"'S Clem's now."

"Well, I'm sure he wouldn't mind—"

"No."

"Okay, well how about—"

"There's no where else to go." He sighed, and seemed to crumple even further into himself.

"Well, you can't stay here," Willow insisted, and gestured around her at the dilapidated walls and dusty pipes. "I'm sensing majorly bad mojo – I think the proximity to the hellmouth has got to be what's making you crazy."

"Doesn't matter."

"It does," she insisted, her voice rising. "How are you ever going to earn redemption or make up for anything if you're stuck down here in the basement talking to figments of your imagination all day?"

"Don't want redemption," he said quietly. "S'not for me. Redemption's a dream for the birds flying high." He raised his head slowly, his blue eyes pale and soft as he looked at Willow sadly. "All the perfumes in bloody Arabia couldn't cover up the smell of blood on these hands."

"Hamlet," Willow said, the intellectual in her answering automatically.

Spike eyed her in askance. "Macbeth," he corrected. Apparently he had an intellectual inside of him too.

"Oh. Well, still… Spike. You can't think those things. You have to believe that you can change, make a difference, or else it's all for… I mean, I tried to destroy the world last spring and I'm going to find a way to make up for it. You never did anything even that terrible."

"Sixty thousand, four hundred and fifty-eight."

"What?" She frowned.

"Number of people I've killed, pet."

"You actually kept track?" She shook her head. "Never mind. You didn't have a soul then."

"So that's the crux then, eh?" He met her eyes steadily. "Why worry about redemption at all then, love, if the bloody soul's my get out of jail free card."

"Well, it's—"

"You don't know. You can't." Spike rolled his eyes skywards. "All because my broody grandsire wouldn't take the responsibility. Well, I will, Willow. It was me. All of it. Every scream, every last drop of blood, it was me an' I remember it all like a hundred and twenty bloody years passed yesterday. I ain't some multiple personality psychosis case either. 'S no demon here, no soul, just me."

Willow frowned in consternation. "But you're different, Spike. I mean, I can see it. A few months ago you wouldn't have felt guilty about anything."

"Felt guilty 'bout one thing."

She cocked her head. Spike gave a loud sigh and started The Story.