Chapter Fourteen: Xander to the Rescue

Late the next morning, Spike was standing in the kitchen trying to cook some breakfast. It had been a long time since he had done anything but heat a cup of pig's blood in the microwave. Hell, who was he kidding? He had never cooked a day in his life. In William's day, that was women's work, and vamp Spike had never had much use for anything he couldn't kill or order already prepared.

As Spike struggled feebly with the skillet and pancake batter, the back door opened and Xander stepped inside.

He took one look at Spike and immediately yelled, "The First!" Unable to make any other movement, he raised a trembling finger and pointed it at Spike. "Buffy!" he hollered. "Buffy!"

"Yeah, what is it Xander?" she asked wearily as she padded her way into the kitchen in her slippered feet. She had just woken up, and somehow, coming downstairs to a screaming Xander was not her idea of a fun way to start the morning.

"The First. He's taken Spike's form. He's right here, in the kitchen . . . cooking breakfast."

Spike turned and gave him an insufferable look. "Not bloody likely." Turning to Buffy he asked, "Will you please get that crying whelp out of the kitchen so I can get some peace? Already burnt myself once because of his yammering."

"But . . . Spike . . ." Xander stammered, looking back and forth between the former vampire and Buffy.

"Is back from the dead," Buffy finished for him. "Yeah, I know. He's human too. Just get over it."

"What?"

"Oh," she paused for a second as if remembering something, "and news flash number two, Dawn's the new Slayer."

"What?" Xander looked like a deer in headlights. Worse, he looked like a deer who'd already been run over by the truck bearing the headlights.

Buffy put her hand on his shoulder and pushed him down onto a stool. She then went to the counter to pour herself a cup of coffee.

Just then, Dawn came shuffling into the room. "Someone please tell me last night was just a dream. Please!" she pleaded.

"Nope. No dream," Buffy said as she stood near Spike, coffee mug in hand, observing his pitiable attempt at making pancakes.

"I didn't know Spike could cook," Dawn said.

"Apparently, I can't," he countered, as he tried to flip one of the flapjacks over with a spatula. "Son-of-a--" He dropped the utensil and brought one of his fingers up to his mouth and began sucking on it. "Don't remember getting burned being that painful. Even as a vampire, flammable was just flammable. There was no searing, no long-term scarring."

"Here, let me do that," Buffy offered, moving between him and the stove, effectively taking over.

"Great. Something else I can't do. I need a cigarette," he grumbled, turning toward the door and grabbing his duster off the back of a chair.

"You're smoking?" Dawn asked, appalled.

"I'm still evil, okay?"

"Right. Whatever you say. Shouldn't you really be giving that up though? It could kill you."

"We could only hope," he growled, as he stormed out, closing the door behind him.

"But . . . but, it's daylight," Xander spluttered. "Doesn't he need a blanket or something?"

Buffy and Dawn both looked at Xander and then went back to what they were doing. Apparently his brain was working rather slowly today. He seemed to be on overload.

"What's up with Spike?" Dawn finally asked.

"I think he's feeling a little out of place, not being a vamp anymore. He doesn't know how he fits in."

"I don't know why. It's not like he's ever going to be a regular guy. I mean, he's no Riley. Riley, you take him off the Commando juice and 'poof,' goodbye Captain America. But Spike's not like that. He'll always be . . . unique?"

"Why don't you tell him that?

"Because I'm not sure I want to talk to him. I'm not sure I want to talk to anybody." Dawn moved over to one of the stools and sat down, pulling her feet up underneath her. She turned to watch her sister.

"So wait a second," Dawn said, as a thought struck her. "That was Spike the other morning wasn't it?"

"What?"

"Stealing our food? Creeping in our house?"

"Oh yeah. I think he must have been really, really hungry. Being dead can do that to you."

"What was he doing in the house? I mean, he must have been alive for like two days. Why did he just show himself now?"

"He didn't want to frighten us. And I think, also, he needed a little time himself. To adjust."

"Tell me about it," Dawn mumbled. "Don't think I'll ever adjust. I don't want to be the Slayer."

"I know."

"There must be something we can do about it."

"I seriously doubt that."

"Hey? Maybe Xander has some ideas. Xander?" She turned to look at him.

He was still babbling incoherently to himself.

"Okay. Maybe Xander doesn't have any ideas. Maybe he won't for the remainder of this century." She looked to Buffy again. "I don't want this Buffy. Really. I don't. We've got to find some way out it. Promise me?"

"Dawn I can't," Buffy said, sympathetically. "You know I can't. That's not the way these things work. Once you're chosen, you're chosen. There's no getting out of it."

"Why do we always get chosen for crappy things like Slayerhood and dying horrible, mystically engineered deaths? Why can't we ever get chosen for anything good, like the Publisher's Clearing House Sweepstakes or something?"

Buffy gave Dawn a sly look. "You're telling me Ed McMahon isn't mystically engineered?"

"Why can't it ever be easy? Why can't things ever be normal?"

"Xander's normal," Buffy breezed, "and look at him. Are you really sure you want normal?"

Dawn took another look at Xander. He was still blathering. "Xander is so not normal. Demon magnet, remember?"

"Well, now you'll be a vamp magnet. Lucky you. You can have your pick of undead boyfriends."

Dawn glared at her sister. Pushing herself off the stool, she made her way out of the kitchen. She didn't care what Buffy said. She was going to find a way out of being the Slayer. No one could force her to perform her duties. After all, she didn't even have a Watcher.